He stamped his foot impatiently, for, though he felt no fear of being beaten, the presence of these men might hinder the carrying out of his plans. "Surrender, you dog!" roared Sir Mark again. "In the King's name, I say. Shoot down every man who resists." A scornful roar of laughter was the response; and, as the heavy guns of the period were levelled, Gil's men, lithe and active as wild cats, leaped at their bearers with their swords, dashing the guns up, so that the scattered volley that followed sent the bullets skyward, while man after man was knocked down by a blow or the recoil of the piece. Then commenced a furious fight; sword clashed with sword; there were groans, oaths, and cries; and, as Mace's casement was opened, its occupant gazed down, shuddering at the hideous, torch-lit scene in the trampled garden. "Be ready with that ladder, Wat," cried Gil, hoarsely. "She must be got away now at any cost. Hah! there is Sir Mark." As he uttered the words he sprang at his rival, who had recognised him at the same moment by the flickering light of one of the torches borne by a soldier, who held it on high as he tried to take aim at Wat Kilby with a wheel-lock pistol, from beneath Mace's window. "Surrender!" shouted Sir Mark. "Quick, here, men, here!" "Surrender yourself," roared Gil, as with a rush he beat aside the other's guard, closed with him, and forced him down, where he lay with Gil's knee at his throat. Their leader's cry, though, brought half-a-dozen men to his side, and blade in hand they would have cut down Gil had it not been for Wat, whose orders had been to stay there with the ladder. Raising this, he drove it with a crash against one man, who had raised his point, and was in the act of striking another, when Sir Mark recovered himself sufficiently to get at a dagger, which he would have plunged into his opponent, had he not felt himself scorched by a blinding glare, as he, Gil, and Wat and those by him were hurled headlong amongst the trampled bushes, and, before they could realise what had happened, there was a mighty roar, as if thunder had come from earth instead of sky, and then gone rolling across the Pool, to die away in echoes amongst the hills. Volume 3, Chapter V. HOW THE LOVE PHILTRE WORKED. If Mother Goodhugh had stood by while it was done, Janet the weak would have taken the decoction placed in her hands; but, foolish as the girl was, she had her share of cunning. "If I give it to her and it does make her love turn to hatred, he must turn to me; and, if after all she cares more for Captain Carr, why even then it may turn right for me. Does the old thing think I'd take the stuff? Clever as she be, others be clever too. But how shall I give it to her?" Janet took the little flask out of her bosom, which was her hiding-place for particular things--ribbons, scraps of lace, a scent-bottle wonderfully like one of Mace's--and looked at it attentively.