Woven with the Ship: A Novel of 1865

  SAVED BY HER SLIPPER

  A ROMANCE OF THE BORDER

  "When greater perils men environ, Then women show a front of iron; And, gentle in their manner, they Do bold things in a quiet way."

  THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH

  I.--IN FORT PATRICK HENRY

  The Indians were out again!

  The sharp rattling of a drum frantically beaten rolled through thelittle hamlet. The silent, pine-clad hills rising above the clearingon the bank sent the echoes clattering back over the river.

  Scarcely had the peacefulness of the evening been broken by the firstnote of the clamor when from every door of hut or cabin the excitedpeople poured out into the clearing and ran toward the stockade.

  First came half-grown boys and girls, yelling half in terror, half insport; then frightened mothers clasping crying babies to theirtroubled breasts with one hand, and with the other dragging stumblinglittle children. Then the men of the settlement, coatless, hatless,clad as they were in the various occupations in which they had beenengaged at the moment, brought up the rear.

  Some of the men endeavored to drive a few bewildered cattle; othershelped to bring the younger children; but, whatever his action, eachone carried a long, deadly rifle, as with grim, set faces they hurriedtoward the open gate of the fort on the shore. A panting horse stoodby the gate, his drooping head giving evidence of the exhaustionfollowing a desperate ride.

  Inside the fort a young man, dressed in the usual fringedhunting-shirt and leggings, eternal garment of the Western pioneer,leaned upon his tall rifle and with eager gestures poured out thedetails of that message which had started the rolling of the drum.

  The Indians were out,--the fierce Wyandotte, the bloody Mingo, theruthless Shawnee. A huge war-party accompanying a band of Britishrangers from Detroit had been discovered in the woods early thatSeptember morning in 1777. They were marching toward Fort PatrickHenry on the banks of the Ohio, a rude white-oak stockade some sixteenfeet high, extending along the river where now the mighty furnaces ofWheeling toss smoke and flame high into the air.

  The Indians were yet some distance away; but the messenger, young HughMcCullough, the bravest, most daring, most gallant young man among thethirty families clustered about the fort, and the one surest to hithis mark with the rifle, could not tell how soon they might be there.But they might appear at any moment; and Colonel Sheppard, thecommander, deemed it best to bring all of the settlement people intothe fort at once. Hence the sudden alarm and call to arms.

  Presently the little enclosure was filled with crying children,boastful boys, frightened girls, serious women, and thoughtful men.The gates were shut; the younger children, under the care of the olderwomen, sent to the safest room in the four corner block-houses, whilethe matrons set about preparing food, moulding bullets, makingcartridges, and lending to the contemplated defence such otherassistance as they could. The men and youths fell in with theirrespective companies and repaired immediately to their severalstations, long practice and frequent alarms having made them familiarwith the duties expected of them.

  A long time they watched that evening, but no plumed, painted, savagefigure could be seen through the trees, no sound broke the wontedstillness of the hills. Some of the little band of frontiersmen lookedaskance at young McCullough. Had he given a false alarm? himselfdeceived, taken them from their needed labors only to array themagainst some imaginary peril?

  But no; he was the keenest scout and best woods-man in the settlement.A long row of sinister notches on the stock of his rifle marked thered marauders he had sent to their last account. It could not be; yet,if the Indians were coming, why did they not present themselves?

  Old Colonel Sheppard and Major Ebenezer Zane, his second, did nothesitate; they trusted the young man. Requests to return to theirhomes were refused, the gates were kept closed, and by and by thewomen and children who could do so disposed themselves for thetroubled sleep of an anxious night. There were keen watchers on thewalls, but nothing broke the usual stillness.

  The morning was dull and gray. Clouds of mist and fog dropped silentlyfrom the crest of the hills, sending down long, ghostlike armswrithing through the treetops over the town; still no sign of theenemy.

  Smarting under the curious glances and sneers of some of the men,McCullough at last volunteered to go out and reconnoitre. ColonelSheppard accepted his offer. While some one saddled his magnificentblack horse, he broke from the group surrounding him and walked acrossthe parade toward the farthest block-house, a room in which had beenallotted to the family of Major Zane.

