“Could I but get this younker beyond their clutches,” said the stranger, “a short half hour would disperse them like the leaves in autumn.”
Colville stared at this avowal, but was silent. The conviction of Arthur, that the speaker was not what he seemed, now seized on his mind also, but it appeared to inspire him with no pleasant feeling; on the contrary, anxiety deepened on his countenance the more and more he gazed on the handsome features of his guest, and the wild shouts of the Egyptians, which he had previously heard with comparative indifference, now evidently inspired him with the deepest terror.
It was agreed at length that the boy should make the attempt. To get him out of the house, without endangering the inmates, was comparatively easy, as the Egyptians as yet stood at some distance from the door. Once out, they had only his own ready wit and speed of foot to trust to. While Colville and Arthur therefore undid with due caution the massive bars and bolts which protected the oaken door, the stranger, anxious to witness the success of his messenger, ascended to the upper storey, and stood at the open casement. He was immediately observed by the Egyptians, who set up a yell of savage impatience at the sight, the men brandishing their weapons, and the women waving their arms, as if threatening vengeance against him.
Their attention was now, however, directed from him to the youthful messenger, who approached towards them undauntedly. They went forward to meet him.
“The master sent me to see what ye’re a’ here for,” said the boy.
“Tell him,” said one of the Egyptians harshly, “we are come to demand the two strangers who have just entered his dwelling. Let him give them to our vengeance, and we will depart peaceably—not a feather or a rag of his shall be scathed by us.”
“And what if he shouldna just agree to this?” said the boy, edging towards the west, covering the manœuvre, as if retiring towards the house.
“If he refuse us, woe unto him. We will leave him neither corn nor cattle, kith nor kin; burn his house with fire, and his own red blood shall lapper on his cold hearth-stone.”
“Haith, carle, you maun tell him that yoursel,” said the boy, as with one wild bound he sprung from the group, and, with the speed of a grayhound, made for the wood.
There was a cry of disappointment burst forth from the Egyptians as they perceived his intention, and many set out in pursuit. The chase was viewed with deep interest by the inmates of the house—for Colville, Edith, and Arthur Winton had now joined the stranger. The wood was not far distant; the boy was famous for his swiftness of foot; and they could see that his pursuers were falling fast behind. To their dismay, however, they perceived at length that there was a powerful dog among the number, who continued the chase after all his human competitors had abandoned it in despair. He gained fast upon the boy. “He is lost!” said Edith, piteously; “that villanous dog will tear him to pieces.” But the event belied the maiden’s fear. Just as the ferocious animal seemed about to seize him, the boy was seen to turn upon his pursuer. The dog gave a loud howl, and fell to the ground, and the stranger could perceive his own dagger gleaming in the stripling’s hand, as he waved it in triumph o’er his head ere he disappeared among the trees.