ts
took him clear of the fence, a couple more beyond the ditch, and before
Barney had begun to think of getting up Syd had whispered to his
companion the magic words--

"Your father!"

The next minute, hand in hand, and keeping step, the two boys were
running hard along the road leading away into the country, thinking of
only one thing, and that--how great a distance they could put between
them and the Heronry.

Fear lent them wings, for in imagination they saw the old boatswain
running off to the house, spreading the alarm, and Captain Belton
ordering the servants out in pursuit, determined to hunt them down and
bring them back to punishment.

Their swift run, in spite of their will, soon settled down into a steady
trot, and at the end of a couple of miles this had become a sharp walk.
Every hair was wet with perspiration, and as they stopped from time to
time to listen, their hearts beat heavily, and their breath came in a
laboured way.

"Hear anything?" said Sydney at last.

"No; they've given it up," replied Pan. "Father can't run far now."

"Think they'll get out the horses, Pan?"

"Dunno. If they do we shall hear 'em plain enough, and we can take to
the woods. They'll never ketch us now. Arn't you glad you've come?"

Sydney did not answer, for if he had replied he would have told the
truth, and he did not wish to tell the truth then, because it would have
been humiliating.

For there they were tramping along the dark road going west, with the
stars shining down brightly, and, save the distant barking of a dog, all
most mournfully still.

Pan made another attempt at conversation.

"Won't my father be wild because he arn't got me to hit?"

Syd was too deep in his own thoughts to reply, for he was picturing the
library at the Heronry, and his father and uncle talking together after
returning from a vain pursuit. He could picture their florid faces and
shining silvery hair by the light of the wax candles. He even seemed to
see how many broad wrinkles there were in his father's forehead as he
stood frowning; and then something seemed to be asking the boy what he
was doing there.

"Getting tired, Master Syd?" said Pan, after a long pause, filled by the
_beat beat_ of their footsteps.

But still there was no answer. The latter question took too much study,
and suggested other questions in its unanswerable-ness.

Where was he going? and why was he going? and why had he chosen this
road, which