The yard was no longer dark. In the room above someone had push’d the casement open, letting in the wind: and by this ’twas very evident the room was on fire. Indeed, the curtains had caught, and as we ran, a pennon of flame shot out over our heads, licking the thatch. In the glare of it the outbuildings and the yard gate stood clearly out from the night. I heard the trampling of feet, the sound of Settle’s voice shouting an order, and then a dismal yell and clash of steel as we flung open the gate. “Jacques!” scream’d the old gentleman: “my poor Jacques! Those dogs will mangle him with their cut and thrust—” ’Twas very singular and sad, but as if in answer to Sir Deakin’s cry, we heard the brave fellow’s voice; and a famous shout it must have been to reach us over the roaring of the flames— “Mon maitre-mon maitre!” he call’d twice, and then “Sauve toi!” in a fainter voice, yet clear. And after that only a racket of shouts and outcries reach’d us. Without doubt the villains had overpower’d and slain this brave servant. In spite of our peril (for they would be after us at once), ’twas all we could do to drag the old man from the gate and up the road: and as he went he wept like a child. After about fifty yards, we turn’d in at a gate, and began to cut across a field: for I hop’d thus not only to baffle pursuit for a while, but also to gain the wood that we saw dimly ahead. It reach’d to the top of the hill, and I knew not how far beyond: and as I was reflecting that there lay our chance of safety, I heard the inn door below burst open with loud cries, and the sound of footsteps running up the road after us. Moreover, to complete our fix, the clouds that had been scurrying across the moon’s face, now for a minute left a clear interval of sky about her: so that right in our course there lay a great patch brilliantly lit, whereon our figures could be spied at once by anyone glancing into the field. Also, it grew evident that Sir Deakin’s late agility was but a short and sudden triumph of will over body: for his poor crooked legs began to trail and lag sadly. So turning sharp about, we struck for the hedge’s shadow, and there pull’d him down in a dry ditch, and lay with a hand on his mouth to stifle his ejaculations, while we ourselves held our breathing. The runners came up the road, pausing for a moment by the gate. I heard it creak, and saw two or three dark forms enter the field—the remainder tearing on up the road with a great clatter of boots. “Alas, my poor Jacques!” moan’d Sir Deakin: “and to be butcher’d so, that never in his days kill’d a man but as if he lov’d him!” “Sir,” I whisper’d harshly, “if you keep this noise I must gag you.” And with that he was silent for awhile. There was a thick tangle of brambles in the ditch where we lay: and to this we owe our lives. For one of the men, coming our way, pass’d within two yards of us, with the flat of his sword beating the growth over our heads.