"Push, push," cried Magdalen, "or they will be here after all."
They strained and tugged, but the boat would not move. The splashes sounded nearer, the fierce cries became louder.
"Oh! oh! if only there were quicksands," cried Magdalen.
"There are," said her father. "The bay is full of them as the tide rises."
"Sir George Lisle! Sir George Lisle!" called out a well-known voice. "Your life is safe, and that of Mistress Lisle, if you attempt no escape--and no escape is possible; but I cannot vouch for your safety if you persist in trying to get away."
But the fugitives gave no answer.
"There she goes," gasped Ralph, as he strained more than ever with his shoulder against the square stern of the ill-shaped boat.
"Oh, Ralph, you will do yourself a mischief," said Magdalen, "and you hardly well yet from your illness."
The boat was moving, however. Sir George Lisle kept pulling in the warp, and the sand was stirred up all round.
"Ah, what's that?" said Sir George, as something whizzed past him and stuck in the sail. "Lie down, child, they are shooting from their crossbows."