We had come to the point where this byroad branches off from the main highway when we heard the clatter of horses' hoofs behind us.
'Here comes some one who is not afraid to gallop,' I remarked.
'Halt here in the shadow!' cried Saxon, in a short, quick whisper.

'Have your blade loose in the scabbard.

He must have a set errand who rides so fast o' nights.' Looking down the road we could make out through the darkness a shadowy blur which soon resolved itself into man and horse.

The rider was well-nigh abreast of us before he was aware of our presence, when he pulled up his steed in a strange, awkward fashion, and faced round in our direction.
'Is Micah Clarke there ?' he said, in a voice which was strangely familiar to my ears.
'I am Micah Clarke,' said I.
'And I am Reuben Lockarby,' cried our pursuer, in a mock heroic voice.
'Ah, Micah lad, I'd embrace you were it not that I should assuredly fall out of the saddle if I attempted it, and perchance drag you along.

That sudden pull up well-nigh landed me on the roadway.