"Seems as if our troubles were beginning over again," he said ruefully. "By Jove, it looks as if the story about the Syyed's _tangi_ was going to prove true again in our case." He spoke half jestingly, glancing at her the while. To his surprise she was looking very serious. "No," she answered. "I don't think so. At least, unless--No--it's of no use. I can't see." She had passed her hand over her eyes, as he had seen her do on that strangely memorable night, and her face wore the same dreamy look. That, he knew, accounted for the seeming incoherence of her words. For Hilda Clive possessed in some degree the gift of clairvoyance, and what she saw now in front of them she preferred not to tell him just then. Whatever it was it took no definite shape in her own mind, hovering there vague but ominous. He looked at her curiously. "Well, we'll cheat that superstition yet," he said, with a gaiety that was just a trifle forced. They made but sorry headway, the horse slipping and stumbling to such an extent that Hilda preferred to walk, so that by the time day had fairly dawned they were scarcely more than three miles from their starting-point. It was deemed advisable to go into hiding once more, and here they were forced to finish what little food remained. Towards dusk they started again. An unaccountable and wholly unwonted depression had come upon Hilda, while her escort, walking beside her horse, began to feel strangely weak and faint. He supposed it was the result of recent bad living and want of exercise, and then, with a chill of dismay, he recognised the infallible symptoms of his old fever. No-- this would never do. He must pull himself together; and by way of doing this, he stumbled and fell dizzily forward. With a little cry of alarm Hilda was off her horse in a moment and was beside him. She raised his head, laying a hand upon the damp and clammy brow. "There, there! Do you feel better now?" she exclaimed, with a rush of tenderness in her tone. "What an idiot I am," he answered, but the smile was a sickly one as he tried to raise himself. "I shall be all right in a minute. Heavens! the horse! Hilda--quick--go after the silly brute. It would never do to lose it." In her anxiety to reach his side, Hilda had let the reins go, and now the animal was walking steadily off. She tried to coax it, but the result only seemed to be to accelerate its pace. She was quite a little way off now. Raynier had staggered to his feet, and had managed to take a few steps after her. Then he sank down in a dead faint. The horse stopped. Now she would have it. Speaking soothingly, Hilda drew near. She had all but got her hand on the bridle rein, when the perverse brute slewed round. This manoeuvre he repeated three or four times and then resumed his stroll. After him again she went.