foliage smother it; and the long wail
rang from crag to crag, as the wrongs of men echo unto the ears of God.

"Valiant damsel, what a voice thou hast! Again, and again let it strike
the skies. With them we are at peace, being persecuted here, according
to the doom of all good men. And yet I am loth to have that fair throat
strained."

It was Carver Doone who led my horse; and his horrible visage glared
into my eyes through the strange, wan light that flows between the
departure of the sinking moon and the flutter of the morning when it
cannot see its way. I strove to look at him; but my scared eyes fell,
and he bound his rank glove across my poor lips. "Let it be so," I
thought; "I can do no more."

Then, when my heart was quite gone in despair, and all trouble shrank
into a trifle, I heard a loud shout, and the trample of feet, and the
rattle of arms, and the clash of horses. Contriving to twist myself a
little, I saw that the band of the Doones were mounting a saddle-backed
bridge in a deep wooded glen, with a roaring water under them. On the
crown of the bridge a vast man stood, such as I had never descried
before, bearing no armour that I could see, but wearing a farmer's hat,
and raising a staff like the stem of a young oak tree. He was striking
at no one, but playing with his staff, as if it were a willow in the
morning breeze.

"Down with him! Ride him down! Send a bullet through him!" several of
the Doones called out, but no one showed any hurry to do it. It seemed
as if they knew him, and feared his mighty strength, and their guns were
now slung behind their backs on account of the roughness of the way.

"Charlie, you are not afraid of him," I heard that crafty Carver say to
the tallest of his villains, and a very handsome young man he was; "if
the girl were not on my horse, I would do it. Ride over him, and you
shall have my prize, when I am tired of her."

I felt the fire come into my eyes, to be spoken of so by a brute;
and then I saw Charlie Doone spur up the bridge, leaning forward and
swinging a long blade round his head.

"Down with thee, clod!" he shouted; and he showed such strength and fury
that I scarce could look at the farmer, dreading to see his great head
fly away. But just as the horse rushed at him, he leaped aside with most
wonderful nimbleness, and the rider's sword was dashed out of his grasp,
and down he went, over the back of the saddle, and his long legs spun up
in the air, as a