ain with the tide, they could count on no more time.

Already out on the face of the moorland the curlews were crying
tentatively one to the other. Louis would gladly have talked, but Stair
sat grave and silent. At last, visibly unquiet, he betook himself up
through the wood to the edge of an old turf-built fold where in summer
the cows were wont to be milked. Here he occupied himself with the
priming of his gun and looked to his pistols. An undefined glimmer from
the sky and the absence of trees on the heathery slopes enabled him to
dispense with other light.

In ten minutes he was back again by the side of Louis Raincy.

"They are coming," he whispered, "up yonder I heard the rumble of the
carriage. Listen--we shall catch it in a minute."

Louis listened intently and at last could make out, from very far to the
west, the rhythmic and yet changeful beating of the feet of horses. But
it was not till the carriage had actually climbed to the summit and was
rumbling down the slope that Stair Garland moved.

"I am going to meet them there at the gates," he said, "be you ready
with the horses. There is a part of this business in which there is no
need of your being mixed up, only see that Honeypot and Derry Down are
ready for Patsy. If for any reason I cannot get away with you, take the
upper side of the White Loch till you strike the old track by which we
came, then give the little mare her head and she will carry you safe."

"But why will you not be with us? We can ride time about."

"There are certain risks," said Stair,--"I do not know what will come
out of all this. But at any rate your business is to get Patsy home to
her father's and then carry the word to my sister Jean that the house is
to be strongly guarded. She will understand."

The carriage was very close now. They could hear the labouring of the
horses, the wheezing of straining harness. Then the pole of the carriage
became entangled with Stair's carefully angled lodge-gates. The coach
stopped. The driver sprang from his seat and ran to keep his horses from
plunging over into the ravine. An angry voice from the inside called out
to know what was the matter.

A pistol shot rang out. Then several answered, followed by the roar of a
fully charged gun, a turmoil of voices, the stamping of horses, and a
voice that cried: "They have killed the Prince! The Duke is shot!"

The next moment through the green velvety dark Louis heard footsteps
approaching. Stai