“No; but Adam Thorpe was hit an’ went down. Me an’ him have long knowed what was doing, an’ we gived it out at the White Hart bar in mixed company that we was to be in Thorley Bottom to-night. Then we went to the coverts instead, an’, sure enough, surprised my gentlemen. Two of ’em. They fired two shots, an’ we laid wait an’ went for ’em as they came out wi’ birds. I got one down an’ he bested me. What he’ve broken, if anything, I can’t say. T’other fired on Thorpe an’ he couldn’t get up. Afterwards, when they’d got clear, I found he was alive but couldn’t speak. Then I crawled to the house, an’ some of the gentlemen and a indoor man or two comed out. ’Twas only eleven of the clock at latest. They carried Thorpe to the cottage hospital at Moreton, an’ sent me home. Us’ll hear to-morrow how he fares, poor soul.” “I knowed he’d catch it sooner or late,” said Dan. “Such a cross-grained bully as him. But I hope ’twill larn him wisdom. An’ you. Be you hurt in the breathing? Will ’e be at my wedding to-morrow? It shall be put off if you can’t come.” “’Tis all right if you can swear you had no hand in this. That’s the best plaster to my bruises,” answered his father. “Of course I can. Why for won’t you trust me? I know nought about it--God’s my judge.” “Then you’d better get to your bed an’ sleep,” said his mother. “All’s done at the Hut,” he answered, “an’ the carriage be ordered. After us be married, we’ll walk over to Minnie’s aunt an’ have the spread as the old woman have arranged; then we’ll drive straight away off to the Moor. An’ if ’tis wet weather, us be going to have a covered cab; for I won’t have Minnie drowned on her wedding-day. Please God, you’ll be up to coming to church, father.” “I shall be there,” said Matthew--“there an’ glad to be there, since you wasn’t doing any harm this night. But Mr Henry may not come. I had speech with him, for the gentlemen hadn’t gone to bed. Sir Reginald’s in a proper fury. They’ll leave no stone unturned to take the rascals. My man won’t travel far, I should reckon, for I gived him quite as good as I got, maybe better.” “You’ve got enough anyway,” declared the keeper’s wife. “Now lean on Dan an’ me, an’ we’ll fetch ’e up to your chamber.” Without a groan Matthew Sweetland let them help him to his bed; but not until dawn did the pain of his bruises lessen and suffer him to sleep. CHAPTER IV THE WEDDING DAY Daniel’s wedding day dawned gloriously, and at the lodge gates a splendour of autumn foliage blazed in the morning light. But Mr Sweetland woke black and blue, and stiff in all his joints. He had broken a finger of the right hand; that, however, did not prevent him dressing in his best clothes and setting out to see his son married.