Beverly was almost vexed at the weakness his sister displayed. It was
unusual to her, and he forgot her weariness and the trial she had
passed. He had been binding some linen about Arthur's shoulder, and he
looked up and spoke to her in a less gentle tone.

"Oriana, you are a child to-night. I have never seen you thus. Come,
help me with this bandage."

She sighed heavily, but immediately ceased to weep, and said "Yes,"
calmly and with firmness. Bending beside her brother, without faltering
or shrinking, she gave her white fingers to the painful task.

In the stormy midnight, by the fitful glare of the dying embers, those
two silent men and that pale woman seemed to be keeping a vigil in an
abode of death. And the pattering rain and moan of the night-wind
sounded like a dirge.




CHAPTER VII.


Several gentlemen of the neighborhood, whom Beverly, upon hearing little
Phil's story, had hastily summoned to his assistance, now entered the
cabin, together with the male negroes of his household, who had mounted
the farm horses and eagerly followed to the rescue of their young
mistress. They had been detained without by an unsuccessful pursuit of
Rawbon, whose flight they had discovered, but who had easily evaded them
in the darkness. A rude litter was constructed for Arthur, but Oriana