Harry was carried on for some yards before he could check the impetus of his horse, and then he found himself in the thick of a fight in which he could distinguish neither friend nor foe. A fierce oath on his right, however, proclaimed the identity of one of the group, and, turning, he saw the bulky form of Captain Aglionby on horseback outlined against the light from the distant house. Leaving Polignac for the moment Harry made straight for his elder enemy, who was wheeling to deal with the new-comer. It was no moment for nice sword-play on either side; cut and thrust, lunge and parry—thus the two engaged in the dark. Blade clashed on blade, horse pressed against horse, their hoofs struck sparks; nothing to choose between the combatants except that Aglionby was between Harry and the light. Suddenly the captain made a supreme effort to quell his assailant by main force for good and all. Rising in his saddle, he brought his sword down with the full weight of his arm. But, thanks to the friendly light from Lindendaal, Harry saw the movement in time. Parrying the swashing blow with ease, he replied with a thrust that tumbled the captain groaning from his saddle. The horse plunged and galloped madly into the night. Harry did not wait to discover the full effect of his blow, but wheeled round to find Polignac, the duel on his left having terminated in the flight of one of the parties and pursuit by the other. At the moment of wheeling he heard the voice of Sherebiah at his elbow. "Hold, sir! ’Tis done. Mounseer ha’ paid his score." "You have killed him?" "My sword went through un. He be on ground: no risin’ for he." "Then secure Aglionby. He fell from his horse a few yards up the road." He himself sprang from the saddle and ran to the door of the coach. Wrenching it open, he saw by the light of the lamp Adèle de Vaudrey erect on the seat, supporting the unconscious form of her mother. The girl’s cheeks were the colour of death; her lips were ashen; upon her face was the fixed look of resigned despair. "Mademoiselle," cried Harry breathlessly, "all is well. You are safe." A sob broke from the girl’s dry lips; tears welled in her eyes. "Mother has swooned," she said in a whisper. Harry darted to the canal side, stuck his handkerchief on the point of his sword and let it down to the water, returning with it dripping wet to the coach. Bathing the lady’s temples they revived her, and Adèle whispered the news that they were safe. Madame’s nerves were quite unstrung; incapable of heeding what was said to her she wept and laughed alternately, to Harry’s great alarm. "We must get her home," said Adèle. "Yes; I will find a man to lead the coach. You will not mind my going: Mynheer Grootz is wounded two miles away." "Oh, Monsieur Harry, go then at once. I can take care of Mother."