'Aye! and a violent death.'

'From whose hand?'

'From mine,' replied the traveller.

With that he put spurs to his horse, and rode away; at first plashing
heavily through the mire at a smart trot, but gradually increasing in
speed until the last sound of his horse's hoofs died away upon the wind;
when he was again hurrying on at the same furious gallop, which had been
his pace when the locksmith first encountered him.

Gabriel Varden remained standing in the road with the broken lantern in
his hand, listening in stupefied silence until no sound reached his ear
but the moaning of the wind, and the fast-falling rain; when he struck
himself one or two smart blows in the breast by way of rousing himself,
and broke into an exclamation of surprise.

'What in the name of wonder can this fellow be! a madman? a highwayman?
a cut-throat? If he had not scoured off so fast, we'd have seen who was
in most danger, he or I. I never nearer death than I have been to-night!
I hope I may be no nearer to it for a score of years to come--if so,
I'll be content to be no farther from it. My stars!--a pretty brag this
to a stout man--pooh, pooh!'

Gabriel resumed his seat, and looked wistfully up the road by which the
traveller had come; murmuring in a half whisper:

'The Maypole--two miles to the Maypole. I came the other road from the