She shook her head and remained motionless.  Whately advanced decisively, took her hand, and sought gently to draw her into position before the clergyman.  His touch broke the spell, the paralysis of dread, and she burst out, “No, no, you cannot marry me when my whole soul protests.  I will not be married!”

“Louise, I command you,” began Mr. Baron excitedly.

“It makes no difference.  I will not!  I will not!” was the passionate and almost despairing response.

“Oh, come, cousin, you are just excited, frightened, and off your balance,” said Whately soothingly.

“My dear Miss Baron,” added the clergyman, “let me reassure you.  It is evident that you are a little nervous and hysterical.  Pray be calm and trust your relatives to do what is best for you.  I do not wonder that your nerves have given way and that—­”

“My nerves have not given way.  Unfriended child that I am, I must not lose self-control.  God grant that my will does not give way.”

“Unfriended!” exclaimed Mrs. Whately reproachfully.  “Few girls in these times have so many to care and think for them.  We are all bent on securing your welfare at every cost.”

“Yes, at every cost to me.”

“Dr. Williams sees the wisdom and reasonableness of our course.  My son is even straining his sense of military duty to escort us to a place of safety, where you will still be among relatives.”

“Then let him escort me as his cousin, not his wife,” cried the girl.

“But, Miss Baron, in the turmoil and confusion which may ensue you will be far safer as his wife,” Dr. Williams urged.  “I would have been glad if I could have given my daughter like protection.  Truly, it is not wise to be swayed by mere nervous excitement at such a time.”

“Oh, even you, from whom I hoped so much, are against me!”

“No, my dear child,” replied the minister, earnestly and sincerely, “I am for you always, but I cannot help seeing, with your relatives, that at present you are not in the quiet state of mind which would enable you to act wisely for yourself.  What earthly motive could I have except your safety, welfare and happiness?”

“Well, then,” said the girl, with a swift glance around and as if turning into stone, “do your worst.  I will never give my consent, never!”

They looked at each other perplexedly and inquiringly, as if to ask what should be done, when Perkins burst in at the back door of the hallway shouting, “The Yanks!”

The girl sank into a chair and covered her burning face for an instant.  Deep in her soul she divined who her rescuer was, yet in the midst of her hope she felt a certain consciousness of guilt and fear.  Mr. Baron, Dr. Williams, and the ladies, half-paralyzed, yet drawn by a dreadful fascination, approached the open windows.  Mad Whately now played a better part.  He was in full uniform and his horse stood saddled without.  He went to it, mounted with almost