Matcham could not restrain a little cry, which he
instantly stifled, and even Dick started with surprise,
and dropped the windac from his fingers. But
to the fellows on the lawn, this shaft was an expected
signal. They were all afoot together, tightening
their belts, testing their bow-strings, loosening sword
and dagger in the sheath. Ellis held up his hand;
his face had suddenly assumed a look of savage energy;
the white of his eyes shone in his sun-brown face.
“Lads,” he said, “ye know your places.
Let not one man’s soul escape you. Appleyard
was a whet before a meal; but now we go to table.
I have three men whom I will bitterly avenge—Harry
Shelton, Simon Malmesbury, and”—striking
his broad bosom—“and Ellis Duckworth,
by the mass!”
Another man came, red with hurry, through the thorns.
“’Tis not Sir Daniel!” he panted.
“They are but seven. Is the arrow gone?”
“It struck but now,” replied Ellis.
“A murrain!” cried the messenger.
“Methought I heard it whistle. And I go
dinnerless!”
In the space of a minute, some running, some walking
sharply, according as their stations were nearer or
farther away, the men of the Black Arrow had all disappeared
from the neighbourhood of the ruined house; and the
caldron, and the fire, which was now burning low,
and the dead deer’s carcase on the hawthorn,
remained alone to testify they had been there.
The lads lay quiet till the last footstep had melted
on the wind. Then they arose, and with many an
ache, for they were weary with constraint, clambered
through the ruins, and recrossed the ditch upon the
rafter. Matcham had picked up the windac and
went first, Dick following stiffly, with his cross-bow
on his arm.
“And now,” said Matcham, “forth
to Holywood.”
“To Holywood!” cried Dick, “when
good fellows stand shot? Not I! I would
see you hanged first, Jack!”
“Ye would leave me, would ye?” Matcham
asked.
“Ay, by my sooth!” returned Dick.
“An I be not in time to warn these lads, I
will go die with them. What! would ye have me
leave my own men that I have lived among. I
trow not! Give me my windac.”
But there was nothing further from Matcham’s
mind.
“Dick,” he said, “ye sware before
the saints that ye would see me safe to Holywood.
Would ye be forsworn? Would you desert me—a
perjurer?”
“Nay, I sware for the best,” returned
Dick. “I meant it too; but now!
But look ye, Jack, turn again with me. Let me
but warn these men, and, if needs must, stand shot
with them; then shall all be clear, and I will on
again to Holywood and purge mine oath.”
“Ye but deride me,” answered Matcham.
“These men ye go to succour are the I same
that hunt me to my ruin.”
Dick scratched his head.
“I cannot help it, Jack,” he said.
“Here is no remedy. What would ye?
Ye run no great peril, man; and these are in the way
of death. Death!” he added. “Think
of it! What a murrain do ye keep me here for?
Give me the windac. Saint George! shall they
all die?”
