On reaching the rock he advanced towards the strangers, both of whom were stout, thickset men, with grave, stern countenances.  One of them stepped forward and said, “Your name is——­”

“Ruby Brand,” said the youth promptly, at the same time somewhat proudly, for he knew that he was in the hands of the Philistines.

The man who first spoke hereupon drew a small instrument from his pocket, and tapping Ruby on the shoulder, said—­

“I arrest you, Ruby Brand, in the name of the King.”

The other man immediately stepped forward and produced a pair of handcuffs.

At sight of these Ruby sprang backward, and the blood rushed violently to his forehead, while his blue eyes glared with the ferocity of those of a tiger.

“Come, lad, it’s of no use, you know,” said the man, pausing; “if you won’t come quietly we must find ways and means to compel you.”

“Compel me!” cried Ruby, drawing himself up with a look of defiance and a laugh of contempt, that caused the two men to shrink back in spite of themselves.

“Ruby,” said the foreman, gently, stepping forward and laying his hand on the youth’s shoulder, “you had better go quietly, for there’s no chance of escape from these fellows.  I have no doubt it’s a mistake, and that you’ll come off with flyin’ colours, but it’s best to go quietly whatever turns up.”

While Logan was speaking, Ruby dropped his head on his breast, the officer with the handcuffs advanced, and the youth held out his hands, while the flush of anger deepened into the crimson blush of shame.

It was at this point that Jamie Dove, wondering at the prolonged absence of his friend and assistant, looked down from the platform of the beacon, and beheld what was taking place.  The stentorian roar of amazement and rage that suddenly burst from him, attracted the attention of all the men on the rock, who dropped their tools and looked up in consternation, expecting, no doubt, to behold something terrible.

Their eyes at once followed those of the smith, and no sooner did they see Ruby being led in irons to the boat, which lay in Port Hamilton, close to Sir Ralph the Rover’s Ledge, than they uttered a yell of execration, and rushed with one accord to the rescue.

The officers, who were just about to make their prisoner step into the boat, turned to face the foe,—­one, who seemed to be the more courageous of the two, a little in advance of the other.

Ned O’Connor, with that enthusiasm which seems to be inherent in Irish blood, rushed with such irresistible force against this man that he drove him violently back against his comrade, and sent them both head over heels into Port Hamilton.  Nay, with such momentum was this act performed, that Ned could not help but follow them, falling on them both as they came to the surface and sinking them a second time, amid screams and yells of laughter.