With an execration, Sir Francis threw the hilt at the head of the next man he saw; then rushing, with headlong speed, he distanced his pursuers for some house tops.

But the row of houses ended at the one he was then at, and he could go no further.  What was to be done?  The height was by far too great to be jumped; death was certain.  A hideous heap of crushed and mangled bones would be the extent of what would remain of him, and then, perhaps, life not extinct for some hours afterwards.

He turned round; he saw them coming hallooing over the house tops, like a pack of hounds.  Sir Francis struck his hands together, and groaned.  He looked round, and perceived some ivy peeping over the coping-stone.  A thought struck him, and he instantly ran to the spot and leaned over.

“Saved—­saved!” he exclaimed.

Then, placing his hand over, he felt for the ivy; then he got over, and hung by the coping-stone, in a perilous position, till he found a spot on which he could rest his foot, and then he grasped the ivy as low down as he could, and thus he lowered himself a short way, till he came to where the ivy was stronger and more secure to the wall, as the upper part was very dangerous with his weight attached to it.

The mob came on, very sure of having Sir Francis Varney in their power, and they did not hurry on so violently, as their position was dangerous at that hour of the night.

“Easy, boys, easy,” was the cry.  “The bird is our own; he can’t get away, that’s very certain.”

They, however, came on, and took no time about it hardly; but what was their amazement and rage at finding he had disappeared.

“Where is he?” was the universal inquiry, and “I don’t know,” an almost universal answer.

There was a long pause, while they searched around; but they saw no vestige of the object of their search.

“There’s no trap door open,” remarked one; “and I don’t think he could have got in at any one.”

“Perhaps, finding he could not get away, he has taken the desperate expedient of jumping over, and committing suicide, and so escape the doom he ought to be subjected to.”

“Probably he has; but then we can run a stake through him and burn him all the same.”

They now approached the extreme verge of the houses, and looked over the sides, but they could see nothing.  The moon was up, and there was light enough to have seen him if he had fallen to the earth, and they were quite sure that he could not have got up after such a fall as he must have received.

“We are beaten after all, neighbours.”

“I am not so sure of that,” was the reply.  “He may now be hidden about, for he was too far spent to be able to go far; he could not do that, I am sure.”

“I think not either.”

“Might he not have escaped by means of that ivy, yonder?” said one of the men, pointing to the plant, as it climbed over the coping-stones of the wall.