at began to drag the youth
through the passage to the front door. Pascoe, not staying to comprehend,
had run for a rope. But Malachi and Jane the cook broke into cries of
horror.

"Nay, master, nay--you'll do no such thing--you cannot! Let the poor boy
go: he's half dead already."

"'Cannot'? I'll see if I cannot!" grunted Roger, and panted with rage.
"Open the door, you! He'll hang, I tell you, afore this sun goes down."

"Surely, surely, master--'tis a sin unheard of! The good Lord deliver us;
'tis mad you be to think of it!"

"Mad, am I? P'raps so, but 'twill be an ill madness for this coward."
He spurned the dragging body with his foot. "Ah, here's Pascoe! Quick,
you: swarm up the tree here, and take a hitch round that branch. See the
one I mean?--the third up. Take your hitch by the knot yonder, but climb
out first and see if it bears."

"What for?" demanded Pascoe stolidly.

"Oh, stifle you and your questions! Can't you see what for?"

"Iss," Pascoe answered, "I reckon I see, and I ben't goin' to do it."

"Look here,"--Roger drew a pistol from his pocket, "who's master here--you
or I?"

Malachi had run to the gate, and was dragging at the baulks of timber,
shouting vain calls for help into the road. Jane had fled screaming
through the house and out into the backyard. Pascoe alone kept his head.
It seemed to him that he heard the distant tramp of horses.

He looked up towards the bough.

"'Tis a cruel thing to order," said he, "and my limbs be old; but seemin'
to me I might manage it."

He began to climb laboriously, rope in hand. As his eyes drew level with
the wall's coping he saw to his joy Trevarthen's troop returning along the
road, though not from the direction he had expected. Better still, the
next moment they saw him on the bough, dark against the red sky.
One rider waved his whip.

He dropped the rope as if by accident, crying out at his clumsiness.
"Curse your bungling!" yelled Roger, and stooped to pick it up.
Pascoe descended again, full of apologies. He had used the instant well.
The riders had seen the one frantic wave of his hand, and were galloping
down the lane towards the rear of the house.

Had Roger, as the sound of hoofs reached him, supposed it to be
Trevarthen's troop returning, he might yet have persisted. But Trevarthen
had ridden towards Helleston, and these horsemen came apparently out of
the north. His thoughts flew at once to a surprise, and he shoute