down and giving a sufficient light.  In the stern of the boat sat two other men, whose faces Cuthbert could dimly see, though their hats were drawn down over their brows.  These faces did not seem entirely unfamiliar, yet he could not remember where it was he had seen them before.  His senses were cloudy and confused.  He felt giddy and exhausted.  He had no disposition to try to move; but he soon found that even had he been so disposed he could have accomplished little.  His feet were bound together by a cord, and his right hand was bound up and utterly powerless.  He remembered the shot levelled at him in the garden of the river-side house, and felt certain that his wrist was broken.

And who were these men who were carrying him away captive, and what was their motive?  He imagined that they must surely be those fierce pursuers who had striven to capture him upon the river, and who had followed him into the garden where he had hoped to hide himself from their malice.  Doubtless they had found him as he lay in a momentary faint, and had borne him back to their boat; though what was their motive in thus capturing him, and whither they were now transporting him, he could not imagine.  His mind was still confused and weak.  Esther’s words of warning seemed to mingle with the gurgle of the water against the bows of the boat.  His temples throbbed, there was burning pain in his wounded arm; but the night wind fanned his brow, and brought with it a certain sense of refreshment.

Hitherto there had been unbroken silence in the boat, and the rowers had steadily plied their oars without uttering a word; but now that they were out in mid river, without the smallest fear of pursuit, far away from sight or sound from the shore, they paused as by common consent, and one of them suddenly said: 

“Now, comrades, we must settle which it is to be.  Are we to take him to Miriam or to Tyrrel?”

Those words told Cuthbert who were his captors.  He was in the hands of the gipsies or highwaymen—­probably the prisoner of a mixed band who had joined together to effect his capture.  As the discussion went on it became more evident that there were two parties and two factions, both anxious to possess his person, and he listened with bated breath and a beating heart to every word that passed.

“I say to Miriam,” spoke up one swarthy fellow, with a backward look towards the prisoner in the bow.  “Miriam is wild to have him.  She is certain sure he has killed Long Robin.  She would give her two eyes to have vengeance on some Trevlyn.  Why not let her have the boy, to do with as she will?”