“So I have done,” rejoined Pillichody, bursting into a loud laugh; “and I am now helping to catch you again.  What a blind buzzard you must be not to perceive the net spread for you!  Deliver up Nizza Macascree without more ado, or, by all the fiends, I will pay you off for your dastardly assault upon me this morning.”

“I cannot deliver her up,” cried Blaize; “she sticks to me as fast as a burr.  I shall be torn asunder between you.  Help! help!”

Parravicin, having dismounted, now tore away Nizza Macascree, and was just about to transfer her to his own steed, when John Lutcombe, having driven away the earl in the manner before described, came to the rescue.  One blow from his cudgel stretched the knight on the sod, and liberated Nizza Macascree, who instantly flew to her preserver.  Finding how matters stood, and that he was likely to be well backed, Blaize plucked up his courage, and grappled with Pillichody.  In the struggle they both tumbled to the ground.  The keeper rushed towards them, and seizing Pillichody, began to belabour him soundly.  In vain the bully implored mercy.  He underwent a severe chastisement, and Blaize added a few kicks to the shower of blows proceeding from the keeper, crying, as he dealt them, “Who is the buzzard now, I should like to know?”

By this time, Parravicin had regained his legs, and the Earl of Rochester having forced back his steed, both drew their swords, and, burning for vengeance, prepared to renew the charge.  The affair might have assumed a serious aspect, if it had not chanced that at this juncture lights were seen hurrying along the avenue, and the next moment, a large party issued from it.

“It is the king?” cried Rochester.  “What is to be done?”

“Our prey must be abandoned,” rejoined Parravicin; “it will never do to be caught here.”

With this he sprang upon his steed, and disappeared across the downs with the earl.

John Lutcombe, on perceiving the approach of the torch-bearers, instantly abandoned Pillichody, and assisting Blaize to the saddle, placed Nizza behind him.  Leonard, likewise, who had dismounted to support Amabel, replaced her in the pillion, and in a few seconds the party were in motion.  Pillichody, who was the only person now left, did not care to wait for the king’s arrival, but snatching the bridle of his steed, which was quietly grazing at a little distance, mounted him, and galloped off in the direction which he fancied had been taken by the earl and his companion.

Guided by the keeper, who ran beside them, the fugitives proceeded for a couple of miles at a rapid pace over the downs, when, it not appearing that they were followed, John Lutcombe halted for a moment to recover breath.  The fresh air had in some degree revived Amabel, and the circumstance of their providential deliverance raised the spirits of the whole party.  Soon after this, they reached the ridge of the downs, the magnificent view from which was completely hidden by the shades of night, and, tracking the old Roman road for about a mile, descended the steep hill in the direction of the Blowing Stone.  Skirting a thick grove of trees, they presently came to a gate, which the keeper opened, and led them through an orchard towards what appeared to be in the gloom a moderately-sized and comfortable habitation.