Appearances were against Hilary, and he saw that they were. In fact, so black was the lookout, that he half thought of finding a shallow place and standing there amongst the waterlilies, laughing at his pursuers.
“Only it would look so stupid,” he muttered; “and I should be obliged to come out at last.”
He was striking out pretty well, and, but for the fact that his late exertions had told upon him, he felt that he would have got across with ease.
“It’s too bad, though,” he thought; “and Sir Henry isn’t half the fellow I thought him if he allows me to be taken. Hullo! Hurrah! Down they go!” he exclaimed, as, straining his eyes towards the bridge, he saw one man trip and fall out of sight behind the low wall and another go over him.
This reanimated him; and, taking long, slow strokes, he was soon pretty close to the farther side, with the determination in him strong to get away.
Fortunately he had retained the cutlass; and as he reached the bank and scrambled out, dripping like some huge Newfoundland dog, Allstone came panting up and seized him by the collar.
“Not this time, my lad,” he growled, showing his teeth. “You thought you had done it, didn’t you?”
“Let go!” panted Hilary, as the water streamed down and made a pool.
“Yes, when I’ve got you in a safer place,” was the reply.
“Here, come along, you two. No; one of you fetch a rope.”