alarming, that the speaker's eyes protruded, and
he was dumbfounded a moment; the next a loud
cry burst from both him and his companion at
once; and they lashed their horses to the gallop
and went tearing down the hill in a fury of rage
and apprehension.

Mr. Fullalove was right, I think: a sailor is
seldom a smart walker; but Dodd was a
cricketer, you know, as well: he swung along
at a good pace, and in high spirits. He had
lost nothing but a few clothes, and a quadrant,
and a chronometer; it was a cheap wreck to him,
and a joyful one: for peril past is present
delight. He had saved his life; and what he
valued more, his children's money. Never was
that dear companion of his perils so precious to
him as now. One might almost fancy that, by
some strange sympathy, he felt the immediate
happiness of his daughter depended on it.
Many in my day believe that human minds can
thus communicate, overleaping material
distances. Not knowing I can't say. However,
no such solution is really needed here. All the
members of an united and loving family feel
together, and work together—without specific
concert—though hemispheres lie between: it
is one of the beautiful traits of true family affection:
now the Dodds, father, mother, sister,
brother, were more one in heart and love than
any other family I ever saw: woe to them if
they had not.

David, then, walked towards Boulogne that
afternoon a happy man. Already he tasted by
anticipation the warm caresses of his wife and
children, and saw himself seated at the hearth,
with those beloved ones clustering close round
him. How would he tell them Its adventures—
Its dangers from pirates—Its loss at sea—Its
recovery—Its wreck—Its coming ashore dry as
a bone: and conclude by taking It out of his
bosom, and dropping It in his wife's lap with
cheer boys cheer!

Trudging on in this delightful reverie, his ear
detected a pit pat at some distance behind him:
he looked round with very slight curiosity, and
saw two men coming up: even in that hasty
glance he recognised the foul face of André
Thibout: a face not to be forgotten in a day. I
don't know how it was, but he saw in a moment
that face was after him to rob him: and he
naturally enough concluded It was their object.

And he was without a weapon; and they
were doubtless armed. Indeed, Thibout was
swinging a heavy cudgel.

Poor Dodd's mind went into a whirl, and his
body into a cold sweat. In such moments men
live a year. To gain a little time he walked
swiftly on, pretending not to have noticed them:
but oh his eyes roved wildly to each side of the
road for a chance of escape. He saw none. To
his right was a precipitous rock; to his left a
profound ravine with a torrent below, and the
sides scantily clothed with fir-trees and bushes:
he was, in fact, near the top of a long rising
ground called " le mauvais côte," on account of a
murder committed there two hundred years ago.

Presently he heard the men close behind him.
At the same moment he saw at the side of the
ravine a flint stone about the size of two fists:
he made but three swift strides, snatched it up,
and turned to meet the robbers, drawing himself
up high and showing fight in every inch.

The men were upon him. His change of
attitude was so sudden and fiery that they
recoiled a step. But it was only for a moment:
they had gone too far to retreat; they divided,
and Thibout attacked him on his left with
uplifted cudgel, and Moinard on his right with a
long glittering knife: the latter, to guard his
head from the stone, whipped off his hat and
held it before his head: but Dodd was what is
called "left handed:" "ambidexter" would be
nearer the mark; he carved and wrote with his
right hand, heaved weights and flung cricket
balls with his left. He stepped forward, flung
the stone in Thibout's face with perfect
precision, and that bitter impetus a good thrower
lends at the moment of delivery; and almost at
the same moment shot out his right hand and
caught Moinard by the throat. Sharper and
fiercer collision was never seen than of these
three.

Thibout's face crashed; his blood squirted all
round the stone; and eight yards off lay that
assailant on his back.

Moinard was more fortunate: he got two
inches of his knife into Dodd's left shoulder, at
the very moment Dodd caught him in his right
hand vice. And now one vengeful hand of iron
grasped him felly by the throat; another seized
his knife arm and twisted it back like a child's:
he kicked and struggled furiously: but in half
a minute the mighty English arm, and iron fingers,
held the limp body of Jacques Moinard, with its
knees knocking, temples bursting, throat relaxed,
eyes protruding, and livid tongue lolling down
to his chin: a few seconds more, and with the
same stalwart arm that kept his relaxed and
sinking body from falling, Dodd gave him one
fierce whirl round to the edge of the road, then
put a foot to his middle, and spurned his carcase
with amazing force and fury down the precipice.
Crunch, crunch! it plunged from tree to tree,
from bush to bush, and at last rolled into a thick
bramble and there stuck in the form of a crescent.
But Dodd had no sooner sent him headlong by
that mighty effort, than his own sight darkened,
his head swam, and, after staggering a little way,
he sank down in a state bordering on insensibility.

Meantime Fullalove and Vespasian were galloping
down the opposite hill to his rescue.

Unfortunately, André Thibout was not dead;
nor even mortally wounded. He was struck on
the nose and mouth: that nose was flat for the
rest of his life, and half his front teeth were
battered out of their sockets: but he fell, not
from the brain being stunned, but the body driven
to earth by the mere physical force of so
momentous a blow: knocked down like a ninepin.
He now sat up bewildered, and found himself in
a pool of blood, his own. He had little sensation
of pain; but he put his hand to his face and