Chapter Twenty Five.
A Determined Pursuit.
“Lost!” said Murray, bitterly.
“No,” replied Mr Braine, quietly; “they have to take us yet.”
“Hist!” whispered Hamet, and parting the overhanging boughs, he forced the boat in till, as far as they could tell, they were hidden—a branch acting as anchor—and they listened to the water rippling by them, and the beat, beat, of the oars.
Sound travels so rapidly over smooth water, that it was long before the fugitives could feel that the boat was close at hand. Then, on it sped nearer, and above the sound of the oars came that of voices in low, angry discussion. Two of the leaders were evidently disputing, and their words were plain to three at least on board.
Abreast now, and becoming then just visible through the drooping boughs, and as Ned and Frank sat together, hand clasped in hand, the unspoken question was: “Will any of the keen eyes on board see us.”
“Our escape cut off this way,” thought Ned, the next moment; and then he placed his lips close to Frank’s ear and whispered, for the boy had suddenly given his hand a quick pressure.
“What did they say?”
“It was the Muntrie,” whispered Frank in the same way. “Says there is no boat missing, and that we can’t be on the river. The only boat out is the one up by, where we are in prison.”