A young officer, whose red face was rendered extremely conspicuous by the blue of his uniform, led the rush of his soldiers as they came tumbling gallantly into the hall.

“Up there, men!” he cried, catching instant sight of me, and pointing. “Get that Johnny with the girl.”

As they sprang eagerly forward over the dead bodies littering the floor at the foot of the stairs, Brennan scrambled unsteadily to his feet, and halted them with imperious gesture.

“Leave him alone!” he commanded. “That is the commander of the Confederate detachment who came to our aid. The guerillas have fled down the hallway, and are most of them outside by now. Wayne,” he turned and glanced up at us, his face instantly darkening at the tableau, “kindly assist the ladies to descend; we must get them out of this shambles.”

He lifted them one by one and with ceremonious politeness across the ghastly pile of dead and wounded men.

“Escort them to the library,” he suggested, as I hesitated. “That room will probably be found clear.”

I was somewhat surprised that Brennan should not have come personally to the aid of his wife, but as he ignored her presence utterly, I at once offered her my arm, and silently led the way to the room designated, the others following as best they might. The apartment was unoccupied, exhibiting no signs of the late struggle, and I found comfortable resting places for all. Miss Minor was yet sobbing softly, her face hidden upon her mother's shoulder, and I felt constrained to speak with her.

“I shall go at once” I said kindly, “to ascertain all I can regarding Lieutenant Caton, and will bring you word.”

She thanked me with a glance of her dark eyes clouded with tears, but as I turned hastily away to execute this errand, Mrs. Brennan laid restraining hand upon my arm.

“Captain Wayne,” she said with much seriousness, “you are very unselfish, but you must not go until your own wounds have been attended to; they may be far more serious than you apprehend.”

“My wounds?” I almost laughed at the gravity of her face, for although exhausted, I was unconscious of any injury. “They must be trivial indeed, for I was not even aware I had any.”

“But you have!” she insisted, her eyes full upon me. “Your hair is fairly clotted with blood, while your shoulder is torn and bruised until it is horrible to look upon.”

As I gazed at her, surprised by the anxiety she so openly displayed, I chanced to behold myself reflected within a large mirror directly across the room. One glance was sufficient to convince me her words were fully justified. My remains of uniform literally clung to me in rags, my bare shoulder looked a contused mass of battered flesh, my hair was matted, and my face blackened by powder stains and streaked with blood.

“I certainly do appear disreputable enough,” I admitted; “but I can assure you it is nothing sufficiently serious to require immediate attention. Indeed a little water is probably all I need. Besides, why should I care—was it not all received for your sake?”

I spoke the pronoun so strongly she could not well ignore my obvious meaning, nor did she endeavor to escape the inference. Her face, yet white from the strain of the past few hours, became rosy in an instant, and her eyes fell.

“I know,” she answered softly. “Perhaps that may be why I am so exceedingly anxious your injuries should be attended to.”

As I stepped without, and closed the door behind me, I was at once startled by the rapid firing of shots from the rear of the house, and the next moment I encountered the young, red-faced officer hurrying along the hallway at the head of a squad of Federal cavalrymen. Recognizing me in the gloom of the passage he paused suddenly.

“I owe you a belated apology, Captain,” he exclaimed cordially, “for having mistaken you for one of those miscreants, but really your appearance was not flattering.”

“Having viewed myself since within a mirror,” I replied, “I am prepared to acknowledge the mistake a most natural one. However, I am grateful to be out of the scrape, and can scarcely find fault with my rescuers. Five minutes more would have witnessed the end.”

“We rode hard,” he said, “and were in saddle within fifteen minutes after the arrival of your courier. You evidently made a hard fight of it; the house bears testimony to a terrible struggle. We are rejoicing to learn that Lieutenant Caton was merely stunned; we believed him dead at first, and he is far too fine a fellow to go in that way.”

“He is truly living, then?” I exclaimed, greatly relieved. “Miss Minor, to whom he is engaged, is sorrowing over his possible fate in the library yonder. Could not two of your men assist him to her? She would do more to hasten his recovery than any one.”

“Certainly,” was the instant response. “Haines, you and McDonald get the officer out of the front room; carry him in there where the ladies are, and then rejoin us.”

His face darkened as the men designated departed on their errand.

“I really require all the force I possess,” he said doubtfully. “It seems impossible to dislodge those rascals back yonder. What we need is a field howitzer.”

“I have been wondering at the firing; pretty lively, isn't it? Have some of those fellows made a stand?”

“Yes; quite a crowd of them have succeeded in barricading themselves in the kitchen, and it is so arranged as to prove an exceedingly awkward place to attack. We have had three men hit already, in spite of every precaution, and I am seeking now to discover some means of forcing their position from the hall. Their leader appears to be a bullet-headed Dutchman about as easy to manage as a mule.”

The words aroused me to a possibility.

