Jabbing behind him with his knife the assassin tried to dislodge the lad, but although he received two or three flesh wounds, Edgar clung on tenaciously, and, by impeding the man’s arm with one hand and gripping him by the throat with the other, did his best to hinder him, while he called repeatedly upon Matthew to renew the struggle. It was some moments before Matthew could respond. He was still unnerved by the grim midnight attack and what he had for the moment taken to be the supernatural character of his assailant. Edgar’s warning cry had enabled him to shake off some of his paralysis, but precious moments had slipped away before he was himself again. At last Edgar’s cries aroused him, and he rushed in and closed with the man, who was endeavouring with the utmost desperation to rid himself of the burden upon his back. Until then the man had fought in grim silence, but now he snarled and champed like a wild beast. In one of his twists and turns he staggered close to the little window, and for a moment the moonlight played upon his head. Though Edgar, from his position, could not see his face, one glimpse of the tangled mass of hair was sufficient. It was red. The ruffian fought with extraordinary fierceness and power. Once Matthew succeeded in possessing himself of his knife, but almost immediately lost it, and it was not until the man was almost strangled that his resistance was overcome. "Get me something wherewith to secure him, Edgar," gasped Matthew. "Strips of clothing--anything, lad." Edgar sprang to the bed and fumbled among the rugs and skins for something that he could tear into strips. As he did so his ear caught a sound outside the door that could not be mistaken. "Quick, Matthew--to the window--flee!" he cried, in an undertone that thrilled with desperate urgency. "The stairs creak beneath the tread of a dozen stealthy feet. ’Tis Red’s band--away, away, or we are lost!" At a single bound Matthew sprang halfway through the window. Another moment and he had dropped to the ground. In his fumbles at the bedclothes Edgar’s hand had come into contact with his own or Matthew’s sword. The slight indefinable sound or feeling of pressure upon the door attracted his attention, and, like a streak, he drew the sword from its sheath. Then, with a single thrust, he drove it several inches through the centre of the door. There was a screech, and the pressure instantly ceased. Simultaneously the silent approach changed into a loud and angry clamour, and a rush was made at the door, and it was kicked violently open. But Edgar was already halfway to the window. Flinging his naked sword through in advance, he sprang lightly up and through, and dropped safely down upon the ground beneath. Matthew was awaiting him and had already snatched up the sword, and the two, with a single thought, rushed madly round to the front of the farmhouse. Their one aim was to get their horse from the stable before the robbers were upon them.