“Lord, all merciful! forgive my sins,” she prayed, and with a firm hand pulled the trigger!

It did not respond to her touch—­it failed! it failed!

Casting the traitorous weapon from her, she sunk upon her knees, murmuring: 

“Lost—­lost—­all is lost!” remained crushed, overwhelmed, awaiting 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.

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.