How few of us ever dream of the narrow escapes we make, at moments when a breath might kill us, when the pressure of a "bare bodkin" is all that is necessary to send us to sudden judgment! And the outlaw was again defeated.

He had not, perhaps, been scared.

He had only been surprised--been confounded.

In the first cry of the bird, the first rush of his wings, flapping through the trees, it seemed as if they had swept across his eyes.

He lowered the pistol involuntarily--he forgot to pull the trigger, and when he recovered himself, steed and rider had gone beyond his reach.
"Is there a devil," he involuntarily murmured, "that stands between me and my victim?
am I to be baffled always?
Is there, indeed, a God ?" He paused in stupor and vexation.