A white gauzy mist overspread the sailing moon; a light shower fell--just sufficient to lay the dust; and then a rich fragrance arose from the teeming earth, from the dewy flowers, and from the tossing leaves. Again the moon came forth unclouded, and the shadows of the fleecy vapour were seen chasing each other across the fields of ripening corn. I had walked about ten miles, when far behind I heard the hoofs of horses ringing on the hard beaten road; and the fear of being pursued, or overtaken by some patrol, made me look for a place of concealment; for by the light of the moon I could discern two horsemen, diminished to mere black specks on the far stretching roadway. Close by me was a large beech-tree covered with dense foliage; no better place of concealment offered; and, clambering in, I hid myself among the branches. In less than two minutes the riders came near, and, slackening their pace as they approached, reined up their blown and foam-covered horses immediately below my lurking-place. They were bareheaded--one had a sword in his hand; the other grasped a pistol. "It is useless, Gustaf," said the last, in whom I recognised my late host of the Eagle; "quite useless, my poor boy! The vagabond Scot cannot have had time to accomplish this dreadful deed, and thereafter proceed this length on foot. We must long ere this have overtaken him." "Karoline--my poor little Karoline!" sobbed the young man; "to perish thus!--Heaven--Heaven--cruel Heaven! There were two wounds in her bosom--here--here--just here! poniard wounds----" "Had the villain but murdered her alone, Gustaf----" "My Karoline!" said Gustaf, letting his reins fall as his hands sank by his side, and the tears ran over his cheeks; "so pure--so happy--so merry!" "The Scot carried a poniard." "The assassin!" "All these Scots of King Christian carry poniards," continued the host. "Oh, Gustaf! I was indeed mad to trust him; but he had such an honest look. There must have been a fearful struggle, Gustaf: for in her hands there were fragments of a man's lace collar, and I think the Scot wore one." This was true. I had one over my gorget, or rather part of it; the rest having been rent away in some of my recent scuffles. "There was a figure before us, on the road. Now, where has it vanished to?" "Ah! if it should be the Scot," said Gustaf, "and concealed not far from us!" "In that tree, perhaps." "Fire your pistol into it." "Come down, murderer!" cried the host of the Eagle.