Not a word had been spoken during the conflict. A convulsive groan burst from Hugh’s hardy breast. His hand sought his girdle, but in vain; his knife was gone. Gazing upwards, his dancing vision encountered the glimmer of the blade. The weapon had dropped from its case in the fall. Luke brandished it before his eyes.
“Villain!” gasped Hugh, ineffectually struggling to free himself, “you will not murder me?” And his efforts to release himself became desperate.
“No,” answered Luke, flinging the uplifted knife into the brook. “I will not do that, though thou hast twice aimed at my life to-night. But I will silence thee, at all events.” Saying which, he dealt the keeper a blow on the head that terminated all further resistance on his part.
Leaving the inert mass to choke up the current, with whose waters the blood, oozing from the wound, began to commingle, Luke prepared to depart. His perils were not yet past. Guided by the firing, the report of which alarmed them, the keeper’s assistants hastened in the direction of the sound, presenting themselves directly in the path Luke was about to take. He had either to retrace his steps, or face a double enemy. His election was made at once. He turned and fled.
For an instant the men tarried with their bleeding companion. They then dragged him from the brook, and with loud oaths followed in pursuit.
Threading, for a second time, the bosky labyrinth, Luke sought the source of the stream. This was precisely the course his enemies would have desired him to pursue; and when they beheld him take it, they felt confident of his capture.
The sides of the hollow became more and more abrupt as they advanced, though they were less covered with brushwood. The fugitive made no attempt to climb the bank, but still pressed forward. The road was tortuous, and wound round a jutting point of rock. Now he was a fair mark—no, he had swept swiftly by, and was out of sight before a gun could be raised. They reached the same point. He was still before them, but his race was nearly run. Steep, slippery rocks, shelving down to the edges of a small, deep pool of water, the source of the stream, formed an apparently insurmountable barrier in that direction. Rooted (Heaven knows how!) in some reft or fissure of the rock, grew a wild ash, throwing out a few boughs over the solitary pool; this was all the support Luke could hope for, should he attempt to scale the rock. The rock was sheer—the pool deep—yet still he hurried on. He reached the muddy embankment; mounted its sides; and seemed to hesitate. The keepers were now within a hundred yards of him. Both guns were discharged. And, sudden as the reports, with a dead splashless plunge, like a diving otter, the fugitive dropped into the water.
The pursuers were at the brink. They gazed at the pool. A few bubbles floated upon its surface, and burst. The water was slightly discoloured with sand. No ruddier stain crimsoned the tide; no figure rested on the naked rock; no hand clung to the motionless tree.
“Devil take the rascal,” growled one; “I hope he har’n’t escaped us, after all.”
“Noa, noa, he be fast enough, never fear,” rejoined the other; “sticking like a snig at the bottom o’ the pond; and dang him he deserves it, for he’s slipp’d out of our fingers like a snig often enough to-night. But come let’s be stumping, and give poor Hugh Badger a helping hand.”
Whereupon they returned to the assistance of the wounded and discomfited keeper.
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CHAPTER IV
THE HALL
ROOKWOOD PLACE was a fine, old, irregular pile, of considerable size, presenting a rich, picturesque outline, with its innumerable gable ends, its fantastical coigns, and tall crest of twisted chimneys. There was no uniformity of style about the building, yet the general effect was pleasing and beautiful. Its very irregularity constituted a charm. Nothing except convenience had been consulted in its construction: additions had from time to time been made to it, but everything dropped into its proper place, and, without apparent effort or design, grew into an ornament, and heightened the beauty of the whole. It was, in short, one of those glorious manorial houses, that sometimes unexpectedly greet us in our wanderings, and gladden us like the discovery of a hidden treasure.
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