For a moment after he had done so he stood confounded, staring about him with wild eyes. Before him lay the moorland, half in sunshine, half in shadow. Above him the clouds had parted, and the infinite expanse of heaven lay open to his view. But nowhere was a living creature in sight. The troop-horses, whose bits he had heard jingling a few minutes before, were gone; the troopers had melted into thin air! [Illustration: He bent his head and peered at it.--Page 190.] He clapped his hand to his forehead, and stood awhile battling to control himself. Was this a trick? If not--and then his eye, travelling dizzily round, lit on a piece of paper which some one had nailed to the outside of the door with a knife. He bent his head, and peered at it, and read: "_To Sergeant Joyce.--Half an hour after my departure you will let the prisoner, Francis Patten, go free. And this shall be your authority_. "_Oliver Cromwell, Lieutenant-General_." THE END.