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duty. He hailed them, and through the misty dimness of the dawn they saw him and spurred ahead with a cry of fear and surprise. His horse, the fleetest in the troop, drew up upon them; but, urged by terror, they pushed on to the utmost. The sergeant was within 200 yards of them when he leveled his revolver and fired. They were too far off for pistol shooting, but the shot resulted in bringing them to a standstill. He rode slowly up and reined in, facing them. The girl sat erect in her saddle, her bosom heaving, her eyes defying him. The musician looked at him with his big, brown, sorrowful eyes-despairing. Holmes looked only on the girl, and even as he did so that which had caused all his misery in the last few years, his great love for her, came back, sweeping in on him as a flood, washing away his wrath and disappointment and longing for revenge. It was Katy Malone who faced him, his pet in her school-days, the one thing he had ever loved. As he looked on her, flushed with exercise and indignation, he put his pistol back in the holster and the reins fell on his horse's neck. He cared nothing for the other's presence, but held out his arms in overwhelming despair, crying:

light was gone from his eyes, even as the stars were disappearing in the heavens. He was calm now.

"Katy! Katy! Why have you done this?"

The girl paused a momentin surprise, for she had surely expected an outburst of colossal rage, but in a moment she regained her usual self-possession. She took the musician's hand in hers, in the protecting way she had used when she had met him in the island wood.

"Because I love him," she said, simply.

The sergeant's head drooped low over his horse, and his tall frame shook. When he looked up, his face was gray as the morning sky. All

"You could not trust me to make you happy," he said, slowly. "I begin to understand. I want to know one thing. Did you care for me at all before-he-came?

She shook her head.
"Never," she said.

He sat again erect, and looked up at the sky. In one instant his life stood revealed. "Lonely, lonely, lonely." Through all the years, from the first early questionings of himself, of who his mother was and who his father, through all the years of ill-used, soulsouring childhood, through all the years of unfriended, starving youth, through all the years of manhood, solitary and avoided by his comrades, he saw himself, babe, child, boy, man, unfriended and alone. Lonely, lonely, lonely! Friendless and unloved.

He looked at the young lovers, handin-hand. What good would it do to arrest him? She would only hate him the more. What good would it do to force her back? Besides, the escape must be known soon, and he, in turn, would be a prisoner. The sky was changing into blue; the sun was almost on the horizon, but round his soul the night grew very dark. For a while they watched him, wondering, and at last he looked at them, and his eyes were full of tears.

"Ride on," he said.

They did not move, hardly believing, until he waved his hands impatiently.

"Go," he said, "and-and God make you both happy!"

Without a parting word, they wheeled and fled.

He watched them disappear and, a moment after, the crack of a pistol rang out across the plain, and the sergeant's riderless horse, frightened, galloped back to the post.

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A SCRAP OF HISTORY.*

BEING YE TRUE ACCOUNT OF YE CELEBRATED RIDE OF RICHARD TURPIN, ESQRE, FROM LONDON TO YORK, NOW FOR YE FIRST

TIME MADE PUBLICK.

By Robert Barr.

DICK

CK Turpin slouched into Kettie's restaurant on the Strand, flung his huge felt hat on a marble table, sat down, and sang out for a beefsteak rare and a gallon of ale, and that right speedily, he added. The waiter made all haste to serve him, for such is the effect of a life of kindness and doing good to others that Dick was always promptly obeyed, whoever else had to suffer delay, and when his mind and gentle eye casually surveyed the priming on his pistols, even landlords themselves had been known to jump in their eagerness to be of use to him.

Just as Dick had finished his frugal meal, Aristophenus Kettie himself tiptoed into the restaurant and whispered:

"Dick, my boy, the bobbies are deploying round the Strand entrance.”

Richard, always a man of quick decision, arose at once, bowed to the company, and remarked with that suavity which was characteristic of him :

"Gentlemen, I beg to excuse me. I have an engagement elsewhere."

Mr. Turpin then slipped out by the back exit, where an hostler, true and trusty, awaited him, holding the highwayman's favourite mount, "White Wings." The night was pitch dark, but the lamp of the machine threw forward an ever enlarging cone of light, like one of those advertising devices then so popular in London.

