Cruel As The Grave

They may not set a foot within their fields,

They may not pull a sapling from their hills,

They may not enter their fair mansion house.--HOWITT.

Lyon and Sybil had ridden on through the darkness, over that wild

country road. Their horses had had a very hard day's work in the wagon

harness, and had not recovered from their fatigue. They were still very

tired, and all unaccustomed to the saddle. The road was also very rough,

and the night very dark. Their progress was therefore difficult and

slow.

Unconscious of being followed and overheard, they talked freely of their

plans. Their prospects of final escape were not now nearly so hopeful as

they had been on their two former attempts. They were now undisguised,

and unprovided for the journey, except with money and a change of

clothing. For necessary food they would have to stop at houses, and thus

incur some degree of danger. All this they discussed as their horses

slowly toiled along the rugged road up hill and down, through woods and

fields, until they came near that mountain pass that they had been dimly

seeing before them all night long and that looked like a grey cleft in a

black wall.

"It must be near morning now. But I have not a very clear idea where we

are. I shall be glad when it is light if it is only to consult my map

and compass," said Lyon, uneasily.

"I never was on this side of the mountain before, but it does seem to me

that that must be a spur of the Black Ridge which we see before us,"

suggested Sybil.

"I was thinking the very same thing," added Lyon. "But if that is so, we

must have wandered far out of our way."

"And hush! Don't you hear something?" inquired Sybil, when they had

ridden a little farther on.

"No; what is it?"

"Listen! I want to know if you recognize it," she said.

"I hear a faint, distant roaring, as of a water-fall," he answered,

stopping his horse to hear the better.

"It is our Black Torrent!" exclaimed Sybil.

"Good Heaven! Then we have wandered out of our way with a vengeance.

However, there is no help for it now! We must go on, or stop here until

it is light enough to consult the compass."

"And at any rate, Lyon, no one will think of looking for us so near

home," she added.

"That is true," he admitted.

And they rode on slowly, looking about as well as they could through

the darkness, for a convenient place on which to dismount from the jaded

steeds.

Their path now lay through that deep mountain pass. Steep precipices

arose on either side. They picked their way slowly and carefully through

it, until they entered a crooked path leading down the side of a thickly

wooded hill. Here they rode on, a little more at their ease, until they

reached the bottom of the hill and the edge of the wood, and came out

upon an old forsaken road, running along the shores of a deep and rapid

river, with another mountain range behind.