t?"

"I'm Dick Darkly," answered a deep, gruff voice, "and I want your
heart's blood!"

"You poaching scoundrel!" exclaimed Sir Everard, quick as lightning
raising his riding-whip and slashing the aggressor across the face.
"Let go my horse's head."

With a cry that was like the roar of a wild beast the man sprung hack.
The next instant, with a horrible oath, he had seized the young man and
torn him out of the saddle.

"I'll tear you limb from limb for that blow, by heavens!" Dick Darkly
shouted. "If I hadn't meant to kill you before, I would kill you for
that cut of your whip. I've waited for you, Sir Everard Kingsland! I
swore revenge, and revenge I'll have! I'll kill you this night, if
they hang me for it to-morrow!"

He held his victim in a grip of iron, from which he struggled madly to
get free, while the horse, with a shrill neigh of terror, started off
riderless.

"I swore I'd kill you, Sir Everard Kingsland," Dick Darkly growled,
"when you put my poor brother in Worrel Jail for snaring the miserable
rabbits to keep his sick wife and children from starving. I swore it,
and I'll keep my oath. You told your gamekeeper this very day you
would lash me like a dog, and duck me after. Aha, Sir Everard!
Where's the horse-whip and the horse-pond now?"

"Here!" shouted the young baronet; and with a mighty effort he freed
his arms, and raising the whip, slashed Dick Darkly for the second time
across the face. "You murdering villain, you shall swing for this!"

With a blind roar of pain and rage, the murderer closed with his
victim. They grappled, and rolled over and over in each other's arms.

Panting and speechless, the death-struggle went on; but Sir Everard was
no match for the burly giant. With a savage cry, the huge poacher
thrust his hand into his belt, and a long, blue-bladed knife gleamed in
the moon's rays.

"At last!" he panted. "I'll have your heart's blood, as I swore I'd
have it!"

He lifted the knife. Sir Everard Kingsland tried to gasp one last
brief prayer in that supreme moment.

"Help!" he cried, with a last wild struggle--"help! help! murder!"

There was a rustling in the trees and some one sprung out. The last
word was lost in the sharp report of a pistol, and with a scream of
agony, Dick Darkly dropped his knife and fell backward on the grass.

CHAPTER VIII.

A MYSTERIOUS YOUNG MAN.

The baronet leaped to his feet, and stood face to face with his
preserver. The