nwhile his brain was
busy. Who should be stealing along within a few yards of the pathway?
No game was afoot in the immediate neighbourhood, and no forester would
be worming himself along in such a fashion. An honest man would walk
upright. "This fellow is a rogue," commented Morgan. The bracken
fronds curled high above him, and he knew that he was securely hidden.
The rustling sounds circled round rather than approached him, and they
finally ceased at a spot on the edge of the pathway about twenty yards
below where Morgan lay listening.

The forester remained very still; the other made no sign. Morgan came
to the conclusion that his presence was unsuspected, so he lay in wait
to see what was afoot. Time flew on; to one, at least, the silence
became irksome.

Sounds at last! Some one was coming down the pathway humming a song.
The spy--for such he was--stirred. Morgan noiselessly raised himself
on his elbow. The singer came on; his voice was rich and musical, and
the young fellow's ears tingled with pleasure. He ventured to peep
above the bracken. A dark form was half visible in front of him, and
the face was turned towards the direction whence the song was coming.
The head disappeared; Morgan ducked also. He could give no guess as to
the identity of the man who lay before him. But his mind was made up
as to the spy's intentions. Villainy was plainly foreshadowed. He
drew his knife from his belt. The footfalls of the traveller were now
audible. He came abreast of the lurking foe; he passed him. There was
a sudden leap; then another. A steel blade flashed in the sunlight.
The song ceased and the singer turned. Another second and the dagger
would have been in his breast. But at the fateful moment of time the
stroke was arrested by Morgan's hand. The would-be assassin turned
with the hiss and wriggle of a viper; his strength was astonishing,
and, ere Morgan was aware, the sharp stab entered his own arm. He
loosened his grip with an exclamation of pain. The spy darted like a
black shadow into the trees--and was gone.

After an instant of hesitation Morgan and the stranger dashed after
him. They ran hither and thither, but found nothing. On the pathway
they met again, and, for the first time, spoke. He whose life had been
attempted took Morgan's wounded arm in his hands. "I owe thee, if not
a life, at least a whole skin," he said. "I am deeply thy debtor."

"Sir Walter Raleigh can owe nothing