"Quiet!" cried Mark, patting the spirited little animal's neck, and as soon as it was quiet, turning to the object of his mission. "Now," he said, "my father starts this evening to crush out this gang of miscreants and rescue Sir Morton and your young lady. We have plenty of swords and pikes, and I have come to ask as many of you as can strike a blow to join us." "Is this a trap, young gen'leman, to make an end of us now we're weak and down?" "Look in my eyes, Nick Garth," said Mark, gazing straight at the sullen lowering face. "The Edens are gentlemen, not such vile cowards as that. Now then, who'll come and strike a blow for Sir Morton, your young lady, and Master Ralph Darley, lying helpless there?" "All on us, my lad," cried Nick, with a fierce growl--"all on us as can manage to crawl." "Ay," rose in a shout. "It's all right, lads," continued Nick; "the young gen'leman means what he says. No one could be such a hound as to come down upon us now. I says it's right, sir. We trust you, and if you'll give us your hand like a man-like an Englishman should--we'll come." Mark's hand went out, and his handsome young face shone with the glow that was at his heart, as he gripped the grimy blackened hand extended to him. He held on tightly, and then gazed wonderingly at the man, whose face turned of a very ashy hue, and he caught at the pony's mane to save himself from falling. "What is it?" cried Mark eagerly; "you are faint!" "Got my hand brent a bit, young master," said the man, recovering himself with a forced laugh. "Better now." He drew back, and limped a little. "But you are badly hurt. I'll get Master Rayburn to run down." "Nay. We'll come up to him. Let him stop with the young master." "You are not fit to come." "What! Not to have a stroke at them devils?" cried the man fiercely. "I'm a-coming, and so's all as can walk. I'd come if it was half a hour 'fore I was going to die. I did try to burn 'em where they were drinking together, on'y I was in too great a hurry. I ought to ha' waited till they was asleep." Mark shuddered slightly, but he said no more, and proceeded to examine the men, all of whom, to the number of seven, declared themselves fit to come. But, including Nick, there were only five really fit to bear arms; the rest had unwillingly to give up. Still, there were three quite uninjured, and these would, Mark felt, be a valuable addition to the little force at home, for they were burning to try and do something to help Sir Morton in his terrible strait; and even the women wished to join. But this was declared impossible, and soon after, feeling the strangeness of his position, Mark was riding back with his recruits. Five minutes later, he cried, "Halt!" and sprang from his pony. "Here, Garth," he cried, "I can't ride and see you limp along with that wounded leg." "Can't help my leg being hurt, young sir," cried the man sourly. "I won't go back, so there!"