rth, and bear out the idea of a cavalry skirmish. While this was
doing, some of the labourers had washed down the brick floor of the
kitchen and removed all traces of the tragedy. The murdered woman had
been carried up to her own chamber, so that nothing was left to recall
what had occurred, save the unhappy farmer, who sat moodily in the same
place, with his chin resting upon his stringy work-worn hands, staring
out in front of him with a stony, empty gaze, unconscious apparently of
all that was going on around him.

The loading of the waggons had been quickly accomplished, and the little
drove of oxen gathered from a neighbouring field. We were just starting
upon our return journey when a young countryman rode up, with the news
that a troop of the Royal Horse were between the camp and ourselves.
This was grave tidings, for we were but seven all told, and our pace was
necessarily slow whilst we were hampered with the supplies.

'How about Hooker?' I suggested. 'Should we not send after him and give
him warning?'

'I'll goo at once,' said the countryman. 'I'm bound to zee him if he be
on the Athelney road.' So saying he set spurs to his horse and galloped
off through the darkness.

'While we have such volunteer scouts as this,' I remarked, 'it is easy
to see which side the country folk have in their hearts. Hooker hath
still the better part of two troops with him, so surely he can hold his
own. But how are we to make our way back?'

'Zounds, Clarke! let us extemporise a fortress,' suggested Sir Gervas.
'We could hold this farmhouse against all comers until Hooker returns,
and then join our forces to his. Now would our redoubtable Colonel be in
his glory, to have a chance of devising cross-fires, and flanking-fires,
with all the other refinements of a well-conducted leaguer.'

'Nay,' I answered, 'after leaving Major Hooker in a somewhat cavalier
fashion, it would be a bitter thing to have to ask his help now that
there is danger.'

'Ho, ho!' cried the Baronet. 'It does not take a very deep lead-line
to come to the bottom of your stoical philosophy, friend Micah. For all
your cold-blooded stolidity you are keen enough where pride or honour is
concerned. Shall we then ride onwards, and chance it? I'll lay an even
crown that we never as much as see a red coat.'

'If you will take my advice, gentlemen,' said the highwayman, trotting
up upon a beautiful bay mare, 'I should say that your best course is to
allow me to