'Hullo, Oswald; that you? I thought you should never come.' Judge
the consternation to discover in the voice of the speaker that of
Aster's father, the man who was the cause of all the woe and
mischief. When his emotion passed he could have smitten the misguided
man to the earth. Disguising his voice thoroughly, for he was an
accomplished mimic, he replied:

'This is not Mr. Oswald. I am from York. Rode by the Yonge street
road. I bear a special dispatch from the Government to the magistrate
at Markham respecting steps to be taken for the apprehension. Good-bye,
sir. I am in haste.' Before the other could reply Roland was trotting
away briskly. After an hour's sharp riding he slackened his pace and
allowed his horse to walk along the road.

The land dipped here slightly and the fugitive judged that he must
be in the neighbourhood of River Rouge, and not far from Markham.

The forest seemed to grow thicker, and as far as he could judge
through the dark, it appeared draggled and intermixed with larch and
cedar. It was a lonesome spot; and Roland marvelled to himself if
this could be the swamp that concealed so many mysteries, and filled
all the country-side with alarm. While he was thus musing a figure
sprang out of the bush and seized his bridle; at the same moment the
shining barrel of a pistol gleamed in his eyes.

'Surrender, fugitive duellist!' a powerful voice shouted.

'Dismount.' Roland did so; but move which way he would the weapon
still glittered in his face. As we have seen Roland had resolved that