All the time they were speaking Elfie was struggling violently to free herself. And now again Albert Goldsborough threw his left arm around her and caught and confined her two hands with his left hand, while with his right hand he covered her mouth to stifle her screams, that were again splitting the air. “Don’t smother her, sir,” said Mutchison. “I will not. She has fine nostrils, especially when they are inflated with rage, and I leave them free for breathing purposes. Now then, Mutchison; I want you to place yourself immediately behind this obstinate little bride, and when the parson asks her if she will take this man to be her wedded husband, for better for worse, (and she will find him much better than she hopes,) I want you to put your hand upon her obstinate little head and bend it forward with a very emphatic nod of assent, as the King of France did in the case of his disobedient daughter. Get yourself into position. And then I will call on the parson.” “All right, colonel,” said Mutchison, taking up his stand immediately behind Elfie, who was only pausing to gather strength for a fresh resistance. “Come in, if you please, Mr. Simmons,” called out Goldsborough. And the parson lifted the curtain, and entered the hut. He was a tall, thin, light-haired man, very pale, nervous and consumptive. He was evidently a captive among the guerrillas, and as evidently frightened half to death. “Hand him the license, Mutchison. Mutchison is here in the three-fold capacity of bride’s father, bridegroom’s best man, and witness of the marriage,” said Goldsborough. Mutchison stepped forward, and placed the license in the trembling hands of the minister, and then stepped back, and resumed his position behind Elfie. “Now proceed, sir, if you please,” said Goldsborough. The nervous minister unfolded and examined the license, and then put it into his pocket, from which he took a small prayer-book. Opening the book, he commenced the marriage ceremony. And in his extreme trepidation, he commenced at the wrong end: “‘_Forasmuch as this man and this woman hath consented_—’” “I have _not_ consented! I had rather be hanged!” screamed Elfie, who had succeeded in wriggling her head free from the hand of her captor. In this panic the parson dropped his book, and fell into an ague fit. “This wretch has carried me off by force! He is marrying me by force! I will never—” spluttered Elfie so far; but just here Albert succeeded in getting his hand over her mouth, and silenced her again. Mutchison picked up the prayer-book and restored it to its owner. “Go on!” thundered Goldsborough, with a furious stamp of his foot, that nearly caused the startled preacher to drop the volume again. “Young lady, I have no option but to go on. I act under compulsion, as you do,” said the preacher, beginning again; “‘Forasmuch as this——’”