"One would think they were parson and clerk," said the Vicar under his breath.
The hint was taken, and Mr. Mildmay was able to speak a few sentences without interruption.
"Well, we left together, Polwhele and I, at nine o'clock, as we intended. 'Twas pitch dark. We had quitted the grounds but half a minute, and were walking along by that stone hedge near the mine-shaft, when we fell headlong over a rope stretched across the road. Before we could get to our feet, hang me if a crowd of ruffians didn't fling themselves upon us and well-nigh choke the breath out of our bodies. I hit out——"
"So did I," said Mr. Polwhele, his feelings overcoming him.
"So did Polwhele. I barked my knuckles."
"So did I," said Mr. Polwhele.
"So did Polwhele; but we might have been fighting air for all the good we did. The rascals held us down while they gagged and roped us——"
"And never a word said," put in the riding-officer.
"No, confound it all! 'Twas too dark to tell black from white. All the scoundrels were masked, and didn't breathe a word we could identify 'em by. They roped us so that we couldn't move hand or foot, and carried us we didn't know where——"
"Except that it was over plaguey rough ground. I was jarred and jolted till I felt as if all my joints were loose."