HASTE AND PERIL.
The rush of feet among the leaves grew every moment closer and closer upon them, and now they heard the breathing of their pursuer—the sounds came near—nearer—they approached—they reached them.
"Oh, God! they are up with us—they are upon us," said Mary, stumbling blindly onward, and at the same moment she felt something laid heavily upon her shoulder—she tottered—her strength forsook her, and she fell helplessly among the branching roots of the old trees.
"My lady—oh, my lady—thank God, it's only the dog," cried Flora Guy, clapping her hands in grateful ecstasies; and at the same time, Mary felt a cold nose thrust under her neck and her chin and cheeks licked by her old favourite, poor Rover. More dead than alive, she raised herself again to her feet, and before her sat the great old dog, his tail sweeping the rustling leaves in wide circles, and his good-humoured tongue lolling from among his ivory fangs. With many a frisk and bound the fine dog greeted his long-lost mistress, and seemed resolved to make himself one of the party.
"No, no, poor Rover," said Mary, hurriedly—"we have rambled our last together—home, Rover, home."
The old dog looked wonderingly in the face of his mistress.
"Home, Rover—home," repeated she, and the noble dog did credit to his good training by turning dejectedly, and proceeding at a slow, broken trot homeward, after stopping, however, and peeping round his shoulder, as though in the hope of some signal relentingly inviting his return.
Thus relieved of their immediate fears, the two fugitives, weak, exhausted, and breathless, reached the great gate, and found themselves at length upon the high road. Here they ventured to check their speed, and pursue their way at a pace which enabled them to recover breath and strength, but still fearfully listening for any sound indicative of pursuit.
The moon was high in the heavens, but the dark, drifting scud was sailing across her misty disc, and giving to her light the character of ceaseless and ever varying uncertainty. The road on which they walked was that which led to Dublin city, and from each side was embowered by tall old trees, and rudely fenced by unequal grassy banks. They had proceeded nearly half-a-mile without encountering any living being, when they heard, suddenly, a little way before them, the sharp clang of horses' hoofs upon the road, and shortly after, the moon shining forth for a moment, revealed distinctly the forms of two horsemen approaching at a slow trot.
"As sure as light, my lady, it's they," said Flora Guy, "I know Sir Henry's grey horse—don't stop, my lady—don't try to hide—just draw the hood over your head, and walk on steady with me, and they'll never mind us, but pass on."