d not twenty yards off, looking perplexed. They dashed
forward at her words. 'Have you seen a shabby man with a smock-frock on
lately?' they inquired. She pointed to the door, and ran on the same as
before.

Manston, who had just loosened himself from Edward's grasp, seemed
at this moment to renounce his intention of pushing the conflict to a
desperate end. 'I give it all up for life--dear life!' he cried, with a
hoarse laugh. 'A reckless man has a dozen lives--see how I'll baffle you
all yet!'

He rushed out of the house, but no further. The boast was his last. In
one half-minute more he was helpless in the hands of his pursuers.

Edward staggered to his feet, and paused to recover breath. His thoughts
had never forsaken Cytherea, and his first act now was to hasten up the
lane after her. She had not gone far. He found her leaning upon a bank
by the roadside, where she had flung herself down in sheer exhaustion.
He ran up and lifted her in his arms, and thus aided she was enabled
to stand upright--clinging to him. What would Springrove have given to
imprint a kiss upon her lips then!

They walked slowly towards the house. The distressing sensation of whose
wife she was could not entirely quench the resuscitated pleasure he felt
at her grateful recognition of him, and her confiding seizure of his arm
for support. He conveyed her carefully into the house.

A quarter of an hour later, whilst she was sitting in a partially
recovered, half-dozing state in an arm-chair, Edward beside her waiting
anxiously till Graye should arrive, they saw a spring-cart pass the
door. Old and dry mud-splashes from long-forgotten rains disfigured its
wheels and sides; the varnish and paint had been scratched and dimmed;
ornament had long been forgotten in a restless contemplation of use.
Three men sat on the seat, the middle one being Manston. His hands
were bound in front of him, his eyes were set directly forward, his
countenance pallid, hard, and fixed.

Springrove had told Cytherea of Manston's crime in a few short words. He
now said solemnly, 'He is to die.'

'And I cannot mourn for him,' she replied with a shudder, leaning back
and covering her face with her hands.

In the silence that followed the two short remarks, Springrove watched
the cart round the corner, and heard the rattle of its wheels gradually
dying away as it rolled in the direction of the county-town.

XXI. THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN HOURS

1. MARCH THE TW