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 TWELVE.

BARING THE WHITE BLADE.

Ralph Darley's disposition led him to determine to say nothing about what had passed, but his lame legs forced him to confess how it was his ankles were so bad, and Sir Morton was furious. He was ready to declare war on a small scale against his neighbour, and carry fire and sword into his camp. But Ralph's legs were better the next day; and when the whole history of the two encounters had been gone over, he thought better of the affair, to the extent of determining to wait till his son was quite well again; and when he was quite well, there were other things to dwell upon.

For one, Nick Garth, who had been across to one of the villages beyond the moor, came back with his head bleeding, and stripped to breeches and shirt.

His account of his trouble was that he was coming home in the dark, keeping one eye upon a flickering light some distance away up the mountain-side. Sometimes it was visible, at others all was black; and he was wondering whether it had anything to do with the witches' fire of which he had heard tell, when all at once he found himself surrounded by seven or eight wild-looking figures, either in long gowns or cloaks, who seized him; and upon his resisting wildly, they knocked him down, took the best of his clothes away, emptied his pockets, and departed, carrying off a large basket he was taking home, a basket containing two chickens, two ducklings, and a big pat of butter, the present of a married sister beyond the moors.

The next day news reached the Black Tor that the witches had been seen again by two different miners, and in each case the tale was the same.

The witches were crowding together in a huddled way, in their long cloaks, over a fire. A caldron was hung from three sticks, joined together at the top, and one of the men declared that they must have been busy over some unhallowed work.

"Why do you say that, man?" asked Mark.

"Because they were chanting some horrible thing together."

"You heard that?"

"Ay, Master Mark, I heered it."

"A song?"

"Song, Master Mark? Save us, no! A song makes your eyes water if it's about solemn things, or it makes you laugh if it's comic; but this made the marrow in my bones turn hard as taller, for it went through me; and as I watched them, they all got up and joined hands, and began to walk slowly round the great pot over the fire, and the light shone on their horrible faces and long ragged gowns. I wanted to run away, but my legs was all of a tremble. I'd ha' give anything to run, but they legs wouldn't go, and there I stood, watching 'em as they danced round the fire a little faster, and a little faster, till they were racing about, singing and screeching. And then all at once they stopped and shouted 'Wow?' all together, and burst into the most horrid shrecking laughter you ever heered, and the light went out. That seemed to set my legs going, master, and I turned to get away as fast as ever I could go, when I heered some kind o' wild bird whistle over the mountain-side, and another answered it close to me: and before I knew where I was, the great bird fluttered its wings over me, and I caught my foot in a tuft of heather, and fell."

"Well, and what then?" asked Mark.

"Nothing, sir, only that I ran all the way home to my cottage yonder, and you ask my wife, and she'll tell you I hadn't a dry thread on me when I got in. Now, sir, what do you say?"

"All nonsense!" replied Mark bluntly, and he walked away.

Another few days passed. Mark had been very quiet and thoughtful at home, reading, or making believe to read, and spending a good deal of time in the mine with Dummy Rugg, who twice over proposed that they should go on exploring the grotto-like place he had discovered; but to his surprise, his young master put it off, and the quiet, silent fellow waited. He, though, had more tales to tell of the way in which things disappeared from cottages. Pigs, sheep, poultry went in the most unaccountable way, and the witches who met sometimes on the mountain slope had the credit of spiriting them away.

"Then why don't the people who lose things follow the witches up, and see if they have taken them?"

"Follow 'em up, sir?" said Dummy, opening his eyes very widely. "They wouldn't dare."

Then came a day when, feeling dull and bitter and as if he were not enjoying himself at home, as he did the last time he was there, Mark mounted one of the stout cob ponies kept for his and his sister's use, and went for a good long round, one which was prolonged so that it was getting toward evening, and the sun was peering over the shoulder of one of the western hills, when, throwing the rein on his cob's neck, and leaving it to pick its own way among the stones of the moorland, he entered a narrow, waste-looking dale, about four miles from the Tor.

He felt more dull and low-spirited than when he started in the morning, probably from want of a good meal, for he had had nothing since breakfast, save a hunch of very cake-like bread and a bowl of milk at a cottage farm right up in the Peak, where he had rested his pony while it had a good feed of oats.

The dale looked desolation itself, in spite of the gilding of the setting sun. Stone lay everywhere: not the limestone of his own hills and cliffs, but grim, black-looking millstone-grit, which here and there formed craggy, forbidding outlines; and this did not increase his satisfaction with his ride, when he took up the rein and began to urge the cob on, to get through the gloomy place.

