The Missing Bride. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

her fate!

      "Ha! ha! ha! as pretty a little make-believe as ever I saw!" laughed the brutal Thorg, now perfectly at his ease, and gloating over her beauty, and helplessness, and, deadly terror. "As pretty a little sham as ever I saw!"

      "It was no sham! She couldn't sham! I drawed out the shot unbeknownst to her! I wish, I does, my fingers had shriveled and dropped off afore they ever did it!" exclaimed Oliver, in a passion of remorse, as he ran forward, rake in hand.

      He was quickly thrown down and disarmed—no one had any hesitation in dealing with him.

      "Now then, my fair!" said Thorg, moving toward his victim.

      Edith was now wild with desperation—her eyes flew wildly around in search of help, where help there seemed none. Then she turned with the frenzied impulse of flying.

      But the men surrounded to cut off her retreat.

      "Nay, nay, let her run! Let her run! Give her a fair start, and do you give chase! It will be the rarest sport! Fox-hunting is a good thing, but girl-chasing must be the very h—l of sport, when I tell you—mind, I tell you, men—she shall be the exclusive prize of him who catches her!" swore the remorseless Thorg.

      Edith had gained the back door.

      They started in pursuit.

      "Now, by the living Lord that made me, the first man that lays hands on her shall die!" suddenly exclaimed the young ensign, wresting his sword from the hand of the corporal, springing between Edith and her pursuers, flashing out the blade, and brandishing it in the faces of the foremost.

      He was but a stripling, scarcely older than Edith's self—the arm that wielded that slender blade scarcely stronger than Edith's own—but the fire that flashed from the eagle eye showed a spirit to rescue or die in her defense.

      Thorg threw himself into the most frantic fury—a volley of the most horrible oaths was discharged from his lips.

      "Upon that villain, men! Beat him down! Slay him! Pin him to the ground with your bayonets! And then! do your will with the girl!"

      But before this fiendish order could be executed, ay, before it was half spoken, whirled into the yard a body or about thirty horsemen, galloping fiercely to the rescue with drawn swords and shouting voices.

      They were nearly three times the number of the foraging soldiers.

CHAPTER III.

       Table of Contents

      YOUNG AMERICA IN 1814.

      Young students of the neighboring academy—mere boys of from thirteen to eighteen years of age, but brave, spirited, vigorous lads, well mounted, well armed, and led on by the redoubtable college hero, Cloudesley Mornington. They rushed forward, they surrounded, they fell upon the marauders with an absolute shower of blows.

      "Give it to them, men! This for Fanny! This for Edith! And this! and this! and this for both of them!" shouted Cloudesley, as he vigorously laid about him. "Strike for Hay Hill and vengeance! Let them have it, my men! And you, little fellows! Small young gentlemen, with the souls of heroes, and the bodies of elves, who can't strike a very hard blow, aim where your blows will tell! Aim at their faces. This for Fanny! This for Edith!" shouted Cloudesley, raining his strokes right and left, but never at random.

      He fought his way through to the miscreant Thorg.

      Thorg was still on foot, armed with a sword, and laying about him savagely among the crowd of foes that had surrounded him.

      Cloudesley was still on horseback—he had caught up an ax that lay carelessly upon the lawn, and now he rushed upon Thorg from behind.

      He had no scruple in taking this advantage of the enemy—no scruple with an unscrupulous monster—an outlawed wretch—a wild beast to be destroyed, when and where and how it was possible!

      And so Cloudesley came on behind, and elevating this formidable weapon in both hands, raising himself in his stirrups and throwing his whole weight with the stroke, he dealt a blow upon the head of Thorg that brought him to the earth stunned. From the impetus Cloudesley himself had received, he had nearly lost his saddle, but had recovered.

      "They fly! They fly! By the bones of Caesar, the miscreants fly! After them, my men! After them! Pursue! pursue!" shouted Cloudesley, wheeling his horse around to follow.

      But just then, the young British officer standing near Edith, resting on his sword, breathing, as it were, after a severe conflict, caught Cloudesley's eyes. Intoxicated with victory, Cloudesley sprang from his horse, and raising his ax, rushed up the stairs upon the youth!

      Edith sprang and threw herself before the stripling, impulsively clasping her arms around him to shield him, and then throwing up one arm to ward off a blow, looked up and exclaimed:

      "He is my preserver—my preserver, Cloudesley!"

      And what did the young ensign do? Clasped Edith quietly but closely to his breast.

      It was a beautiful, beautiful picture!

      Nay, any one might understand how it was—that not years upon years of ordinary acquaintance could have so drawn, so knitted these young hearts together as those few hours of supreme danger.

      "My preserver, Cloudesley! My preserver!"

      Cloudesley grounded his ax.

      "I don't understand that, Edith! He is a British officer."

      "He is my deliverer! When Thorg set his men on me to hunt me, he cast himself before me, and kept them at bay until you came!"

      "Mutinied!" exclaimed Cloudesley, in astonishment, and a sort of horror.

      "Yes, I suppose it was mutiny," said the young ensign, speaking for the first time and blushing as he withdrew his arm from Edith's waist.

      "Whe-ew! here's a go!" Cloudesley was about to exclaim, but remembering himself he amended his phraseology, and said, "A very embarrassing situation, yours, sir."

      "I cannot regret it!"

      "Certainly not! There are laws of God and humanity above all military law, and such you obeyed, sir! I thank you on the part of my young countrywoman," said Cloudesley, who imagined that he could talk about as well as he could fight.

      "If the occasion could recur, I would do it again! Yes, a thousand times!" the young man's eyes added to Edith—only to her.

      "But oh! perdition! while I am talking here that serpent! that copperhead! that cobra capella! is coming round again! How astonishingly tenacious of life all foul, venomous creatures are!" exclaimed Cloudesley, as he happened to espy Throg moving slightly where he lay, and rushed out to dispatch him.

      The other two young people were left alone in the hall.

      "I am afraid you have placed yourself in a very, very dangerous situation, by what you did to save me."

      "But do you know—oh, do you know how happy it has made me? Can you divine how my heart—yes, my soul—burns with the joy it has given me? When I saw you standing there before your enemies so beautiful! so calm! so constant—I felt that I could die for you—that I would die for you. And when I sprang between you and your pursuers, I had resolved to die for you. But first to set your soul free. Edith, you should not have fallen into the hands of the soldiers! Yes! I had determined to die for and with you! You are safe. And whatever befalls me, Edith, will you remember that?"

      "You are faint! You are wounded! Indeed you are wounded! Oh, where! Oh! did any of our people strike you?"

      "No—it was one of our men, Edith! I do not know your other name, sweet lady!"

      "Never mind my name—it is Edith—that will do; but your wound—your wound—oh! you are