meeting there with Sally Dows, a flood of recollection rushed upon him.
In the white mist that hung low along the farther edge of the swamp he
fancied he could see again the battery smoke through which the ghostly
figure of the dead rider had charged his gun three years before; in
the vapory white plumes of a funereal plant in the long avenue he was
reminded of the light figure of Miss Sally as she appeared at their last
meeting. In another moment, in his already dazed condition, he might
have succumbed to some sensuous memory of her former fascinations, but
he threw it off savagely now, with a quick and bitter recalling of her
deceit and his own weakness. Turning his back upon the scene with a
half-superstitious tremor, he plunged once more into the trackless
covert. But he was conscious that his eyesight was gradually growing dim
and his strength falling. He was obliged from time to time to stop and
rally his sluggish senses, that seemed to grow heavier under some deadly
exhalation that flowed around him. He even seemed to hear familiar
voices,--but that must be delusion. At last he stumbled. Throwing out an
arm to protect himself, he came heavily down upon the ooze, striking
a dull, half-elastic root that seemed--it must have been another
delusion--to move beneath him, and even--so confused were his senses
now--to strike back angrily upon his prostrate arm. A sharp pain
ran from his elbow to shoulder and for a moment stung him to full
consciousness again. There were voices surely,--the voices of their
former pursuers! If they were seeking to revenge themselves upon him for
Cato's escape, he was ready for them. He cocked his revolver and stood
erect. A torch flashed through the wood. But even at that moment a film
came over his eyes; he staggered and fell.

An interval of helpless semi-consciousness ensued. He felt himself
lifted by strong arms and carried forward, his arm hanging uselessly at
his side. The dank odor of the wood was presently exchanged for the free