"They're here!" Hawkesworth answered. "I think he's got them."
"And the sparklers?"
Hawkesworth nodded; but the next instant swore and stood. The man on the horse, who should have been guarding the mouth of the dark entry, where the girls lay trapped, was a dozen yards farther up the road, his back to the cottages, and his face to the house with the gable end.
"What the devil are you doing?" Hawkesworth roared. "They are here, man!"
"They have bolted!" the fellow answered sullenly. "Or one of them has. She shook a shawl in this brute's face, and he reared. Before I could get him round----"
"She got off?" the Irishman shrieked.
"No! She's here, in the house! Burn her, when I get hold of her I'll make her smart for it!"
"She? Then where's the other?"
"She's where she was, for all I know," the man answered. "I've seen nothing of her."
But he lied in that. While he had been marking down the woman who had frightened his horse with her shawl--and who then had glided coolly into the house, the door of which stood ajar--he had seen with the tail of his eye a flying skirt vanish down the road behind him. He had a notion that one had got clear, but he was not sure; and if he said anything he would be blamed. So he stood while Hawkesworth and the other searched the dark space between the cottages.