As they swept along the base of the mountain, and approached the knoll, they were lost to view behind the projecting angles of the low hills that formed the ravine, through which, my reader is aware, the road held its course. When they re-appeared it was in ascending the abrupt acclivity of the knoll, and within fifty paces of the party on the top of it.
It was now apparent that the approaching party consisted of Stephen Foster and three or four of the Rangers led by Horse Shoe Robinson, with Butler still seated before him, as when the sergeant first caught him up in the fight. These were at the same moment overtaken by Henry Lindsay, who had turned back from the mountain at the first announcement of victory, to bring the tidings to his sister.
Mildred's cheek grew deadly pale, and her frame shook, as the cavalcade rushed into her presence.
"There—take him!" cried Horse Shoe, with an effort to laugh, but which seemed to be half converted into a quaver by the agitation of his feelings, as, springing to the ground, he swung Butler from the horse, with scarce more effort than he would have used in handling a child; "take him, ma'am. I promised myself to-day, that I'd give him to you. And, now, you've got him. That's a good reward for all your troubles. God bless us—but I'm happy to-day!"
"My husband!—my dear husband!" were the only articulate words that escaped Mildred's lips, as she fell senseless into the arms of Arthur Butler.
CHAPTER LVIII.
THE CONCLUSION.
The victory was won. In the last assault, Campbell had reached the crest of the mountain, and the loyalists had given ground with decisive indications of defeat. Ferguson, in the hopeless effort to rally his soldiers, had flung himself into their van, but a bullet at this instant reached his heart; he fell from his seat, and his white horse, which had been conspicuous in the crowd of battle, bounded wildly through the ranks of the Whigs, and made his way down the mountain side.