Chapter Ten.

In a Wasp’s Nest.

Days had passed, and strange reports were flying about the sparsely inhabited neighbourhood. Fresh people had seen the witches in their long gowns, and it was rumoured that if any one dared to make the venture, they might be found crouching over their fire any dark, stormy night on the slope of Ergles, where nobody ever went, for it was a desolate waste, where a goat might have starved.

The tales grew like snowballs, as they passed from mouth to mouth, but for the most part they were very unsubstantial in all points save one, and that possessed substance; not only lambs, but sheep, had disappeared, and in the case of a miner and his wife, who lived some distance off, and who had been away for a week to a wedding beyond the mountains, they returned to their solitary cottage to find that it had been entered in their absence, and completely stripped of everything movable, even to the bed, while the very cabbages in the garden had been torn up and carried away.

Mark had the news from the man himself, and he carried it to his father and sister, as he had carried Dummy Rugg’s rumour about the witches and their fire, which went out so suddenly on being seen.

“Humph!” said Sir Edward, smiling; “that looks as if the witches liked vegetables with their lamb and mutton. Stripped the cottage, and took the meal-tub too?”

“Everything, father,” said Mark.

“Then it’s time the men made a search, my boy,” said Sir Edward; “we must have a robber about. There is the whole explanation of the old women’s tales. Well, they will have to bestir themselves, and catch the thief.”

It was on that same morning that the news reached Cliff Castle, where similar stories had floated about witches and warlocks having taken possession of the shivering hills, where the slatey rocks were always falling, and forming what the country people called screes, which, at a distance, when wet and shiny, looked in the sunshine like cascades descending from on high.

“If it comes to any of our sheep being taken, we shall have to take to a hunt, Ralph,” Sir Morton had said. “The people like to have a witch or two to curdle their blood, but I’m not going to find them in sheep.”

It was a glorious morning, and the lad went into the courtyard with his sister to have a look at her new fad, as Nick Garth called it, that is to say, the well-plastered pool with its surrounding of rock-work, in which various plants were beginning to flourish and reflect themselves in the crystal water with which the little pond was filled.

“Capital!” cried Ralph; “but you ought to have a few fish in it. They’d look well.”

“That is just what I wanted you to say, sir,” cried Minnie, clapping her hands; “and if you hadn’t been such a solemn, serious brother, you would have taken your rod and line, and caught me a few.”

“Well, I will,” said the lad eagerly; “and some for a fry as well. The little ones will be best for you, and I’ll take a tin can for them, as well as a creel.”

An hour later, with a plentiful supply of caddis, caterpillars, and other tempting bait, and rod in hand, Ralph descended to the side of the stream. He was not long in following suit with old Master Rayburn as to his hose; and then stepping into the water, he began to wade upstream, where it was shallow, going on to the bank where it grew deep.

But the day was too bright and the water too clear for his task. The fish saw him, and darted away, and when his keen eyes followed them to their lair, they refused to be tempted out by any bait he threw.

“Just my luck when I come fishing,” muttered Ralph, as he waded slowly on, picking his way among the stones. “There’s always something wrong; either it’s too hot, or it’s too cold, or there’s too much water, or there isn’t enough, or the wind’s somewhere in the wrong quarter, or I haven’t got the right bait; and so sure as I was to meet old Master Rayburn, picking flowers on the bank, he’d say: ‘Ah, you should have come yesterday, or last week, and then you’d have caught a fish at every throw.’

“Stupid work, fishing,” he said, half-aloud, when he had waded as far as he could without getting wet, for the water had suddenly deepened and curved round out of sight, all calm and still beneath the boughs shading it on either side. “Seems very easy, though, when you watch old Rayburn. He always knows where to throw.”

For the moment, he was ready to give up, but feeling that his sister would be disappointed if he went back empty-handed, he waded out, and taking a short cut across the horseshoe formed by the stream, he reached it again beyond the deeps, where it was possible to wade once more; and before entering the bubbling waters, he stood looking upward, thinking how beautiful it all was, with the flashing water gurgling and swirling round the great stones which dotted the bed. Every here and there the sides were glowing with patches of the deep golden, yellow globe-flower; a little farther on, there was a deeper spot with a patch of the great glistening leaves of the water-lily, not yet in bloom; and as he stepped down into the water, there was a flutter from a bird seated on a dead twig, and a flash of azure light gleamed over the river, as the disturbed kingfisher darted upstream, to be watched till it disappeared.

Flies danced up and down above the water, and every now and then one dropped on the surface, with its wings closed, and sailed downward like a tiny boat. Bees swept by with a humming, slumberous sound; and among the sedges at the sides, where the golden irises displayed their lovely blossoms, the thin-bodied dragon-flies, steel-blue or green, darted on transparent wing, pairs every now and then encountering fiercely with a faint rustling of wings, and battling for a few seconds, when one would dart away with the other in pursuit.

Ralph waded on, catching nothing; but the beauties of the place increased, and satisfied him so that he began to forget his mission, and paused now to listen to the soft coo of the wood-pigeon in the grove, to the quick sharp tah! of the jackdaws sailing about high up, where they nested in the bare face of the creviced cliffs. Then on and on again, in sunshine or in shade, for quite a couple of hours, fishing in a desultory way, but with not the slightest result. Then his luck turned.

He had been driven ashore several times by the deep water, but always returned to the bed of the river where it shallowed, for it was easier going than forcing his way amidst the stones, bushes, and trees at the side; and now, as he was wading up toward where the water came over a ridge in a cascade, a little shoal of half-a-dozen fish darted upward, and he followed them, with the water growing more and more shallow, till his pulses beat with satisfaction, for a little investigation showed him that he would be able to drive the slippery prey right into a broad stretch where the water was but an inch or two deep, and dotted everywhere with shoals that were nearly dry.

Fishing was out of the question in a place like that, so twisting his line round his rod, he used the latter as a walking-staff, and followed till the prey he sought were compelled to flap themselves along upon their sides; two trout on finding themselves in such straits leaping right on to one of the half-dried pebbly shoals. Here Ralph pounced upon one after the other, and transferred them to his creel, after first taking out his shoes and hose, which had been reclining there, at rest from their ordinary avocation of protecting his feet.

“Queer fishing,” muttered the lad; “but I’ve caught them. Now for you.”

This to the rest of the shoal, which he chased so perseveringly that he caught four more by driving them into the shallowest water, the two largest succeeding by desperate rushes in getting through the treacherous part, and disappearing in the deeps toward the cascade.

“All too big to go in the little can,” thought Ralph. “Never mind; they will make a fry. Perhaps I can catch some smaller ones the same way.”

He tied his shoes together by the strings, and fastened them to the strap of his creel, tucked his hose through his belt, and went ashore again, to make his way beyond the little cascade which fell musically over the rocks; and as he was going on by the dammed-up deeps, there was suddenly a rush among the sedges and rushes, followed by a splash, the lad catching sight of a long, wet, brown body, as the animal made a plunge and disappeared in deep water.

The next moment his eyes rested upon the remains of a feast, in the shape of a fine trout, half-eaten, evidently quite freshly caught.

“Better fisherman than I am,” said Ralph to himself, as he searched the surface of the water to see if the otter he had disturbed would rise. But the cunning animal had reached its hole in the bank, and was not likely to return to its banquet: so Ralph went on beyond the deeps to where the river ran shallow again beneath the overhanging trees, just catching a glimpse at times of the great cliffs, whose tops often resembled the ruins of neglected towers, so regularly were they laid in fissured blocks.

Encouraged by his success, though conscious of the fact that it was the work of a poacher more than an angler, Ralph was not long in finding a suitable place for driving a few more fish. Fate favoured him in this, and in their being just of a suitable size for the little pool, and he had just secured one about six inches long, and was filling his little can with water, when he was startled by hearing a half-stifled bark uttered, as if by a dog whose muzzle was being held.

He looked sharply round, and suddenly woke to the fact that, for how long he could not tell, while he had been stalking the trout, he had been stalked in turn.

For a man suddenly appeared among the bushes on the right, looked across the river, and shouted, “Come on, now.”

Three more appeared on the other side, one of whom leaped at once into the river, while simultaneously a couple of dogs were let loose, and dashed into the shallow water.

“Don’t let him go back, lads,” shouted the first man. “Run him up: he can’t get away.”

Ralph was equal to the occasion. In a sharp glance round, while snapping his rod in two where the butt was lashed to the thinner part, he saw that his retreat was cut off down the river, and that his only chance of escape was to go forward, right and left being sheer wall, twenty feet on one side, two hundred, at least, on the other. He grasped, too, the fact that the men about to attack him were evidently lead-miners, and the thought flashed upon him that he had inadvertently come higher till, after a fashion, he was occupying Mark Eden’s position, trespassing upon an enemy’s ground.

These thoughts were lightning-like, as he swung his rod-butt round, and brought it down heavily upon a big mongrel dog that splashed through the shallows, knocked it right over, to lie yelping and whining as it tore up water and sand, the second dog contenting itself with yapping, snarling, and making little charges, till a lucky blow caught it upon the leg, and sent it howling back.

This was sufficient for the moment, and Ralph began to retreat, with the men following him.

“There,” shouted the one who seemed to be the leader. “It’s of no use, so you may give in. We know you, so come out, fish and all. You haven’t no right up here.”

Ralph made no reply, but flushing with anger and annoyance, he hurried on over the shallows, with the men now in full pursuit, shouting, too, at the dogs, and urging them to renew their attack.

“What an idiot I have been!” muttered the lad, as he splashed on, wishing that he was on open ground, so that he could run; but wishing was in vain. He was unarmed, too, save for the stout ash-butt of his spliced rod, and he knew that it would be impossible to defend himself with that for long against four strong men, who were apparently only too eager to get hold of the heir of the rival house, and drag him before their lord. For that they were Sir Edward Eden’s men the lad had not a doubt.

But Ralph had little time for thought; action was the thing, and he splashed on, glancing from right to left to find a spot where he could land and take to his heels—an impossibility there, for he soon saw that his only chance was to climb, and that chance was small.

Then, as the men followed some forty yards behind, he saw the light of hope. Not far ahead, the water looked black and still, as it glided through a narrow defile, shut in by the rocks. That meant deep water; but if he could reach that, he would have to swim, and the men probably would not dare to follow.

Already the shallows were coming to an end, the water reaching to his knees; and it was here that, encouraged and bullied into making a fresh attack, the dogs overtook him once more, and half swimming, half making leaps, they came at him, the bigger avoiding a blow, and seizing him by the left, fortunately without hurt, the animal’s teeth meeting only in the padding of the short breeches of the period; but it held on, growling, and shaking its head violently, while its companion, after a deal of barking, dashed in on the right.

This time Ralph’s aim was surer and quicker, the dog receiving a sharp cut across the ear from the butt of the rod, and going down at once, to begin howling, and swimming in a circle.

Rid thus of one enemy, the lad proceeded to get rid of the second by a very simple plan. Lowering his left hand, he got hold of the strap which formed the dog’s collar, and in spite of its struggles and worryings, went on as fast as he could go—slowly enough, all the same—to where the water deepened; and as it reached his thigh, he bent his knees, with the natural result that as the dog held tenaciously to its mouthful of cloth and padding, its head was beneath the water.

A few seconds were sufficient to make it quit its hold, and come up choking and barking; but in obedience to the urging on of one of the men, to pluckily renew the attack.

A sharp crack from the butt knocked all the remaining courage out of its head, and it turned, howling, to swim back toward its masters.

“Here, it’s no good, young Darley,” yelled one of the men. “You may give up now. We’ve got you fast.”

“And it’ll be the worst for you, if you don’t. We have got you now.”

“Hold me tight, then,” muttered the lad, with a triumphant feeling at his chances of escape beginning to make him glow.

“You mustn’t go there,” shouted another. “It’s woundy deep, and you’ll get sucked down.”

“Come and be sucked down after me,” muttered Ralph, as the dogs began barking again furiously, but refused to follow and attack, keeping close to the men, who were all now in the river, wading slowly, the walls having grown too precipitous for them to keep on the sides.

Ralph’s progress was slow enough too, for the water had deepened till it was above his waist, and the next minute was nearly to his armpits, while the river having narrowed now to half its width, the stream though deep came faster, and grew harder to stem.

“D’you hear, youngster!” roared the leader. “You’ll be drownded.”

“Better that than be caught and dragged up to the Black Tor for that wretched boor, Mark Eden, to triumph over me,” thought Ralph; and he pushed boldly on, forced his way a dozen yards, and then made a step, to find no bottom, and going down over his head.

“Told you so,” rang in his ears, as he struck out and rose, to find himself being borne back; but a few strokes took him to the right side, where he snatched at some overhanging ferns rooted in the perpendicular wall of rock, checked himself for a few moments, and looked back, to see the four men, nearly breast-deep, a dozen yards behind, waiting for him to be swept down to their grasp.

“There, give up!” cried another, “for you’re drownded. You don’t know the waters here, like we do. Some o’ that goes right down into the mine.”

To the astonishment of the men, who did not dare to venture farther, the lad did not surrender, but looked sharply about to try and fully grasp his position and his chances of escape. Ahead the water certainly appeared deeper, for it glided on towards him, looking black, oily, and marked with sinuous lines. There was no ripple to indicate a shallow, and he could feel, from the pressure against him, that it would be impossible to stem it in swimming; while most ominous of all, right in the centre, a little way ahead, there was a spot where the water was a little depressed. It kept circling round every now and then, forming a funnel-shaped opening about a foot across, showing plainly enough that the men were right, and that a portion of the stream passed down there into some hole in the rock, to form one of the subterranean courses of which there were several in the district, as he knew both where rivulets disappeared, and also suddenly gushed out into the light of day.

Ralph grasped then at once that it would be impossible to escape by swimming against such a stream; that if he could have done so, there was the horrible risk of being sucked down into some awful chasm to instant death; that he could not climb up the wall of rock where he hung on then; and that, if he let go, he would be borne along in a few moments to the men’s hands; and then, that he would be bound, and dragged away a prisoner, to his shame, and all through trying to get those unfortunate fish.

“It’s of no use,” he muttered despairingly, as he looked above him again, and, as he did so, saw that the men were laughing at his predicament, for, as Touchstone the clown told the shepherd, he was “in a parlous case.”

But hope is a fine thing, and gives us rays of light even in the darkest places. Just when Ralph felt most despondent, it occurred to him that there was another way out of the difficulty, and he proceeded to put it in force by looking straight ahead, along the wall of rock, which ran down into the water, and there, just beyond the tuft by which he held on, and certainly within reach, was one of the perpendicular cracks which divided the stone into blocks. In an instant he had stretched out his left hand, forced it in there, drawn himself along till he could get the other hand in, and was safe so far; and to his great joy found, by a little searching, that he could find foot-hold, for the horizontal crack ran some four feet below the surface, and afforded him sufficient standing room, if he could only find something to hold on by above.

For the moment he was safe, but his object was to get along the wall, till he could find a place where he could climb the rocky side of the river; and once clear of the water, he felt that it would go hard if he could not find some way to the top, the more easily from the fact that above the steep piece of wall down into the water the trees grew so abundantly that a climber would for a certainty find plenty of help.

The men remained motionless in the water, watching in the full expectation of seeing the lad swept down to them; but he held fast, and once more reaching forward, he strained outward till he caught a tuft of grass, crept on along the submerged ledge to that, and from there gained a large patch of tough broom. Then came two or three easy movements onward, bringing the fugitive abreast of the sink, which was larger than it had appeared from below, and Ralph shuddered as he felt that any one who approached the vortex would for a certainty be dragged down.

For a few moments he clung there, the nervous thoughts of what might be if he slipped and were caught in the whirlpool being sufficient to half paralyse him; then turning angry at his feeling of cowardice, he reached boldly out again, found fresh hand-hold, and did the same again and again, till he was a dozen yards beyond the sink-hole, and had to stop and think. For the wall was smoother than ever; the stream ran stronger; the distance between the two sides being less, it looked deeper; and the next place where he could find hand-hold was apparently too far to reach.

Still, it was his only chance, and taking fast hold with his right, and somehow thinking the while of Mark’s passage along the surface of the High Cliff, he reached out farther and farther, pressing his breast against the rock, edging his feet along, and then stopping at his fullest stretch, to find the little root of ivy he aimed at grasping still six or seven inches away.

The dead silence preserved by the men below was broken by the barking of one of the dogs. Then all was still again, and Ralph felt that his only chance was to steady himself for a moment with his feet, loosen his hold with his right hand, and let himself glide along the face of the rock forward till his left touched the ivy, and then hold on.

If he missed catching hold—?

“I mustn’t think of such a thing,” he muttered; and he at once put his plan into action, letting himself glide forward.

As a scholar, fresh from a big school, he ought to have been more mathematically correct, and known that in describing the arc of a circle his left hand would go lower; but he did not stop to think. The consequence was that as his fingers glided over the rough stone, they passed a few inches beneath the tough stem he sought to grasp, and once in motion, he could not stop himself. He clutched at the stone with his right hand, and his nails scratched over it, as he vainly strove to find a prominence or crevice to check him; but all in vain; the pressure of the running water on the lower part of his body helped to destroy his balance, and with a faint cry, he went headlong into the gliding stream, the men simultaneously giving vent to a yell, half of horror, half of satisfaction.

“The sink-hole! Shall I be sucked down?” was the thought that flashed across the lad’s brain, like a lurid light, as he went under; then he struck out vigorously for the side, and as he rose to the surface saw that he was being drawn toward the hole where it gaped horribly, and closed, and gaped again, a few yards away.

If any boy who reads this cannot swim, let him feel that he is sinning against himself, and neglecting a great duty, till he can plunge without a trace of nervousness into deep water, and make his way upon the surface easily and well. Fortunately for Ralph Darley, he was quite at home in the water, and the strong firm strokes he took were sufficient to carry him well in toward the side, so that he passed the little whirlpool where its force was weakest; and as the men below closed together, and waded a couple of steps to meet him, they had the mortification of seeing him clinging to the wall of rock, half-a-dozen yards above them, and then creeping forward again, step by step, till he reached the point from which he had been swept, and held on there once more.

Here, as they watched him curiously, they saw that he remained motionless, as if thinking what to do next, as was the case; and coming to the conclusion that he must manage somehow to grasp that tuft of ivy, he tried again, with the dread of the consequences the less from the experience he had gone through.

Coming to the conclusion that the only way was to raise himself upon his toes at the last moment, and jerk himself forward, he drew in a deep breath, reached out to the utmost, but raised his left hand more, then loosened his grasp with his right, and when he thought the moment had come, gave a slight bound.

That did it. He caught at the ivy, his fingers closed upon it tightly, and he tried hard to keep his feet upon the ledge below water. But this effort failed, his balance was gone, his feet glided from the ledge, and he swung round, holding on to the ivy, which seemed to be giving way at its roots.

But as Ralph fell, his hand slipped quite a foot down the ivy, and the water took a good deal of his weight, so that, though the strain upon the feeble growth was great, it remained firm enough to hold him; and he hung half in, half out of the water for some time, afraid to stir, but all the time energetically using his eyes, to seek for a way out of his perilous position.

He was not long in coming to a decision. Above the ivy there was one of the cracks, and he saw that if he could reach that, he could climb to the one above, and from there gain the roots of a gnarled hawthorn, whose seed had been dropped in a fissure by a bird generations back, the dryness of the position and want of root-food keeping the tree stunted and dwarfed. Once up there, another ten or twelve feet would take him to the top of the lower wall, and then he felt that it would go hard if he could not climb and hide, or escape up the cliff; so he set to at once to try.

Chapter Eleven.

Ralph gets Tit for Tat.

Ralph Darley’s first step was to get his right hand beside his left, and his feet once more upon the ledge, but the ivy gave way a little more at this movement, and he paused. But not for long. Another danger was at hand.

Moved by the boldness of the lad’s efforts to escape, and in dread lest he might be successful, the leader of the four men, after a short consultation with the others, who tried to dissuade him, began to wade cautiously forward till the water grew too deep for him, and then creeping sidewise, he climbed on to the smooth wall, and began to imitate the course taken by Ralph; but before he had gone many yards, one of his companions shouted:

“You’ll go down, and be swep’ away, and sucked in.”

This checked him and made him hesitate, but rousing his courage again, he once more began to edge along the shelf below the surface, and this spurred the fugitive on to make another effort.

This time he caught at the ivy, which gave way a little more, but still held, and by moving cautiously, Ralph managed to get his feet upon the ledge. The next minute he had found another prominence below water, raised his foot to it, and caught at a rough bit of the stone above the ivy, stood firm, drew himself a little higher, and by a quick scramble, got a foot now on the ivy stem and his hands in the crack above, just as the growth yielded to his foot, dropped into the stream, and was swept away, leaving the lad hanging by his cramped fingers.

But though the ivy was gone, the crevice in which it had grown remained, and in another few seconds Ralph’s toes were in it, and the weight off his hands.

He rested, and looked down-stream, to see that the man was steadily approaching, but the lad felt safe now. The ivy was gone, and the enemy could not possibly get farther along the ledge than the spot from whence he had slipped.

Cheered by this, Ralph began to climb again, finding the task easier, and the next minute he had hold of the tough stem of the hawthorn; and heedless of the thorns, dragged himself up into it, stood upright, reached another good, strong hand-hold, and then stepped right up on to a broad shelf of grass-grown limestone. The men uttered a fierce shout, and their leader, seeing now that his task was hopeless, began to retire and join his companions.

Ralph watched him for a few moments, and then began to climb again, finding this part of the slope easy, for great pieces of stone were piled up, and made fast by the bushes which grew amongst them, hiding the fugitive from the sight of those below, and raising his hopes as he found how easily he could get up. Twice over he heard shouts and their echoes from the opposite side, but he was too busy to heed them, and soon felt confident enough to sit down in a niche, half-way up the cliff, and rest for a few minutes.

“Horribly wet,” he said to himself; “fishing-rod broken and lost, fish-can gone, and—ah! I did not expect that,” for he found that shoes, hose, and creel were safe. “Glad I shall take the fish home after all.”

He listened: all was still. Then he peered down, but he could see nothing save the bushes and trees on the other side; even the river was invisible from where he sat; and getting his breath now after his exertions, he turned, and began to look upward.

Ralph was born somewhere about three miles from where he sat, but he had inadvertently wandered into a part that was perfectly unfamiliar to him, the feud between the two families having resulted in its being considered dangerous for either side to intrude within the portion of the rugged mountainous land belonging to the other.

Still, the lad had some notion of the bearings of the cliff hills from seeing them at a distance, and he rapidly came to a conclusion as to which would be the best course for him to take to avoid the occupants of the Black Tor; but when any one is flurried he is liable to make mistakes, and much more likely when deep in a tangle of pathless wood, and listening for the steps of those who are seeking to make him a prisoner.

According to Ralph’s calculations, the narrow gap which led eastward to the edge of the huge hollow in which the narrow, roughly conical mass of limestone rose crowned with the Eden Castle, lay away to his left; and as he had in climbing kept on bearing to the right, he was perfectly certain that he had passed right over the men in the river. He felt, therefore, that he had nothing to do but keep steadily on in the same course, always mounting higher at every opportunity of doing so unseen, until close to the top, when he could keep along the edge unseen till well on his way homeward, and then take to the open downs above.

The silence below was encouraging, and in spite of being compelled often to creep beneath the bushes, and here and there descend to avoid some perpendicular piece of rock, he got on, so that he grew more and more satisfied that he had escaped, and had nothing to do but persevere, and be well out of what had promised to be a very awkward predicament. His clothes clung to his back, and his legs were terribly scratched, while one of his feet was bleeding; but that was a trifle which he hardly regarded.

Just before him was a steeper bit than usual, and he hesitated about trying to climb it; but the way up or down seemed to promise no better, so taking advantage of the dense cover afforded by the trees, he steadily attacked the awkward precipice, the dwarf trees helped him with their gnarled trunks, and he mastered the ascent, found himself higher up than he had expected, crawled a step or two farther, and arrived the next minute at the brink of a deep chasm, while to the left, not a couple of hundred yards away, rose the castle-crowned Black Tor.

He shrank back the next instant, and a feeling of confusion came over him. He could hardly understand how it was, but directly after it was forced upon his understanding that he had been quite wrong in his bearings; that when he began to climb, the Black Tor lay to his right instead of his left, and that, instead of going into safety, he had been making straight for the most dangerous place.

To go on was impossible, for the cliff beneath him was overhanging; to go to the left was equally vain; and to descend or return was in all probability to walk right into the arms of his pursuers.

Once more he cautiously advanced his head between the bushes to look out, but the prospect was not encouraging. There, fifty or sixty feet away, was the fellow cliff to that upon which he lay, split apart by some terrible convulsion of nature; and once there he could have made for home, but there was no way of passing the opening save by descending right to the river’s bank, and he felt pretty certain that he could not do this without being seen.

Still it was the only course, and his choice was open to him—to lie in hiding till the darkness came, many hours later, or boldly descend.

To lie there in the shadow with his wet clothes clinging to him was not a pleasant prospect, but it seemed the only one feasible under the circumstances; and he concluded that this was what he would do, wishing the while that he dared go and lie right out in the sunshine.

He had hardly thought this, when a hot thrill ran through him, for from somewhere below there came the sharp bark of a dog, and a voice rose cheering the animal on, and then shouted: “Close in, all of you: he’s up here somewhere. Dog’s got his scent.”

Then voices answered with hails from different parts, and Ralph’s next movement was to crawl forward again to the very edge of the precipice, look over, and seek for a place where he might perhaps descend.

But again he saw that it was utterly hopeless, and nerved now by his despair, he began to descend through the fringe of scrub oak and beech, close to the chasm, so as to get down to the river, where he meant to plunge in, and cross by wading or swimming to the other side.

But there is no hiding from the scent of a dog. Ralph had not gone down half-a-dozen yards before the dog gave tongue again, and kept on barking, coming nearer and nearer, and more rapidly as the scent grew hotter: while before another dozen yards were passed the lad had to seize the first block of stone he could lift, and turn at bay, for the dog had sighted him and rushed forward, as if to leap at his throat.

There is many a dog, though—perhaps taught by experience—that will face a staff, but shrink in the most timid manner from a stone; and it was so here. At the first threatening movement made by Ralph, the dog stopped short, barking furiously, and the lad glanced downward once more. But to proceed meant to turn his back upon his four-footed enemy, which would have seized him directly.

There was nothing then to be done but face it, and he prepared to hurl his missile, but, to the lad’s despair, the second dog, which had been silent, now rushed up, and he had to keep them both off as he stood at bay, the new-comer being more viciously aggressive than the first.

“I can’t help it: I must make a dash for freedom,” thought Ralph; and, raising his stone higher, he hurled it at the bigger dog, which avoided it by bounding aside. Then turning, he dashed downward, right into the arms of a man.

There was a sharp struggle, and the latter was getting worsted, being lower down, and having to bear the shock of Ralph’s weight in the bound, but the next moment unexpectedly the lad felt himself seized from behind, two more men came panting up, and, utterly mastered, he found himself upon his back, with one enemy seated upon his chest, another holding his arms outspread, and the others his legs, thoroughly spread-eagled upon the sloping rock.

“Got you now,” said the leader of the little party. “You, Tom, we can manage him.—Get out, will you, dogs!—Here, take them with you. Run to the mine hut, and get some rope to tie him. Be as smart as you can. The master’ll give us something decent for a job like this.”

The man addressed called the dogs to him, and was unwillingly obeyed, but a few stones thrown by the rest overcame the animals’ objections, and they trotted off, leaving the prisoner relapsed into a sulky silence; his captors chatted pleasantly together about his fate, banteringly telling him that for certain he would be hung over the castle wall.

Ralph paid no heed to what was said, and after a time the men grew tired of their banter, and began to wonder among themselves whether their companion would say anything to those whom he might meet.

