ll its horror the
meaning of the words, turned like guilty Cain and fled. There was but
one place for him now: the river--the river, and the end of it all. He
was making for it straight, flying by the nearest cut across the
fields, leaping ditches, scrambling through hedges, regardless of the
brambles that scored his face and hands. Like a hare hunted by the
hounds he fled; away from his own guilty action, away from the woman he
loved, to the river which would sweep him swiftly, painlessly to rest
and forgetfulness. But would it? He had stumbled accidentally into
the path which led towards the cottage where he lodged, and turned his
head as he ran to take one last glance at the light which glimmered in
the window. He could see the river now; he was nearing the brink.
There was but one field between him and it, when he became conscious of
a pursuing step. Somebody was already on his scent. The question now
was whether he should die by his own act, or be delivered over to the
terrible hands of justice; and at that thought Tom redoubled his speed
to outstrip his pursuer. It was a desperate race, for his strength was
nearly spent. His long fast had told upon him, and the fictitious
power of the spirit he had swallowed had passed away. His breath was
coming in quick, short gasps. His foot caught in a tussock of grass,
and he fell face foremost to the ground, and, before he could regain
his feet, a hand was on his collar.

[Illustration: Before he could regain his feet, a hand was on his
collar.]

"Let me go! Let me go!" he cried, struggling desperately in the hands
of his capturer. "If I've killed him I'm ready to die too. You can't
do more than hang me! One more moment and I'd have been in the river.
Let me go, I say!"

"I shall _not_ let you go; you are either mad or drunk--incapable of
taking care of yourself," said a low, clear voice; and Tom was lifted
to a standing posture by the rector's strong arms.

* * * * * *

When Dixon had called late on Saturday night to ask the rector to put
up his banns on the morrow, Mr. Curzon's thoughts flew straight to Tom.
So this was the end of his love-story, poor fellow! and he feared that
it would go hardly with the lad.

"Maybe he will come to see me to-morrow. And, if not, I will see him,"
he had said.

He had noticed with satisfaction that Tom was in his accustomed place
on Sunday morning, and did not see him slip out of chu