At that moment the eyes of both guards were averted, drawn to the
terrible spectacle; and Hubert sprang upon the nearest from behind.
In a moment he had mastered the scimitar, and the next moment a
head, not Hubert's, rolled on the blood-stained pavement. He
lingered not an instant, but with the rush of a wild beast flew on
the other sentinel, a moment's clashing of blades, the skill of the
knight prevailed, and the Moslem was cleft to the chin.

"Away, slaves! one bold rush! liberty or death!"

And Hubert leapt over the wall.

He rolled down a declivity, not quite a precipice. Fortunately for
him his course was arrested by some bushes, and he was able to
guide himself to the bottom, where he descended into a deep valley,
through which a cold brook, fed from the snows of Hermon, trickled
merrily along.

He was not alone. Two or three other escaped fugitives came
crashing through the bushes, and stood by his side; but Hubert was
the only man armed. He had been able to retain the scimitar so
boldly won.

Above them the palace still blazed, and cast a lurid light, which
was reflected from the cold snowy peak of Hermon, and steeped in
ruddy glare many an inaccessible crag and precipice.

"Do any of my brethren know the country?"