through lanes, disappearing over hill-tops, and clattering through the valleys beyond, with a mighty hubbub that jars the base of the hills, and sends the round echoes careering at their backs. Blood of the martyrs! can it be? Just at the apex of yonder rise which the feet of the pursuers take hold upon, lives an unprotected widow and her daughter, and with ominous precision of stride the hue and cry points that way. The instincts of both men and beasts instantly acquaint them with the situation, and, bending forward in one last despairing effort, they emulate the rush of the tornado as they bear down the enclosures and sweep up the incline, just in time to witness the most piteous spectacle that men with emotions were ever invited to commiserate. The panting pack, first on the scene, leap on the frightened and weeping women with furious growls, licking their faces and hands, sniffing at their forms, and baying from all quarters, until, driven from thence, they rush into the single apartment, leap on the beds, drag them to the floor, and falling to, with the fury of wild beasts disappointed of their prey, tear them into shreds.[A] Being expelled from thence, the hunters hear the dolorous narrative of the women, cross-question them as to particulars which may aid them in the pursuit, and having lost but little time, follow the now furious hounds in a noisy detour around the little farm. Again and again this is repeated, and men and dogs are fairly baffled. The former dismount and examine the ground for visible signs, but are unrewarded, and seem ready to despair, when one of the pack, having leaped to the close fence, follows it for some distance, and finally breaks forth into that ominous bark which criminal never heard undaunted. Instantly he is joined by his impatient companions, and the welkin rings with their loud acclaim. The hunters follow, but almost too late, as the sequel proves; for having invaded the barn, a few rods distant, and discovered there the objects of their rage, the excited pack had well-nigh ended this series of tragedies. The mangled remains of one of the criminals was dragged forth a lifeless corpse, and his associate, defending himself with a clubbed gun, had disabled half the number of his assailants when he in turn was overpowered, and but for the intervention of his pursuers must have suffered a like fate. But the rescue proved ill-timed, in one sense at least, for no sooner had the ruffian been disengaged from his dilemma and lifted from the building, than a shot was heard from behind, and, bleeding from twenty wounds, he rolled lifeless on the sward. Looking in the direction whence the report came, the hunters saw the form of the girl who, a little while ago, had engaged their attention as a pale and woe-begone Lucrece, now expanded into a Hebe, and, still unrevenged, levelling her smoking weapon at the form of the African. CHAPTER XVI. THE "SHAMS."