“She saved us, sir. We had dwelt there like fools. We had waited anxiously for your return; and at last, when hope was failing us, Sir David set off in your tracks, fought his way to the lodge, and came within view of the truth. He saw the villains all about the place, and had much ado to keep himself secret. But he managed to steal back unobserved; and all that afternoon till dark one or other of us was posted in the wood watching for your return. And so the night shut upon us again, and we tried to comfort ourselves with the assurance that you had had warning, had evaded the enemy, and had made your way round to the house by a circuitous path. Sir, when this good girl saved us, and we came to know you had probably fallen into Fern’s hands, I think there was none in the world more broken-hearted than Dennis Whimple.” “Good fellow! But who gave you confirmation of the truth?” “Fern himself, sir--the bloody villain himself. He came before the house at noon to-day, with a flag of truce--that Sir David would respect, though the captain desired to shoot him then and there--and told us that he had you a prisoner. Now Sir David would not let him know that we three was returned, hoping thereby to tempt him and his band to venture themselves to their destruction--as they already deemed the little garrison to be innocent of fighting men--and he sent one of the grooms to parley. And Fern promised this man one of his master’s members for every refusal of the stone he should receive. This, Captain Luvaine regarded as an idle menace; but later, some one looking out of the window saw in a snow-drift against the drive-end a pole posted; and nailed to the top of this was a horrible fragment, and underneath a paper, with ‘Tuke’s right ear’ written bold thereon.” Betty shuddered in the arms of her dear knight. “’Twas a beastly act,” he said sternly, “for which, if I live, that bitter scoundrel shall pay in full. And you believed it?” “Sir David was for sallying forth at once by way of this passage; but he was over-ridden, and it was judged wiser to make the attempt at rescue by night. Then comes Betty, sir, and claims the post of danger for her woman’s wit--and, and----” “Mr. Whimple must squire me for love of his master. And we prevailed, and here is your honour, and--oh! my love--my only love!” And Betty gave full vent to her tears at last--though she cried very silently, like a thoughtful girl. Now, it must not be supposed that throughout this explanation Mr. Tuke’s devoted members were in full vigour of speech and hearing. He asked and listened and answered, indeed, in a manner of tender emotion; but he must lean against the tunnel wall for support of his trembling limbs the while, and his voice was so weak that sometimes it was barely audible. Suddenly, however, he pulled himself up with a jerk as if a shot had struck him, and, “God in heaven!” he cried--“the girl--Darda!” A surprised pause followed.