They had no doubt been watching
him, under orders from the murderous brotherhood to which they
belonged. Their pistols were ready in their hands--and what discovery
had they made? There was the brother who had been denounced as having
betrayed them, guilty of no worse treason than meeting his sweetheart
in a wood! "We beg your pardon, my lord," they cried, with a thoroughly
Irish enjoyment of their own discomfiture--and burst into a roar of
laughter--and left the lovers together. For the second time, Iris had
saved Lord Harry at a crisis in his life.
"Let me go!" she pleaded faintly, trembling with superstitious fear for
the first time in her experience of herself.
He held her to him as if he would never let her go again. "Oh, my
Sweet, give me a last chance. Help me to be a better man! You have only
to will it, Iris, and to make me worthy of you."
His arms suddenly trembled round her, and dropped. The silence was
broken by a distant sound, like the report of a shot. He looked towards
the farther end of the wood. In a minute more, the thump of a horse's
hoofs at a gallop was audible, where the bridlepath was hidden among
the trees. It came nearer--nearer---the creature burst into view, wild
with fright, and carrying an empty saddle.
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