On the ground there lay a dark figure, and behind the struggling group Reuben's mare reared and plunged in sympathy with her master's peril.

As I rushed down, shouting and waving my sword, the assailants took flight down a side street, save one, a tall sinewy swordsman, who rushed in upon Reuben, stabbing furiously at him, and cursing him the while for a spoil-sport.

To my horror I saw, as I ran, the fellow's blade slip inside my friend's guard, who threw up his arms and fell prostrate, while the other with a final thrust dashed off down one of the narrow winding lanes which lead from East Street to the banks of the Tone.
'For Heaven's sake where are you hurt ?' I cried, throwing myself upon my knees beside his prostrate body.

'Where is your injury, Reuben ?' 'In the wind, mostly,' quoth he, blowing like a smithy bellows; 'likewise on the back of my pate.

Give me your hand, I pray.' 'And are you indeed scathless ?' I cried, with a great lightening of the heart as I helped him to his feet.