“He’ll like enough be doing it,” said the leader. “I tilled him to fetch a rope, and if he does anything else, he’ll hear of it from me. What we wants is to take our prisoner up proper to the master, and get our reward.”

Then they began muttering in a low voice among themselves, taking care that their prisoner should not hear, as he lay upon his back, staring straight up at the blue sky, and thinking of how soon it had come upon him to be suffering Mark Eden’s reverse.

At last a hail came from below, and the man panted breathlessly up to them, throwing down a coil of thin rope, with which, after turning him over upon his face, the men, in spite of his struggles, tightly and cruelly tied their prisoner’s arms behind him, and then his ankles and knees. They were about to lift him up, when there was a sharp barking heard again.

“Here, you, Tom,” cried the leader, who had been most savage in dragging the knots as tightly as possible, “I told you to take those dogs back.”

“Well, so I did. I didn’t bring ’em.”

“They’ve come all the same,” cried the other. “Well, it don’t matter now. Perhaps Buzz wants a taste of these here naked legs.”

The dog barked close at hand now.

“Here, you, jump up, before he has you,” cried the leader brutally; and then he stared wonderingly, for there was a sharp rustling amongst the bushes, and the dog sprang out to them, closely followed by Mark Eden, who cried in wonder:

“Why, hallo: then this is what Buzz meant! Whom have you got there?”

The men drew back, and Mark stooped, as the dog barked violently, turned the prisoner over, and once more the two enemies were gazing curiously in each other’s eyes.

Ralph did not flinch, but a dull feeling of despair ran through him as he saw Mark Eden’s face light up, his eyes flashing, and a smile of triumph playing about his lips.

Mark did not speak for a time. Then he turned his back upon the prisoner.

“Do you know who this is?” he said to the men.

“Oh yes, Master Mark, we know him. Don’t you? It’s young Darley, from below there. We was having a bit of a ramble ’fore going down in the mine, and we’d got the dogs, to see if there was any chance of a rabbit pie for supper; but they didn’t find one; they found his nabbs here instead. We had to hold the dogs’ muzzles to keep ’em quiet till he’d got by.”

“What was he doing?”

“Wading, and ketching our trout. We let him go right up to the deep water, down below where the narrows are, and we thought we’d trapped him; but somehow he managed to scramble up the side and get up here, so we set the dogs on, and they run him down. Look here, Master Mark; he’d got all these trout. Fine ’uns too.”

The man opened Ralph’s creel, and held it out for Mark to see, the lad nodding at the sight.

“Know’d where the good uns was.”

“And what were you going to do with him?” said Mark quietly.

“We had to ketch him first,” said the man, with a savagely stupid grin. “And he give us a lot o’ trouble, and we thought best thing to do was to tie a stone to his neck and pitch him in one of the holes. But Tom, here, said the master wouldn’t like it, and seeing he was a Darley, might like to make a sample of him, or keep him down in the mine to work. So we tied him tight, and was going to swing him between us, and carry him up to the gateway for the master to see. Then you come.”

Mark made no sign of either satisfaction or anger, but stood thinking for a minute or so, before turning again to where Ralph lay gazing straight up to the sky, waiting for whatever fate might be his, and setting his teeth hard in the firm determination to die sooner than ask for mercy from the cruel young savage who stood before him with what seemed to be a malicious grin upon his face.

And as he lay, Ralph thought of his school life, and all that had passed there, and how strange it was that in the wild part of Midland England there, amongst the mountains of the Peak, people could still be so savage as to be able to follow their own wills to as great an extent as did the barons and feudal chiefs of a couple of hundred years before.

Such thoughts as these had never come to him till after he had left home for school, to find his level. Earlier in his boyhood his father had appeared to him to be chief or king of the district, with a neighbour who was a rival chief or king. He knew that King James ruled the land; but that was England, away from the Peak. There, Sir Morton Darley, knight, was head of all, and the laws of England did not seem to apply anywhere there. Then he had gradually grown more enlightened, and never more so than at the present moment, as he lay bound on the mossy stones, feeling that unless his father came with a strong enough force to rescue him, his fate might even be death. And the result? Would the law punish the Edens for the deed? He felt that they would go free. They were to a pretty good extent outlaws, and the deed would never be known beyond their district. The moors and mountains shut them in. But Sir Morton, Ralph felt, would never sit down quietly. He would for certain attack and try to punish the Edens, and the feud would grow more deadly than ever.

Thoughts like these ran through his brain as he lay there, till the silence was broken by Mark Eden, whose face plainly told of the supreme pleasure he felt in seeing his young enemy humbled thus before him.

“Well,” he said at last, “are you not going to beg to be set at liberty?”

Ralph looked at him defiantly.

“No,” he said.

“Want to be taken up to the Tor, and hung from the tower as a scarecrow to keep away all the other thieves?”

“What is it to you?” replied Ralph bitterly.

“You came and took our trout,” said Mark, with a sneer; and he raised his foot as if tempted to plant it upon the prisoner’s chest.

“Yes, I came and caught some trout: but I looked upon the river as free to me, as you thought our cliff was free to you.”

“Hah!” cried Mark triumphantly; “I knew you would begin to beg for your life.”

“I have not begged,” said Ralph coldly. “You spoke to me and I answered.”

“Ropes hurt?” said Mark, after a pause, during which he could find nothing else to say.

Ralph smiled.

“Look for yourself,” he said. “They don’t quite cut to the bone.”

“Our mine lads are strong,” said Mark proudly. “Strong enough to beat your wretched set of servants if ever they dare come up here.”

“So brave and strong that you are glad to hire a gang of ruffianly soldiers to help you,” said Ralph scornfully.

“What? Those fellows in rags and rust? Pooh! We would not have them.”

Ralph opened his eyes a little wider.

“The Edens want no paid help of that kind. We’re strong enough to come and take your place whenever we like; but as you won’t be there, it will not matter to you.”

“No,” said Ralph, who was sick with pain, and faint from the throbbing caused by his bonds.

“But it would be a pity for my father to have you hung as a scarecrow,” said Mark mockingly. “I don’t like to see such things about. What do you say to going down to work always in our lead-mine?”

“Nothing,” said Ralph coldly.

“Better to live in the dark there, on bread and water, than to be killed.”

Ralph made no reply, but gazed fixedly in the speaker’s eyes.

“Better beg for your life, boy,” said Mark, placing his foot now on the prisoner’s chest.

“What! of you?” cried Ralph.

“Yes: I might make you my lackey, to wait upon me. That is what the Darleys should do for the Edens.”

“You coward!” said Ralph, with his pale face flushing now.

“What!” cried Mark. “Oh yes, call names like a girl. Come: beg for your life.”

Ralph’s answer was a fierce and scornful look, which told of what he would do if his hands were free. Then for a few moments he struggled, and Mark laughed.

“No good,” he said; “our men can tie knots fast enough to hold a Darley.”

The men, who stood at a little distance, laughed together in their satisfaction as they eagerly waited to see what was to come. Mark did not keep them long in suspense, for his hand went to the hilt of his sword, which he half drew.

“Now,” he said, “beg for your life, Darley.”

“Coward!” cried Ralph, in a hoarse whisper.

“Very well,” said Mark. “I gave you the chance. You were caught by our men stealing on our land, and you ought to have begged. The Darleys always were beggars and thieves; but you will not. I gave you the opportunity.”

He thrust the sword back in its sheath, and let his right hand fall to his side, where a strong knife-like dagger hung by a short chain from his belt, and whipped it out of its case.

“Does for a hunting-knife,” he said, with a curious laugh. “My father has killed many a stag with it. Now, are you going to beg for your life?”

There was no reply, and the men took a step or two forward.

“Go back!” cried Mark fiercely; and the men obeyed.

Mark bent over the prisoner, with the mocking laugh intensifying.

“Too much of a coward to beg for your life,” he said: “well, I’m too much of a coward to make you see it taken. There!”

With a quick movement, he turned Ralph over upon his face, thrust the point of the dagger beneath the line where the cut would tell best, and the prisoner’s wrists were free; another quick cut divided the rope which drew his elbows together, and then the knees and ankles followed, the strained hemp easily parting at the touch of the keen blade, and Ralph Darley was free.

“Why, Master Mark,” cried the chief man of the party in astonishment, “what you doing of?”

“Can’t you see, idiot?” cried Mark, with a fierce snap.

“But what’s the good of our ketching and tying on him?” cried the man addressed as Tom, in an ill-used tone.

“Say another word, you brute, and I’ll have you tied as you tied him,” cried Mark fiercely.

“Well, I dunno what Sir Eddard’ll say when he knows.”

“What he says he’ll say to me,” cried Mark. “You fellows ought to be in the mine by now. Go back to your work.”

The youth stood pointing down the steep slope, and an angry murmur of opposition arose; but the men began to move off, only to be called back just as Ralph rose painfully to his feet.

“Come here,” cried Mark. “Pick up those pieces of rope.”

“Who’s going to take them back to the mine?” said the leader, in an ill-used tone. “What’s Dan Rugg going to say? Noo rope too.”

“Tell him I cut it,” said Mark imperiously. “You take it back.”

The man picked up the pieces, and Tom quietly took up the creel from where it lay, half hidden by a tuft of fern fronds, to begin moving off with the trout. But Mark let him get a few steps away before following with a rush and a kick which sent the man on his face. Then, as he struggled up, angry and threatening, the lad snatched the creel from his hands.

“The Edens are not thieves,” he said fiercely—“only when they want a few young ravens,” he added, turning with a mocking laugh to Ralph; and once more the two lads stood gazing in each other’s eyes for a few moments, the rustling made by the departing men and the murmur of their voices rising from below.

Then, imitating Ralph’s action of the last time they met, he pointed down to the river, and said, with a mocking laugh:

“It’s my turn now. The Darleys are not the only ones who know how to treat a fallen enemy. Your creel, sir; and you are welcome to our trout.”

Ralph took the basket without a word, and without taking his eyes from Mark’s, while it seemed as if each lad was fighting hard not to be the first to let his glance sink before the other’s.

Then Ralph raised the lid of the creel, and began to take out the fish, but hesitated, and laid them back. To have thrown them on the ground seemed to him contemptible and mean.

“Now go,” said Mark. “You and I are straight, sir. Next time we meet I hope you will wear your sword.”

Ralph hesitated, and remained standing in the same place; his eyes looking as if he wanted to speak, but no words would come; and at last he turned and took a step to go, but his numbed feet and ankles gave way beneath him, and he tottered, and would have fallen, had not Mark involuntarily sprung forward and caught him in his arms.

Ralph laughed painfully.

“Let me sit down on the enemy’s ground for a few minutes,” he said. “Your men have left me no use in my limbs.”

Mark gently let him down; and, faint with pain, the cold sweat breaking out in great drops all over his brow, Ralph said feebly, smiling the while:

“Not straight yet, Master Eden. I am in your debt now.”

Then a deathly feeling of sickness came over him; trees, rocks, and sunny sky were dim, and glided before his eyes till all was darkness, for how long he could not tell.

When he opened his eyes again the sickly feeling still troubled him, but he could not understand why. It was like awakening from some troubled dream, and full consciousness came back slowly. Then, by degrees, he grasped the fact that his head was resting on a tuft of heath, and bracken fronds shaded him from the sun. His wrists throbbed with sharp-shooting pains, which ran right up beyond his elbows. There were pains, too, about his knees and ankles, and there was something else which he could not make out, till he looked towards his feet, to see that some one was seated a little below him on the sharp slope, with back half-turned to him, and his bare legs across his lap, chafing the ankles gently, first one and then the other, over and over again.

Ralph was quite conscious now, but he did not speak. He lay back there, making no movement, no sign; but a curiously dark look came into his eyes, and his lips quivered a little, grew firm again, and were softened by a smile, while a strange glowing sensation set in about his heart.

Five minutes must have elapsed before Mark Eden turned his head, started as he saw that Ralph’s eyes were watching him, and his quiet intent gaze gave place to a frown; his face became scarlet, and he hastily placed his patient’s legs upon the ground.

“How long have you been watching me?” he said hotly.

“Only a minute or so. Did I faint?”

“I suppose so,” said Mark roughly. “Just like a great girl.”

“Yes: very weak of me,” said Ralph quietly.

“Yes, very,” said Mark. “The brutes tied you too tightly. Try if you can walk now. Get down by the river, and bathe them a bit.”

He stood up and thrust his hands behind him, looking at his young enemy scornfully; but the scarlet flush was in his face still, and would make him look as if he were ashamed of what he had been caught doing.

Ralph sat up, and struggled painfully to his feet, turning hot and faint again; but he made a brave effort to be firm, and took a step or two and then stopped, Mark making no effort to assist him. Then stifling a cry of pain, he took another step or two and tottered, when Mark caught his arm.

“You’re shamming,” he cried angrily.

Ralph’s brow wrinkled, and he looked down at his bare legs and feet, raising one a little, painfully, to draw attention to the terribly swollen state of his ankles and knees.

“Shamming!” he said quietly. “Am I? Well, they are not.”

Ralph held out first one leg, and then the other, before seating himself again, drawing his hose from his belt, and trying to draw them on; but at the end of a minute the pain from his swollen wrists forced him to give up the task, and he slowly replaced the hose in his belt.

Twice over, unseen by Ralph, his companion made a gesture as if to advance and help him, but he mastered the inclination; and after a while, Ralph sat perfectly still, waiting for the giddy feeling from which he suffered to go off. And at last, feeling a little better, he rose to his feet, bowed distantly, and began to descend the steep slope; but in a few minutes he was clinging to a tree, helpless once more, and he started, as Mark suddenly said, roughly:

“Here; you don’t know our cliff: let me show you—”

Ralph was under the impression that he had left Mark Eden quite behind, and his surprise was the greater when he found that his enemy was offering him his arm, and ended by helping him down the remainder of the way to the river, where the injured lad gladly seated himself at the edge upon a stone, which enabled him to lave both feet at once in the clear cool current, to the great comfort and relief of his swollen ankles.

After a time he was able to use his feet, resume his hose and shoes, and rise to start back; but it was awkward to part without some word of thanks, and these were very difficult to say to one who stood by all the time, watching every action, with a mocking smile upon his lips.

But the words had to be said, and making an effort Ralph turned to speak. But before a sound had left his lips, Mark burst out with:

“Going now? Very well. Wait till we meet again. That way, sir. I dare say you know that you can cross the river there?”

Ralph bowed coldly, and took a few steps toward the shallows, before stopping short.

“I must go and thank him for what he has done,” he said to himself; and he turned to walk back, but Mark was not visible.

“Master Mark Eden,” he cried; but there was no reply, and he cried again, shouting as loud as he could, but there was still no response. And, sick at heart with pain and vexation, Ralph once more stumbled awkwardly along by the river, amongst stone, bramble, and fern, trying to make out where the deep chasm was down into which he had looked, but it was completely hidden by the trees; and, reaching the shallows, he slowly crossed to go homeward on the more open side, which was a far less difficult task, though it necessitated crossing the river again.

But as the lad disappeared among the trees, Mark Eden rose from where he had been hidden behind a pile of fallen blocks, to make his way into the chasm, and then upward to the castle on the Black Tor, frowning very fiercely, and feeling a good deal dissatisfied with himself, though brightening up a little as he began thinking of what was to happen the next time he and Ralph Darley met.

“One couldn’t do anything,” he said roughly, “till that old business had been put straight.”

Chapter Thirteen.

Fighting Long Odds.

But the men did not come on, and the two lads, now breathing hard from their exertions, had time to think as well as recover their breath, for the men, after carefully approaching singly from different directions, so as to surround the combatants, now halted as if by one consent a good fifty yards away, each looking upward from time to time at the burly cloaked figure high above them, and now standing upon a big block of stone, making signals by waving his arms and pointing.

In answer to one of these signals, the men all took off the long cloaks they wore; and in a moment the thought flashed through Mark Eden’s brain that these men must have been seen seated round their fire, somewhere above, and hence had arisen the rumours of witches on the mountain slope, the cloaks being their long gowns.

And now, as the men stood fast, in spite of several signs from above, Ralph suddenly said:

“Perhaps they’ve only come to see us fight, and are waiting for us to begin again.”

“Not they,” cried Mark excitedly. “I know: they mean to take us prisoners, and keep us till we’re ransomed.”

“Perhaps. That is why we have heard of so many robberies,” said Ralph, whose hot anger against his enemy was fast cooling down.

“Yes, that’s it. The dogs!” cried Mark. “I know there’s a big cave up there that you go in through a narrow crack. I saw it once. They couldn’t get my father to have them up at the Tor, and so they’ve taken possession of the cavern and turned robbers. Well, my father will soon rout them out of there.”

“If yours don’t, mine will,” replied Ralph. “But they don’t seem disposed to interfere. Are they stopping to see us fight?”

“If they are,” cried Mark hotly, “they’ll have to wait a long time. I’m not going to make a raree-show of myself to please them.”

“Nor I neither,” cried Ralph. “But,” he added hastily, “you know I’m not afraid?”

“Say you know that I’m not afraid either, and I’ll say the same.”

“Oh, I’ll say that,” replied Ralph, “because I know it.”

“That’s right, then,” said Mark; “and we can finish having it out another time.”

“Of course. I say, though, your leg’s bleeding a good deal.”

“Oh, never mind that. So’s your arm.”

“Can’t be deep,” said Ralph, “because it only smarts a bit. I say, look there! That’s Captain Purlrose upon the stone, and he’s making signals again.”

The wide ring of men saw the signs made by the burly figure above, and they all wrapped their cloaks round their left arms, and then drew their swords.

“Then they do mean to fight,” cried Mark excitedly.

“Yes, but they don’t come on. I say: you’re not going to let them take you prisoner, are you?”

“I’m not going to run away,” said Mark sturdily.

“But they are six to one,” said Ralph.

“Yes, if you stand still and look on. If you won’t let them take you, they’ll only be three to one.”

“I’m going to make a dash for it,” said Ralph, setting his teeth hard, for his wound smarted a good deal, and there was a peculiar warm feeling as of something trickling down his sleeve.

“What, run away?”

“Who said I was going to run away?” cried Ralph. “Look here: in war two kings who hate one another often join together against an enemy.”

“Of course,” said Mark.

“I hate you and all your family, but we don’t want any one else to set up here, near our homes, do we?”

“No,” said Mark sharply.

“Then I’ll stand by you like a trump,” cried Ralph; “if you’ll stand by me now. It’s long odds, but we’ve got right on our side.”

“Shake hands on it then,” cried Mark— “No, we can’t do that, because it’s like making friends, when we’re enemies and hate one another.”

“No, we can’t shake hands,” said Ralph warmly, “but we can make our swords kiss hilts, and that’s joining together for the fight.”

“Agreed,” cried Mark; and the lace steel shells of their rapiers clinked together, making the men, who were watching them intently, exchange glances. “I say,” said Mark hastily, “wasn’t that a mistake?”

“What?”

“Joining like that. It’s making our swords friends.”

“Only till this skirmish is over,” said Ralph.

“Oh yes; of course. We can make the blades kiss then. Here, what’s that Captain what-you-may-call-him doing, waving his arms like that?”

“Means for them to come on and attack. He’s savage because they don’t,” said Ralph.

“Yes, that’s it. I believe they’re afraid of getting more holes in their jerkins.”

“Ha-ha!” laughed Ralph; “and they have no room, I suppose. Look here, let’s have a dash for it.”

“What! run away? That I won’t, from them, so long as I’ve got a sword.”

“Run away! No!” cried Ralph, who was bubbling over with excitement, the slight wound he had received acting as a spur to his natural desire to punish some one for his pain. “Can’t you see that if we make a dash at them on one side, we shall only have two to fight for a bit till the others can come up; and we might wound the first two if we’re quick, before their companions could attack.”

“Well said, general,” cried Mark excitedly. “That’s right. Let’s look sharp then, for my leg hurts as if it was getting stiff.”

“Never mind your leg. Hallo! hark!”

“Why don’t you come on yourself, then?” shouted one of the men, in answer to a good deal of gesticulation from the captain. “Take care you don’t get a hole in your skin.”

“Hurrah!” cried Mark; “they are afraid. Ready?”

“Yes; come on!” cried Ralph; and the two lads made a rush at the men who stood in their homeward way, astonishing them so that they turned and ran before the attacking party had gone half-a-dozen paces.

But a yell of execration rose from the others, as they now made a rush after the lads, who became pursuers and pursued as well.

A savage yell, too, came from high up the mountain slope, the captain being joined by the rest of his gang, and standing shouting and waving his hands furiously.

The position now was this: Two men were running, with the lads some five-and-twenty yards behind, and gaining on them fast. Two men were fifty yards away, to right and left; and two more were right behind, sixty or seventy yards, in full pursuit.

“Forward!” shouted Mark. “No mercy, Darley; run your fellow through, and then turn and spit that fellow on your right.”

The two men in front heard the words, and redoubled their efforts, but they were heavy, middle-aged scoundrels, and plodded clumsily over the stone-strewed ground; while, forgetting their wounds in the excitement, Mark and Ralph bounded along, leaping blocks that stood in their way, and gaining so fast upon their flying enemies, that in a few minutes they were close up: and the retreating pair, in response to the yells of their companions, and in despair, turned at bay, when Mark, who was first, leaped straight at his man, turning the fellow’s rusty sword aside, and came upon the lower part of his chest with his knees, like a stone from a catapult.

Down went the man, with his sword flying out of his hand, and Mark nearly fell a couple of yards beyond him, but, active as a fallow deer, he saved himself by a couple of leaps, as his feet touched the ground; and he turned, to see Ralph’s man down and motionless, as his companion leaped to his side, and faced round to meet the next two, who, urged on by the shouts from the hill, charged at them, carried on by their legs, almost involuntarily, their spirit having little to do with it.

The next minute swords were clashing, there were a few quick parries and thrusts, and one man dropped his weapon, as Ralph’s sword passed through his shoulder, almost simultaneously with a sharp clang, caused by the shell of Mark’s weapon striking against that of his adversary, whose blade broke short off at the hilt. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, the lad struck sidewise at the fellow with his fist, catching him in the ear, and he staggered sidewise, hors de combat.

“Now for the others,” cried Ralph wildly, his blood up, and ready for anything; and they were about to dash at them, when, to their utter astonishment, the last two turned and ran up the slope toward their captain and the rest of the party, who were coming to their aid.

“No, no, stop, stop!” yelled Mark, half choking the while with a hoarse hysterical laugh. “Oh, what a game! Here, look; that fellow’s getting his sword.”

Without another word, the pair dashed at the disarmed man, who had risen and picked up his weapon, but he turned and fled.

“Who’d have thought of that?” cried Mark wildly. “Shall we turn and attack the others as they come on?”

“No,” said Ralph, recovering his coolness; “let’s trot on now. It’s madness to try it again.”

“Well, I suppose it would be pushing it too far. They can’t say we’re cowards if we retreat now.”

“No; but we can say they are,” cried Ralph. “Why, what a set of curs, to be beaten by us.”

“Yes, and they can’t fight a bit. I could parry their thrusts with a stick. But here; I can’t lose my pony. Where is he?”

“And I can’t lose my rod and creel,” cried Ralph. “There’s your pony yonder ahead.”

“And your fish are right back there. I’ll come with you to fetch them.”

“No, no; let them have ’em. We must retreat now. Two, four, six, eight-nine of them now; and I don’t think those fellows who are down are much hurt. Come along.”

For Captain Purlrose was now descending the slope, and his men were approaching menacingly, spurred on by a shower of oaths, threats, and abuse from their leader.

“Well, I suppose we must; but my blood’s up now,” said Mark, “and I hate running from such a set of curs.”

“So do I,” said Ralph; “it’s like being beaten, when we won. I say, were you hurt?”

“Only where you jobbed that sword of yours into my leg. Phew! it’s getting stiffer every moment. I shan’t be able to walk directly. Were you?”

“What, hurt? No, only where you scratched me.”

“It was pretty deep, then, for your sleeve’s soaked. Here, let me tie my handkerchief round it.”

“No, no,” said Ralph; “they’ll overtake us. Let’s make a run for it now.”

“Shall we?” said Mark unwillingly.

“Yes, we must. I can’t use my arm any more.”

“Well, I don’t think I can run much farther.”

“You must,” cried Ralph, sharply as he looked over his shoulder. “We’re not fit to fight.”

He thrust his sound arm through Mark’s, and they ran on pretty swiftly for a hundred yards or so, with the enemy in full pursuit, and then Mark stopped suddenly.

“Can’t go—any farther,” he said. “My leg’s awful.”

Ralph looked round, to find that the men had given up the pursuit, and were going back.

“Can we catch your pony?” he said.

“I think so. He’s grazing yonder.”

“Would he let me catch him?”

“No,” said Mark. “He’d be off directly. There, I think I can hobble on now for a bit. What! are they coming again?”

“No; only watching us,” said Ralph rather faintly. “Would you mind tying that tightly round my arm?”

For answer, Mark seized the handkerchief Ralph held out, and knotted it last round his companion’s arm.

“Now let me do something to your leg.”

“No; it doesn’t bleed now,” said Mark. “Let’s get on. If they see us crippled, they’ll come on again, and if they do I’m good for nothing. It doesn’t bleed; it only feels of no use. There, let’s get on. Are they watching us?”

“No, I think not. It’s getting so dark there. I say; I can see they’re lifting one of the men to carry him.”

“Wish some one would carry me,” groaned Mark.

“I don’t think I can,” said Ralph. “Perhaps I could, though, if you could hold on.”

“Bah!” cried Mark sharply. “Likely. Come on, and I’ll coax that beast of a pony. If I can only get hold of him, I’ll make him carry us both.”

They pressed on in silence, Mark using his sword as a walking-stick with one hand, and compelled to accept his enemy’s arm, till they came up to where the cob was grazing.

It let them come close up before raising its head, and then, after contemplating them for a bit, twitching his ears, as Mark uttered a series of blandishments, and ended by tossing its head, and spinning round, as upon a pivot, to trot off. It failed in this, however, for Ralph thrust his foot through the trailing rein, and brought the animal up short.

“Well done!” cried Mark. “There, jump on, and then pull me across like a sack.”

“Nonsense! Get on yourself. I’ll help you.”

“I shan’t, it’s my pony. You’re wounded, so get on.”

“After you,” said Ralph, and, after a little more bandying of words, Mark felt so sick with pain that he had either to lie down on the earth or mount.

He did the latter, after several groans, for his leg was very stiff and painful.

“There’s a coward for you,” he said. “Now jump up behind.”

“There is no need,” said Ralph. “I can walk.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Never mind.—Get on with you.”

This last to the pony, who walked quietly along with his burden in the pleasant evening light.

For some minutes now neither of the lads spoke, being too much engrossed by pain and the strangeness of their position.

“I say,” said Mark at last, “you’d better come up to the Tor, and drop me, and I’ll lend you the pony to carry your wounded arm home.”

“No,” said Ralph quietly. “I shall come a bit farther, and then strike off. You can get safe home now.”

“Yes, I suppose so; but you ought to have the pony, or one of our men, to see you safe.”

“He’d finish me off,” said Ralph grimly, and Mark was silent.

“I say,” he said at last; “I shan’t say we fought.”

“Why?” asked Ralph, in surprise.

“Because it’s like bragging so, to talk of two fights. I shall say the robbers attacked us, and we beat them off; then they’ll get the credit of our wounds.”

“But it will not be true.”

“I shan’t say they wounded us,” replied Mark. “If my father likes to think they did it, I shall let him.”

“I shan’t,” said Ralph quietly. “I shall tell my father everything.”

“Well, I suppose it will be best,” said Mark. “But, I say, that fight doesn’t count, you know. We must begin again where we can’t be interrupted.”

“When your leg’s better.”

“Yes, and your arm’s all right.”

“Of course.”

“Queer thing being such enemies, Darley, isn’t it?”

“Very,” said Ralph quietly.

“But I suppose it comes natural, though, to our families.”

“I have always thought so,” replied Ralph.

