"In five minutes it will be ablaze; in ten, a brisk fire;" and with that we throw on more turf and several heavy branches which, for the moment, almost smother it up.
"Never mind, it still burns, and--hark! What is that ?" "The baying of the hounds and the cries of the hunters.

They are nearer than I thought.

To the _azuferales_ for our lives!" The moor, albeit in some places yielding and in others treacherous, did not, as I feared, prove impassable.

By threading our way between the smoking sulphur heaps and carefully avoiding the boiling springs we found it possible to get on, yet slowly and with great difficulty; and it soon became evident that, long before we gain the forest the hounds will be on the moor.

Their deep-throated baying and the shouts of the field grow every moment louder and more distinct.