Nare had just risen in a fury of indignation to throw something--anything that could be got through the window--at the baronet's head, when that tremendous growl came, followed by the creaking and groaning of wood. The tiger was ascending to their last retreat. In a whirling fashion Nare was conscious of this, and of Miss Corcoran's pale face, as he stood once more over the trap. From outside came a sound of frantic pedalling, as though Sir Henry had forgotten his scepticism and was wheeling round in order to be off. Otherwise the stillness was intolerable; and in the middle of it Nare, his fingers tearing idly at the white-papered packet in his hands, suddenly found himself looking into those great yellow eyes, not three feet away. And at that, his fingers relaxing, the packet and its contents fell plump into the tiger's face. [Illustration: "NARE SUDDENLY FOUND HIMSELF LOOKING INTO THOSE GREAT YELLOW EYES."] "By Jove!" A swishing, sneezing noise, as of a score of cats under a hose, a heavy thud, a downward galloping, pad and patter, and the tiger was gone. It had found an ounce of pepper in its eyes and nostrils as unpleasant as it was unexpected. "Pepper's the thing," said Nare, devoutly, discovering a moment later that he was supporting Miss Corcoran in his arms. "Yes," said Judith, faintly; "I'm so glad----" Of what she did not say, but irrelevancy did not seem to matter. "Look!" cried Nare. Through the uncasemented window they could see in the fast-gathering dusk the long white path over the moor. It looked even whiter for the shadows all about, so that, visible at a distance of some quarter of a mile, was the bent figure of a tricyclist, all among the wheels, pedalling away for dear life. After him, and as if in pursuit, cantered a shadowy, four-legged thing, that tossed its head uneasily as it went and seemed to have no tail. "Tail's between its legs," said Nare. "So's Sir Henry's." "I hope it won't catch him," said Miss Judith, kindly, but without the intonation of extreme solicitude. After all, Sir Henry had a good start. "He is going fast," she added, critically, as he vanished over a distant ridge. "There goes the tiger." "We may as well be off too," said Nare, "before it comes back. Sir Henry by himself won't make much of a meal. Awfully jolly walk it's been." They went on, not too fast, in the opposite direction from that taken by the tiger. _The Best Comic Pictures._ THE OPINION OF HUMOROUS ARTISTS. Humour is such an elusive quality, depending so much upon individual temperament, that it is difficult to say in what consists its absolute perfection. We know what makes us laugh most; but do we know what will make another laugh most? Yet after all this is true of every art. Why should we not have _chefs d'oevure_ of pictorial comedy?