He was not likely ever to forget the loud huzza, that rose ironically from the crowd, as his discomfited cuirassiers swept past on their departure.
At the moment of his dismounting, Marion had rushed into the arms of Sir Marmaduke.
“Father!” exclaimed she, joyfully, trembling in his embrace. “Saved! you are safe!”
“Safe, my child! Sure with such a brave following, I may feel safe enough!”
“And I am spared. Oh! to come at such a crisis! Just as I was on the eve of consenting to a sacrifice—painful as death itself.”
“What sacrifice, my daughter?”
“Myself—to him yonder. He promised to obtain your pardon; but only on the condition, I should become—”
Marion hesitated to pronounce the terms that Scarthe had proposed to her.
“I know them,” interposed Sir Marmaduke. “And you would have accepted them, noble girl! I know that too. Thank heaven! my pardon has been obtained, not through the favour of an enemy, but by friends—foremost among whom is this gallant gentleman by my side. But for him, the King’s grace might have come too late.”