For the moment I could do no more than lie there helpless, gasping for breath, scarce conscious even of my deliverance. Then, as sufficient strength returned for action, I rolled the body of the dead brute off me, and lifting myself by aid of the wall against which my head rested, looked about. Two broken chairs overturned upon the floor, and the shapeless, huddled body of my late assailant, alone spoke of the violence of that deadly struggle; but the cabin was yet full of smoke, and I could perceive the figure of the girl leaning against the frame of the open door, the revolver still grasped in her hand. Her posture was that of a frightened deer, as her terror-filled eyes sought the dark interior. “It is safely over,” I said weakly, for my breath yet came to me in gasps. “The brute is dead.” “And you are not killed!” Shall I ever forget the glad ring in her voice?--“Oh, thank God! thank God!” The sound of these eager words yielded me a fresh measure of life. “Believe me, I certainly do,” I said as cheerfully as possible, “and I thank you also as His instrument; but if you would keep me from fainting away like a nerveless woman, I beg you come here.” I could mark her coming across the narrow streak of moonlight, moving toward me as a frightened bird might, startled at everything, and passing as far from the lifeless mass on the floor as the small space would allow. As she bent anxiously over me her face was so in shadow that I could distinguish nothing of its features. “What is it? Are you indeed severely hurt?” “Not seriously, I think, yet I have lost some blood, and am in great pain. There is brandy in the inner pocket of my jacket, but I am unable to move my arm in order to reach it. Would you endeavor to draw the flask out?” I felt her bend over me, her soft breath coming almost in sobs upon my face, as with trembling fingers she undid the buttons of my trooper's jacket and extracted the small flat flask I had been thoughtful enough to store away there. The fiery liquid seemed to put new blood into my veins, and with it there returned all my old-time audacity, with that intense hopefulness in which I had been trained by years of war and self-reliance. “Ah! now I feel I am myself once more,” I exclaimed cheerily. “Things are surely not so bad after all. At least we have a roof over our heads, and another day in which to live.” I felt her shudder. “Oh, please do not make light of it,” she whispered. “It is so like some horrid dream, and I am trembling yet.” I put my hand upon hers, and it was not withdrawn. “I trust you realize,” I said, “that I am neither thoughtless nor ungrateful. Years of war service make one careless of life, but I know it was your shot that saved me. You are a brave girl.” Her overtaxed nerves gave way at my words, and I knew she was crying softly. The sobbing was in her voice as she strove to speak.