“There she is!” cried the doctor.  “We can reach her now.”

But another roaring wave of humanity dashed over them, sweeping them farther from Ruth and nearer the pulpit.  They were so near that they could see the fire that flashed over the pale darkness of the young preacher’s face as his brother preacher bent down for the second time and touched him warningly, and whispered again.  Peter Cartwright, who was still bending over the men and women lying at his feet, suddenly stood erect.  He threw back his long black hair, and flung a flaming glance at the tall man leaning against the pillar.  And then his voice rang out like a trumpet calling to combat.

“What if it is General Jackson?” he cried.  “What is Andrew Jackson but a sinner, too?  Let him come with the rest of these poor sinners to beg for pardon before the throne of grace.  And let him make haste—­or a just and offended God will punish him as if he were the lowest of earth!”

The challenge sounded clear and far.  It must have reached the ears of Andrew Jackson, the proud and feared hero of many battles.  No man living was more intolerant of indignity or quicker to resent the slightest affront.  An alarmed murmur circled through all the tumult; the doctor and David heard it distinctly, and turned with those about them to look at the man thus challenged.  But Andrew Jackson himself stood quite still and gave no sign that he had heard.  He barely bowed his head when a short, thick-set man pressed through the crowd and touched his arm.  The man was a henchman of his, widely and not favorably known in the country, a gambler and adventurer whose name was Tommy Dye.  He was leading the general’s horse.  There were a few words between them, and then the tall figure vaulted into the saddle and disappeared in the surrounding blackness of the forest.

“Now!  Here she is.  Quick!” cried the doctor.

So crying, he plunged into the storm-lashed sea of humanity like a strong swimmer.  The boy followed as well as he could, using all his strength, but they were both dashed back again and again, till at last a wilder wave caught them up and cast them down beside Ruth.  Instantly the doctor lifted her in his arms before David found breath, and held her as lightly as if she had been but a wreath of smoke blown across his breast.  Holding her thus, and lifting her higher above those wild waves, he bore her through them as if they had been but rippling water.  On and on he went to the border of the forest beyond the tumult where the torchlight was brightest, and there he gently set her down.  And then all alone they stood silently looking at each other.  They were still gazing down into one another’s faces, when the boy ran up, panting.  At the sight of him the wonder went out of Ruth’s blue eyes, and the fright came back.  The spell was broken, and she remembered where she was.

“David!  Come to me.  Take me away!” she cried.  “Oh, what a fearful place!  I can never forget it while I live.  Where is William?  We were separated by the crowd.”