University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
THE LOVERS AGAIN.

Words are all too impotent to portray the
emotions of the lovers, when they found themselves
thus unexpectedly thrown together, under
such exciting, terrible, and tragic circumstances.
To rush to the side of her he loved,
to kneel down, to seize her hand, and press it
to his feverish, burning lips, was, with Milford,
but the work of a single instant; but when he
essayed to speak, he found himself completely
overpowered by his feelings, his heart seemed
to be in his throat, he experienced a swimming,
choking sensation, and he could only
gaze upon her lovely face in silence, press her
soft, white hand again and again to his lips,
and allow gushing tears of joy to course their
way adown his manly countenance.

Rosalie herself was the first to break the silence;
but it was not till after the lapse of several
moments, that she could command her
voice.

“O, Edgar!” she murmured, at length:
“O, Edgar!” and she threw her arms around
his neck, and burst into tears. “Tell me,”
she resumed, after a pause, during which she
had been giving vent to her emotions through
the soft, bright gates of her soul; “tell me,
dear Edgar, what has happened? There is
blood upon you! Oh! Heaven, you are
wounded!”

“No, no, dearest,” answered the Captain,
“I am unhurt; it is the blood of the vile
ruffians, who have robbed, and were about to
murder you. God has providentially preserved
us both, by sending us a true friend in
time of need;” and he nodded to Josh, who
was standing by and looking on with an expression
of sympathy and amazement on his
plain, rustic features.

“Oh, let me thank him, then, for this noble,
praise worthy act!' rejoined Rosalie, as Milford
assisted her to rise; and advancing to
Josh, she took both of his hard hands in hers,
and fixing her soft, bright eyes upon him, she
added, in a tremulous voice: “Sir, you are a
stranger to me; but for risking your life to
save mine, and that of Captain Milford, you
have the full gratitude of my heart. Only say
what I can do for you in return, and it shall
be done.”

Now Josh was a brave fellow, and would
have done twice as much to serve the fair being
before him, and thought little of it, to say
nothing of coming to the rescue of his best
friend, the Captain, at any hazard; but he
had never before encountered so fascinating,
so beautiful, so lovely a countenance, as that
of Rosalie Du Pont; and if he felt be wildered,
awkward, and abashed, in being so earnestly
addressed by one he regarded as little inferior
to an angel it must be attributed to his
rustic education, in never having mingled in
that society where such beings move the reigning
stars. Therefore, if he blushed, and looked
down, and scraped his feet, and felt a strange
choking in his throat, as if he had suddenly
swallowed all he would say, and could not get
it up again, he only did as nature directed,
and as many another would have done under
the same circumstances. At last, after several
hems and coughs, and a good deal of
twisting about, he managed to articulate,

“You're welcome to all I've done, gal—
miss, I should say—or—a—your ladyship I
mean; 'cause I didn't dew nothing but shoot
that are darned scamp there; and I'd dew it
agin, free gratis for nothing, if I seed him have
an honest chap down, in the way he had the
Capting, and jest about to stick a knife into
him—consarn his old picter!”

“I shall not forget the service you have
rendered me, Josh, depend upon it!” said
Milford, seizing a hand of the Yankee, as Rosalie
released it, and shaking it warmly. Then
turning to Rosalie, he added, in a low tone:
“This, dearest, is one of the gallant little band
of noble spirits, in this city, who are sworn to
the cause of liberty.”

“But what did he mean, dear Edgar, by
saying the ruffian had you down, and was
about to plunge a knife into you? Were you
then in such imminent peril?”

“I was,” answered Edgar; “I was wholly
in the power of that villain, who now lies dead,
where you see, and I had closed my eyes, as
I believed, for the last time;” and he briefly
narrated all that had happened, from the moment
when his fair listener's cries for help had
first arrested his attention.

