The marauders had, meanwhile, drawn themselves up across the road, and when the three men-at-arms spurred their horses to the charge, the Scots received them by stepping briskly aside, and striking at the animals with their huge swords. Two of the assailants were thus brought to the ground at the first onset; but the one called Bowbent, and his elder companion, bore each a Scotsman to the earth with his long lance, and then taking to their swords, struck about them with such fury as to finish the contest in a space of time almost as short as that which it takes to narrate it. They did not, however, gain this victory without cost. Both the youth and his elder comrade were wounded, while the man-at-arms, who had been unhorsed, was killed. Several of the marauders fell on the field, and the others took to flight. “Poor Jasper,” said the youth, looking mournfully upon his slain follower, “your life was soon ended. God help me! misfortunes seem to attend on all who espouse my fortunes.” And, after regarding the dead man a moment longer, the youth turned away with a sigh, to fulfil his remaining duty, by inquiring whom he had rescued, and offering to conduct her to a place of safety. Meanwhile the lady Eleanor had been an anxious though admiring spectator of the contest, and many a prayer did she breathe for the success of her gallant rescuers. The boldness of the youth especially aroused her interest, and her heart beat faster and her breath came quicker, whenever he seemed on the point of being overpowered. As he now moved toward her, she felt, she knew not why, the color mounting in her cheeks,—and as he raised his visor, she could not but acknowledge that the countenance beneath, vied with, and even excelled, in manly beauty and frankness of expression, any she had ever seen. The youth, however, had just began to express, in the courtly language of the day, his delight at having come up so opportunely, when a sudden paleness shot over his countenance, and after endeavoring vainly to speak, he sank, fainting to the ground. “It is only this ugly wound in his side,” said his older comrade, noticing the alarm in the maiden’s countenance, “he has fainted from loss of blood.” “Can he not be borne to the castle?—here Ralph, Leoline, a litter for the wounded man—but, see, he revives.” The wounded youth opened his eyes faintly, and gazed upon the maiden as she spoke, and then closed them, as if in pain. “He has fainted again,” said the lady Eleanor, “cannot the blood be staunched? I have some slight skill in the healing art, let me at least bind up his wounds.” Taking a scarf from her neck as she spoke, the maiden proceeded to examine the hurts of the young man-at-arms, and having carefully bound them up, during which operation the reviving sufferer testified his mute gratitude by his looks, she allowed him to be placed on the rude litter her servitors had hastily prepared for him, and then the whole party set out to return to the castle.