till clasped around his
daughter, stood between her and the worse than murderers before him,
prepared to defend her with his life. For the first time he thirsted for
blood, and looked around for some weapon of destruction--but his was the
abode of peace--no weapon was there. Unarmed, with that loved
burden--loved at this moment even to agony, resting upon him--he stood
opposed to two fierce men armed to the teeth. A father's strength in
such a cause, who shall estimate?--yet, alas! his adversaries were
demons, relentless in purpose, and possessed of that superhuman force
which passion gives. Weary of killing, or influenced by that
superstition which sometimes rules the soul from which religion is
wholly banished, they did not avail themselves of their swords. With
fierce threats they unclasped his arm from that senseless form, which
sank instantly to the floor at his feet, and drew him across the room.
They would have forced him into the parlor, but his resistance was
desperate, and ere they could accomplish this, the sound of a drum
beating the recall was borne faintly to their ears. Leaving his comrade
to hold the wildly struggling father, the bolder ruffian turned back
toward the still prostrate Mary. At that moment, before she had been
polluted by a touch, the door was thrown violently back, and a tall,
manly form strode through it. The gilded epaulettes and drooping feather
told his rank, before the step of pride and countenance of stern command
had conveyed to the mind the conviction that you stood in the presence
of one accustomed to be obeyed. The man who grasped Mr. Sinclair
loosened his hold and shrank cowering away. He went unnoticed, for the
eye of the officer had fallen upon him who was in the act of stooping to
lift Mary Sinclair from the floor. With a single spring he was at his
side, and catching him by the collar of his coat, he hurled him from him
with such force that he fell stunned against the farther wall. Mr.
Sinclair was already bending over his daughter. As he raised her on his
arm her head fell back, exposing her face, around which her dark hair
swept in dense masses. Her features were of chiselled beauty, and had
they been indeed of marble they could not have been more bloodless in
their hue, while her jetty lashes lay as still upon her cheek as though
the hand of death had sealed her eyes for ever. Mr. Sinclair had no such
fear. He knew that she had only fainted, and rejoiced that God in his
me