“What word do you bring?” “I bring no word.” The man looked at him for a moment, sharply. “That is very strange,” said he. Tom drew out the message making the queer appointment. “Will this do?” he asked. The man gave it a quick glance and looked relieved. “Ah!” said he, “why did you not show it at first?” “You asked for a word.” “True, I did. But it is all right. Are you,” looking at the lad suddenly, “prepared to follow me?” “I am.” “Good. Where is your horse?” Tom informed him. “As it happens,” said the man, “my mount is at the same place.” As they bent their steps toward the inn where Sultan had been put up, Tom looked at his companion carefully. He was a very tall and very spare man, but his shoulders were wide and his chest deep. He was attired in sober black; his hair was dark, his complexion swarthy, and an angry looking scar crossed his right cheek. Thinking it as well to secure what information he could from the guide Tom asked, “Where are you about to take me?” “I am not,” answered the man, “permitted to give information of any kind.” “But,” protested the youth, “the person who wrote this paper must at least----” “We will not speak of any person or persons, if you please,” put in the man, curtly. “My instructions were to conduct you to a certain spot. What else is going forward is not my affair; I can say nothing.” Surprised at this, and rather startled at the increased mystery, Tom stepped along at the man’s side in silence, until they reached the hostelry where the horses were. A groom saddled them quickly and brought them out; the man who was to act as guide for Tom at once sprang upon the fine gray horse which was led up to the block. Tom mounted Sultan slowly; the groom seemed to know the dark man with the scar; this interested our young swamp-rider, and he would have given a good deal for a quiet word before they rode away. But this was impossible; the guide never took his sharp eyes from the youth; he seemed to be expecting some such attempt; and of course while he watched, Tom could not make it. They set off through the city by much the same route as Tom had entered it. When they reached a quiet spot the man with the scar pulled up. “Young, sir,” said he gravely; “if I am not mistaken this errand means much to you and--and--well, others.” “It does,” answered Tom, his mind reverting to Laura. “You would risk much to carry it through, would you not?” “I am risking much as it is,” answered Tom, quietly. “True; so you are. But there is one thing of which I wish to inform you before we proceed further. He who follows me to-night, must follow blindfolded!” Tom flashed him a quick look; for a moment the proposition staggered him. Had he come too far? was he about to enter a snare, or could it be that he was already in one! The dark man noticed his hesitation and a smile glimmered across his hawk-like face. “You are not afraid?” asked he; and there was something like a sneer lurking in his even tones.