As the bullet crashed through the lamp, and it fell to the ground, the whole scene was plunged in darkness. Varley reached up for Esmeralda, calling for her, but before he could reach her, his horse fell under him, and he heard through the din her voice crying with a sharp sound of alarm. He struggled to his feet and shouted for a light; Taffy answered the shout with a yell, and suddenly the scene was illumined by a fierce glare. Taffy had torn off his coat and set fire to it.

As Taffy waved the burning coat above his head, Varley saw Simon riding across the plain. There was something lying across the saddle in front of him, and Varley saw that it was Esmeralda. He snatched up a rifle lying beside him, and kneeling, took careful aim at Simon’s horse. The bullet whizzed past its neck, and Simon, with a yell of derision, dug his spurs into the animal’s side and tore on. Varley set his teeth hard and fired again; the bullet struck the stirrup and Simon pulled up for an instant, hesitated, then dropped Esmeralda to the ground. Varley went across the plain like a greyhound, but before he had reached her she was standing upright, and the next instant she was on his breast, sobbing and laughing hysterically.

“It is you—it is you, Esmeralda!” was all he could say for a moment or two. “I can scarcely believe my eyes. How did you come here? But there is no time for questions; I must go back!”

“Yes—yes. Go back, Varley, dear,” she panted, “I will come with you.”

“No—no,” he said, hurriedly. “Stay here; you are safe here.”

He patted her on the back encouragingly and ran back to the coach, and, of course, she followed him, although at a little distance.

The fight was nearly over when Varley reached the coach, and his reappearance put the finishing touch to it. Two of[279] the Dog’s Ear men lay stretched upon the ground; the Three Star men, breathless and perspiring, were gathered round them; the passengers were huddled together in a heap and trying to realize that this was the end of the nineteenth century; Johnson and the guard were coolly soothing and rubbing down the horses as if this little affair were quite in the ordinary way of business.

Varley ordered the two Dog’s Ear men to be taken and put inside the coach, made a roll-call of his own men, found that two were wounded, and ordered them also into the coach, then he turned to examine the passengers, to discover which was Esmeralda’s husband. As he did so he found Esmeralda at his side.

“Which is your husband?” he asked in an undertone.

She laid her hand upon his arm and turned her head aside.

“He is not here, Varley,” she said in a low voice.

He looked at her with momentary surprise; but even yet there was no time to ask questions.

“Get up into your seats, gentlemen,” he said. “The little play is over.”

One of them came forward with his hat in his hand and mopping his forehead.

“This is an outrageous business; and but for you, sir, it would have been a very serious one. But for you and your brave companions we should have been robbed and probably murdered. We desire to express our gratitude, and we should like to know the name of the gentleman to whom we are so deeply indebted.”

Johnson, the driver, lurched forward.

“You’re right, sir, every word,” he said, slowly. “If it hadn’t been for these boys, we should have been skinned of everything, and filled up with lead into the bargain. If you want to know the name of the gentleman who saved our bacon, it is Varley Howard. There ain’t many in these parts as don’t know him, and I reckon you won’t forget him in a hurry.”

The passenger held out his hand to Varley.

“Permit me to thank you, Mr. Howard,” he said, “for the great service you have rendered us. I am one of her majesty’s commissioners, and it will be my pleasant duty to bring your gallant conduct, and that of your brave followers, under the notice of the authorities.”

Varley shook the proffered hand.

“Thanks,” he said in his languid way. “We’ve enjoyed the fun. You’d better start the coach, Johnson, or you’ll[280] beat the record for unpunctuality. Get up, dear,” he said to Esmeralda in a whisper.

But she shook her head.

“Let me go with you, Varley,” she said. “I can ride behind, as I’ve often done. I’m not a bit heavier—see!”

He hesitated a moment, remembering that riding double was scarcely a proper mode of progress for a great lady; then he took her in his arms and swung her behind him.

But by this time the boys had realized the fact of her presence, and were crowding round in clamorous amazement.

“It’s Esmeralda!” shouted Taffy, as if he could not believe his eyes.

“Yes, it’s Esmeralda,” said Varley; “but don’t bother now, boys. I’ll bring her down to the Eldorado presently—”

“Yes, yes!” cried Esmeralda, stretching out her hand to them, half laughing, half crying.

