ossed that morning.

For a time he hurried on, thinking only of escape. But when he had
covered a mile or two, and escape seemed probable, there began to mingle
with his thankfulness a bitter--a something which grew more bitter with
each moment. Why had he fled and left the work undone? Why had he given
way to unworthy fear, when the letters were within his grasp? True, if
he had lingered a few seconds longer, he would have failed to make good
his escape; but what of that if in those seconds he had destroyed the
letters, he had saved Angers, he had saved his brethren? Alas! he had
played the coward. The terror of Tavannes' voice had unmanned him. He
had saved himself and left the flock to perish; he, whom God had set
apart by many and great signs for this work!

He had commonly courage enough. He could have died at the stake for his
convictions. But he had not the presence of mind which is proof against
a shock, nor the cool judgment which, in the face of death, sees to the
end of two roads. He was no coward, but now he deemed himself one, and
in an agony of remorse he flung himself on his face in the long grass. He
had known trials and temptations, but hitherto he had held himself erect;
now, like Peter, he had betrayed his Lord.

He lay an hour groaning in the misery of his heart, and then he fell on
the text "Thou art Peter, and on this rock--" and he sat up. Peter had
betrayed his trust through cowardice--as he had. But Peter had not been
held unworthy. Might it not be so with him? He rose to his feet, a new
light in his eyes. He would return! He would return, and at all costs,
even at the cost of surrendering himself, he would obtain access to the
letters. And then--not the fear of Count Hannibal, not the fear of
instant death, should turn him from his duty.

He had cast himself down in a woodland glade which lay near the path
along which he had ridden that morning. But the mental conflict from
which he rose had shaken him so violently that he could not recall the
side on which he had entered the clearing, and he turned himself about,
endeavouring to remember. At that moment the light jingle of a bridle
struck his ear; he caught through the green bushes the flash and sparkle
of harness. They had tracked him then, they were here! So had he clear
proof that this second chance was to be his. In a happy fervour he stood
forward where the pursuers could not fail to see him.

Or so he thought.