  A tall, striking-looking young woman stood in the door-way. Most ofthe women in the fort wore linsey-woolsey frocks of the plainest cut,and, while some had Indian moccasins on their feet, the majority werebarefoot. This girl was dressed in the fashion of, say, some sixmonths before. There was a touch of brightness and color in her smartfrock, albeit a few months of frontier wear had sadly dimmed itsgayety. Shining silver buckles overspread her small, daintily shod,arched instep. Her short sleeves, extending only to the elbow, leftbare her young brown arms, which had been white when she came to thesettlement. The kerchief, crossed over her breast, but open at theneck, afforded a ravishing glimpse of her beautiful throat. Under herfair hair blue eyes sparkled, lighting, in spite of herself, withfeeling as she comprehended the manly figure of young McCullough.

  He was fluent enough in speech ordinarily; but now he blushed,hesitated, and stumbled awkwardly, as he dragged off his coonskin capand bowed low before her.

  "Good-morning, Mistress Elizabeth," he at length managed to stammerout; "how passed you the night?"

  "As well, sir, as one could on a hard floor 'twixt crying children,frightened mothers, and quarrelling lads."

  "'Tis not like Philadelphia, mistress?"

  "No, indeed. To think that six months gone I was there, a girl inschool, and now----"

  "Now you are a teacher yourself, Mistress Zane, and we be all learningfrom you."

  "Learning what, pray?"

  "The game of hearts."

  "Faith, Master McCullough, if rumor belie you not, I think you musthave been a past master at that game before I came upon the scene."

  "Nay, not so. Dame Rumor does me wrong, but----"

  "Well, let it pass, Master McCullough. You brought the alarm, Ibelieve. Was it real? Are there any Indians about?"

  "We have not seen any as yet in the valley, but----"

  "And was it you, sir, who tramped all night on the block-house overour heads?"

  "I did, indeed, watch over--you, but----"

  "Could you not have done it more softly, sir, and not add to theconfusion the clatter of your feet and the thud of your gunstock? Iknew it was you."

  "Knew you my step, Mistress Elizabeth?" he queried eagerly, flushingwith hope.

  "Nay, sir," she answered, coolly; "none other had been so foolish; butthe Indians?"

  "I go to seek them now and would fain say good-by."

  "What!" cried the girl, breathlessly, dropping her mood of airybanter, her face gone white in a moment. "What! you leave thestockade?"

  "Ay, Mistress Elizabeth, and I am come to beg you--to wish you--to bidme good-speed."

  "Where are you going and why?"

  "Up the valley to beat up the red devils; to find them if they be notgone."

  "Why, sir, you will be in danger!" cried the girl, piteously, steppingfrom the door-way and coming nearer to him.

  "I am in more danger from your bright eyes than from any Indian thatwalks."

  "A truce to this trifling, sir!"

  "Nay, 'tis no trifling. My heart's gone to you. You have known it longsince. Is it not so?"

  She stopped with downcast head before him.

  "They--they did not teach us things--like that--in Philadelphia."

  "Nay, 'twas Mother Eve taught you, I'm thinking; and, as I may be--"he hesitated, and then continued softly, "a long time in coming back,I thought I must tell you now or you might never hear it. I love you."H
e turned away. "That's all."

  She sprang toward him and grasped him by the arm.

  "Go not," she whispered, her eyes brimming. "Stay." Her head sankforward; she trembled as if she would fall. Unmindful of all others,he slipped his arm around her waist. "Stay," she continued so softlythat he could scarce hear her words, though he bent his head eagerlyto catch them. "Stay--for me."

  "Then you love, too, thank God!" he cried. "Nay, I must go; but I gofor you."

  II.--THE MAN'S DARING

  His horse was ready at the gate now. The place was filled with men;yet, reckless of all who might note, he bent his head low and kissedher unresisting. Then he tore himself away and sprang to the saddle.With a wave of his hand toward the assemblage, a long glance at thegirl who stood with clasped hands and white, upturned face staringafter him, he struck spur to his horse and dashed out through thegate. They followed him with their gaze for a short distance up theroad until he was lost in the trees which covered its winding course.

  And so the morning wore on. About noon the watchers saw three or fourIndians in the trees. The little band halted out of rifle range on theedge of the clearing, and scanned the deserted settlement and the fortwith its starry banner drooping idly from its staff. The mist washeavier now; it was almost a fog.

