Archy was some little distance ahead of his men, and he had just stepped into the patch of woodland which surrounded the Hoze, when he heard a pleasant little voice singing a snatch of a Jacobite song.
He stopped short to listen, it sounded so bird-like and sweet, and half-laughingly he sang the last line over aloud, thinking the while how disloyal he was.
Hardly had he finished, when there was a burst of barking, a rush, and a dog came hurrying toward him, followed by a voice crying—
“Grip, Grip, come here!”
The dog seemed to pay no heed to the call, and at a turn of the track, Archy saw him coming open-mouthed.
It was not a pleasant sight, and the youth felt disposed to take to his heels, and run for protection to his men.
But there were drawbacks to such a proceeding.
If he ran it would look cowardly, and he knew for certain that the dog would come after him, and take him at a disadvantage; so, making a virtue of necessity, he whipped out his dirk and ran hard at the dog, who checked his pace, hesitated, stopped, barked more furiously than ever, and then turned round, and was chased by the midshipman, who drew up on finding himself face to face with Sir Risdon’s daughter, out for her daily walk.
The girl turned white, and was in the act of turning to run away, when Archy’s words arrested her.
“No, no,” he cried, “don’t run away.”