But the cob knew better than his master what was best, and refused to risk breaking its legs among the stones with which the moor was strewn.

"Ugh! you lazy fat brute," cried Mark; "one might just as well walk, and—Who's that?"

He shaded his eyes from the sun, and looked long and carefully at a figure a few hundred yards ahead till his heart began to beat fast, for he felt sure that it was Ralph Darley. Ten minutes after, he began to be convinced, and coming to a clearer place where there was a pretence of a bit of green sward, the cob broke into a canter of its own will, which brought its rider a good deal nearer to the figure trudging in the same direction. Then the cob dropped into a walk again, picking its way among great blocks of stone; and Mark was certain now that it was Ralph Darley, with creel on back, and rod over his shoulder, evidently returning from one of the higher streams after a day's fishing.

Mark's heart beat a little faster, and he nipped his cob's sides; but the patient animal would not alter its steady walk, which was at about the same rate as the fisher's, and consequently Mark had to sit and watch his enemy's back, as, unconscious of his presence, Ralph trudged on homeward, with one arm across his back to ease up the creel, which was fairly heavy with the delicate burden of grayling it contained, the result of a very successful day.

"He has his sword on this time," said Mark to himself, "and I've got mine."

The lad touched the hilt, to make sure it had not been jerked out of the scabbard during his ride.

"Just a bit farther on yonder," he muttered, gazing at the steep slope of a limestone hill to his right, and a mile distant, "there are some nice level bits of turf. I can overtake him then, and we can have a bit of a talk together."

The cob walked steadily on, avoiding awkward places better than his master could have guided him, and suddenly stopped short at a rocky pool, where a little spring of water gushed from the foot of a steep slope, and lowered its head to drink.

"You don't want water now," said Mark angrily; and he tightened the rein, but his cob had a mouth like leather; and caring nothing for the bit, bore upon it heavily, stretched out his neck, and had a long deep drink.

"I wish I had spurs on," muttered Mark; "I'd give you a couple of such digs, my fine fellow."

Then he sat thinking.

"Good job I haven't got any on. I should trip, for certain, when we were at it."

Then the cob raised its dripping mouth, which it had kept with lips very close together, to act as a strainer to keep out tadpoles, water-beetles, leeches, or any other unpleasant creatures that might be in the water, took two or three steps back and aside, and then, noticing that there was a goodly patch of rich juicy herbage close by the spring, it lowered its head once more, uttered a snort as it blew the grass heavily, to drive off any flies that might be nestling among the strands, and began to crop, crop at the rich feed.

"Oh come, I'm not going to stand that," cried Mark, dragging at the pony's head. "You're so full of oats now that you can hardly move, and he'll be looking back directly, and thinking I'm afraid to come on."

The cob's head was up: so was its obstinate nature. It evidently considered it would be a sin to leave such a delicious salad, so tempting and juicy, and suitable after a peck or two of dry, husky oats; and, thoroughly determined not to pass the herbage by, it set its fore feet straight out a good distance apart, and strained at the reins till, as Mark pulled and pressed his feet against the stirrups, it seemed probable that there would be a break.

"Oh, you brute!" cried the lad angrily; "you ugly, coarse, obstinate brute! Pony! You're not a pony, I feel sure; you're only a miserable mule, and your father was some long-eared, thick-skinned, thin-tailed, muddle-headed, old jackass. Look here! I'll take out my sword, and prick you with the point."

The cob evidently did not believe it, and kept on the strain of the bit, till the lad took a rein in each hand, and began to saw the steel from side to side, making it rattle against the animal's teeth.

This seemed to have a pleasant effect on the hard mouth, and produced the result of the cob nodding its head a little; and just then, to Mark's great disgust, Ralph turned his head and looked back.

"There! I expected as much. Now go on, you beast, or I'll kill you."

The pony snorted with satisfaction, for in his excitement, the rider had slackened the reins a little. Down went the animal's muzzle; there was another puff to blow away the insects, and it began to crop again, with that pleasant sound heard when grazing animals are amongst rich herbage.

Then followed a fresh struggle, and the pony won, taking not the slightest notice of the insulting remarks made by its rider about its descent, appearance, and habits.

But at last, perhaps because it had had its own way, more probably because it was not hungry, and just when the rider was thinking of getting down to walk, and sending Dummy Rugg to find the animal next day, it raised its head, ground up a little grass between its teeth and then began to follow Ralph once more, as he trudged on without turning his head again.

