No sooner had darkness settled upon
the wood than the prince and his guide started towards the Severn, it
being his purpose to make his way, if possible, into Wales, in some of
whose ports a vessel might be found to take him abroad. Their route took
them past a mill. It was quite dark, yet they could make out the miller
by his white clothes, as he sat at the mill-door. The flour-sprinkled
fellow heard their footsteps in the darkness, and called out,--
"Who goes there?"
"Neighbors going home," answered Richard Penderell.
"If you be neighbors, stand, or I will knock you down," cried the
suspicious miller, reaching behind the door for his cudgel.
"Follow me," said Penderell, quietly, to the prince. "I fancy master
miller is not alone."
They ran swiftly along a lane and up a hill, opening a gate at the top
of it. The miller followed, yelling out, "Rogues! rogues! Come on, lads;
catch these runaways."
He was joined by several men who came from the mill, and a sharp chase
began along a deep and dirty lane, Charles and his guide running until
they were tired out. They had distanced their pursuers; no sound of
footsteps could be heard behind them.
"Let us leap the hedge, and lie behind it to see if they are still on
our track," said the prince.
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