“I say, I’m glad you’re not a coward, though. They say that all the Darleys have been cowards.”

“Yes; and all the Edens too.”

“It’s a lie—an abominable lie,” cried Mark hotly. “Do you mean to say I’m a coward?”

“How could I, after the way you helped me to fight those ruffians this evening? I thought you very brave,” said Ralph gravely.

“Thank ye. That’s what I thought about you. But I think it’s a pity you are a Darley.”

“Don’t say that. I am very proud to be one, but I say—”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you think, instead of paying compliments to one another, we ought to go and get our wounds properly seen to?”

“Yes, it would be more sensible. You’ll turn off, and go round by the cliff?”

“Yes, where the path comes up from the river,” replied Ralph.

“And we’ll finish that fight as soon as ever we can,” said Mark.

“Very well. I suppose we must see who’s best man.”

“Of course.—Hallo! who’s this?”

A figure was dimly-seen coming up through the bushes, along the track just mentioned, and directly after, it became fully visible as Master Rayburn with his fish-creel on his back, and rod on shoulder; and they saw the old man stop short and cry:

“Shade of good Queen Bess! What’s the meaning of this?”

Chapter Fourteen.

Master Rayburn begins to think.

Neither of the lads answered, for a feeling of confusion which troubled them. They felt abashed at being seen in each other’s company; but they had to stop, for the old man planted himself right in the middle of the narrow track, where it passed between two blocks of stone, and as soon as the cob reached him, it began to sniff at his breast and creel, and stood still. “The wolf and the lamb together,” said the old man drily, and in the most serious manner; “but which is wolf, and which is lamb?” Then, without waiting for a reply, he caught sight of something in the dimming light beneath the trees, and said; “What’s this? Surely, my dear lads, you two have not been fighting? You have—and with swords.”

Mark’s cheeks flushed, and his eyes fell for a moment before the old man’s piercing eyes; but he recovered himself directly, before Ralph could speak, and said:

“Yes, we’ve had a desperate fight coming home. Set upon by about a dozen ruffians, and if it had not been for young Darley here—”

“You did as much as I did, or more,” cried Ralph.

“Oh, never mind who did most. We don’t know. Had enough to do without. But we whipped them, Master Rayburn, and made the beggars run.”

“Where was this?” cried the old man.

“In the vale at the foot of Ergles. They came down from the cave there.”

“Were they a set of disbanded soldiers—those who came up to Cliff Castle, Ralph?”

“Yes, and to the Black Tor, too,” cried Mark.

“I thought as much,” said the old man eagerly. “Then this accounts for the witches seen on the mountain, and the thefts that have taken place.”

“Too late, Master Rayburn,” cried Mark, laughing. “We caught that fish first.—Didn’t we, Darley?”

“Yes; we said that was it,” replied Ralph.

“Then I am too late; and I had made up my mind to go out that way, after I had taken home my fish—after dark—and watch. So you had to run for it?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Mark bluntly. “We retreated at last, when they got too many for us, but we charged six of ’em.—Didn’t we, Darley?”

“Yes; and upset four, and the other two ran,” said Ralph modestly. “But we only had to fight two at a time, and of course that made it even.”

“Very,” said the old man drily; and his eyes sparkled in the gloom at the frank way in which the two deadly enemies were relating their adventures.

“Then some more came down from up above,” continued Mark, “and two more got up again, and the odds seemed to be too great, and we retreated.”

“And very wisely too,” said Master Rayburn. “But let me look at your hurt, Mark, lad.—Tut-tut! soaked with blood.—Wound in the thigh.”

“Ah! Don’t touch it,” shouted the lad. “You hurt.”

“This must be seen to, my dear boy. I’ll come home with you and dress it.”

“Yes do, please. It makes me wriggle like a worm on a hook; but he’s hurt too.”

“Yes, I see. Roughly-bandaged, but, tut-tut-tut—why, the sword thrust has gone through. There is blood on both sides.”

“But it’s only through the skin, I think,” said Ralph.

“Only through the skin, my lad! It must be worse than that. But the other side? You paid them for this, I hope.”

“Oh yes, we gave them as much as we could, but we didn’t kill any one.”

“But we saw them carrying one away,” said Ralph.

“Oh yes: so we did.”

“The villains! And they wounded you both like this.”

Mark glanced at Ralph, and Ralph glanced at him.

“No,” said Ralph quietly; “they did not wound us.”

“Then how came these injuries?” said the old man anxiously.

“Oh, never mind,” cried Mark pettishly; “it doesn’t matter. We got ’em—somehow.”

“How was it, Ralph Darley?” said the old man sternly.

“He overtook me, and we quarrelled, and fought,” said the lad quietly.

“Ah!”

“And just in the middle of it we found that these men had surrounded us.”

“Yes, yes, yes; don’t make such a fuss about it, Master Rayburn,” cried Mark hastily. “And then we had to join and whip the beggars, and we did whip ’em at last; and my leg hurts horribly, and you stand there talking, instead of coming home to doctor it.”

“Yes,” said the old man, looking at the lad curiously, and then at Ralph. “Come along, boy. You, Darley, you had better come up to the Black Tor, and be attended to there.”

“No, thank you, Master Rayburn; I must make haste back. Come and see to my arm when you have done his.”

Ralph turned upon his heel as he spoke, and hurried away through the bushes; while, feeling puzzled, and yet pleased and hopeful, Master Rayburn gave the cob its head, and walked on and up the steep zigzag beside his young friend, carefully avoiding all allusion to the lads’ duel, and discussing the possibility of an expedition to drive the marauders out of their stronghold.

“I’m not a man of war, Mark,” he said; “but I shall have to carry a pike instead of an eel-spear against these villains. We shall none of us be safe.”

“Oh yes, we’ll talk about that to-morrow,” said Mark peevishly. “This hurts horribly. I say, don’t say anything to my father about my fighting alongside that young Darley. I was obliged to, you see.”

“Of course you were, my lad! We must all make common cause against such an enemy. No, I will not say anything unless you wish me to.”

“Thank ye. Father mightn’t like it, you see.”

“But you will tell him?”

“No, I think not—I don’t know—well, there, not to-night. I’m giddy, and feel sick. I didn’t notice it so much when I was hot and all in the fight, but it’s very painful now. Would you mind putting your arm round me? I feel as if I should fall off.”

“My poor brave boy!” said the old man gently, as he supported the wounded lad. “There, only a little farther. Ah! Hoi! Rugg! Dummy Rugg! Here, quick!”

The lad, who was perched upon a block of stone half-way up the zigzag, evidently watching for his young master’s return, sprang down and came running to them.

“What’s the matter?” he cried hoarsely. “Don’t say Master Mark’s hurt!”

“Hush! Quiet, boy!” said Master Rayburn quickly. “Help me to get him into his own room without frightening Miss Mary.”

“Yes; but what’s the matter?” cried the boy.

“Been attacked—fighting—slightly wounded.”

“But who done it?—I know. It was them Darleys. Which of ’em was it?”

“Quiet, I tell you, boy! Can’t you see he has fainted? Why do you want to know?”

“To kill him,” said the lad, through his teeth.

“Humph! you young savage,” muttered Master Rayburn; “then you will not know from me. Lead the pony carefully, Dummy,” he continued aloud. “Where is Sir Edward? where is your young mistress?”

“Out in the garden, waiting for him to come home to supper. Who hurt him?”

“Will you mind the pony’s head, or must I come and lead him?” cried the old man angrily.

“Yes; but I want to help Master Mark,” cried the lad.

“Mind the pony, sir. Ah! here is one of the men. Here, you are stronger than I am. Lift Master Mark up carefully, so as not to jar his leg. Dummy, run in and get a chair.”

This was done, another of the serving men coming out to see what was the matter, and they lifted and bore in the half-fainting lad; while Master Rayburn disencumbered himself of his creel and rod, and prepared to follow, to turn chirurgeon instead of angler, when Dummy caught him by the sleeve.

“You won’t tell me who did it?” he said sharply.

“No: it is no affair of yours, boy,” said the old man; and he shook him off, and entered the gate.

“Yes, it is,” muttered Dummy; and he did what he had never done before—sprang after the old man, entered the hall, and caught him by the sleeve.

“You here, sir!” cried Master Rayburn. “What is it now?”

“Is Master Mark going to die?”

“Yes, when he grows to be an old man. Not now. Go away.”

“Yes, I’ll go away,” muttered Dummy, as he slunk out, and away through the gate. “But I want to know who it was. I know it was one of them Darleys, and I’m going to see; and if it was, I’ll kill him.”

As he spoke, the lad stood for a few moments thinking of what he had better do, and ended by dashing down the steep zigzag path leading to the bottom of the rock, when he made his way through the gap, and began to run at a dog-trot in the direction taken by Ralph a quarter of an hour before.

Ralph, on parting from Mark and Master Rayburn, walked away quite briskly till he was well out of sight, and then he stopped short to lean against a tree and rest for a while, for he felt deadly sick. He laid his left hand upon his sleeve, and felt that it was very wet; but the bandage had stopped the bleeding, though not the pain, which was like the sensation of a hot iron being plunged into his flesh, accompanied by throbbings which at times seemed too painful to bear.

But after a few minutes’ rest he went on again, light in spirit, in spite of the bodily suffering; and the way seemed short when he was walking, for his mind was full of the recollections of the day.

For that day had begun well. The walk had been delightful in the pleasant cool breeze which blew from the hills, and promised a ripple on the water of the open river he was bound to fish, and he had not been deceived. In fact the grayling had risen freely to the natural fly he had softly thrown, and his creel had grown heavier till well on in the afternoon, when he had started back with his load.

Then came the pad, pad of the pony’s hoofs on the soft grass, with an occasional click when the shoe caught upon a stone. Then he was overtaken by Mark, and the encounter followed, one which was more full of pleasure in its memories than pain, and the lad’s lips curled in a smile as he went over everything which had passed till they parted.

Somehow these thoughts would be pleasant, although mingled with them came others of their next meeting. Every now and then, though, the lad’s progress was hindered by the throbbing of his wound, and the giddy, faint sensation which followed; and twice over, when his forehead turned damp, he threw himself down amongst the ferns to lie for a few minutes on the cool moist earth, with the result each time that the sensation of swimming and sickness passed off.

Then he rose again, and plodded on, getting nearer and nearer to home; but the darkness increased till it became hard work to avoid the stones which lay about, and his way beneath the trees near the river grew solemn and gloomy in the extreme.

Once he started as he was listening to the croaking of the frogs down among the sedges and rushes, for a peculiar hoarse cry arose from close by; but he was country boy enough to know that it was the peculiar sonorous squawk of a heron, evidently a visitor to the river for the sake of the aforesaid frogs.

A little farther on, after one of his rests, just as he was starting again, a low whoo-whoo-whoo! was uttered close to his ear, and answered from a little farther on, to be apparently echoed again from the trees high up on the side of the cliff.

But after the first startled sensation, he walked on steadily enough, for the cry of the brown owl was quite familiar to him, and he knew that it was only uttered in all probability close to some patch of ivy, where small birds roosted, to startle them out, ready for the sharp dash of their enemy’s claw, from whose four-way talon clutch there was no escape.

“How cowardly I am to-night,” he said to himself. “Everything sounds different. It’s being tired, and feeling the pain of my wound. Soon be home now.”

Then he began thinking of his father, and what he would say about the two encounters; and in imagination he saw his stern frowning face.

But he was satisfied that Sir Morton would be glad to hear the news about Captain Purlrose and his men, and he began to think that there would be some talk of attacking the gang of thieves in their lurking-place; for, as Master Rayburn had said, they could not be allowed to harbour there.

Ralph gave quite a jump now, for he heard a sharp rustling sound, followed by the rattle of a little stone, a short distance behind him, and he increased his pace, with his heart beating heavily.

“Just as if some one was following me,” he thought, “and stepped upon a stone, and sent it rolling.”

But he soon calmed down again, though he did not slacken his pace, keeping on as fast as his weakness and the darkness would allow, with the result that it was not more than half of his ordinary rate.

Again he was startled by a sound behind, this time as if a piece of dead wood had cracked sharply, from the weight of some one following.

This time it was nearer, and succeeded by a rustling, plainly enough caused by some one or something forcing a way through the bushes. Some one or something? The lad felt that it must be something. If it had been some one, he would have spoken; but what thing could it be?

He was in a dense part of his way now, with the sky quite hidden by the overhanging boughs, so that it was not possible to see more than a few feet behind or before him, and hence he looked back in vain; and though he listened intently there was no heavy snorting breath, such as he would probably have heard if it had been pony or cow.

“It’s some one tracking me,” thought the lad at last, as again he heard, very near him now, the rustle of the leaves and the flying back of twigs.

So impressed was he now, and satisfied that whoever followed might mean him harm, that he essayed to draw his sword as he hurried on; but the sheer agony caused to the stiffened wound made him drop his hand at once, and trust to getting out of the wood to where the ground was more open, and he could reach the cliff, for he felt that now he could not be many hundred yards from the way leading to the step-like path cut in the stone.

Again there was a quick rustle, as if his pursuer had tried to diminish the distance, and a minute later this sounded so near that, convinced of his follower being one of the men who had attacked them that evening, Ralph suddenly faced round—just when the sensation was strong that some one was about to leap upon him and strike him down—and shouted aloud:

“Keep back, whoever you are. I am armed.”

“Ralph! that you?” came from a short distance in his rear.

“Yes, yes, quick!” cried the lad faintly; and he staggered on now, to find himself a minute later in his father’s arms.

“Why, Ralph, boy, what does this mean? I have half-a-dozen men out hunting for you.”

“I’ll—I’ll tell you presently,” panted the lad, who was bathed in sweat. “Draw your sword, and be on your guard. Some one has been following me this last half-hour.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Be on your guard.”

“Not fancy, is it, my boy?” said Sir Morton, rather doubtfully.

There was a sharp rustling sound, and a foot kicked a stone, as its owner was evidently retreating fast.

“Humph! Then some one has been following you.—Hallo, there! stop!”

“Hoi! hillo!” came from a distance in answer.

“Quick!” said Sir Morton. “This way, man. Found—found!”

The cliffs echoed the words, and Sir Morton took the lad’s arm and pressed it firmly—fortunately the left.

“I beg your pardon, Ralph. I thought you were scared by the darkness of the wood. Some one was after you; but it would be folly to try and catch him in this gloomy place. Why, what’s the matter, boy? you are reeling about. Feel faint?”

“Yes,” panted the lad heavily. “I have been fighting—wounded. Help me, please.”

Sir Morton Darley passed his arm under his son’s, and helped him quickly along; a whistle brought Nick Garth and another man to his side; and the former carried the lad right up the slope to the entrance of the castle, where a little rest and refreshment recovered the sufferer sufficiently to enable him to relate why he had brought back no fish, a task he had hardly ended, when Master Rayburn entered to dress his second patient’s arm.

“We must put an end to such alarms as this, Master Rayburn,” said Sir Morton angrily.

“Ay; and the sooner the better,” cried that gentleman, as he carefully re-bandaged the lad’s hurt.—“I wonder,” he said to himself, “whether Ralph has told him how he obtained his wound? Is this the beginning of the end?”

Chapter Sixteen.

How Mark’s Sister lost her Whip.

Fate seemed to be determined that the young people of the rival families should become intimate, in spite of all the stringent rules laid down by the heads; for Ralph was out one day, making a round, when it occurred to him that he would call upon Master Rayburn, to let him see how well the wound was healing up, and to say a few words of thanks to the old man for his kindness and attention.

He found the object of his visit seated in a kind of grotto, shaded by a great sycamore, with his doublet off, hat on the floor, and beautifully white sleeves rolled up, busily at work, tying up some peculiar little combinations of wool, hair, and feathers, to the back of a hook; and as the lad approached, he held up the curious object by the piece of horsehair to which it was tied.

“Well, patient,” he said, “what do you think of that?”

“Nothing at all,” cried the lad. “No fish would ever take that. What do you call it?”

“A bumble-bee, and the fish will take it, Mr Cleversides; but not if they see a big lubberly boy staring at them with his arm in a sling, or an old grey-headed man, either, Ralph. There, don’t frown. It’s very nice to be a big lubberly boy; much better than being a worn-out old man, with not much longer to live. Ah, you laugh at my bumble-bee, and it certainly is not like one, but the best I can do, and I find it a great bait for a chevin, if used with guile. Take these two, Ralph, boy, and early some sunny morning go down behind the trees, where they overhang the stream, and don’t show so much as your nose, let alone your shadow, for it would send them flying. Then gently throw your fly.”

(Note: a chevin is a chub.)

“How can you,” said Ralph quickly, “with the boughs overhanging the water?”

“Good, lad! what I expected you to say; but there is where the guile comes in. I don’t want you to throw your fly into the water, but to let it drop on the leaves just above it, a few inches or a foot, and then shake the line tenderly, till the bee softly rolls off, and drops naturally from a leaf, hardly making a splash. Then you’ll find that there will be a dimple on the water, the smacking of two lips, and the chevin will have taken the bait. Then it is your fault if it is not laid in your creel.”

“Thank you, Master Rayburn; I’ll try. I haven’t had a fish since I was wounded.”

“No: it would have been bad work if you had gone whipping about, and irritating the two little holes in your arm. Well, how is it?”

“Oh, quite well now,” said the lad, as he carefully hooked the bees in his cap, and twisted the hair to which they were attached under the band; “and I’ve come to say how thankful I am for all you have done for me, and—”

“That’s enough, my dear boy,” cried the old man warmly; “look the rest. And now about those wild men of the mountains; have you heard how they are going on?”

“A little; not much.”

“Ah, you don’t know, or you would not talk about a little. Why, Ralph, boy, the country round is full of complaints of their doings. About a dozen great idle scoundrels are living up at Ergles in that cave, laying the people for miles round under contribution; picking the fat of the land, and committing outrage after outrage. Only during the past week, I’ve had to bind up two broken heads, and strap up a broken shoulder, where the poor fellows had made a brave fight for it—one man against seven or eight.”

“You don’t mean that!” cried Ralph flushing.

“But I do, boy. They are growing worse and worse, and making themselves a scourge to the country.”

“I did not know it was so bad.”

“No, I suppose not, sir; and here are you people living safely in your castles, with plenty of stout men about you, ready to arm and defend you behind your walls and gates. But if the scoundrels came and robbed you, perhaps you would do something. Don’t you think you ought to begin?”

“Yes, that I do,” cried Ralph quickly. “My father has been talking about it for some time.”

“Yes; and so has Sir Edward Eden been talking about it for some time; but neither of them does anything, and the wasps’ nest thrives; all the best things in the country are carried up there—the wasps robbing the bees; and I, though I am a man of peace, say that it is the duty of you gentlemen to burn that wasps’ nest out before anything worse is done, for the ruffians grow more bold and daring every day, feeling, I suppose, that they can do these things with impunity.”

“Father shall do something at once,” cried the lad.

“That’s right,” cried the old man, patting his late patient on the shoulder. “I don’t want blood shed, and I hardly think any of your people would come to much harm, for, like most scoundrels of their kind, I believe the enemy would prove miserable cowards.”

“They have proved to be so,” cried Ralph warmly. “Father must act now.”

“I’ll tell you what he ought to do, boy,” said the old man, grasping his visitor by the arm. “Of course he need not make friends, but he ought to go or send to the Black Tor, and ask Sir Edward to head so many men, your father doing the same; and then they could march together, and rout out the scoundrels.”

“Yes, it would be easy enough then,” said Ralph sadly; “but I know my father too well: he would not do that.”

“No,” said the old man, “he would not do that.”

The tone in which this was said roused the lad’s indignation.

“Well,” he said hotly, “do you think this Sir Edward Eden would come and ask my father to join him?”

“No, boy, I do not,” replied the old man, “for I said something of this kind to Mark Eden only yesterday, when I was fishing up that way, and he spoke just in the same way as you do.”

“You saw him yesterday?” said Ralph eagerly. “How is he?”

“What’s that to do with you?” said the old man rather roughly. “You don’t want to know how your enemy is. But all the same, his leg is nearly well. He limps a little: that is all. Going?”

“Yes,” said Ralph hurriedly; “I must be off now. I am going on about a mile, and coming back this way. Perhaps I shall see you then.”

“Going about a mile? Not going to see old Mother Garth?”

“Yes: to take her a present from my sister. Nick told her about his mother being robbed.”

“And your sister wants to make it up to her. Poor old woman! she is in great trouble, but she will not hear of leaving her cottage up there on the moor; and she says that next time the men come to rob her, they’ll find she has two pots of boiling water ready for them.”

Ralph laughed, and went off, crossed the river at the shallows, and climbed the ascent to where the old woman lived in her rough stone cot, in its patch of garden; and as soon as he had given his present, with an addition from his own purse, and the fierce old lady had secured it in her pocket, she turned upon him angrily, upbraiding him and his for allowing such outrages to be committed.

“But there,” she cried, when quite out of breath, “it’s of no use to speak: there are no men now, and no boys. When I was young, they’d have routed out those wretches and hung them before they knew where they were. But only let them come here again, and they shall know what boiling water is.”

“They’ll be well punished before long,” said Ralph, as soon as he could get in a word.

“I don’t believe it,” cried the old woman. “Don’t tell me! I want to know what my boy, Nick, is about for not making his master do something. It’s shameful. But I see how it is: I shall have to go and do it myself.”

Ralph was not sorry to get away from the ungracious old dame, who stood at her door, shouting messages to his father about his duty and her intentions, till the lad was out of sight, when he could not help seeing the comic side of the matter, and wondered, laughingly, what his father would say to her if she kept her word, and came up to the castle to ask him why he and her son, Nick, did not go and punish those wicked men for coming and stealing her bag of meal.

“I should like to be there,” said Ralph, half-aloud, as he tramped on: and then his thoughts took a serious turn again, and he began to ponder upon the possibilities of his father and their men attacking Captain Purlrose, and the chances of success.

“It ought to be done,” thought Ralph, as he began to climb the path leading to the shelf upon which Master Rayburn’s cottage was built, half-a-mile farther on, “so as to take them by surprise when part of the men are away. It can hardly be called cowardly with men like them. Then we could hide in the cavern, and wait till the rest came back, and take them prisoners too. What’s that?”

He listened, and made out the sound of a horse galloping, wondering the while who it could be. Then his interest increased, for the track was narrow and stony, and ran along like a shelf beside the cliff, with a steep descent to the river—altogether about as dangerous a place for a canter as any one could choose. But he recalled immediately how sure-footed the ponies of the district were, and thought no more of it for a few moments. Then his face flushed as he remembered how Mark Eden had galloped after him. Would it be he, and if so, now they were going to meet again, would it be upon inimical terms, and with drawn swords?

His heart began to beat faster, and the next minute it was beating faster still, for he caught sight, at a curve of the track, of the pony and its burden, not Mark Eden, but a lady; and then his heart seemed to stand still in his horror at seeing that she had lost control of the spirited little animal, which was tearing along as hard as he could go.

The next minute it was nearly abreast of Ralph, who, without thinking of the consequences of such an act, leaped at the rein, caught it, and was dragged along some twenty yards, before, snorting and trembling, the little animal, which he knew as Mark Eden’s, stopped short, and began to rear.

“Quick!” shouted the lad. “I can’t hold him: try and slip off.”

His words were heard by the frightened rider, but there was little need to tell her to slip off, for the pony reared again, nearly upright, the rider glided from the saddle over the animal’s haunches, and fell amongst the bushes by the track, while Ralph was dragged onward again.

It all occurred in a few moments, the pony stopped, reared again, made another bound, dropped off the track, and, as Ralph loosed his hold, rolled over and over down the steep slope right into the river with a tremendous splash, which cooled it on the instant; and it regained its feet, scrambled actively ashore, gave itself a shake, and then began to graze, as if nothing was the matter.

“Mark Eden’s sister,” thought Ralph, as he hurriedly climbed back to the track, where, looking wild and scared, Mary Eden had just regained her feet, and was standing trembling.

“Are you hurt?” he cried aloud.

“Yes, dreadfully. No: I don’t think so. Only scratched,” she replied, half-crying. “I couldn’t stop him. He hasn’t been out lately. He ran away with me. What shall I do?” she sobbed now. “Mark will be so angry. Is his pony much hurt?”

“Oh, never mind the pony,” cried Ralph, taking her hand. “Here, let me help you to Master Rayburn’s.”

“But I do mind about the pony,” cried the girl angrily. “It doesn’t matter about me. Do you think he has broken his knees, or his legs?”

“It does not seem like it,” said Ralph, smiling. “Look, he is browsing on the thick grass down there.”

“Is—is my face much scratched?”

“Hardly at all,” said Ralph.

“Then thank you so for stopping him; I was so frightened. Ah, look! there’s Master Rayburn.”

She clapped her hands with delight, as she caught sight of the old man, hatless, and with his white hair flying, running down the path. Then turning, back to Ralph, she said, naÏvely:

“Please, who are you? Oh, I know now. I haven’t seen you for two years, and—”

She shrank away from him in a peculiarly cold and distant manner, and at that moment Master Rayburn panted up.

“Much hurt, my dear?” he cried excitedly, as he caught the girl in his arms.

“No, no, I think not,” she said, beginning to sob anew.

“Thank God! thank God!” cried the old man fervently.—“Hah! My heart was in my mouth. Why can’t people be content to walk? Come back home with me, my child. Here, Ralph Darley, how was it? Did you stop the brute?”

“I tried to,” said the lad quietly, “but I couldn’t hold him long.”

“Long enough to save her, my lad,” cried the old man, looking from one to the other in a peculiar way.—“How strange—how strange!” he muttered.

Then aloud, in an abrupt way:

“There, never mind the pony. You be off home, sir. I’ll take care of this lady.”

Ralph coloured a little, and glanced at the girl, and as she met his eyes, she drew herself up stiffly.

“Yes, sir,” she said, “Master Rayburn will take care of me. Thank you for stopping my pony.”

She bowed now, in the stately way of the period, clung closely to the old man, turning her back upon her rescuer, who unnecessarily bowed, and walked on up the steep path, wondering that the pony had not come down headlong before.

Then he felt disposed to look back, but his angry indignation forbade that, and he hurried on as fast as he could on his way home, passing Master Rayburn’s cottage, and then, a hundred yards farther on, coming suddenly upon a riding-whip, which had evidently been dropped. The lad leaped at it to pick it up, but checked himself, and gave it a kick which sent it off the path down the slope toward the river.

“I’m not going to pick up an Eden’s whip,” he said proudly. “Just like her brother,” he muttered, as he went on faster and faster, to avoid the temptation of running back to pick it up. “They are a proud, evil race,” as father said. “What did I want to interfere for, and stop the pony? It was looked upon as an insult, I suppose. I don’t like the Edens, and I never shall.”

Ralph’s adventures for that day were not ended. A quarter of a mile farther on he heard footsteps in front. Some one was running, and at a turn of the track a lad came into sight, whom he recognised as Dummy Rugg, one of the mine lads. The pair came closer quickly, and Ralph saw that he was recognised, and that the boy was scowling at him, passing him with rather an evil look, but stopping the next minute, and running back after him. As soon as he heard the steps returning, Ralph faced round, his left hand seeking the sheath of his sword, to bring it round in case he should want to draw. But the next minute he saw that the lad had no evil intent.

“Look here,” cried Dummy, “did you see a young lady on a pony?”

“Yes.”

“Was it going fast?”

“As fast as it could go,” said Ralph haughtily.

“Not running away wi’ her?”

“Yes,” said Ralph, rather enjoying the boy’s anxiety, in his ruffled state.

“I knowed it would: I knowed it would!” cried the boy wildly; “and she would have it out. Here! gone right on?”

“Yes.”

“Ah! And you never tried to stop it. Oh, wait till I see you again!”

Ralph did not feel in the humour to stop and explain to one who had threatened him so offensively, and he would have felt less so still if he had known that Dummy Rugg had followed him that night through the dark woods, till he met his father.

