“Quick!” cried Potter. “Run fur it, sirs, whiles they reload.... They marked Mus’ Pym’s flash an’ some on ’em’s arter us—so quick it be!” A panting minute or so across smooth turf, a stumbling descent, a desperate scrambling over loose pebbles, a breathless race across wet sand, a groping among boulders ... and Sir John found himself alone; he was standing thus, staring dazedly about him, in his ears the shouting of his nearer pursuers, when from the dimness above a long arm reached forth, a mighty hand grasped coat collar, and he was swung from his feet, dragged through a rocky fissure, and found himself crouched beside Sir Hector. “Aha, Johnnie,” whispered the giant, hugging him until he blenched with the pain of his arm, “is this no’ a bonny place? They ca’ it Pook’s Kitchen—forbye, there’s few as kens it ... the De’il himsel’ couldna find us here, y’ ken.... Whisht, lie ye still, Johnnie; yon be only Pym a-cursing, an’ sma’ wonder; the puir gentleman was forced tae leave his gun behind.... O Pymmie-man,” quoth Sir Hector, wedging his vast bulk deeper into the narrow cave, “’tis a sinfu’, waefu’, shamefu’ thing ye should hae wasted y’r gifts on paint when ye wad hae made sic a bonny musketeer!” “So far as my memory serves,” sighed Mr. Pym the Painter, “I dropped it just after we crossed the pebble-ridge.” CHAPTER XL DESCRIBES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, HOW MY LADY TRAMPLED TRIUMPHANTLY AT LAST I “Beef, sir,” said Mr. Bunkle, laying a slice caressingly upon Sir John’s plate, “cold roast-beef, sir, can be ate any’ow an’ anywhen, but sech beef as this ’ere is best took plain and ungarnished ... though I wun’t deny as a slice or so o’ b’iled-’am took therewith doan’t go oncommon well, t’other actin’ upon which an’ bringing out the flavour o’ both, sir, d’ye see! So shall us mak’ it beef-an’-’am, sir?” “Assuredly!” answered Sir John, seating himself at the table. “Sir ’Ector used t’ swear by my beef-an’-’am,’e did, but ’e doan’t tak’ ’is breakfast ’ere no more ... a changed man ’e be, sir.” “How so, Mr. Bunkle?” “Well, ain’t you noticed ’is wig, sir?” “Not particularly.” “’As it combed an’ curled reg’lar nowadays, ’e do ... sich a ’appy, careless gen’leman ’e used to be, but lately ... well, ’e was a-wearin’ ’is second-best coat yesterday! Ah, a changed man be Sir ’Ector.” And Mr. Bunkle nodded, winked and departed about his business. His breakfast done, Sir John arose and, mindful of his promise to Herminia, took his hat and sallied forth for the matrimonial “prompting” of the devoted Sir Hector MacLean. His reception was not propitious, for scarcely had he stepped across Sir Hector’s threshold than that gentleman’s voice hailed him reproachfully: “Whisht, man—y’r boots!” “What of ’em, Hector?”