“You injure yourself, Ellieslaw, by your violence, though the cause may excuse it.”

He then advanced a little before the rest, and called out, with a loud voice,—­“Stand, Mr. Earnscliff; or do you and Miss Vere advance alone to meet us.  You are charged with having carried that lady off from her father’s house; and we are here in arms to shed our best blood for her recovery, and for bringing to justice those who have injured her.”

“And who would do that more willingly than I, Mr. Mareschal?” said Earnscliff, haughtily,—­“than I, who had the satisfaction this morning to liberate her from the dungeon in which I found her confined, and who am now escorting her back to the Castle of Ellieslaw?”

“Is this so, Miss Vere?” said Mareschal.

“It is,” answered Isabella, eagerly,—­“it is so; for Heaven’s sake sheathe your swords.  I will swear by all that is sacred, that I was carried off by ruffians, whose persons and object were alike unknown to me, and am now restored to freedom by means of this gentleman’s gallant interference.”

“By whom, and wherefore, could this have been done?” pursued Mareschal.—­“Had you no knowledge of the place to which you were conveyed?—­Earnscliff, where did you find this lady?”

But ere either question could be answered, Ellieslaw advanced, and, returning his sword to the scabbard, cut short the conference.

“When I know,” he said, “exactly how much I owe to Mr. Earnscliff, he may rely on suitable acknowledgments; meantime,” taking the bridle of Miss Vere’s horse, “thus far I thank him for replacing my daughter in the power of her natural guardian.”

A sullen bend of the head was returned by Earnscliff with equal haughtiness; and Ellieslaw, turning back with his daughter upon the road to his own house, appeared engaged with her in a conference so earnest, that the rest of the company judged it improper to intrude by approaching them too nearly.  In the meantime, Earnscliff, as he took leave of the other gentlemen belonging to Ellieslaw’s party, said aloud, “Although I am unconscious of any circumstance in my conduct that can authorize such a suspicion, I cannot but observe, that Mr. Vere seems to believe that I have had some hand in the atrocious violence which has been offered to his daughter.  I request you, gentlemen, to take notice of my explicit denial of a charge so dishonourable; and that, although I can pardon the bewildering feelings of a father in such a moment, yet, if any other gentleman,” (he looked hard at Sir Frederick Langley) “thinks my word and that of Miss Vere, with the evidence of my friends who accompany me, too slight for my exculpation, I will be happy—­most happy—­to repel the charge, as becomes a man who counts his honour dearer than his life.”

“And I’ll be his second,” said Simon of Hackburn, “and take up ony twa o’ ye, gentle or semple, laird or loon; it’s a’ ane to Simon.”

“Who is that rough-looking fellow?” said Sir Frederick Langley, “and what has he to do with the quarrels of gentlemen?”