Suddenly his reveries were broken by an exclamation from one of the monks. "They follow us; pull thy hardest!"
Revyngton turned and looked astern. From the place they had left but a quarter of an hour before half a score of men were dragging a heavy boat down the steep beach.
"By the blessed Peter, my holy namesake," groaned one of the monks, "I had overlooked that, and the oars are in the boat. See, already they have launched it."
"'Tis after all but a crare."
"With a crew of lusty fellows to make amends for its weight. The saints forfend them!"
"Let us trust that they cannot handle the sails, for, mark well, the wind bloweth fair."
The rowers relapsed into silence, and with long, heavy strokes, that seemed far too slow to the hunted fugitive, they resolutely and unfalteringly lessened the distance betwixt them and the nether shore. The hour of noon had already passed, and the sun's rays attained a greater strength than they had previously in the day, yet, though streaming with moisture, the monks laboured in their efforts to shake off their pursuers.
"We hold our own," muttered one over his shoulder.
"Nay, I doubt it; but we must needs make for Ashlett Creek, for the other channel is yet uncovered."
Accordingly the boat's head was turned towards a distant opening in the mud-fringed shore, and the pursuing craft followed suit, thereby gaining considerably on the fugitive, who could now distinguish the dress of the men.