At this moment the deep bell of the Minster clock tolled out the hour of six.
"I am answered," gasped Dick; "it was to hear those strokes."
Turpin was roused from the state of stupefaction into which he had fallen by a smart slap on the shoulder. Recalled to himself by the blow, he started at once to his feet, while his hands sought his pistols: but he was spared the necessity of using them, by discovering in the intruder the bearded visage of the gipsy Balthazar. The patrico was habited in mendicant weeds, and sustained a large wallet upon his shoulders.
"So it's all over with the best mare in England, I see," said Balthazar; "I can guess how it has happened—you are pursued?"
"I am," said Dick, roughly.
"Your pursuers are at hand?"
"Within a few hundred yards."
"Then, why stay here? Fly while you can."
"Never—never," cried Turpin; "I'll fight it out here by Bess's side. Poor lass! I've killed her—but she has done it—ha, ha!—we have won—what?" And his utterance was again choked.
"Hark! I hear the tramp of horse, and shouts," cried the patrico. "Take this wallet. You will find a change of dress within it. Dart into that thick copse—save yourself."