ted. The struggle was not doubtful for a moment.
Six of the negroes were cut down, and the rest fled.

"Don't pursue them, men," Frank shouted; and the sailors at once
drew off, but Dominique and his black boatmen still pursued hotly,
overtaking and cutting down three more of their assailants.

"All is over for the present," Frank said, going to the spot where
Bertha and Anna were crouching. "Not one of us is hurt as far as I
know, and we have accounted for sixteen or seventeen of these
rascals."

Bertha got up. She was a little pale, but perfectly calm and quiet.

"It is horrid, being hidden like that when you are all fighting,
Frank," she said, reproachfully.

"We were hidden, too, till they came at us," he said; "and very
lucky it was, for some of us would probably have been hit, bad
shots though they are."

"No, Frank, not before all these men," she remonstrated.

"What do I care for the men?" he laughed. "Do you think if they had
their sweethearts with them they would mind who was looking on?

"There, I must be content with that for the present. We must push
on again."

Dominique had returned now with his men, and the party started
again at a trot, as soon as the firearms had all been reloaded.

"We shan't have any more trouble, shall we?" Bertha asked.

"Not for the present," he said. "We have fairly routed the blacks
who came here with you, and the villagers, and they certainly won't
attack us again until they are largely reinforced; which they
cannot be until we get down towards the sea, for there are no
villages of any size in the hills."

After keeping up the pace for a mile, Frank ordered the men to drop
into a walk again.

"Now, Frank, about my mother?" Bertha asked again as soon as she
had got her breath; and Frank related all that had taken place up
to the time that the Osprey sailed.

"Then she is all alone in town? It must be terrible for her,
waiting there without any news of me. It is a pity that she did not
go home. It would not have mattered about me, and it would have
been so much better for her among her old friends. They would all
have sympathised with her so much."

"I quite agreed with her, Bertha, and think still that it was
better that she should stay in London. I am sure the sympathy would
do her harm rather than good. As it is, now she will be kept up by
the belief that she is doing all in her power for you, by saving
you from the hideous amount of talk and chatter there