then, taking Kate's hand, she drew her away within the shadow of the barn. Here, pausing, she said, "You don't mean it. They'll not kill you?" "As sure as there is a good God above us," answered Kate, solemnly, "if you don't let me go, I'll not be alive to-morrow. There is no help for it. While, if you do let me go," she continued, eager to take advantage of the favorable chance, "nobody will know you helped me. In fact, you wont help me; you'll only keep Lion quiet; and if they were to know you helped me, they couldn't harm you, innocent child that you are. If your mother was alive, she'd wish you to let me go. You know I wouldn't tell a lie, darling, or I'd have tried still to get you to go with Every mi- me, in spite of your promise to your mother. nute is precious. It will soon be daybreak. Lion quiet, leave me to myself, and go back to your bed in the barn." "You shall go," suddenly said the child. "I'll go inside, and take Lion with me." "God bless you!" cried Kate, seizing her in her arms and kissing her again and again. "If I escape, and you ever want a friend, you'll always have one, if you ask for Miss Aylesford, of Sweetwater." "Good-bye," said the child, timidly returning the kisses. "Take the road in front, and keep straight ahead. Only," she added, "when you come to the big cedar, past the log bridge, a mile off, you must turn to the right." "I will, I will," breathlessly said Kate, but, in her hurry and excitement, paying less heed to the direction than she ought. "Again God bless you!" With tears in her eyes she gave the child a last embrace, and first glancing towards the house to see that no one was in motion, ran swiftly across the open space, entered the road, nor slackened her speed until not only the turn concealed her from sight, but a considerable distance inter vened between her and the clearing. Then, almost out of breath, she subsided into a quick walk, occasionally stopping to hear if the steps or shouts of pursuers were following in the distance. As for the child, she remained in the shadow, caressing the dog to keep him quiet, and watching the retreating figure of our heroine, until Kate had wholly disappeared., Then, suddenly bursting into tears, she turned, and entered the dilapidated barn, leading the bloodhound, whom, the instant they were alone together on the hay, she clasped to her arms, in a mute eloquence that said he was now again the only friend she had in the world. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE FLIGHT. Whence is that knocking! How is it with me, when every noise appals me.-Shakspeare. THE precious moments which Kate had lost, first by falling asleep, and afterwards through the watchfulness of the hound, stimulated her now to the utmost speed of which she was capable. Running until she was forced to pause for breath, then pausing an instant to listen, now walking at her utmost pace, then running again as soon as she had recovered herself, she reached the bridge of which the child had spoken, in a period of time incredibly short, and only to be accounted for by the terror with which the fear of death or dishonor winged her feet. At this point she was compelled to come to a full stop, and remain for awhile in perplexed thought, uncertain which way to go. In vain she tried to remember which road the child had told her to take. As she stood there, hesitating, her fears received fresh stimulants. Every noise was magnified into the sound of pursuers. Even the soft sighing of the wind in the distance seemed to her excited fancy the remote baying of the hound; while the sudden dropping of a pine-cone near her made her start, with a half uttered scream, as if her foes were already upon her. To have seen her then, as she stood glancing fearfully across her shoulder, her hand pressed to her palpitating heart, her lips parted in terror, and her cheek lividly pale, one would have compared her only to some beautiful, milk-white doe, suddenly startled by the hunter's cry, and feeling in imagination the pangs of the enormous stag-hounds already at her throat. To no purpose either was her scrutiny as to the condition of the two roads, in order to ascertain which of them presented the appearance of being most frequently travelled. It had plainly been many days, if not weeks, since a vehicle had passed over either. At last Kate selected the road to the right as the one which seemed to be the principal one. Yet, at this point, it flashed across her that, perhaps, the most travelled path was really the one she should avoid; for it probably led into the great highway, connecting Philadelphia with the sea-shore. She was but little acquainted with the country on this side of Sweetwater, forests extending almost unbrokenly across from one river to the other; but what little she knew satisfied her that this great highway might be traversed for hours without reaching succor. Within twenty years of the present time, the writer has passed over a space of twelve miles at a time, without seeing more than one house; and at the period of our story, the village at the end of that desolate stage was not even projected. Kate, indeed, might have walked all day along that highway, without meeting enough persons to protect her from the refugees. It was, therefore, almost certain recapture for her to take the path communicating with that road. She paused, therefore, again. But the more she thought the more perplexed she became. Time, meanwhile, was passing; precious moments, big with destiny. She could not rely on the outlaws remaining ignorant of her flight a moment after daybreak; and already the night was waning fast. Drawing forth her watch, of which she had not been despoiled, most strangely as she thought, she discovered that the dawn was only an hour distant. What was an hour's start, however, to one like her, wearied by the excessive fatigue of the preceding day, unused to travelling far on foot, and deprived of sleep for the last twenty-four hours, except for the slight interval at the hut. How could she expect to gain the Forks, even if she struck the right road, in less than two hours? "If I hesitate longer," she cried, in despair, "they will overtake me, long before I can reach any place of safety I am acquainted with. I must decide in some way. This right hand road, I fear, leads into the King's highway: I will take the one on the left: God help me if I am wrong!" Accordingly she turned in that direction, and having rested herself partially by the pause, ran forward again until she was quite out of breath. For half an hour, she continued alternately running, walking, and running again, occasionally pausing to listen: and in that time, as she calculated, had traversed between two and three miles. The forest still continued as wild as ever; but this did not alarm her; for she was aware that the wilderness extended to the very doors, as it were, of the settlement at the Forks. She therefore pushed forward, her excitement enabling her to disregard fatigue, and to forget that she had eaten little for a day. For another half an hour, consequently, she hurried on, and as the distance between her and the outlaws was increased, her hopes gradually rose. Day was now beginning to break. The moon continued to shine as lustrously as ever; indeed, being now nearly at the zenith, her light seemed even more effulgent than when Kate left the hut; but there was a cold, gray hue over the eastern sky which heralded the morning. Gradually the white light of day stole over the orient heavens, when that of the moon assumed a partially sickly cast. The birds too now began to twitter in the underbrush and smaller growth around. At this point Kate reached an opening in the woods, where the trees had been cut off a year or two ago. On the eastern side of this was a tract of pine land, where a fire had passed, leaving the tall firs standing stripped of their foliage, like a forest of black, charred masts against the heavens. Through this, in the distance, was seen a reddened sky, a proof that the sun, though still below the horizon, was close upon it. The route of Kate lying in the direction of this burnt district, it was not long before she saw the upper edge of his disc emerge, shooting long lines of light towards her, that came glancing between the black trunks of the pines, or bathed the greener space more directly in front with showers of golden radiance. The whole forest around was now alive with twittering birds. Meantime the moon, as if suddenly struck pale by an enchanter's hand, seemed all at once to have lost its late glorious effulgence, and was now seen, a faint, waning orb, apparently powerless in the zenith. To the right and left, however, in the recesses of the woods, where the sunshine had not yet penetrated, the moonlight still lay, cold and beautiful, though even there less lustrous than it had been. In a few minutes it grew dim also even in these secluded |