“Murder! Murder! Help! Help!”
CHAPTER XXVI.
ELFIE IN THE GROVE.
Ask me not what the maiden feels,
Left in that dreadful hour alone;
Perchance her reason stoops or reels
Perchance a courage not her own,
Braces her mind to desperate tone.—Scott.
“Quick, boys! There is something dreadful going on in that grove! Some woman in extreme peril!” hastily exclaimed Justin Rosenthal, as he put spurs to his horse, and galloped forward, hotly followed by Wing and Hay.
The grove, at the point at which they approached it, was too thickly grown to admit the entrance of their horses.
So Colonel Rosenthal threw himself from his saddle, fastened his horse to a tree, drew his sword and plunged into the thicket.