"And then go and beat one of the King's officers? But you'll both suffer for it. The constables will be here for you, and you'll both be punished." "Not likely--eh, Bart?" said Abel, with a laugh. "No, lad," growled that worthy. "Too dark." "Don't you be too sure," cried Mary. "You cowards! and if he dies,"-- there was a hysterical spasm here--"if he dies, you'll both go to the gibbet and swing in chains!" Bart gave his whole body a writhe, as if he already felt the chains about him as he was being made into a scare-scamp. "Didn't hit hard enough, and never touched his head," he growled. "And as for you," cried Mary, turning upon him sharply, "never you look me in the face again. You are worse than Abel; and I believe it was your mad, insolent jealousy set you persuading my foolish brother to help in this cowardly attack." Bart tried to screw up his lips and whistle; but his jaw seemed to drop, and he only stared and shuffled behind his companion in misfortune. "Never mind what she says, Bart, lad," said the latter; "she'll thank us some day for half-killing as big a scamp as ever stepped." "Thank you!" cried Mary, with her eyes flashing and her handsome face distorted, "I hope to see you both well punished, and--" "Who's that coming?" said Abel, sharply, as steps were heard approaching quickly. As Mary turned round to look, Abel caught sight of something over her shoulder in the evening light which made him catch his companion by the arm. "Quick, Bart, lad!" he whispered; "through her room and squeeze out of the window. The constables!" He opened the door of his sister's little room, thrust his mate in, followed, and shut and bolted the door; but as he turned then to the window, a little strongly-made frame which had once done duty in a vessel, Mary's voice was heard speaking loudly in conversation with the new arrivals in the outer room. "Out with you, quickly and quietly," whispered Abel. "Right, lad," replied Bart; and unfastening and opening the little window, he thrust his arms through and began to get out. At that moment there was a loud knocking at the door. "Open--in the king's name!" "Open it yourself," muttered Abel, "when we're gone. Quick, Bart, lad!" This remark was addressed to the big fellow's hind quarters, which were jerking and moving in a very peculiar way, and then Bart's voice was heard, sounding muffled and angry, warning somebody to keep off. "Curse it all! too late!" cried Abel, grinding his teeth. "Here, Bart, lad, get through." "Can't, lad," growled his companion. "I'm ketched just acrost the hips, and can't move." "Come back, then." "That's what I'm a-trying to do, but this son of a sea-cook has got hold of me."