CHAPTER XIV.
THE MOCK-ORANGE BUSH.
To my dismay, he halted but five paces from me.
"Is that you, Leicester ?" he whispered.
"Sergeant Letcher, if you please," answered a quiet voice close by; "unless you wish to be called Pickthall." "Not so loud--the windows are open.

How on earth did you come here?
You're not with the van to-night ?" "I came on a horse, and a lame one: one of your tub-carriers.
The captain saw me mount him, down at the cove, and sent me off to scour the country for evidence.

I guessed pretty well in what direction he'd take me.

But you're a careless lot, I will say.
Look at this bit of rope." "For God's sake don't talk so loud! Rope?
What rope ?" "Oh, you needn't be afraid! It's not _your_ sort! Here--if you can't see, take hold and feel it.

Left-handed, you'll notice--French sling-stuff.