old, with a cat's-eye. Such a worthless prize--a woman's ring.

The scene is a puzzle to Carol Quinton, the mystery of it haunts him.
In every shadow he sees a black mask, at the slightest sound his blood
runs cold, the creaking of the boughs above are to him the echo of
pursuing hoofs, and the cry of the parrot, that sinister yell which
accompanied his fall. Even the stars are flashing eyes, the moon an
enemy, and the stones devils.

Quinton is not a brave man; truth to tell, he is a coward. His whole
system is suffering from the shock, while the long tramp he has taken
in search of his horse, which strayed from the road, increased his
nervous agitation.

His hands tremble as they hold the reins, his knees knock against his
frightened horse, who in sympathy with his master, starts at every
step, appearing to find his route peopled with spirits.

"What did it all mean--what could it mean?" he asks himself again and
again.

The beating of his heart seems to Quinton as thunder on the air, which
is heavy and oppressive, a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours!

Surely this can be no fancy--the slow tread of a sure-footed beast on
the path before him. Carol quails and whitens to the lips. The moon
passes behind the cloud--a second figure is at his side. He spurs his
horse, and the frantic swish of his crop lays a deep weal on the
animal's withers. It breaks into a gallop, throwing up the dust around
and flying down a steep descent. He hears the hoofs following closely
in the rear, someone is nearly upon him gaining inch by inch. His
courage sinks--dies--he is white, perspiring, terrified, limp! His
senses reel, he drops the reins, falling forward on his horse's neck.
His fingers clutch the mane, while a woman's voice cries behind:

"Carol! Carol!"

The horse recognises Eleanor's soft tones, and halts, just in time for
Quinton to fall unharmed, swooning to the earth.

Eleanor springs off "Braye du Valle," sinking on her knees in terror by
the helpless form. She sees the bleeding scratches on his face and
hands, but feels his heart beat, knowing that he still lives.

"Oh, Carol," she murmurs, pillowing his head on her breast, "what is
the matter?"

He stirs faintly, a convulsive shudder runs through his limbs.

"I am here, Carol," she continues tenderly; "I, Eleanor!"

He starts up, staring at her in the moonlight.

"But the man," he gasps, "the masked man who followed me only a moment
since.