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stranger's presence, woke and scattered. Those who had dismounted began
scrambling into the saddle; the rest rode in pursuit; but they had to
make the circuit of the consecrated ground, and it was plain their quarry
would escape them. Hatch, roaring an oath, put his horse at the hedge,
to head him off; but the beast refused, and sent his rider sprawling in
the dust. And though he was up again in a moment, and had caught the
bridle, the time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained too great a
lead for any hope of capture.
The wisest of all had been Dick Shelton. Instead of starting in a vain
pursuit, he had whipped his crossbow from his back, bent it, and set a
quarrel to the string; and now, when the others had desisted, he turned
to Bennet and asked if he should shoot.
"Shoot! shoot!" cried the priest, with sanguinary violence.
"Cover him, Master Dick," said Bennet. "Bring me him down like a ripe
apple."
The fugitive was now within but a few leaps of safety; but this last part
of the meadow ran very steeply uphill; and the man ran slower in
proportion. What with the greyness of the falling night, and the uneven
movements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as Dick levelled his
bow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half desire that he might miss. The
quarrel sped.
The man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose from Hatch and the
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