r than let the helpless child fall into the
clutches of these fierce men, goaded now to madness by the opposition
they had met with.

Hark! what was that? It was a shout, a hail, and then the familiar call
of the Dynevor brothers rang through the still air.

"La-ha-boo!"

It was Griffeth's voice. He had come at last. It was plain that the foe
had heard, and had paused; for if they were menaced from another
quarter, it was time to think of their own safety.

Summoning up all his strength, Wendot sent back an answering hail, and
the next moment there was the sound of fierce voices and the clashing of
weapons overhead on the summit of the cliff; and in quick, urgent
accents Wendot's foes were ordered to retreat, as there was treachery
somewhere, and they had been betrayed.

Wendot saw his antagonists lower their weapons, and return the way they
had come, with fearful backward glances, lest their boy foe should be
following them. But he had no wish to do that. He was spent and
exhausted and maimed. He turned backwards towards the safer shelter of
the little alcove, and sank down beside the trembling child, panting,
bleeding, and almost unconscious.

CHAPTER IV. WENDOT'S REWARD.

"Father, father, father!"

The shrill, glad cry broke from the lips of little Gertrude almost at
the same moment as Wendot sank at her feet, spent and fainting; and the
lad, making a great effort, opened his dim eyes to see the tall form of
the English noble stooping over his little daughter, gathering her in
his arms with a gesture of passionate endearment.

Wendot fancied he must be dreaming; perhaps it was all a strange,
terrible dream: everything was swimming before his eyes in a sort of
blood-coloured mist. He gave up the effort to try to disentangle the
maze in which he seemed to be moving, and was sinking into
unconsciousness again when a sharp cry from his brother aroused him.

"Wendot, Wendot! -- O father, see --they have killed him!"

"Nay, lad, not that. Here, let me get to him.

"Griffeth, run thou and tell the fellows to let down ropes from above to
draw him up. He cannot return along that narrow ledge. He and the child
had best be drawn up by those above. Tell them to lose no time. The boy
must be taken home to his mother's care. This narrow ledge is growing
like an oven. Bid one of the men run to the brook for a draught of water."

Wendot's lips framed themselves to the word "water" as he heard it
spoken. If