The Fugitives

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.