“Well, well,” said Rivers, “if you say so, it must be so; though I am sure, if we push briskly ahead, we shall find our bargain in it.  You too will find the horse of the youth, upon which you had long since set your eyes and heart, a full equivalent, even if we entirely ruin the miserable beasts we ride.”

“The horse you ride is no miserable beast,” retorted the landlord, who had some of the pride of a southron in this particular, and seemed solicitous for the honor of his stud—­“you have jaded him by your furious gait, and seem entirely insensible to the fact that our progress for the last half hour, continued much longer, would knock up any animal.  I’m not so sure, too, Guy, that we shall find the youngster, or that we shall be able to get our own bargain out of him when found.  He’s a tough colt, I take it, and will show fight unless you surprise him.”

“Stay—­hear you nothing now, as the wind sets up from below?  Was not that the tramping of a horse?”

They drew up cautiously as the inquiry was put by Rivers, and pausing for a few minutes, listened attentively.  Munro dismounted, and laying his ear to the ground, endeavored to detect and distinguish the distant sounds, which, in that way, may be heard with far greater readiness; but he arose without being satisfied.

“You hear nothing?”

“Not a sound but that which we make ourselves.  Your ears to-night are marvellous quick, but they catch nothing.  This is the third time to-night you have fancied sounds, and heard what I could not; and I claim to have senses in quite as high perfection as your own.”

“And without doubt you have; but, know you not, Munro, that wherever the passions are concerned, the senses become so much more acute; and, indeed, are so many sentinels and spies—­scouring about perpetually, and with this advantage over all other sentinels, that they then never slumber.  So, whether one hate or love, the ear and the eye take heed of all that is going on—­they minister to the prevailing passion, and seem, in their own exercise, to acquire some of the motive and impulse which belong to it.”

“I believe this in most respects to be the case.  I have observed it on more than one occasion myself, and in my own person.  But, Guy, in all that you have said, and all that I have seen, I do not yet understand why it is that you entertain such a mortal antipathy to this young man, more than to many others who have at times crossed your path.  I now understand the necessity for putting him out of the way; but this is another matter.  Before we thought it possible that he could injure us, you had the same violent hatred, and would have destroyed him at the first glance.  There is more in this, Guy, than you have been willing to let out; and I look upon it as strange, to say nothing more, that I should be kept so much in the dark upon the subject.”

Rivers smiled grimly at the inquiry, and replied at once, though with evident insincerity,—­