Abel Newt stood bareheaded, frowning under his heavy hair, his hands clenched, his face bruised and bleeding, his mouth sternly set as he looked down upon his opponent. Suddenly he heard a sound close by him--a half-smothered cry. He looked up. It was the Burt carriage, and Hope Wayne was gazing in terror from the window. CHAPTER VIII. AFTER THE BATTLE. Hiram was summoned to the door by a violent ringing of the bell. Visions of apoplexy--of--in fact, of any thing that might befall a testy gentleman of seventy-three, inclined to make incessant trips to the West Indies--rushed to his mind as he rushed to the door. He opened it in hot haste. There stood Hope Wayne, pale, her eyes flashing, her hand ungloved. At the foot of the steps was the carriage, and in the carriage sat Mrs. Simcoe, with a bleeding boy's head resting upon her shoulder. The coachman stood at the carriage door. "Here, Hiram, help James to bring in this poor boy." "Yes, miss," replied the man, as he ran down the steps. The door was opened, and the coachman and Hiram lifted out Gabriel. They carried him, still unconscious, up stairs and laid him on a couch. Old Burt could not refuse an act of mere humanity, but he said in a loud voice, "It's all a conspiracy to get into the house, Mrs. Simcoe, ma'am. I'll have bull-dogs--I'll have blunderbusses and spring-guns, Mrs. Simcoe, ma'am! And what do you mean by fighting at my gate, Sir?" he said, turning upon Little Malacca, who quivered under his wrath. "What are you doing at my gate? Can't Mr. Gray keep his boys at home? Hope, go up stairs!" said the old gentleman, as he reached the foot of the staircase. But Hope Wayne and Mrs. Simcoe remained with the patient. Hope rubbed the boy's hands, and put her own hand upon his forehead from time to time, until he sighed heavily and opened his eyes. But before he could recognize her she went out to send Hiram to him, while Mrs. Simcoe sat quietly by him. "We must put you to bed," she said, gently, "and to-morrow you may go. But why do you fight?" Gabriel turned toward her with a piteous look. "No matter," replied Mrs. Simcoe. "Don't talk. You shall tell all about it some other time. Come in, Hiram," she added, as she heard a knock. The man entered, and Mrs. Simcoe left the room after having told him to undress the boy carefully and bathe his face and hands. Gabriel was perfectly passive, Hiram was silent, quick, and careful, and in a few moments he closed the door softly behind him, and left Gabriel alone. He was now entirely conscious, but very weak. His face was turned toward the window, which was open, and he watched the pine-trees that rustled gently in the afternoon breeze. It was profoundly still out of doors and in the house; and as he lay exhausted, the events of the last few days and months swam through his mind in misty confusion. Half-dozing, half-sleeping, every thing glimmered before him, and the still hours stole by.