Follow me, and I'll save you." The one well-known voice was to him like water in a desert land; he would have trusted the speaker's fidelity with his life.

He asked nothing, said nothing, but followed rapidly and in silence; turning and doubling down a score of crooked passages, and burrowing at the last like a mole in a still, deserted place on the outskirts of the town, where some close-set trees grew at the back of stables and out-buildings.
In a streak of the white moonlight stood two hunters, saddled; one was Forest King.

With a cry, Cecil threw his arms round the animal's neck; he had no thought then except that he and the horse must part.
"Into saddle, sir! quick as your life!" whispered Rake.

"We'll be far away from this d----d den by morning." Cecil looked at him like a man in stupor--his arm still over the gray's neck.
"He can have no stay in him! He was dead-beat on the course." "I know he was, sir; but he ain't now; he was pisined; but I've a trick with a 'oss that'll set that sort o' thing--if it ain't gone too far, that is to say--right in a brace of shakes.

I doctored him; he's hisself agen; he'll take you till he drops." The King thrust his noble head closer in his master's bosom, and made a little murmuring noise, as though he said, "Try me!" "God bless you, Rake!" Cecil said huskily.