“Let him find out for himself,” he muttered. “I have nothing to do with the Edens, and we can none of us ever be friends.”

Chapter Seventeen.

Dummy turns Stunt.

Dummy Rugg caught the pony, after seeing that his young mistress was unhurt at Master Rayburn’s cottage; and, perfectly calm now, the girl insisted upon remounting, the old man opposing her, until Dummy gave him a curious look or two, and a nod of the head.

“And there is no need whatever for you to go up home with me, Master Rayburn,” she said. “It is all uphill now, and the pony will not run away again.”

“Very well, Mistress Obstinacy,” said the old man, smiling and patting her cheek, before helping her on the pony; “but I feel as if I ought to see you home safely.”

“There is no need, indeed,” cried the girl. “Goodbye, and thank you. I’m afraid I frightened you.”

“You did, my child, terribly. More than you frightened yourself. I was afraid that the little girl who used to ask for rides on my foot would be killed.”

“But it was only a gallop, Master Rayburn,” said the girl, leaning forward to receive the old man’s kiss. “Please, if you see Mark, don’t say anything about it, or he will not lend me his pony again.—Now Dummy, let go the rein.”

“Come on!” growled the lad, leading the frisky little animal, and Master Rayburn chuckled a little, for the boy bent his head, rounded his shoulders, and paid not the slightest heed to the order he had received.

“Do you hear, Dummy? Let go.”

Dummy let go of the rein by passing his arm through, and thrust his hand into his pocket.

“Do you hear me, sir?” cried the girl imperiously. “Let go of that rein directly.”

“Have let go,” grumbled the boy.

“Go away from his head, and walk behind.”

“Run away agen if I do,” said Dummy.

“He will not,” cried the girl angrily. “I shall hold him in more tightly.”

“Haven’t got strength enough.”

“I have, sir. How dare you! Let go.”

“Nay: Master Mark would hit me if I did, and Sir Edward’d half-kill me.”

“What nonsense, sir! Let go directly.”

Dummy shook his big head, and trudged on by the pony.

“Oh!” cried the girl, with the tears of vexation rising in her eyes. “I will not be led, as if I were a little child. Go behind, sir, directly.”

“Nay,” growled Dummy.

“Let go, sir, or I’ll beat you with the whip.—Ah! where is it?”

“Beat away,” said Dummy.

“I really will, sir, if you don’t let go.”

Dummy laughed softly, and Mary Eden could not see his face, but she saw his shoulders shaking; and in her anger she leaned forward and tried to drag the rein from the lad’s arm.

“You’ll have him off the path agen if you don’t mind, Mistress Mary.”

“Where is my whip? I’ve lost my whip,” cried the girl.

“Good job—for me,” said the boy, with a little laugh.

“If you don’t let go of that rein, directly, sir, I’ll make my brother beat you,” cried Mary angrily.

“You won’t tell him he ran away,” said the boy, without turning his head.

“Then my father shall, sirrah!”

“Won’t tell him neither, mistress.”

“Then I’ll tell him you were rude and impertinent to me, sirrah, and he’ll have you horsewhipped for that.”

“Master Mark’s sister couldn’t tell a lie with her pretty little lips,” said the boy quietly, and never once looking round. “Pony’s too fresh, and I won’t see my young mistress get into trouble again—so there!”

Mary Eden flushed with annoyance, and tried to stamp her foot, but only shook the stirrup, and sat still for a few moments, before trying cajolery.

“The pony’s quite quiet now, Dummy,” she said gently. “Let him have his head again—there’s a good boy.”

Dummy shook his own, and Mary bit her red lip, and made it scarlet.

“But I shouldn’t like to be seen led up home like this, Dummy,” she said softly. “It looks as if I can’t ride.”

“Every one knows you can ride beautiful, mistress.”

“But please let go now.”

“Nay: won’t.”

“I’ll give you some money, Dummy.”

“Wouldn’t for two donkey panniers full o’ gold—there!” cried the lad. “Come on.”

This to the pony, and then the boy checked the cob.

“That your whip, mistress?” he said, turning and wagging his head sidewise towards where, half-a-dozen yards down the steep slope, the whip lay, where Ralph had kicked it on to a clump of brambles.

“Yes, yes; get it for me, please,” cried the girl eagerly.

Dummy drew his arm from the pony’s rein, leaped off the shelf path, and lowered himself step by step toward the whip; and the girl, after waiting a few seconds, with her eyes flashing with satisfaction, shook the rein, kicked at her steed’s ribs, and did all she could to urge it forward.

“Go on—go on!” she whispered sharply. Then, as this was of no avail, she began to saw the bit to and fro in its mouth, but only made the animal swing its head from side to side in response to each drag, keeping all four legs planted out firmly like a mule’s, and obstinately refusing to move.

“Oh, you wicked wretch!” cried the girl angrily; “go on—go on!”

At the first efforts she made to force the pony on and leave him behind, Dummy turned sharply, and made a bound to catch at the rein; but as soon as he grasped the stubborn creature’s mood—knowing its nature by heart—he chuckled softly, and went on down to where the whip lay, recovered it as deliberately as he could, and began to climb the slope again.

“It aren’t no good, Miss Mary,” he said; “he won’t go till I get back to his head.”

“Go on—go on, sir!” cried the girl angrily, as she saw her last chance of escape dying away; and then, hardly able to restrain the tears of vexation, for Dummy climbed back on to the track, went to his old place by the pony’s head, and handed her the whip.

Mary snatched it in an instant, and struck the pony a sharp blow, which, instead of making it leap forward, had the opposite effect; for it backed, and but for Dummy seizing the rein once more, its hind-legs would have gone over the edge.

“Look at that, mistress,” said the boy quietly; “see what you nearly did;” and, slipping his arm through once more, he walked on, cheek by jowl with the pony, which seemed on the most friendly terms with him, swinging its nose round and making little playful bites at his stout doublet.

“Now, sir,” cried Mary angrily, “I have my whip, and if you do not leave the pony’s head directly, and come round to the back, I’ll beat you.”

“Nay, not you,” said the boy, without looking round. “Why, if I did, the pony would only turn about and follow me.”

“He would not.”

“There, then, see,” said the boy; and slipping out his arm, he turned and walked back, the pony pivoting round directly. “Told you so,” said Dummy, and he resumed his old place, with his arm through the rein.

“You told him to turn round, sir.”

“Nay, never spoke to him, Miss Mary.—There, it aren’t no good to be cross with me; I shan’t leave you till you’re safe home.”

The girl, flushed with passion, leaned forward, and struck the lad sharply over the shoulders three times.

“There, sir,” she cried; “what do you say to that?”

“Thank ye,” replied the boy coolly. “Frighten away the flies.”

Whish-whish-whish, came the whip through the air.

“Now then,” cried Mary; “what do you say now?”

“Hit harder, mistress,” said the boy, with a chuckle; “that only tickles.”

“Oh!” cried Mary, in a burst of passion. “I did like you, Dummy, but you’re a nasty, ugly old thing;” and she subsided in her saddle, sobbing with vexation, while Dummy rounded his shoulders a little more, and plodded on in silence, with the pony’s shoes tapping the stony path, as it playfully kept on making little bites at different parts of the boy’s clothes.

“’Taren’t no use to be cross with me, mistress,” said the boy at last. “Can’t help it. You don’t know, and I do. S’pose he runs off again, and Master Mark says to me, ‘Why didn’t you lead her home?’ what am I to say?”

Mary sat gazing straight before her, and had to ride ignominiously back to the zigzags leading up to the top of the Black Tor, where she dismounted, and Dummy led the pony to its underground stable.

“I shan’t tell Master Mark,” said the boy to the pony, as he took off bridle and saddle; “and you can’t, Ugly; and she won’t neither, so nobody’ll never know.”

Chapter Eighteen.

Master Rayburn advises.

Captain Purlrose and his merry men had found a place just to their liking, where they lived like pigs in a hole of the earth, and as voraciously. He chuckled and crowed as they ate and drank, and waited till their stock of provisions began to grow low, and then started off upon a fresh expedition, to gather tribute, as he called it. He did not expose himself to any risks, but kept his ascendancy over his men by sheer cunning and ability in making his plans, leading them to where they could come quite unexpectedly upon some lonely cottage or farmhouse, ill-use and frighten the occupants nearly to death, adding insult to injury by loading the spoil of provisions, or whatever it pleased them to take, on the farmer’s horses, leading them away, and after unloading them at the cave, setting them adrift.

The captain laughed at all threats, for he felt that no one would dare to follow him to his stronghold; and if an attack were made, he knew that he could easily beat it off. The only two people near who were at all likely to trouble him were his old captain, Sir Morton Darley, and Sir Edward Eden.

“And they’ll talk about it, and and threats, and never come.”

He seemed to be right, for as report after report of raids being made, here and there in the neighbourhood of the two strongholds reached their owners, Sir Morton Darley would vow vengeance against the marauders, and then go back to his books; and Sir Edward Eden would utter a vow that he would hang Captain Purlrose from the machicolations over the gateway at the Black Tor, and then he would go into his mining accounts, and hear the reports of his foreman, Dan Rugg, about how many pigs there were in the sty—that is to say, pigs of lead in the stone crypt-like place where they were stored.

And so time went on, both knights having to listen to a good many upbraidings from Master Rayburn, who visited and scolded them well for not combining and routing out the gang from their hole.

“I wish you would not worry me, Rayburn,” said Sir Morton one day, in Ralph’s presence. “I don’t want to engage upon an expedition which must end in bloodshed. I want to be at peace, with my books.”

“But don’t you see that bloodshed is going on, and that these ruffians are making the place a desert?”

“Yes,” said Sir Morton, “it is very tiresome. I almost wish I had taken them into my service.”

“And made matters worse, for they would not have rested till you had made war upon the Edens.”

“Yes,” said Sir Morton, “I suppose it would have been so.”

“Why not get the men quietly together some night, father, and if I went round, I’m sure I could collect a dozen who would come and help—men whose places have been robbed.”

“That’s right, Ralph; there are people as much as twenty miles away—twelve men? Five-and-twenty, I’ll be bound.”

“Well, I’ll think about it,” said Sir Morton; and when Master Rayburn walked home that day, Ralph bore him company part of the way, and chatted the matter over with him.

“I’m getting ashamed of your father, Ralph, lad. He has plenty of weapons of war, and he could arm a strong party, and yet he does nothing.”

“I wish he would,” said the lad. “I don’t like the idea of fighting, but I should like to see those rascals taken.”

“But you will not until your father is stirred up by their coming and making an attack upon your place.”

“Oh, they would not dare to do that,” cried Ralph.

“What! why, they are growing more daring day by day; and mark my words, sooner or later they’ll make a dash at the Castle, and plunder the place.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Ralph, as he thought of his sister.

“I wish they would,” cried the old man angrily, “for I am sick of seeing such a state of things in our beautiful vales. No one is safe. It was bad enough before, with the petty contemptible jealousies of your two families, and the fightings between your men. But that was peace compared to what is going on now.”

“Don’t talk like that, Master Rayburn,” said Ralph warmly. “I don’t like you to allude to my father as you do.”

“I must speak the truth, boy,” said the old man. “You feel it now; but some day, when you are a man grown, and your old friend has gone to sleep, and is lying under the flowers and herbs and trees that he loved in life, you will often think of his words, and that he was right.”

Ralph was silent.

“I am not a man of war, my boy, but a man of peace. All the same, though, whenever either your father or young Mark Eden’s arms his men to drive these ruffians out of our land, I am going to gird on my old sword, which is as bright and sharp as ever, to strike a blow for the women and children. Yes, for pretty Minnie Darley, and Mary Eden too. For I love ’em both, boy, and have ever since they were bairns.”

Ralph went back home to Cliff Castle, thinking very deeply about the old man’s words, and wishing—and planning in a vague way—that he and Mark Eden could be friendly enough to act in some way together without the help or knowledge of their fathers, and make an attack upon these men, so as to put an end to a state of things which kept all women-kind prisoners in their homes, and the men in a state of suspense as to when next they should be attacked and plundered of all they had.

It was only natural that Master Rayburn should talk in an almost similar way to Mark Eden and his father, but only for Sir Edward to promise and not perform. And one day the old man actually took Ralph’s idea, and said suddenly to Mark:

“Look here, young fellow, why don’t you take the bit in your teeth, collect your men quietly, get Ralph Darley to do the same, and you boys go together and thrash those ruffians out, kill them, or take them prisoners. Old as I am, I’ll come and help.”

“Yes, why not?” cried Mark eagerly. “No,” he said directly; “the Darleys would not and could not join us even if I were willing; and I’m not.”

Old Master Rayburn’s words went deeper into the breasts of the two lads than they knew. Their natures were in those early days rather like tinder, and in his angry flint and steely way, the old man had struck a spark into each, which lay there latent, waiting to be blown into a hot glow; and who should perform that office but Captain Purlrose himself?

It was in this way. One bright morning, Sir Edward was examining a young partly-broken horse that had been reared in the pastures across the river, and expressed himself delighted with its appearance.

“What do you say to it, Mark?” he cried. “Not strong enough to carry me, but I should think it would suit Mary exactly.”

“Couldn’t be better, father,” said the lad, though he felt a little disappointed, for he half expected that his father would have given it to him.

“Call her, then, and she shall try it. And by the way, Mark, there is that other—that chestnut—which will do for you.”

The lad flushed with pleasure, for he had fully believed that his father intended the handsome, strongly made chestnut for his own use. Mary Eden was fetched, came out, and tried the gentle, slightly-built palfrey, and the chestnut was brought too, proving everything that could be desired.

“There!” said Sir Edward, after their paces had been tried in one of the meadows; “now you are both better mounted than any young people in the Midlands, so go and have a good round together, and get back well before dark. Don’t distress the horses, and go right away, and make a round to the west, so as not to go near Ergles. Not that the scoundrels would dare to attack you.”

Ten minutes after, brother and sister were riding slowly along the track on the other side of the river, Mary enjoying the change after being shut up for some weeks; and in consequence, the round was extended to a greater distance than the pair had intended. It was getting toward dark, and they were approaching one of the narrow ravines through which the river ran, one which hardly gave room for the horse track as well, when Mary said merrily:

“You must take the blame, Mark, for we shall not be home by dusk.”

“Oh yes, we shall,” he replied. “Once we are through these rocks, we’ll cut right across country, and—who are those people in front?”

“Carriers, with pack horses and donkeys,” said his sister; “and they have heavy loads too.”

Mark looked long and hard at the party, which was partly hidden by the trees, and then agreed with his sister.

“Yes,” he said; “the horses are loaded with sacks of corn seemingly.”

The people with their stores of provender were some distance ahead, and Mark thought no more of them, for, soon after, his attention was taken up by a group of men behind them a few hundred yards, walking, and coming on hurriedly, as if to overtake them.

“Let’s ride on faster, Mary,” he said rather quickly.

“Why? What is the matter?”

“Nothing now; only I don’t quite like the look of the men behind.”

“Not robbers, are they?”

“Oh no, I think not; only we hear so much about Captain Purlrose’s men, it sets one thinking that every man one sees is a marauder. But it would not matter if they were; we could soon leave them behind.”

They rode on, entering the straits, as the place was called from the river contracting, as it did in several other places, and running between two upright walls of rock. The men were some distance behind, and they had ceased to trouble about them, when, to Mark’s consternation, on passing round one of the curves in the track, he found that there in front the narrowest part was blocked by the horses with their loads; and a something in the aspect of the party of men in charge of the laden beasts slightly startled him, for he thought them suspiciously like some of Purlrose’s followers.

The next minute he was awake to the fact that they were in danger, for from behind a block of stone a slight figure, whose hands were bound with cords, and who made Mark stare, suddenly started to his side, shouting:

“Ride for it! ride! You are in a trap.”

There was no time for hesitation. Two men dashed after the prisoner they had made, and in another instant they would have had him, but for Mark’s quick movement. He caught his sister’s rein, touched his horse’s side with the spurs, and the two active animals sprang between the men and their quarry as they were sharply turned.

“Lay hold of my nag’s mane, Darley,” he shouted to the prisoner, who held up his bound hands, and caught at the dense mass of hair, succeeding in holding on, while Mark now drew his sword.

“Oh Mark!” cried his sister, “is there any danger?”

“Not if you sit fast,” he cried.—“Can you keep up if we canter?”

“Try,” said the prisoner excitedly. “If not, go on, and save yourselves.”

The horses broke into a sharp canter, keeping well together, as the men they had seen following them with drawn swords, and joined up across the narrow way, shouted to them to stop.

Mark’s reply to this was a yell of defiance.

“Sit fast, Mary,” he cried. “They must go down before your horse.”

The girl made no answer, but crouched lower in her saddle, as they rode on, Mark in his excitement pressing home his spurs, and causing his horse to make a frantic leap. But there was no collision; the men leaped off to right and left to avoid the charge, and the next moment they were behind.

“Well done!” cried Mark excitedly. “Well done, six! Ah!—Here, canter on, Mary. I’ll soon overtake you.”

He checked and turned his own steed, to dash back, for he had suddenly found that the bound given when he used his spurs was too much for Ralph Darley’s hold on the mane, and he had turned, to see the lad lying in the track with the men about to seize him and drag him away.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Mark charged at the enemy again, and as they fled he chased them, sword in hand, for some little distance before once more turning to rejoin Ralph, who had struggled to his feet, ready to cling once more to the horse’s mane, a task made more easy by Mark cutting through the bonds with his sword.

Mary was waiting a little farther back, and the trio had to go back some distance to reach a fresh track across country, the enemy making no sign of pursuit, but getting on with their plunder.

“They completely deceived me,” Ralph told his companions. “I took them for carriers.”

“Ah! as I did,” said Mark grimly.

“And when it was too late, I saw my mistake, for they seized and bound me, and,” added the lad bitterly, “they have got my sword and belt.”

Ralph walked by his companions almost in silence the rest of the time that they were together, both Mark and his sister appearing troubled by his presence, and it seemed a great relief to all when a path was reached which would enable Ralph to reach Cliff Castle, the others having some distance farther to go to reach an open part passable by their steeds.

“I thank you, Master Mark Eden,” he said quietly; and then, raising his cap to Mary Eden, he leapt over the stones which led to the top of a slope, and soon disappeared from their sight.

“What were you thinking, Mark?” said Mary, breaking the silence at last.

“That this would not be a bad place if we had no enemies. What were you thinking?”

“Plenty of things,” said the girl sadly.

“Well, tell me some.”

“I’m tired, and hungry, and thirsty. It will soon be dark. Father will be angry because we have been so long; and I am getting frightened.”

“What of?” said Mark sharply.

“Of meeting with the robbers again.”

“I should almost like to,” cried Mark fiercely.

“Oh Mark!” cried the girl in dismay.

“Well, if you were not here,” he said, with a laugh.

“It’s getting too bad. Once upon a time there was only the Darleys to mind. Now these people—this Captain Purlrose and his men—seem to belong to the land, and father will not fight them. Oh, if I only were master, what I would do! There, canter, and let’s get home. I want to think.”

Home was reached, and Sir Edward made acquainted with the encounter, at which he frowned, but said very little that night, except once, when he suddenly broke out petulantly:

“It seems, Mark, as if you were always running against this boy of Darley’s. Have the goodness in future to go some other way.”

Chapter Twenty.

Allied Forces.

The crescent moon sank like a thin curve of light in the western sky soon after nine o’clock that night. At ten the last light disappeared at both places connected with the adventure, when Mark Eden lowered himself from his window on to the top of the dining-hall bay, and from thence to the ground.

Soon after, there was a faint whispering and chinking, and three dark figures, carrying swords and pikes, descended the steep zigzag to the bottom of the great tongue of rock, where six men were lying down waiting; and a few minutes later, all well-armed, they were tramping in single file through the darkness toward Steeple Stone. Their young leader, armed only with his sword, and wearing a steel morion of rather antiquated date, which could only be kept in place by a pad formed of a carefully folded silk handkerchief, was at their head; and in obedience to his stern command, not a word was spoken as they made for the appointed tryst.

A similar scene had taken place in the dry moat of Cliff Castle; and at the head of his little party of eight, Ralph Darley was silently on his way to the Steeple Stone, a great rugged block of millstone-grit, which rose suddenly from a bare place just at the edge of the moor.

The night was admirable for the venture, for it was dark, but not too much so, there being just enough light to enable the men to avoid the stones and bushes that lay in their way, which was wide of any regular path or track.

Ralph’s heart throbbed high with excitement, and in imagination he saw the gang of ruffians beaten and wounded, secured by the ropes he had had the foresight to make Nick Garth and Ram Jennings bring, and dragged back at dawn to the Castle to receive the punishment that his father would measure out.

He was a little troubled about that, for he felt that it was possible some objection might be raised by Mark Eden; and he was also a little uneasy about the first encounter of the two little bands of men so hostile to one another. But his followers were amenable to discipline, and one and all so eager for the fray, that he soon forgot all about these matters in the far greater adventure to come, and marched steadily on, keeping a bright look out, till he was nearing the solitary rock.

“See any one, Nick?” he whispered to his head man.

“No, sir. All as still and lonesome as can be.”

“Then we are first,” whispered Ralph. “I am glad. We’ll march close up, and then crouch down round the stone till the others come.”

Nick grunted; and they tramped softly on over the grass and heath, with all looking grim and strange, the utter stillness of the night out there adding to the solemnity of the scene.

But they had not taken half-a-dozen paces toward the block, seen dimly against the starless sky, when there was a sharp chink, and a familiar voice cried:

“Who goes there?”

“‘Allies,’” said Ralph promptly.

“Halt!” cried the leader.

“Advance!” came back; and directly after, the two lads were face to face, comparing notes.

“Began to think you were Purlrose’s men,” whispered Mark.

“And I that you had not come.”

“Been here some time, and the lads are all lying down. Now then, what are our plans? I want to get to work.”

“March together in single file, about five yards apart, straight for the cave. Get within fifty yards, halt, and let two advance softly to reconnoitre.”

“Can’t do better,” said Mark softly. “But we must keep very quiet, in case any of them are out marauding.”

“Yes, of course. When we get up to the mouth of the cave, we must halt on one side, light our torches, and rush in. We must leave it to the men then.”

“Oh yes; they’ll do it. They’ve all got their blood up. We must succeed.”

“But what about the torches?”

“Got plenty for both, and two men have got mine lanterns alight under their gaberdines. Better pass round torches for your men now.”

Ralph agreed that this would be best, and Mark summoned Dummy with a faint bird-like chirrup, and made him bring the links.

Then at a word, Mark’s men sprang up, and after marking down the spot below the dimly-seen top of the mountain-limestone ridge, beneath which, half-way down, as they well knew, the cavern lay, the two parties marched on in silence side by side, pausing every few minutes, in response to a shrill chirp, while the leaders took a few paces ahead to make a keen observation and whisper a few words.

“All still,” said Ralph, after the last of these pauses, which took place where the slope had grown steep, and they had about a quarter of a mile to go upward to reach the entrance to the cavern.

“Are you sure we’re aiming right?” whispered Mark.

“Certain. The hole is below that sharp point you can see against the sky. I remember it so well. Saw it when the men had surrounded us, and the captain was making signs.”

“Keep on, then,” whispered Mark. “Let’s get one on each side of the mouth, light our torches, and rush in. We’ll go in side by side, and the men must follow as they can.”

The march upward in the darkness was resumed almost without a word, but no regular lines could be kept to now, on account of the blocks of stone projecting, rough bushes, and cracks and deep crevices, which became more frequent as they progressed. Then, too, here and there they came upon heaps of broken fragments which had fallen from above, split away by the frosts of winter.

Hearts beat high from excitement and exertion, for the slope grew more steep now, and an enemy would have been at great advantage above them, if bent on driving them back.

But all remained still: there was no warning of alarm uttered by sentry, no shrill whistle; and so utterly death-like was all around, that Ralph whispered to Mark, who was close beside him now:

“I believe they must be all out on some raid.”

“Seems like it,” whispered back Mark; and they paused to let their men get close up, for the entrance could now dimly be made out, some twenty yards higher.

“Better take your lantern,” whispered Mark. “Then give the word after you are up, on one side, and we the other. We must go in at once then, for the light will startle them if they’re there.”

The lantern, carefully shaded, was passed to Nick Garth, and once more they pressed on, the men spreading out a little on either side now, so as to get level with the entrance, which gradually grew more plain, in the shape of a narrow cleft, little more than wide enough to admit one at a time; and they saw now that stones had been roughly piled beneath it to form a rough platform in front.

Still no sound was heard, and the next minute the two little groups clustered in their places close by the platform; Ralph gave the word, the lanterns were bared, and thrown open, and three links at a time thrust in, to begin burning, though not so quickly as their owners wished, while men stood on either side with pikes levelled, ready to receive the enemy should a rush be made from inside.

It was a picturesque scene, as the light from the lanterns gleamed dimly upon eager faces, and lit up the bright steel weapons. Then, one after the other, the torches began to burn and send upward little clouds of pitchy smoke, the light growing brighter and brighter, and throwing up the grey stones and darkening the shadows, till all were armed with a blazing light in their left hands, and sword or pike in their right, while between the two parties the mouth of the cave lay dark and forbidding, but silent as the grave.

“Ready?” whispered Ralph.

“Ready!” came from Mark.

“Then forward!” cried the former, and, sword in hand, the two lads stepped from right and left on to the platform, their shadows sent first into the dark rift; while the Ruggs crowded after Mark, and Nick Garth and Ram Jennings shouldered them in their effort to keep their places close behind Ralph.

“Hang the link!” cried Mark suddenly. “Here, Darley, do as I do.”

He threw his flaming torch right forward into the cave as far as it would go, and it struck against the wall and dropped some dozen yards in, and lay burning and lighting up the rugged passage.

“I’ll keep mine till we get past yours,” said Ralph in a hoarse whisper; and the lads pressed in, side by side, to find that the link was burning at an abrupt corner, the passage turning sharply to the right.

Mark stopped and picked up his link, but before he could throw it again, Ralph stepped before him over the rugged floor and hurled his light, to see it fall right ahead, after also striking against the wall.

“Zigzags,” said Mark in a sharp whisper. “Here, mind what you’re doing with those pikes.”

“All right,” was growled, but the men who held the weapons did not withdraw them, two sharp points being thrust right forward, so as to protect the two leaders, the holders being Dan Rugg and Nick Garth. Both Mark and Ralph objected to this again, but it was no time for hesitation. At any moment they might be attacked, and they were all wondering that they had heard nothing of the enemy, all being singularly still, save a low murmuring sound as of falling water at a distance.

“They must be all out,” said Mark in a low voice. “Gone on some raid. Well, we shall catch them when they come back.”

Chirp!

“Who did that?” said Ralph quickly, at the sound of a steel weapon striking against the rock.

But no one answered; and as they advanced slowly, and Mark stooped to pick up his burning link once more where it lay against the corner of the natural passage, Ralph seized the opportunity to change his sword to his left hand, and swing his round the corner out of sight.

They heard it fall, and the glow struck against the wall to their left, lighting up the passage beyond the corner.

“Take care, Master Mark,” whispered Dan Rugg.

“Ay, and you too, Master Ralph,” whispered Nick Garth. “P’r’aps they’re lying wait for us.”

“No,” said Mark, aloud. “They’re away somewhere, and I hope they haven’t seen our lights.”

Whizz—thud!

There was an involuntary start from the attacking party, for at that moment the burning link Ralph had thrown came sharply back, struck against the wall where the glow had shone just before, and dropped, blazing and smoking, nearly at their feet.

“That settles it,” said Mark excitedly.

“Yes, and that explains the chink I heard. They’re waiting for us. Ready? We must charge.”

