“Never! I’ll die before I’ll ask my life from you!” answered Mim, defiantly.
“Well, you’re a spirited little gnat, that’s certain! And I’ll give you your life. Get up!” laughed Mutchison, removing his foot from Mim’s chest, and turning away to look after his men.
Elfie stooped to raise her fallen champion.
“Oh Mim! Mim, dear, are you hurt?” she said, giving him her hand to assist him in rising.
“No—I’m furious! Let me up and at him!” exclaimed the mite, struggling to his feet and looking about for his rapier.
“But, dear Mim, you can’t—you mustn’t! You stand in the position of a paroled prisoner now. The man spared your life!”
“I didn’t ask him! and I’ll cut off his head!”
“So you shall the minute you are at liberty to do so; but now you must keep your implied parole,” said Elfie, holding him fast; for she was really fond of the brave little fellow, in a sisterly sort of fashion, and she could not bear that he should recklessly and uselessly fling away his life.
Meanwhile Mutchison turned to his band, who now filled the whole area.
“Hoi, my men! No bloodshed! Disarm these dainty gentlemen without hurting them! afterwards we will know what to do with them!” roared the guerrilla leader.