e summer evening; Dangle, swaying and gesticulating
behind a corybantic black horse, had hailed Jessie by her name, had
backed towards the hedge for no ostensible reason, and vanished to the
accomplishment of the Fate that had been written down for him from the
very beginning of things. Jessie and Hoopdriver had scarcely time to
stand up and seize their machines, before this tumultuous, this swift
and wonderful passing of Dangle was achieved. He went from side to side
of the road,--worse even than the riding forth of Mr. Hoopdriver it
was,--and vanished round the corner.

"He knew my name," said Jessie. "Yes--it was Mr. Dangle."

"That was our bicycles did that," said Mr. Hoopdriver simultaneously,
and speaking with a certain complacent concern. "I hope he won't get
hurt."

"That was Mr. Dangle," repeated Jessie, and Mr. Hoopdriver heard this
time, with a violent start. His eyebrows went up spasmodically.

"What! someone you know?"

"Yes."

"Lord!"

"He was looking for me," said Jessie. "I could see. He began to call to
me before the horse shied. My stepmother has sent him."

Mr. Hoopdriver wished he had returned the bicycle after all, for his
ideas were still a little hazy about Bechamel and Mrs. Milton. Honesty
IS the best policy--often, he thought. He turned his head this way and
that. He became active. "After us, eigh? Then he'll come back. He's gone
down that hill, and he won't be able to pull up for a bit, I'm certain."

Jessie, he saw, had wheeled her machine into the road and was mounting.
Still staring at the corner that had swallowed up Dangle, Hoopdriver
followed suit. And so, just as the sun was setting, they began
another flight together,--riding now towards Bishops Waltham, with Mr.
Hoopdriver in the post of danger--the rear--ever and again looking over
his shoulder and swerving dangerously as he did so. Occasionally Jessie
had to slacken her pace. He breathed heavily, and hated himself because
his mouth fell open, After nearly an hour's hard riding, they found
themselves uncaught at Winchester. Not a trace of Dangle nor any other
danger was visible as they rode into the dusky, yellow-lit street.
Though the bats had been fluttering behind thehedges and the evening
star was bright while they were still two miles from Winchester, Mr.
Hoopdriver pointed out the dangers of stopping in such an obvious
abiding-place, and gently but firmly insisted upon replenishing the
lamps and riding on towards Sali