Ralph’s words were followed by the pressing forward of the men behind—those of each family being eager to prove their valour by being before their rivals; and the next minute half-a-dozen were round the corner, with the two lads at their head, to find that the passage had suddenly widened out into a roomy chamber, toward whose high roof the smoke from the torches slowly ascended, and contracted again at the end, about a dozen yards away.

“Yes, I remember,” whispered Ralph. “I had forgotten: it goes off in a passage round to the left again at that corner.”

The men crowded in after them, finding ample room now, and all looked about, puzzled, for the enemy who had hurled back the link, several of those present being ready to place a strange interpretation upon the mystery.

But the explanation was plain enough when they reached the end of the chamber, where the onward passage was but a crack some two feet wide, with a bristling palisade of pike-heads to bar their further progress. There was no hesitation. At the sight of something real to attack, Mark uttered a shout.

“Here they are, lads,” he cried. “Now for it! Pikes.”

The men, Edenites and Darleyites, closed in together, forgetting all their animosities, and their pike-heads gathered into a dense mass, clashing against those which bristled in the narrow opening, clinked against the stone sides, and rattled, as the holders thrust and stabbed away past their young leaders’ shoulders, for, to their great disgust, both Mark and Ralph found that they could do nothing with their swords.

And now the silence which had reigned was further broken by the excited cries of the men, given at every thrust they made into the opening, their attack eliciting yells of defiance, oaths, and threats of what would be done directly.

The fight went on for a few minutes, with apparently no effect on either side, the attacking party being unable to reach the defenders, while the latter seemed to be too much crippled for space to attack in turn, contenting themselves with presenting their bristling points against the advance.

“Halt!” cried Mark suddenly. “This is of no use.”

“No,” growled Nick Garth, as, in obedience to the order, the men drew back a couple of yards, to stand, though, with their pikes directed at the narrow opening.

“Come out, you rats, and fight fair,” roared Dan Rugg; and there was a derisive shout of laughter, which echoed through the chamber, followed by the hoarse voice of Captain Purlrose.

“Go home, bumpkins!” he shouted, “or we’ll spit you all together like larks.”

“Beast!” shouted back Mark; and stepping forward he hurled his link right in over the pike-heads, amongst their holders, eliciting a series of thrusts and furious yells, as he took one step back, and fell back the next. A savage roar rose from his men, answered by another from within.

“Hurt, Mark Eden?” cried Ralph excitedly, catching at his brother leader, and saving him from going down.

“No: feel stupid,” panted Mark, who looked confused and dizzy; “point struck this stupid steel cap;” and he tore it off, and threw it down, though it had in all probability saved his life; the step back he had taken, however, had lessened the force of the thrust. “Better now.—Here, stop them. They are doing no good.”

For enraged by what had taken place, the attacking party had rushed in again, to go on stabbing and thrusting away with their pikes, keeping up a series of rattlings and clashings, till Ralph made his voice heard, and they drew back, growling angrily, and the weird light shed by the torches showed that blood had begun to flow from hands and arms.

“We must do something different to this,” cried Ralph, as soon as the yells of derision which greeted their repulse were over.

“Yes, young idiot! Go home to bed,” shouted the captain hoarsely. Then he burst into a savage tirade of curses, for Dummy, in his rage at being right at the back, had thrown another blazing torch straight in over the bristling pike-heads, lighting up the interior, and showing the savage faces of the defenders close together. Ralph judged that the link had struck the captain.

“Stand fast, men,” he whispered. “We may make them charge out that way. Go on, Dummy, and half-a-dozen more of you throw in your links all together.”

The order was obeyed, after the torches had been waved into a fierce blaze, and they flew in, scattering drops of burning pitch, bringing forth an outburst of yells of rage and pain, and a quick movement showed that the marauders were about to rush out. But the voice of Captain Purlrose was heard thundering out the words:

“Stand fast! Only a few drops of pitch, and a singe or two. Here, two of you, throw them back.” An exchange of burning missiles now took place for a few minutes, which soon ended on the part of the defenders, who, roaring with rage and pain, kept on trampling out the torches now thrown.

“Stop!” cried Mark. “It’s of no good. The cowards will not come out. Here, Ralph Darley.”

There was a few moments’ whispering, resulting in orders being given to the men, two of the Edens, and two of the Darleys standing aside, ready for some action.

“Now for another charge,” whispered Mark. “Take as long a hold of your pikes as you can, and when I give the order, let your points be all together like one. Ready? Forward!”

As the little party advanced, with their pike-heads almost touching, while those of their enemies were advanced to defend the opening, the two men on either side darted close up, shielded by the wall, passed their arms over with a quick motion, and each grasped and held fast one or two pike-shafts, in spite of the efforts of their holders to get them free.

But there were enough left to defend the hole, and one by one, in spite of the desperate efforts made to hold them, the imprisoned weapons were at last dragged away, to reappear, stabbing furiously, till, breathless with their exertions, the men once more drew back, several of the Edens in their rage snatching their small mining-picks from their belts, one hurling his into the hole, a wild yell telling that it had done its work.

“Well,” said Mark despondently, “what can we do?”

“Wait and see if they will come out and attack us. We are wasting strength.”

“Yes. It’s no good. We ought to have brought a lot of blasting-powder, Dan, and blown them out.”

“Yes, Master Mark; but we didn’t know. My advice is that we go back now, and come again.”

“Why, you’re hurt,” said Ralph excitedly, as he saw the blood streaming down the man’s arm.

“Ah, so’s a lot of us, young master,” growled the man. “Look at your own lads.”

Ralph took and raised a torch, and saw that half his own party, including Nick Garth and Ram Jennings, were suffering from cuts and stabs in their arms.

“Oh, they’re nowt,” growled Nick. “They’ve got it worse inside. Now then, let’s go at ’em again, or we shall never do it.”

Another yell of defiance came from the passage, followed by mocking invitations to them to come on again.

“Yah! You aren’t men,” roared Ram Jennings. “Rats, that’s what you are—rats. Only good to go and fight wi’ women.”

“It’s of no good,” said Mark bitterly. “I feel done. I haven’t had a single cut or thrust at one of the brutes; neither have you. We can’t do it.”

“I don’t like to say so,” said Ralph, “but my father was a soldier, and he said a good officer never wasted his men.”

“Well, we’re wasting ours,” said Mark bitterly, “We must give up, and come again.”

“Stop,” whispered Ralph. “I know. Give orders to your men quietly, and I’ll do so to mine. Then we’ll throw the torches in at them with all our might, and give a shout, and retreat as if we were beaten.”

“And stop on each side of the mouth to catch them as they pursue us,” said Mark excitedly, catching at the idea. “That’s it.”

The next moment they were hurrying from man to man, who heard them sulkily, growling and panting in their rage. But they obeyed their leaders’ orders, getting their remaining links well ablaze, the holders forming in front, and the rest quietly and quickly filing out by the other end of the chamber.

“Now!” shouted Ralph suddenly. “In with them.”

There was a rush of light, and the fiery missiles flew in through the opening, falling amongst the defenders, and leaving the chamber in comparative darkness, amidst which was heard the quick tramping of feet, mingled with the yells of rage from the defenders.

The next minute, with Mark and Ralph coming last, all were outside the mouth of the cavern, grouped in two parties, with presented weapons, breathing the soft, cool night air, and waiting for the attack of their foes.

Sound after sound came from the opening, but not such as they longed with bated breath to hear. Once there was a loud order which came rolling out, and a little later a gleam of lights was seen, but no rush of footsteps, no sign of pursuit; and suddenly a voice broke the silence of the peaceful night air, as Nick Garth roared out:

“’Taren’t likely. Rats won’t show for hours after the dogs have hunted ’em in their holes.”

“Ah! might wait for a week,” growled Dan Rugg. “It’s all over for to-night.”

“They’re right, Eden,” whispered Ralph.

“Yes: they’re right,” said Mark, with a groan. “We’re beaten—beaten, like a pack of cowards. Let’s go home.”

“I did not see much cowardice,” said Ralph bitterly. “But it’s all over, and we must retreat. Give the word.”

“What! to retreat?” cried Mark passionately. “I’ll die first.”

“It is not fair to the men to keep them longer.”

“Well, you’re a soldier’s son, and know best, I suppose. Give the word yourself.”

Ralph hesitated, for his companion’s words seemed to be tinged by a sneer, but he knew that it was madness to stay, and hesitating no longer, he gave the word to retire.

“We’re not going back for your orders,” said one of Mark’s followers surlily.

“Yes, you are,” cried his young master fiercely. “Back home now. March!”

There was a low growling on both sides, but the orders were obeyed, and slowly and painfully the two parties, stiff with exertion, and smarting with wounds, filed over the steep stone-besprinkled slope.

As they walked down, the two lads drew closer together, and at last began to talk in a low voice about their failure.

“Head hurt much?” said Ralph.

“Yes, horribly; and I’ve left that old iron pot behind. Air’s cool to it, though.”

“Shall I bind it up?”

“No: don’t bleed. I say.”

“Yes.”

“How are we going to meet our fathers to-morrow morning? Nice state the poor lads are in.”

Ralph uttered a gasp at the thought of it. There was no leading prisoners back in triumph, with their hands bound behind them. They were beaten—cruelly beaten, and he was silent as his companion, as they tramped slowly on, at the head of their men, till the Steeple Stone was seen looming up ahead, where they would separate, little thinking that the worst was to come.

The lads halted to listen whether there was any sound of pursuit, and the men filed slowly by till they were fifty yards ahead, when all at once voices were heard in altercation, angry words were bandied from side to side; and spurred by the same feeling of dread, the two leaders dashed forward again.

Too late! The smouldering fires of years of hatred had been blown up by a few gusty words of bitter reproach. Nick Garth had in his pain and disappointment shouted out that if the party had been all Darleys the adventure would have succeeded.

Dan Rugg had yelled back that it was the Darleys who played coward and hung back; and the next moment, with a shout of rage, the two little parties were at one another, getting rid of their rage and disappointment upon those they looked upon as the real enemies of their race.

Chapter Twenty One.

Ralph pleads guilty.

It was a savage fight, and before Mark and Ralph, who rushed desperately into the mÊlÉe, not to lead their men, but to separate them, could succeed in beating down the menacing pikes, several more were wounded; and at last they drew off, with their burdens greatly increased by having on either side to carry a couple of wounded men.

“We must put it down to Purlrose,” said Mark bitterly, as he ran back for a moment to speak to Ralph. “But what do you say—oughtn’t we to have our duel now?”

“If you like,” said Ralph listlessly; “Perhaps we’d better, and then I may be half killed. My father may be a little merciful to me then.”

Mark leaned forward a little, so as to try and make out whether his ally was speaking in jest or earnest; and there was enough feeble light in the east to enable him to read pretty plainly that the lad was in deadly earnest.

“No,” he said sharply; “I don’t think we’ll have it out now. My head’s too queer, and my eyes keep going misty, so that I can’t see straight. You’d get the best of it. I don’t want to meet my father, but I’d rather do that than be half killed. The poke from that pike was quite enough to last me for a bit.”

He turned and trotted off after his men, while Ralph joined his, to hear them grumbling and muttering together, he being the burden of their complaint.

Nick Garth and Ram Jennings seemed to be the most bitter against him, the latter commencing boldly at once.

“Oh, Master Ralph,” he cried, “if your father had been here, we should ha’ paid them Edens for hanging back as they did.”

“They did not hang back,” cried Ralph angrily; “they fought very bravely.”

“What!” cried Nick. “Well, I do like that. But I don’t care. Dessay I shall be a dead ’un ’fore I gets to the Castle, and then we shall see what Sir Morton will say.”

“Well, you will not hear, Nick,” said Ralph quietly.

“No: I shan’t hear, Master Ralph, ’cause I shall be a dead ’un, I suppose. But I’m thinking about my poor old mother. She’ll break her heart when they carry me to her, stiff as a trout, for I’m the only son she has got.”

This was too much for the wounded men even. They forgot their sufferings in the comic aspect of the case, familiar as they all were with the open enmity existing between Mother Garth and her son, it being common talk that the last act of affection displayed toward him had been the throwing of a pot of boiling water at his head.

The laugh lightened the rest of the way, but they were a doleful-looking, ragged, and blood-stained set, who bore one of their number upon a litter formed of pike-staves up the zigzag to the men’s quarters at day-break; and Ralph felt as if he had hardly strength enough to climb back to his window and go to bed, after seeing his roughly-bandaged men safely in.

But he made the essay, and when half-way up dropped back again into the garden, just as a thrush began to pipe loudly its welcome to the coming day; and the blackbirds were uttering their chinking calls low down in the moist gloom amongst the bushes on the cliff slope.

“Can’t leave the poor fellows like that,” he muttered. “Oh dear, how stiff I am! Father said he always felt it his duty, when he was a soldier, to look well after his wounded men.”

He stood thinking for a few moments, and then began to tramp down the steep path to where the shadows were still dark, and a mist hung over the rippling stream. Then taking to the track beside it, he trudged on, with the warm glow in the east growing richer of tint, the birds breaking out into joyous song, and minute by minute the vale, with its wreaths of mist, growing so exquisitely beautiful that the black horrors of the past night began to seem more distant, and the cloud of shadow resting above his aching head less terrible and oppressive.

And as the sun approached its rising, so did the beauties around the lad increase; and he tramped on with a sensation of wonder coming upon him, that with all so glorious at early morn in this world of ours, it should be the work of the highest order of creatures upon it to mar and destroy, and contrive the horrors which disfigure it from time to time.

“And I’ve been one of the worst,” he said to himself bitterly. “No: it was to stop others from doing these things,” he cried quickly. “Oh, if we had not failed!”

He quickened his pace now, and, just as the sun rose high enough to light up the vale with its morning glow, he came in sight of the opening where Master Rayburn’s cottage stood.

“I shall have to wake him up,” said the lad, with a sigh; “and oh! what a tale to tell!”

But he did not have to waken the old man, for as he drew nearer he suddenly caught sight of his friend, standing with his back to him, hands clasped and hanging in front, head bent and bare, and the horizontal rays of the rising sun turning his silver locks to gold.

The lad gazed at him in surprise, but went on softly till he was quite close up, when Master Rayburn turned suddenly, smiled, and said:

“Ah! Ralph Darley, my lad, that’s how I say my prayers, but I’m a good Christian all the same. Why, what brings— here, speak, boy,” he cried excitedly—“torn, covered with dirt—and what’s this?—blood? Oh, Ralph, boy, don’t say that you and Mark Eden have been meeting again.”

“Yes,” said Ralph slowly; “we parted only a little while ago;” and he told the old man what had taken place, while the latter eagerly examined the speaker to seek for hurts.

“Then—then—you two lads—on the strength of what I said—attacked those ruffians in their den?”

“Yes, Master Rayburn,” said the lad bitterly; “and failed—miserably failed. Do, pray, come up and see our poor fellows. One of them is badly hurt, and the others have nearly all got wounds.”

“But you—you, boy. I don’t see the cause of all this blood.”

“No,” said Ralph wearily. “I’m not hurt. I suppose that came through helping the men.”

“Ah! and Mark Eden—is he hurt?”

“No: we two ought to have had the worst of it. He had a thrust on the head, but his steel cap saved him, and he walked home.”

“But Sir Morton? he did not know you were going?”

“No: we kept it to ourselves.”

“He knows now, of course?”

“Nothing at all. We’ve only just got back.”

“I’ll come at once,” said the old man; and hurrying into the cottage, he took some linen and other necessaries, put on his hat, and rejoined the lad, making him give a full account of the attack and failure as they walked sharply back to the Castle.

“You don’t say anything, Master Rayburn,” cried Ralph at last. “Do you think we were so very much to blame?”

“Blame, my boy?” cried the old man. “I always liked you two lads, and, wrong or right, I think you’ve done a grand thing.”

“What?”

“I never felt so proud of you both in my life.”

Ralph smiled.

“That’s very good of you, Master Rayburn,” he said, “and it’s a bit comforting; but I’ve got father to meet by-and-by.”

“And so have I, my boy,” cried the old man warmly, “to take the blame of it all. For it was my doing from beginning to end. I incited you lads to go and do this, and I shall tell your father it is only what he and Sir Edward Eden ought to have done months ago.”

“But we failed—failed,” groaned Ralph dismally.

“Failed! You have not done all you meant to do, but you have read those ruffians a severe lesson, and next time—”

“Ah! next time,” sighed Ralph.

“Come, Ralph! Be a man. Nothing great is ever done without failure first. Your father will be angry, and naturally. He’ll scold and blame, and all that; but I know what he is at heart, and he’ll think as I do, that he need not be ashamed of his son, even if he has failed.”

The quarters were reached soon after, and the sufferer who had been carried back received the first attention, the others all having their turn; and just as the last bandage had been applied, Sir Morton, who had been having a walk round, came upon the pikes, stained and blunted, leaning against a buttress of the wall. This brought him to the men’s quarters, and in utter astonishment he stood gazing at the scene.

“Ah! good morning,” said Master Rayburn, in answer to his wondering look from his son to the injured men and back. “They’ll be easier now. Only one hurt much, and he’ll be all right again after a few days’ rest.”

“But what does this mean?” said Sir Morton; and his son stood out, and in a frank, manly way, once more related the adventures of the night.

Sir Morton’s face grew sterner and harder as he heard everything to the finish; and he was just about to speak, when Master Rayburn broke in:

“My doing, from beginning to end. I told them they ought to do it.”

“And a nice business your interference has made, sir!” cried Sir Morton angrily. “You see now that it is impossible for two such adverse elements to get on together. The brutes! to turn upon those who had been fighting by their side!”

“Are you speaking about your men or Sir Edward Eden’s?” said the old man drily.

“Eden’s, of course,” cried Sir Morton angrily.

“Six of one and half-a-dozen of the other,” said the old man; “and all due to the evil teaching of their masters, my dear old friend. Come, Darley, it’s of no use to cry over spilt milk; the boys have set their fathers a splendid example, and driven in the thin end of the wedge. The sooner you and Eden send it home the better.”

“I must try again.”

“Of course. I don’t ask you to make friends. It would be absurd; but you must stir now, and I shall tell Eden the same, and that he cannot for very shame leave the work undone that his son has begun. Ralph, lad, you go to bed, and sleep all day. I am doctor enough to insist to your father that you are not to be disturbed. I must go up to the Black Tor at once, for I suppose I am badly wanted there.”

The old man hurried away with the remainder of his bandages, and Sir Morton signed to his son, who followed him to the room into which Captain Purlrose had been ushered.

“Now, Ralph,” began Sir Morton, but his son interrupted him:

“Guilty, father,” he cried dismally, “and I have failed.”

“There, do as Master Rayburn said,” cried Sir Morton, “and—well—I’ll talk to you another time—I’m—er—I’m not very angry, my boy, but—there, be off. It was very brave, and like a soldier’s son.”

“I wonder what Mark Eden’s father has said to him,” thought Ralph as he threw himself wearily upon his bed.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Just in Time.

All at once Dummy Rugg uttered a peculiar snort, and started up in a sitting position, with the thought still fresh in his brain that he must rouse up Mark from his nap.

But all was dark, and there was the gurgling rush of the water below. “Why, I’ve been asleep,” muttered the lad excitedly. “Think o’ me doing that!”

He rose quickly, and felt for the crack in which he had stuck the candles, narrowly escaping a plunge into the little pool from which he had drunk.

He found the spot where the candles had been, both of them; he could feel it by the size, and knew it by the shape, for it grew smaller at each extremity, so that he had been able to wedge the ends of the candles tight.

Yes: there was no doubt about it. Both candles, as if to be in fashion with the stony drippings of the cavern, had run down a little, to form tiny stalagmites of grease.

“Burnt right out,” muttered Dummy, still more excitedly. “Why, I may ha’ been asleep for hours.”

Thrusting his hand into his breast, there was a faint rattle as he drew out tinder-box and match, and then felt for a candle in the box he had carried slung by a strap from the shoulder, and laid it ready.

The next minute he was nicking a piece of flint against the steel, striking sparks down into the box, and at the second sharp click Mark started awake.

“Yes! What is it?” he cried—“Where am I?”

“On’y here, Master Mark,” replied the boy. “Candle’s gone out.”

“Why, Dummy! Have we been to sleep?”

“I s’pose so, Master Mark. Po–o–o–o–f–f–uf! There we are!”

He had obtained a light, the match burning up brightly, and then the candle, after the fluffy wick had been burnt and blown.

“How tiresome! I don’t know, though. I feel rested.”

“Being up all last night, I s’pose,” said Dummy, as he stuck the candle in the crack.

“Yes, of course; that’s it. Think we’ve been asleep long?”

“I dunno. Fear’d so.”

“Let’s go back, then, at once,” said Mark, springing to his feet. “Why, we may have been asleep for hours. Light another candle, and let’s get back.”

“Right, Master Mark. Well, it don’t much matter, for we hadn’t nothing to do.”

The second candle was lit, and stuck in the rough wooden carrying-stick, the other was taken from the crack in the stone and treated the same.

“Won’t go no furrer, then, Master Mark?” said the boy.

“No, not to-day,” said Mark decisively, as he looked round the chamber, and then stooped to take a draught of the clear water, an example Dummy followed.

“Ready, Master Mark?”

“Yes, lead on. But which way?”

“Don’t you know, sir?” said Dummy grinning.

“Haven’t the least idea. Have you?”

“Yes, sir. This way. I know.”

“But are you sure you are right?”

“Ay, this is right.”

“Then you have been there before?”

“Nay, never; but I can feel that’s right,” and he pointed in the opposite direction to that which Mark felt they ought to take.

“Forward, then, and let’s get out as quick as we can.”

“Yes, but it’ll take some time;” and the boy led on.

“Why, Dummy,” cried Mark, suddenly, “we must have slept for hours and hours.”

“How do you know, sir?”

“Why, I can feel.”

“In your head, like, sir?” said Dummy eagerly.

“Head? No: somewhere else,” cried Mark, laughing. “I am half-starved.”

A good three hours must have elapsed before, after a weary climb and tramp, and when the last candle had been lit, the two lads emerged from behind the stony veil into the grotto-like place that had deceived Mark Eden.

“Don’t matter about candles now, Master Mark,” said Dummy; “I could find my way out ready enough by touching the wall with one hand.”

“Well, make haste and let’s get out; I don’t want to be in fresh trouble through stopping so long. I believe it’s supper-time.”

“Yes, Master Mark,” replied the boy, “and so do I.”

They had still a long way to go, but once past the veil of stalactite, they began to enter the workings with the passages and chambers possessing fairly level floors, made for the convenience of transporting the ore to the mouth of the mine. The walking then became comparatively easy, but Mark’s weariness was on the increase, and there were moments when the faint glow of light which spread around Dummy, as he walked in front, grew misty and strange, playing fantastic tricks to the observer’s eye: now it seemed close to him; now it and the black silhouette it formed of the bearer’s body appeared to be far-off, and to die away in the distance, but only to return again with a sudden jerk, as Mark started and tried to step out more firmly.

At these moments, his own candle having burned out, Mark watched the shadow of his companion dancing about, now on the floor, now on the ceiling or on either side, looking grotesque and goblin-like for a few moments, and then dying out again and causing the lad to start, as he felt in a dreamy way that he was being left behind, though on recovering his fleeting senses it was only to find that Dummy was almost within touch.

This had been going on for some time, when Mark spoke:

“I say, don’t go right away and leave me, Dummy.”

“Who’s a-going to?” said the boy, looking round in surprise.

“I know you wouldn’t on purpose, but keep looking round. I can’t keep awake. My legs do, but all the rest goes to sleep, and I begin getting in a muddle.”

“Oh, we shall soon be out now,” said the boy laughing.

“Soon be out! I never knew the place was so big before. Keep looking back to see that I don’t drop down fast asleep.”

“I’d make you go first,” said Dummy, “but you don’t know the way.”

“No: keep on as you are, and make haste.”

“Can’t: must go steady, because of the candle.”

“Oh dear!” sighed Mark. “I am so sleepy, and it’s beginning to get down below my belt, to where my leg was hurt.”

“No, no, don’t you think that,” cried Dummy. “Let’s keep on talking.”

“Yes,” said Mark, jumping at the proposal. “Let’s keep talking—Who are you laughing at?”

“You, Master Mark. You are sleepy. ’Tarn’t far, now. Fresh air’ll soon rouse you.”

There was no reply, and as the boy glanced back he could see that his companion was beginning to reel about like a drunken man, and that his eyes had a peculiar dull, fixed look.

The next minute the lids drooped, and he walked on as if that which he had said was quite true—that all was fast asleep but the legs, which went on automatically, and supported their load.

“With a fal, lal-lal, lal-lalla, lalla, la!” yelled Dummy, not unmusically; and it had its effect, for Mark sprang at him, and caught him by the shoulder.

“What was that?” he cried excitedly.

“On’y me singing, Master Mark. Soon be out now.”

“That’s what you keep on saying,” cried the lad, pettishly. “I don’t believe we’re going right. You’ve taken a wrong turning by mistake. Here, I can’t go any farther, Dummy. I must lie down and go to sleep again. It’s horrible to keep on like this. I know I shall fall.”

“You do, and I’ll stick a pin in you,” said the boy roughly.

“What!”

“I’m not going to have you fall asleep again. Come, rouse up, Master Mark; I’m ashamed of you. For two pins I’d hit you over the head.”

“What!” cried Mark, in an access of passion; “why, you ugly big-headed mole, how dare you speak to me like that?”

“’Cause I like,” cried Dummy sharply. “Talking of going to deep, like a great gal. Yah! Gen’lemen aren’t no use. Never do have no legs.”

“You insolent dog!” roared Mark, leaping at him, and striking the boy twice heavily on the back, with the result that the one candle was jerked out of the stick he carried, to fly forward on to the floor, flicker for a moment or two, and then, before it could be seized, go out, and with it Mark’s bit of passion.

“Oh!” he cried, as he stood fast in the darkness.

“There, you’ve done it now,” cried Dummy, in mock tones of horror.

“Yes, be quick; get out the flint and steel.”

“What for?”

“To get a light.”

“For you to begin knocking me about again.”

“No, no, Dummy; I won’t touch you again. It was your fault: you made me so cross.”

“All right, Master Mark,” said the boy, with a good-humoured laugh. “I only did it o’ purpose to wake you up, and it has. I don’t mind what you did. Don’t feel sleepy now, do you?”

“No, no, I’m quite awake. The drowsy feeling has gone off. Come, light the candle.”

“Shan’t now,” replied Dummy. “We’re only a little way off now, and I can manage.”

“But are you sure?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure enough, Master Mark. Wait a minute.”

“Yes. What are you going to do?”

“Only unloose a few rings of this line we brought.”

“What for? If you play me any tricks now we’re in the dark, I’ll—”

“Who’s going to play any tricks?” grumbled the boy. “Men don’t play tricks. Here, kitch holt: now you can follow me, and feel me, if you keep the rope tight, and won’t go hitting yourself again the wall.”

Mark grasped the end of the rope handed to him, and they started forward in the intense blackness, the novelty and sense of shrinking soon passing off, and the lad feeling more and more confidence in his leader.

“Don’t feel a bit sleepy now, do you?” asked Dummy.

“Not in the least. I say, are you sure that you can go on without taking a wrong turning?”

“Oh yes, I’m right enough, Master Mark.”

“How far is it now?”

“On’y ’bout fifty fathom or so. We’re just getting to the rise.”

“Then we—no, you’re wrong. We can’t be. Why, if we were so near the mouth we should see daylight.”

“What! in the middle o’ the night? Not you.”

“What! You don’t think it’s so late as that?”

“Yes, I do. It’s past twelve o’clock, if it’s a minute.”

“Then we must have slept a very long time below there.”

“Hours upon hours,” said Dummy, chuckling.

“Hark! What’s that?” said Mark excitedly.

“Shouting,” said the boy, after listening. “My! they are making a row about it. They’re coming to fetch us, because we’ve been so long.”

