"I think that he will live, young master," the old woman said in a quavering, high-pitched voice. "'Tis hard to kill an Armstrong. They have ever been a hardy race and, save the lad's father, have ever been prone to the giving and taking of blows. I watched by his grandfather's bed, when he was in as sore a strait as this; but he came round, and was none the worse for it, though the blow would have killed any man with a softer skull.
"A curse upon the Bairds, I say. They have ever been a race of thieves and raiders, and it is their doings that have brought trouble on the border, as long as I can remember."
"Has any gone to bear the news to Adam Armstrong, father?"
"Yes. I sent off a messenger on horseback, as soon as they had gone. Adam left early, and the man will meet him on his way back."
Half an hour later, indeed, Adam Armstrong rode in. Oswald met him outside. His face was set and hard, and Oswald would scarce have recognized the kindly, genial man who had always received him so heartily.
"There are hopes that he will live," Oswald said.
There was a slight change in the expression of Armstrong's face.
"'Tis well," he said, "that one should be saved, to take revenge for this foul business. All the others are gone."
"I hope we may rescue my cousins."
"We might as well try to rescue a young lamb, that had been carried off by an eagle," he said bitterly. "Even could an archer send a shaft through the bird's breastbone, the lamb would be bleeding and injured, beyond all hope, ere it touched the ground. We may revenge, Oswald, but I have no hope of rescue."