"My errand?" replied Revyngton, with a mirthless laugh. "I seek sanctuary."
"Art without the pale of the law?"
"Of that there is little doubt."
"Then throw in thy lot with us. A free life in the forest glades, with many a weighty scrip to balance the lightness of our minds, is better than being cooped up in yonder monastery."
The fugitive shook his head.
"Nay, 'tis not to my liking."
"Neither is the other, I trow, but look!"
Following the direction of his hand, Revyngton saw coming over the brow of a distant hill which he had crossed but a short while ago a number of his pursuers. Three had procured horses, while the rest, some five in number, ran by their side, holding on to the stirrups to aid their speed.
Instantly the robbers vanished into the tangle of bracken, leaving the fugitive alone on the narrow path, and once again he broke into a headlong pace, his pursuers thundering along but three arrow-flights behind him.
Fortunately the unevenness of the path prevented the horsemen from riding their hardest, and when at length Revyngton, exhausted and faint, reached the brow of the hill, he saw that the situation was still in his favour. Blindly plunging onwards, with laboured breathing and aching sides, he ran down the hill, at the foot of which clustered the extensive buildings of the abbey.