Bennet raised the old archer on his knee. He was not yet dead; his
face worked, and his eyes shut and opened like machinery, and he
had a most horrible, ugly look of one in pain.

"Can ye hear, old Nick?" asked Hatch. "Have ye a last wish before
ye wend, old brother?"

"Pluck out the shaft, and let me pass, a' Mary's name!" gasped
Appleyard. "I be done with Old England. Pluck it out!"

"Master Dick," said Bennet, "come hither, and pull me a good pull
upon the arrow. He would fain pass, the poor sinner."

Dick laid down his cross-bow, and pulling hard upon the arrow, drew
it forth. A gush of blood followed; the old archer scrambled half
upon his feet, called once upon the name of God, and then fell
dead. Hatch, upon his knees among the cabbages, prayed fervently
for the welfare of the passing spirit. But even as he prayed, it
was plain that his mind was still divided, and he kept ever an eye
upon the corner of the wood from which the shot had come. When he
had done, he got to his feet again, drew off one of his mailed
gauntlets, and wiped his pale face, which was all wet with terror.

"Ay," he said, "it'll be my turn next."

"Who hath done this, Bennet?" Richard asked, still holding the
arrow in his hand.

"Nay, the saints know," said Hatch. "Here are a good two score
Christian souls that we have hunted out of house and holding, he