red one of the officers. "We've just taken him from your
brother. He's been stirring trouble with his speeches and has got to be
quieted. But we'll have him to-day, for he's to be married, and a
scouting party is on the road to nab him at the altar."

"Married! My brother! What! Ernest, the lawyer, the orator? Ho, ho! Ah,
but it's rather hard to break off a match in that style!"

"Hard for him, maybe; but they say the lady feels no great love for him.
He made it seem like a duty to her, after her lover died."

"How's that? Her own--what's her name?"

"Helen--Helen Carmichael, or something like that."

Field and sky swam before De Courcy's eyes for a moment; then he resumed,
in a calm voice, and with a pale, set face, "Well, you're making an
unhappy wedding-day for him. If he had Cecil here he would outride you
all. Ah, when I was in practice I could ride this horse and snatch a
pebble from the ground without losing pace!"

"Could you do it now?"

"I'm afraid long lodging in your prison-ships has stiffened my joints,
but I'd venture at a handkerchief."

"Then try," said the commandant.

De Courcy mounted into the saddle heavily, crossed the grounds at a
canter, and dropped a handkerchief on the grass. Then, taking a few turns
for practice, he started at a gallop and swept around like the wind. His
seat was so firm, his air so noble, his mastery of the steed so complete,
that a cheer of admiration went up. He seemed to fall headlong from the
saddle, but was up again in a moment, waving the handkerchief gayly in
farewell--for he kept straight on toward the weak place in the wall. A
couple of musket-balls hummed by his ears: it was neck or nothing now! A
tremendous leap! Then a ringing cry told the astonished soldiers that he
had reached the road in safety. Through wood and thicket and field he
dashed as if the fiend were after him, and never once did he cease to
urge his steed till he reached the turnpike, and saw ahead the scouting
party on its way to arrest his brother.

Turning into a path that led to the rear of the little church they were
so dangerously near, he plied hands and heels afresh, and in a few
moments a wedding party was startled by the apparition of a black horse,
all in a foam, ridden by a gaunt man, in torn garments, that burst in at
the open chancel-door. The bridegroom cowered, for he knew his brother.
The bride gazed in amazement. "'Tis the dead come to life!" cried one. De
Courcy had littl