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Missing Bride

<h2 id="id00082" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER II.</h2> <h5 id="id00083">THE ATTACK.</h5> That summer day was so holy in its beauty, so bright, so clear, so cool; that rural scene was so soothing in its influences, so calm, so fresh, so harmonious; it was almost impossible to associate with that lovely day and scene thoughts of wrong and violence and cruelty. So felt Edith as she sometimes lifted her eyes from her work to the beauty and glory of nature around her. And if now her heart ached it was more with grief for Fanny's fate than dread of her own. There comes, borne upon the breeze that lifts her dark tresses, and fans her pearly cheeks, the music of many rural voices—of rippling streams and rustling leaves and twittering birds and humming bees. But mingled with these, at length, there comes to her attentive ear a sound, or the suspicion of a sound, of distant horse hoofs falling upon the forest leaves—it draws nearer—it becomes distinct—she knows it now—it is—it is a troop of British soldiers approaching the house! They rode in a totally undisciplined and disorderly manner; reeling in their saddles, drunken with debauchery, red-hot, reeking from some scene of fire and blood! And in no condition to be operated upon by Edith's beautiful and holy influences. They galloped into the yard—they galloped up to the house—their leader threw himself heavily from his horse and advanced to the door. It was the terrible and remorseless Thorg! No one could doubt the identity for a single instant. The low, square-built, thick-set body, the huge head, the bull neck, heavy jowl, coarse, sensual lips, bloodshot eyes, and fiery visage surrounded with coarse red hair—the whole brutalized, demonized aspect could belong to no monster in the universe but that cross between the fiend and the beast called Thorg! And now he came, intoxicated, inflamed, burning with fierce passions from some fell scene of recent violence! Pale as death, and nearly as calm, Edith awaited his coming. She could not hope to influence this man or his associates. She knew her fate now—it was death!—death by her own hand, before that man's foot should profane her threshold! She knew her fate, and knowing it, grew calm and strong. There were no more hopes or fears or doubts or trepidations. Over the weakness of the flesh the spirit ruled victorious, and Edith stood revealed to herself richly endowed with that heroism she had so worshiped in others—in that supreme moment mistress of herself and of her fate. To die by her own hand! but not rashly—not till a trial should be made—not till the last moment. And how beautiful in this last fateful moment she looked! The death pallor had passed from her countenance—the summer breeze was lifting the light black curls—soft shadows were playing upon the pearly brow—a strange elevation irradiated her face, and it "shone as it had been the face of an angel." "By George! boys, what a pretty wench! Keep back, you d——d rascals!" (for the men had dismounted and were pressing behind him) "keep back, I say, you drunken ——! Let rank have precedence in love as in other things! Your turn may come afterward! Ho! pretty mistress, has your larder the material to supply my men with a meal?" Edith glanced around for her attendants. Jenny lay upon the hall floor, fallen forward upon her face, in a deep swoon. Oliver stood out upon the lawn, his teeth chattering, and his knees knocking together with terror, yet faintly meditating a desperate onslaught to the rescue with his wooden rake. "No matter! for first of all we must have a taste of those dainty lips; stand back, bl—t you," he vociferated with a volley of appalling oaths, that sent the disorderly men, who were again crowding behind him, back into the rear; "we would be alone, d—— you; do you hear?" 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. "Oh! one moment! for heaven's sake, one moment! Still hear me! I would not have fired upon your captain! Nor would I fire upon one of you, who close upon me only at your captain's order. There is something within me that shrinks from taking life! even the life of an enemy—any life but my own, and that only in such a desperate strait as this. Oh! by the mercy that is in my own heart, show mercy to me! You are men! You have mothers, or sisters, or wives at home, whom you hope to meet again, when war and its insanities are over. Oh! for their sakes, show mercy to the defenseless girl who stands here in your power! Do not compel her to shed her own blood! for, sure as you advance one step toward me, I pull this trigger, and fall dead at your feet." And Edith raised the pistol and placed the muzzle to her own temple—her finger against the trigger. The men stood still—the captain swore. "H—l fire and flames! Do you intend to stand there all day, to hear the wench declaim? Seize her, curse you! Wrench that weapon from her hand." "Not so quick as I can pull the trigger!" said Edith—her eyes blazing with the sense of having fate—the worst of fate in her own hands; it was but a pressure of the finger, to be made quick as lightning, and she was beyond their power! Her finger was on the trigger—the muzzle of the pistol, a cold ring of steel, pressed her burning temple! She felt it kindly—protective as a friend's kiss! "Seize her! Seize her, curse you!" cried the brutal Thorg, "what care I whether she pull the trigger or not? Before the blood cools in her body, I will have had my satisfaction! Seize her, you infernal—" "Captain, countermand your order! I beg, I entreat you, countermand your order! You yourself will greatly regret having given it, when you are calmer," said a young officer, riding hastily forward, and now, for the first time, taking a part in the scene. An honorable youth in a band of licensed military marauders. "'Sdeath, sir! Don't interfere with me! Seize her, rascals!" "One step more, and I pull the trigger!" said Edith. "Captain Thorg! This must not be!" persisted the young officer. "D—n, sir! Do you oppose me? Do you dare? Fall back, sir, I command you! Scoundrels! close upon that wench and bind her!" "Captain Thorg! This shall not be! Do you hear? Do you understand? I say this violence shall not be perpetrated!" said the young officer, firmly. "D—n, sir! Are you drunk, or mad? You are under arrest, sir! Corporal Truman, take Ensign Shields' sword!" The young man was quickly disarmed, and once more the captain vociferated: "Knock down and disarm that vixen! Obey your orders, villains! Or by h—l, and all its fiends, I'll have you all court-martialed, and shot before to-morrow noon!" The soldiers closed around the unprotected girl. "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. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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