ground, and it was plain their quarry would escape them. Hatch,

roaring an oath, put his horse at the hedge, to head him off; but

the beast refused, and sent his rider sprawling in the dust. And

though he was up again in a moment, and had caught the bridle, the

time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained too great a lead for

any hope of capture.

The wisest of all had been Dick Shelton. Instead of starting in a

vain pursuit, he had whipped his crossbow from his back, bent it,

and set a quarrel to the string; and now, when the others had

desisted, he turned to Bennet and asked if he should shoot.

"Shoot! shoot!" cried the priest, with sanguinary violence.

"Cover him, Master Dick," said Bennet. "Bring me him down like a

ripe apple."

The fugitive was now within but a few leaps of safety; but this

last part of the meadow ran very steeply uphill; and the man ran

slower in proportion. What with the greyness of the falling night,

and the uneven movements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as

Dick levelled his bow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half desire

that he might miss. The quarrel sped.

The man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose from Hatch and

the pursuers. But they were counting their corn before the

harvest. The man fell lightly; he was lightly afoot again, turned

and waved his cap in a bravado, and was out of sight next moment in

the margin of the wood.

"And the plague go with him!" cried Bennet. "He has thieves'

heels; he can run, by St Banbury! But you touched him, Master

Shelton; he has stolen your quarrel, may he never have good I

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