  Two men were ordered to go out the postern gate under cover of theriver bank, creep along the shore until they gained the trees, andthen endeavor to discover whether or not there were more Indiansthere. A little party of twelve, under Captain Mason, was assemblednear the gate, ready to dash out and attack the Indians in sight if itwere deemed advisable. It often happened that such a swift, sharp blowdiverted a more serious attack.

  Nothing had as yet been heard of McCullough. Elizabeth Zane had passeda morning of agonized apprehension. She was a motherless girl, wholived with her brother, the major; but she had spent most of her lifein quiet Quaker Philadelphia at school. Only recently had she come tothe frontier; this was her first experience in war--or love.

  Suddenly the silence was broken by the sharp crack of a rifle. One ofthe Indians was seen to fall. The scouts had evidently attacked them.The fire was returned by the group of savages. There was a sharpfusillade in the woodland. Captain Mason and his comrades tore out ofthe fort and ran toward the sound of the firing. A wave of mist rolleddown and shut them in.

  The eager watchers on the walls could hear the rattle of the riflesand see the dark shadows cast by the forest shot with flashes of fire.The engagement seemed to be getting heavier. What was happening? Theywere not able to tell. The fog completely hid from their view theravine in which the firing was going on.

  Presently a man broke out of the mist and ran toward the fort. He washatless; his gun was gone. He was bleeding from several wounds. Hisface was ghastly pale.

  "Help!" he cried, brokenly. "The Indians are on us, hundreds of 'em!"

  As he spoke he pitched forward and fell dead on his face just outsidethe gate. The fort was filled with excitement. The wife of the man whohad just fallen shrieked with anguish, while the other women strove tocomfort her and to hush the whimpering of the children.

  Colonel Sheppard turned to another officer.

  "Captain Ogle," he said, quickly, "take your company of twelve men,deploy them to the edge of the woods, and try to cover the retreat orbring off Mason and his men. Be careful, and do not be ambushed. Weare but eleven men left here after you go to defend this post and onehundred women and children."

  Again the gates were opened and a little band of determined huntersstole noiselessly toward the clearing. The rifle shots had ceased bythis time, but they had been superseded by fierce Indian yells and achorus of shrieks and cries from struggling men. Ogle's company stolerapidly forward, but before they could reach the place of conflictthey were met by a fire which seemed to come from every direction. Outof the fog and smoke appeared the Indians, tomahawk in hand.

  There was a fierce, wild _melee_ for a moment, and then silence. Asudden breeze blew down the valley, lifting the fog; and the dismayedgarrison saw the ground strewn with the bodies of their friends andneighbors, while just out of range the Indians danced, yellingfrantically, jumping high into the air, and flourishing gory scalps,which they had wrenched from the heads of the fallen while some ofthem were yet alive. Four or five desperately wounded men gained thefort under a rattling rifle fire.

  As the day cleared the Indians sought cover in the deserted houses onthe edge of the woods and opened fire on the stockade. A perfect stormof bullets was hurled upon the fort; but the defenders, wellprotected, suffered no loss, and, firing slowly and deliberately inreturn, strove to make every shot tell and with good effect. TheIndians could not expose themselves for a moment without being hit.

  Presently down the mountain came a party of rangers under the Britishflag, militia from Canada. With drums beating and fifes squealing theymarched up the road, dragging a small cannon, with which they openedan ineffectual fire upon the fort. After a while, however, wearying ofthis fruitless duel, the assailants withdrew out of range and the roarof the battle died away, although the investment of the place wasstill vigorously maintained.

  About four o'clock a burst of yells and shouts attracted the attentionof the garrison to the top of the hill overlooking the fort. A singlehorseman suddenly appeared on the brink above the clearing, his tallfigure plainly silhouetted against the sky-line. The hill where heoverlooked it was some three hundred feet high and almostperpendicular, although the rough slope was broken here and there bydrifts and ledges. He reined in his horse abruptly on the very brinkand gazed backward.

  Elizabeth Zane stood by her brother on the roof of one of theblock-houses. With eyes lighted by affection, she knew McCulloughinstantly. Presently others recognized him also. They could hear theyelling drawing nearer. They saw McCullough look to the right and theleft and shake his head; they saw him turn and discharge his rifle athis unseen pursuers.

  They realized the situation at once. There was a lost man on the brinkof that hill, his gun discharged, weaponless, surrounded by Indians,who were closing in upon him to take him alive and torture him. Deathat the stake! There was no salvation for him!

