Timothy Trollops pressed his open palm upon the lad's sleeve, and, finding it wet from shoulder to wrist, "Not much?" he cried. "Why, thou'rt scarce able to stand, so much blood hath streamed from thee! Thou'rt well-nigh fainting! Had I but known of this at the time, I warrant me the scoundrel should not have escaped so easily. Wouldst know the man again, my master?" "Not I," murmured Gilbert in a yet fainter voice. "I saw not his face." "Nor I neither," added Jacob Hartop. "'Twas too dark to see aught but their shadowy forms, even if mine own face had not been half-smothered under my cloak. But they are clean gone now you'll be saying, and 'twill avail us little to go in search of them or to tarry here any longer while one of us is sore wounded." He put his arms about Gilbert and added: "Heave thyself on to my back, young friend, and I will carry thee. 'Tis but a small distance if I mind aright from here to Thomas Southam's mill, where peradventure we shall get help, and a horse to carry thee further." Timothy gently pushed the old man aside. "Thy memory is like to an old almanack, Master Hartop," he said, "and of as little value for present use. Southam's mill was burnt to the ground a good ten years ago, and hath never yet been rebuilt." "What?" cried Hartop, and, as if the information concerning the mill had staggered him, he stepped backward, allowing Gilbert Oglander to slip from his grasp. "Burnt to the ground!" he repeated. "Then prithee, young sir, what hath become of the miller's fair young daughter Betty--Betty Southam that promised to wait for me when I sailed away to foreign lands, ay, and to marry me when I should come back with the fortune that I meant to gain for her? What hath become of her, I say?" Timothy lifted Gilbert upon his knee and held him there while he answered: "Betty Southam? Ah! I knew her when I was a little child. But I do protest she was then neither young nor fair. As to what hath become of her, 'tis soon told, Master Hartop. She was found lying dead one winter's morning in Beddington Woods." "Alas!" cried Hartop. "Then was my song indeed prophetic, for all my travel hath in very truth been 'forlorn and waste'." "Listen!" interrupted Timothy. "Hear you not the sound of horses' feet upon the road? 'Tis surely our robbers, riding away." "I hear them plainly," returned Hartop. "There be two horses, as I judge by the sound. And, far from retreating, they are coming nearer and nearer. I pray Heaven that they be friends who will help us!" Gilbert Oglander had now somewhat recovered from his faintness, and with the help of his two companions he limped to the side of the road, where, sitting on the edge of the ditch, he at length succeeded in pulling off his boot, for his ankle had been badly sprained and was already somewhat swollen.