The contest was unequal. Strong as Tom Barley was, Jeremiah and his mother had the strength of desperation, and they succeeded in flinging him off. But he fell on them again, and his cries for help rang loud through the night. "It's you, Tom Barley, is it?" muttered Jeremiah, as the struggle was proceeding. "It's you that's been hunting us down, is it?" "Yes, it's me," said Tom Barley, getting his mouth free--Mrs. Pamflett was endeavouring to stifle his cries with her hand--"and as God is your judge you're as good as dead!" "Hold on to him, mother, a moment," said Jeremiah; "fix your teeth in him! Say your prayers, Tom Barley; it's you that's as good as dead!" "Ah!" screamed Tom, and he dropped. Jeremiah had succeeded in plucking a knife from his pocket, and, opening it, had plunged it into Tom. He had aimed at the honest fellow's heart, but he had missed, and the knife had gone through the upper part of the right arm, cutting it cruelly to the bone. It was this that had caused Tom to let go his hold upon them. They took advantage of the release, and fled through the darkness. But in a moment Tom was on his feet again, and pursuing them, the blood flowing fast from the wound. He did not feel the pain of it; all that he bemoaned was that his arm was useless and that his voice was growing weak. Before fifty yards were traversed he had seized them again. "Curse it!" cried Jeremiah, "I have lost my knife." "That's my luck," muttered Tom, clinging to them. "Help! help!" They beat him frightfully about the head, and he flung it feebly this way and that in the endeavour to escape the cruel blows; but he did not loose his hold of them again. In the blind and dreadful struggle they stumbled wildly about, and suddenly they fell crashing down over an embankment. And still Tom Barley, feeling now that life was ebbing from him, held desperately on to them, and still his cries floated on the air. To the frightful sounds of this contest another was added the moment they reached the bottom of the embankment. They had fallen upon a railway track, and a train was approaching. Two huge fierce eyes glared luridly in the fog. Tom's voice grew fainter and fainter, but he never relaxed his hold of the murderers. "Help! help! help! I have caught the murderers! Help! help! help!" The clatter of the approaching train almost, but not quite, drowned his appeals. They fell vaguely upon the ears of the engine-driver, and he instantly slackened steam. But the huge lurid eyes were now very close upon the struggling forms. "Damn you!" screamed Jeremiah, "will you let go?" "No," said Tom, through his clenched teeth, "not till I'm dead! And then I won't!"