Still, try as he would, Mark could not get the animal to break into a canter; in fact, the way was impossible; and when the sun had sunk down below the western hill, which cast a great purple shadow, to begin rising slowly higher and higher against the mountain on his left, he and Ralph were still at about the same distance apart.

"I can't halloa to him to stop," muttered Mark angrily; "I don't want to seem to know him, but to overtake him, and appear surprised, and then break into a quarrel hotly and at once. Oh! it's enough to drive anyone mad. You brute! I'll never try to ride you again."

Rather hard, this, upon the patient beast which had carried him for many miles that day, and was carefully abstaining now from cantering recklessly amongst dangerous stones, and giving its master a heavy fall. But boys will be unreasonable sometimes, almost as unreasonable as some men.

Finding at last that drumming the cob's sides was of no use, jerking the bit of not the slightest avail, and that whacks with the sheathed sword only produced whisks of the tail, Mark subsided into a sulky silence, and rode at a walk, watching the enemy's back as he trudged steadily on.

The vale grew more gloomy on the right side, the steep limestone hill being all in shadow, and the rough blocks looked like grotesque creatures peering out from among the blackening bushes; and as he rode on, the lad could not help thinking that by night the place might easily scare ignorant, untutored, superstitious people, who saw, or fancied they saw, strange lights here and there.

"And in the sunshine it is as bright as the other hill," thought Mark, as he glanced at the left side of the dale; "not very bright, though. It's a desolate place at the best of times;" and once more he glanced up the steep slope on his right.

"Wonder why they call it Ergles," he mused. "Let's see; it's up there where the cave with the hot spring is. Not a bit farther on."

He was still a long distance from home, and knowing that before long Ralph Darley would turn off to the left, he again made an effort to urge on the cob, but in vain.

"And he'll go home thinking I'm afraid," muttered the lad; "but first time I meet him, and he isn't a miserable, wretched, contemptible cripple, I'll show him I'm not."

"Then you shall show him now," the cob seemed to say, for it broke into a smart canter, but only because the bottom of the dale was here free from stones, and in a very short time Ralph was overtaken.

"Here, hi! fellow! clear the road," shouted Mark; and he essayed to stop. But now, the way being good, the cob was anxious to get on and reach its stable, passing Ralph quickly enough, and enraging its rider more and more.

"Oh, you brute, you brute!" he muttered. "Now he can't help thinking I'm afraid of him. If I only had a whip."

For the moment Mark felt disposed to turn in the saddle, and make some insulting gesture at the lad behind—one that would make him, if he had any courage within, come running rapidly in pursuit. But the act would have seemed too weak and boyish, when he wanted to be manly; and he refrained, contenting himself with dragging hard at the rein, till a hundred yards farther the ground grew stony again, and the pony dropped into a walk, and picked its way in and out more slowly than ever.

This had the result that Mark desired, for a glance back showed him that Ralph was coming on fast, and in a few minutes he had overtaken him, just as he sprang off his pony and faced round.

"Oh, it is you," said Mark haughtily.

"Yes," said Ralph, meeting his eyes boldly.

"I thought it was. Well, you are not lame now?"

"No."

"And I see you have a sword."

"Yes, I have my sword."

"Then as we are equal now, and if you are not afraid, we may as well have a little conversation with them."

"Fight?" said Ralph quietly. "Why?"

"Ha-ha!" laughed Mark, with his face flushing. "Why? Because we are gentlemen, I suppose; because we have been taught to use our swords; at least I have; and it's the worse for you if you have not."

"But I have," said Ralph firmly, his own cheeks beginning to look hot; "but I don't see that this is a reason why we two should fight."

"Then I'll give you another," cried Mark; "because you are a Darley, and I am an Eden, and we cannot meet without drawing swords. Your people were always a set of cut-throats, murderers, robbers, and thieves."

"It's a lie," cried Ralph hotly. "My people were always gentlemen. It was your people who always insulted ours, as you are insulting me now, and did a few minutes ago, when you passed me going quietly on my way."

"That's enough," said Mark sharply. "Out of the way, beast," and he drew his sword and struck the cob sharply on the flank, sending it trotting onward at the risk of breaking its knees.

"This is your doing," said Ralph quietly, as he threw down his rod, and passed the strap of his creel over his head, to swing it after.

"Bah! don't talk," cried Mark hotly. "This place will do. It is as fair for you as for me."

He made a gesture with his sword toward a tolerably level spot, and Ralph bowed his head.

"Then draw," cried Mark, throwing down his cap.

