"Huzza! we have them--we have them!" cried the voice of Harry Martin.--"In God's name, leave him to me, Sir Morley.--You look to the lady."
But as he spoke, two of Lieberg's hired ruffians rushed up, in that picturesque, and never-to-be-mistaken costume which the Italian bandits have affected, with the ribands on their hats floating wildly in the gale, and their long guns carried easily in their hands.
"We cannot help you," they cried--"we cannot help you, they are too many for us. Bertolo is down, and so is Marino."
"But strike one stroke," exclaimed Lieberg, furiously; "here are but three before us."
"But there are twenty behind," answered one of the men. "However, here goes;" and raising his gun to his shoulder, he fired.
His companion followed his example the very moment after, and instantly one of their opponents went down, horse and man together. Another horse reared and plunged, but darted forward again with a staggering pace, and the horseman finding that the beast was wounded, sprang to the ground, and cast away the rein. The other man, who had fallen also, started up, and two of Lieberg's companions each taking a separate way, turned and fled. The man who still remained mounted, was turning his rein to pursue them, but the voice of Morley Ernstein stopped him, exclaiming--"This way--this way! There stands the villain himself. I know him but too well."
"This for you, Sir Morley Ernstein," shouted Lieberg, levelling a pistol, and firing at the same moment.
Morley staggered back, but the ball, discharged from too great a distance, only hurt him slightly, and the next moment he darted forward again.
"Shall I kill her?" cried the Italian, who stood beside Lieberg.
His master paused for a single instant, then caught Helen up again in his arms, asking "The cliff is near, is it not?" and without waiting a reply, he ran with the swiftness of lightning up the side of the hill. The moon was now shining clear, as I have said, and the whole party beheld and followed him. The man on horseback contrived to turn him once, as a greyhound does a hare, but neither Morley nor Harry Martin, though by their companion's manœuvre they gained upon him considerably, dared to fire for fear of hitting Helen.