the hound paused, tore the earih np in mad haste, snuffed the ground, ran round and round again, threw his head in the air, then gave a deep-mouthed bay of joy, and looked back for a sign to Erceldoune. He stooped and laid his hand on the dog's mane; his own heart was beating so thickly that he felt sick and reeling; here his one hope had centred—that Sulla would find her trail.
"Seek her," he said, simply.
The hound needed no other command; with his muzzle to the earth he tore it up by handfuls, searching hither and thither; then settled to his work as the pack settle to line-hunting, and dashed off—not inward towards the gardens, but out to the open country. Stooping an instant ere he followed him, Erceldoune, whose eye and ear were well-nigh as trained as an Indian's, for they were those of one of the first deer-stalkers of Scotland, saw the mark of wheels, very faint on the parched arid turf that was dry and bare as bone, but still there. Hope rose in him;—if he were not too late!
Onward he went in the burning sun-glare, with the weight of the nets on his shoulder, and the heat pouring down into the scarlet wool of the fishing-cap; onward, where the dog led through the long beat of the day, through the shades of evening,