  What could he do? Would he dismount and face them? Would he try toride over them? A moment would tell. Elizabeth closed her eyes, andher anguished lips strove in vain to form the words of a prayer.

  "He is going to try the hill!" cried Major Zane, suddenly.

  The bold hunter shortened the bridle, backed his horse away from thehill a few feet, and then launched him into the air. The cry ofdefiance that he gave as he dropped down the steep slope could havebeen heard for miles around. Scarcely had he vanished from the crestof the hill when the faces of the Indians appeared over it. The edgeof the bluff was instantly ringed with fire.

  "He falls!" cried one from the fort.

  "He is down!" screamed another.

  "No, he makes it!"

  "They've hit him!"

  "He's reached the ground safe!"

  "They've got him!"

  "No, he's up again!"

  "He's coming here!"

  "To the gate! to the gate!"

  The bold hunter had actually leaped, scrambled, fallen down thatmighty precipice; and horse and man apparently were both unharmed atthe bottom. It was a feat of daring horsemanship which has been thepride of the vicinity ever since.

  Between him and the fort, however, lay the Indians. Startled andsurprised by the hardihood and success of the descent, they stooddazed for a moment. Grasping his rifle by the barrel, with the buttup, McCullough swept down upon them. The first man who laid hand uponthe bridle he brained with the rifle-butt. Dropping the rein, he cutat the next with his hunting-knife. The excited horse struck outsavagely and beat out the brains of a third. The rest gave back for amoment. He was through!

  In another second, bending low over the saddle, he was galloping madlytoward the fort. Again the rifles cracked around him. They saw himfalter in the saddle, sway uneasily. At the same time his horse g
ave agreat bound forward. They had both been hit, then.

  The Indians in their excitement ran after him, forgetting they werewithin range until the riflemen on the walls sent bullet after bulletstraight to the mark. The brave horse staggered and fell outside thegate, pitching the man heavily on his head.

  Under cover of the rifle fire, two men ran out of the open gate, andone woman, Elizabeth Zane, followed after. They picked up McCulloughand brought him within the stockade and laid him on the ground. Theyoung girl, white-faced, despairing, dropped by his side and took hishead in her arms. Her kisses and piteous pleadings seemed to revivehim, and a draught of spirits restored him.

  "Safe, safe, Elizabeth!" he murmured. "Keep up a good heart, all," headded as soon as he could speak clearly. "Colonel Sheppard, I foundthe Indians out there."

  "I see you did, my boy," said the colonel, smiling grimly. "Whatthen?"

  "I rode off to Colonel Swearingen and told him you were beleaguered,sir."

  "Yes, and what did he say?"

  "He'll raise a force and be with you in the morning. Where are therest of the men?" he cried, looking around at the little handful ofpeople. "Why are the women using the rifles?" he went on, noticingthat the weakness of the garrison had compelled some of the women totake the places of the dead soldiers. "I'm needed here, I see. I amnot hurt," he continued; "let me up!"

  "But you are wounded!" cried Elizabeth. "You cannot."

  "Nay, 'tis nothing," he exclaimed; "a flesh wound in the arm and agraze along the chest. When the horse fell he threw me so heavily thatit stunned me. When my arm is bound up I'll be all right."

  "Water here," called the colonel, "and some linen!"

  "We have none in the fort, sir," answered Major Zane.

  "A woman's petticoat, then."

  "Take mine," cried Elizabeth, rising and lifting her outside skirt andtearing a strip off her underskirt.

  "Nay, not your city finery, Mistress Elizabeth," protested McCullough,sitting up as well.

  "Nothing is too fine for a brave man, sir," she answered, smilingproudly down at him.

  "Not even Elizabeth Zane?" he questioned, cunningly.

  "Not even Elizabeth Zane," she replied, bravely, in spite of herblushes.

  "Thank God!" he whispered, as she bent down and bound up the wound.

  "Zane," said the colonel, laughing at the oblivious pair, "did youever know a peril so deadly that it could prevent two young peoplefrom making love?"

  The wound, from which he had lost much blood, would have incapacitateda modern man from further fighting; but that little handful could notafford to lose a single member if they hoped to stand off the threehundred savages around the fort, so McCullough took his place on thewalls with the rest. For some little time the interchange of fire waskept up, with further loss on the part of the Indians, but none at allto the Americans; but it was evident that some plan was being matured.The rangers were seen manoeuvring through the trees; the cannon wasdragged to a point where it could do greater execution.

