"Spoken like a man," cried Falconer, instantly stepping off six paces on the grass, and counting them aloud as he stepped. Then turning, he added, with a furious voice, as if giving way to his passions, "Now, you rascal, prepare to fire as soon as you hear me count three; and if I don't teach you manners, you gallows dog, may I never more smell gunpowder. Ready, you rogue! fire! One,—two,—three!"
The instant the last word escaped his lips, he fired his own pistol, and Hyland staggered backwards, as if the shot had taken effect. Immediately recovering himself, however, he cried, with an agitated voice, "Let that satisfy you—I will not hurt you," and threw his own undischarged weapon away. The act of generosity was not appreciated by his rival, who, inflamed by a rage to which he seemed now to have given himself up, uttered an oath, and whipping out the sword he always carried at his side, rushed upon him, crying, "Villain, you don't escape me so easily!"
Thus attacked, and with a fury that seemed to aim at nothing short of his life, Hyland, who was entirely without arms, avoided the lunge aimed at his heart, and immediately closing with his adversary, they fell together to the ground.
In the meanwhile, the pistol-shot had reached the ears of the captain of cavalry, and one or two of the late banqueters, who were, at that moment, making their way to Gilbert's Folly, in obedience to a summons from Miss Falconer, which, although meant only for her brother, the domestic entrusted with it, had communicated, in his absence, to captain Caliver. It found that worthy gentleman, as well as all others present, somewhat incapable of understanding it; but as it related to the Hawks of the Hollow, and seemed to require the presence of the lieutenant or his friends at the mansion, it was obeyed by all, not even excepting the gallant Ephraim; although, as it afterwards appeared, this mysterious individual had, after setting out, separated from the party, which was now but three in number.
"By the eternal Jupiter!" cried Caliver, toiling and stumbling up an ascent that led to the park-gate, as the sudden explosion, followed immediately after by angry voices, broke the solemn silence of the night,—"by the eternal Jupiter, halt!—there's the tories! They're beating up the old cock's quarters!"
"Let us retreat," cried one of his attendants, "and get our horses."
"Halt—hark!" exclaimed the soldier, "there's Harry Falconer's voice! the dogs are murdering him! Prepare to charge, and hold your tongues.—Now follow me, and I'll have a whole regiment on them.—Halloo!" he cried at the top of his voice, as if really calling upon a competent force of both horse and foot; "Make bayonet work of it, you light-infantry dogs! Horsemen, over the fence, and surround the vagabonds!—No quarter!—Double quick-step, march! Charge the villains!" And with this valiant stratagem, the officer ran boldly up the hill, followed by his two companions,—though not until they had heard behind them, or fancied they heard, the clatter as of a party of horsemen descending the hill they had already left.
As Caliver rushed into the park, he again heard the voice of his friend, and rushing up, beheld, to his great amazement, the band of tories dwindled into a single individual, lying across Falconer's breast, and in the very act of transfixing him with his own weapon.
"By the eternal Jupiter! what means all this?" he cried, dragging Hyland off his prey. "What! my jolly gentleman-volunteer, hah! What means this, you absurd young cut-throats?"
"It means," cried Falconer, rising and darting at his foe with unexampled fury, "that I've nabbed a tory lieutenant, and I'll have his blood!"