“A Dutchman, you say? and in the kitchen? Have you had sight of the fellow?”

“Merely a glimpse, and that over a rifle-barrel. He has a round, dull face, with a big flat nose.”

“That idiot is my sergeant, Lieutenant, and supposes he is still fighting guerillas.”

The Lieutenant looked at me in surprise, then burst into a peal of laughter. “Well, if that is true,” he cried, “I most sincerely hope you will call him off before he succeeds in cleaning out our entire troop.”

I started down the hallway toward the point of firing. There was a sharp jog in the wall leading to the kitchen door, and as I approached it some soldiers stationed there warned me to be careful.

“They're perfect devils to shoot, sir,” said one respectfully, “an' the Dutchman fetches his man every time.”

“Oh, it will be all right, boys,” I replied confidently. “He'll know me.”

Before me as I stepped forth was a double door of oak, the upper half partially open.

“Sergeant,” I cried, “come out; the fight is all over.”

For answer a bullet whizzed past me, chugging into the wall at my back, and I skipped around the corner with a celerity of movement which caused the fellows watching me to grin with delight.

“Find me a white cloth of some kind,” I demanded as soon as I reached cover, and now thoroughly angered. “We shall see if that wooden-headed old fool knows the meaning of a flag of truce.”

They succeeded in securing me a torn pillow-slip from somewhere, and sheltering my body as best I might behind the wall angle I waved it violently in full view of the kitchen door. For a few moments it remained apparently unnoted, and then Ebers's round, placid countenance looked suspiciously through the slight aperture.

“Did you give op?” he questioned anxiously.

“Give up nothing,” I retorted, my temper thoroughly exhausted. “Come out of that! You are firing on your own friends.”

He put his fat fingers to his nose and wiggled them derisively.

“Dot is too thin,” he said meaningly. “You dink me von ol' fool, but I show you. By Chiminy, I want no friends—you shoot me der ear off, and I fights mit you good and blenty. Der is dings to eat in der bantry, and you be damned.”

He drew back, leaving merely the black muzzle of his gun projecting across the top of the lower door.

“Ebers,” I called out at the top of my voice, “unless you obey my orders I'LL have you strung up by your own men. Open that door!”

The fat, puzzled face peered once more cautiously over the menacing gun-barrel.

“Is dot you, Captain?”

“Yes, come out; the fight is all over.”

“No, vos it?” and he flung open the lower half of the door. “Veil, I vos not sorry. Have ve vipped dem already?”

“Yes, it's all done with. Take your men out of there, and go into camp somewhere in the yard. Seek out our wounded and attend to them as soon as possible. Are your men hungry?”

“Veil, maybe dey vos not quite full, but dere is a ham in der bantry dot vould pe bretty good mit der stomach.”

“Take it along with you; only hurry up, and attend at once to what I have told you.”

I watched closely until they had all passed out, and then turned to the highly amused Federal lieutenant.

“You surely have a character in that fellow,” he said good-humoredly, “and I can bear witness he is a fighter when the time comes.”

I left them, remembering then my own need. By using the back stairway I avoided unpleasant contact with the traces of conflict yet visible at the front of the house, and finally discovered a bathroom which afforded facilities for cleansing my flesh wounds and making my general appearance more presentable. I found I could do little to improve the condition of my clothing, but after making such changes for the better as were possible, soaking the clotted blood from out my hair, and washing the powder stains from my face, I felt I should no longer prove an object of aversion even to the critical eyes of the women, who would fully realize the cause for my torn and begrimed uniform.

A glance from the window told me the Federal cavalrymen were bearing out the dead and depositing them beyond view of the house in the deserted negro cabins. Ebers and one or two of my own men were standing near, carefully scanning the uncovered faces as they were borne past, while scraps of conversation overheard brought the information that the long dining-room where I had passed the night on guard had been converted into a temporary hospital.

Irresolute as to my next action, I passed out into the upper hall. It was deserted and strangely silent, seemingly far removed from all those terrible scenes so lately enacted in the rooms beneath. My head by this time throbbed with pain; I desired to be alone, to think, to map out my future course before proceeding down the stairs to meet the others. With this in view I sank down in complete weariness upon a convenient settee. I could hear the sound of muffled voices below, while an occasional order was spoken loud enough to reach me; but I was utterly alone, and my thoughts wandered, as though the strain of the past few hours had completely wrecked all my mental faculties. It was Edith Brennan—Edith Brennan—who remained constantly before me, and wherever my eyes wandered they beheld the same fail-face, which tantalized me by its presence and mocked me in every resolve I sought to form. There was no safety for me—and none for her, as I now verily believed—save in my immediate departure. We could be together no longer without my unlocking sealed lips and giving utterance to words she could not listen to, words she must never hear. I was yet struggling to force this decision into action when complete fatigue overcame me. My heavy head sank back upon the arm of the settee, and deep sleep closed my eyes.