“What is that?” he asked sharply.
“The baying of dogs,” Macheson answered.
“Dogs! What dogs?” he demanded.
“Colonel Harvey’s bloodhounds!”
The man’s face was ashen now to the lips. He clutched Macheson’s arm frantically.
“They are after me!” he exclaimed. “Where can I hide? Tell me quick!”
Macheson looked at him gravely.
“What have you been doing?” he asked. “They do not bring bloodhounds out for nothing.”
“I have hurt a man down in the village,” was the terrified answer. “I didn’t mean to—no! I swear that I did not mean to. I went to his house and I asked him for money. I had a right to it! And I asked him to tell me where—but oh! you would not understand. Listen! I swear to you that I did not mean to hurt him. Why should I? He was old, and I think he fainted. God! do you hear that?”
He clung to Macheson in a frenzy. The deep baying of the dogs was coming nearer and nearer.