"Stop!" cried Luke, in so fierce a voice that Cyril remained for the time as if turned to stone, staring at the speaker, whose whole manner changed. He looked taller; the appealing gaze was gone, and his eyes seemed to flash, while his chest heaved, and his hands clenched, as he stood before them--no mean adversary for one who encountered him hand to hand. "Sage," he cried, and his voice was stern, fierce, and commanding. "A minute ago I could not believe this. Tell me I was deceived. No: not now. Come with me to the farm." He tried to take one of her hands, but she shrank, shudderingly, away. "You shall speak," he cried. "Oh, come," said Cyril, in a blustering tone, "I'm not going to stand by and listen to this. Sage, dear, this man has no hold whatever upon you. Come home with me." "No hold?" cried Luke, quickly. "Why--but no; I will not speak to him. Sage, take my arm. I will not reproach you now. Come with me." He caught her wrist, trembling the while with suppressed passion. But, with a quick flash of anger, she tore it away. "Cyril," she cried, "protect me from this man." Her words seemed to strike Luke Ross like blows, for he staggered back, his lips parted, his face ashy grey, and a look of despairing horror starting, as it were, from every feature; but as he saw Cyril Mallow take her hand when Sage turned from him, Luke's whole aspect changed, and, with a cry like that of some infuriated animal, he literally leaped at Cyril's throat. Sage shrieked, and then staggered to the bank, cowering against the hedge, as, recovering himself from the attack, and driven to defend himself, Cyril seized his assailant, and for the next few minutes there was the sound of hard breathing, muttered ejaculations, the scuffling noise of feet upon the gravelly road, and then a heavy fall, Luke Ross being seen in the gathering gloom of the winter's evening to be above his rival, who lay motionless, with Luke's knee upon his chest, his hands upon his throat. The sight before her nerved Sage to action, and she tottered to where the two men were. "Luke," she cried; "Luke, are you mad? Oh, help, help, help!" "Mad? Am I mad?" he said, hoarsely, as Sage's shrieks rang out shrilly on the evening air. "Yes, I must be mad," he muttered, as he rose slowly to his feet, and stood gazing down at his lost love, who now threw herself frantically upon her knees, and raised Cyril's head upon her arm. "And I came back for this," said Luke, in a husky whisper--"for this!" But she did not hear him; her mind being taken up with the horror of her position. "I came back for this," he continued, in the same low, husky tone. "I would not believe it true. Oh, Sage, Sage!" he groaned aloud, "it is more than I can bear."