The Missing Bride | Page 5

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