The fugitives held their breath to listen; clearly their pursuers had heard the sounds of departure--were they even at this last moment to fall into the hands of their captors? “Why, what a fool I was,” reflected Gabriel. “I could endure for days in this carrier’s cart if needful. Anything--anything rather than to be again a prisoner in Oxford Castle!” Meanwhile Jock was conveniently deaf, and drove placidly along the snowy street. “Stop, you fellow,” roared the officer. “Which way do you go, and what’s your errand?” Jock drew up, swearing vehemently. “Where be I a-goin?” he shouted, in a surly voice. “To Henley with a load of corn.” And to the horror of the fugitives he got down from his place and began in a leisurely way to alter something in the harness, lugubriously singing meanwhile a snatch of a tune which Gabriel thought would ring in his ears for ever. The cramp is in my purse full sore, No money will bide therein--a, And if I had some salve therefore, O lightly then would I sing--a. The officer at the window above burst into a laugh. “In truth a shrewd fellow!--here’s a groat to mend the purse, and if on the road you come upon three soldiers bid them wait on me here as they return, and fail not to tell them if you have clapped eyes on any of these cursed wandering minstrels.-” The window was closed, and with a cheery word to the horses Jock climbed back to his place. They heard him chuckle to himself as he resumed the reins, and soon the cart had rumbled out of Watlington and was rolling and swaying and grinding its way among the frozen ruts. “How do you fare?” said Humphrey, anxiously. “I shall last out,” said Gabriel, philosophically. “’Tis better than a halter anyway. Is the driver trustworthy?” “Yes, an honest old man, he’ll stand by us, I know him well. But I thought that fellow at the window smelt a rat and would stop us at the last moment. Heavens! How this road doth churn one up! we shall be knocked black and blue by the time we have got to the end of the journey.” Gabriel was past speaking. He could only lie there in torment, half fancying that he had been sentenced to be pressed to death, so increasingly intolerable grew the weight of the corn-sacks above him. The only relief was from a chink between the sacks which chanced to come just where a rent in the sail-cloth let through a breath of air, and now and then as the cart swayed brought into view a starry patch of the dark blue vault above. He wondered what Hilary would have thought could she know of his dilemma; and then with a rush of hope and a renewed sense of life and strength, he remembered that freedom meant at least the possibility of seeing her again. And spite of his present misery he smiled to himself, and even perceived the humour of Jock’s song about the cramp in his purse, with the monotonous chorus of Ay ho, the cramp--a! ay ho, the cramp--a!