That brave youth rushed here, there and everywhere among his bloodthirsty foes, as if he courted death itself. But no harm came to him. His life was charmed, but he knew it not. As if he had the strength of a young lion he fought his way to where Death-wing was, hand to hand with Garnet. The lieutenant was struck to the ground, and in a moment would have been despatched. Ned rushed to the rescue. He stood over the body of the fallen sailor. He confronted Death-wing face to face. The Skeleton Chief retreated a step or two in fear from Wildfire Ned. “I have tried to avoid you, but cannot,” he gasped; “wherever I go you are in my way. Retire, boy, or I’ll cleave ye in twain.” “From you! Never!” said Ned, “never, while I have health left in my body or strength to wield a sword!” With these words he rushed at the grim chief, and again their weapons clashed in deadly conflict. Sparks flew from their flashing blades. Ned was getting weaker and weaker. His legs trembled violently. He made a last blow at his fierce antagonist and fell prostrate over Garnet. Death-wing, with a laugh of triumph, raised his sword high in the air on the point of cutting Ned in two, when, with a wild shout, he rushed from the spot! His sword was knocked from his firm grip! He and his band looked with terror at the sight which then appeared. A man in armour, glittering from head to foot in polished steel, rose out of the stone flooring as if by magic. With shield and sword he was ready for the fray! Sir Richard and the sailors were struck dumb at the strange apparition, and fell back in awe. Death-wing and his Skeleton Crew hastened from the spot like shadows. Before Sir Richard and his friends could recover from their astonishment the spectre of the armed knight in dazzling armour had vanished. They were now alone. With wondering eyes they looked at one another in mute astonishment. “Is this all a dream?” gasped Sir Richard, breathing with great difficulty. No one replied. At that instant, however, all could hear the heavy tread of a mailed warrior as he clanked across the stone floor. They looked about in surprise, for now all was darkness. Their torches had been lost and extinguished in the heat and fury of battle. Again they heard the heavy clanking footsteps, and the jingle of spurs cross the stone floor, but could see nothing. They turned towards the door, through which they had found their way. There stood the spectre knight glittering in steel, and with vizor down. A long blue plume waved from his helmet. His shield was of dazzling brightness. Over his armour he wore a white tunic with a large red cross on his breast. He raised his gauntlet-covered hand on high, and pointed to the adjacent stone corridor, as he said, “Cut the victims down! Succour the wounded! Bury the dead!” And vanished!