"I'll bluid him like a sheep," he muttered, as he bent down and tried to sharpen the blade on the hearth-stone.
I knew I could expect no mercy from this frenzied, half-drunken brute.
A prayer stole up from my heart--not for mercy, but for the safety of the hill-folks on the morrow, and for the pardon of my own sins. Only a shriven soul could hope to be reunited with my beloved:--please God, Mary would be waiting for me on the other side.
The trooper rose and came towards me.
"I'll bluid ye like a sheep," he snarled, and seizing me by the hair swung my head over to one side.
Death stared me in the face, and, let me set it down for the comfort of those who live in daily terror of death, at that moment I felt no fear.
"Like a sheep," he mumbled--and swung his arm back for the blow; but at that instant he crashed forward carrying me before him, and his open knife clattered on the floor.
"Thank God--oh, thank God," whispered a woman's voice, as she drew me, still bound to the chair, from under the heavy body of the giant. In a trice she had cut my bonds--and was chafing my numbed limbs.
"Ha'e I killed him?" she asked anxiously.
I looked at the giant. He was breathing heavily--and a long gash on the back of his head was spurting jets of blood.