“Gad! You're right! She's with that confounded villain. My God, what's to become of her?” groaned Lord Cecil ting down suddenly and covering his with his hands.
“We must rescue her!” shouted the duke
“Brace up, Cecil! Don't be a baby. We'll storm the place.”
“Not in zis rain!” cried the count.
“You stay here in the shade and hold the horses, that 's what you do,” said the duke scornfully.
A council of war was held. From their partially sheltered position the invaders could see, by the flashes of lightning, that a path and some steps ascended the hill. The duke was for storming the house at once, but Lord Cecil argued that it would be foolish to start before the storm abated. Moreover, he explained, it would be the height of folly to attack the house until they were sure that Penelope was on the inside.
After many minutes there came a break in the violence of the storm and preparations were at once made for the climb up the hill. Deveaux was to remain behind in charge of the horses. With their bridle reins in his hands he cheerfully maintained this position of trust, securely sheltered from the full force of the elements. Right bravely did the duke and his lordship venture forth into the spattering rain. They had gone no more than three rods up the path when they were brought to a halt by the sounds of a prodigious struggle behind them. There was a great trampling of horses' hoofs, accompanied by the frantic shouts of the count.
“I cannot hold zem! Mon Dieu! Zey are mad! Ho! Ho! Help!”
He was in truth having a monstrous unpleasant time. His two friends stumbled to his assistance, but not in time to prevent the catastrophe. The three horses had taken it into their heads to bolt for home; they were plunging and pulling in three directions at the same time, the count manfully clinging to the bridle reins, in great danger of being suddenly and shockingly dismembered.
“Hold to 'em!” shouted Lord Cecil.