"Poh! fish me no fish, sir!" cried Cutting Tom, while the slim lantern-bearer strode around to the front. "Am I to be led astray, and this maid here, for your designs? You have dragged us too long through this cursed wood—and that's the hell of it!"
"'Tis the right way, I tell you," said Holyday; "and how can you say otherwise, when you know not whither we are bound?"
"But I do know whither we are bound—and that's the hell of it!"
"I begin to think you are an impudent fellow," quoth Holyday, momentarily reckless through loss of patience; "and that's the hell of it, in your Bedlam gibberish!"
"Death!" bellowed Cutting Tom; "'hell of it' belongs to me; no man in England dare steal my speech!"
He handed his torch to one of the men, ran at the scholar, dealt him a blow between the eyes, seized his lantern, and dragged Millicent away, motioning the slim knave to lead on. The knave took a direction leftward from their former one.
"What mean you?" cried the maid, trying to release herself. "I'll not leave Master Holyday."
One of the men caught her by the free arm, and she was borne away by him and Cutting Tom. Glancing back, she saw that the two remaining men, one of whom had quickly stuck the torch in the ground, were grappling with Holyday, who was struggling between them.
"In God's name, what would you do?" Millicent cried, as her captors hastened on at the heels of the new guide.