Rosalie shuddered, and unconsciously
pressed closer to Milford, as she learned from
his lips through what terrible perils both had
passed, during the period of her unconsciousness;
and when he had concluded, she slowly
sank down on her knees, and, clasping her
hands, and turning her sweet face heavenward,
gently murmured, while two pearly tears
stole into her eyes,

“To God let us render thanks for this
happy preservation;” and then she prayed
from her heart, in silence, while Milford and
his companion stood uncovered. At length
she arose, and threw herself, sobbing, upon
the breast of him she loved.

“Then you did not come hither together, as
I at first supposed?” she again resumed, releasing
herself from the Captain's fond embrace,
and drying her eyes.

“No,” answered Milford; “so far as I know,
our meeting here was purely accidental.”

“Say providential,” chided Rosalie, solemnly—“for
the ways of God are in it.”

“Pardon me, dearest! I meant providential,
if I did not say it,” returned the Captain.
“But tell me, Josh, how it happened that you
appeared upon the ground at such a fortunate
moment? for another second's delay would
have proved fatal to me.”

“Why, I'll jest tell ye, Capting, how it was,”
answered Josh, who by this time had recovered
from much of his embarrassment—though,
as he was aware that the beautiful eyes of Rosalie
were fixed upon him, and that she herself
was an attentive listener, he did not altogether
feel at his ease: “I'll jest tell ye how
it was. You see, it being a right nice day for
sauntering about, and I not having nothing as
I cared about doing in particular, I thought
I'd jest stroll reound a bit, and see how I liked

the look of the land near this big city, and
whether it'ud be good to farm, in case we
licked the tarnal Britishers, and—”

“Hush! be careful how you make use of
words that would hang you if overheard!” in
interrupted Milford, warningly.

“That's a fact, I swow to guinea; I clean
forgot all abeout where I was. Wal, to cut
the matter short, I was jest strolling abeout in
them are woods, across this ere clearing, when
I seed this lady ride by a hoss-back; and she
rid so putty, that I had to stop and look at her.
Wal, as she was going along by these ere
woods here, I seed tew fellers run out and
catch hold of her hoss and her, and drag 'em
in here, and I heard her scream for help too.
Wal, says I to myself, Josh Snipe, if you let
that are gal—beg pardon! I mean your ladyship—for
any body could see you was a natural
born lady, Miss (and he nodded to Rosalie)—if
you let her be taken off by them are
sneaking, mean, dirty, good-for-nothing rascals,
says I, and don't try to dew nothing for
her, you're jest abeout as mean as they is, and
darned coward to boot. So I looked at my
pistols, and seed they was all right, and off I
set, as hard as I could run, for this ere wood.
Wal, I come into it a piece above here, in
putty tolerable quick time, I calculate, being
I's a foot, and my shoes none the best—
one on 'em slips up and down at the heel,
like all darnation.”

Here Rosalie, who had a quick sense of the
ridiculous, was obliged to turn her head, to
conceal a laugh, while Milford said, good humoredly,

“Well, well, Josh, never mind the shoe.”

“Yes, but, Capting, I have to mind it,” returned
Josh, holding up one foot to exhibit it,
for it's the darndest thing to slide up and
own you ever seen; and when I'm running
fast, like I was then, it bothers me like all git
out—it does, I swow, that's a fact.

“Wal, as I's saying, I got to the woods at
last, without being diskivered by the robbers.
I knowed, too, I wasn't diskivered—for I could
here 'em talking away to themselves, abeout
their own affairs—and so I crept down the
edge of the bushes, along the clearing, till I
got right against 'em; and then I dropped
down on my hands and knees, and worked
my way in carefully, to see if I could git a
chance to do any thing for her sweet ladyship.

“Wal, jest as I'd got so I could see what
was going on, up you pops, Capting, mounts
that are scamp's back, and sticks t'other feller
in the throat, quicker'n I could say Jack Robinson.
I never was so taken 'back but once,
in the hull course of my life, as I was to see
you, Capting, jest rise right up there, like
you'd come out of the airth; and t'other time
was, when a streak o' lightning struck a tree
I's under, and ripped the shoes off o' my feet,
and left me sprawling on the ground, more
skeered than hurt.

