A fresh cry came from off the fen, and it was so unmistakably the word “Help!” that the squire and his son increased their pace.
“Ahoy, there!” cried a big gruff voice.
“Hickathrift?”
“Ay, mester! Hear that! some un’s in trouble over yonder.”
The wheelwright’s big figure loomed up out of the darkness and joined them as they hurried on.
“Yes, I heard it. I think it must be Mr Marston missed his way.”
“What! the young gent at the dreeaning! Hey, bud he’d no call to be out theer.”
“Where are you?” shouted Dick, who was ahead now and hurrying along the track that struck off to the big reed-beds and then away over the fen to the sea-bank.
“Here! help!” came faintly.
“Tak’ care, Mester Dick!” cried Hickathrift as he and the squire followed. “Why, he is reight off the path!”