He was in a dense part of his way now, with the sky quite hidden by the overhanging boughs, so that it was not possible to see more than a few feet behind or before him, and hence he looked back in vain; and though he listened intently there was no heavy snorting breath, such as he would probably have heard if it had been pony or cow.
“It’s some one tracking me,” thought the lad at last, as again he heard, very near him now, the rustle of the leaves and the flying back of twigs.
So impressed was he now, and satisfied that whoever followed might mean him harm, that he essayed to draw his sword as he hurried on; but the sheer agony caused to the stiffened wound made him drop his hand at once, and trust to getting out of the wood to where the ground was more open, and he could reach the cliff, for he felt that now he could not be many hundred yards from the way leading to the step-like path cut in the stone.
Again there was a quick rustle, as if his pursuer had tried to diminish the distance, and a minute later this sounded so near that, convinced of his follower being one of the men who had attacked them that evening, Ralph suddenly faced round—just when the sensation was strong that some one was about to leap upon him and strike him down—and shouted aloud:
“Keep back, whoever you are. I am armed.”
“Ralph! that you?” came from a short distance in his rear.
“Yes, yes, quick!” cried the lad faintly; and he staggered on now, to find himself a minute later in his father’s arms.
“Why, Ralph, boy, what does this mean? I have half-a-dozen men out hunting for you.”
“I’ll—I’ll tell you presently,” panted the lad, who was bathed in sweat. “Draw your sword, and be on your guard. Some one has been following me this last half-hour.”
“Who?”