Presently there came toward the door two men with a strange and shrouded figure walking painfully between them, as if upon hobbled feet. I could see that one of the men was the tall man of the cave, he in whose hand I had smashed the lantern. I knew him by a wrist that was freshly bandaged, and also by his voice when he spoke. The other who accompanied him was a sailor of some superior grade, a boatswain or such, dressed in good sea cloth, and with a kind of glazed cocked hat upon his head. It was a very weird business--the veiled woman, the dim skarrow of the beacon, the foxy old moon sifting an unearthly light between the branches, everything fallen silent, and our assailants each keeping carefully to the back of a tree to be out of reach of our muskets. They came on, the two men leading the woman by the arms till they were out of the flicker of the flames both outside and under the shadow of the house. Then the tall man, whom in my heart I made sure to be Lalor Maitland, as Irma said, held up his bandaged hand as a man does when he is about to make a speech and craves attention. "I have been ill-received," he cried, "in this the house of my fathers----" "Because you have striven to enter it as a thief and a robber!" cried Irma's voice, close beside me. She had passed behind me, slid the bolt of the window, and was now leaning out, resting upon her elbows and looking down at the men below. She was apparently quite fearless. The appearance of her cousin so near seemed somehow to sting her. "Your brother and yourself are both under my care--I suppose, Mademoiselle Irma, you will not deny that?" "We were," Irma answered, in a clear voice; "but then, Lalor Maitland, I heard what the fate was you were so kindly destining for me after having killed my brother----" "And I know who put that foolishness into your head," said Lalor Maitland; "she regrets it at this moment, and has now come of her own will to tell you she lied!" And with a jerk he loosened the apron which, as I now saw, had been wrapped about the head of the swathed figure. I shall never forget the face of the woman as I saw it then. The uncertain flicker of the flames and sparks from our beacon (which, though itself invisible, darkened and lightened like sheet lightning), the dismal umbery glimmer of the waning moon, and the pale approach of day over the mountains to the east, made the face appear almost ghastly. But I was quite unprepared for the effect which the sight produced upon Irma. "Kate," she cried, "Kate of the Shore!" The woman did not reply, though there was an obvious effort to speak--a straining of the neck muscles and a painful rolling of the eyes.