I remembered as I hurried down the back stairway her flushed face, but could recall no look of indignant pride in those clear eyes whose pleasant memory haunted me. She loved me; of this I now felt doubly assured, and the knowledge made my heart light, even while I dreaded the consequences to us both. To have won was much, even although hope of possession did not accompany the winning. Neither of us might ever again blot out those passionate words of love, nor forget the glad meeting of our lips.

I stepped out into the kitchen and came to a sudden pause, facing a table laden with such a variety and abundance of food as had been strange to me for many a long day. Directly opposite, a napkin tucked beneath his double chin, his plate piled high with good things, sat Ebers, while at either end I beheld Mr. and Mrs. Bungay similarly situated. The astonishment of our meeting seemed mutual. The Sergeant, apparently feeling the necessity of explanation, wiped his mouth soberly.

“I vos yoost goin' to fill me op mit der dings like a good soldier, Captain,” he said in anxiety.

“So I perceive,” I answered, my own spirits high. “The long night of fasting must have left quite a vacancy.”

“I vos like a cistern in mein insides, by Chiminy.”

“No doubt; well, I am rather hungry myself. Mrs. Bungay, in memory of old times cannot you spare me a plate? If so, I will take pleasure in joining your happy company. Thank you. I see you have found your man.”

She glared down the table, and the little fellow visibly shrank.

“I have thet, sir,” she answered grimly, “an' I reckon as how he's likely ter stay et hum arter this.”

“But you forget he is my guide,” I protested, not disinclined to test her temper. “Surely, Mrs. Bungay, you would not deprive the South of his valuable service?”

“An' wouldn't I, now? An' didn't thet little whiffit promise me long afore he ever did you uns? Ain't he my nat'ral pertecter? Whut's a lone female a goin' ter dew yere in ther mountings wi'out no man?” Her eyes flashed angrily at me. “Suah, an' if it's jist fightin' as he wants so bad I reckon as how he kin git it et hum wi'out goin' ter no war—anyhow ye kin bet I don't give him up, now I got my hand on him agin, fer ther whole kit an' caboodle of ye. He bean't much ter look et, likely, but he 's my man, an' I reckon as how ther Lord giv' him ter me ter take keer of.”

“Really, Mrs. Bungay,” I insisted, “of course it will prove exceedingly disagreeable to me, and I shall greatly regret being compelled to do anything of the kind, but it is undoubtedly my duty to place Jed under guard and carry him back to camp with me.”

“But suah, an' ye won't, Captain dear?” she pleaded, entirely changing her tone. “Whut good is thet little whiffit ter you uns? There's never so much as a decent fight in him thet I've found in twenty years. Maybe ye think as how I'm jist a bit hard on him; but he's thet gay at times thet he drives me fair crazy. Every lick I ever give him wus fer his own good. Suah now, an' ye never would run off with my man?”

“Come, Jed, what do you say? Are you tired fighting the battles of the Confederacy, and prefer those of home?”

he quoted humbly. “I like ter read all 'bout fightin' well 'nough, but durn it, Cap, it kinder hurts whin they hits ye on ther head with a gun.” His face lit up suddenly. “'Sides, I sorter wanter hev Mariar git 'quainted with thet thar muel o' mine, Beelzebub.”

“But you've lost him.”

“Nary a durn loss; ye jist can't lose thet muel, he's too blame ornary. He's out thar now, hitched ter a tree, an' a eatin' fit ter bust his biler—never a durn mark on his hide fer all he wint through.”

“Well, I suppose I shall be compelled to let you and Beelzebub go, but it will prove a serious loss to the cause of the South,” I said, my thoughts instantly turned by mention of the mule to matters of more importance. “I expect there will be lively times up your way.”

“Ye kin jist bet thar will,” enthusiastically. “It'll be nip an' tuck, I reckon, but I 'm mighty hopeful o' Mariar. Thet dern muel he needs ter be took down a peg.”

Ebers was eating all this time with an eagerness which plainly exhibited his fear lest I should call him to halt before he had entirely filled the aching void in his interior department. I could not fail to note the deep anxiety in his eyes as he watched me furtively.

