‘Fire away, then! I’ll follow you to—!’ and the old man paced stealthily but firmly up to them.
Tregarva saw his danger and sprang forward, but it was too late.
‘What, you will have it, then?’
A sharp crack followed,—a bright flash in the darkness—every white birch-stem and jagged oak-leaf shone out for a moment as bright as day—and in front of the glare Lancelot saw the old man throw his arms wildly upward, fall forward, and disappear on the dark ground.
‘You’ve done it! off with you!’ And the rascals rushed off up the ride.
In a moment Tregarva was by the old man’s side, and lifted him tenderly up.
‘They’ve done for me, Paul. Old Harry’s got his gruel. He’s heard his last shot fired. I knowed it ’ud come to this, and I said it. Eh? Didn’t I, now, Paul?’ And as the old man spoke, the workings of his lungs pumped great jets of blood out over the still heather-flowers as they slept in the moonshine, and dabbled them with smoking gore.
‘Here, men,’ shouted the colonel, ‘up with him at once, and home! Here, put a brace of your guns together, muzzle and lock. Help him to sit on them, Lancelot. There, Harry, put your arms round their necks. Tregarva, hold him up behind. Now then, men, left legs foremost—keep step—march!’ And they moved off towards the Priory.
‘You seem to know everything, colonel,’ said Lancelot.
The colonel did not answer for a moment.