The shadow loomed over them, fell upon them, and seized them and the diamond bracelet. In a moment Jeremiah had wrested it back again, and three human beings were engaged in a deadly struggle.
"I arrest you," cried Tom Barley, "for the murder of Miser Farebrother and Maria Baily!"
The contest was unequal. Strong as Tom Barley was, Jeremiah and his mother had the strength of desperation, and they succeeded in flinging him off. But he fell on them again, and his cries for help rang loud through the night.
"It's you, Tom Barley, is it?" muttered Jeremiah, as the struggle was proceeding. "It's you that's been hunting us down, is it?"
"Yes, it's me," said Tom Barley, getting his mouth free—Mrs. Pamflett was endeavouring to stifle his cries with her hand—"and as God is your judge you're as good as dead!"
"Hold on to him, mother, a moment," said Jeremiah; "fix your teeth in him! Say your prayers, Tom Barley; it's you that's as good as dead!"
"Ah!" screamed Tom, and he dropped.
Jeremiah had succeeded in plucking a knife from his pocket, and, opening it, had plunged it into Tom. He had aimed at the honest fellow's heart, but he had missed, and the knife had gone through the upper part of the right arm, cutting it cruelly to the bone. It was this that had caused Tom to let go his hold upon them. They took advantage of the release, and fled through the darkness. But in a moment Tom was on his feet again, and pursuing them, the blood flowing fast from the wound. He did not feel the pain of it; all that he bemoaned was that his arm was useless and that his voice was growing weak. Before fifty yards were traversed he had seized them again.
"Curse it!" cried Jeremiah, "I have lost my knife."
"That's my luck," muttered Tom, clinging to them.