; crept along until they reached the entrance
of a cave. Not a word was spoken. Their instructions had been
precise--for Lambert, who was born and had spent his earliest years
there, knew every spot of the ground. They took their shoes off, and
walking upon the hard sand which formed the ground, entered the pitchy
darkness. Lambert going first, and knowing that a sound would be
fatal--for they would have little chance in that narrow passage--he
turned every angle as accurately as if it had been daylight, and the
officers holding, one behind the other, followed stealthily along. Soon
their path widened, and a glimmering light allowed them that the cavern
was tenanted, or had been so. A few paces more, and they stopped. Some
large masses of fallen rock here almost blocked up the path, leaving an
opening so narrow as to require stooping to enter. Cautiously peeping
through some spaces between the rocks, the agent and his myrmidons gazed
upon a scene Salvator would have loved to paint. The cavern here
expanded into a semicircular hall, stalactites hanging from its roof
nearly to the ground. Here and there a niche and recess which seemed
done by human art, but which in fact was Nature's handiwork, was seen,
and every point of spar, from the lofty roof to the stalagmites below,
was glittering in the light of a huge fire of brushwood fed by Curly
Tom. A small rill of water trickled from a fissure in the rock above,
and wound its way through the sand towards the sea. It was the very
beau-ideal of a robber's cave. Its existence was known to few: only
accessible at low water, the entrance had escaped notice, and the few
that did find it were discouraged on entering by the long and tortuous
way which led to this chamber, and did not track it far. The smoke found
vent above, as the fire burnt clear and bright, and did not incommode
the watchers.

Horace Hunter was pacing the cave with unsteady step, and with delight
the officers saw that he was more than half intoxicated. No one could
have recognized in the bloated countenance and reckless air of the
hunted man, the gay and handsome young farmer of seven years before.
There was still the same manly form and intelligent features, but the
rich brown hair that then curled round his open brow, now wild and
matted, only added to the desperate appearance of his sunken eyes and
overhanging brows. Drink did not make him merry. On the contrary he was
more bitter then than ever. Gloomy and f