The track was clearly defined, the sinister dark patches showing boldly upon the bright green grass with the utmost regularity. The man had certainly fled in a north-easterly direction, towards Black Down, the densest part of the forest. He had a start of at least six hours, but, even had he not already swooned from loss of blood, this advantage was slight. In my enthusiasm I imagined that the rogue was already my prisoner, marching, with my piece at his head, towards the common jail at Lymington.

The tell-tale line of spots crossed the highway and led on to the gorse-clad heath, but though there were evidences that the fugitive had blundered into many bushes in his flight in the dark, the general direction remained the same. At this I wondered not a little, for from my forest experience I knew that a man crossing an open space in the dark would, without a light or other means to guide him, inevitably make a wide circle, unless he had the sense to keep his course by observing the direction of the wind. Yet I knew that after the storm the wind had died utterly away, so that the circumstance seemed stranger still.

I suppose I had not gone half a mile when, thrown behind some bushes, I espied the picture that the rogue had cut from its frame. There were signs that he had made a lengthy halt, one being a large dark stain upon the damp soil, showing that much blood had been spilled. Another thing I conjectured: he had discovered that the chart was not, as evidently he had imagined, part of the picture, and in his rage he had thrown it aside. That being so, it showed that day had dawned ere he could have become acquainted with the failure of his fell designs.

Making the canvas into a roll, I slipped it into my belt, and continued my way.

On and on I went, sometimes breaking into a run, keeping both a sharp lookout in case of a surprise and a careful watch on the dull brown track, which now began to show at greater intervals than heretofore.

At length my progress was stopped by a narrow, gurgling stream that flowed southwards between gravelly banks lined with bushes and dwarfed trees. This stream I knew to be the Lym, the same that joins the sea at Lymington.

Here I was thwarted, for though I took off my hose and shoes and waded over the clayey bottom, not the slightest track could I find on the farther bank. I walked both up and down stream for nearly a quarter of a mile, carefully examining the soft clay, which would assuredly reveal any trace of footprints after the heavy rain of the previous night; but the bank was innocent of any traces of human agency, though I encountered well-defined marks of ponies, deer, and otters.

Sick at heart, I now bethought me of Captain Jeremy's warning, so, uncocking my piece, I shouldered the weapon and set my face homewards. Bruno, who had followed the trail as keenly as I had done, seemed to share my dejection, for, instead of keeping a few paces ahead as he had done on the outward journey, he stuck close to my heels.

I was not returning by the same path, but rather, I should think, about two hundred yards to the right of it; yet with the smoke of the chimneys of Brockenhurst village to guide me I kept steadily onwards.

Suddenly, almost before I could utter a sound of alarm, the ground gave way beneath me; the bracken and the gorse seemed to shoot up past me, and the daylight gave place to semi-darkness.

Instinctively I clutched at the ledge of the pit, but without avail; then a thousand lights seemed to flash across my eyes, and I lost consciousness.

When I recovered my senses I found myself lying on the sandy floor of a natural cave or hollow, into which the light filtered through an aperture almost above my head--the hole through which I had fallen.

My head throbbed painfully, and, putting my hands to my forehead, I found that it was bound with a wet rag. As I moved my arm Bruno thrust his muzzle against my hand with a low bark of joy; the faithful dog had evidently followed his master in his fall.

I tried to raise myself into a sitting posture, but the exertion was too great, and with a stifled exclamation of pain I fell back.

"Lie still, young ma?ster," exclaimed a gruff though kindly voice. "You'll be safe enow wi' us."

"Give him a drink o' water," said another. "He'll do better sittin' up."

With that I felt myself raised and propped against the wall of the cave, so that I could look about.

Eight or ten men, dressed in rough clothing, some with peajackets, others in tarpaulins, were either seated on the ground or standing with folded arms regarding me intently. Two or three had pistols stuck in their belts, while a pair of heavy cutlasses and a bundle of stout staves, some with iron spikes, were placed in one corner of the cave, which was roughly three-sided, and formed by hands, as far as I could make out in the subdued light.

In the centre of the cavern was the trunk of a young tree, its upper portion leaning against the aperture overhead, while the branches had been lopped off sufficiently close to the stem to allow of the stumps being used as a rough ladder. Two small casks, an earthenware vessel containing water, a heap of clothing, and a coil of rope completed the utensils of this subterranean retreat.

"You'll be the son of Cap'n Foul-weather Dick?" asked the man who had first spoken.

