"The hounds, the hounds! They murdered you right in my sight, dear, and I will tear out their hearts with my hands! See, they are hiding themselves again! I can wait, yes, I can wait! _My love, my love!_ For everything they have made you suffer! Oh, you can't be _dead_, dear! You can't be dead! Open your eyes and let me tell you just once I love you! Only once, dear!" She put her mouth close to his ear. "_I love you, love you, love you!_ Only hear me once and know, dear! Know how I love you! Why didn't I tell you? I don't care if you are married a thousand times, a _million_ times! I love you with all my life--my soul! See, he's trying to get away! But he'll never reach his horse! See! A hole right through his knee! Death is too good for them, dear. My love, speak to me just once--only know that I love you, that I am mad with love for you! Tell me that you feel my face against yours--and my kisses! See, they're crawling out like flies! and making for their horses--and now they're crawling back again so that I cannot get them. Oh, God, let me get them _all_! My love, my love, how I love you, and _never told you so_!" With the first hint of dawn another volley came from the opposite side, and out of the gloom a rush of cavalry closed in about the sheep-shed, and ten men, most of them suffering from slight wounds, were taken captive. The man lying against the reef of rocks partially opened his eyes as Hope, with one last kiss upon his face, rose to meet a small group of riders. "I say, Hope, it's a blasted shame we didn't get here in time to save him!" exclaimed O'Hara, with grief in his voice. "I'll just send the doctor over here at once." While the surgeon bent over Livingston the girl stood close by, against the rocks, quiet as the stone itself. "A bad shoulder wound," he commented at length. "A little of your flask, O'Hara, and he'll be all right. Why, he's quite conscious! How do you feel? You're all right, my boy! A shattered shoulder isn't going to bother you any, is it? Not much!" The girl moved closer. "Is he alive and conscious? Will he live?" she asked. "He's all right, madam," replied the surgeon. As he spoke Livingston turned his face toward her, his eyes alight with all the love-light of his heart--answering every prayer she had breathed upon him. Her own answered his. Then she drew back, farther and farther away, until she stood outside the group of riders. O'Hara tried to detain her as she passed him. "Why, you're wounded yourself, girl!" he exclaimed. She looked at her sleeve, and the wet stream of blood upon her dress, and laughed. It was true, but she had not felt the wound. "Not at all, Larry," she replied. "The blood came from _him_," and she pointed back to the rocks. She started on, but turned back. "Tell me," she said, "what became of little Ned."