“Wal, afore I got over my astonishment,
that are cut-throat was grapping with you;
and by the time I could git to him, he was jest
agoing to strike. I cotched his arm, put my pistol
to his head, and keeled him over; and I'd
a-done the same if you'd been a nigger, Capting—so
I don't see what's the use of making
any more talk abeout it. I happened to come
in jest the right time, and I'm as glad on't as
any body else can be.”

“You are a noble fellow,” said Rosalie,
warmly; “and while I live, rest assured your
gallant deed shall not be forgotten. But for
the present, here is something more substantial,
which I find the robbers have overlooked.”
She produced a well-filled purse, and held it
toward Josh, adding: “Take this now, as an
earnest of my sincerity—but with the understanding,
that my gratitude shall not cease
with a recompense so paltry.”

There was a look of manly pride and dignity
on the sharp, shrewd, rustic features of
Josh, as he drew himself up to his full height,
and, with a waiving back of the hand, made
answer in his own peculiar way,

“Lady, what I've done, I didn't do for hire.
Your compliments make me feel proud; but
your money would make me feel as mean as
Sam Huskings did, when his gal cotched him
robbing her mother's hen-roost. I was fetched
up in the country. I know, and don't know
much abeout the fashions of you city folks;
but if I take pay for helping people in trouble,
I hope I may be stung to death with yaller
wasps!”

“Nobly said, Josh!” cried Milford, giving

the latter a hearty slap on the shoulder.
“There is unpolished man enough in you to
make a true gentleman. Leave him to me,
Rosalie, he and I understand each other, and
this day's business he shall have no cause to
regret. And now tell us of yourself—how it
chanced that you were riding here alone!”

“I can explain all in a very few words,”
answered Rosalie. “I am passionately fond
of equestrian exercise; and finding myself
again able to sit a horse, I ordered one to be
brought, and strayed off in this direction, as
being one of my favorite riding grounds. I
had taken a ciecuit above here, and was on
my returnto town, when I was stopped by
these ruffians. But have you looked to them,
Edgar? perhaps both are not dead! and
methought I just now heard a groan.”

“If they are not dead, they have not got
their deserts, the villians!” replied Milford;
“but I will ascertain. Do not you look upon
them, dear Rosalie—the sight is not fit for
one of your sex and gentle nature. No, go
you out to the clearing, and I will soon join
you.”

Rosalie complied with the request of Milford,
who now proceeded to examine into the
state of the robbers. The one shot by Josh,
was stone dead; and he appeared to have died
so suddenly, that the expression of demoniac
rage and triumph on his face, at the moment
he was in the act of striking the Captain, had
had no time to change. It was still there—
that awful look—made rigid by death; and
this, together with the terrible wound in his
head, from which had flowed both blood and
brains, rendered him a horrible spectacle,
from which the Captain, accustomed as he
was to death in many a revolting form, turned
away, with a sickening feeling of disgust.

The ruffian stabbed by Milford was still
living, but wholly unconscious. He was
found lying among the bushes, much as he
had fallen, with Rosalie's diamond brooch in
one hand, and the discharged pistol in the
other—though the nerves were so relaxed,
that neither of them were retained with more
than the grasp of an infant. The knife had
entered the side of his neck, and cut the back
part of the jugular—at least so Milford judged
—and the man was bleeding to death internally.

“He is past the rope,” said the Captain, sententiously,
as, for a short time, he gazed upon
him, and listened to his labored breathing.

“You thing he'll die, Capting?” querried
Josh.

“Yes, his minutes are numbered.”

“Wal, what'll we do with the bodies?”

“Leave them as they are for the present.
We will hasten into town, report what has
happened, and let the proper authorities act
in the matter as they think advisable.”

