“Perhaps. But I bide the risk; you have not been so shrewd an actor, sir, that I have not seen behind the mask.” Vance started at the word _actor_, then said, looking up at the stars: “What a beautiful night! Does not the Champion seem to be gaining on us?” “I have been thinking so for some minutes,” replied Onslow. “Good night, Mr.——. Excuse me. I haven’t the pleasure of knowing your name.” “And yet we have met before, Mr. Onslow, and under circumstances that ought to make me remembered.” “To what do you allude?” “I was once brought before you for horse-stealing, and, what is more, you found me guilty of the charge, and rightly.” “Then my recollection was not at fault, after all!” exclaimed Onslow, astonished. “But were you indeed guilty?” “I certainly took a horse, but it was a case of necessity. A friend of mine, a colored man, in defence of his liberty, had wounded his master, so called, and was flying for life. To save him I robbed the robber,—took his horse and gave it to his victim, enabling the latter to get off safely. The fact of my taking the horse was clearly proved, but my motive was not discovered. If it had been, Judge Lynch would surely have relieved you of the care of me. You, as justice of the peace, remanded me to prison for trial. That night I escaped. In an outer room of the jail I found a knife and half of a slaughtered calf. The knife I put in my pocket. The carcass I threw over my shoulder, and ran. In the morning I found five valuable bloodhounds on my track. I climbed a tree, and when they came under it, I fed them till they were all tame, and allowed me to descend; and then I cut their throats, lest they should be used to hunt down fugitives from slavery. Two days afterwards I was safe on board a steamboat, on my way North.” “Who, then, _are_ you, sir?” asked Onslow. Vance whispered a word in reply. Mr. Onslow seemed agitated for a moment, and then exclaimed, “But I thought he was dead!” “The report originated with those who took the reward offered for his head. Mr. Onslow, I have repaid your frankness with a similar frankness of my own. To-morrow morning, at ten o’clock, meet me here, and you shall hear more of my story. Good night.” The gentlemen parted, each retiring to his state-room for repose. CHAPTER XII. THE STORY OF ESTELLE. “Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair, Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn-fields And thinking of the days that are no more.” _Tennyson._