But when he seemed almost at the end of his strength, fortune suddenly befriended him. Bulger, with his clubbed musket and terrible iron hook, had disposed of the two men who leaped with Diggle into the compound; but there were others behind them; three men dropped to the ground close by, and, making a simultaneous rush, bore Bulger back against Desmond, hampering his sword arm. One of Desmond's Sepoys sprang to the rescue, but he was too late to stem the tide. A blow from a musket stock disabled Bulger's right arm; he lost his footing; as he fell, his hook, still active, caught Diggle's leg and brought him to the ground, just as, taking advantage of the diversion, he was making exultantly what he intended for a final lunge at Desmond. He fell headlong, rolling over Bulger, who was already on the ground. How the end came Desmond did not clearly see. He knew that he was beset by three of Diggle's men, and, falling back before them, he heard the voice of Phyllis Merriman close by, and felt his pistols thrust into his hands. She had slipped out of the doorway, picked up the weapons as they lay where Desmond had flung them, completed the loading, and advanced fearlessly into the thick of the fray. At one and the same moment Desmond fired upon his enemies and implored the brave girl to go back. Then suddenly there was a lull in the uproar. Bulger was upon his feet. Diggle's men paused to gaze at their prostrate leader. Then every man of them was scrambling pell mell over the wall, yelling as the stocks of the Sepoys' muskets sped them on their flight. "What is it?" asked Desmond. Bulger pointed to Diggle, among the fallen. "He've gone to his account, sir, which I may be wrong, but the Almighty have got a long black score agen him." "How did it happen?" Bulger lifted his hook. "'Twas that there Diggle as was the why and wherefore o' this little ornament, sir, and 'twas only right he should be paid for what he done. We fell down, him and me; I was under. He hoisted himself on his hands to get free, and I lifted my hook, sir, and caught him a blow under the chin. If it didn't break his neck, sir, my name en't Bill Bulger, which I'm sorry for his poor wicked soul all the same." Phyllis had her hands clasped about Desmond's arm. "Is he dead?" she asked in a voice of awe. "Come away," said Desmond quietly, leading her toward the house. "Let us find your mother." Chapter 31: In which friends meet, and part: and our hero hints a proposal. The fight was over. It was Diggle's quarrel; neither the Frenchmen nor the natives had any concern in it, and when their leader was dead they had no more interest in continuing the struggle. They drew off; the weary defenders collected the dead and attended to the wounded; and Desmond went into the house. "God bless you, Mr. Burke!" said Mrs. Merriman, tears streaming from her eyes as she met him and clasped his hands. "You are not hurt?" "Just a scratch or two, ma'am: nothing to trouble about."