way, discharging itself uselessly into the branches of the
oak. Clasping his adversary by the throat Ralph pushed him backwards to
the ground, and the pair rolled over locked in a deadly embrace. Then
suddenly the loader relaxed his grip and lay limp and still.

Breathing heavily, Ralph raised himself to his knees and pulled away the
false wig and beard of his prostrate foe. Not altogether to his surprise
he beheld the features of Sir Ernest Scrivener, _alias_ Marmaduke
Moorsdyke.

A low gasp of relief made him glance up. Seated on her black palfrey was
Lady Margaret, who had been watching the struggle with breathless and
agonised anxiety.

"Madge!" cried Ralph, rising to his feet. "What are you----"

Her quick cry of warning came too late. Wheeling round, Ralph found that
the treacherous baronet had seized a second rifle and had levelled it
directly at Lady Margaret's heart.

"I rather think," said the slow, sneering voice, "that I am now in a
position to enforce my commands. You will walk steadily backwards for
two miles. If you refuse I shall shoot Lady Margaret. And I shall shoot
to kill."

His nerves as steady as steel in this desperate crisis, Ralph swiftly
analysed the situation. If he backed away as commanded, Sir Ernest would
then mount Grey Bob and ride off with Lady Margaret, and Ralph realised
that even her death was preferable to this. If he made a dash at the
assailant, the latter, to save his own skin, would almost certainly
fire. But Ralph knew that Sir Ernest, in spite of his threat, had no
intention of shooting Lady Margaret if it could possibly be avoided.

He determined to remain perfectly still. The probabilities were that
Scrivener, realising he had been outwitted, would sooner or later turn
his rifle suddenly on Ralph, and Ralph, in all the pride of his
magnificent physical powers, knew that in that brief moment he could
hurl himself upon the other.

But Sir Ernest knew it also.

Ralph stood motionless. Lady Margaret, playing her part bravely, sat
motionless on her palfrey. Sir Ernest lay motionless, his rifle pointed
inflexibly at her heart. No word was spoken.

A grouse in the oak-tree croaked jeeringly.

* * *

An hour passed. Two hours. Three. Four. There was not the tremor of a
muscle among the three.

Five hours passed. Six. Seven. Then Ralph felt that the strain could be
borne no longer. He resolved to count a hundred and at the end of that
time to rush desperately f