Ralph followed his example, and the next moment his own bright blade leaped from its sheath, and without further preliminary, they crossed their trusty blades, which emitted a harsh grating noise as they played up and down, flashing in the paling evening light, each awaiting the other's attack.

Mark, in the fear that his enemy would doubt his prowess, began the attack; and in defending himself from his adversary's thrusts Ralph soon showed him that he had learned the use of his thin rapier from a master the equal of his own teacher, thus making the hot-headed youth more cautious, and ready to turn aside the thrusts which followed when he ceased his own.

They fenced equally well, and for a few minutes no harm was done. Then all at once, in response to a quick thrust, a spot appeared high up above the russet leather boot which came half-way up Mark's thigh, and Ralph leaped back with a strange feeling of compunction attacking him that he could not understand.

"Nothing," cried Mark angrily; "a scratch," as he pressed his teeth upon his nether lip; and they crossed swords once more, with the wounded lad commencing the attack with as much vigour as before. And now, forgetful of everything but the desire to lay one another hors de combat, they thrust and parried for the next minute, till Ralph uttered a faint cry, as his adversary's sword passed through his doublet, between his right arm and ribs, a sharp pang warning him that the blade had pierced something more than the velvet he wore.

Mark dropped the point of his blade, for at that moment a whistle rang out, and he looked inquiringly in the direction from which it had come, leaving himself quite open to any treacherous attack had it been intended.

But none was meant, Ralph standing with his left hand pressing his side, just below the armpit, as another whistle was heard from a fresh direction. Others followed, and the adversaries looked sharply at each other.

"Not birds," said Ralph quickly.

"Don't look like it," said Mark bitterly, as he drew his breath with a hissing noise, as if in pain.

"We're surrounded," cried Ralph excitedly, as they saw six or seven men appearing from different directions, and evidently all making the spot where the lads now stood the centre for which they aimed.

"You coward!" cried Mark bitterly—"a trap—your father's men. En garde!" he shouted. "You shall pay for this!"

"My father's men?" cried Ralph angrily, as he ignored the other's preparations for a fresh attack. "You're mad; can't you see they're those scoundrels who came to us—Captain Purlrose and his men. Look, there he is—up yonder by that hole."

"What do they mean, then?" cried Mark, dropping the point of his weapon.

"Mischief to us," cried Ralph.

"Or me," said Mark suspiciously.

"To us, I tell you," cried Ralph.—"You won't give in?"

"No; will you?"

"Not if you'll stand by me."

"And I will," cried Mark excitedly.

"But you are wounded."

"So are you."

"I don't feel it now."

"No more do I. Hurrah, then; let them come on!"



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 FIFTEEN.

WHAT SIR MORTON SAID.

Master Rayburn, the old scholar, angler, and, in a small way, naturalist, had no pretensions to being either physician or surgeon; but there was neither within a day's journey, and in the course of a long career, he had found out that in ordinary cases nature herself is the great curer of ills. He had noticed how animals, if suffering from injuries, would keep the place clean with their tongues, and curl up and rest till the wounds healed; that if they suffered from over-eating they would starve themselves till they grew better; that at certain times of the year they would, if carnivorous creatures, eat grass, or, if herbivorous, find a place where the rock-salt which lay amongst the gypsum was laid bare, and lick it; and that even the birds looked out for lime at egg-laying time to form shell, and swallowed plenty of tiny stones to help their digestion.

He was his own doctor when he was unwell, which, with his healthy, abstemious, open-air life, was not often; and by degrees the people for miles round found out that he made decoctions of herbs—camomile and dandelion, foxglove, rue, and agrimony, which had virtues of their own. He it was who cured Dan Rugg of that affection which made the joints of his toes and fingers grow stiff, by making him sit for an hour a day, holding hands and feet in the warm water which gushed out of one part of the cliff to run into the river, and coated sticks and stones with a hard stony shell, not unlike the fur found in an old tin kettle.

He knew that if a man broke a leg, arm, or rib, and the bones were laid carefully in their places, and bandaged so that they could not move, nature would make bony matter ooze from the broken ends and gradually harden, forming a knob, perhaps, at the joining, but making the place grow up stronger than ever; and it took no great amount of gumption to grasp the fact that what was good for a cut finger was equally good for arm, head, leg, or thigh; that is to say, to wash the bleeding wound clean, lay the cut edges together, and sew and bandage them so that they kept in place. With a healthy person, nature did all the rest, and Master Rayburn laughed good-humouredly to himself as he found that he got all the credit.

