I opened it and found written in pencil,--"Jackson House, Omocqua." The sight of that frank handwriting dispelled every doubt. "When was he here?" "He came in a little before one yesterday. He asked if you had been along. I thought not; you would have given me a call. He stayed round here about an hour, waiting for you. I told him that you might have struck the road farther down,--at Ossian, perhaps. He took a horse of me, knowing you would ride." "He was alone?" "Yes. He told me Dr. Borrow was at Rentree; was to join him at Omocqua this morning, though." In half an hour we were on our way again. I was eager still, but no longer impatient. There was no uncertainty in my mind now. Harry was at Omocqua. He was expecting me. As to blaming me, he had never thought of it. He would have imagined for me some better excuse than I had to give. Or rather, it had never occurred to him that I could need excuse. I should find him at the door on the lookout for me. His hand would be in mine before I could dismount. In the mean while the miles between us diminished rapidly. My horse enjoyed, as I did, every step of the happy road. His prompt, elastic tread showed it, and the alert ears which seemed not watchful against danger, but vigilant to catch all the sweet and animating sounds that cheered us forward. Three miles from Quickster we came on the intended town of Ossian. I stopped a moment. Harry had probably lingered here yesterday, watching to see me emerge from that dusky wood-path. He had found no one to speak to. One inhabitant outstayed the rest a year; but he has now been long gone, and his house is falling in. Beyond Ossian the road was new to me. For about three miles it is good. Then the country becomes uneven, and soon after very hilly. It was slower work here; but Brownie and I took it pleasantly. "How far is it to Omocqua?" I asked, as he was passing me, a man whom I had watched painfully descending in his little wagon the hill I was about to climb. He drew up at once. "Omocqua? You are for Omocqua? An hour, or a little more; though I am a good hour and a half from there. They had something of a fuss down there last night, perhaps you know." "What about?" "Well, a man from Tenpinville met a runaway boy of his who had been hiding round there. The fellow ran; his master hailed him, and when he wouldn't stop, out with a pistol and shot him flat." "What was the man's name?" "If I heard, I've lost it. I put up just outside the town. If I'd gone in to hear the talk, I might have got mixed up; and I'd no call." The hour was a long one. I hardly wished it shorter, yet I tried to hasten. I urged my horse; but mastery is of the spirit, not of the hand or will. He had obeyed so well the unconscious impulse! and now, though he started forward under the spur of an inciting word, he soon forgot it, and mounted the slow hills and descended them again with drudging step and listless ears.