burden, and with the first four or five miles' hurried flight, walked slowly and tottering up the heath-covered bank. The Cornet--for it really was he--from time to time cast an anxious look backwards, and at each time gained a kiss from his dear Mette, who sat behind him, holding him fast round the waist. "Do you yet see nothing?" she asked, in a tone of anxiety, for she herself did not dare to look round. "Nothing yet," answered he; "but I fear--the sun is already a little above the horizon--they must be on the road in pursuit of us. If the mare could but hold out." "But where is your brother's carriage?" asked she, after a pause. "It ought to have met us by the rivulet at day-break; nor can I imagine what detains it, for my brother promised to send his young Hungarian servant with it, whose life I saved five years ago in the war with the Turks, when I received this sabre cut in the face. That he is not here is perfectly inexplicable. We have still eight miles before we get out of the heath." While he was thus speaking, they had reached the top of the bank, and the great west heath lay spread out before them like a vast sea; but no carriage, no living being was to be seen. The Cornet stopped to let the mare take breath, at the same time making a half turn, the more easily to survey that part of the heath that lay behind them. This was also naked and desolate; nothing was there to be seen save a few scattered turf stacks, nothing to be heard but the cry of the heathcock, the rushing of the rivulet, the panting of the mare, and their own sighs. Awhile they thus remained, until the Froeken broke silence with the question, "Is there not something moving yonder?" She uttered this in a suppressed voice, as if she feared it would be heard on the other side of the waste. "There is no time for staying longer," answered he; "I am fearful it is your father who is coming yonder." With these words, he turned again towards the west. "Oh! my father," exclaimed Mette sighing, and at the same time clasping her lover still more closely. He again looked round. "They seem to draw nearer," said he; "if I urge on the mare, I fear she will fall." They rode onwards a short distance, he with an oppressed, she with an anxiously throbbing heart. "I must walk," cried he, and dismounted, "that will so far help; do not look back, dearest girl." "Ah heaven! can it be our pursuers?" "There are seven or eight of them, as far as I can discern." "How far off may they be?" asked Mette again. "Scarcely more than two miles," he replied, and notwithstanding his admonition she again looked back. "I see no one," said she.