“Captain,” he exclaimed apologetically, riding up to my side, and wiping his round perspiring face with great energy, “ve are riding too hard, ain't ve? Mein Gott, but der horses vill give out ontirely, already.” “Is that so?” I asked in surprise at his words. A single swift glance around convinced me he was correct, for the mounts were exceedingly soft, and already looked nearly played out from our sharp pace. “Very well, Ebers, we will halt here.” With a sigh of relief he drew back, and as he did so my eyes fell for the first time upon the guide. As I live, it was Jed Bungay, and when I stared at him in sudden amazement he broke into a broad grin. “'It trickled still, the starting tear, When light a footstep struck her ear, And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near,'” he quoted gravely, his eyes brightening at my recognition. “Durn if I didn't begin ter think as how ye'd gone an' clar fergot me, Cap.” “Not a bit of it, Jed,” and I rode up to him and extended my hand. “But how came you here? Are you the guide?” “Sure thing, Cap; know this yere kintry like a buk. 'Jaded horsemen from the west, at evening to the castle pressed.' By gum, you put Beelzebub an' me through a blamed hard jolt of it so fur.” “Beelzebub?” “Ye bet, ther muel; I reckon as how ye ain't gone an' fergot him, hev ye?” and the little man squirmed in the delight of his vivid recollection. “'One blast upon his bugle horn is worth a thousand men.' But ye did ride like thunder, Cap, that's a fac', an' I ain't ther only one done up, neither. Jist take a squint et thet fat Dutchman thar.” The fleshy Sergeant was undoubtedly fatigued, yet he was a thorough soldier, a strict disciplinarian, and although he moved as if his coarse army trousers were constant torture, he was not guilty of omitting any known requirement of his office. “Chones”, he shouted impressively, “dot is not a good vay to tie dot horse. By Chiminy, he vould break his neck mit der rope. Glen, vy you makes play mit der gun dot vay? Donnerwetter! ven I speak mit you, stand op mit der little finger to der seam of der pantaloons. You vill never be no good.” “Ebers,” I interrupted, “let the men rest as they please. I regret having ridden so hard, but I am used to soldiers who are toughened in field work. Are you pretty sore, Sergeant?” “By Chiminy, I am, Captain; der skin vos rubbed off me by der saddle,” he answered, touching the afflicted part tenderly. “It vos der rackin' gait mit der horse vot did it. He is der vorst horse dot ever I ride.” “Well, get as comfortable as you can, and I'll try to be more thoughtful in the future. Bungay, what has become of Maria?” The little man's eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I jist don't know, Cap,” he answered mournfully. “'No more at dawning morn I rise And sun myself in Ellen's eyes. That life is lost to love and me.'