ssed, and the neighborhood seemed quite uninhabited.

"I don't remember this road," said Harry, anxiously.

"Are you sure we are right?"

"Yes, yes, we are right. Don't trouble yourself."

"It's a lonely road."

"So it is. I don't suppose there's anybody lives within half a mile."

"The road didn't seem so lonely when I came over it this afternoon."

"Oh, that's the effect of sunshine. Nothing seems lonely in the daytime.
Turn down that lane."

"What for?" asked Harry, in surprise. "That can't be the road to
Pentland."

"Never mind that. Turn, I tell you."

His companion spoke fiercely, and Harry's mind began to conceive
alarming suspicions as to his character. But he was brave, and not
easily daunted.

"The horse and carriage are mine, or, at least, are under my direction,"
he said, firmly, "and you have no control over them. I shall not turn."

"Won't you?" retorted the stranger, with an oath, and drew from his
pocket a pistol. "Won't you?"

"What do you mean? Who are you?" demanded Harry.

"You will find out before I get through with you. Now turn into the
lane."

"I will not," said Harry, pale, but determined.

"Then I will save you the trouble," and his companion snatched the
reins from him, and turned the horse himself. Resistance was, of course,
useless, and our hero was compelled to submit.

"There, that suits me better. Now to business."

"To business. Produce your pocketbook."

"Would you rob me?" asked Harry, who was in a measure prepared for the
demand.

"Oh, of course not," said the other. "Gentlemen never do such things. I
want to burrow your money, that is all."

"I don't want to lend."

"I dare say not," sneered the other; "but I shan't be able to respect
your wishes. The sooner you give me the money the better."

Harry had two pocketbooks. The one contained his own money--about forty
dollars--the other the money of his employer. The first was in the side
pocket of his coat, the second in the pocket of his pants. The latter,
as was stated in the preceding chapter, contained one hundred and fifty
dollars. Harry heartily repented not having left it behind, but it was
to late for repentance. He could only hope that the robber would be
satisfied with one pocketbook, and not suspect the existence of the
other. There seemed but little hope of saving his own money. However, he
determined to do it, if possible.

"Hurry up," said the stranger, impatiently. "You needn't pretend you