The two lads were still making for the mouth of the mine, and were now ascending the rough steps, to pause by the stone shed inside the entrance, where tools, gunpowder for blasting, and several kinds of tackle were kept, in among the candles and torches.

“Here, Dummy,” cried Mark excitedly, as the noise outside and above them increased, “what does this mean? They’re fighting!”

“Fighting?” cried the boy excitedly.

“Yes, what can it mean?”

“Mean, Master Mark? I can tell you. It’s the Darleys come at last to take our place. Oh, why didn’t I kill young Ralph that night when I followed him home through the wood?”

“You did what?”

“Followed him. I wasn’t sure he’d been trying to kill you, or I would.”

“Come along, and don’t talk,” whispered Mark excitedly. “Ah! I have no sword.”

“Got a pick in your belt, and so have I.”

“You’ll stand by me, Dummy?”

“Won’t I, Master Mark! I want to get a hit at some of ’em. You won’t stop me, will you, to-night?”

“If they’ve come and attacked us, no. Hush, quiet! Let’s steal out first, and see.”

The night was very dark as they left the mouth of the mine, but after their late experience it seemed to both to be comparatively light, and with Mark now armed with the miner’s pick, which he felt would be a good substitute for a battle-axe, they hurried up the steps, with the noise above increasing, but seeming to be over on the other side of the little castle. A minute or two later they had reached the platform which led to their right over the narrow natural bridge, to the left, through the gateway into the first courtyard. This was empty, and they ran lightly across it, to find that the encounter was going on beyond the second gateway, which led into the little inner courtyard, surrounded by the dwelling-house portion of the castle. Both gateways were furnished with means of defence, the outer having an iron grille of heavy crossed bars, while the second had folding doors of massive oak, with a wicket for ordinary use in the lower part of one of the folds. But in spite of the enmity between the two families, little heed had of late been given to the defences. Sir Edward had considered that the outer gate at the end of the natural bridge was sufficient, as there was so little likelihood of an attack without warning; and, as far as Mark could make out, it seemed that under cover of the darkness the enemy had crossed the bridge and forced the gate under the little towers, when the rest would be easy for them. They had only had to pass through the first courtyard, and were now in the lesser or inner court, evidently trying to batter down the entrance door into the hall.

They must have begun their work before Sir Edward and his people were alarmed; but how long before it was impossible to tell. What met the eyes of the two lads now was an armed group trying to batter in the great door by means of a beam they had brought up into the yard, while others, armed with pikes, guarded their companions, upon whom missiles of all kinds were being dashed down from above, and thrusts were being made with other pikes from the windows which flanked or overhung the door.

“The Darleys,” whispered Dummy, as they peered together round the inner corner of the gateway dividing the two courts.

“In with it, boys!” roared a hoarse voice; and they dimly made out a heavy figure standing in the shelter of the wall.

“Captain Purlrose and his gang,” whispered back Mark huskily. “I wonder how many men my father has in there.”

“They were going over to Dexham for a holiday, all but them as was hurt,” whispered Dummy. “Come on and help, or the robbers’ll get in.”

A pang shot through Mark, and he grasped the handle of his pick firmly, ready for a dash, but the feeling that it would be utter madness kept him back. For he knew that even if he could strike down two of the attacking party, they must succumb to the others, and they would have done no good.

It was all plain enough. Purlrose must have gained the information that the mine people were away, and that Sir Edward would be almost without defenders, and, out of revenge for the previous night’s attack, have seized the opportunity for a reprisal.

“Why, Dummy,” he whispered, with his lips close to the other’s ear, “if they take the castle, they’ll keep it, and turn us out.”

“Yes, and grab the mine,” said the boy hoarsely. “Well, we mustn’t let ’em.”

Bang, bang, came the reports of a couple of arquebuses from one of the windows, but no harm was done, and the men answered with a derisive cheer and continued their battering of the door, which still resisted their efforts.

Another shot was fired, but still without effect, and Mark ground his teeth together as he felt the impotency of his father’s efforts now that the enemy had stolen in beyond the gates that would have been admirable for defence.

“Well, aren’t you going to do something, Master Mark?”

“What can I do, Dummy?” cried the lad, in despair. “We might shut these gates, and defend them.”

“Yes, so we could; but what’s the good?”

Just then there was a quick flash and a sharp roar close to the doorway, and in the bright light the lads saw the men drop the beam and run back; but no one was hurt, and in answer to a roar of orders from their leader, the enemy seized the beam again and began to drive it against the centre of the great door.

“Running away from that,” roared Purlrose; “handful of powder rolled up in a bag and thrown at you! Down with it! they’ve got no more.”

“Yes, they have,” whispered Dummy, excitedly. “Here, Master Mark, quick!”

Mark grasped the idea, without explanation, and ran back with his companion, leaving the shouting, cursing, and firing behind, to descend with him to the mouth of the mine, and then downward to the big stone shed, where Dummy tore open the great oaken closet, and drew out a bag of the coarse blasting-powder used in the mine.

“Feel in that box, Master Mark; that’s it. You know. The fuse cord.”

Mark had a roll of loose twisted hemp soaked in saltpetre and powder out of the box directly, and armed with a powder-bag each, they hurried trembling back, to reach the gateway, peer round the corner, and see that the attack was going on as fiercely as ever, while the defence was very weak, and they knew that before long the door must yield. In fact, amidst a burst of cheers, a hole had been already driven through, to be made use of by the defenders for sending thrusts out with their pikes.

“Up with you,” whispered Mark, and the two lads hurried up a little winding staircase on to the top of the inner gate-tower, from whence they could go along one side of the little yard, hidden by the crenellated battlement, till they were about five-and-twenty feet from where the men were carrying on their attack.

“Light it, and chuck it among ’em,” whispered Dummy, but he proceeded with system. “Put t’other inside the doorway,” he whispered. “Don’t want that to go off too.”

Mark obeyed, and returned unseen by those below, or the party defending the hall-door, to find that his companion, used to seeing such things done, had cut a little hole in the side of the powder-bag, inserted a piece of the fuse, and thrust the rest in his pocket.

“Here, you hold the end of the string up,” whispered Dummy; and there was a rattling noise, as he took out the flint and steel he was carrying.

A cold chill ran through Mark.

“Mind,” he whispered; “you’ll blow us to pieces.”

“Nay, I won’t,” said the lad, between his teeth. “You hold the thing in your hands; open it out a bit. I won’t send no sparks nigh the powder. Aren’t afeared, are you?”

“No,” said Mark, setting his teeth; and stooping down, he screened the bag by passing the fuse between his knees, holding the frayed-out end ready while Dummy made a low clicking noise, and cleverly sent a shower of sparks down upon the prepared hemp.

It caught directly, and began to sparkle and sputter, Mark holding it firmly, but feeling as if he were the victim of some horrible nightmare dream.

“That’s the way,” said Dummy, coolly replacing the flint and steel. “It won’t go off yet. I want it to burn till it’s nearly ready, and then heave it down right amongst ’em. Make some on ’em squint.”

“Throw it—throw it,” panted Mark hoarsely.

“Nay, not yet. They’d see it burning, and tread it out. Here, you let me have it. I’ll hold it to the last minute, and when I throw, you duck yourself down, or you might get burnt.”

Dummy took hold of the burning cord with his left hand, the bag with his right, pressing his companion out of the road, and then standing twitching the sparkling fuse, which was only a few inches away from the powder in the bag.

“I’ve often seen it done,” he whispered.

A shout came up from the little court, for the followers of Captain Purlrose had again driven their battering ram through the great door, and a shout of defiance came back from the hall from a few voices, among which Mark recognised his father’s; but he could not turn from that sparkling piece of line to glance over the stony battlement to see what was being done. His eyes were fascinated, and nothing could have withdrawn them then.

He had proved again and again that he was no coward, but a great terror chained him now, and his voice trembled as he panted out:

“Quick—quick; throw—throw!”

“Nay, not yet. I’m watching of it. Father always waits till there’s on’y about an inch, to make sure it’ll go off.”

There was not much more as he spoke, and just then, in obedience to an order from their captain, the men drew back from the doorway, balancing the beam swung between them, as, four on each side now, it hung from their hands, and backing till they were past the spot where the pair were crouching.

“Now, all together, my brave boys,” cried Purlrose; “a good run, and down goes the door. Off!”

The order answered for Dummy as well as the men, and feeling now that he had waited too long, the boy swung the bag over the battlement. The passage through the air increased the sparkling of the fuse, and before it touched the pavement, a few feet in front of the men starting for their run, there was a wondrous flash of light, a fierce wind drove the two lads backward, and then came a deafening roar, mingled with the breaking of glass, a yell of horror, and as the roof still quivered beneath the lads’ feet they heard the rush of men through the gateway, across the next court, and through the outer opening on to the bridge, and then down the first slope.

“Come on!” cried Dummy, running to the low doorway of the gate-tower, where he picked up the other powder-bag, and, hardly knowing what he did, Mark followed him down the winding stair into the gateway.

“Come on!” cried Dummy again, and Mark still followed, across the outer court and the first gateway, grasping the pick from his belt, feeling that they were about to charge the rear of the flying enemy.

“Come on,” shouted Dummy, for the third time, and they crossed the narrow space, which brought them to the little tower and gateway by the natural bridge, where, as Mark closed up, he could hear the babble and growl of voices from the bottom of the first slope.

“Shied it too soon,” growled the boy. “I don’t believe it’s killed one.”

“They’re coming back, Dummy,” cried Mark, “and the gate’s broken away from the hinges.”

“Then they shall have it this time,” cried the lad, and cutting a hole with his knife in one corner of the powder-bag, he held it down at one side behind the massive wall of the little tower, and striding his legs, walked slowly forward till he reached the middle of the bridge, where he plumped the powder-bag down, after leaving a little train of the black grains behind him where he walked.

Then carefully avoiding it, he stepped quickly back to where Mark was standing, and took out and handed him the flint and steel.

“You do it this time,” he said. “We shall be in shelter here. I’ll watch and say when.”

Mark took the rough implements, and knelt down by the commencement of the train.

“Hold it close down, quite steady, and give one good nick, and it will set the powder off.”

“Come on, you cowardly dogs,” cried a now familiar voice. “There’s everything that’s good in there, and the place will be ours, I tell you. What, going to be scared by a puff of smoke? The place is our own now. All here?”

“Ay,” came in a growl.

“Form in good order, three abreast, and charge right across and into the yard. Halt! Steady! To think of running for a flash in the pan!”

“You ran too,” growled a voice.

“You won’t be happy till you’re strung up, Hez Bingham,” cried the captain. “Now then: swords. Steady! Forward!”

“Now!” whispered Dummy; and as the men tramped on to the bridge for their renewed attack, Mark struck the steel with his flint, and a tiny spark or two fell.

“Quick—another!” whispered Dummy, and the men halted in the middle of the bridge.

“Forward!” shouted the captain from the rear; “what are you halting for?”

“What’s this here?” growled one of the men in the first line, for he had caught sight of the powder-bag lying in the middle of the pathway, his question taking off his comrades’ attention from the two sharp clicks which came from behind the lesser gateway.

But they saw a little line of light and smoke running over the stone paving of the bridge, and with a yell of horror, they turned and fled hurriedly back and down the slope.

“Don’t look!” yelled Dummy, forcing Mark aside, when the flash brought the castle and summit of the Black Tor into full view; then there was an awful muffled roar, which went echoing away, and as it died out, the two lads dashed across the bridge to the head of the zigzag descent, to make out by hearing that the enemy were in full retreat.

“I think that settled ’em,” said Dummy quietly. “You did it fine, Master Mark.”

“Hoi! Who’s there?” cried a voice behind them.

“Dummy Rugg, father.”

“And you, my boy? Thank Heaven! I was afraid something was wrong.”

“Then it was you two with my powder,” cried another voice out of the darkness.

“Yes, Dan Rugg, and a splendid use they made of it,” cried Sir Edward. “Well done, my lads. But come into shelter; they surprised us, with everything left open. We must lock the stable door now. Think they’ll come again, Rugg?”

“Nay, Sir Edward; not to-night. Those explosions will bring our lads up to see what’s the matter.”

“Well, secure the gates as we go in.”

Dan Rugg was right. Within half-an-hour a dozen men had come up and been admitted, ready to meet the enemy should he return, but the silence up at the Black Tor was not disturbed again that night.

“Out of revenge for you boys’ attack,” said Sir Edward, when he had heard his son’s account of their proceedings in the mine, and Dummy’s clever thought about the powder. “It might have meant the loss of this place. But there must be an end to it now. You lads were so handy with the powder-bags that you shall try your hands upon that wasps’ nest, for I can’t rest now till I’ve had it well burnt out. Pity more powder was not used this time. I don’t believe they were more than singed, and half my windows were smashed.”

“But if we had used more powder, father,” said Mark, smiling, “we might have knocked down the place.”

Chapter Twenty Four.

An Enemy in Distress.

The rattling of a handful of tiny pebbles took Mark Eden to his window that morning—for it was beginning to grow grey in the east when he went to his bed, Sir Edward insisting upon his going, and announcing that he was going to keep watch with three men.

Mark pleaded for permission to join in the vigil, but Sir Edward firmly ordered him to go and take proper rest; so he went, feeling that after such an exciting time sleep would be impossible, and going off directly into a deep dreamless slumber, from which he was awakened by that shower of pebbles.

He threw open the casement, fully expecting to find that he had been summoned to help defend the place from a fresh attack; but only saw Dummy Rugg below in the yard, waving his arms to him.

“Dress yourself and come down, Master Mark,” cried Dummy, in a hoarse whisper, uttered between his hands. “What is it—the enemy?”

“Yes,” said Dummy, nodding his head a great deal. “He wants to see you.”

“Me or my father?”

“You,” whispered Dummy mysteriously. “Look sharp.”

Mark did look as sharp as he could, hurriedly washing and dressing, while still feeling stupid and thick with sleep.

As he went down he saw one of the servants, and asked for Sir Edward, but learned that his father had not long gone to his chamber.

He went out of the battered hall-door, looked round at the shivered casements and the walls blackened and whitened by the powder blast, and then hurried through the gateway into the outer court.

But Dummy was not there now, so he passed through and saw the boy waiting at the entrance of the gateway which had protected the bridge so poorly on the previous night.

“Where is he?” cried Mark.

“Bit o’ the way down the path,” was the reply.

“Is it Captain Purlrose?” asked Mark.

“Yah! No, not him. T’other enemy.”

“What enemy? Whom do you mean?”

“Him you hate so. Young Ralph Darley.”

“Here?” cried Mark in astonishment.

“Yes; I see him coming up, and was going to heave a big stone down on him, but he threw up his hands, and called out as he wanted you.”

“Why, what can he want?” cried Mark, flushing with fresh excitement.

“I dunno, but it’s some mischief, or a Darley wouldn’t have come. You be on the look out: he’s got his sword. I’ll come with you and let him have my pick if he means anything again’ you. He’s heard of the fighting, and thinks we’re beat; so just you look out.”

“You stop here,” said Mark sharply, for he felt that this must be an advance toward friendship on the part of the Darleys—that on hearing of the attack Sir Morton had sent his son as an ambassador, to offer to join Sir Edward Eden in an expedition to crush their mutual foe.

“Stop here, Master Mark, and let you go into danger,” cried Dummy. “I won’t!”

“Stop here, sir! How dare you!” cried Mark. “Do you think that I cannot defend myself against a boy like that?”

“He’s as big a boy as you are, Master Mark, and I won’t let you go alone.”

“Dummy, you’re an insolent dog,” cried Mark haughtily. “Keep your place, sir, or I’ll never go down the mine with you again.”

“Oh, very well,” said the boy sulkily, “but if he cuts your head off, don’t come and howl about it to me after it’s done.”

“I promise you I won’t,” cried Mark.

“And I shall climb up yonder and watch you, Master Mark; and if he kills you I’ll follow him till I get him, and I’ll take him and heave him down that big hole in the mine, where the water falls.”

Mark hardly heard this, for he was hurrying over the bridge, followed by Dummy, who, as his young master went down the zigzag path, began to climb up to where he could keep watch, a sentry being higher still, where he could command the approaches to the Tor Castle.

At the bottom of the third slope, Mark came upon Ralph, who was approaching to meet him, and at a glance he saw that something terrible had happened, for the lad’s face was haggard and wild. There were smears of blood about his temples, while his face looked as if it had been washed, and some injury had bled again. In addition, a closer inspection showed that his hair had been singed off on one side, while the other was matted by dry blood.

“Why, hullo! Have you been in the wars too?”

“Help!” cried the lad, holding out his hands to him imploringly.

“Help? You come to me!” said Mark wonderingly.

“Yes, to you, mine enemy,” cried Ralph, with a wild hysterical cry. “I am humbled now—there is no one else to go to. Oh, for pity’s sake, help!”

He covered his face with his hands in his shame and agony, feeling that his manhood had gone out of him, and Mark felt that something terrible must have occurred, for a burst of hysterical sobbing escaped from the wounded lad, and he threw himself face downward upon the path.

For a moment shame and contempt reigned in Mark Eden’s breast, but they were chased away by a manly feeling of pity for the enemy who seemed to be humbling himself so before him.

Then all selfishness passed away in turn, and the word enemy dropped out of his being as the true English boy shone out of his eyes in compassion for a lad who had evidently passed through some terrible experience.

“I say! Darley,” he said gently, “don’t go on like that. I know, though I don’t like you, that you are a brave lad, and it hurts me to see you so. There’s a sentry up yonder, and our boy, Dummy. Don’t let them see you cry. It’s like a woman.”

Ralph sprang to his feet, with his face distorted, and his eyes flashing wildly.

“Yes,” he cried fiercely, “like a weak, pitiful girl; but I couldn’t keep it back. If it had not come I should have gone mad, for my head felt as if it was on fire. That’s past now, and I can talk. You see how I am, I have come to you and your father—to you Edens, our enemies—to ask you by all that is holy, by all that’s manly, to help me.”

He stopped, panting, and trying to speak, but the words would not come; he was choking. The blood seemed to rush to his temples so that the veins stood out, and he reeled and would have fallen had not Mark caught, supported him, and lowered him down upon the rocky path.

Then looking up, he shouted to Dummy.

“Fetch two men here—quick!” he cried.

Dummy disappeared, and Mark knelt down and unfastened the neck of the lad’s doublet, and saw that his head had received a bad cut, for the cap had fallen off, and his face was ghastly.

“Poor lad!” said Mark softly. “I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help liking him. Why, I know,” he cried excitedly. “That’s it. I never saw such an enemy! He must have known that we were being attacked, and been coming to help us, and those fiends have served him like this. That’s it! He’s just the fellow who would do it, for I know he likes me. I’ve seen it over and over again.”

He sprang up, feeling ashamed of what he had said, and afraid of being seen by his people, for he heard steps coming; and directly after, Dummy came running down, followed by a couple of stout miners, each fully armed.

“Here, Dummy,” cried Mark, “run all the way to Master Rayburn, and tell him to come here directly.”

“Go to fetch Master Rayburn for him?” said the boy, staring.

“Yes, can’t you see he is wounded and burnt? Run, or I’ll go myself!”

Dummy, awed by this—to him—awful threat, dashed down the zigzag at a dangerous pace, while, at their young master’s orders, the two miners gently lifted and bore the insensible lad up to the castle, into the dwelling-house, and then to Mark’s chamber, where he was laid upon the bed.

As soon as he had dismissed the bearers, Mark began to bathe the lad’s temples, and in a few minutes he opened his eyes and stared wildly round.

“Where am I?” he said.

“Here: safe,” said Mark.

Recollection came back to the poor fellow’s swimming brain, and he threw his legs off the couch and tried to rise, but sank back with a groan.

“There: you can’t,” said Mark soothingly, and he took his hand. “Tell me—what’s happened? You didn’t see, because you’d fainted when I had you brought in, but we’re in trouble too. But I suppose you know. Were you going to help?”

“To help?” said Ralph faintly. “No; to ask for help. They took us by surprise. Our men wounded. Just at day-break. We were all asleep. They climbed in.”

“Who did? Purlrose?”

“Yes; and his men. Father called me to dress, and we called the men together, but they got between us and the arms. The cowards! they cut us down. The poor lads who were wounded too. All so sudden. In a few minutes it was all over. Father prisoner—half our men dead; rest locked in one of the lower rooms: and I crawled away—to lie down and die, I thought.”

“Why, it must have been after they had failed here,” muttered Mark.

“They did not see me; I was behind an over-turned table, and a curtain and chair over me. I could hear all they said. They sat and drank after they had dragged out four of our poor fellows, dead.”

“Then they sat and talked; I heard them. That captain said Cliff Castle would do as well as Black Tor, and they would stay there.”

“Ah!” panted Mark excitedly.

“And a great deal more. It meant that they’d taken the place, and I felt then that I must die. I don’t know how long they were there. It was hot and stifling, and there was smoke, and a man rushed in, and said the prisoners had escaped, and set fire to the place.”

Ralph shuddered and was silent, till Mark began bathing his face again, when he seemed to revive a little, and wandered on:

“Fire burned so fast—crawled out—through the window—Minnie’s fish-pool—castle burning so fast—father—Minnie—help!—oh help!”

Chapter Twenty Six.

“Has your Father been a Soldier?”

There had been plenty going on in Mark’s absence of an hour or two, and as soon as he had seen the recruits to their little force settled down in the hall to rest and refresh, he hastened up to Master Rayburn to find how his patient was going on. “Badly, Mark, boy,” said the old man; “very badly. He has been wounded in the mind as well as body. The best remedy for him will be the knowledge that his father and sister are safe. Well, what fortune in your mission?”

“That’s good in two ways,” he said, as soon as he had heard Mark’s account; “strengthens your hands, and sounds as if the people are getting as wise as their masters.”

Mark did not wish to discuss that subject, for it was irksome to him at a time when he felt that he did not know whether the Darleys and he were enemies or friends, his thoughts going toward the former as being the more natural in connection with the past.

Under these circumstances, he hurried away, descended, and found his father superintending the repair of the gate which defended the castle by the bridge. The piping times of peace had caused carelessness, and this gate had been so neglected that Purlrose and his men had had no difficulty in levering it off the pivots, and gaining an entrance.

Sir Edward was determined not to be caught sleeping again, for sentinels had been posted, and various means taken for strengthening the place. As for the damage to the great doors of the hall, these had already been covered with stout boarding, and missiles in the shape of heavy stones and pigs of lead were piled up on the platform of each tower.

Under Dan Rugg’s supervision, arquebuses had been cleaned and placed ready for use, and a couple of small cannon trained where they could sweep the approach to the bridge, and in turn the gateways leading into the outer and inner courts.

Sir Edward expressed himself as being highly pleased with his son’s success; and, treating him in this emergency as if he were a man, he joined him in the little council of war that was held with Dan Rugg. In this the best way of proceeding was discussed, and it was determined that instead of waiting for the darkness, the attacking party should set off early in the evening.

For old Dan had said: “It’s no use to think of trying to surprise them now, master; they’ll be well on the look out for us, and have men ready. Means a sharp bit of fighting to get up to the hole yonder, but once we get there, the powder will fight for us.”

“You mean to fire some at the entrance?” said Mark.

“Ay, Master Mark; that’s it, and then send another bag in before us, and fire that, and go on doing it till we’ve either blasted ’em all out of the place or made ’em so sick and sorry that they’ll cry surrender.”

The hours glided by, as it seemed to Mark, very slowly, till the time appointed for starting approached; and, after a final glance at Ralph, he was coming down, when Master Rayburn followed him.

“I should like to come with you, Mark, my boy,” he said gravely, “but my place is here. Heaven grant that you may be successful; and if you are,” he said meaningly, “there will be peace in our vale.”

Mark pressed his hand, buckled on his sword, and went down into the yard to join his father, who was giving final instructions to the wounded men about keeping the gates fast during their absence, not that an attack was expected, but “to make assurance doubly sure.”

While he was giving his last instructions, Dummy came running over the bridge, and trotted up to Sir Edward.

“Well, boy, could you see anything?”

“Yes,” replied Dummy, with a sharp nod of the head. “You can see two, if you go far enough, one on each side of the hill, keeping a look out.”

“Did they see you?”

“Nay, I was a-creeping among the bushes.”

“Then it is of no use to try and get up unobserved, Mark,” said Sir Edward, quietly. “It must be a bold open attack.”

He turned and said a few words to Sir Morton Darley’s men, Nick and the rest, after having had their injuries tended, and a few hours’ rest and refreshment, looking far better prepared for the encounter, and falling into their places with sullen determination.

Mark, at a word from his father, marched up alongside of Nick Garth, who gave him a surly nod, and seemed to be about to speak, but checked himself, and then let his curiosity master him.

“What ha’ they got in them baskets?” he said, nodding to a couple strung from poles, and each hanging from two men’s shoulders, “bread and cheese?”

“No: blasting-powder.”

“Eh? What for?” said the man, staring.

“Blow out the cavern,” said Mark quietly.

The man uttered a low long whistle, and then a grim smile covered his face.

“Hah!” he whispered, “that does a man good, young Eden! I was coming, and I meant to fight till I dropped; but after what we tried to do, I knew they’d be too many for us; but I begin to see my way now.”

“Yes, they don’t like the powder,” said Mark. “We made them run with it when they attacked us here.”

“What, did they ’tack you here?”

“Yes, and were beaten off, and came down to you.”

“Well, it wasn’t very neighbourly to send ’em down to us,” said the man sourly.

“You should have beaten them off, and sent them back again,” said Mark, smiling.

Then the order to march came, and the little band of sturdy men went off at a solemn tramp, Dummy carrying a couple of lanterns and a box slung from his shoulder, well supplied with torches, candles, and slow match, for the powder which it did not fall to his lot to bear.

As they passed over the bridge, the wounded men clanged to the gates, and two of them took their places on the tower above, while, as the party tramped across and turned to descend the zigzag, a thought came to Mark, and he turned back to glance at the window of his bed-chamber, as he wished that Ralph Darley were uninjured and marching by his side to help in the rescue of his father and sister.

There were two faces at the casement: those of Mary and Master Rayburn; and as the lad descended the slope they waved their hands to him. The next minute the cliff-side hid them from view.

The march in the calm bright evening was uneventful. Everything was so beautiful that it seemed hard to realise the horrors which had taken place during the past night, till Mark looked to right or left, and saw the bandages of several of the men. Nick Garth, too, was limping, but he resolutely kept on declaring that it was nothing to mind.

The Steeple Stone was left to the right, for there was this time no party of allies to meet; and very soon the great heavy mass of barren rocky hill loomed up before them, higher and higher, till the party were out from among the trees which had so far concealed their march, and proof was soon given that they were observed.

For all at once something was seen to be in motion, and Dummy shouted:

“There: I told you so!”

At the distance they then were, the object seen might have been a sheep or goat, slowly moving up the higher part of the mountain; but before long it stood out on the ridge, clear against the golden evening sky, plainly enough now a man.

Mark judged that after watching them the sentinel waved his hand to some one below, for the movement was seen, and a few minutes later another, and again another figure came up to stand clearly marked against the sky; and after a time all descended, their course being tracked down the barren hill face, till they disappeared, without doubt, in through the mouth of the cavern.

“Preparing a warm reception for us, Mark, my lad,” said Sir Edward, advancing to his son’s side; “but we shall be able to give them one equally warm. Well, my man, how are the wounds? Would you like to have ten minutes’ halt?”

Nick, to whom this was addressed, showed his teeth in a peculiar smile.

“When we’ve done our work, master; not before. Dessay we shall be ’bliged to wait before we get in.”

“I hope not,” said Sir Edward. “I mean for us to make a bold rush.”

“That’s right, master,” said the man, whose fellows were listening eagerly; “but I’ve been thinking about Sir Morton yonder, and my young lady.”

“Yes? What about them?” asked Sir Edward.

“You’re going to use blasting-powder?”

“Well, what of that?”

“I was thinking about them inside. We wouldn’t like to hurt them.”

