The spray near the window had ceased its tapping against the shutter, and was listening too.

Slowly the moon came out, and looked on.
And then suddenly, from the direction of the stables, came a roar of men's voices, a sound of bursting and crashing through the under-wood, a thundering of heavy feet, followed by a whirring of frightened birds into the air.

Brooks leaned forward breathing hard, and tightening his newly moistened grip on his heavy knotted stick.
Another moment and a man's figure darted across the open, followed by a chorus of shouts, and Charles's heart turned sick within him.

It was Raymond.
"Cut him off at the gate, Charles," roared Ralph from behind; "down to the left." There was not a second for reflection.

As Brooks rushed headlong forward, Charles hurriedly interposed his stick between his legs, and leaving him to flounder, started off in pursuit.
"Down to your left," cried a chorus of voices from behind, as he shot out of the shadow of the house; for Charles was some way ahead of the rest owing to his position.
He could hear Raymond crashing in front; then he saw him again for a moment in a strip of open, running as a man does who runs for his life, with a furious recklessness of all obstacles.