Corsoni laughed and thanked his host, and then alighted and lifted his wife off her horse.
“You must be nearly dead with fatigue, beloved,” he whispered, tenderly, as he took a blanket from one of his men, threw it to the ground, and gently seated Alberta on it.
Meanwhile, some of Corsoni’s band busied themselves with cutting down saplings, driving stakes into the ground, weaving walls, and roofing in a temporary shelter for Corsoni’s beloved wife—beloved by all the band for her devotion to their chief and their cause.
“Come sit on this blanket with me, Elfie. You will take cold on the bare ground, child,” said Alberta, kindly.
And the captive, who felt a sort of limited sense of safety in the presence of the chieftainess, came and sat down beside her.
When Alberta’s pretty, picturesque hut of fragrant evergreens was finished, Haddycraff came to her and said:
“Your shelter is ready, lady. Come into it. Abershaw will bring you tea.”
Alberta thanked her faithful follower, and gave her hand to her female companion, saying:
“Come, Elfie; you shall share my hut, and rest under my protection to-night as last night.”
And Elfie, whose young joints, to be sure, were stiff with long constraint and hard riding, gladly availed herself of Alberta’s aid in rising.