Otmar was about to speak, when the noise of several persons advancing into the alley with rapid steps, caused the heads of all parties to turn in that direction. A troop of five or six men, with drawn swords, and black masks upon their faces, rushed violently upon them.
"Seize her! It is she!" cried a tall man, who appeared the leader of the party, as he darted forward.
A violent scream issued from the mouth of the female—exclamations of alarm, and shouts of rescue from those of her companions. Otmar instinctively drew his sabre with cry of rage, and the next moment all was skirmish and confusion.
"Ruffian!" exclaimed the young Hungarian, attacking the taller mask, who had now seized with rude grasp the hand of the female, and causing him, by the violence of the onset, to let go his hold.
"Ha! he once more! God's curse on him!" cried the leader, parrying the attack as best he might, whilst he endeavoured to regain possession of the lady.
"Let her not escape! let her not escape!" he shouted again to his followers, finding himself hardly pressed upon. "I will dispatch this fellow, on whom I reckoned not." And he, in his turn, attacked Otmar with fury.
Even in the midst of the skirmish, the young man could not resist seeking the lady with his eye; and he could dimly perceive, in the darkness and confusion, that she had taken refuge with the ecclesiastic, whilst her companion was making desperate efforts with his French small-sword, to keep at bay the other assailants. But his unwary solicitude had wellnigh cost him his life. A plunge of his adversary's sword passed through his attila, and slightly grazed his side. The next moment his own sabre descended on to the shoulder of the man with whom he was engaged, with sufficient effect, although the blow was evaded, to disable him for the moment, and cause him to stagger back.
Profiting by this circumstance, Otmar rushed upon the other ravishers, and came up at the very instant when, overpowered by numbers, the companion of the lady had lost all power of any longer protecting her retreat, and preventing their object of seizing on her. Attacking then with fury, and dealing several severe wounds, he succeeded in turning their attention chiefly to himself.
Thus desperately engaged in a most unequal combat, he heard the step and voice of his first antagonist from behind. A dagger already gleamed over his head, when suddenly a heavy blow resounded, and his assailant staggered and fell to the ground. In a few moments more he had contrived to disperse the other ruffians, who, wounded and alarmed, now took to flight. When he turned, he found his old Farkas standing over the prostrate body of his first foe.
"I could not leave my lord," cried the old domestic, brandishing a stout stick: which he had snatched up. "And, teremtette! I was right, whatever you may say. But I have done for one of the rascals, eb adta! and just at the right nick too!"