The idea took possession of her that she was once more on the battle-field,
that it was the cries of the men who were falling around her which pierced the
air, and their weapons that stabbed her as they fell. Then their hands
clutched her in a dying grip. Horse-men loomed up before her and came nearer,
and she could not get out of their path, though she struggled with all her
force. The hoofs were almost upon her... Uttering a wild scream, she put forth
all her strength in a last effort.
"It will be like holding a young tiger, lord," a harsh voice suddenly reached
her ear. She came to herself to find that soldiers were lifting her up to the
horseman, where he sat again in his saddle. She recognized the squareness of
his shoulders; and she knew the gentleness of his touch as he slipped his free
arm around her and drew her carefully into place, making of his stalwart body
a support for her weakness. No strength was in her to struggle against him;
only her wide bright eyes sought his, with the terror of a snared bird.
Meeting the look and understanding a small part of its question, he said a
reassuring word in his pleasant low-pitched voice: "Be of good cheer,
youngling; there is no thought of eating you. I will bring you to a cup of
wine before moonrise, if you hold fast."
It is doubtful if the girl so much as heard him.
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