ing his broad bosom--"and Ellis Duckworth, by the mass!"

Another man came, red with hurry, through the thorns.

"'Tis not Sir Daniel!" he panted. "They are but seven. Is the arrow
gone?"

"It struck but now," replied Ellis.

"A murrain!" cried the messenger. "Methought I heard it whistle. And I
go dinnerless!"

In the space of a minute, some running, some walking sharply, according
as their stations were nearer or farther away, the men of the Black Arrow
had all disappeared from the neighbourhood of the ruined house; and the
caldron, and the fire, which was now burning low, and the dead deer's
carcase on the hawthorn, remained alone to testify they had been there.

CHAPTER V--"BLOODY AS THE HUNTER"

The lads lay quiet till the last footstep had melted on the wind. Then
they arose, and with many an ache, for they were weary with constraint,
clambered through the ruins, and recrossed the ditch upon the rafter.
Matcham had picked up the windac and went first, Dick following stiffly,
with his cross-bow on his arm.

"And now," said Matcham, "forth to Holywood."

"To Holywood!" cried Dick, "when good fellows stand shot? Not I! I
would see you hanged first, Jack!"

"Ye would leave me, would ye?" Matcham asked.

"Ay, by my sooth!" returned Dick. "An I be not in time to warn these
lads, I will go die with them. What! would ye have me leave my own men
that I have lived among. I trow not! Give me my windac."

But there was nothing further from Matcham's mind.

"Dick," he said, "ye sware before the saints that ye would see me safe to
Holywood. Would ye be forsworn? Would you desert me--a perjurer?"

"Nay, I sware for the best," returned Dick. "I meant it too; but now!
But look ye, Jack, turn again with me. Let me but warn these men, and,
if needs must, stand shot with them; then shall all be clear, and I will
on again to Holywood and purge mine oath."

"Ye but deride me," answered Matcham. "These men ye go to succour are
the I same that hunt me to my ruin."

Dick scratched his head.

"I cannot help it, Jack," he said. "Here is no remedy. What would ye?
Ye run no great peril, man; and these are in the way of death. Death!"
he added. "Think of it! What a murrain do ye keep me here for? Give me
the windac. Saint George! shall they all die?"

"Richard Shelton," said Matcham, looking him squarely in the face, "would
ye, then, join party with Sir Daniel? Have ye not ears? Heard ye not