"Yes," I replied, for my questioner had used the name by which my father was frequently called by the seafaring population of Lymington.

"'Twas well for you I knew it, for when you came tumbling down that hole we thought 'twas the sogers, and Bill 'ere got ready to knock you over th' head. D'ye know me?"

I looked at the man as intently as my throbbing head would allow, then at his companions. Like an inspiration a thought flashed across my mind.

"Yes," I answered. "Ye are the men who went with Captain Miles to the West."

"Aye," said the man referred to as Bill, "an' well we know it. Look 'ee, young ma?ster, can we trust ye to keep your mouth shut on this business?"

"I have as weighty a matter on my mind now," I replied. "You can count upon my silence."

"The youngster's true enow, 'Enery," said Bill. "Maybe he'll lend us a hand afore long. Look you," he continued, addressing me, "there are but eleven left of the score of Lymington men who marched to help the Duke o' Monmouth. Kitt Binns, Carrol Tanner, Cripps, Fred Dadge--they went down in the fight; young Garge Pitman the red-coated devils took near Bridgwater. They strung him up on a gallows at the roadside. Poor fellow, he didn't half give 'em a rough time afore they did the dirty job, an' I was up to my neck in a ditch an' saw it all, yet couldn't bear a hand to help him. That makes five. What happened to the rest of us we don't know--taken, doubtless, after the fight. Anyways, Cap'n Miles, Joe Scott, Sammy Cross, an' Long Bristowe won't see Lymington again, I fear, though we aren't much better off on that score."

"Captain Miles!" I exclaimed. "Why!----" I broke off, though reasoning that as these men had confided in me, there was little harm in telling them of Captain Jeremy's hiding-place in our house.

"What of him?" asked several of the men.

"He is alive and well; I saw him scarce two hours ago."

"Hurrah!" exclaimed the men, but softly, for they durst not shout lest the noise should betray them.

"Alive and well, say you?" repeated 'Enery, a burly, bearded seaman who, it seemed, had no other name. "'Enery" he answered to, and 'Enery he remains till the close of my story. "But, young ma?ster, 'tis a good six hours you've been lying 'ere."

"Six hours!" I exclaimed amazedly; then, remembering my father's condition, I attempted to rise.

"Nay, young sir," said Bill, noticing my effort, "you cannot go home without aid, and none can we give till Black Lewis comes. But concerning Captain Jeremy?"

In a few words I told them all I knew of the Captain's adventures, the men eagerly following every word.

"Tell him," said 'Enery, as I finished my story, "that ten stanch men await him here. Cooped up like rats in a hold, we durst not show our faces in Lymington, much less try for a ship; but with Cap'n Jeremy to lead us, we'll shape a true course yet. Tell him also----"

A low cry like the call of a forest stag for its mate broke upon our ears. Twice 'twas repeated.

"'Tis Black Lewis," said one of the men, for my information, and the next instant the bushes overhead were thrust back, and a man began to descend the rough ladder.

Black Lewis gave no sign of surprise at seeing a lad in the cave. I knew him by sight, and also by repute--a short, shrivelled-up little man, with a head that seemed too large and heavy for his body, wrinkled face, massive and protruding cheek bones, and sandy-coloured hair. He lived mainly by his wits, killing adders that infested the forest glades, hawking the skins of animals he caught, and, no doubt, poaching, though he had as yet managed to escape being branded as a felon. Some would have it that he was dullwitted, yet those who thus avowed had often cause to fear his tongue, which was as sharp as a rapier. He was dressed in loose, home-made garments of moleskin, and carried a long forked stick in his hand, not even relinquishing it when he descended the tree trunk. Over his back was strung a canvas bag, from which he produced a hare, some eggs, and a flagon of ale.

He readily consented to assist me to my home, and having bade farewell to the refugee seamen (who had persuaded me to lend them my fowling-piece), I was slung up the shaft by means of the rope, Bruno being carried up on the shoulders of one of the men. Once in the open air I walked strongly, though twice or thrice I reeled, and would have fallen but for my companion's assistance.

At the entrance to our grounds Black Lewis left me, and just as I gained the door Captain Jeremy met me. By the look on his face I knew that some thing was amiss.

"They have searched for you high and low, Master Clifford," said he; "but thanks be you are safe! Come at once and see your father, for----"

"He is not dead?" I asked anxiously.

"Nay, lad, but be prepared for the worst. Master Blackwood says he'll not last the night. If so, he'll pass away before the young flood sets in."