“Sergeant,” I said, and he started perceptibly.

“I vos not yet done, Captain,” he implored. “Mein Gott, but I vos so hongry as never vos.”

“Oh, eat all you please; I merely wished to question you a little. Did you send out a party to bring in our horses and the sabres?”

“It vos all done already; der horses vos found und der swords. Yaw, I see to all dot; but I vos hongry, und vaited here to fill me op.”

“How many men have we lost?”

He checked them off on the tines of his fork, occasionally pausing to take a bite from the meat held in his other hand.

“Der vos five kilt, Captain; dot vos it. I vos hit mit der ear off, und vos hongry as never vos; Sands is goin' to die, und maybe Elliott vill not get some better; some odders vos hurted, und der guide vos took brisoner.”

“Taken prisoner?”

“Dot is it, Captain; by Chiminy, he vos took by der ear by his voman und led in der house. Vot you calls dot, if he vos not brisoner, hay?”

“Why, she is his wife.”

“Veil, dot may be, too,” he insisted stoutly. “His frau, yaw, dot is it, but by Chiminy, he fights mit her yoost der same, und vos brisoner; und I vos vounded mit der ear off, und vos hongry as never vos.”

“How many men does that leave us fit for duty?” I asked decisively, pushing back my plate and rising from the table.

He counted them up with painful slowness, speaking each name deliberately, as if calling the roll.

“Dere vos twelve, Captain, mit me, but I am not fit for duty widout I eat somedings first.”

“That will do,” I said peremptorily. “You can have fifteen minutes more to complete filling up. In half an hour from now have the men ready for the road.”

“But, Captain,” he protested, “I vould rattle so mit my insides, by Chiminy, dot der horse vould scare.”

“Do exactly as I say, and no more words, Sergeant,” and I turned and left the room.

We must depart, and at once. More than ever now I realized the necessity for haste. I hoped to meet the officer commanding the Federal detachment who had come to our aid, pay him the customary marks of respect, and get away without again coming in contact with Major Brennan. I felt myself pledged to this course of action.

A sentry stationed in the lower hallway informed me the officers were messing together in the front parlor, and I at once headed that way. I paused, however, to visit the wounded for a moment, spoke cheerily to my own men, and then, opening the door quietly, entered the room which I had last left in possession of the guerillas. With the exception of broken windows and bullet-scarred walls little evidence remained of that contest which had raged here with such fury but a few hours previously. There were numerous dark stains upon the carpet, but much of the furniture had been restored to place, while a cheerful wood fire crackled in the open grate. Before it three men were sitting smoking, while upon a small table close at their elbows rested a flat bottle, flanked by several glasses. A single glance sufficed to tell me they were Federal cavalrymen, one being the red-faced lieutenant whom I had already met.

“I am seeking the commander of this detachment,” I explained, as they glanced up in surprise at my entrance unannounced. “I am Captain Wayne, in charge of the Confederate troop which was engaged in defence of this house.”

A portly man with a strong face, and wearing a closely clipped gray beard, arose from a comfortable armchair and advanced with hand extended.

“I am Captain Moorehouse, in command,” he answered cordially, “and am very glad to meet you. Will you not join with us? My second lieutenant, who has positive genius in that line, has unearthed a few bottles of rather choice whiskey which we will divide most gladly.”

“I thank you,” I replied, anxious to meet him as pleasantly as possible, “but I am eager to get away upon my duty as early as may be, and have merely intruded upon you to explain my purpose.”

“Nonsense,” he insisted. “Duty is never quite so urgent as to require a waste of good liquor. Captain Wayne, permit me to present my officers—Lieutenants Warren and Starr, Second New Hampshire Cavalry. If by any luck you were at Gettysburg, you have met before.”

I smiled and accepted the glass held out to me.

“I was certainly there,” I replied in the same spirit with which he had spoken, “and now you recall it, retain a most vivid recollection of meeting several Federal cavalrymen on that occasion, but believe I did not linger to ascertain the number of their regiment. My curiosity was completely satisfied before I reached that point. However, I am far better pleased to renew the acquaintance in this manner.”

