Shall I perish without a struggle! thought he, rousing himself to
exertion, and, helpless and terrified as a hare pursued by its ruthless
hunters, he fled across the heath. Soon the baying of the bloodhound
broke the stillness of the night, and the voice of its masters sounded
through the moor, as they endeavoured to accelerate its speed,--panting
and breathless the boy pursued his hopeless career, but every moment
his pursuers seemed to gain upon his failing steps. The hound was
unimpeded by the darkness which was to him so impenetrable, and its
noise rung louder and deeper on his ear--while the lanterns which were
carried by the men gleamed near and distinct upon his vision.
At his fullest speed, the terrified boy fell with violence over a heap
of stones, and having nothing on but his shirt, he was severely cut in
every limb. With one wild cry to Heaven for assistance, he continued
prostrate on the earth, bleeding, and nearly insensible. The hoarse
voices of the men, and the still louder baying of the dog, were now so
near, that instant destruction seemed inevitable,--already he felt
himself in their fangs, and the bloody knife of the assassin appeared
to gleam before his eyes,--despair renewed his energy, and once more,
in an agony of affright that seemed verging towards madness, he rushed
forward so rapidly that terror seemed to have given wings to his feet.
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