“I promise you I won’t,” cried Mark.
“And I shall climb up yonder and watch you, Master Mark; and if he kills you I’ll follow him till I get him, and I’ll take him and heave him down that big hole in the mine, where the water falls.”
Mark hardly heard this, for he was hurrying over the bridge, followed by Dummy, who, as his young master went down the zigzag path, began to climb up to where he could keep watch, a sentry being higher still, where he could command the approaches to the Tor Castle.
At the bottom of the third slope, Mark came upon Ralph, who was approaching to meet him, and at a glance he saw that something terrible had happened, for the lad’s face was haggard and wild. There were smears of blood about his temples, while his face looked as if it had been washed, and some injury had bled again. In addition, a closer inspection showed that his hair had been singed off on one side, while the other was matted by dry blood.
“Why, hullo! Have you been in the wars too?”
“Help!” cried the lad, holding out his hands to him imploringly.
“Help? You come to me!” said Mark wonderingly.
“Yes, to you, mine enemy,” cried Ralph, with a wild hysterical cry. “I am humbled now—there is no one else to go to. Oh, for pity’s sake, help!”
He covered his face with his hands in his shame and agony, feeling that his manhood had gone out of him, and Mark felt that something terrible must have occurred, for a burst of hysterical sobbing escaped from the wounded lad, and he threw himself face downward upon the path.
For a moment shame and contempt reigned in Mark Eden’s breast, but they were chased away by a manly feeling of pity for the enemy who seemed to be humbling himself so before him.