"Is there plenty of oil in the lamp?" "Yezzer."

"The repair kit and all the tools are in the toolbag?

99

"Yezzer."

"The machine is well oiled and the tires pumped tight?"

* Copyright by Robert Barr.

"Yezzer."

"Well, I hope, for your sake, that everything is right, for if it is not, I shall puncture you with my pistol and deflate you of life."

""

"Yezzer.

Richard flung the man a sovereign, because, being a loyal man, he never dealt in any coin under the rank that designated the ruler of the realm. He mounted the wheel, which was geared to 162, and swiftly disappeared into the night. At the first street corner a policeman was waiting for him.

"Turn it up," shouted the officer, endeavouring to perform for the intrepid cyclist the action so tersely expressed by the slang phrase he had just given utterance to; but Dick, who had been there before, deftly avoided him, and replied:

"If you are referring to the light, I have pleasure in informing you that it already complies with all the regulations."

The word had gone forth that, at all hazards, Dick Turpin was to be arrested that night, so the policeman, baffled in attempting to stop him, shrilly blew his whistle, which had the immediate effect of causing all the hansom cabs within hearing to concentrate rapidly on the spot, and by the time the harassed officer had disentangled the traffic, Dick was well on his way to the Great North road.

But the shrill whistle had effect on others than the cabbies. It was the signal to the metropolitan brigade of mounted police (cycle corps) and twelve of the record breakers were bending over handlebars in hot pursuit of the fugitive. This superb body of men were

astride the celebrated Klondike bikes ("worth their weight in gold," see advertisement) and the betting was about even, although those in the know, freely offered two to one on Dick.

The police rode Clincher tires of course, for clincher was their business, while Dick preferred a Palmer, for he had ever made his living by the dropping of gold into his palm, although he preferred a single tube pistol when taking up a collection.

"I shall break the record or my neck," muttered Dick, as he sped through the darkness. As he glanced over his shoulder at the foot of a hill he saw a dozen twinkling lights coming over the brow behind him, like a constellation. "I hope every one I meet will have a bright lamp and keep to his own side of the road," and for the first time in his bold life a tremour of fear thrilled the stalwart frame of the highwayman, who well knew the predilection of the touring cyclist for racing down a part of the thoroughfare that should be kept sacred for those going in a contrary direction.

Over the top of the next hill only eleven lights glimmered, falling steadily to the rear; then but ten were visible, then nine, then eight.

"I knew those cops couldn't stand that pace," muttered Turpin ; "it reminds one of the rhyme of the 'Nine little, eight little, seven little Injuns,"" and he began to trill merrily the refrain, experiencing that exalted exhilaration which a true cyclist feels when he is astride a perfect silent wheel spinning through the pure air of a peaceful country. Since midnight only one light followed him, but that hung on with great persistence. Dick for a moment thought of putting out his own lamp, waiting for his lone pursuer and pistoling him as he went by, but he reflected that, after all, this was a mean trick to play on a brother cyclist, for Dick was not without that feeling of fraternity which all genuine wheelmen possess. So, wishing to do as he would be done by, the merciful man dismounted, snipped asunder a strand of barbed wire that lined one side of

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"O, no, dear madame," replied Dick with one of his most correct bows, learned from his constant association with the aristocracy, whom he met incidentally on their travels, "I am, if I may be permitted to term myself so, an inspector of highways, and all roads lead-not to Rome in my case-but to profitable commerce. I must first apologize to you for not appearing in proper costume, a defect which I shall at once proceed to remedy," saying which he drew from his pocket a neatly fitting black silk mask, penetrated by two holes for the eyes, which he put over the upper part of his face, passing the strings to the back of his head and holding them there.

"Would you mind just tying these strings? a lady makes such a neat knot, and they are rather awkward for me to get at without a mirror."

"With pleasure," replied the girl, standing on tiptoe as she tied a dainty knot with deft fingers. "I should think it much handier to have the ends of the mask connected with a bit of elastic that you could slip over your head."

"I have often thought of it," assented the young man, "but I am rather a stickler for old-fashioned ways, and so I stick to the strings. I fear I am inclined to be conservative; I mix so much with the nobility, you know."

.

