God knows how many more behind her. A nice hornets' nest to bring about one's ears."
"It was her spirit," said his father in the same awe-struck voice. "The spirit of John Harston's murdered daughter."
"It was the girl herself," said Ezra. He had been panic-stricken at the moment, but had had time during their flight to realize the situation. "We have made a pretty botch of the whole thing."
"The girl herself!" cried Girdlestone in bewilderment. "For Heaven's sake, don't mock me! Who was it that we carried through the wood and laid upon the rails?"
"Who was it? Why that jealous jade, Rebecca Taylforth, of course, who must have read my note and come out in the other's cloak and hat to hear what I had to say to her. The cursed fool!"
"The wrong woman!" Girdlestone muttered with the same vacant look upon his face. "All for nothing, then—for nothing!"
"Don't stand mumbling to yourself there," cried Ezra, catching his father's arm and half dragging him along the beach. "Don't you understand that there's a hue and cry out after you, and that we'll be hung if we are taken. Wake up and exert yourself. The gallows would be a nice end to all your preaching and praying, wouldn't it?"
They hurried along together down the beach, ploughing their way through the loose shingle and tripping over the great mats of seaweed which had been cast up in the recent gale. The wind was still so great that they had to lower their heads and to put their shoulders against it, while the salt spray caused their eyes to smart and tingled on their lips.
"Where are you taking me, my son?" asked the old man once.
"To the only chance we have of safety. Come on, and ask no questions."
Through the murkiness of the night they saw a single