  Meanwhile Colonel Sheppard and Major Zane, with McCullough to secondtheir efforts, were looking carefully to their defences. Every rifle,musket, and ancient pistol was brought out, charged, and laid at hand,ready for use. At this moment, however, a startling discovery wasmade: the powder had all but given out! Without powder they would behelpless to resist the assault which would apparently be delivered ina short time.

  III.--THE WOMAN'S HEROISM

  As the news spread among the men and the women, a panic filled theirhearts. Was that crowded enclosure, filled with women and children, tobe delivered to the ruthless passions of those ferocious Indians andthe half-breed rangers? God forbid! Yet what was to be done?

  "Oh, that we had some powder! I'd give my life for a keg of it!"exclaimed Colonel Sheppard, in despair. "Has every recess beensearched?"

  "We ransacked the fort, sir; there is none here," was the reply.

  "I know where there is some," suddenly cried Major Zane. "In my cabinyonder there is a small keg of it; enough for us all. I had forgottenit until this moment. I'll go and get it."

  The cabin was some sixty yards from the gate, and within easy riflerange of the busy enemy.

  "'Tis sure death to venture there," cried the colonel; "besides, youare next in charge here. I cannot let you go."

  "Let me go!" cried McCullough.

  "Nay, you've done enough, and with your wounded arm you could notcarry it. Besides, we need you."

  "Let me!"

  "I'll go," cried one and another, as the old colonel looked about himin an agony of indecision.

  "We need you all; I can't spare a man," he muttered, hoarsely. "Idon't see how we can hold the walls against another assault, as it is,with but a dozen able men here. Was ever man in such a position?"

  "I will go, colonel," cried a clear voice from the women about thegroup of men.

  "Elizabeth!" exclaimed her brother.

  "Mistress Zane!" interrupted McCullough; "nay, you shall not. 'Tis nowoman's work! I----"

  "Silence, sir!" interrupted the colonel. "Who commands this garrison?'Tis not woman's work, indeed; but we can spare no men. I cannot riska single rifle. The maid shall go, and God bless her! If she falls,why, she but anticipates the fate of the rest of us."

  "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" cried McCullough, appealingly, stillunconvinced; "you can't go! Think what your life is to me!"

  "No more than yours is to me, Master Hugh," she answered, bravely,"and yet you went."

  "Elizabeth, sister," cried Zane, "I can't let you go! You must nottake this fearful risk!"

  "Nay, gentlemen," interrupted Elizabeth, stoutly, "I will go! Open thegate. Do you cover me with your rifles as best you can. Good-by."

  "Stay!" cried McCullough, grasping her by the arm. "Gentlemen, I loveher and she loves me. Would you send away my promised wife? Must I seeher killed before my eyes? Oh, let me try?"

  "Nay, you shall not!" said the girl, kissing him and suddenlythrusting him from her, crying, "Forgive me!"

  There was a flash of skirts through the open gate, and she was gone.Forgetful of his wounds, McCullough sprang to the top of theblock-house nearest the gate. His own rifle in hand, and sweeping oneor two others within reach, in spite of the pain from his injured arm,he knelt on the roof, peering eagerly down the hill.

  As she left the block-house Elizabeth ran with the speed of a deerstraight to her brother's house. She knew exactly where the powder layconcealed. She felt little fear in the advance. Seeing a woman runningtoward them, and ignorant of her purpose, the Indians probably wouldnot attempt to harm her; but when she started back with the heavy kegof powder in her arms they would detect the reason for her movementand open fire upon her at once. Her comparatively slow progress underher burden would make her position exceedingly dangerous then. Butthat was a chance she realized she would have to take.

  It happened just as she had anticipated. She gained the house withoutmolestation and disappeared within the door-way for a moment, thoughit seemed hours to the men and women who watched from the fort untilshe appeared with the keg of powder on her shoulder. One glance shecast back toward the Indians standing gazing in startled surprise; onelong look she threw toward the fort where, although she could notdetect him in her excitement, she knew her lover was on guard, andthen she started up the hill.

  As she came out from the cover of the house the Indians saw the keg ofpowder upon her shoulder and at once realized what she was attemptingto do. With roars of rage they opened fire. The bullets whistled andsang about her ears; they spattered the earth about her flying feet;one grazed her neck; another tipped her arm; a third glanced off theiron hoop of the keg she carried. If one struck the powder fairly, shewould probably be blown to atoms. A new peril!

