"And you, Grace, had so long a ride this morning that you are too tired for another, I presume?" her father said inquiringly. "Yes, papa," she said; "though I love to ride with you for my escort, I believe I am too tired for anything but a rest and nap this afternoon." "So, father, I'm afraid you can not secure any better company than mine," remarked Lucilla with an amused little laugh. "So it seems," he said. "Well, since I can do no better, I will accept yours if it be offered me." "It is, then, sir; and I promise to be ready at any hour you appoint." "We will start early, shortly after leaving the table, that we may get home before dark," he said, with a look and smile that seemed to say her company would be very acceptable. The roads were good, the horses fresh and lively; and they had a delightful ride going to Union, and also returning--until near home. Chester had joined them, and the captain, seeing something in a field belonging to his estate that he wanted to examine, told the others to ride on and he would follow very shortly. They did as he requested, but had not gone more than a hundred yards when a man suddenly rose from behind a bush, pistol in hand, and fired, taking aim at Lucilla. But Chester had seized her bridle at the instant of the rising of the figure, and backed both her horse and his just in time to escape the shot which whizzed past them over the horses' heads. Chester instantly snatched a pistol from his pocket, took aim at the miscreant, and fired at the same instant that the scoundrel sent a second shot in their direction. Then the wounded murderer dropped and lay still as death, while Chester dismounted, reeled, and fell by the roadside--dead, as Lucilla thought in wild distress. She dismounted and went to him. "Oh, Chester, Chester, where are you hurt?" she cried in sore distress. He seemed to be unconscious, and she did not know whether he was dead or alive. But the next moment her father was beside her with two or three of the men employed on the estate. "Oh, papa, he has died for me!" she cried, hot tears streaming down her face. "No, he is not dead, daughter," her father said in tender tones. "But we will never forget the service he has done us this day." "No, sah, Mars Chess's alive, sho 'nuff," said one of the men; "an' we'll git Doctah Arthur or Doctah Harold or Herbert here, and dey'll cure him up, sho's a gun." "Yes; go after one of them as fast as you can. Catch Mr. Chester's horse and ride him; then take him to The Oaks and leave him there. Mr. Chester must be carried carefully into Woodburn and nursed there--as long as he needs it. Well, is that fellow living or dead?" he asked of one of the men who had climbed the fence and was stooping over the prostrate form of the convict. "Dead, cap'ain; dead as anything. He won' do no mo' mischief in dis worl'."