She could not suppress that one cry of fright which burst from her lips.  But there was only one, she stilled the others and tried at once to control the trembling of her knees under his head.  The dove will sit still when a cruel hand comes close to her nest; but no living creature has the courage of the gentlest woman when the man she loves is helpless—­through no lack of strength or courage in himself—­and in danger.  The things which timid women have done then, stand among the bravest that have ever been set down to the credit of humanity.  Believing that some hideous, unknown peril was sweeping upon them, this mere slip of a girl now bent quietly over the prone head and spoke close to the deaf ear without thinking whether or not it could hear.

“There, dear heart, there!  Never mind.  All is well.  Lie still, or your wound will bleed.  We are here, Father Orin and I. We will take care of you.  Only lie still.”

Two horsemen were now in sight and they were spurring straight toward Anvil Rock.  While they were yet a long way off, Ruth felt, rather than saw, that one of them was David.  She told the priest who it was, and they both knew that only a friend could be coming with the boy.  Her whole form relaxed under the relief.  If Paul could but open his eyes, if his breath would but come a little more quickly, and a little less faintly!  Her tears were falling on his still, white face, now that there was no further need for self-control, or courage.  She steadied her voice, and told the story as clearly as she could, when Father Orin asked again how she came to be in such a place, and what it was that had led to the wounding of Paul Colbert.

While she was speaking the horsemen reached them, and they saw that the man with David was the attorney-general.  He hurriedly knelt down by his friend’s side.  He did not ask what had happened.  He had already gathered much of the truth from what the boy had told him.  He knew that Paul Colbert lay there, badly wounded, dying perhaps, in his place.  He was too much moved at first to speak.

“He knew that I was coming alone over this road to-night.  He suspected a plot to waylay me, too late to warn me.  When he could not do that he came to share the danger.  It was like him,” he said when he found voice.

He took the nerveless hand and held it a moment in silence, and then he laid it gently down and stood up, looking about through the moonlight, toward the cypress swamp and Duff’s Fort.

“But why did the scoundrels run away before finishing their infamous work?  And where is the doctor’s horse?  Ah!  They have stolen that, of course.  Which way did they go?  Did you see or hear them, Father?”

“No; Toby and I were too far off,” the priest replied.  “We were coming back from a sick call.  It was too dark to see.  The first and only sound I heard was Ruth’s voice, calling Philip Alston’s name.”

“Oh!—­I begin to understand,” said the attorney-general.