He had gone about two miles, when he came to a place where two roads met. There was no guideboard, and he could not remember by which road he had come. Luckily, as he thought, he described a man a little ahead. He stopped the horse, and hailed him.

 

"Can you tell me which road to take to Pentland?" he asked.

 

The man addressed turned his head, and, to his surprise, our hero recognized his table companion at the inn.

 

"Oh, it's you, my young friend!" he said.

 

"Yes, sir. Can you tell me the right road to Pentland? I have never been this way before to-day, and I have forgotten how I came."

 

"I am thinking of going to Pentland myself," said the other.

 

"My sister lives there. If you don't mind giving me a lift, I will jump in with you, and guide you."

 

Now, though Harry did not fancy the man's appearance, he had no reason to doubt him, nor any ground for refusing his request.

 

"Jump in, sir," he said. "There is plenty of room."

 

The stranger was speedily seated at his side.

 

"Take the left-hand road," he said.

 

Harry turned to his left.

 

"It's rather a blind road," observed the stranger.

 

"I think I could remember in the daytime," said Harry; "but it is so dark now, that I am in doubt."

 

"So I suppose."

 

The road on which they had entered was very lonely. Scarcely a house was passed, and the neighborhood seemed quite uninhabited.

 

"I don't remember this road," said Harry, anxiously.

 

"Are you sure we are right?"

 

"Yes, yes, we are right. Don't trouble yourself."

 

"It's a lonely road."

 

"So it is. I don't suppose there's anybody lives within half a mile."

 

"The road didn't seem so lonely when I came over it this afternoon."

 

"Oh, that's the effect of sunshine. Nothing seems lonely in the daytime. Turn down that lane."

 

"What for?" asked Harry, in surprise. "That can't be the road to Pentland."

 

"Never mind that. Turn, I tell you."

 

His companion spoke fiercely, and Harry's mind began to conceive alarming suspicions as to his character. But he was brave, and not easily daunted.

 

"The horse and carriage are mine, or, at least, are under my direction," he said, firmly, "and you have no control over them. I shall not turn."

 

"Won't you?" retorted the stranger, with an oath, and drew from his pocket a pistol. "Won't you?"

 

"What do you mean? Who are you?" demanded Harry.

 

"You will find out before I get through with you. Now turn into the lane."

 

"I will not," said Harry, pale, but determined.

 

"Then I will save you the trouble," and his companion snatched the reins from him, and turned the horse himself. Resistance was, of course, useless, and our hero was compelled to submit.

 

"There, that suits me better. Now to business."

 

"To business. Produce your pocketbook."

 

"Would you rob me?" asked Harry, who was in a measure prepared for the demand.

 

"Oh, of course not," said the other. "Gentlemen never do such things. I want to burrow your money, that is all."

 

"I don't want to lend."

 

"I dare say not," sneered the other; "but I shan't be able to respect your wishes. The sooner you give me the money the better."

 

Harry had two pocketbooks. The one contained his own money--about forty dollars--the other the money of his employer. The first was in the side pocket of his coat, the second in the pocket of his pants. The latter, as was stated in the preceding chapter, contained one hundred and fifty dollars. Harry heartily repented not having left it behind, but it was to late for repentance. He could only hope that the robber would be satisfied with one pocketbook, and not suspect the existence of the other. There seemed but little hope of saving his own money. However, he determined to do it, if possible.

 

"Hurry up," said the stranger, impatiently. "You needn't pretend you have no money. I know better than that. I saw you pay the landlord."

............