in both hands, raising himself in his stirrups and throwing his whole
weight with the stroke, he dealt a blow upon the head of Thorg that
brought him to the earth stunned. From the impetus Cloudesley himself
had received, he had nearly lost his saddle, but had recovered.

"They fly! They fly! By the bones of Caesar, the miscreants fly! After
them, my men! After them! Pursue! pursue!" shouted Cloudesley, wheeling
his horse around to follow.

But just then, the young British officer standing near Edith, resting
on his sword, breathing, as it were, after a severe conflict, caught
Cloudesley's eyes. Intoxicated with victory, Cloudesley sprang from his
horse, and raising his ax, rushed up the stairs upon the youth!

Edith sprang and threw herself before the stripling, impulsively
clasping her arms around him to shield him, and then throwing up one arm
to ward off a blow, looked up and exclaimed:

"He is my preserver--my preserver, Cloudesley!"

And what did the young ensign do? Clasped Edith quietly but closely to
his breast.

It was a beautiful, beautiful picture!

Nay, any one might understand how it was--that not years upon years of
ordinary acquaintance could have so drawn, so knitted these young hearts
together as those few hours of supreme danger.

"My preserver, Cloudesley! My preserver!"