With window raised and portal barred,
  The mistress scanned the darkening space,
  And with a visage hot and hard—­
  At bay before the cruel chase—­
  She held them in her fierce regard.

  “What would ye—­spies and hirelings—­what?”
  She asked with accent, stern and brave;
  “Why come ye to this sacred spot,
  Led by the counsel of a knave,
  And flanked by slanderer and sot?

  “You have my husband:  has he earned
  No meed of courtesy for me? 
  Is this the recompense returned,
  That she he loved the best should be
  Suspected, persecuted, spurned?

  “My home is wrecked:  what would ye more? 
  My life is ruined—­what new boon? 
  My children’s hearts are sad and sore
  With weeping for the wounds that soon
  Will plead for healing at my door!

  “I hold your prisoner—­stand assured: 
  Safe from his foes:  aye, safe from you! 
  Safe in a sister’s love immured,
  And by a warden kept as true
  As e’er the test of faith endured,

  “Why, men, he was my brother born! 
  My hero, all my youthful years! 
  My counsellor, to guide and warn! 
  My shield alike from foes and fears! 
  And when he came to me, forlorn,

  “What could I do but hail him guest,
  And bind his cruel wounds with balm,
  And give him on his sister’s breast
  That which he asked, the humble alm
  Of a safe pillow where to rest?

  “Come, then, and dare the wrath of fate! 
  Come, if you must, or if you will! 
  But know that I am desperate;
  And shafts that wound, and wounds that kill
  Your deed of dastardy await!”

  A murmur swept through all the mob;
  The base informer slunk afar;
  And lusty cheer and stifled sob
  Rose to her at the window-bar,
  While those whose hands were come to rob

  Her dwelling of its treasure, cursed;
  For round their heads the menace flew
  That he who dared adventure first,
  Or first an arm of murder drew,
  Should taste of vengeance at its worst.

  XXVII.

  A heavy tramp, a murmuring sound,
  Low mingling with the murmuring rain,—­
  Heard in the wind and in the ground,—­
  Came up the street—­a tide of pain,
  In which the angry din was drowned.

  The leaders of the tumult fled;
  The door flew open with a crash;
  And down the street wild Mildred sped,
  Piercing the darkness like a flash,
  And walked beside her husband’s bed.

  Slowly the solemn train advanced;
  The crowd fell back with parted ranks;
  And like a giant, half entranced,
  Sailing between strange, spectral banks,
  From side to side the soldier glanced.

  The sobbing rain, the evening dim,
  The dusky forms that pushed and peered,
  The swaying couch, the aching limb,
  The lights and shadows, sharp and weird,
  Were but a troubled dream to him.