But I was not out of the woods yet. Before I got into town I had a long hill to climb. Now the Burman is a lightning sprinter when he chooses to sprint, and that's just what those fellows did. Racing them down hill I had the advantage, especially as they were running over the rough ground in the fields. But when it came to racing up hill they rather had the best of it, especially as they were now on the road. On a steep hill I would have had no chance at all; but the slope was gentle, and I had a start. I had a chance, therefore, for my life, and I made the best of it. The thought of those _dahs_ put strength into every stroke I made. The worst of it was, I could not tell whether I was holding my own or not. My pursuers had stopped shouting, needing all their wind for running; and their bare feet didn't make much noise on the ground. I was bending low over my handle-bar, and didn't dare to risk diminishing my speed by straightening up to look behind me even for an instant. But when I got to the head of the hill, and was passing the grounds of the Chief Commissioner, where there are always soldiers on guard, I felt that I could venture to take a backward glance. Then I saw that my pursuers had all disappeared. Next day I wrote a letter to the Chief of Police, reporting my adventure in detail, and having "the honor to be, sir, his most obedient servant," according to the prescribed formula, which whosoever observeth not shall not gain the ear of the government of Burmah. In due course I received a reply, in a big brown envelope, assuring me that the matter should be promptly investigated, and having "the honor to be, sir, _my_ most obedient servant." This was polite. The Indian government is great on politeness. But nothing ever came of it. I suppose the Superintendent did his best to ferret the matter out, but he had to work through native policemen, and they may have had reasons of their own for not being too anxious to catch the dacoits. A VIRGINIA CAVALIER.[2] [2] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 868. BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL. CHAPTER XX. George returned to Alexandria, where his regiment awaited him. He was mad with rage and chagrin. He could have taken censure with humility, feeling sure that whatever mistakes he had made were those of inexperience, not a want of zeal or courage. But to be quietly supplanted, to be asked--after all the hardships and dangers he had passed through, and the exoneration from blame by his countrymen--to take a humiliating place, was more than he felt he ought to bear. When he reached Alexandria he informed his officers of the resignation of his commission, which would be accepted in a few days; and their reply was an address, which did what all his cares and griefs and hardships had never done--it brought him to tears. A part of the letter ran thus: