But his antagonist was certainly taller; and then it flashed through the mind of Mr. Chewkle that he was in the hands of one of Mr. Wilton’s gamekeepers. The gallows, in an atmosphere of flame, presented itself before his eyes. With a violent, enormous exertion of strength, under the influence of a sudden and maddening excitement, he flung off his captor and faced him. It was no gamekeeper--no other than young Mr. Vivian. Chewkle gave a growl of rage, and, with a fierce oath, fired his pistol suddenly at his youthful antagonist. The ball grazed Hal’s ear and caused him to stagger; but before Chewkle could repeat his shot, as he intended, Hal closed again with him and a deadly struggle once more commenced. Twice did Chewkle, in the fearful wrestle between him and Hal, contrive to fire off the revolver, but without success; and at length Vivian’s youth, courage and skill prevailed over Chewkle’s powers, wasted by debauchery and his recent illness. Hal flung him with violence to the ground; and, kneeling on his chest, twisted, with a sudden wrench, the pistol out of his hand. Almost at the same moment the head-gamekeeper and his assistant, with a couple of dogs, came crashing through the foliage, and took part in the proceedings. A few hasty words from Hal Vivian, and Chewkle was raised to his feet, his arms were strongly bound behind him, and he was given into the custody of the assistant-keeper, a tall, powerful fellow, who, with a strong grip upon Chewkle’s collar, and some very profane words in his mouth, dragged him, sullen and half-resisting, to the police-station in the village. Hal Vivian and the head-keeper then raised old Wilton, and bore him to the Hall, still senseless and bleeding from the wound inflicted by the scoundrel Chewkle. A medical man was summoned, and quickly made his appearance. He examined his patient, and relieved the minds of those gathered round him by informing them that Mr. Wilton’s arm had been broken by a bullet, but there was no immediate or probably real danger. The old man was placed in his bed, and the doctor proceeded to dress the wound. In the meantime Flora Wilton was sent for, searched for, but the messenger, after half-an-hour’s absence, returned by saying he could not find her; she had been seen to enter the little glen skirting the park, but she was not there now. Mark Wilton, too, had not returned to the Hall. He had been observed to hurry away towards the railway station, as if on his way back to London.