tion
before the train left. So he ran and ran and ran till his first wind was
gone and his second came, and he could breathe more easily. Never with
"the hounds" had he run so fast and with so few breaks as now, but with
all his efforts and the help of the short cuts he did not catch up the
carriage, and would probably not have done so had not John happened to
turn his head and seen him running and making signs for the carriage to
stop a quarter of a mile off. He was now about five miles from home, and
was nearly done up.

He was crimson with his exertion; covered with dust, and with his
trousers and coat sleeves a trifle short for him he cut a poor figure
enough as he thrust on Ellen his watch, his knife, and the little money
he had. The one thing he implored of her was not to do those dreadful
things which she threatened--for his sake if for no other reason.

Ellen at first would not hear of taking anything from him, but the
coachman, who was from the north country, sided with Ernest. "Take it,
my lass," he said kindly, "take what thou canst get whiles thou canst get
it; as for Master Ernest here--he has run well after thee; therefore let
him give thee what he is minded."

Ellen did what she was told, and the two parted with many tears, the
girl's last words being that she should never forget him, and that they
should meet again hereafter, she was sure they should, and then she would
repay him.

Then Ernest got into a field by the roadside, flung himself on the grass,
and waited under the shadow of a hedge till the carriage should pass on
its return from the station and pick him up, for he was dead beat.
Thoughts which had already occurred to him with some force now came more
strongly before him, and he saw that he had got himself into one mess--or
rather into half-a-dozen messes--the more.

In the first place he should be late for dinner, and this was one of the
offences on which Theobald had no mercy. Also he should have to say
where he had been, and there was a danger of being found out if he did
not speak the truth. Not only this, but sooner or later it must come out
that he was no longer possessed of the beautiful watch which his dear
aunt had given him--and what, pray, had he done with it, or how had he
lost it? The reader will know very well what he ought to have done. He
should have gone straight home, and if questioned should have said, "I
have been running after the carriage to catch our housem