"Nature doesn't mind," he used to say to one or other of the lads. "There's no vanity there, my boys; but I'm not half so clever as they think."

But let that be as it may, Master Rayburn mended Dummy Rugg when he fell from top to bottom of the steep slope leading down into the lead-mine, getting thereby very much broken, the worst injury being a crack in his skull. He "cobbled up," as he called it, a number of other injuries which happened to the men by pieces of rock falling upon them, slips of the steel picks, chops from axes, and cuts from scythes and reaping-hooks, the misfortunes of the men who toiled in the woods and fields.

If a regular physician or surgeon had come there, the people would have laughed at him, so great was their faith in Master Rayburn, who did his best for the people, and never asked for payment. In fact, his patients never thought of offering it to him in money, but they were not ungrateful, all the same. Indeed, he used to protest against the numbers of presents he was always receiving, the women bringing him pats of butter, little mugs of cream, and the best of their apples and potatoes; and their husbands never killed a pig without taking something to Master Rayburn for the kind actions which he had performed.

It fell out then, as quite a matter of course, that he went on treating Ralph Darley for the little hole in his arm, beneath the shoulder joint, and that he also dressed and bandaged Mark Eden's thigh, so that the injuries went on healing rapidly.

It was known, too, at the Cliff Castle and the Black Tor that he was treating both, but the Edens never mentioned the Darleys, nor the Darleys the Edens, the amateur surgeon saying nothing at either place; and the wounds got better day by day.

"I wish I could heal the old sore as easily," the old man said to himself; "but that wants a bigger doctor than I."

Master Rayburn believed in the old saw, that a still tongue maketh a wise head, and he waited.

But in the meantime Ralph had told his father everything about his encounter, and waited afterwards to hear what his father said. In due time he did say something, but it was not to the effect that Mark Eden had behaved very gallantly in helping his son, and vice versa, that his son had shown a fine spirit in forgetting family enmity, and fighting against a common enemy. He only frowned, and said, "Humph!"

He said something more, though upon another occasion, when, in obedience to Master Rayburn's orders, Ralph was keeping quiet at home, and sitting in his father's room, reading, and thinking about Mark Eden, determining, too, that he would ask Master Rayburn how the lad was the next time he came, for though family pride and old teachings had kept him quiet, he had hoped that his doctor would volunteer the information which had not come.

Sir Morton was poring over an old tome which dealt with alchemy and the transmutation of metals, in which the learned writer gravely gave his opinion about baser metals being turned into gold, all of which Sir Morton Darley thought would be very satisfactory, as he could not succeed in finding a profitable lead-mine on his estate, and had not been any more successful than his forefathers in taking possession of that belonging to the Edens.

He had just come to the way of thinking that he would begin to buy ordinary lead and turn it into gold, when Ralph said suddenly:

"I say, father, why do we want to be at enmity with the Edens?"

Sir Morton looked up at his son, and then down at his book, as if expecting to find an answer to the question there. Then he coughed to clear his voice, cleared it, and coughed again, which was perfectly unnecessary. But still the answer did not come. Finally, he replied:

"Well, you see, my boy, we always have been at enmity with them."

"Yes, I know, ever since my great, great, ever so great, grandfather's time."

"Exactly Ralph. That's it, my boy."

"But what was the beginning of it?"

"The beginning of it—er—the—er—commencement of it—er—the family feud. Well—er—it was something in the way of oppression, as I have told you before. A great injury inflicted by the Edens upon the Darleys. But it will not do your arm any good to be fidgeting about that. I want it to heal. That can be healed; but our family feud never can."

"Why not, father?"

"Why not? Oh, because it is contrary to nature, boy. What a question, when you are suffering now from the way in which the deadly hatred of the Edens comes out! Are you not wounded by a scion of the vile house?"

"Yes, father; but then young Eden is suffering too in the same way, and I think he got the worst of it."

"I'm glad of it, Ralph. I think you behaved very bravely."

"What; in fighting the robbers?"

"I did not mean that. I meant in defending yourself," said Sir Morton austerely. "There, that will do: I want to go on studying this book."

But Ralph was fidgety from the state of his wound, and went on again.

"Couldn't the old trouble be settled by law?"

"Pooh, boy! As I have told you before, the law does not reach here among these mountainous wilds. I am the law here. I could settle the matter; but that man Eden would never agree to what I said."

"And I suppose, father, that you would never agree to what he considered was the proper law."

"Certainly not, Ralph," said Sir Morton impatiently. "But why are you going on like this?"

