Swearing at his vanished chance of revenge, he opened it; it ran: Fly at once.

Steer N.E.for Tulyspathe.

Hamish believes you are uncanny, and has molded a silver bullet out of a half crown to lay your resless spirrit with.

His rifel is oldfashuned, but he will not miss and waist the half crown he is so thriffty.
A SEKRET WORNER.
Mr.Lambert steered N.E.at once; he went not like the wind, but as much like the wind as his soft, short legs would carry him.

He scanned every bush and gully with fearful eyes; he gave every thicket a wide berth, and every time he saw Hamish, and he saw him behind a thousand bushes and boulders, he shouted: "I'm Mr.Lambert from London, I'm not a spirit!" It was, indeed, a wasted and dirty money-lender who reached Tullispaith late in the day.