solemnity was due to the traditional superstition of a gamekeeper. To have his terrible secret, or so much as a hint of it, suspected by, this cheery old associate of the happiest day of his boyhood would have been a blow indeed.
“Yes,” he admitted, though in a different sense; “I have certainly had a narrow escape, and it has shaken me a little, Mayne. On second thoughts, if you would let me lie down for a few hours on that very comfortable settle, I would defer my departure for Prior’s Tarrant till the morning. I really don’t feel quite equal to trudging so far to-night.”
This was true enough, for though he was physically fit he dreaded leaving this haven of rest and apparent security for the darkling wood, in which his remorseless foes were probably searching for him. The promised escort of the unsuspecting keeper would be of little value, for, unwarned of any peril, the man would be simply an encumbrance, equally liable with himself to swift death at any moment at the hands of the enormous odds against them. Apart from other considerations, he could not subject the good fellow to such a risk, though he would have preferred, had it been possible to proceed alone, to have
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