myself through the head, sir; that's
all."

"You will do nothing of the kind. Go to Lord Rockingham, and ask him
from me to take you into his service. You cannot have a kinder master."

"I don't say nothing agen the Marquis, sir," said Rake doggedly; "he's
a right-on generous gentleman, but he aren't you. Let me go with you, if
it's just to rub the King down. Lord, sir! you don't know what straits
I've lived in--what a lot of things I can turn my hand to--what a one
I am to fit myself into any rat-hole, and make it spicy. Why, sir, I'm
that born scamp, I am--I'm a deal happier on the cross and getting my
bread just anyhow, than I am when I'm in clover like you've kept me."

Rake's eyes looked up wistfully and eager as a dog's when he prays to
be let out of kennel to follow the gun; his voice was husky and agitated
with a strong excitement. Cecil stood a moment, irresolute, touched and
pained at the man's spaniel-like affection--yet not yielding to it.

"I thank you from my heart, Rake," he said at length, "but it must not
be. I tell you my future life will be beggary--"

"You'll want me anyways, sir," retorted Rake, ashamed of the choking in
his throat. "I ask your pardon for interrupting, but every second's that
precious like. Besides, sir, I've got to cut and run for my own sake.
I've laid Willon's head open, down there in the loose box; and when he's
come to himself a pretty hue and cry he'll raise after me. He painted
the King, that's what he did; and I told him so, and I give it to
him--one--two--amazing! Get into saddle, sir, for the Lord's sake! And
here, Bill--you run back, shut the door, and don't let nobody know the
'osses are out till the morning. Then look like a muff as you are, and
say nothing!"

The stable-boy stared, nodded assent, and sloped off. Rake threw himself
across the brown mare.

"Now, sir! a steeple-chase for our lives! We'll be leagues away by the
day-dawn, and I've got their feed in the saddle-bags, so that they'll
bait in the forests. Off, sir, for God's sake, or the blackguards will
be down on you again!"

As he spoke the clamor and tread of men of the town racing to the chase
were wafted to them on the night wind, drawing nearer and nearer; Rake
drew the reins tight in his hand in fury.

"There they come--the d----d beaks! For the love of mercy, sir, don't
check now. Ten seconds more and they'll be on you; off, off!--or by the
Lord Harry, sir, you'll make a murderer of me, and