He looked, and, clustered on the brink of the sands, examining the tracks his feet had left on the moist surface, there stood a little knot of three or four horsemen, one of whom it was easy to see, by the glitter of his mail-hood and hauberk, was completely armed. Two miles higher up, likewise on the shore, was another group, that which had replied to the first bugle-note, and which was now exchanging signals with those in the foreground, by the wafture of the pennoncelles which adorned their long lances. There was now no longer a doubt. His pursuers had divided themselves into scattered parties, the better to scour the country, two of which had already discovered him, while there was evidently a third in communication with these by bugle-blast, not yet discernible to the eye, but prepared doubtless to strike across the upper portion of the sands near the head of the bay, and to intercept his flight, should he escape his immediate pursuers. Another wild and prolonged flourish of the bugle, the very note which announces to the jovial hunters that the beast of chase is afoot, rang wildly over the sands, was repeated once and again; and then, with a fierce shout, spurring their heavily-barbed horses, and brandishing their long lances, the man-hunters dashed forward in pursuit. The first party rode directly on the track of the fugitive, who toiled onward in full view as he ran, terror lending wings to his speed, almost directly northward, with his long shadow streaming westward over the dank sands, cutting the bright sunshine with a blue, rippling wake. The second, taking the passage higher up, rode at an oblique angle to the first pursuers, laying up to the point of Westmoreland, in order to cut off the fugitive; and, in a few moments afterward, yet another group might be seen skirting the shore line, as if intent to intercept him in case of his landing. The soil and water, spurned from the feet of the heavy chargers, flew high into the air, sparkling and plashing in the sunshine, like showers of metallic dust. It was a fearful race--a race for life and death, with odds, as it would seem, not to be calculated, against the panting fugitive. At first, the horses careered easily over the surface, not sinking the depth of their iron-shoes in the firm substratum, while the man, whether from fatigue and fear, or that he was in worse ground, labored and slipped and stumbled at almost every step. The horses gained upon him at every stride, and the riders shouted already in triumph. It seemed, indeed, as if his escape was hopeless. The cavalry reached the first channel; it had widened a little, yet perceptibly, since Eadwulf had crossed it; but the horses leaped it, or dashed through it, without an effort.