The drunken soldiers fell back, and he advanced toward Edith, who stood calm in desperate resolution.  She raised her hand to supplicate or wave him off, he did not care which—­her other hand, hanging down by her side, grasped the pistol, which she concealed in the folds of her dress.

“Hear me,” she said, “one moment, I beseech you!”

The miscreant paused.

“Proceed, my beauty!  Only don’t let the grace before meat be too long.”

“I am a soldier’s child,” said Edith; her sweet, clear voice slightly quavering like the strings of a lute over which the wind has passed; “I am a soldier’s child—­my father died gallantly on the field of battle.  You are soldiers, and will not hurt a soldier’s orphan daughter.”

“Not for the universe, my angel; bl——­t ’em! let any of ’em hurt a hair of your head!  I only want to love you a little, my beauty! that’s all!—­only want to pet you to your heart’s content;” and the brute made a step toward her.

“Hear me!” exclaimed Edith, raising her hand.

“Well, well, go on, my dear, only don’t be too long!—­for my men want something to eat and drink, and I have sworn not to break my fast until I know the flavor of those ripe lips.”

Edith’s fingers closed convulsively upon the pistol still held bidden.

“I am alone and defenseless,” she said; “I remained here, voluntarily, to protect our home, because I had faith in the better feelings of men when they should be appealed to.  I had heard dreadful tales of the ravages of the enemy through neighboring sections of the country.  I did not fully believe them.  I thought them the exaggerations of terror, and knew how such stories grow in the telling.  I could not credit the worst, believing, as I did, the British nation to be an upright and honorable enemy—­British soldiers to be men—­and British officers gentlemen.  Sir, have I trusted in vain?  Will you not let me and my servants retire in peace?  All that the cellars and storehouses of Luckenough contain is at your disposal.  You will leave myself and attendants unmolested.  I have not trusted in the honor of British soldiers to my own destruction!”

“A pretty speech, my dear, and prettily spoken—­but not half so persuasive as the sweet wench that uttered it,” said Thorg, springing toward her.

Edith suddenly raised the pistol—­an expression of deadly determination upon her face.

Thorg as suddenly fell back.  He was an abominable coward in addition to his other qualities.

“Seize that girl!  Seize and disarm her!  What mean you, rascals?  Are you to be foiled by a girl?  Seize and disarm her, I say!  Are you men?”

Yes, they were men, and therefore, drunken and brutal as they were, they hesitated to close upon one helpless girl.

“H—­l fire and furies! surround! disarm her, I say!” vociferated Thorg.

Edith stood, her hand still grasping the pistol—­her other one raised in desperate entreaty.