A gush of blood followed, but the brave monk, gripping the wounded member to stop the crimson flow, never ceased to urge the rower to greater effort, while ever and again a shaft shot by their still invisible pursuers flew perilously close to their heads. At length the boat grounded on the hard bed of the channel, and Brother Petrox called to Revyngton to jump out. Wading through the shallow water the two started for the shore, leaving the wounded monk calmly seated in the deserted craft. From the mud hovels of the village of Ashlett wimpled women and rough-haired children looked interestedly at the two runners, the layman in his travel-stained apparel and the monk in his sombre garb. Men there were none, for the hours of toil had called them to the fields or out on the waters, where they sought a livelihood by fishing; but had there been, the sight of the two speeding along would hardly have excited anything but curiosity in the minds of these dull-witted sons of the soil. "I can go with thee no farther," panted the monk, as they reached the cross-roads. "Follow yonder path, and God be with thee." And as Revyngton sped onwards towards the rolling expanse of purple heather, he saw the solitary figure of his benefactor waving encouragingly towards the distant and invisible goal. Settling down to a steady pace, the fugitive kept doggedly on his way, his eyes fixed on a distant clump of trees that marked the brow of the hill overlooking the valley of the Exe where lay the abbey. Narrower and narrower became the road, till it deteriorated into a mere footpath, the prickly gorse encroaching on either side and hurting his feet as he ran. Yet, spurred onward by renewed hope, his strength seemed well-nigh inexhaustible. Suddenly, from behind a low heather-clad hillock at the side of the road, four wild-looking men sprang up and barred his progress. "Hold, stranger!" shouted one, brandishing a club. "Whither goest thou? Hast aught in thy scrip that we would relieve thee of, for the lighter thou art the easier thou'lt run." "I have nothing in the world. Let me pass, I pray; 'tis a matter that brooks no delay." "Nay, not so fast, young master. What is thine errand?" "My errand?" replied Revyngton, with a mirthless laugh. "I seek sanctuary." "Art without the pale of the law?" "Of that there is little doubt." "Then throw in thy lot with us. A free life in the forest glades, with many a weighty scrip to balance the lightness of our minds, is better than being cooped up in yonder monastery." The fugitive shook his head. "Nay, 'tis not to my liking." "Neither is the other, I trow, but look!" Following the direction of his hand, Revyngton saw coming over the brow of a distant hill which he had crossed but a short while ago a number of his pursuers. Three had procured horses, while the rest, some five in number, ran by their side, holding on to the stirrups to aid their speed.