o, had knocked him down; while, following the burglars
example, he leaped, in his excitement, right through the broken window.

"Oh, my best pelargoniums!" groaned the gardener, as he picked himself
up, after coming down crash into a flower-bed beneath the window. "Ye
shall pay for this, though, Maister Gurdon, or my name's not Sandy
McCray!" And then, favoured by a break in the clouds, he caught sight
of Gurdon running rapidly towards the bridge.

"Ye'll not get there first, laddie," muttered the Scot, as, exerting all
his powers, he dashed over the lawn, to cut off his quarry's retreat in
that direction; and being the lustier man of the two, he soon had the
satisfaction of seeing his foe double, and run along the brink of the
lake, as if to get round the house; for it was growing each moment
lighter, the wind springing up, and sweeping the heavy curtain of clouds
from the face of the heavens.

"If ye think I canna rin ye doon, Jock Gurdon," muttered McCray, "ye're
making a meestake. I'll have ye, if I rin for a week!"

He pressed on, gaining so fast upon the burglar, that he once more
doubled, and dodging round a thick plantation of shrubs, McCray was, for
a minute, thrown off the scent; but his shrewd Scottish nature stood him
in good stead.

"He'll make again for the bridge," he thought; and with a grim smile of
determination upon his face, he ran in that direction; but, to his great
disappointment, he seemed to be at fault, for there was no sign anywhere
of the fugitive. But, for all that, Sandy's idea was correct, as he
found, after harking backwards and forwards two or three times.
Gurdon--for it was indeed he who had, with his companions, attempted the
burglary--had been making his way for the bridge, when his ear,
sharpened by fright, told him that his enemy was coming in the same
direction, and he directly crouched amidst a bed of laurels, to wait,
panting, for an opportunity to escape. He knew that transportation must
be his fate if taken; and that if, in revenge, he said anything
respecting the character of Lady Gernon, it would merely be taken as the
calumny of a discharged servant. No, he thought, he must not be taken--
he could not afford yet to give up his liberty.

His breath came more freely at the end of a minute, for his heart had
been labouring heavily. Wasted by drink and debauchery, he was in no
training for such violent effort; and he was beginning to hope that an
opportunity might y