It would have fared ill with the knight of Ashby had his foe but once reached within arm’s length of him; but Fortune, after wavering about as if uncertain which way to make up its mind, declared itself at last upon the side of villainy, and Manners was stretched low upon the ground by a stone hurled at him by one of his assailants.

With his fall Dorothy’s last chance of escape was taken from her.

De la Zouch heard the groan of his injured foe, and turning his face round to ascertain its meaning, he was just in time to see his rival drop from his saddle upon the road, where he was quickly surrounded amid a considerable show of bravery by the minions of De la Zouch to whom he had just given such a terrible exhibition of his skill.

“You cowardly knaves,” cried that worthy, “secure him ere he escapes again.”

Not a man stirred, for Manners had inspired them with so wholesome a dread of the power of his arm that, although he was sorely wounded, no one was willing to venture within his reach.

“Secure him, I say,” imperiously repeated Sir Henry, who, from his safe position on horseback, could well afford to ridicule their fears and give his commands with confidence.

Manners with difficulty managed to raise himself upon his elbow, and he looked so fierce and desperate that the solitary man who had advanced towards him retreated with dismay.

“By St. George, seize him, sirrah,” exclaimed the knight, springing off his saddle in high dudgeon.  “You are all cowards together.”

“Seize him, do you say,” returned the man, insolently; “seize him, do you say?  Seize him yourself, then, for I vow I have had more than enough of it already.  He fights like a dragon; see here,” and the man bared his arm and showed a number of bruises upon it.  “Now then, master,” he continued, “seize him yourself, say I, for I will have no more to do with the affair;” and to this his companions sullenly murmured assent.

“A woman would have less fear than thee,” returned the knight contemptuously, as he glanced at the arm held out before him.  “Why, I have fought for hours after being grievously wounded in the fray.”

It had been more to Sir Henry’s mind to have struck the man down to the ground for his insolence, and this he felt strongly impelled to do, but seeing the threatening aspect of the man’s companions he restrained his fury, promising himself that his punishment should lose nothing by the fact of it being reserved to another and a safer time.  It was with difficulty that he had contented himself with returning so mild an answer, but the man’s retort drove him at once beyond the bounds of prudence and patience, and made him utterly reckless.

“Mayhap you have,” returned the man incredulously, “but I’ll warrant me it was no fault of thine.  You showed us some of your skill just now.”

“I will prove it,” shouted the knight, furiously, and, suiting the action to the word, he seized hold of the nearest weapon, a stout ash stick, and advancing towards the dazed and bleeding esquire, he dealt him a blow on the head which stretched him insensible upon the turf.