There was no time for consultation, and the proposal seemed to point out the only feasible plan. With the words they wheeled their horses, and dashed to the desperate attack. The dragoons seemed for an instant astonished by the movement, but did not slacken their pace. Their leader waved his sword, and turning to his men, led the onset in person, shouting “God save the king and bishops,” while the Covenanters, unsheathing their blades, raised the cry of “The sword of the Lord and Gideon.” And thus, borne in the midst of those armed men as in the embrace of a whirlwind, Helen was hurried toward the dragoons. And as they galloped along, the heavenly girl, with heart uplifted, prayed, while her countenance shone with a glory as of the cherubim. And who was it that dashed so frantically up the glen, as if fearful that he might not arrive to whet his blade in the blood of the fugitives? Who, but Sir Roland Græme, flying to save his daughter, and even now almost maddened with the thought that he had come too late, for the instant that he emerged from the ravine he recognized his child, and now, when he saw her turned back to the pursuers, and his practiced eye told him that he could not reach her until the two parties should be engaged in deadly combat, the same sickening sensation of horror which had attacked him at the Brae came over him again. With a sharp cry of agony he ploughed his spurs into the already bloody sides of his horse, and sprang forward at a pace even more frantic than that which he had before led; but swift as was his progress it seemed to him only that of a snail. On—on—he urged his gallant beast, and nearer and nearer the fugitives and their first pursuers drew to each other. What though he gained on the group!—he saw that the hostile parties would meet while he would yet be far away. Oh! what were his feelings as this conviction forced itself on him. If only another mile, in which to overtake them, had been given him, he might perhaps have succeeded; but now hope was in vain! Cold drops of sweat stood on his brow, while his heart throbbed almost to bursting against his corselet. Did none recognize him, and could they not understand his frantic signs? He shouted—again—again—again. The dead might as well be expected to hear. He waved his plumed hat on high, but, at that instant, with the shock of an earthquake, the opponents met. A dizziness came over his eyes, but with a mighty effort he rallied his reeling faculties, and looked at the fight. Was his child yet alive? He saw the gleam of the broadswords, the blaze of firearms, and all the tumult of the conflict, but his daughter was not visible. Suddenly a sharp, quick, female shriek, rising shrill over the uproar, met his ear. God of heaven, had his Helen fallen! Another leap of his frantic steed, and he was near enough to hear the shouts of the combatants and distinguish particular persons. He trembled with eagerness, but lo! his daughter was still