"Because I was thinking again how easy it would be if you and Sir Edward Eden were to join and attack that Captain Purlrose and his men. You would be able to drive the gang out of the neighbourhood."

"I shall be able to drive this fellow out of the district, my boy, without the help of the Edens, who ought to be driven out too, for they are very little better than Captain Purlrose and his men. Stop, sir; what are you going to do?"

"Go out, father. It's so dull sitting here."

"You had better stay in: the sun is hot, and you have been rather feverish. I want you to grow quite well."

"So do I, father," said the lad, smiling.

"Then do what Master Rayburn advised you. Keep perfectly quiet."

"But it is such weary work doing nothing, father. I'm sure I should get better if I were out in the fresh air. Ah, there is Minnie;" for just then his sister came to the open window, and looked in.

"Why don't you come out and sit in the shade here, Ralph?" she said. "Come and read with me."

Ralph glanced at his father, who shrugged his shoulders and nodded, as much as to say, "Well, be off;" and the lad went out into the castle-yard, and then on to the little terrace where the new basin and fountain were looking bright and attractive, though still wanting in the fish Ralph was to have procured.

Brother and sister sat down in a shady nook, and watched the glint of the river through the trees far below, looked over the lovely prospect of hill and dale; and finally Minnie's eyes rested upon the shoulder of the great shaley hill at whose foot the encounter with the disbanded soldiers had taken place.

"When is father going to lead the men to drive out those dreadful people?" said the girl at last.

"I don't know: soon, I hope. When I'm better."

"Well, you are better, Ralph."

"That's what I told father. Only a bit sore. I'm sick of being coddled up."

"That's because you are a boy. You are never happy unless you are in the open-air."

"You would not be, if you were a boy," said Ralph sharply.

"Well, I don't know that I am, even as a girl. It's dreadful. You know, father has given orders that I am not to go outside the walls. No walks, no rides; and my poor pony looked so reproachfully at me. Wants to go out as badly as I do. Don't you think it's being too particular?"

"Well, no, Min," said Ralph thoughtfully. "While those men are about, I don't think you ought to go out alone."

"Now, Ralph," said the girl, pouting, "you're as bad as father. I declare you are not a bit like a nice, brave, merry boy now. You used to be; but ever since you've been at that great school you have been growing more and more serious, till you are getting to be quite an old man."

"And quite grey," said Ralph drily.

"It only wants that," said the girl, with a merry laugh. "I declare that old Master Rayburn has more fun in him than you."

"Wouldn't say so if you had been wounded, and had him to pull the bandages about."

"What nonsense! he said I was to come and see him as soon as ever I could."

"And you can't go and see him. He wouldn't advise you to go out while those ruffians are yonder."

"No," replied the girl, smiling frankly. "He said I must wait till the wasps' nest had been burned out, and I suppose he meant the cave where those men are. Oh, I wish I were a man, and could go and fight the wretches. They've been robbing and frightening people in all directions. They even went last night and frightened old Mistress Garth, Nick's mother, and took away her bag of meal."

"They did that!" cried Ralph angrily. "How do you know?"

"Nick told me, and he says he means to kill the captain first time they meet."

"Nick says so?"

"Yes; but I suppose it's only boasting. I don't think he's very brave, is he?"

"Don't know," said Ralph thoughtfully. "But it's quite time something was done."

"And it was so funny, Ralph," continued the girl; "he actually said to me that he didn't care a bit for his mother, for she has the worst temper of any one he knows, and is always scolding when he goes to see her; but he won't have any one interfere with her, and he'll kill that captain for stealing the meal-bag as sure as he's alive."

"Well, it shows he's a good son," said Ralph quietly. "But you see that it is not safe for you to go out."

"Yes," said Minnie with a sigh; "but it seems very silly. The other day one was obliged to stop in because of the Edens; now it's because of those men."

"I suppose it's as bad for the Edens as it is for us," replied Ralph, who became now very thoughtful; and when, soon afterwards, Minnie looked up to see why he did not speak, she found that his head was resting against the stone, beside a crenelle, and that he was fast asleep.

"Poor boy!" she said softly, "he is weak yet, and soon worn-out. It was very brave of him to fight as he did—with Mark Eden, I mean—against the men who attacked them, and for both to be wounded. I wonder what Mark Eden is like. Ralph has met him three times, he says, but he only growls if I begin to ask him questions. What a pity it is, when we might all be so friendly and nice. How stupid it does seem of people to quarrel!"



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, naively:

"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.