ane where he had left his
horse, and rode off before I could get up to him. I need hardly say that
there was no use attempting to follow on foot. He missed you all, did he
not?"

"Yes, Mark. It is not so easy to take an accurate aim when it is nearly
dark. The bullet passed between myself and Mr. Bastow, and has buried
itself in the mantelpiece."

"Something ought to be done, Guardy," Millicent Conyers said
indignantly. "It is shameful that people cannot sit in their own room
without the risk of being shot at. What can it mean? Surely no one can
have any enmity against you."

"I hope not, my dear," John Thorndyke said lightly. "Some of the fellows
we have sentenced may think that we were rather hard on them, but I
do not think that any of them would feel it sufficiently to attempt to
murder one; besides, Mark says that the fellow had a horse waiting
for him, and none of our poachers would be likely to be the owner of a
horse. It may be that the highwayman Mark shot at and wounded has come
down to give us a fright. It is no use worrying about it now; in future
we will have the shutters closed at sunset. It is hardly likely that
the thing will be attempted again, and Mark's chase must have shown the
fellow that the game is hardly worth the risk."

"He might have shot you, Mark; you had no right to risk your life in
that sort of way," the girl said to him, later, as they were seated
together in front of the fire, while the Squire was reading the Gazette
at the table, Mrs. Cunningham was working, and Mr. Bastow, who had been
greatly shaken by the event, had retired to bed.

"Do you think that he really meant to kill your father?"

"I should imagine he did; a man would hardly run the risk of being hung
merely for the pleasure of shooting. I would give a good deal if I had
caught him, or better still, if I had shot him," said Mark. "However, I
will make it my business to hunt the fellow down. After this evening's
affair, we shall never feel comfortable until he is caught. I have
no doubt that he is the fellow we have been hunting for the last four
months. The people at Bow Street seem no good whatever; I will try if I
cannot succeed better."

"Don't do anything rash, Mark," said Millicent, in a low voice; "you
have no right to put yourself in danger."

"But our lives are in danger now, Millicent--in much greater danger
than mine would be when looking out for him. But there seems no guarding
against attacks like this