been together
in Texas during Clancy's visit to the Lone Star State; together at
Nacogdoches, where Borlasse received chastisement for stealing the
horse; together saw the thief tied to the stake, Woodley being one of
the stern jury who sentenced him to be whipped, and saw to the sentence
being carried into execution.

The hunter had been to Natchez for the disposal of some pelts and
deer-meat, a week's produce of his gun. Returning at a late hour, he
must needs pass the cottage of the Clancys, his own humble domicile
lying beyond. At sight of the deserted dwelling a painful throb passed
through his heart, as he recalled the sad fate of those who once
occupied it.

Making an effort to forget the gloomy record, he was riding on, when a
figure flitting across the road arrested his attention. The clear
moonlight showed the figure to be that of a man, and one whose movements
betrayed absence of mind, if not actual aberration.

With the instinct habitual to the hunter Woodley at once tightened rein,
coming to a stop under the shadow of the roadside trees. Sitting in his
saddle he watched the midnight wanderer, whose eccentric movements
continued to cause him surprise. He saw the latter walk on to the
little woodland cemetery, take stand by the side of a grave, bending
forward as if to read the epitaph on its painted slab. Soon after
kneeling down as in prayer, then throwing himself prostrate along the
earth. Woodley well knew the grave thus venerated. For he had himself
assisted in digging and smoothing down the turf that covered it. He had
also been instrumental in erecting the frail tablet that stood over.
Who was this man, in the chill, silent hour of midnight, flinging
himself upon it in sorrow or adoration?

With a feeling far different from curiosity, the hunter slipped out of
his saddle, and leaving his horse behind, cautiously approached the
spot. As the man upon the grave was too much absorbed with his own
thoughts, he got close up without being observed; so close as to hear
that strange adjuration, and see a face he never expected to look upon
again. Despite the features, pale and marked with emaciation, the
hollow cheeks, and sunken but glaring eyeballs, he recognised the
countenance of Charles Clancy; soon as he did so, mechanically calling
out his name.

Hearing his own pronounced, in response, Sime again exclaims, "Charley
Clancy!" adding the interrogatory, "Is it yurself or yur shader?"

Th