“O, Blessed Mary, save me; save me!” he yelled out in an agony of anguish as he felt himself slowly but surely sinking; but not, apparently, feeling very much assured about the answer to his prayer, he turned from things spiritual to things visible and mortal.

“Help me; save me, George,” he cried.

Sir George Vernon was too much overcome by the ludicrous aspect of the affair to lend any assistance just then, for he well knew that two feet, if not less than that, was the excess of its depth.

“Let him alone,” he cried.  “If he had not so befuddled his head with ale he would remember as well as I do that twenty inches would reach the bottom of the mud.”

Had Lady Maude been there she would in all probability have sent her lord and master to aid the poor unfortunate, but she was safe at Haddon, and, rejoicing in his freedom from restraint, he laughed louder and louder as he watched the frantic efforts of his friend.

“Don’t let me die,” pleaded poor De Lacey.  “Don’t let me die like a dog.  Oh, dear, I’m going, I’m going!  Blessed Virgin, help me; save me!” and the old man made a last great struggle to free himself.

Manners could bear it no longer.  He clearly perceived that what was fun to them was mortal terror to the pitiable object of their merriment, and, advancing to the edge of the dyke, he held out his pole at arm’s length to render him what assistance he could.

“Here, take hold of it,” he cried.

Sir John endeavoured to obey the injunction, but he could not even touch it, and he sank back again in despair.

“Why, man,” laughed Sir George, “as I’m a Vernon, you know as well as I do that thou canst never sink deep in two feet of mud.”

The words roused De Lacey to struggle to his feet and attempt to extricate himself.  He staggered forward and advanced a foot or two, but the slimy mud had such a determined hold of him that he overbalanced himself, and fell forward at full length into the ditch.  This time, however, he was closer to the bank, and making another effort, he grasped the pole which was still held out to help him.  Manners leaned forward, and pulled with all his might, but for some time it was an open question whether he would go in or Sir John come out.

At this critical juncture Dorothy arrived upon the scene of the disaster.  The sight of the old man’s distress at once appealed to her womanly nature, and she had but to murmur a word of pity, when, in a moment, half-a-dozen knights leapt over to fulfil her unspoken wish.  With this accession of strength the captive was easily freed, and a queer figure he was.  It would have been difficult for a stranger to have determined exactly what he was; for, covered as he was to the depth of several inches with black mud, he looked more like an animal of prehistoric times—­such as we see represented by fossils—­than any human being.

De Lacey was promptly rolled upon the turf, and the pages set to work and endeavoured to reach his person by scraping away the adhesive slime with the aid of sticks and stones.