“Wal, Capting, I spose there won't be no
harm in taking this ere sparkling thing, that
belongs to the lady?” said Josh.

“No, secure that, at all events; and that
reminds me of seeing a couple of rings in the
hands of the other, of which we must take
possession, for fear of their being lost. If I
am not mistaken, I once owned one of those
rings myself.”

“Ye-a-s, I see how 'tis, Capting,” rejoined
Josh, giving the other a sly, comical look, and
jerking his thumb over his shoulder; “this
ere gal—I beg pardon! I mean her ladyship
—for if she aint a real lady, she oughter
be—.”

“Is my affianced bride,” interrupted Milford,
seriously. “You have seen so much, you
may as well know the whole secret.”

“Ye-a-s, I thought so. Wal, Capting, Josh
Snipe wishes ye lots of joy; and guess you'll
have it, too; for she's jest the puttiest and
sweetest, and most lady critter, I ever seen,
in all my born days. She beats Sal Stacy
clean to death—I swow, she does—and I'd
die for her quicker than for any lady I ever
put eyes on—that's a fact.”

As Captain Milford saw no reason for disputing
this assertion of his faithful and courageous
follower, he merely nodded acquiescence,
pointed to the brooch, and turned away
to the other robber to secure the rings. In a
few moments he rejoined Rosalie, and restored
her her jewels, while Josh led out the horse.

“Ah! yes,” said Rosalie, in a low tone to
Milford, as she replaced the rings on her
finger, “I was nigh losing forever, gifts that I
highly prize. This, dear Edgar,” holding up
the ring he had given her, “I have treasured

-O, you know not how fondly—as the remembrancer
of one I loved with an undivided
heart.”

“Bless you!” returned her lover—“bless
you, my own, dearest Rosalie!” and as the
face of Josh happened at the moment to be
turned from them, the Captain suddenly
threw his arm around the fair girl's waist,
drew her fondly to him, and imprinted a kiss
of pure affection upon her charming lips.

“And this,” pursued Rosalie, pointing to
the other ring, as Milford released her, “was
present to me from Sir Henry Clinton.
through the hands of the unfortunate Major
Andre. It is a talisman, which will procure
for the presenter any favor that may be asked,
within the power of the doner to grant. O!
Edgar, I value it so highly; for who knows
and Rosalie dropped her voice to a whisper,
and shuddered), who knows but it may yet
be required to save him I love from the fate
of poor Andre!”

“Heaven forbid!” returned Milford, solemnly;
“for in that event, I fear its virtue
would be lost. But we will talk of this as we
proceed to town. Mount, dearest, and I will
attend you on foot. O! my feelings are almost
too great for utterence—joy at seeing
you restored to health, and a thrilling, almost
overpowering sensation, when I think of the
awful fate you so narrowly and wonderfully
escaped! Yes, as you say, dearest, the hand
God is in it; and to the day of my death,
will I never cease to give thanks, for being
permitted to assist in your deliverance from
the hands of those highwaymen.”

But we shall not pause here to repeat all
that was said by the lovers on their way back
to the city. One question and answer, however,
we see proper to chronicle.

“Dearest Rosalie,” said the Captain, in the
course of a conversation which suggested the
subject, “you have never told me your early
history—will you not do so?”

“Yes answered Rosalie, frankly, “I will tell
you all that is necessary for you to know at
present, for I feel you have a right to this
knowledge. Come home with me, and you
shall hear.”

On reaching the city, Milford acquainted
the proper authorities with the tragic
occurrences of the wood; and a party
of soldiers, headed by a corparal, were sent
out to bring in the living ruffian—or, if
he had expired, to bury him and his companion
together. Josh acted as guide, and led
the soldiers directly to the place of sanguinary
strife; but, to the disappointment of all,
neither one of the robbers, living nor dead,
was to be found. A broad trail, as if made by
several feet, led straight to the river, and
thence all trace was lost.