ground. Still violently struggling, the girl contrived to remove the
handkerchief, and once more her shriek of terror rang through the
violated sanctuary.

At that instant a loud deep voice was heard, "Who calls?" And a tall
figure seemed to rise, as from the grave itself, and emerge from the
shadow of the church. A moment more, and a strong gripe was laid on the
shoulder of the ravisher. "What is this? On God's ground, too! Release
her, wretch!"

The man, trembling, half with superstitious, half with bodily fear, let
go his captive, who fell at once at the knees of her deliverer. "Don't
you hurt me too," she said, as the tears rolled down her eyes. "I am a
good girl-and my grandfather's blind."

The stranger bent down and raised her; then looking round for the
assailant with an eye whose dark fire shone through the gloom, he
perceived the coward stealing off. He disdained to pursue.

"My poor child," said he, with that voice which the strong assume to the
weak--the man to some wounded infant--the voice of tender superiority and
compassion, "there is no cause for fear now. Be soothed. Do you live
near? Shall I see you home?"

"Thank you! That's kind. Pray do!" And, with an infantine confidence
she took his hand, as a child does that of a grown-up person;--so they
walked on together.

"And," said the stranger, "do you know that man? Has he insulted you
before?"