'Let go,' shouted Drownlands, 'or I'll bring the flail down on your hands.' 'You may break them. I will cling with my teeth.' He brandished the flail angrily. Then Zita bowed herself, picked up the second flail, and, planting herself across the way, said— 'You are bad and you are cruel. I cannot get you to come to my father for the asking. I will drive you to him—drive you with the flail; I will force you to go.' He tried to pass the girl, but she would not budge; and before the whirling flapper and her threatening attitude, the horse recoiled and almost threw himself and his rider down the embankment into the drove. Drownlands uttered a curse, and again attempted to push past, but was again driven back by Zita. 'Take care, or I will ride you down,' he threatened; then shivered, as he recalled how that a few minutes previously Jake Runham had used the same threat to him. He considered a moment. He could not allow this girl to retain the flail she had picked up. It was evidence against him. Every one in Burnt Fen, every one in Weldenhall and Soham Fens, would hear of the contest at Ely before the Cheap Jack van. If that flail were known to have been found on the embankment, it would be known at once where it was that Runham fell into the Lark. It might be surmised that a struggle had there taken place, and marks of the struggle would be looked for. The girl who stood before Drownlands was the sole person who could by any possibility appear as witness against him—could prove that he had been on the spot where Runham had perished; and this girl was now appealing to him for help. It was advisable that she should be conciliated—be placed under an obligation to himself. He made no further attempt to pass her; he made no attempt to fulfil his threat that he would ride her down. In a lowered tone he said, 'Where is your father?' 'A little way back,' answered Zita. 'How far back I cannot say. I ran—I ran.' 'I will go with you. Give me up that flail.' 'No,' she answered; 'I do not trust you. You would ride away when you had it.' 'I swear to you that I will not do that.' She shook her head, retained the flail, slung it over her shoulder, and walked at his side. Had she seen the contest? Had she seen him beat his adversary down—down into the river? Drownlands asked himself these questions repeatedly, and was tempted to question her, but shrank from so doing lest he should awake suspicions. He need not have feared that. Her whole mind was occupied with a single thought—her dying father.