eleven miles was a small matter to such a pedestrian. He did not fulfil his intention of going in search of Jeremiah. The front of the house opened, and a figure staggered blindly out. Tom Barley could not distinguish who it was, but it seemed to him that the person's movements were wild and uncertain, and that there was in them no attempt at concealment. The figure was approaching in his direction, swaying this way and that, attempting to catch at something for support; then the arms were thrown up, a moan of agony escaped the lips, and the figure slid rather than fell to the ground, where it lay still and motionless. Tom Barley knew who it was the moment she fell. He darted forward and bent over her. Yes, it was Phoebe, his beloved mistress, with marks of cruel blows upon her, with blood staining her white neck and forehead! As he held her on his knee he saw these marks of blows and the oozing blood, and his heart beat with furious passion and indignation. This, then, had been the life of his dear mistress, the sweetest lady the world contained; it was for this she had been immured in the prisonhouse of Parksides! But he, her devoted servant, was there to protect her now, and to convey her to a place of safety! His passion deserted him; he became cold as ice. Had he arrived too late? Was she dead? He put his ear to her heart. No, she was not dead. Faint as were her heart-beats, he heard them, and thanked God! There was no time to lose--not a moment. He would take her at once to London, where love and truest pity awaited her; he would take her to the only home in which she had had an hour's real happiness. But how was this to be accomplished? It must be done swiftly and in secret. There were no trains. He could have carried her light form easily to the station, but it would be hours before the departure of a train to London. There was no possibility of obtaining a conveyance or a horse. A horse! An inspiration fell on him. Jeremiah's horse was tethered a couple of hundred yards away. Quick as thought he acted. Swiftly and tenderly he lifted the inanimate form from the ground, swiftly and tenderly he bore it along; with a lightning movement he unfastened the rope, and was on the horse's back, clasping Phoebe closely to him. Away he galloped through the dark night toward London! Jeremiah raised his head. What sound was that? The sound of a horse galloping away. He ran to the place by which he had fastened his horse. It was gone. "Curse my luck!" cried Jeremiah. He dared not remain any longer. He must himself get back to London, and there was nothing for it but to walk the road. He did not doubt but that the horse had got loose, and was running riderless. Perhaps he would catch it up. He extinguished the light in his lantern, which he put into his pocket, buttoning his long coat over it. Then he shambled on, cursing and swearing.