“Of course not; but as I know the place, there is little fear. I went in some distance, some twenty years ago, and the passages run to and fro and keep opening up into chambers. Now, one of these, some distance in, is sure to be turned into a prison for the captives, where they would be beyond the reach of the powder, and I feel certain that they would be too far away to be hurt.”

“Won’t bring the roof down upon ’em, will it?” asked the man.

“I don’t think there is any fear; but it is only where we fail to drive the wretches back that I shall have a charge fired. I must save my men from injury as much as I can.”

“That’s what Sir Morton used to say, young gentleman,” said Nick, as Sir Edward drew back; and for the next half-hour the attacking party, a good twenty strong, advanced steadily, the steepness of the climb soon enforcing slower progress.

For some little time now they had been aware of the fact that the enemy had been making preparations for an attack. Taught by the last, they had worked hard, and built-up a massive wall across the entrance to their stronghold, this defensive work being formed of the rough blocks lying about the little slope, and for the most part they were dragged down, and hoisted into their place.

Upon this, half-a-dozen armed men were standing, watching their approach, and the attacking party made out their swords and pikes, the latter leaning against a rock, with their bright steel heads sloping towards the climbers.

When these latter were within about a hundred yards, Sir Edward halted his party, and ranged them in a curved line, the men at a short distance from each other, so that as they all made for the mouth of the cave they would gradually draw together, and be close when they delivered the attack.

“Pikes only,” said Sir Edward. “Keep your swords for the close hand-to-hand work.”

“Has your father been a soldier, youngster?” whispered Nick Garth hoarsely.

“No; why?”

“Talks like one. He couldn’t do better. He’ll give the word soon, and the sooner the better. I’ve got my wind now. ’Member the master and the young missus, lads.”

There was a growl from his companions, and as Mark glanced at them he felt that it would go hard with any one among the enemy who came within reach of their pikes.

The enemy had, however, now descended from the top of their wall, and only their heads and breasts were visible, as, ten strong now, they stood in a row, with their pikes resting upon the top; ready to thrust at the first who came within reach.

“Now, my lads,” cried Sir Edward; “have you all got your wind?”

“Ay!” ran along the crescent line.

“You with the powder, and the two centre men stand fast till you are wanted.”

This order was obeyed as the next was given, and headed by Sir Edward and his son, the party made steadily for the wall, at first slowly and gradually increasing the pace, till Sir Edward cried, “Charge!” and they broke into a trot, the fastest speed to be attained to upon such a slope.

Then, amidst shouts of hatred and mocking defiance from the marauders, there was the clash of steel, and the heavy rattling noise made by the pike-staves, as, thrusting and stabbing, the attacking party strove to win their way over the wall. Sir Edward led his men bravely, while, in a wild fit of excitement, Mark, young as he was, strove to show the Darley men that he was worthy to be their leader.

A fierce rage filled these men, fresh from the ruined home, and half mad with desire to revenge themselves upon those who had given them their wounds; but all along it was the same; they were at a terrible disadvantage in their approach, their enemies having their undefended bodies as marks for their weapons, while they had only head and shoulders to strike at, the rest of their bodies being safe, behind the strong breastwork.

Then, too, feeling secure in this approach to their stronghold, the marauders stood firm, waiting their opportunities, and then thrusting home, with the result that several of their assailants went down, and at the end of five minutes’ vain attack, Sir Edward ordered the men to draw back a few yards, and with some difficulty he and his son, by rushing before them, and thrusting up their pikes, induced them to obey.

“This is useless, Mark,” he said anxiously. “They are too strong for us. Take the extreme right next time we advance, and I will take the left. Then as soon as they are well engaged in front, you, with two men must try to get in over your end, and drop over amongst them from the side, and I will do the same. Do you dare to do that?”

“I feel as if it is horribly risky,” replied the boy, “but I’ll try.”

“Then you will do it,” said Sir Edward quietly. “Choose your men, and I will do the same.”

Five minutes later, amidst the mocking jeers of the men behind the breastwork, a fresh attack was made, and as Mark reached the front, he ducked down to avoid a thrust from a lance, crept close to the wall and, followed by Nick Garth and Ram Jennings, turned the end of the stones, climbed on, and reached the stone-strewn cliffs behind.

Then, knowing that the two men, in their fierce energy and hate, would be quite close, Mark turned suddenly, drew himself up, sword in hand—his followers letting their pikes slip through their hands, and holding them close up to the heads—and leaped down inside the breastwork, his father simultaneously coming over at the other flank.

There was not much force in either attack, but it proved effectual by its suddenness, throwing the defenders into confusion.

These rallied directly, and pikes were swung round and directed at the flanking parties, but the momentary check gave the men in front the opportunity to rush close up to the breastwork, which now became their protection, the defenders, having fallen back, becoming in turn exposed.

The fight now became furious, for the marauders began to back toward the mouth of the cave, giving way step by step, as the length of their line was gradually contracted by one after another dashing in, till all had passed into the narrow passage, the first men blocking the way with the heads of their pikes, while their fellows stooped and crept beneath, till the last was in safety. It is needless to say that an attempt to follow would have meant instant death.

A cheer now rose from the attacking party, who had achieved the taking of the outwork, and Sir Edward forced his way to his son’s side, to clap him on the shoulder, as he stood just out of reach of the defenders’ bristling pikes, which effectually barred the way.

“We have them now, Mark,” he cried. “Pass the word there for Daniel Rugg.”

But a low growl on the other side of the wall told that there was no need to pass any word. As soon as he saw that there was a chance for the next step, Dan had signed to Dummy, who trotted forward with lantern, fuse, and powder-bag, and father and son climbed into the little fort a few feet away from the opening into the cavern.

“Silence!” roared Sir Edward now—“you within there, lay down your arms, and march out at once.”

A defiant yell came from the holders of the pikes, enraging Nick Garth to such an extent that he picked up a block of stone from the top of the breastwork, raised it above his head, and dashed it into the doorway, Ram Jennings following suit with another.

The stones crashed in among the pikes with plenty of rattling, and a burst of yells followed as the men picked up a couple more.

“Stop, there,” cried Sir Edward sternly. “You can do no good, and I want the wall left sound for our own protection.”

Nick growled savagely, but he obeyed, and the men all stood fast at the cavern’s mouth with presented pikes, ready to attack if any movement was made by the defenders, while Dan Rugg and his son quickly prepared their missile.

“Ready,” shouted Dan from where he stood inside the wall with, his back to the men, and with Dummy looking intensely interested standing ready with the lantern.

“You, in there,” cried Sir Edward now, “will you surrender?”

“No,” cried a hoarse voice from inside. “Go back with your ragged pack of hungry hounds, or we’ll come and burn you out as we did the other idiot.”

“Once more,” cried Sir Edward, who still hesitated to proceed to the sternest measures; “will you give up your prisoners and surrender?”

“Bah! Laugh at him, boys,” cried the same hoarse voice: and another derisive yell arose.

“Out with you, my lads,” cried Sir Edward; and his men sprang over the wall again.

“You too, Mark,” said Sir Edward; and Mark followed, while Dan Rugg came close up with his bag of powder and fuse carefully tied in.

“Lay it as near as you can, so as to be out of reach of the pikes.”

“No good, Sir Edward,” said the man in a husky whisper. “Out with you. I’m going to light the fuse, and go right close, and heave it in over their pikes.”

“But that is too dangerous for you.”

“Not it. I know to a quarter of a minute when it will fire, and I shall hold it till then. That’ll give me time to jump the wall. Quick, sir, please.”

It was no time for hesitation, and feeling that his old servant at the mine could be trusted, Sir Edward climbed the wall, and Dummy, showing his teeth in a satisfied grin, opened the door of the lantern.

The next moment Dan had held the end of the short fuse he had provided to the candle, and a slight spluttering began.

“Over with you,” growled Dan, as his son snapped to the lantern door.

“Take care of yourself, daddy,” said the boy coolly.

“You be off,” growled Dan, and Dummy placed the lantern on the top of the breastwork, and vaulted over amongst the men, who were crouching down behind, to be out of the blast.

All this had taken place unknown to the defenders, who, from the narrowness of the entrance, were shut off from seeing the quaint, sardonic face of the old miner, as he stood holding the bag, with the burning fuse spluttering and sending up its curls of greyish smoke.

The men held their breath, and Mark’s eyes dilated as he watched the brave old fellow holding the bag, in the full knowledge that if he held the powder a moment too long he must be shattered to pieces.

It was a combination of the familiarity which breeds contempt and the confidence born of long experience which made Dan Rugg stand there so coolly for what seemed to be a long time before turning as he watched the burning fuse.

“Heads down there,” he said suddenly; “she’s going off.”

There was a quick movement, but Mark felt as if he was held by a nightmare dream, and he stood there watching, as the old man took a couple of steps forward, and now for the first time in full sight of those who held the fence of cross pikes.

In an instant there was a wild yell, and the pikes went down with their heads to the stones, and disappeared, but it was as Dan Rugg raised the bag above his head, and hurling it right into the cavern passage, he started aside to the shelter of the wall, while now by a step aside Mark also reached shelter. Then there was a roar and a burst of flame and smoke came as from the mouth of a cannon, and the men sprang up again to cheer.

“Steady—steady!” cried Sir Edward. “Now, my lads, over the wall with you, and follow me; never mind the smoke. Rugg, have another charge ready; we shall want it soon.”

“Ay, Sir Edward, that was a failure. I didn’t hold it long enough. They had time to get away.”

Sir Edward and his son entered the murk, and had to feel their way, and halted.

“Light torches,” cried Mark: and half-a-dozen were lit and passed in, when once more the party advanced, expecting to be attacked, but the blast had produced a scare, though it had done no serious harm, save tearing down a few stones, and instead of attacking, the marauders stood on their defence in the place familiar to Mark and some of the men.

There was again the same bristling array of pikes in the opening; and after a renewed summons to surrender, the old miner proceeded coolly to prepare a second bag of powder.

This was fired, but the explosion did not take place till some time after the defenders of the cavern had retreated; and for a while the passage was so stifling with the fumes that it was impossible to go on, so the party had to draw back to allow them to be dissipated.

At last it was deemed prudent to proceed, and once more the advance was ordered, the men eagerly obeying; and with torches adding their smoke to that already hanging in the gloomy cracks and vaults, they pressed on till once more the way was blocked.

It was no array of spear-points in a narrow passage, but in this case the solid blocking of a wall of stone, built-up with care, the stones well wedged in, a narrow opening left for the retreat of the defenders having been filled up since their last retreat, and the wonder to those who examined it was that it had been so quickly secured.

The choice of position, though, had been well made, for the passage was not above four feet wide at this point, and the roof had sunk till it was in this particular spot only five in height.

Once more the powder was brought forward by Dummy, the bag laid close to the bottom stones, the fuse added, and lit, and the party retired to a safe distance, to wait until the powder had swept the barrier away.

The explosion was long in coming, and when it did, with a mighty roar, an hour had to be passed before another advance was made, but no farther than the wall, which was found apparently quite uninjured, though the powder had brought down a huge mass from the roof.

“Pull it down,” said Sir Edward impatiently, and a couple of the men—there was no room for more—attacked the well-fitted stones, but only for one to start back with a cry of rage and pain, his hand to his side.

“Hurt?” cried Mark excitedly, and he ran to the man’s aid, to be sent staggering back by a heavy blow.

It was Sir Edward’s turn to rush to his son, and he too reeled as he received a thrust, but in the case of both, the pike-thrusts did not penetrate their clothes, the point of the weapon having been turned, unknown to the man who used it, by a thrust against the rock.

It was a warning, and throwing the light of the torches well upon the built-up wall, a couple of the men found the holes through which the thrusts had been made, and advancing cautiously to send their pikes through, had to leap back again, for the enemy thrust at them. Nick struck in turn, though, and a yell of pain told that it was not without effect.

“Keep back,” cried Sir Edward, as his men advanced recklessly, and when the wounded man had been drawn away and carried out, after a rough bandage had been applied to his wound, Sir Edward turned to his son.

“You must be hurt, my boy,” he whispered.

“I was, father, horribly.”

“But I mean wounded.”

“Only my doublet,” said the lad merrily. “What are we to do now?”

After a few moments’ thought, as Nick Garth had been so able, Sir Edward decided to let him try again, which he eagerly did, feigning so as to draw a thrust from the enemy, and darting aside and close up to the wall. Then, as the man withdrew his pike, Nick, holding his own short, thrust it through after it, and again there was a yell of pain, but almost at the same moment Ram Jennings was just reached by a thrust through another hole, and sprang back, roaring like a wild beast.

“Yah! don’t howl like that,” cried Nick angrily; “do as I do.”

But poor Ram Jennings preferred to stand nursing his injured arm, and watching his fellow ramming away with his pike, as if loading a gun, till suddenly it was jerked out of his hand, and drawn through the wall.

“Look at that,” he growled. “Here, give’s hold of another.”

But Sir Edward ordered him back.

“It’s of no use, my lad,” he cried; “come away.”

“All very well to say come away, captain,” growled the man, as he stood close up, “but if I stir, I shall get a hole through me.”

Sir Edward saw the man’s difficult position, and gave an order in a low tone, when every man bearing a light ran back and round one of the corners, leaving the cavern in darkness.

Nick took advantage thereof, and sprang away from his perilous position. The rattle of a pike-staff against the stones told that a thrust had been made at him in the darkness.

“Are you hit?” cried Mark anxiously.

“Ay, youngster, but on’y with the staff,” growled Nick; and the order for the lights to be brought back was given and obeyed.

“Another, Rugg,” said Sir Edward laconically, and Dan, who had a bag ready, primed with fuse, laid it on the stony floor, picked it up on the point of a pike, and advanced to place it against the wall.

A couple of thrusts were made at it directly, but he lowered it, and the enemy could not force their points down low enough to reach it. But as Dan placed it against the bottom of the wall the pikes were aimed now at his breast.

“Back!” roared Sir Edward, as Mark rushed at the man to drag him away.

“All right, Master Mark,” said Dan coolly; “my arms and my pike are as long as theirs. They can’t reach me. They’ve got all the thickness of the wall to push through as well;” and he coolly placed the powder-bag and arranged the fuse ready for being lighted.

“I did not think of that, Dan,” said Mark.

“Ay, but I did,” said the old fellow, chuckling. “Now, Dummy, my boy, son, bring a lighted torch.”

Dummy trotted forward, and they heard a growl from beyond the wall, as the miner thrust the point of his pike into the end of the torch, and then reached out toward the fuse, but only succeeded in getting it half-way before it was knocked off the point of his weapon.

“Ah, deal o’ good that’s done,” growled Dan, trying to drive the point of his pike into the torch again. “There,” he shouted, “run for it; I can reach to pitch it up to the bag.”

The men on the other side did not grasp the fact that if Dan did this his companions would fare worse than they, but scuffled off at once, their steps being plainly heard.

“Fools!” growled Dan, and stepping forward, he picked up the torch, went close up to the wall, and touched the end of the fuse, which began to sparkle at once.

“Plenty o’ time, Sir Edward,” he said coolly, “if you’ll now order us back.”

The order was given, and as it was obeyed, Sir Edward and his son retiring last, they saw Nick Garth step close up to old Dan and pat him on the shoulder.

“You’re a cool one, mate,” he said. “I never see one as cool as you.”

Dan chuckled a little, and all went along the narrow passage and into the chamber beyond, well out of reach of the blast, and waited.

It was a good two minutes before the explosion took place, and Mark had made perfectly sure that the fuse had gone out, when there was a sensation as if his breath was being sucked away, then a deafening roar, followed by a crash.

Again they had to wait till the fumes had somewhat dispersed. Then, with Sir Edward and Mark leading, they returned, expecting to see the wall demolished; but as far as they could see it was perfectly sound, while another huge mass from the roof had come down, to lie piled up before it, so that there was hardly room for a man to crawl over the heap, so close was it to the roof.

“It’s of no use, Mark,” whispered Sir Edward, as they drew back a little from the smoke, “we must devise some other plan. It is useless to try another bag there without first clearing away the mass of stones, and we can only do that at the expense of many men wounded by pike-thrusts, perhaps killed.”

“Yes,” said Mark, “and it doesn’t seem fair to order them to do it.”

“I cannot, my boy. There, we have done our work for this time. Let’s get out of this horrible smoke.”

“Hoi, you!” came from beyond the wall; “if you fire any more of that choke-dog stuff, I’ll give orders to my men to kill the prisoners, ’specially the girl.”

“You cowardly ruffian!” cried Mark, in a rage.

“Bah! Puppy!” came back scornfully.

“Don’t answer, boy,” said Sir Edward softly.

“But father!—if—”

“It is only a boast. They dare not do such a thing as that. Come.”

They retired, making for the mouth of the cavern, where the cool night air blew with refreshing force.

“But we cannot give up, father,” cried Mark.

“I am not going to give up, my boy,” said Sir Edward quietly. “When an assault upon a stronghold fails, a general tries to starve his enemy into submission. We must do the same here. Unfortunately they must have stores, and they have a good supply of water from a spring within there. But still we must try. The first thing is to protect ourselves from a sudden attack, and this will be easy. Now, my lads, every man take in a block of stone, and carry it into the cavern as far as the end of the first chamber. Take these from the breastwork; we do not want it now, for we shall encamp inside.”

Mark nodded approval, and the men, glad that the night’s fighting was at an end, set to work with a will, after laying their arms aside; and in less than an hour had walled up to a great thickness the narrow exit from the cavern, wedging in the top stones with blows, and in spite of the want of mortar producing a good solid piece of work, through which no pikes could be thrust.

This done, Sir Edward reduced his force to one-third, this being plenty to defend the wall should it be attacked from the inner side; and the rest were sent back to the Tor Castle, for provisions and blankets.

“Now, Mark, lad,” said Sir Edward, “the thing to consider is, how long can the enemy hold out?”

“Not long, father,” replied the lad; “they cannot have a very good supply.”

“That,” said Sir Edward, “remains to be proved.”

Chapter Twenty Eight.

Dummy Rugg has the Thinks.

The blockade was strictly kept up at the mouth of the cavern, Sir Edward having cast aside, at all events for the time being, every feeling of enmity; and in spite of the many disappointments, he grew day by day more determined to rout out the gang, and rescue their prisoners. “Only tell me what to do, Mark, my boy, and if it is possible, it shall be done. If we go on blasting the place we shall end by shutting them in beyond recovery,” said Sir Edward, “a good enough thing to do as far as the ruffians are concerned, but we shall destroy Sir Morton Darley and his child.”

“I can’t think of anything, father,” said Mark, gloomily. “I suppose we can only wait.”

“That is the conclusion I always come to, my boy. All we can do is to be perfectly ready for the moment when, utterly desperate, they will surrender or break out.”

“I hope they’ll fight, father,” said Mark grimly. “Why?”

“Because it would be so horrible for them to surrender. I’d rather see them die fighting.”

“Yes,” said Sir Edward, frowning heavily. “Hanging prisoners was all very well a hundred years ago. We don’t want to do that sort of thing nowadays. There, run over to the Tor, and see how things are going. You need not hurry back. Tell Mary I shall come myself to-morrow, and that I’m getting very tired of sleeping in a cavern.”

“But suppose the men try to break out while I’m gone, father.”

“Well, if they do, I shall have all the honour of the fight.”

“But I shall not like that,” said Mark.

“I might say the same to you to-morrow, my boy,” said Sir Edward, smiling. “Go and see how young Darley is; we cannot give up everything to this business.”

Mark started for home, leaving his father with a strong enough guard to master the men if they attempted to escape; and before he had gone fifty yards, Dummy came trotting after his young master like a dog.

“Hullo! what is it, Dummy?” cried Mark, stopping short.

“Only coming home with you, Master Mark. Saw you, and father said he didn’t want me.”

“Oh, very well. Getting tired of it?”

“Ever so, Master Mark. I liked it when we were firing the powder, or having a bit of a fight, but it’s so stupid to be doing nothing but sit down and watch a wall, like dogs after rabbits that won’t ever come.”

“Yes,” said Mark, with a sigh, “it is weary work.”

“Father says he don’t believe they’ll ever come.”

“But they must, when they’ve finished their food.”

“He says they’ve got such lots. They’ve been at work, he says, for twenty miles round, as he knows, and they’ve stored up sacks of meal and corn, and sides of bacon, and hams, and pickle-tubs of pork. There aren’t no end to the stuff they’ve got, and then they’ve plenty of good water, both warm and cold.”

“Oh, don’t talk about it,” cried Mark; “it makes me feel as bad as can be.”

Dummy settled down into the mood which originated his name during the rest of the way, and the lads parted as they reached the Tor, Dummy to go down the steps to the mine to see how everything looked, and report to his father upon his return, and Mark to hurry up to his room, where Ralph Darley lay insensible still, and where he had a very warm reception from his sister and Master Rayburn.

“Then you have taken the place at last, Mark,” cried Mary.

“No,” said the lad, frowning, “and we’re not likely to take it. I say, Master Rayburn, isn’t he a long time getting better?”

“Yes,” said the old man gravely, “and perhaps after all it is a mercy that he remains insensible. Poor fellow! it would be horrible for him, in his weak state, to lie fretting because he could not go to the help of his father and sister.”

Mark conveyed his message about Sir Edward’s intentions for the following day, and he was bending down over the sufferer’s pillow, thinking how very much he was changed, when there was a tap at the door, and an announcement that Dummy Rugg must see Master Mark directly.

“I must go, Mary,” said Mark excitedly. “Some one has come over after us.”

“Oh Mark!” cried the girl, looking startled, and clinging to him.

“Don’t do that,” cried the lad. “Be brave; I’ll take all the care I can.”

“Yes,” said Master Rayburn to him, with a sad smile, “you will take all the care you can. I know what you are, Mark, but do try, boy, not to be rash.”

Mark promised, and hurried down and out into the courtyard; but there was no Dummy visible till he had passed the second, and found him seated on a block of stone, whistling, and swinging his legs to and fro.

“What is it? some one come to fetch us?” cried Mark excitedly.

“No: nobody aren’t come,” said the boy, looking at him fixedly.

“Then why did you send for me?” cried Mark angrily.

“’Cause I wanted you, Master Mark, very bad indeed.”

“Here, what do you mean? What’s the matter with you?”

“Got the thinks, very bad.”

“Dummy!”

“Yes, Master Mark, I was took with ’em as soon as I got as far as the powder store. It all come at once.”

“What do you mean?”

Dummy was perfectly silent, but not perfectly still; for as he stared straight in Mark’s face in a peculiarly stolid way, he kept on swinging and jerking his legs till he seemed as if some one was pulling a string to make him act like a jumping toy.

“Look here, stupid-head,” cried Mark angrily, but only to break into a laugh, half of amusement, half of vexatious contempt, “are you going mad?”

“I dunno, Master Mark. Perhaps I am. There’s something keeps on buzzing in my head like a wheel going round.”

“You’ve been out too much in the sun.”

“No, I aren’t. I’ve been down the mine in the dark.”

“And got frightened?”

“Not as I knows on, Master Mark. It’s the thinks.”

“Here, what do you mean, thick-head? I can’t stop here listening to your nonsense.”

“’Taren’t nonsense, Master Mark,” said the boy, giving him a peculiar stare.

“What is it, then?”

“I want to know where that water goes to yonder in the mine.”

“What! do you mean to say you’ve had me fetched out to tell me that?”

Dummy nodded, and Mark doubled his fist.

“I’ve got it, Master Mark.”

“Got what, you idiot?”

“We’re up ever so much higher here than they are at Ergles, yonder, aren’t we?”

“Higher? Of course,” said Mark, looking at the lad curiously; “but what of that?”

“That’s what I wanted you to tell me, Master Mark, and that’s it then.”

“What’s what then?”

“Why, that water in the mine where we went along, and was under us when we went to sleep—that goes along under ground, right under the moorland, and it comes out again in Ergles Dale.”

“Do you think it goes in that direction?”

Dummy nodded.

“Well, but suppose it does, what then?”

“I’m sure it does now, Master Mark, and what the thinks have made me see’s this: if you and me had kept going on instead of sitting down, and eating and drinking till we went fas’ asleep, we should have found ourselves in Ergles Hole, and if it hadn’t been for the Purlrose gang, we might have worked back ’bove ground.”

“Why, Dummy! I don’t know—yes, if it’s that way—goes for miles. I say, perhaps you’re right.”

“Yes, I’m right,” said the boy quietly; “but you don’t jump about a bit: you aren’t glad.”

“Glad? Jump about? Why should I? Oh!”

“Haw—haw—haw!” laughed Dummy. “He can see it now. Why, it come to me, Master Mark, like a flash of lightning.”

“Oh, Dummy, I’ll never call you a thick-head again,” cried Mark excitedly.

“Why not? May if you like: I don’t mind.”

“Then you think,” cried the lad, who was trembling now with excitement, “that we might get into Ergles through our mine?”

“Sure I do—all along them grotters and passages.”

“And take the ruffians by surprise?”

“Ketch ’em asleep, Master Mark. They’d never think of our coming behind, like.”

Mark seized the boy by the shoulders, and shook him as hard as ever he could.

“Why, you stupid old, ugly old, cleverest fellow that ever was! Why didn’t you think of this before?”

“Couldn’t, Master Mark,” cried the boy, grinning as if he were determined to display every tooth in his head; “it never come till this morning. Right, aren’t I?”

“Right! You must be. But suppose we can’t get all the way?”

“Water does. Sure to be plenty of room. See how there always was.”

“Hurrah! Then we’ll go at once.”

“What, us two?”

“Of course!”

“We couldn’t fight all that lot. Six to one!”

“No; we must go and tell my father at once.”

“That’s best way,” said Dummy, jumping off the stone. “Come on,” and they started off at once for the tiny camp, discussing the possibility of the men finding the way through.

“Suppose they got into the mine, and attacked the Black Tor while we’re away?”

“No fear o’ that, Master Mark,” said Dummy, with another of his nice open smiles. “Not many folk as would go and do what we did.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Mark thoughtfully.

“I’m sort of used to it, Master Mark, from always being down the mine, and always wanting to see where every hole went. No, I don’t think any o’ them would care to go. Too big and clumsy. They’d never get there.”

Chapter Twenty Nine.

Playing Mole.

Sir Edward met them as they ascended the slope, Mark having been taking mental notes all the way of the trend of the hills and the valley, seeing for certain that, in spite of its bulk and height, Ergles was a good deal lower than the range along the valley of the Gleame.

Their narrative of adventure below was listened to in silence, and Sir Edward grew moment by moment more interested till the whole was told.

“I don’t think there is a doubt of it,” he said. “We are quite three hundred feet lower here, and in all probability it is the same underground stream as we have at the Tor; but whether it will be possible to get right through into this cavern is more than we can judge till we have tried.”

“But you will try, father?”

“Of course, my boy,” cried Sir Edward; “and at once. Here, we must have Daniel Rugg, and hear what he says.”

Dummy fetched his father, who listened in turn without a word.

“Sounds well, Rugg,” said Sir Edward.

“Yes, Sir Edward; sounds well.”

“But is the grotto likely to run so far?”

“Lots on ’em do. There’s one yonder up in the Peak as goes for miles, and they’ve never yet found the end, nor where the water goes.”

“Well,” said Sir Edward, after a few minutes’ thought; “I’m afraid to be too sanguine. This may all end in disappointment; but it shall be tried.”

“Now, at once, I s’pose, Sir Edward?”

“Now, at once.”

Ten men were chosen for the expedition, and Mark noted with satisfaction that Dan Rugg put forward those who had been accustomed to work in the mine.

“Better for getting along, Master Mark,” said the miner, on seeing that Mark took notice of his action.

“But will ten be enough, Dan?”

“Why not, sir? Ten, and me and Dummy’s twelve, and you and Sir Edward fourteen. Well, perhaps it would be as well to have a couple more.”

