“Madam Corsoni fainted! No wonder, poor lady! Well, I will stay and take care of her. It does not matter so much if I am captured; I shall be treated as a prisoner of war. But you, Colonel! oh, you know the doom that awaits you if you are taken! Mount my horse! Fly and save yourself!” “Save myself! From what? The worst has happened that could possibly befall me. Oh, Abershaw, look here! and tell me if my life is worth the saving now!” cried Corsoni, in a heart-broken voice, as he pointed to the dead face of his wife. “Dead! killed! Oh, Heaven, how did that happen?” exclaimed Abershaw, overwhelmed by the sight. “A Minie ball. She saw the murderous rifle aimed, and threw herself before me, and received in her heart the shot that was intended for my bosom!” said Corsoni, in a voice of such deep despair that his follower groaned aloud. But time pressed, pressed fearfully; a life hung on every minute! And Abershaw could not leave his chief to indulge in sorrow. “My Colonel—my brave Free Sword!” he exclaimed, “rouse yourself! A soldier should not yield to grief any more than to fear.” Corsoni sadly shook his head. “Come, come, my chief, look up. Think of all your glorious achievements in the cause of the young Confederacy—” “It was for her—for her, and she is gone,” moaned Corsoni. “Then up and avenge her! Think of all that you have already done, of all that you may still do for the cause. Think what a career opens before you. When the Confederacy triumphs—” Corsoni impatiently waved his hand and shook his head. “The Confederacy,” said the Free Sword, bitterly. “What do you suppose I really cared for the Confederacy? I am a foreigner. What are your civil wars to me? It was for _her_ I drew my sword. She bade me draw it in the cause of the Confederacy, and I did it, as, if she had bid me draw it in the cause of the Union, or of the Lord, or of the Devil, I would have done it. It was for her! for her! and now she is gone!—oh, my pale love! This was not what I took you from your convent for,” he added, gazing with infinite sorrow on the still face. Then he turned to his follower, saying: “But go and save yourself, Abershaw. You have yet something to live for.” “No; I shall stay with you and—her,” firmly replied the man. Even as Abershaw spoke their pursuers dashed up. “Ah, here you are, you demon. Yield!” thundered the foremost soldier, dismounting. “I yield,” gently replied the Free Sword. Colonel Rosenthal rode up, attended by his staff, among whom was Wing—Wing, his adjutant, with the first lieutenant’s straps upon his shoulders. “You are a prisoner, Colonel Corsoni. Deliver up your sword,” said Justin, gravely, as he dismounted.—“My God!” This last exclamation was struck from his lips by the sight of Alberta’s dead body in the arms of her heart-broken husband. And the most inveterate pursuers of the Free Sword were now gathered around him with looks of pity in their warworn faces.