lm demeanour, and
fearless, if pale faces, with which these lads faced death. There
was, however, no change of purpose. The horrors that had been
perpetrated on the plains had extinguished the last spark of pity
from their breasts, and the deed that they were about to do seemed
to them one of just and praiseworthy retribution.

The man who acted as leader gave the word, and the powerful
woodsmen lifted the two lads as if they had been bundles of straw,
and advanced towards the hut.

"Goodbye, Master Rupert!"

"Goodbye, Hugh. May God receive"--when a terrible scream rent the
air, and a wild shout.

Then from the back of the crowd, two figures who had just arrived
at the spot burst their way. With piercing cries a woman with a
baby in her arms flung herself down on the ground on her knees,
between Rupert and the flames, and clasping the legs of the men who
held him, arrested their movement; while the man, with a huge club
swinging round his head, planted himself also in the way, shouting
at the top of his voice.

A mighty uproar arose; and then the leader obtained silence enough
to hear the cause of the interruption.

Then the man began, and told the tale of the restoration to life
and consciousness of his wife, and of the burial of his child, with
an eloquence and pathos that moved many of his rough audience to
tears; and when he had finished, his wife, who had been sobbing on
her knees while he spoke, rose to her feet, and told how that
morning, as she went down from the wood towards her little one's
grave, she saw Rupert ride up and dismount, and how when she
reached the place she found fresh-gathered flowers laid on her
darling's grave.

A dead hush fell upon the whole assembly. Without a word the leader
of the charcoal burners strode away into the forest, and returned
in another minute with the two horses. Rupert and Hugh wrung the
hands of the peasants to whom they owed their lives, and leapt into
the saddle.

The leader took a torch and strode on ahead along the path, to show
them their way; and the crowd, who had hitherto stood still and
silent, broke into a shout of farewell and blessing.

It was some time before either Rupert or Hugh spoke. The emotion had been
too great for them. That terrible, half hour facing death--the sudden
revulsion at their wonderful deliverance--completely prostrated them,
and they felt exhausted and weak, as if after some great exertion. On
the previous occasions in whic