The sound of their own breathing and that of their horses, with the crash of the hoofs, alone broke the stillness of the night--of the world it almost seemed--where all things slept amid the utter tranquillity that had fallen everywhere. They rushed down steeps, where the loose and perilous stones emitted showers of sparks when struck by the iron hoofs; the necks of their horses were outstretched like those of racers; their flanks heaved, and their bridles and breasts were covered with white foam flecks. In the gloomy way, under the forest trees, Cecil--we have said--failed to see the figure of him he pursued--but he could hear his horse's hoofs crashing on before him, and he followed the sound. He neared the animal, a grey, closer and closer, as now its speed seemed to slacken; with a low fierce exclamation, he came abreast of it, only to find the saddle empty, and the rider--gone! But whether the latter had taken his feet out of the stirrups, caught the branch of a tree and swung himself up into it, or threw himself off amid some thick underwood and crept quietly and safely away, Cecil could not determine. But one fact remained; he saw no more of Guebhard for that night! His mortification and disappointment at being suddenly baffled thus, were extreme; and his disgust was enhanced in no small degree by the humiliating conviction, that the sooner he was clear of that identical wooded way the better for himself, as he knew not from what tree, or clump of underwood he might, at any moment, be covered by the pistol of Guebhard, lurking in security and unseen. Where was he now, and how to find his way back to where he had left his convoy of ambulance waggons? He had noted no land marks--taken no heed of the way he had come. He had seen before him Guebhard, and Guebhard only! He must have ridden many miles--how many he knew not, and now his horse was weary and blown. Fortunately for him, his orders were to halt at the village he had left for the night, and to begin the next day's march at noon, or as soon after as the wants of the wounded and sick had been attended to; and steering his way chiefly by the stars, he rode slowly on his return, with an irritating sense of annoyance, humiliation, and disquietude, as, for all he knew, he might be close in the vicinity of the enemy and fall into their hands. He rode slowly and warily, and fortune favoured him; about dawn he found himself near the little town of Kragojeratz, on the right bank of the river Lepenitza, a tributary of the Morava, and there his Servian uniform at once procured him a mounted guide to the village he had left, and from which he was then about twenty miles distant. CHAPTER XVI. WHAT THE 'TIMES' TOLD.