A sudden crash in the hedge above; a figure silhouetted against the sky; a shadowy arm, that, falling, struck the moon out of heaven, and, in the darkness, I was down upon my knees, and fingers were upon my throat. "Oh, Darby!" cried a voice, "I've got him—this way—quick—oh, Darb—" My fist drove into his ribs; I struggled up under a rain of blows, and we struck and swayed and staggered and struck—trampling the groaning wretch who lay dying in the ditch. And before me was the pale oval of a face, and I smote it twice with my pistol-butt, and it was gone, and I—was running along the road. "Charmian spoke truth! O God, I thank thee!" I burst through a hedge, running on, and on—careless alike of being seen, of capture or escape, of prison or freedom, for in my heart was a great joy. I was conscious of shouts and cries, but I heeded them no more, listening only to the song of happiness my heart was singing: "Charmian spoke truth, her hands are clean. O God, I thank thee!" And, as I went, I presently espied a caravan, and before it a fire of sticks, above which a man was bending, who, raising his head, stared at me as I approached. He was a strange-looking man, who glared at me with one eye and leered jocosely with the other; and, being spent and short of breath, I stopped, and wiping the sweat from my eyes I saw that it was blood. "How—is Lewis?" I panted. "What," exclaimed the man, drawing nearer, "is it you?—James! but you're a picter, you are—hallo!" he stopped, as his glance encountered the steel that glittered upon my wrist; while upon the silence the shouts swelled, drawing near and nearer. "So—the Runners is arter you, are they, young feller?" "Yes," said I; "yes. You have only to cry out, and they will take me, for I can fight no more, nor run any farther; this knock on the head has made me very dizzy." "Then—take a pull at this 'ere," said he, and thrust a flat bottle into my hand. The fiery spirit burned my throat, but almost immediately my strength and courage revived. "Better?" "Much better," I answered, returning the bottle, "and I thank you—" "Don't go for to thank _me_, young feller," said he, driving the cork into the bottle with a blow of his fist, "you thank that young feller as once done as much for me—at a fair. An' now—cut away—run!—the 'edge is good and dark, up yonder—lay low a bit, and leave these damned Runners to me." I obeyed without more ado, and, as I ran up the lane, I heard him shouting and swearing as though engaged in a desperate encounter; and, turning in the shadow of the hedge, I saw him met by two men, with whom, still shouting and gesticulating excitedly, he set off, running—down the lane. And so I, once more, turned my face London-wards.