punished.”

“Not likely—eh, Bart?” said Abel, with a laugh.

“No, lad,” growled that worthy. “Too dark.”

“Don’t you be too sure,” cried Mary. “You cowards! and if he dies,”—there was a hysterical spasm here—“if he dies, you’ll both go to the gibbet and swing in chains!”

Bart gave his whole body a writhe, as if he already felt the chains about him as he was being made into a scare-scamp.

“Didn’t hit hard enough, and never touched his head,” he growled.

“And as for you,” cried Mary, turning upon him sharply, “never you look me in the face again. You are worse than Abel; and I believe it was your mad, insolent jealousy set you persuading my foolish brother to help in this cowardly attack.”

Bart tried to screw up his lips and whistle; but his jaw seemed to drop, and he only stared and shuffled behind his companion in misfortune.

“Never mind what she says, Bart, lad,” said the latter; “she’ll thank us some day for half-killing as big a scamp as ever stepped.”

“Thank you!” cried Mary, with her eyes flashing and her handsome face distorted, “I hope to see you both well punished, and—”

“Who’s that coming?” said Abel, sharply, as steps were heard approaching quickly.

As Mary turned round to look, Abel caught sight of something over her shoulder in the evening light which made him catch his companion by the arm.

“Quick, Bart, lad!” he whispered; “through her room and squeeze out of the window. The constables!”

He opened the door of his sister’s little room, thrust his mate in, followed, and shut and bolted the door; but as he turned then to the window, a little strongly-made frame which had once done duty in a vessel, Mary’s voice was heard speaking loudly in conversation with the new arrivals in the outer room.

“Out with you, quickly and quietly,” whispered Abel.

“Right, lad,” replied Bart; and unfastening and opening the little window, he thrust his arms through and began to get out.

At that moment there was a loud knocking at the door.

“Open—in the king’s name!”

“Open it yourself,” muttered Abel, “when we’re gone. Quick, Bart, lad!”

This remark was addressed to the big fellow’s hind quarters, which were jerking and moving in a very peculiar way, and then Bart’s voice was heard, sounding muffled and angry, warning somebody to keep off.

“Curse it all! too late!” cried Abel, grinding his teeth. “Here, Bart, lad, get through.”

“Can’t, lad,” growled his companion. “I’m ketched just acrost the hips, and can’t move.”

“Come back, then.”

“That’s what I’m a-trying to do, but this son of a sea-cook has got hold of me.”

“Open—in the King’s name!” came from the outer room; and then, just as Abel had seized an old sea-chest and was about to drag it before the door, there was a tremendous kick, the bolt was driven off, the door swung open, and the Dartmouth constable and a couple of men rushed forwards, and, in spite of Abel’s resistance, dragged him into the other room.

“Now, Dell, my lad,” said the head man, “I’ve got you at last.”

“So it seems,” said Abel, who stared hard at his sister as he spoke; while she stood with her hands clasped before her and a peculiarly rigid look on her face, staring wildly back.

“Smuggling and wrecking weren’t enough for you, eh?”

“What do you want here?” said Abel, giving his sister a final scowl and then facing the head constable.

“You, my lad—you,” said that individual, with a grin.

“What for?”

“Attempted murder and robbery on the king’s highway, my lad.”

“It’s a lie! Who says so?” cried Abel, setting his teeth and fixing his sister again with his dark eyes as she gave him an imploring look.

“Never mind who says so, my lad. Information’s laid all regular against you and Master Bart Wrigley. You’re both captured neatly. Here, how long are you going to be bringing forward the other?” cried the constable.

“We can’t get him out,” shouted a voice. “He’s stuck in the little window.”

“Pull him back, then, by his legs.”

“Been trying ever so long,” said another voice, “but he won’t come.”

“I’ll soon see to that,” said the constable, backing Abel into the little bed-room which was darkened by Bart’s body filling up the window. “Here, lay hold of his legs, two of you, and give a good jerk.”

Two men obeyed, but they did not give the jerk—Bart did that. Drawing in his legs like a grasshopper about to leap, he suddenly shot them out straight, when, though they did not alter his position where he was nipped in across the hips by the window-frame, they acted like catapults upon the two constables, who were driven backwards, the one into a chair, the other into a sitting position on the floor, to the great delight of those who looked on.

“Four of you,” said the head constable stolidly; “and hold on this time.”

The men obeyed, two going to each leg; and though Bart gave three or four vigorous kicks, his captors were not dislodged.

“Now,” said the head constable, as the kicking legs became quiescent, “all together!”

There was a sharp jerk, and Bart’s body was snatched out of the imprisoning frame so suddenly that five men went down on the floor together; while the first to rise was Bart, who kicked himself free, made for the door in spite of a pistol levelled by the head constable, and passed through.

“Come on, Abel!” he shouted as he went.

Abel made a dash to follow, but he only struck his face against the muzzle of a pistol, and the head constable held on.

There was a rush after Bart, but it was needless, for the great stolid fellow had seen the state of affairs, and come back.

“All right, Abel, lad,” he growled; “I won’t leave you in the lurch. What’s it mean—lock-up!”

“Yes, my lad; charge of attempted murder and robbery,” said the head constable.

“Took all the skin off my hips and ribs,” growled Bart, rubbing himself softly.

“You’ll have plenty of time to get well before your trial,” said the constable, smiling. “Are you ready!”

This last to Abel, who was gazing fiercely at his sister, who met his angry eyes with an imploring look.

“And my own sister, too, Bart,” he said, bitterly. “We fought for her, lad, and she gave information to the police.”

“No, no, no, Abel!” cried Mary, running to him to fling her arms about his neck; but he gave her a rough thrust which sent her staggering back, and her countenance changed on the instant for her eyes flashed vindictively, and she stood before him with folded arms.

“Prisoner confessed in the presence of you all that he committed the act,” said the constable; and his words were received with a mutter of assent in chorus.

“Here, I’m ready,” said Abel. “Come along, mate.”

“So’m I,” growled Bart, laying a hand on Abel’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t ha’ thought it on you, Mary, my lass,” he said, and he gazed at her sadly as he shook his head.

Mary made no reply, but stood with her arms folded across her breast and her brow wrinkled while the party moved out of the cottage; but the next instant the scene which followed made her rush outside and gaze wildly with eyes dilated and breast heaving, and her hands now clasped as she watched the chase.

For as the little party stood outside, Bart still with his hand upon his companion’s shoulder, Abel said quickly—

“The boat. Run!”

Bart was, as a rule, rather slow of comprehension; but at that moment the same idea was filling his mind. That is to say, it was already charged, and Abel’s words were as so many sparks struck from steel to fire that charge. Consequently, as the young fellow struck the constable to