The ice broken, we continued to converse freely for several minutes regarding incidents of the war, and I described the peculiar conditions which had brought me to the relief of Brennan's party. Under other circumstances I should have greatly enjoyed this exchange of reminiscences, but the constant haunting fear of the Major's possible entrance at any moment rendered me extremely uneasy, and anxious to be away. Undoubtedly this feeling exhibited itself in my manner, for Captain Moorehouse said finally:

“I realize your natural anxiety to be off, Captain Wayne, and while we should be very glad to keep you with us indefinitely, yet I trust you will feel perfectly free in the matter.”

“I thank you greatly,” I answered, rising as I spoke. “My duty is of such a nature, and has already been so long neglected, that I feel every moment of unnecessary delay to be a crime. I wish you a pleasant return within your own lines, and an early cessation of hostilities.”

I had shaken hands with them all, and turned toward the door, congratulating myself on escaping thus easily, when a new voice broke suddenly in upon my self-satisfaction:

“I trust Captain Wayne is not intending to depart without at least a word with me?”

It was Brennan. He had entered unobserved from the second parlor, and now stood leaning with an almost insolent assumption of languor against the sliding door, his eyes fastened upon me.

“Frankly,” I responded, “I had hoped I might.”

His brows contracted into a frown of anger that seemed to darken his entire face.

“Have you forgotten, then, our compact, or do you simply elect to ignore it?”

I saw the others exchange quick glances of amazement, but I answered coolly:

“The latter supposition is more nearly the truth, Major Brennan. I felt that after what we have just passed through together we could both afford to ignore the past, and consequently was hoping to escape without again encountering you.”

“Indeed!” he exclaimed sarcastically. “But I might have expected it. Gentlemen,” and he turned toward the expectant group, “this man and I have a personal grievance of long standing unsettled. I have sought him for months in vain. When he came last night to our assistance, before I even consented to accept his services I insisted that no occurrence of the defence should prevent our meeting if we both survived. Now he endeavors to sneak away like a whipped cur. I demand satisfaction at his hands, and if it is refused I shall denounce him in both armies.”

My cheeks burned, but before I could control myself sufficiently for answer Moorehouse spoke.

“But, Brennan, see here,” he said anxiously, “surely Captain Wayne has served you well. Is this trouble between you so serious that no amends are possible?”

“None, short of a personal meeting.”

“Captain,” and the perplexed Federal commander, turned toward me, “have you any word of explanation in this unfortunate affair?”

“Very little,” I answered. “I am not even aware that I have done injury to Major Brennan, purposely or otherwise. He has not so much as honored me with information as to his cause for complaint. However, I care very little what it may be. As he has seen fit to denounce me before officers of my own corps, I should be extremely glad to meet him upon that ground alone; but after what we have just passed through together, I felt ready to blot out these past differences. Whatever they may have been, they are not liable to occur again, nor we to meet.”

“They have occurred again since you have been in this house!” Brennan broke forth excitedly. “You are not a coward, but I brand you here and now as sneak and liar! Now will you fight?”

We stood for a moment in utter silence, eye to eye, and I knew there was no help for it. These words, publicly spoken, left me no choice.

“I am at your service, Major Brennan,” I returned sternly, “now, or at any time. But I am unfortunate here in having no officer of my army present, and hence can name no second.”

“Doubtless one of these gentlemen will consent to serve,” he said, his face brightening at my rejoinder.

There was a moment of hesitation, natural enough, for they could scarcely feel like pitting themselves against a brother officer in a quarrel the merits of which were so obscure. I was about to speak, volunteering to stand alone, when some one hastily pushed a way to the front, and Lieutenant Caton, pale but determined, stood at my shoulder.

“It will afford me pleasure to act for Captain Wayne,” he said clearly, “if he will accept my services. Moreover,” he added, with a significant glance at Brennan, “I do this as a friend, and with full confidence that I am upon the right side in the quarrel.”

For a moment no one spoke, Brennan biting his moustache to keep back words he durst not utter. Then Caton turned to me.

“If you will retire to the library, Wayne, I will arrange this matter with whoever may represent Major Brennan.”

With a slight formal bow to those present I quitted the room.