Corsoni placed his wife on her horse and then mounted his own.
Alberta, turning around, saw Elfie bound hand and foot behind Goldsborough, who was firmly seated on one of the most powerful roadsters she had ever seen.
Elfie could no longer fight or struggle, but she scolded and remonstrated as vigorously as ever.
“Men—if you are men and not monsters—how dare you look on and see such an outrage as this accomplished!” she cried, addressing the band at large.
But the men were busy with their curbs, restraining restive horses, that were as eager to fly as their masters; and they had no attention to bestow on Elfie.
“Colonel Corsoni, are you a gentleman, and will you permit this violence to be done me?” she demanded of the Free Sword.
But the guerrilla chief was marshaling his band, and did not even hear her words.
“Alberta, Alberta, why do you not interfere? You promised that no wrong should be done me that you could prevent!” she screamed, turning her head—the only part of her person she could move—towards Madame Corsoni.
“Would to heaven I could prevent this, Elfie!” exclaimed the guerrilla’s wife. Then turning to her cousin, she said, sharply:
“Albert Goldsborough, if you have a spark of manhood left, release the girl and leave her here. The Federals will find her when they come, and protect her, until they can send her to her friends.”