  Her breath came quickly, her heart rose in her throat and seemed tochoke her, mists swam before her eyes as she ran up the hill. Blindlyshe struggled on. She swayed to and fro over the rough ploughedground, and the watchers thought she would have fallen or dropped h
erburden, but something superhuman in her enabled her to hold tight andpress on.

  She could not tell whether she ran rapidly or not; but her progressseemed slow, fearfully slow. Presently the firing stopped. Three ofthe Indians, tomahawk in hand, broke from the trees and recklesslystarted up the hill after her. They would try to capture her. Heedlessof a possible rifle fire from the fort as they came within range, theyleaped on her trail.

  That was McCullough's opportunity. With a prayer in his heart that Godmight speed the bullet, he took careful aim. The first half-nakedpainted demon was nearing the girl with every bound. Two more stepsand she would be in his grasp. She heard his feet on the ground; hisyell rang in her ear. In spite of herself she started aside and lookedaround.

  McCullough had his opening at last. A rifle shot rang out. She heardthe scream of the bullet past her head. The savage threw up his hands,groaned horribly, and pitched forward with a bullet in his breast.Encouraged, she ran a few steps farther. Her foot caught in a forkedpiece of timber. The other pursuing Indians were near her now. Thewood was filled with the enemy holding their fire and watching the madchase.

  "Let no one else fire," called McCullough. "You might hit her. Leavethem to me."

  These two savages, warned by the fate of the first, were wise enoughto keep directly behind the fleeing girl. But, as her foot caught, sheplunged sideways to extricate herself, leaving the shoe with itsglittering silver buckle in the obstruction. That one second wasenough for McCullough again. Once more the unerring rifle cracked andthe second Indian fell.

  Elizabeth, recovering her wits, ran sideways now. The third Indian,attracted by the shining buckle, stooped for a moment to pick it up.McCullough fired a third rifle, which some one put into his hand. Thebullet shattered the Indian's arm. With a cry of pain and rage, hisother hand dropped down toward the lost slipper, and this time abullet from a fourth rifle found his heart.

  The woods were ringed with fire now, but the girl was saved. When hesaw that she had arrived at the fort gate, McCullough ran from theblock-house and reached the entrance in time to catch her in his arms.Her poor little Philadelphia finery was red with blood from the woundin her neck, and her sweet young face was covered with the same goryembroidery.

  She dropped the powder at the feet of the colonel and fainted inMcCullough's arms, his own face scarcely less white than hers. Oneagonizing glance he gave to assure himself that her wounds were butslight ones, and he had to leave her to the women, for he was calledto the walls.

  While some of the women revived the girl, others, by ColonelSheppard's directions, broke open the precious keg of powder andserved it to the men. Those who could do so, took their places, riflein hand, on the stockade; for the Indians and rangers now came outinto the open. Carrying a great log, the Indians dashed recklessly atthe fort, endeavoring to batter in the gate, while they kept down thefire of the defenders by the rapidity of their own discharge. Theyreached the gate and hammered on it with their ram; but the gallantlittle band within the walls, with their women helpers behind them,poured such a fire upon them that after heavy loss they retreated outof range, disheartened by their failure.

  The next morning brought Colonel Swearingen and his militia levies,and at his approach the besiegers gave over the attempt and withdrew.The post was saved with the women and children. Elizabeth andMcCullough were the heroes of the occasion.

  "How could you do it?" asked Hugh of the girl, as they wanderedtogether by the river that evening.

  "I did it for you, dear," she answered.

  "No, not only for me, but for the women and children; you thought ofthem?"

  "Oh, yes; but I thought more of you than of the others, all the time.I knew you'd save me, Hugh. I was sure you would not let them take me.'Twas your rifle----"

  "Nay, dearest, 'twas your shoe." He took it fondly from his coat andkissed it. "This little shoe that turned you aside and gave me anopening. God forbid I should ever have to do such shooting again,dearest."

  "Amen, Hugh, and yet He guided the bullets, I think."

  "Yes, truly. And I never dreamed that you were such a heroine,Elizabeth. Where did you learn it? Not in Philadelphia, I am sure."

  "No, Hugh, there is but one school in which they teach those things."

  "And that is the school of----"

  "Love," she whispered, hiding her head in his breast.