With a wild cry at these words of promised deliverance, Kate sprung to her father’s side and looked out. At the lower end of the village one or two houses were in flames, and their bright glare lit up the otherwise black prospect. Close at hand, and retreating toward her in disorder, was a company of the royal soldiers, among whom she saw the largest portion of the officers lately assembled in that apartment. She could distinguish Colonel Campbell and Major Lindsay among others, sword in hand, endeavoring to rally the men. But further down the street was a spectacle that filled her bosom with the wildest and most tumultuous joy. Here the way was blocked up, from side to side, by a press of assailants, who wore the uniform of Marion’s brigade, and who were advancing with loud shouts, charging continually on the retreating foe, whom they drove before them as wolves drive frightened sheep. As the battle drew nearer, she could distinguish the several war cries. “Huzza for Marion—Remember his oath—Drive on the dogs!” These were the shouts of the assailants, to which the royal officers replied, “Stand fast for old England. Down with the rebels. Stand fast!” For a moment the retreating fugitives rallied, and made a stand. This was almost opposite the window where Kate remained with her father, in spite of the danger, chained, as if by fascination, to the spot. A reinforcement of soldiers, at the same instant, came running down the street, and their companions parting right and left to make way for them, they gained the front and threw in a withering volley on the foe. These, not expecting such a sudden check, fell into some disorder. “Now charge on the rascals,” cried a voice, and Col. Campbell sprung to the van, waving his sword. “Give them the bayonet, lads, and the field is ours.” The issue of the combat hung trembling in the balance. The assailants showed signs of falling back, and Kate’s tumultuous hopes died within her, when suddenly the tramp of horses’ feet was heard, and a body of cavalry came thundering up the street. At their head, on a powerful charger, rode a form that Kate instantly recognized, as the lurid light of the distant fire played redly on it. Need we say it was that of Preston? His uplifted sabre flashed in the wild glare like a blood-red meteor. “The oath of Marion,” he shouted, in a voice of thunder. “Strike home for revenge.” This sudden apparition, and more than all that stirring shout, seemed to infuse a strange and wild frenzy into the assailants, so lately about to turn. “The oath of Marion!” exclaimed a stalwart figure at Preston’s side, as he smote a royal grenadier to the earth with a single stroke.