“No, cut it—cut it!” roared old Harmer. “D—n the rope, so we capture the villain.” With right good-will, several began to cut and hack the rope. Jonas felt the rope’s vibration, and shut his eyes. “It’s all over, now,” he said. “D—n the colonel, and all Darlington put together. I wish I was safe in London again. If this is the grand reward the colonel promised me, confusion to him.” Jonas had a passing desire to say his prayers, but he was such a thoughtless knave that he had forgotten them long ago. “That’s it, that’s it,” cried many voices. “Help! murder! thieves! cut-throats! help—help!” shouted a dozen voices. This was the confusion and noise which Colonel Blood had heard when he took the last glance at Andrew Gamble, who was carried away by the stream. But he never for a moment dreamed that all this distant hubbub was occasioned by the tight rope performance of his man, Jonas. With a vigorous cut, the rope was at last severed! Amid the shouts and cheers of the bystanders, Jonas fell from a height of twenty feet right into the deep mill-dam, with a loud splash! “Fish him out, fish him out, lads; we musn’t let the rogue escape us now. He is one of those who rescued Bob Bertram.” Poor Jonas rose to the surface, and in desperate despair clung to the branch of an overhanging tree, some distance from the edge of the dam. In a moment the villagers were very busy with pitchforks, rakes, and the like, “fishing him out.” One fellow, with more vigour than judgment, took aim with his long fork, but missed his distance, and gave Jonas a painful thrust in his seat of honour, instead of hooking his clothes, as intended. “Five gold pieces to any one who secures the villain,” roared the chief constable, who now rushed upon the scene, puffing and blowing. The promised reward caused a very great deal of excitement in those present. A rope was now procured. With great dexterity some one present made a noose in it, and very cleverly threw it over Jonas’s head. “Pull away, lads,” said the rope-thrower. “Now, then, all together!” “You’ll choke the varlet,” some one said. “Small odds,” said the rope-thrower, “small odds, so we get him dead or alive.” “Now, then,” said another, “altogether; a strong pull, and a long pull, mind.” So vigorously did they haul away at the rope that in less than a minute Jonas was dragged to the bank, half-strangled and half-drowned. “Light ho! lights here!” cried a dozen voices, and lamps were immediately brought to the spot. “That’s him! that’s one on ’em!” said the chief constable. “I could tell him out of a hundred; that’s him as has been prowling about Darlington, and rescued Bob Bertram.” “He looks a villain every inch of him,” said old Harmer. “I’m sorry we haven’t got t’other; he’s the worst of the two; and the rascals ain’t satisfied with what they’ve already done, but must concoct a scheme for running off with my daughter Ellen.” “Horrible!” “Aw-ful!” chimed in one and another.