“Yes, all is over,” muttered the Free Sword, dropping his face down to the cold face beneath him.
“Up and away! We are dead beat!” shouted another equestrian whirlwind that rushed past him.
“Dead beat!” echoed the Free Sword, mechanically.
Abershaw was the next who came. He hurriedly dashed up, threw himself from his saddle, and led his horse up to his chief, hastily exclaiming:
“Colonel Corsoni! For heaven’s sake, fly! There is not a moment to be lost! Rosenthal is a few yards behind! Here! I have brought you a fresh horse! Mount and away! Save yourself!”
The Free Sword lifted his despairing eyes to the face of his faithful follower and pointed in silence to the still form in his arms.
“Madam Corsoni fainted! No wonder, poor lady! Well, I will stay and take care of her. It does not matter so much if I am captured; I shall be treated as a prisoner of war. But you, Colonel! oh, you know the doom that awaits you if you are taken! Mount my horse! Fly and save yourself!”
“Save myself! From what? The worst has happened that could possibly befall me. Oh, Abershaw, look here! and tell me if my life is worth the saving now!” cried Corsoni, in a heart-broken voice, as he pointed to the dead face of his wife.
“Dead! killed! Oh, Heaven, how did that happen?” exclaimed Abershaw, overwhelmed by the sight.
“A Minie ball. She saw the murderous rifle aimed, and threw herself before me, and received in her heart the shot that was intended for my bosom!” said Corsoni, in a voice of such deep despair that his follower groaned aloud.