“By the living God, it is a woman,” said Gervase, grappling blindly and eagerly at the holster.
“Softly, what would you--what have we to do with women?”
“Follow me, follow me, for God´s sake, as speedily as you can,” Gervase cried, dashing his unarmed heels into the horse´s flank, and giving him free head.
Away went the brave steed thundering down the steep road, as Gervase gave a great shout and flourished the long pistol above his head. Macpherson watched his breakneck career down the hill for a few seconds, and then proceeded to follow him with the best speed that he could make.
“I would not lose the youth or my good horse for all the women in Christendom. This is but the beginning of trouble, and it begins with a woman.”
Hearing the shout, the swordsman had turned his head for a moment, and at that instant one of his assailants sprang within his guard, and plunged his skene deep into his breast. With one last convulsive effort the wounded man struck his opponent fair in the face with the sword hilt, and they both dropped on the road together. Seeing Gervase approaching, the ruffians appeared to doubt whether they should take to flight or await his attack, but while they were making up their minds, Gervase was on the top of them.
Reserving his fire until he was among them, he discharged his pistol pointblank at the head of one fellow with deadly effect, and riding down another, wrenched the half-pike from his hand. Then they were utterly panic-stricken and fled right and left, leaving Gervase master of the situation.
Meanwhile the young lady had risen to her feet, and was standing looking in wonder at her unexpected deliverer, who had reined up his horse, and was watching the fugitives[fugitives] as if in doubt whether to follow them or to allow them to depart unpursued. Then Gervase turned towards her and raising his hat, was silent for a moment.
She was only a girl in years, but of a sweet and stately figure and striking beauty. Her abundant hair loosed from its confinement, streamed in disorder over her shapely shoulders, and fell in thick folds to her waist. Her lips were trembling and her cheeks were blanched and colourless, but her great, dark eyes looked with a steady and courageous glance. There was no sign of fear in the sweet face--only a high, resolute courage. Her scarf had been torn from her shoulders, and showed too much of her white and heaving bosom. Instinctively she put up her hand to cover it.
“I fear,” said Gervase, hat in hand, “that I have come too late to save this gallant fellow from these wretched cowards. But I am glad that I was still in time to render you some service. Haply,” he continued, dismounting from his horse, “the wound may not be fatal, and something may still be done.”