Ruthven wisely decided on flight. Entering the ruined fort, he dragged himself up on the broad sill of one of the windows, and leapt upon the soft, boggy ground beneath, seized one of the horses, and galloped away. Shouts and cries were behind him; he pricked his horse with his dagger for want of spurs, and dashed among the mountains, never drawing rein until he considered himself safe from the reach of the anger of the house of Altoncroft.
"The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene and resolute and still, And calm and self-possessed."
Little did Ruthven Somervil reck that Edie Johnston, whom he had so valiantly defended, was the man who had slipped him through the portal of Hawksglen on that long-past night. Had a suspicion, even hinting at that, dawned upon him, he would have instantly sought out Edie and tried to learn from him something of his descent. With Johnston and kindred spirits he was destined to have much in common, but the question of his parentage was never mentioned in their hearing.
Ruthven found refuge at Hunterspath, a notorious Border-raiders' stronghold. The tidings he brought of the outrage on Ballinshaw, and his modest recital of the part he himself had played in recent events, won the sympathy and admiration of the mosstroopers, and he soon proved his daring before their own eyes. None was more fearless than Ruthven, no sword on all the Borders was sharper than his, and when, at the end of two years, the Chief of Hunterspath went down to his robber grave as the result of a treacherous thrust from a foeman's spear, Ruthven Somervil was hailed as his successor. To him was assigned the Captaincy by common consent, and never a man went back on his choice.
The daring life of a mosstrooper did not ill agree with Ruthven's valiant spirit. He was never more in his element than when leading his men across the English Border on some mission of pillage, and never prouder than when he withdrew into the stronghold of Hunterspath to share his spoils with his companions.
But sometimes, when alone, a kindly thought of Eleanor Elliot brought a mist to his eyes as he considered how ill-suited a Border-raider was to be a mate of such a gentle lady. From the topmost turret of his own keep he would gaze in the direction of Hawksglen, and try to discern the towers of the ancient castle where his childhood and youth had been passed.