glitter of light, to the moving hues, amid which
the sound of the laughing, intoxicating music seemed to float; to the
glisten of the jewels and the gold and the silver--to the scene, in a
word, of the life that would be his no more. He looked back in a long,
lingering look, such as a man may give the gladness of the earth before
the gates of a prison close on him; then he went out once more into the
night, threw the domino and the mask back again into the carriage, and
took his way, alone.

He passed along till he had gained the shadow of a by-street, by a sheer
unconscious instinct; then he paused, and looked round him--what could
he do? He wondered vaguely if he were not dreaming; the air seemed to
reel about him, and the earth to rock; the very force of control he
had sustained made the reaction stronger; he began to feel blind and
stupefied. How could he escape? The railway station would be guarded
by those on the watch for him; he had but a few pounds in his pocket,
hastily slipped in as he had won them, "money-down," at ecarte that day;
all avenues of escape were closed to him, and he knew that his limbs
would refuse to carry him with any kind of speed farther. He had only
the short, precious hours remaining of the night in which to make
good his flight--and flight he must take to save those for whom he had
elected to sacrifice his life. Yet how? and where?

A hurried, noiseless footfall came after him; Rake's voice came
breathless on his ear, while the man's hand went up in the unforgotten
soldier's salute--

"Sir! no words. Follow me, and I'll save you."

The one well-known voice was to him like water in a desert land; he
would have trusted the speaker's fidelity with his life. He asked
nothing, said nothing, but followed rapidly and in silence; turning and
doubling down a score of crooked passages, and burrowing at the last
like a mole in a still, deserted place on the outskirts of the
town, where some close-set trees grew at the back of stables and
out-buildings.

In a streak of the white moonlight stood two hunters, saddled; one was
Forest King. With a cry, Cecil threw his arms round the animal's neck;
he had no thought then except that he and the horse must part.

"Into saddle, sir! quick as your life!" whispered Rake. "We'll be far
away from this d----d den by morning."

Cecil looked at him like a man in stupor--his arm still over the gray's
neck.

"He can have no stay in him! He was dead-beat on