—“And you’d better keep your mouths shut about her till we turn up. Off you go, Johnson! Come down to the camp when you’ve put your horses up. The boys will want to see you.”

He spoke excitedly, for Esmeralda’s presence filled him with joy. He had no idea that anything was wrong.

Johnson started the coach, touching his hat gravely to Varley, as a soldier salutes a general; the boys sent up a ringing cheer, which was answered by the passengers; then Varley put spurs to his horse.

“Are you safe, comfortable?” he asked, patting the hands clasped round him.

“Yes, yes,” Esmeralda replied. “Do you think I have forgotten how to ride? Oh, Varley, to think of it’s being you who saved us!”

“‘The long arm of coincidence,’ as the novelists say,” he said. “And now, what brings you here, Esmeralda?”

He felt her sigh.

“Wait till we get home,” she whispered.

He said no more, and they rode on over the plain, through the valley, and up the hill to the old hut.

With what commingling of emotions Esmeralda looked upon it all! Though she could not see anything distinctly, she seemed to see; for she knew every inch of the road, every tree, every curve of the upstretching hills; and they all seemed to welcome her. She could almost fancy that she had never left the beloved spot, and that all that had happened since she bid good-bye to Varley, long months ago, was but a fantastic dream; as if Miss Chetwynde, the millionairess, the Marquis of[281] Trafford, Belfayre and all its ducal splendor, had never existed, save in her imagination.

She leaned her head against Varley’s shoulder and sighed.

There was a light in the hut, and at the sound of the approaching horse, Mother Melinda came to the door with her candle held above her head. As its rays fell upon Esmeralda she uttered a shriek and dropped the candle. The next instant Esmeralda was in her arms, and the two women were sobbing, laughing, and exclaiming as only women can.

Varley tied up his horse, got a light, and managed to tear the two women apart; then he put Esmeralda into a chair, hinted to Mother Melinda that Esmeralda might be hungry, and having got the old woman into the outer hut, sat on the edge of the table and gazed at his child with a smile that did not hide his tender joy at her presence.

But he asked no questions until Esmeralda had eaten and drunk, and was leaning back in the chair with her hands folded in her lap.

“And now, my child,” he said. “Why this thusness? Where is the noble marquis, your husband?”

“Are you very glad to see me, Varley?” she said, ignoring the question.

“Well, just a little,” he replied, with a smile. “But where—”

“Do you remember our bargain, Varley?” she said. “I promised that if ever I were in trouble that I would come back to you, and you promised to take me.”

“I remember,” he said, gravely. “And you are in trouble?”

“I have come back,” she said, significantly.

“What is the trouble?” he asked. “Where is your husband?”

The color mounted to her face.

“He is not here,” she said in a low voice.

“So I see,” he remarked, dryly. “Where is he?”

“He is in England,” she said, almost inaudibly.

“And he allowed you to make this journey alone?” he asked in those ultra-quiet tones which were always so ominous with him.

“He—he did not know. I—I had left him.”

He was silent a moment, then he looked at her hand.

“Where is your wedding-ring?” he asked, as quietly as before.

She looked at her hand.

[282]

“I have left it behind me,” she said. “I—I am not his wife any longer.”

“Divorced?”

She crimsoned to her neck.

“No. I—I have only left him.”

He looked at her steadily, and then, as if he had read the answer to his unspoken question in her pure eyes, he drew a long breath.

“It was his fault, then?”

“Yes,” she said in a whisper. “Don’t ask me to tell you all, Varley. I—I couldn’t. It would be like tearing open a wound; and it would do no good. We are separated forever!”

She turned her head away from him, and he saw her lips quiver.

“Do you mean that he has been bad to you?” he asked. “Remember that I am your guardian.”

She was silent a moment. Not even to Varley could she tell the whole sordid story of her misery and humiliation.

“He—he never loved me. It was my money he wanted, and not me. You know how rich I am? I did not know the truth—I was just an ignorant girl, strange to their ways and the way they think about such things—I didn’t discover it until after we were married.”

He bent forward a little and just touched the sleeve of her dress. The tender, pitying caress almost shattered her self-restraint.

“A............