In the eddying water that swirled and boiled as in a cauldron at the base of the cataract he saw one of the stag hounds struggling, trying vainly to keep its head above the surface; but nowhere Kenric, nowhere even the stag.  He lay down upon the rock and drew himself to its edge that he might look below into the water at its base.  But the water rushed past in bubbling sweep, and yet there was no sign.

Then, still in hope that he might yet find the young king, he rose to his feet and threw himself headlong into the linn.  Deep, deep he sank, and the strong undercurrent tossed about him, seized him in its fearful grip, and swept him downward in its course.  Rising to the surface he tried with all his strength to swim against the current to the spot where Kenric had fallen in.

Not long had he thus endeavoured when his strength failed him.  He felt himself being drawn under.  It came to be a matter of saving his own life now —­ saving it that he might live to carry the sad news home to Rothesay.  So he turned round with the stream and swam towards a great flat rock in mid-current.  As he neared it a strange sight met his eyes.

On the rock was the dead stag.  A stream of crimson blood trickled down from its broad chest, staining the white rock.  Sitting upon the stag, with folded arms and dripping hair, and eyes fixed in dreamy admiration upon the tumbling waters of the White Lady Falls, was Kenric the king.  The great cataract curled over the topmost rocks in a smooth brown volume, turned into pure white foam as it fell and bounded with roaring noise into the deep chasm below.  A cloud of spray rose from the depths, and where the sunbeams crossed it there was a beautiful arc of light showing all the colours of the rainbow.  Kenric seemed to be lost in contemplation of the wild scene.

Suddenly he turned his head and looked up the frowning hillside.  Above the noise of the falling water he had heard his name called.  He stood up, and holding on with one hand to the stag’s spreading antler, with the other he shaded his eyes and searched for a sign of Allan Redmain.  The goat track was hidden from his view; but at the spot where he had first seen the stag running he now saw a party of five men, who, with their leader, Sir Piers de Currie, were following the trail of the wounded animal.

Kenric then knelt against the dead stag, and, thrusting his fingers into his mouth, gave a shrill whistle.

At that moment Allan Redmain clambered upon the rock at his side, emptied his horn of the water that was in it, and blew as lusty a blast as his enfeebled breath could send forth.

Kenric started back at the sound like one who had seen a ghost, for he had known nothing of Allan’s movements until this moment.  But now he quickly understood what his friend had done for his sake, and he put his hand upon Allan’s shoulder lovingly.

Within a little while the two lads were rescued from their perilous situation.  With the help of the ropes that the men of Ranza had brought to bind the deer upon their ponies’ backs, first Kenric, then the dead stag, and lastly Allan Redmain, were taken off the rock.  The two hounds were, however, lost.