"Victory!" cried the valiant rider, springing from his steed, and cheering his companion (for he had but one,) who was at that moment dashing after the two volunteers. "Victory!" he exclaimed, rushing towards the original combatants, and immediately proceeding to knock young Falconer on the head with the butt of a pistol, crying at the same time to Hyland, whom he assisted to rise, "Up, brother actor and Hawk of the Hollow,--'my name is Harry Percy!' 'The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours!'" "Good God!" cried young Gilbert, bending over his adversary, "you have killed him!" "Quarter!" murmured the lieutenant, faintly, "quarter, if you be Christian men!" "Hell and furies!" cried Ephraim, thrusting the pistol into his face, "you die, were you the king's son!" and he would have killed the unlucky youth on the spot, had it not been for Hyland, who dashed the weapon out of his hand, exclaiming, "Touch him not, on your peril!--What! can you stand?" he added, addressing Falconer: "Away--you are safe. You would have taken my life--I give you yours. But, remember, Henry Falconer," he whispered in his ear, as he led him a little way, "remember _this_: you are seeking Catherine Loring against her will. If you persist, it were better for you had you never been born. Away with you, ere those come who will not be so merciful." The young officer, confused by the blow he had received, and perhaps terrified by the appearance of enemies so unexpected and of a character so incomprehensible, stole away and concealed himself among some neighbouring bushes. He heard the crash of hoofs over the avenue, as if he who had chased away the volunteers, were now returning to his unknown companions, then a murmur of voices, and finally a renewed sound of horses' feet, whereby he perceived that the midnight assailants had left the paddock. He then crept from his concealment, and made his way towards the mansion, to which, as was evident from the flashing of lights in the windows and on the porch, the alarm had been already communicated. CHAPTER IV. And I remember the chief, said the king of woody Morven: I met him, one day, on the hill; his cheek was pale; his eye was dark; the sigh was frequent in his breast; his steps were towards the desert. CARRIC-THURA.