He had a long start--an hour's start and more of his pursuers. Ten young men, with undaunted courage, firm hands and feet, led on by Reuben Styles, and the noble bloodhound of De Freston, followed on the track. So still was the night, that Saracen's deep note could be heard for a long while by the mournful listeners at the castle. The brave dog arrived at the door of the infatuated carpenter. 'He is right,' exclaimed Reuben, 'he is right, my bold companions, Abdil Foley is the man. He is the wretch. Find him, good Saracen, find him, boy!' In vain they searched the house. They had well nigh been left in the lurch, for Saracen had again tracked that now well-known foot from the house, and was making his way towards the lodge. Thither they followed with fresh excitement, as the bold dog gave but little further tongue, but seemed to settle down into a certain steady pace of pursuit. It was a longer and a stronger chase than they expected, but the spirit of Reuben was above fatigue, and he exclaimed at the lodge: 'Now, boys, go no further, you who cannot endure a long run; for my belief is, the town' (then four miles off) 'is our destination.' Never huntsman had a braver field to follow him. Never hound less came to check. As they entered upon the strand they found the snow was less, and the scent more new and powerful, and consequently the fierce delight of Saracen was more lively. His head was higher up, as if he expected to see his victim, or else the scent of the man more recently impregnated the very air with his demoniacal stench. A bloodhound is not swift, but he is very sure, very untired, always persevering; and though his gallop is slow, comparatively speaking, it is inexpressibly grand. So is vengeance in following the guilty. On! on! on! Forward! forward! forward! and forward went the party, and at every step they took they could see the heavens brighter and brighter, until the light from behind, where De Freston's castle was blazing, and the lights before them illumining the whole town, might fairly be said to act almost like sunshine. They approached the town, but Saracen halted not. Though foot-marks crossed, commingled, and became a regular path; on, on, on he kept, nor paused, nor spake, but every now and then dashed his rudder-like tail from side to side to steer him safely to the wind. But now came the proof of his sagacity. Abdil had been ferried over the ford. In dashed the dog, and, as soon as could be, followed the hunt. Up St. Peter's Street, past the Cardinal's College, through Silence Street, Wolsey's house in St. Nicholas, past Wolsey's Shambles in the market.