The night was dark and starless, as they plodded onward, and as the rain ceased, the wind grew stronger, while for miles inland the roaring of the sea could be heard like deep continuous thunder. Herbert, too much occupied with his own thoughts, seldom spoke, nor did Kerry, exhausted as he felt himself, often break silence as they went. As they drew near the castle, however, a figure crossed the road, and advancing towards them said—
“Good night.”
“Who could that be, Kerry?” said Herbert, as the stranger passed on.
“I know the voice well,” said Kerry, “though he thought to disguise it. That's Sam Wylie, and it's not for any thing good he's here.”
Scarcely were the words spoken, when four fellows sprang down upon and seized them.
“This is our man,” said one of the party, as he held Herbert by the collar, with a grasp there was no resisting; “but secure the other also.”
Herbert's resistance was vain, although spiritedly made, and stifling his cries for aid, they carried him along for some little distance to a spot, where a chaise was standing with four mounted dragoons on either side. Into this he was forced, and seated between two men in plain clothes, the word was given to start.
“You know your orders if a rescue be attempted,” said a voice, Herbert at once knew to be Hemsworth's.
The answer was lost in the noise of the wheels; for already the horses were away at the top of their speed, giving the escort all they could do to keep up beside them.