Instantly the robbers vanished into the tangle of bracken, leaving the fugitive alone on the narrow path, and once again he broke into a headlong pace, his pursuers thundering along but three arrow-flights behind him. Fortunately the unevenness of the path prevented the horsemen from riding their hardest, and when at length Revyngton, exhausted and faint, reached the brow of the hill, he saw that the situation was still in his favour. Blindly plunging onwards, with laboured breathing and aching sides, he ran down the hill, at the foot of which clustered the extensive buildings of the abbey. Through a gap in the trees on his left he caught a glimpse of the silvery river as it wound in majestic splendour towards the sea, but to the hunted man the beauty of the scene was lost; all that concerned him was the thought of the possibility of being overtaken ere he could cover the last stretch of dusty road. He was dimly conscious of hearing a crash behind him, and of looking round for one brief moment, thereby catching a glimpse of two of the horsemen mingled in utter confusion on the rough path. And still the sound of the rapidly approaching hoofs of the remaining horse thudded in his ears. Now he had gained the angle of the abbey wall. The gate, with its massive iron knocker, was within his grasp. The noise of the footfalls of the pursuer's steed ceased; there was a sharp hiss, and an arrow pierced the fugitive's leg just above the knee. Then, with a final effort, he thundered at the portal, and, as his head swam and his limbs gave way under him, he was dimly aware that he was surrounded by a group of grey-robed figures. He had found sanctuary. CHAPTER I THE ARCHER, REDWARD BUCKLAND IT was early morning in the month of August, 1338, so early that the slanting rays of the sun still lit up the north side of the Norman church of St. Andrew, and cast a shadow seven times its height across the dew-soaked meadows. Betwixt the high ground where stood the church and the narrow creek, known as the Hamble River, clustered the mud-walled and thatched-roof houses of the village of Hamble-le-Rice. Away to the north could be traced the course of the tree-fringed creek till it lost itself behind a range of low hills, while in the other direction lay the estuary of the river, where it mingled itself with the salt waves of Southampton Water, which, in its turn, was backed by the dark, dense masses of trees that formed that tract of country so well known in history and romance--the New Forest.