the end of the village,
when drawing rein, she said:

"Jem, I am very tired. I will wait here and you must just ride back to
the village, to Mr. Cassell's livery stable, and get a gig, and put
your horse into it, and come back here to drive me home, for I cannot
ride."

Jem, who never questioned his imperious little mistress's orders, rode
off at once to do her bidding.

Cap immediately dismounted from her pony and led him under the deep
shadows of the elm tree, where she fastened him. Then taking his face
between her hands, and looking him in the eyes, she said:

"Gyp, my son, you and I have had many a frolic together, but we've got
to part now! It almost breaks my heart, Gyp, but it is to save a fellow
creature's life, and it can't be helped! He'll treat you well, for my
sake, dear Gyp. Gyp, he'll part with his life sooner than sell you!
Good-by, dear, dear Gyp."

Gyp took all these caresses in a very nonchalant manner, only snorting
and pawing in reply.

Presently the boy came back, bringing the gig. Cap once more hugged Gyp
about the neck, pressed her cheek against his mane, and with a
whispered "Good-by, dear Gyp," sprang into the gig and ordered the boy
to drive home.

"An' leab the pony, miss?"

"Oh, yes, for the present; everybody knows Gyp--no one will steal him.
I have left him length of line enough to move around a little and eat
grass, drink from the brook, or lie down. You can come after him early
to-morrow morning."

The little groom thought this a queer arrangement, but he was not in
the habit of criticising his young mistress's actions.

Capitola got home to a late supper and to the anxious inquiries of her
friends she replied that she had been to the prison to take leave of
Black Donald, and begged that they would not pursue so painful a
subject.

And, in respect to Cap's sympathies, they changed the conversation.

* * * * *

That night the remnant of Black Donald's band were assembled in their
first old haunt, the Old Road Inn. They had met for a twofold
purpose--to bury their old matron, Mother Raven, who, since the death
of her patron and the apprehension of her captain, had returned to the
inn to die--and to bewail the fate of their leader, whose execution was
expected to come off the next day.

The men laid the poor old woman in her woodland grave, and assembled in
the kitchen to keep a death watch in sympathy with their "unfortunate"
cap