He shouted lustily for them to make a passage for himself and his charge; but although he was known to many of them, rage, and the lust of battle, seemed to dull their ears to his voice. In the midst of it all he was felled to the ground; and with no thought of tarrying to find out if he were hurt, Dorothy, seeing a small opening in the mass of men, dashed through it, with the intention of making her way back to the Hortons'. She had gone only a short distance when her path was barred by several horsemen, who seemed to be the leaders of the troop. They had fought their way to a clearer space, and were looking back as though for their followers to join them. "Devils--fools," panted one. "They deserve to be wiped out." "Aye," said another. "If we might use our weapons as we liked, I, for one, would take pleasure in having a hand at that game." Dorothy attempted to glide by them, hoping that the dark color of the cloak she wore would save her from detection. But the voice of the first speaker called out gayly, "Aha, who goes there? Stop, pretty one, and give the countersign." "Or, if indeed you be a pretty one, we'll take a kiss instead, and call it a fair deal," laughed another, as flippantly as if the night were not being rent with the uproar of the fighting mob just behind them. Dorothy came to a standstill, and for the instant was uncertain which way to turn. Then she resolved to pursue the road she had taken, and said spiritedly, "Stand aside, and let me pass out of hearing of such insults, or it may be the worse for you." She lifted her head as she spoke; and as the rays of a near-by lamp fell upon her face, one of the riders spurred toward her. "Mistress Dorothy!" The voice made her heart leap; and then she felt sick and faint. "Dear mistress,"--and now Cornet Southorn had dismounted close beside her--"let me conduct you safely out of this place, where you surely never should have come." The other horsemen had drawn to one side and away from them, and were now silent. Scarcely conscious of what she was doing, Dorothy permitted him to lift her to his saddle. He sprang up behind her, and holding her firmly with one arm about her waist, spurred his horse away from the scene, shouting to the others not to wait for him. The uproar soon died away behind them, but still they sped on in silence. Then Dorothy heard the young man laugh, and in a way to frighten her, and rally her dreaming senses to instant alertness. "So now, my sweet little rebel, you are my captive, instead of being my jailer, as that night in the summer." And she felt his breath touch her cheek. "You shall not speak to me in such fashion. And--oh, you have passed the street leading to Mistress Morton's, which is where I must go." Dorothy began with her usual imperiousness, but ended in affright as she saw the street fade into the darkness behind them.