Under the direction of Megret and Arwed, the preparations for breaking
up the nest of robbers were made with great ability and circumspection.
The ten dragoons stationed at Umea were privately summoned to
Gyllensten, and the neighboring peasantry, who were collected together
under the pretext of a grand wolf-hunt, were distributed among them and
the governor's foresters and gamekeepers. The little force thus
collected, numbering about eighty men, were divided into two commands
under Megret and Arwed, and started the next night in many separate
divisions, which, though connected by patroles, presented no one
conspicuous mass which could excite the suspicions of the brigands.
Whilst Megret proceeded in this manner directly towards Ravensten,
Arwed sought to reach the other side of the rocks by a circuitous
route, so as to cut off any attempted retreat to the neighboring
mountains. The movement was successfully accomplished. Just before
sun-rise the two divisions almost simultaneously reached the foot of
the Ravensten, and slowly and cautiously ascended the narrow rocky
passes. They arrived at the summit without meeting with any
obstruction. There, one of the robber sentinels, being aroused, made a
stand and shot down one of the dragoons by Arwed's side. The shot not
only awakened the winged denizens of Ravensten, who rose affrighted and
screaming into the air, but also occasioned a movement in the towers,
and about twenty of the half naked brigands rushed out with such arms
as they could first seize in the confusion of the moment, and fell upon
the assailants. The strife was furious on both sides, but victory
finally inclined in favor of the greater number of the assailing
party;--want of experience was compensated by the circumspection and
bravery of their leaders, and the brigands were yielding ground, when a
small, fresh band, came forth to the battle and renewed the fight. At
their head was a tall, well-formed man, with a dark-colored face, who
first fired his pistols among the assailants, and then with great fury
fell upon the peasants, sword in hand, 'That is Black Naddock!'
they cried, every where retreating before him. The dragoons and
foresters, however, kept their ground, and the battle raged with
increased fierceness.
'That is the man who saved my life on the road to Tornea!' cried Arwed
to Megret.
'It is Mac Donalbain, artificially blackened!' exclaimed the latter
with envenomed scorn, attempting to fight his way to his hated rival;
but some of the brigands threw themselves before him, and kept him
fully employed; whilst Arwed constantly pressed nearer and nearer to
the blackamoor, and soon discovered the well-known features through his
disguise.
'Yield, Mac Donalbain, the victory is ours!' cried Arwed, attacking
him.
'It is better to die by the sword of a brave nobleman than upon the
scaffold!' exclaimed Mac Donalbain, suddenly exposing his uncovered
breast to Arwed's blade.
'God forbid!' cried Arwed, checking the descending blow. 'I am no
murderer!' But at that moment Megret, having disencumbered himself of
his troublesome opponents, hurled the Scot to the earth.
'At last!' triumphantly exclaimed Megret, setting his foot upon the
breast of his fallen foe and slowly raising his sword for the
death-stroke with an infernal smile....
At that moment a woman in a peasant's dress and with a child in her
arms, rushed forward with an agonizing shriek. Wildly floated the rich
blond locks about her white forehead, which strangely contrasted with
the bloom of the rosy faced infant. 'Christine!' cried the terrified
Arwed.
'Mercy!' shrieked the unhappy woman. 'Mercy for my husband, for the
father of this child!'
'You know not what you ask, madam Mac Donalbain!' said Megret,
scornfully. 'Whoever is well disposed towards you and your house,
cannot do a better thing than speedily to help you to a widow's veil.'
He aimed a blow,--but Arwed opportunely struck up his sword and forced
him back.
'Mac Donalbain is a prisoner!' cried the youth with noble indignation.
'From this moment he stands under the protection of the law, to which
he is amenable, and you have no right to take his life.'
'Ah, Arwed, you are indeed always yourself!' sobbed Christine, falling
at his feet with her child.
'Such generous subtlety,' said Megret, putting up his sword, 'becomes
loathsome to me when practically applied in the important affairs of
life.'
'In this case, generosity is more cruel than malignity!' cried Mac
Donalbain, closing his eyes from exhaustion by loss of blood.
Meantime the right had fully conquered. Fifteen of the robbers had
fallen in the fight, and seven had madly thrown themselves from the
summit and found the death they hoped to escape, upon the sharp cliffs
of Ravensten. The remainder, twelve in number, struck with terror by
the fall of their chief, threw down their arms and begged for mercy.
Whilst Megret caused the prisoners to be bound together in couples, Mac
Donalbain was by Arwed's direction conveyed into the lower vault of the
tower, and his wounds taken care of.
Arwed then turned to Christine, who had followed them to the tower.
'Wretched woman,' cried he, grasping her powerfully, 'where is thy
father?'
Christine pointed speechlessly to a corner of the cave-like room, and
then threw herself in silent wretchedness upon Mac Donalbain's couch of
sorrow.
Arwed hastened to the designated spot, found and sprung a trap door
there, which opened into the rocky cellar of the castle. A long,
winding staircase conducted him to a subterranean but well lighted
room, where, still paler and weaker than when he last saw him, his poor
old uncle met his view.
'My son! my preserver!' cried the old man, with outspread arms.
'Thank God, my object is accomplished!' exclaimed Arwed, with heartfelt
joy. 'Yet once more has my melancholy existence been rendered really
useful in the world.'
'Alas, that it has been accomplished!' cried the uncle with deep
despondency, 'Rather would I have found, here an unknown and unhonored
grave, than meet the overwhelming shame which must henceforth rest upon
my noble name in my native land!'