“Cut the villains down!” he shouted.

“Stop!” Desmond cried, in a loud voice.  “I am an officer of O’Brien’s regiment of foot.  I heard a scream, and a woman’s cry for help, and, fearing that foul play was going on, I made my entry here.”

The man, who had drawn his sword, paused.

“You have done wrong, sir.  The cries you heard were those of a mad woman.  You had better withdraw at once.  I shall report you, tomorrow, for having forcibly made an entrance into private premises.”

“That you are perfectly at liberty to do,” Desmond replied quietly; “but certainly I shall not withdraw, until I see this lady, and ascertain from herself whether your story is a true one.”

“Then your blood be on your own head!” the man said.

“At them, men! you know your orders—­to kill anyone who attempted to interfere with us, no matter what his rank.”

The five men rushed together upon the intruders.

“Hold the gate, Mike,” Desmond said, “and they cannot get behind us.”

They stepped back a pace or two, and drew their swords.  The position was a favourable one, for the two halves of the gate opened inwards, and so protected them from any but an attack in front.  The leader rushed at Desmond, but the latter guarded the sweeping blow he dealt at him, and at the first pass ran him through the body; but the other four men, enraged rather than daunted by the fall of their leader, now rushed forward together, and one of them, drawing a pistol, fired at Desmond when within three paces.

The latter threw his head on one side, as he saw the pistol levelled.  The action saved his life, for it was well aimed, and the bullet would have struck him full between the eyes.  As it was, he felt a sharp sudden pain, as it grazed his cheek deeply.  He sprang forward, and before the man could drop the pistol and change his sword from the left hand to the right, Desmond’s weapon pierced his throat.  At the same moment, Mike cut down one of his assailants with his sabre, receiving, however, a severe cut on the left shoulder from the other.

Paralysed at the loss of three of their number, the remaining two of the assailants paused, for a moment.  It was fatal to one of them, for Mike snatched his pistol from his pocket, and shot the man who had wounded him, dead.  The other threw down his sword, and fell upon his knees, crying for mercy.

“Shall I kill him, your honour?”

“No.  Fasten his hands behind him, with his own belt; and bind his ankles tightly together, with that of one of his comrades.”

He paused, while Mike adroitly carried out his instructions.

“Now we will see what this is all about,” Desmond said.  “I don’t suppose that there are any more of them in the house.  Still, we may as well keep our swords in readiness.”

Picking up one of the torches that had fallen from their assailants’ hands, and holding it above his head with his left hand, while his right held his sword ready for action, Desmond entered the house.  The sitting rooms on both sides of the hall were empty, but, upon entering the kitchen, he found an old woman crouching in a corner, in the extremity of fear.