ather.
She sank into a seat, pale, inanimate, and despairing.

At that moment, ere any one present could say a word, a man, white
with terror, rushed into the hall, and stammered out,--

"My lord count!"

"What is it, fellow? Speak!"

"The Cossacks!" cried the man. And his information was confirmed by a
loud hurrah, or rather yell, that rose without.

"Raise the drawbridge!" cried the count. "Curses on it!" he added, "I
had forgotten that drawbridge and portcullis, every means of defence,
were gone long ago."

"The Cossacks are in the court yard!" cried a second servant, rushing
in.

"A thousand curses on the dogs!" cried Radetsky, drawing his sword.
"Count, look to your child; I will to the court yard with your
fellows, to do what we may."

By this time the court yard of the castle was filled with uproar and
turmoil. The clashing of swords was mingled with pistol shots and
groans, the shouts of triumph and the shrieks of despair. Alvina, left
alone by her father and Radetsky, trembled not at the prospect of
approaching death; she felt only joy at her deliverance from the arms
of a hated bridegroom. But when the crackling of flames was heard,
when a lurid light streamed up against the window, when wreaths of
smoke began to pour in from the corridors, the instinct of
self-preservation awakened in her breast, and almost unconsciously she
shrieked aloud for help.

Her appeal was answered unexpectedly. A tall, plumed figure dashed
into the room; a vigorous arm was thrown around her waist, and she was
lifted from her feet. Her unknown preserver, unimpeded by her light
weight, passed into the corridor with a fleet step. The grand
staircase was already on fire, but, drawing his furred cloak closely
around her, the stranger dashed through the flames, and bore her out
into the court yard. Almost before she knew it, she was sitting behind
him on a fiery steed. The rider gave the animal the spur, and he
dashed through the gate, followed by a hundred wild Cossacks, shouting
and yelling in the frenzy of their triumph.

Gratitude for an escape from a dreadful death was now banished from
Alvina's mind by the fear of a worse fate at the hands of these wild
men.

"You have saved my life," she said to her unknown companion; "do not
make that life a curse. Take pity on an unfortunate and sorely
persecuted girl. I have no ransom to pay you; but free me, and you
will earn my daily prayers and blessings."

"Fear nothing," a