"Away yonder. I can see the sail."
Jeremy had risen from behind the furze, and Stott followed him. They saw that De Rothan had turned and was looking out to sea. Nance had played her poor little trick on him, and it had answered. She picked up her skirts and made a dash toward the furze.
Jeremy leapt out on to the grass, shouting.
"Run, Nance, run, into the bushes for your life."
She was still in the moonlight, though nearing the banks of shadow. De Rothan had twisted about, raised an arm, and taken aim. Jeremy's voice rang out, fiercely, warningly.
"Not at the girl, not at the girl, De Rothan!"
Then Stott's pistol cracked, and De Rothan's hat went whirling, but left him unhurt. Whether the shot startled him, or whether he drew the trigger purposely, his pistol belched flame. Nance was some thirty yards from him. She gave a curious cry, staggered on a few steps, and then fell face forward into the furze.
A man's cry echoed Nance's. Jeremy swung round and caught Jasper round the middle.
"No, no, lad! Leave him to us."
"Let go, Jeremy, damn you, let go."