d at The
Prince's front with a savage roar. The wonder is the poor girl kept her
senses, but this attack of the dog was her salvation. The sensitive
animal which she rode reared and swerved with the agility of a cat,
eluding the hound's spring and colliding with Marston, who was sent
sprawling upon the ground. The way to safety was clear! She touched The
Prince's side with her heel, drew up her reins, and told him to go in a
low voice of entreaty. But he needed no urging. Down the yard they flew,
and Julia put him at the fence, for there was no time to be lost with
the narrow gate. He went over the barrier with the ease and grace of a
swallow, and on towards the road. The farm gate letting onto the pike
she had left open, and as she dashed through it she almost ran into a
buggy coming from the direction of town, with a man in it. The Prince
swerved around the obstacle--he was running at last, and his rider made
no attempt to restrain him--and was gone down the white limestone road
like a greyhound in chase.

The top of the buggy which the man drove was down flat, for it was a
summer morning, and he loved sunshine and air. He drew his horse up to a
standstill, and turning in his seat looked back at the fleeing twain,
now rapidly diminishing in a cloud of gray dust. The glimpse which he
had caught of the two as they passed was almost as brief as that one
gets of a landscape on a night of storm during a lightning flash. He
thought he knew the colt--surely there was none other like it anywhere,
and he was confident he knew the rider, although her face was white,
terror-stricken, tear-stained. Whether she had recognized him or not he
could not say. Her haunting eyes had looked straight at him for a
moment, but no gleam of understanding had lighted them. Now they were
gone; the distant hoof-beats had died. The man turned half way around,
and looked again. This time his eyes swept the home of Devil Marston and
its vicinity. As he looked his mouth grew hard, his eyes drooped at the
corners, and the muscles of his cheeks ridged themselves under his skin.
He understood. He slowly and deliberately got out, led his horse to the
roadside and carefully hitched it, then passed through the open farm
gate and strode briskly on. Two minutes later John Glenning, with folded
arms, stood fronting Devil Marston between the cedars. The hound had
disappeared. The two men were absolutely alone. There was no word of
greeting exchanged between th