"Am I wrong in surmising that you are a highwayman? Perhaps the famous Mr. Turpin himself?"

"Quite right, madame; Dick Turpin, entirely at your service, at this moment accomplishing his celebrated ride to York, of which you have doubtless

read, who hopes by strict attention to business to merit a continuance of that custom which it will always be his endeavour to deserve. I'm sorry I haven't a card with me, but I left town unexpectedly, and, not to put too fine a point upon it, rather in a hurry.” "How delightful!"

Dick drew forth a huge pistol, and with another low bow, said:

"But I am detaining you, madame. In the pleasures of social conversation let us not forget the realities of life. I must trouble you for your watch and any rings or other little trinkets that I can keep as a memento of this most charming meeting."

"I am so sorry," answered the girl, "but when I left home this morning I neglected to bring with me either watch or rings. One is so apt to break a watch if one has a fall, and rings are liable to be lost."

"They are indeed, madame, when I am on the road. Perhaps you have a purse? I shall be happy to relieve you of the care which it causes you."

After a good deal of searching about the folds of her dress, the young woman at last found her pocket and drew from it a purse which she handed to Dick, saying with a sigh:

"It contains £21."

"I accept it with as much gratitude, believe me, madame, as if it contained a thousand. The bicycle you ride I will leave with you, as I would not be found in the possession of such a machine at any price."

"Sir!" she cried, and for the first time during their colloquy there was a trace of indignation in her voice, "I would have you know that this is a 'Sweet Violet' machine, the very best in the market; the agent who sold it to me himself assured me of that."

"You should pay no attention to the ridiculous statements of interested parties. There is only one machine made in England, and that is the renowned 'White Wings,' made by a Coventry company (limited) of that name, formed last season, highly over-capitalized, by my respected fellow-worker, Howley. Alas, that I took to the road in

stead of going into the company promoting business! Where I take a pound, he loots thousands; still I have the proud consciousness of being in the more honest line of trade. After all, a clear conscience is worth something."

"Is that a 'White Wings' you are riding?"

"It is, madame, and to its perfection I owe the pleasure of this privileged interview. Last night I outrode twelve Klondikes."

"I should have thought you would have gone in for a chainless safety," murmured the girl dreamily.

"What!" roared Dick, forgetting for the time that he stood in the presence of a lady, and for a moment losing his temper, "I thought you were a young person of some sense, even if you did ride a 'Sweet Violet,' but such an inconsiderate remark shows-"

want. If the police are ever after you, you will not regret the initial expenditure."

"I am afraid, sir, you do not quite comprehend me. If you are caught you will be hung in chains, therefore I should suppose that you would prefer the luxury of a chainless life to the ignominy of a death in chains." "Oh, ha ha!" laughed Dick. “ I didn't see that. Very good, indeed. I must remember that joke and tell it to the boys in the club."

6

"It is a perfectly lovely machine that White Wings' of yours," the lady continued, regarding Dick's mount with entrancing eyes, while he stood aside from it and held it at arms'length that she might the better admire its proportions. "I would get one for myself if they weren't so dear."

"O, the first cost of an article is nothing when you get just what you

"I would have you know," replied the young lady, drawing herself up proudly, "that I have no followers among the force."

"I wish I could say as much," said Turpin bitterly.

"What did you pay for your most excellent wheel ?"

"This stood me in at £21; at least that's what the man from whom I took it said it cost."

"If I had that £21 you are taking care of for me I would go at once and invest it in a White Wings.""

"Would you?" cried Dick with enthusiasm, for his weakest point was always his gallantry, and his next weakest his loyalty to his own make of wheel. "Then allow me to have the pleasure of handing back your money."

"Thank you kindly," said the girl sweetly, as she put her purse in her pocket. She sprang on her wheel, and cried over her shoulder, "I think those are two policeman approaching down the road; better not follow me, but do some scorching toward York.”

Dick saw that he had already lost too much time, yet he stood there hesi tating, wondering if after all he had not been befooled somehow. It was always thus with the tender-hearted man. His honesty was forever being taken advantage of by the unscrupulous of the opposite sex. He mounted his machine, and finished his journey to York, a poorer man by £21 than he had been at one point on the journey.

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