Down the dark streets we hurried; I could hear Bobby panting as he rushed along. This was violent exercise for one who had lived an idle life for years. Every moment I expected the dark tower behind us to twinkle with lights and ring with shouts, as they discovered my flight and made haste to pursue me. But no sound came from its black depths; it lay still and gloomy. We passed only a few belated nighthawks and wayfarers, as they staggered home after a night of revelry, and they endeavored to give us a wide berth, for we were two able-bodied men, and they cared not to tackle us. Finally, turning into a dark lane, we stood by the river's brink. Bobby, putting his fingers to his lips, gave a shrill whistle; an answer floated back from the dark water, and I heard the sound of oars as a boat came forward to us. "It is manned by four tenants from my estate near London," he whispered. "True as steel they are; rather would they be cut to pieces, than to say one word of to-night's work." The boat swept up to the dark wharf where we stood. "Careful," he muttered, "watch where thou dost step. Do thou go first," and he motioned towards the boat. I stepped down into it and he followed. Without a sound the men pushed off, and bent to their work with a will; the little boat hummed through the water. I could not see the faces around me, only four dark forms, pulling with all their strength upon the oars. They rowed on in silence, uttering no sound as we passed through the twinkling lights where the vessels lay at anchor, rising and falling with the tide. Behind us stretched the city; before us the silent river, and I knew not what beyond that. God only knew when I would see England again; an exile, with only one true friend beside me, I was hurrying from London like a thief, from the land where I had been born and reared. Engaged with such thoughts as these, I sat silent and moody; beside me Bobby, his face upon his hand, sat as preoccupied as myself. We had left the ships now, and were pulling down the river, with no glimmer of light in sight. "Where art thou going, Bobby?" I asked. "Thou hast left all of the ships behind thee, and art making down the river." He roused himself and looked around him. "Where art thou going, Bill?" he cried. "This is not where the vessel lies," and he bent forward to peer at the silent figure near him. As he did so he sprang to his feet, his sword in hand. "What have we here?" he shouted in alarm. "This is not my boat!" I was just about to rise beside him, dagger in hand, when from the stern of the boat, among some oilskins and packages, a man arose. At the first sound of his voice I was up, for I knew the curt, ironical tones. "My dear gentlemen, pray be seated," he said. "You are my guests, and I beg that you be not alarmed; I will watch over you well." With a mocking smile upon his face, stood Lord Dunraven.