"What is he doing there?" thought Harry. He rose, and walked towards the edge of the descent. Narrowly scanning the brake, he now descried two other horsemen within a few yards of the first, but so well concealed that but for his quickened curiosity he would probably never have discovered them. For all he knew, there might be others. "What is their game?" His suspicion was aroused; the vehicle he had seen approaching was perhaps not a wagon; it might be a chaise belonging to Sir Godfrey; it might be—— "Why, ’tis without a doubt Lord Godolphin himself on his way to London, and coming by the shortest cut." There was no need for further speculation; in those days the inference was sure: a carriage in the distance, a party of horsemen lurking in a copse by the roadside—— "’Tis highway robbery—ah! the Queen’s purse!" Harry unconsciously smiled at the thought. His first impulse was to warn the approaching travellers. But the carriage was at present out of sight; he could not make signals, and before he could reach the stretch of road between the ambuscade and their prey, the travellers would certainly be past, while he himself might be seen by the waiting horsemen, and headed off as he crossed a tract of open country. Moving downwards all the time, he in a flash saw all that it was possible to do. The stream passed under the roadway some twenty yards beyond the spot where the horsemen were lying in wait; the banks were reedy, and might screen an approach to the copse beyond the wall. There was a bare chance, and Harry took it. He raced downhill towards Sherebiah, who was sitting on the bank still, placidly smoking his pipe; landscape had no charm for him. "Sherry," said Harry in jerks, "Lord Godolphin or someone is driving down the road; highwaymen hiding in the reeds; in five or six minutes—come, come, we have no time to lose." "Then we’ll go home along," said Sherry, putting his pipe in his pocket as he rose. "Nonsense! we can’t slink away and leave them to be robbed." Harry took Sherry by the arm to drag him along. "What be the good? Fishen-rods bean’t no match for pistols, and bein’ a man o’ peace——" "Come, I can’t wait. I’ll go alone, then." He released the man’s arm and stepped into the stream. Sherebiah hesitated for a moment; then, seeing that Harry was in earnest, he dropped his tackle and strode forward, saying: "Zooks, not if I knows it! I’m a man o’ peace, sure enough, but fairplay’s a jewel. Have at the villains!"