He had the casement open in an instant; the drop was barely five feet. Louis scrambled after him, and the Marquis, guided by instinct rather than by sight, hurried through a little orchard, a paddock, over a brook, through a meagre hedge, and, bearing always to the left, and away from Sillé-le-Guillaume, was forced at last to emerge into the high-road. Assuring himself that Saint-Ermay was close at his heels, he started to run down the starlit road. His own footfalls filled his ears with a horrid sense of their betraying loudness, and it was not for a minute or so that he realised the growing faintness of those behind. When he did so he looked over his shoulder, and then stopped in astonishment. Louis, now some ten yards behind, had dropped to a walk, and a leisurely one at that. He went quickly back towards him. “I thought you were a good runner,” was on his lips, instead of which he cried sharply: “What’s the matter?” “Go on without me,” said the Vicomte breathlessly. “I—I really can come no further.” He staggered a little as he spoke; one hand was clutching at his left breast. A quick fear shot into the Marquis’ mind. “Are you hurt, my dear boy?” he asked anxiously, taking a step towards him, for he looked as though he would fall. “He had a knife . . .” said Louis faintly but succinctly, and with the words reeled sideways into his cousin’s arms. CHAPTER XX A KNIFE WITH TWO EDGES “I must not think of thee. . . . . . . . . . . . But when sleep comes to close the difficult day, When night gives pause to the long watch I keep, And all my bonds I needs must loose apart, Must doff my will as raiment laid away,— With the first dream that comes with the first sleep I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.” —ALICE MEYNELL, _Renouncement_. Here, indeed, was a pretty problem. Louis’ head lay with alarming inertness against the Marquis’ shoulder, and Gilbert soon became aware that it was only the tightness of his own grip which kept the Vicomte in an upright position at all, for he had quite lost consciousness. After holding him thus for a moment, Château-Foix lowered his cousin to the ground until his head rested on his knee, and, peering into his face, felt hastily for his heart. Then he as hastily laid him down and stood up, listening, for he thought that he heard the pursuit.