The beating of his heart seems to Quinton as thunder on the air, which is heavy and oppressive, a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours! Surely this can be no fancy--the slow tread of a sure-footed beast on the path before him. Carol quails and whitens to the lips. The moon passes behind the cloud--a second figure is at his side. He spurs his horse, and the frantic swish of his crop lays a deep weal on the animal's withers. It breaks into a gallop, throwing up the dust around and flying down a steep descent. He hears the hoofs following closely in the rear, someone is nearly upon him gaining inch by inch. His courage sinks--dies--he is white, perspiring, terrified, limp! His senses reel, he drops the reins, falling forward on his horse's neck. His fingers clutch the mane, while a woman's voice cries behind: "Carol! Carol!" The horse recognises Eleanor's soft tones, and halts, just in time for Quinton to fall unharmed, swooning to the earth. Eleanor springs off "Braye du Valle," sinking on her knees in terror by the helpless form. She sees the bleeding scratches on his face and hands, but feels his heart beat, knowing that he still lives. "Oh, Carol," she murmurs, pillowing his head on her breast, "what is the matter?" He stirs faintly, a convulsive shudder runs through his limbs. "I am here, Carol," she continues tenderly; "I, Eleanor!" He starts up, staring at her in the moonlight. "But the man," he gasps, "the masked man who followed me only a moment since. What has happened? What has become of him?" "I followed you down the slope. I came out to find you, fearing you had met with some accident on the road. Just as I was approaching and about to speak, you dashed past me, and then----" "What then?" interpolates Carol impatiently. "I suppose you fainted, for I saw you roll from your saddle as the horse drew up at the sound of my voice." "You ought not to have come," says Carol, somewhat harshly, but Eleanor's blinded senses, dulled under the influence of her love, heed not his ill-temper. He rises surlily, brushing some blood off his forehead. He mounts Eleanor upon her horse without a word. "Why are you so late?" she asks. "I was attacked on the road by a madman, and half killed," he replies between his teeth. "Oh, Carol!" she exclaims, her face blanching, "how terrible!" "Yes, it was rather bad." Then he describes the scene graphically as they ride on side by side, till Eleanor is shivering with horror. "Strangely enough," he says, "the only thing I lost in the struggle was that cat's-eye ring you gave me. I think the man imagined it was something of value." "Is that so?" replies Eleanor slowly, staring before her into the moonlight. "I would rather anything had gone but that." "I am sorry, too; I shall miss it." There is a pause. "You are ill, exhausted!" murmurs Eleanor sympathetically. "Oh, no; don't worry. But I wish I knew who the devil that man was." * * * * *