o destroy them with the house. Edith suddenly took her
resolution, and turned her horse's head, directing her attendants to
follow.

"But where are you going to go, Miss Edith?" asked her groom, Oliver,
now speaking for the first time.

"Back to Luckenough."

"What for, Miss Edith, for goodness sake?"

"Back to Luckenough to guard the dear old house, and take care of you
two."

"But oh, Miss Edy! Miss Edy! for Marster in heaven's sake what'll come
o' you?"

"What the Master in heaven wills!"

"Lord, Lord, Miss Edy! ole marse 'ill kill we-dem. What 'ill old marse
say? What 'ill everybody say to a young gal a-doin' of anything like dat
dar? Oh, dear! dear! what will everybody say?"

"They will say," said Edith, "if I meet the enemy and save the
house--they will say that Edith Lance is a heroine, and her name will be
probably preserved in the memory of the neighborhood. But if I fail and
lose my life, they will say that Edith was a cracked-brained girl who
deserved her fate, and that they had always predicted she would come to
a bad end."

"Better go on to Hay Hill, Miss Edy! 'Deed, 'fore marster, better go to
Hay Hill."

"No," said the young girl, "my resolution is taken--we will return to
Luckenough."

The arguments of the old negroes waxed fainter and fewer. They felt a
vague but potent confidence in Edith and her abilities, and a sense of
protection in her presence, from which they were loth to part.

The sun was high when they entered the forest shades again.

"See," said Edith to her companions, "everything is so fresh and
beautiful and joyous here! I cannot even imagine danger."

Edith on reaching Luckenough retired to bed, and addressed herself to
sleep. It was in vain--her nerves were fearfully excited. In vain she
tried to combat her terrors--they completely overmastered her. She was
violently shocked out of a fitful doze.

Old Jenny stood over her, lifting her up, shaking her, and shouting in
her ears:

"Miss Edith! Miss Edith! They are here! They are here! We shall be
murdered in our beds!"

In the room stood old Oliver, gray with terror, while all the dogs on
the premises were barking madly, and a noisy party at the front was
trying to force an entrance.

Violent knocking and shaking at the outer door and the sound of voices.

"Open! open! let us in! for God's sake, let us in!"

"Those are fugitives--not foes--listen--they plead--they do not
threaten--go and unbar the door, Oliver,"