"Where is your messenger, Keith?"
"There he goes, sire. He is well out of the valley now and, by the pace he is riding at, he won't be long before he reaches them."
"He won't reach them at all," the king said curtly, a minute later. "See, there is a squadron of horse riding out from Lobositz, to cut him off. No doubt they guess what his errand is."
"I see them, sire, and he must see them, too. He is checking his horse, for his orderly is coming up to him."
"Then the cavalry will be lost," the king said. "The enemy's batteries are playing havoc with them, and they will have the Austrians down upon them in a few minutes.
"Ah! I expect Gorlitz sees them now. Our men are halting, and forming up. I suppose he means to charge the Austrians when they come up, but there are three to one against him. He is lost."
"There is hope yet, sire," Keith said, as he again turned his glass on Fergus. "My aide-de-camp is going to charge the Austrian squadron."
"So he is!" the king exclaimed, lowering his glass, for the distance was little more than half a mile from the spot where he stood. "He must be mad."
"It is possible he may do it, sire. His orderly is riding boot to boot beside him. You know already that he is a good swordsman. He will have the advantage that the enemy won't dream of his attacking them, and the rate at which they are riding will help them through.
"There he goes!" and he raised the glass again to his eye. "Bravo! They are through the first troop, and still together. Now they are at it.