They raised her tenderly, and assured her that Arthur was not dead.

“Oh, no! oh, no!” she murmured, as the tears streamed out afresh, “he must not die!  He must not die for me!  He is so good! so brave!  A child’s heart, with the courage of a lion.  Oh, Harold! why did you not save him?”

But as she took Harold’s hand almost reproachfully, she perceived that it was black and burnt, and he too was suffering; and she leaned her brow upon his bosom and sobbed with a new sorrow.

Beverly was almost vexed at the weakness his sister displayed.  It was unusual to her, and he forgot her weariness and the trial she had passed.  He had been binding some linen about Arthur’s shoulder, and he looked up and spoke to her in a less gentle tone.

“Oriana, you are a child to-night.  I have never seen you thus.  Come, help me with this bandage.”

She sighed heavily, but immediately ceased to weep, and said “Yes,” calmly and with firmness.  Bending beside her brother, without faltering or shrinking, she gave her white fingers to the painful task.

In the stormy midnight, by the fitful glare of the dying embers, those two silent men and that pale woman seemed to be keeping a vigil in an abode of death.  And the pattering rain and moan of the night-wind sounded like a dirge.

CHAPTER VII.

Several gentlemen of the neighborhood, whom Beverly, upon hearing little Phil’s story, had hastily summoned to his assistance, now entered the cabin, together with the male negroes of his household, who had mounted the farm horses and eagerly followed to the rescue of their young mistress.  They had been detained without by an unsuccessful pursuit of Rawbon, whose flight they had discovered, but who had easily evaded them in the darkness.  A rude litter was constructed for Arthur, but Oriana declared herself well able to proceed on horseback, and would not listen to any suggestion of delay on her account.  She mounted Beverly’s horse, while he and Harold supplied themselves from among the horses that the negroes had rode, and thus, slowly and silently, they threaded the lonely forest, while ever and anon a groan from the litter struck painfully upon their ears.

Arrived at the manor house, a physician who had been summoned, pronounced Arthur’s hurt to be serious, but not dangerous.  Upon receiving this intelligence, Oriana and Harold were persuaded to retire, and Beverly and his aunt remained as watchers at the bedside of the wounded man.

Oriana, despite her agitation, slept well, her rest being only disturbed by fitful dreams, in which Arthur’s pale face seemed ever present, now smiling upon her mournfully, and now locked in the repose of death.  She arose somewhat refreshed, though still feverish and anxious, and walking upon the veranda to breathe the morning air, she was joined by Harold, with his hand in a sling, and much relieved by the application