slower in proportion. What with the greyness of the falling night,
and the uneven movements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as
Dick levelled his bow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half desire
that he might miss. The quarrel sped.

The man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose from Hatch and
the pursuers. But they were counting their corn before the
harvest. The man fell lightly; he was lightly afoot again, turned
and waved his cap in a bravado, and was out of sight next moment in
the margin of the wood.

"And the plague go with him!" cried Bennet. "He has thieves'
heels; he can run, by St Banbury! But you touched him, Master
Shelton; he has stolen your quarrel, may he never have good I
grudge him less!"

"Nay, but what made he by the church?" asked Sir Oliver. "I am
shrewdly afeared there has been mischief here. Clipsby, good
fellow, get ye down from your horse, and search thoroughly among
the yews."

Clipsby was gone but a little while ere he returned carrying a
paper.

"This writing was pinned to the church door," he said, handing it
to the parson. "I found naught else, sir parson."

"Now, by the power of Mother Church," cried Sir Oliver, "but this
runs hard on sacrilege! For the king's good pleasure, or the lord
of the manor--well! But that every run-the-hedge in a green jerkin