Utter despair seized her.
“Oh!” she sobbed, “have pity on me!”
“Pity!” said Norton, savagely. “Have you pitied me? Tell me which way he went, or I’ll——”
At this, Gabriel, driven desperate, struggled to his feet, but, turning faint, was forced for a while to lean against one of the hedge-row elms. The children, terrified by his movement and by the dispute in the orchard, dropped their daisy-chains and ran at full speed down the field, while the Colonel, becoming aware of a stir behind him, glanced round.
That was too much for Hilary. She sprang forward and diverted Norton’s attention by pointing to the hills. Her voice was the voice of one goaded beyond all endurance.
“He rode yonder!” she cried, “to Malvern!”
Norton turned to the wood-carver. “Haste, Waghorn! Take word to my servant at the blacksmith’s, and do you ride with him in pursuit. I have a word to say to this lady.” Waghorn was only too ready to undertake such congenial work, and the moment he was gone Norton seized Hilary roughly by the wrists.
“By your tears and your pretences,” he said, with fierce scorn, “you have done your best to hinder me; but I would have you know, Mistress, that I am not one to be baffled. You are wholly at my mercy now.”
In wild terror, she felt the pitiless brute force of the man.
“Let me go!” she panted, struggling to free herself.