Garth and Jennings were selected without having the slightest notion of where they were going, but they took their places without a word, only too glad to have some change from the monotonous existence they had been leading for many days.

No embargo was placed upon their way of marching, and they tramped eagerly on, till the occupants of the Castle were startled by their sudden arrival, to share in the surprise of their fellows when orders were given for rations to be supplied to each man, after a good meal had been eaten.

Half-an-hour after, well provided with picks, hammers, big nails for driving in the cracks, either for foot-hold or to bear ropes, the whole party were descending into the mine, with Dummy promoted, from his knowledge, to the onerous post of guide, leading, and Mark by his side or following next, according to the state of the way.

The men were in excellent spirits, for by this time the object of the expedition had oozed out, and it gave them a feeling of confidence now that the attack was to be made through the mine, where they were all much at home.

There was the rumour, too, that they were to take the enemy by surprise where there would be no barricades or breastworks, and altogether the men moved on after their young guides in the highest of spirits, feeling as they did that at last the petty war was to be brought to a conclusion.

The ways through the old galleries and chambers of the mine were traversed with the men talking and laughing, and reminding one another of this or that particular working where the lead ore was rich; and Dummy strode in front, bearing his lantern well, and his importance ill. For he was to all intents and purposes the originator and head man of the little campaign, till suddenly casting his eyes sidewise he caught sight of Mark looking at him in an amused way, which discharged all his conceit upon the instant, as he flushed up and changed back to the old Dummy at once.

“You shouldn’t laugh at a poor fellow, Master Mark,” he remonstrated in a whisper.

“Then you shouldn’t strut along like a game-cock just come in for his spring feathers.”

“I didn’t,” said Dummy angrily.

“You did. But go on. I will not laugh at you any more.”

A complete change came over the boy, and he went on gravely enough after the reproof, till, to the surprise of all, they were led into the chamber hung with the veils of stalactite, where Dummy stopped and looked round.

“Well, my lad, what does this mean?”

Dummy smiled in a rather imbecile way, and his father nudged him heavily with his elbow.

“Don’t you hear what Sir Edward says? What you come here for? Lost your way?”

“No, I aren’t lost my way, father.”

“Then go back and show us. Where is it? Down by the old workings?”

“Nay, this is right,” said the boy, in high glee at his father’s puzzled look; and giving Sir Edward a wave of the hand, he went on to the end, and passed behind the stony veil dropping from near the roof.

Sir Edward, uttered an ejaculation, and turned to his son.

“You have been by here, then?” he cried.

“Yes, father; this is the way,” replied Mark. “Follow him.”

“No, keep with him yourself,” said Sir Edward. “You are the guides. But be silent now.”

“There is no need yet,” replied Mark; “we have a tremendously long way to go yet.”

“Let there be silence,” said Sir Edward sternly. “For aught we know, these men, if the grottoes do communicate, may be exploring on their own account, and sound runs curiously along these passages.”

Mark accepted the rebuke, and joined Dummy at once, the rest of the party followed, and at a word from Sir Edward, raised their pikes and advanced steadily, as if expecting at any moment to meet the foe.

But many hours seemed to have elapsed, during which they had climbed, descended, squeezed through narrow upright cracks, and crawled, as the two lads had crawled before, ere they reached the limpid pool where their guides had rested and gone to sleep.

Here, at a word from Mark, Sir Edward gave the word to halt for refreshment, while, in company with the two lads, he made a farther advance, and planted two men at intervals along the route they took, following the flow of the underground stream, whose musical gurgling grew very plain at times.

The second man was posted a good two hundred yards beyond the first, and made no objection to being left in the dark, showing Dan Rugg’s wisdom in selecting miners for the task in hand.

Then, silently and with great caution, Dummy led on along a wild chasm of the same nature as others they had passed, and formed, evidently during some convulsion, the encrinite marble of which the walls were composed matching exactly, and merely requiring lateral pressure and the trickling of lime-charged water to become solid once again.

About three hundred yards beyond the last sentinel the trio paused, and stood listening and gazing as far as they could across a rock chamber whose sides glittered with double prismatic crystals.

But there was the water gurgling at the bottom of the deep crack along which they passed—nothing more; and they returned toward the pool, Sir Edward giving the men a word or two of caution, and then passing on to the others who were whispering to each other as they ate their food.

It was too good an example not to be followed, and soon after, quite refreshed, Sir Edward gave the order for a fresh start, the way being doubly interesting now that it was all fresh ground to the guides. In addition, it became more difficult, for the formation began now to change, and instead of being a succession of narrow crack-like passages—in almost every variety of inclination between the horizontal and perpendicular, and rock grotto-like chambers of varying extent—the road began to fork and break up into vast halls, from which more than once they could hardly find an exit.

But Dummy was invaluable, and there was a kind of triumph in his face when he pointed out how easy it was to go on if you listened for the trickling of the stream below.

At last, after passing through a long succession of scenes that were as wondrous as strange, Sir Edward called upon the boy to stop, and upon Dummy coming back to his side, lantern in hand, “Do you think you can find your way back?” he asked.

“Yes, with my eyes shut,” said the boy, smiling.

His tones chased away his master’s feeling of uneasiness, and he went on:

“That’s a good boy; but what about your notion of this place leading into the cavern where those ruffians are? We must be far past Ergles, even if we are in the right direction.”

“No,” said Dummy confidently, as his father, who now came up, lantern in hand, looked doubtful too.

“Why do you say no, boy?” said Sir Edward.

“Because we’ve got among the same sort of rock as you find at Ergles.”

“Good, lad!” burst out Dan Rugg. “That’s minding your teachings. But are you right?”

“Yes, father: look,” said the boy, holding up his lantern toward the glittering roof of the hall in which they stood. “There it is: Blue John.”

Dan raised his lantern too, and drew his miner’s pick from his belt.

Chink, clash.

There was a sharp blow from the pick, and Dan stooped to take up the piece of rock he had struck off, and handed it to his lord.

“Boy’s right, Sir Edward,” he said. “Look at that.”

“But what has Blue John, whoever he is— Oh, pish! I had forgotten the name of the blue spar. Is there any of it in Ergles?”

“Only place about here where there is any, Sir Edward, and that’s a piece.”

“Then we may be close to the cavern,” said Sir Edward, lowering his voice.

“Or in it, perhaps,” said Mark excitedly.

He started, for at that moment Dummy clapped a hand upon his lips, and pointed forward.

“Cover your lanterns,” he whispered.

The word was passed along back, and the next moment they were standing in darkness, watching a faint gleam of light in the distance.

It was playing upon the glittering prismatic crystals which covered wall, roof, and floor, and these flashed as the light played upon them, disappeared, and came into sight again from behind a Gothic pillar, was again eclipsed, and once more came into sight; and now, plainly seen, they made out that it was the light of a lantern, which shone upon a man’s face as he went slowly along what seemed to be an opening, which led him past where they stood watching.

Then the light seemed to go down toward the floor, lower and lower, as it went on till it passed out of sight, but left a faint glow.

“Let Dummy and me go,” whispered Mark to his father.

“Yes. Cautiously. Don’t be seen.”

Dummy was panting to be off, and keeping his lantern hidden, he felt his way onward toward the glow, keeping tightly hold of Mark’s hand, till, as they came nearer, they saw that the man must have been descending a steep rift, and as the light came into sight again, they found that they were standing on the very edge of this place, and that the light was away to their left, twenty feet or so lower, and gleaming upon the surface of a smooth far-spreading pool.

Chapter Thirty.

Nearing Dawn.

The two lads stood there motionless for a time, wondering what the lantern-bearer could be doing, for he evidently had no suspicion of his being watched. Then as they saw that in place of gleaming over the water, the lantern was once more in motion, they crouched down, with their eyes alone over the edge of the clean-cut chasm, feeling that whoever it was must pass just beneath them, when they would be able to see which way he went, and so gain a clue to the robbers’ hold.

The light came nearer, and it was plain that whoever bore it was coming very slowly, but they grasped the reason directly, for he was passing over a flooring of slippery crystals, and as he came on they could hear him breathing hard.

As they had anticipated, he came very close beneath them, and Mark felt that if he looked up they would be seen. But he whom they watched walked stooping, and letting the light fall upon the glittering ascending floor, so that at last he was not six feet below them, and Mark said in a quick whisper: “Sir Morton!”

“Great Heavens!” came back in company with a sharp crash, as of an earthenware pitcher falling in shivers upon the rocky floor.

“Hush!”

“Who is it?”

“Friends,” whispered Mark.

“Thank Heaven! At last—at last,” came up, with a piteous groan, and they heard a heavy fall.

“Quick, Dummy,” whispered Mark. “We must go down to him.”

“Listen first,” said the boy: “p’r’aps some one heard.”

But as he spoke there was the sound of a hoarse laugh from a long distance off, and Dummy whispered: “Didn’t hear. Been to fetch water, and broke the pitcher. I say, Master Mark, wasn’t I right?”

Mark made no reply, for he was lowering himself down over the edge, and directly after he dropped on to the crystals below.

“Show the light, Dummy,” he whispered, and the boy lay face downward and swung the lantern down as far as he could reach.

As Mark touched the fallen man’s hand he began to recover consciousness.

“Not a dream—not a dream,” he murmured. “Whoever you are, have you come to help?”

“Yes; but hush! Purlrose and his men—are they near?”

“Too far to hear us speak; but hide your lights. Now tell me, are you one of those who attacked these wretches?”

“Yes; and we have reached you at last.”

“Ah!” sighed the prisoner. “It was time—it was time. I don’t know your voice; I could not see your face; but if you know, tell me, for mercy’s sake—my poor boy—was he killed?”

“No. Badly wounded, but alive, and he will live.”

Mark heard the prostrate man muttering, and felt the hand he grasped trembling violently.

“It puts life into me,” he whispered, “when I was nearly spent. Tell me—pray tell me—where is my boy! Not a prisoner?”

“No: safe with us, at the Black Tor.”

“Safe—at the Black Tor!” faltered Sir Morton. “Then you are an Eden?”

“Of course: and my father is close by here with a dozen stout men to punish these villains and save you, and—you do not say anything about your child.”

There was no reply, and Mark pressed the hand he held, to find that there was no response, and that it was turning wet and cold, for the unfortunate prisoner had been unable to bear the tidings, and had swooned away.

“Go back,” whispered Mark, “and tell my father whom we have found.”

“Leave the light?” said the boy.

“No, take it. Tell him all you have heard.”

The light glided away, and the next minute a faint sigh told that Sir Morton was regaining his senses, his complete recovery thereof being announced by a trembling pressure of the hand.

“Weak,” he whispered. “I was badly wounded. So Heaven has sent my greatest enemy to save us.”

“Us?” cried Mark excitedly. “Then Ralph Darley’s sister is safe.”

“Will be, I pray,” said Sir Morton feebly. “I, her father, can do no more.”

Sir Edward came up, in company with Dan Rugg and five men, approaching cautiously with one lantern; and they were in the act of descending to Mark and the prisoner when a hoarse bullying voice was heard from a distance, the words echoing and reverberating as along a vaulted passage.

“Now then, back to your den, old fool. Don’t be a week fetching that water.”

“I—I am going back,” cried Sir Morton, and then in a whisper—“the light—the light. I will soon return.”

He caught at the lantern, and began to move off painfully, while his would-be rescuers stood watching till the light disappeared round a corner, and a minute later the same harsh voice was heard speaking fiercely. Then all was still.

“Hah!” whispered Sir Edward, “at last. Keep all lights covered, Rugg, and go and bring up the rest of the men.”

Dan grunted, and they heard his steps as they stood listening. Twice over there came the hoarse sound of laughter, but Sir Morton did not return, and Sir Edward in his impatience was about to order a movement forward, now that all his men were at hand, when from out of the black darkness, close by where Mark stood listening with every nerve upon the strain, the lad heard a slight rustling, then a faint panting sound as of hasty breathing, and a low voice whispered: “Is any one there? Please speak.”

“Yes, yes,” whispered Mark, and he stepped forward quickly with outstretching hands, which came in contact with one as cold as ice.

“Oh!” gasped its owner, as another hand felt for him and clung to him. “I know your voice, Mark Eden. I am Minnie Darley: pray, pray come and help my father; he is too weak to come back to you.”

The voice trailed off into a wail.

“Hush! Don’t, pray don’t cry,” whispered Mark. “Can you guide us to where your father is?”

“Yes; oh yes.”

“In the darkness?”

“Yes, I can find my way.”

“Can you lead us, my child, to where these ruffians are?” said Sir Edward, who had approached. “We must surprise and make them prisoners first.”

“Yes—no, you will kill them,” whispered the girl. “It is too treacherous and dreadful.”

“My child,” said Sir Edward gently, and he stretched his hand forward till he could touch the girl’s head, upon which he softly laid his hand; “I have a girl as young and fair as you, and Heaven forbid that she should ever be called upon to perform such an act. But think: it is to save your father’s life; to save you from the hands of these treacherous ruffians. You must be our guide.”

There was a dead silence for a few moments, and Sir Edward felt his hand taken and held to two soft lips.

“Yes,” came gently; “it is to save my poor father. He will die in this terrible place; and I must die too. You do not know, and they would easily kill you if you went without. Yes, I will guide you to where they are. I feel that I must.”

Chapter Thirty One.

The Wasps’ Nest.

There was a sound in the darkness as if several men had drawn a deep breath together, and then for a few moments all was very still, so still that Mark started when he heard his father’s voice, and felt strange and wondered to hear the gentle tones in which he spoke.

“Do you feel that you can guide us all without lights?”

“Oh, yes; I have been so long in the dark, and have often come with my father to fill the pitcher in that pool below.”

“Rugg, you and your boy stay back, and keep the lights hidden,” said Sir Edward firmly.

“Oh!” cried the old miner, in a tone full of protest; and then hastily: “Right, Sir Edward.”

“And be ready to bring the lanterns, and come to our help when called.”

Dan Rugg growled his assent, but Dummy murmured angrily.

“Join yourselves together, my lads,” whispered Sir Edward, “by carrying your pikes each with the head upon the shoulder of the man before him—the man behind me to rest his in the same way as I lead. Ready?”

“Ay!” came in a low growl from out of the darkness.

“One word more,” said Sir Edward sternly, and his words sent a thrill through Mark. “If the enemy surrenders, show mercy now: if he does not, remember not a man must escape.”

A low deep murmur, full of hatred against the destroyers of their homes, came from the miners, and then in the renewed silence Sir Edward said sharply:

“Mark, take this poor child’s other hand, and protect her when I am away. Now forward.”

A little soft cold hand closed tightly upon Mark’s, as he stepped to Minnie’s side; and then slowly and silently the party advanced under the girl’s guidance for quite two hundred yards through what seemed to be solid darkness, out of which her voice came in a low whisper from time to time.

“Stoop here—a little to the right—to the right once more—now through this narrow opening on the left. Only one can pass at a time: you first.”

Mark led, and passed through a rift, to see a feeble glow upon his left, where a candle was stuck against the rock, and beneath it lay a figure, very dimly-seen, while, apparently coming through an opening farther on, they heard the low hoarse sound of voices; and words came suggesting that the speakers were engaged in some game of chance.

Minnie withdrew her hands from her protectors, and hurried to kneel down by the figure in the corner, Sir Edward and Mark following, to bend over the prisoner.

“Too weak,” he panted—“I tried to come. Eden! A strange meeting, oh mine enemy! God forgive us all the past; and if when you—come back—a conqueror—for the sake of Him who died—protect my child.—Minnie!” he cried faintly, and the girl sank beside him with a wail.

Sir Edward went down on one knee, sought for, and took his enemy’s hand.

“Can you hear?” he whispered.

A feeble pressure was the answer.

“Trust me. I will. Now we are in complete ignorance of the place, and must be guided so as to succeed.”

“You need no guidance,” said Sir Morton feebly. “Cross yonder—there is an opening: follow the narrow passage for twenty yards, and there is a big chamber-like grotto, and upon your right an archway leading into another smaller chamber. The enemy—are there. You have them as in a trap.”

Sir Morton Darley’s voice grew a little firmer as he proceeded, and when he, ceased there was a low murmur of satisfaction, and the men’s faces, dimly-seen, were turned to Sir Edward for the order to advance.

“Lay your pikes in that corner,” he whispered. “It will be close quarters. Draw your swords.”

The order had hardly been executed when there came suddenly angry shouts, sounding hollow and strange, multiplied as they were by reverberations.

“They know we are here, father,” whispered Mark excitedly. But at that moment came distinctly the words:

“He cheated! A thief!” and the clashing of swords.

“Forward!” said Sir Edward, and closely followed by his son and Nick Garth, whose breath came thickly, he followed the directions given by Sir Morton Darley, guided more by the sounds, to reach the entrance to a natural chamber, with high Gothic roof and walls glittering with crystals, which reflected the light of half—a—dozen candles stuck here and there.

Mark saw all this at a glance, as he grasped the fact that the inmates had broken into two parties, and were contending so fiercely that for a few moments they did not see the doorway crowded with angry countenances, and were only brought to a knowledge of their peril by the rush that was made by all but two of Sir Edward’s men, who stayed back to guard the entry and cut off the escape of any who tried to get away.

The encounter was short and fierce, Sir Edward’s men dashing forward like a wedge, striking with all their might; and at the end of a couple of minutes’ savage encounter, the mercenaries fighting like rats at bay, there was a terrible silence, broken only by muttered curses and groans, while eight men stood erect, half of whom had cast away their swords and fought with their miners’ picks.

The scene was ghastly, as shown by two only of the candles, the rest having been knocked down in the struggle.

“Hurt, Mark?” cried Sir Edward from the far end, where he stood sword in hand, supporting himself by the wall, and with his foot resting upon the burly body of Captain Purlrose.

“Not much, father,” panted the lad. “Bit of a cut.”

“How many escaped? I saw three make for the door.”

“None, master,” growled Nick Garth, who was upon the floor at the right. “There they lay: those brave lads brought ’em down.”

“Shout for the lanterns, Mark, boy,” cried Sir Edward; and Mark reeled as he stepped over the bodies lying in the way.

His call was responded to directly by Dan Rugg and his son, both standing aghast for a few moments before energetically setting to work to help their friends, who, saving the two who had guarded the entrance, were wounded to a man, while of Captain Purlrose’s party, four and their leader were dead, the others lying disabled to wait their turn of help from their captors, who, now that the rage of battle was at an end, were ready to show mercy to their wounded foes.

Sir Edward was so badly hurt that after a brave struggle he had to give up, and leave the ordering of the work now necessary to his son, who began by having his father borne to the chamber where Minnie crouched, trembling with horror, by her half-insensible father’s side; but upon being reassured by the information that her captivity was at an end, she revived, and devoted herself to helping the wounded with all a true woman’s zeal.

Mark’s next task was to go with Dan Rugg and Dummy to the entrance, wondering the while at the extent of the place and the hoard of all necessaries which the fellows had collected in the cavern.

Upon reaching the wall beyond which the guard were stationed, still in perfect ignorance of what had taken place within, a few shouts set the men to work, the defence was rapidly demolished, and the wounded were borne out into the light—a ghastly procession, though not a man murmured; and as soon as they were laid upon the heather, began to chat eagerly together about the success of the underground expedition.

As for the wounded prisoners, they were kept under guard in the chamber—where the wall had just been destroyed.

The two great enemies were borne out last; and as Mark followed with the trembling girl upon his arm, he looking proud and satisfied, in spite of a stained bandage upon his forehead, and she with her face unnaturally white and her eyes closed, unable to bear the light after so long an imprisonment in the depths of the cavern, Nick Garth raised himself upon his elbow and uttered a shout which rose into a rousing cheer.

“God bless you, Mistress Minnie!” cried the man hoarsely, “and you too, youngster. You’re a brave lad, and I’ll never call you an enemy again.”

“Humph! No,” said Dan Rugg, who was close to him. “I s’pose all that’s dead as mutton now. Look here, Nick Garth, I never see a man who could fight as well as you, and if you’d got a decent paw I’d say shake hands.”

“Say it, mate,” said Nick, and he painfully lifted a wounded arm, to place his bandaged hand in that of the old miner who had hated him all his life.

A man had been started off as soon as the news was known to fetch more help from the Black Tor; and, as tidings fly swiftly, assistance soon came from every farm and cottage for miles, the women flocking up to Ergles, and eagerly helping to bear the sufferers to their homes.

Sir Edward and Sir Morton went last, each borne upon a litter, Minnie being provided with a pony, led by one of her father’s men, who kept on shaking his head and saying that he couldn’t understand it, for it seemed so strange that his master and young mistress and their leaders should be going up to the Black Tor.

He said this to Nick Garth, who was lying with closed eyes upon a roughly-made litter of poles.

“Well,” said Nick roughly, “who can? It’s ’cause they say the world turns round, and sometimes we’re standing on our heads and sometimes on our feet; we’re on our heads now, and it’s o’ no use to kick when your legs are in the air.”

There was one more task to see to, though, before Mark left the place, with its plunder in charge of Dan Rugg and a guard, so that the robbers’ stores could be restored to their rightful owners.

Over this matter Mark had a whispered consultation with the two wounded knights, and then went off to Rugg.

“Well, yes, Master Mark,” said that worthy; “I was thinking o’ something o’ that sort. Right in that little chamber place. A good thick wall, and well made, with plenty o’ lime. It wouldn’t seem Christian-like to throw ’em out on the hill among the stones; and you see there’s so many ravens and crows.”

Dummy Rugg kept as close to Mark as he could in these busy times, and tried several times to speak to him, but without success. At last, though, the opportunity came.

“Oh, Master Mark,” he said, in a tone full of reproach; “you ought to have spoke out.”

“When? What about?”

“When I was sent back to take care of those nasty old lanterns. But it serves you right. If I’d been there at the fight you wouldn’t have been hurt like that.”

“And perhaps you’d have been killed. Get out, you ungrateful dog!”

“Dog, am I? Well, it’s enough to make me bite.”

“Bite away, then, Dummy. I can’t lift my arm to hit you now.”

“Then I’ll wait till you get well again. But it was mean. I never seem to get a chance.”

“Well, you are a grumbler, Dummy. Here, you’ve done what none of us could do—shown us how to end all this trouble, and pleased everybody, and yet you’re not happy.”

“Happy?” said the boy; “who’s to be happy after what I’ve done? Why, I shan’t never dare to come past Ergles now in the dark.”

“Why?”

“’Cause old Purlrose and his men’ll come popping out to haunt me for getting ’em killed. I shall never like to come by there again.”

“They won’t come out this way, Dum,” said Mark, trying to look very serious; “they’ll come the other way, and get into the mine to lie in wait for you in the dark parts, and heave blocks of stones at you.”

“Think they will, Master Mark?” gasped the boy, and his eyes and mouth opened wide.

“Sure to.”

“Get out: you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m more disposed to cry; to think of such a stout, brave lad as you should believe such nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” cried Dummy. “What, don’t you be—believe in ghosts and bor—bogies, Master Mark?”

“Do I look as if I did?” cried Mark contemptuously. “You wait till I get well, and if you tell me then that you believe in such silly old women’s tales, I’ll kick you.”

Dummy grinned.

“You wouldn’t,” he said. “But I say, Master Mark, think old Purlrose will haunt me?”

“Bah!” ejaculated Mark. “There, come along; I want to get home and let Master Rayburn do something to my bit of a wound. It hurts so I can hardly walk.”

“Here, let me carry you, Master Mark. Pig-a-back. I can.”

“No, no, Dummy, old lad; but you come to the castle to-morrow, and say you are to walk up and see me. I shall have to be put to bed, I expect, in the same room with young Ralph Darley.”

“Then I shan’t come,” said the boy, scowling.

“Why?”

“’Cause I don’t like him, and I don’t like to see his father and their girl took there as if they were friends.”

“They are now, Dum, and there isn’t going to be any more fighting in the vale.”

It was a strange scene when the slow procession wound its way up the zigzag, at the top of which Mary Eden and Master Rayburn were waiting with the women and the tiny wounded garrison to receive the fresh party of injured folk.

Mary ran to her wounded father to embrace him, and then to Minnie Darley, to whom she held out her hands, and the people cheered as the two girls kissed.

Mary was about to lead the trembling girl in, but she shook her head and went to her father’s side; and then Mary looked round for her brother, and ran to him, as he came up leaning upon Dummy’s arm.

“Oh, Mark, darling! hurt?” she cried, flinging her arms about his neck.

“Just a bit,” he said, with a sickly smile. “You do as Minnie Darley did. Never mind me; go and stay with father. He’s more hurt than he’ll own to. Ah, Master Rayburn! brought you some more work, but we’ve burnt out the wasps.”

“My brave boy!” cried the old man, wringing his hands. “There, I’ll come to you as soon as I can. I must go to those who are worse.”

“Yes, yes,” said Mark; “I’ve got my doctor here. But tell me—young Ralph?”

“Recovered his senses, and asked about his father and sister.”

“Come along, Dummy,” said Mark faintly; “let’s go and tell him we’ve brought them safe; and then you shall wash and bind up my cut.”

He uttered a faint “Ah!” and would have fallen but for the boy’s ready arm; and the next minute he was being borne up the steps, pig-a-back after all, though he had scouted the offer before. He had fainted dead away.

Chapter Thirty Two.

A Dead Feud.

Time glided away as fast in the days of James the First as it does in the reign of our gentle Queen; and a year had gone by in the quiet peaceful vale, where, to a man, all who had been in the great trouble had more or less quickly recovered from their wounds.

The prisoners were the worst sufferers, and in the great friendly peace brought about between the old lords of the land, partly by their own manly feeling and the love that had somehow sprung up among their children, the greatest of all the Christian virtues took deep root, and flourished in a way that would have put the proverbial green bay tree to shame.

Hence it was that, as very slowly one by one the miserable crippled prisoners, so many wrecks, diseased by their own reckless life and crippled by their wounds, struggled back slowly to a condition in which perhaps a few years were left them for a better life, they were left entirely in Master Rayburn’s hands; and first one and then another was sent off with a little money and a haversack of food to seek his friends and trouble the peaceful valley no more.

It took nearly the year before the last of the wretched crew bade farewell to the place, grateful or ungrateful, according to his nature, after going through a long course of physical suffering; and by that time Cliff Castle was pretty well restored, and the two lads, after a long absence, were back home again to the land of mighty cliff, green forest, and purling stream.

It was on one of those glorious early summer mornings when the air seems full of joy, and it is a delight even to exist, that, as the sycamores and beeches in their early green were alive with song, there came a rattle of tiny bits of spar against Mark Eden’s casement window, and he sprang out of bed to throw it open and look down upon Ralph Darley, armed with lissom rod over his shoulder and creel on back.

“Oh, I say,” he cried, “asleep, and on a morning like this!”

“Yes, but you’re too soon.”

“Soon? Why, I’m a quarter of an hour late. Be quick, the May-fly are up, and the trout feeding like mad, and as for the grayling, I saw the biggest—oh! do make haste.”

“Shan’t be long.”

“And Mark, tell Mary that father is going to bring Min up about twelve, and they are to meet us with the dinner-basket up by the alder weir. Well, why don’t you make haste and dress?”

“I was thinking,” said Mark, with a broad smile.

“What about?”

“Oh, here’s Dummy with the net,” cried Mark. “Hi! you sir! why didn’t you come and call me at the proper time?”

“Morn’, Master Ralph,” said the lad, with a friendly grin. Then with an ill-used look up at the window:

“’Tis proper time. You said six, and it aren’t that yet.”

“There,” cried Mark; “you are too soon.”

“Very well. It was so fine; but I say, what were you thinking about?”

Mark grinned again.

“Is it so very comic?” said Ralph impatiently.

“That depends on what you say.”

“Well, let’s hear.”

“I was thinking that you and I have never finished that fight.”

“No; you haven’t been down to steal our ravens. I say, Mark, what do you say? Shall we? They’re building there again.”

“Let ’em,” said Mark, “in peace.”

The End.