Now there was then but one field ’twixt us and the road, and that not a very wide one, but they had been stubbing trees in it that autumn, and as ill-luck would have it, I ran in my haste upon a root that had been left half-out of the ground, and so twisted my ankle that I fell, groaning with pain. “I believe my leg’s broke,” says I, when I could speak. “Egad, cousin, was ever aught so unlucky! And what shall we do now?” “First find out where you are hurt,” says she, and kneels down by me in the wet grass. “Try to move your leg,” she says. “’Tis not broke, I think--you must have twisted your foot, cousin.” “I am stopped,” says I, pulling myself up and trying to walk. “I am not good for twenty yards,” and I took her arm and endeavoured to step out, with no more effect than to make me cry out with the pain. “And hark ye there, cousin! We’re followed.” I heard the sound of voices beyond the Dyke. “We are undone!” says I, cursing our ill-fate to myself. “They will be upon us in a few moments.” She stood supporting me and looking about her as if she sought for some means of escape. Suddenly she clutched my arm. “If you could contrive to get forward to the top of the field,” she says, “we might hide under the bridge for awhile. Nobody would think of looking for us there.” “Egad!” says I. “The very notion--naught could serve our need better.” But when I tried to walk I found that I was crippled as surely as old Matthew that goes with two crutches and hobbles at that. If I did but set my foot to the ground I was like to scream with the pain of it, and though I leaned heavily on Alison’s arm, the agony I suffered was so great that the sweat rolled off my forehead, and I turned sick. “Alas!” says she, “If I could but carry you.” “Why,” groans I, “I wish you could, cousin, but since you can’t, I must make other shift. Let’s see if I can’t crawl on my hands and knees,” I says, getting to the ground with some difficulty. And finding that I made progress in this lowly attitude, we went on to the corner of the field, pausing now and then to listen to the voices in our rear.