“Silence,” said Donald, “and let us get out of this. The place must be swarming with troops, and those yelling cowards will arouse every soldier within a mite of us. It may not be so easy to chase the next lot. Over into the churchyard again, and then, Moylin, we must trust to you. You know the country, or you ought to, and I don’t.” Aeneas Moylin led the way into the churchyard again, and across the wall at the lower end of it. The noise of many horsemen riding fast reached them from the lane they had left. The frightened yeomen had gathered troops to aid them, dragoons who had been posted on the main road down below. From the top of the rath, which rose dark above even the tower of the church, there came shouts. Men had been placed there, too, and were gathering to their comrades opposite Moylin’s house. The hunt would begin in earnest soon. Donald called a halt and, cowering under the shadow of a thick hedge, the little party of fugitives held a consultation. “We might go back to the vault,” said James Bigger. “They would find it hard to get at us there, even if they discovered us. They couldn’t burn us out, for the walls are solid stone and four foot thick at least.” “I’m not going to spend the night with---- with what’s there,” said Felix Matier. “I’m not a coward, but I won’t sit in the dark all night with my knees up against--ugh!” “James Finlay?” said Bigger. “He won’t hurt you now.” “I’m for getting away if possible,” said Donald. “I’m not frightened of dead men, but I want to be at the fight tomorrow. If we stay here all night we’ll miss it.” “Hark!” said Moylin, “they’re in the churchyard. I hear them stumbling about among the graves. We can’t get back now, even if we want to. Follow me.” Creeping along the side of the hedge, they crossed the field they were in, another, and another after that. They came upon a by-road. “We must cross this,” said Moylin, “and I think there are soldiers nigh at hand.” Suddenly the sky behind them grew strangely bright. A flame, which cast black shadows from hedge and tree and wall, which lit up every open space of ground, shot up. “Down,” said Donald, “down for your lives, lie flat. Where the devil have they got the fire?” “It’s my house,” said Moylin, quietly, “the roof is thatched. It burns well, but it won’t burn for long.” The shouts of the soldiers round the burning homestead reached them plainly. A body of horsemen cantered along the lane in front of them. “Now,” said Donald, “now, while their backs are turned, get across.” They crossed unseen, and gained the shelter of the ditch at the far side. They crept along it, seeking some boundary wall or hedge running at right angles which would cast a shadow over them. The horsemen passed again, but this time the risk of discovery was less. The thatch of Moylin’s house had almost burned itself out. Only a red glow remained, casting little shadow, lighting the land dimly. They crossed the field in safety and reached a grove of trees.