On he went; and the strange, uncomfortable feeling at his heart was dispelled as, on rounding a corner of the road, he saw the light glinting cheerfully from his mother’s cottage.
“Poor old creature,” he murmured half aloud, “many a sore heart I’ve given her. But I’ll be a better boy now. I’ll—”
“Now, lads,” shouted a voice, “have at him!”
“Back!” cried Bob Cooper, brandishing his cudgel. “Back, or it’ll be worse for you!”
The dark shadows made a rush. Bob struck out with all his force, and one after another fell beneath his arm. But a blow from behind disabled him at last, and down he went, just as his distracted mother came rushing, lantern in hand, from her hut. There was the sharp click of the handcuffs, and Bob Cooper was a prisoner. The lantern-light fell on the uniforms of policemen.
“What is it? Oh, what has my laddie been doin’?”
“Murder, missus, or something very like it! There has been dark doin’s in th’ hill to-night!”
Bob grasped the nearest policeman by the arm with his manacled hands. “When—when did ye say it had happened?”
“You know too well, lad. Not two hours ago. Don’t sham innocence; it sits but ill on a face like yours.”
“Mother,” cried Bob bewilderingly, “I know nothing of it! I’m innocent!”