ough, and he fell
forward on his face among the cabbages. Hatch, with a broken cry, leapt
into the air; then, stooping double, he ran for the cover of the house.
And in the meanwhile Dick Shelton had dropped behind a lilac, and had
his cross-bow bent and shouldered, covering the point of the forest.

Not a leaf stirred. The sheep were patiently browsing; the birds had
settled. But there lay the old man, with a cloth-yard arrow standing in
his back; and there were Hatch holding to the gable, and Dick crouching
and ready behind the lilac bush.

"D'ye see aught?" cried Hatch.

"Not a twig stirs," said Dick.

"I think shame to leave him lying," said Bennet, coming forward once
more with hesitating steps and a very pale countenance. "Keep a good
eye on the wood, Master Shelton--keep a clear eye on the wood. The
saints assoil us! here was a good shoot!"

Bennet raised the old archer on his knee. He was not yet dead; his face
worked, and his eyes shut and opened like machinery, and he had a most
horrible, ugly look of one in pain.

"Can ye hear, old Nick?" asked Hatch. "Have ye a last wish before ye
wend, old brother?"

"Pluck out the shaft, and let me pass, a' Mary's name!" gasped
Appleyard. "I be done with Old England. Pluck it out!"

"Master Dick," said Bennet, "come hither, and pull me a good pull upon
the arrow. He would fain pass, the poor sinner."

Dick laid down his cross-bow, and pulling hard upon the arrow, drew it
forth. A gush of blood followed; the old archer scrambled half upon his
feet, called once upon the name of God, and then fell dead. Hatch, upon
his knees among the cabbages, prayed fervently for the welfare of the
passing spirit. But even as he prayed, it was plain that his mind was
still divided, and he kept ever an eye upon the corner of the wood from
which the shot had come. When he had done, he got to his feet again,
drew off one of his mailed gauntlets, and wiped his pale face, which was
all wet with terror.

"Ay," he said, "it'll be my turn next."

"Who hath done this, Bennet?" Richard asked, still holding the arrow in
his hand.

"Nay, the saints know," said Hatch. "Here are a good two-score Christian
souls that we have hunted out of house and holding, he and I. He has
paid his shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long, mayhap, ere I pay mine.
Sir Daniel driveth overhard."

"This is a strange shaft," said the lad, looking at the arrow in his
hand.

"Ay, by my faith!" cried Bennet. "Bla