And for the time he was naught but a hunted beast. With elbows
pinned to his sides, or with hands extended to ward off the boughs, with
bursting lungs and crimson face, he plunged through the tangle, now
slipping downwards, now leaping upwards, now all but prostrate, now
breasting a mass of thorns. On and on he ran, until he came to the verge
of the wood, saw before him an open meadow devoid of shelter or hiding-
place, and with a groan of despair cast himself flat. He listened. How
far were they behind him?
He heard nothing--nothing, save the common noises of the wood, the angry
chatter of a disturbed blackbird as it flew low into hiding, or the harsh
notes of a flock of starlings as they rose from the meadow. The hum of
bees filled the air, and the August flies buzzed about his sweating brow,
for he had lost his cap. But behind him--nothing. Already the stillness
of the wood had closed upon his track.
He was not the less panic-stricken. He supposed that Tavannes' people
were getting to horse, and calculated that, if they surrounded and beat
the wood, he must be taken. At the thought, though he had barely got his
breath, he rose, and keeping within the coppice crawled down the slope
towards the river. Gently, when he reached it, he slipped into the
water, and stooping below the level of the bank, his head and shoulders
hidden by the bushes, he waded down stream until he had put another
hundred and fifty yards between himself and pursuit.
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