Whately returned wearing a rather gloomy and angry aspect. He had threatened his negroes and stormed at them; they had listened in sullen silence. The overseer had said, "Hit's the old story. They have heard that the Yanks are near and may come this way. Fact is, one doesn't know what they haven't heard. They hold together and keep mum. You can see that all discipline is at an end among 'em."

Whately could only give the man such directions as the emergency dictated, obtain some valuables, and return chafed and all the more bent upon securing out of the possible wreck the one object he most coveted. But Miss Lou puzzled him and perplexed them all. She had taken refuge in almost absolute silence, and was as unresponsive to Mrs. Whately's endearments as to her uncle and aunt's expostulations, while toward Whately she was positively freezing in her coldness. Troubled and inwardly enraged, he was yet more than ever determined to carry out his purpose. His orders to his men were given sharply and sternly, and his mood was so fierce that there was no longer any affectation or assumption on his part. The girl's heart fluttered with nameless fears, but she had the strength of will to maintain the cold, impassive demeanor she had resolved upon. She felt that it would be useless to make further effort to influence her kindred, and that if she revealed her purpose to appeal to the clergyman, they might so prejudice his mind against her that he would not listen favorably. Fearing that this might be the case anyway, she found her thoughts turning with increasing frequency to the possible intervention of the Union scout. She both hoped for and feared his coming, supported as he would be, in this instance, by followers who might be so different from himself. She could not free her mind from the influence of the stories about Northern soldiers, and yet she was sure that as far as his power went, they would all be protected. Indeed, one danger menaced so closely and threateningly she could scarcely think of anything else than escape and relief from it.

As the sun began to sink in the west her uncle came to her door and said authoritatively, "Louise, I wish you to come down."

She obeyed without a word and entered the parlor where all were assembled, noting with dismay that the Rev. Dr. Williams was already present. Her cousin sought to meet her gallantly, but she evaded him and took a seat. Mr. Baron began a sort of harangue. "Louise," he said, "as your guardian and in obedience to my sense of duty in a great responsibility, I have approved of this marriage. I am convinced that the time will speedily come when you will be glad that I—that we all—were firm at this time. Both I and your aunt are growing old. Troubles, sore indeed even for the young to endure, are upon us. I am not sure that a roof will cover our gray hairs much longer. Perhaps in the dead of this very night the ruthless enemy may come. Now, your aunt Whately's carriage is at the door. A gallant soldier and a Confederate officer, the choice of all your kindred, is eager to give you his name and loving protection. He will take you far away from war's rude alarms, with its attendant and horrible perils. We have no common foe to deal with, but monsters animated by unquenchable hatred and a diabolical spirit. I should betray my trust and be recreant to my duty did I not avail myself of the one avenue of safety still open to you. See, your cousin's brave men are mounted, armed, and ready to act as your escort. Dr. Williams is here to perform his good offices, although other invited friends have not ventured from home in this time of peril which recent tidings prove to be increasing every hour. In a few moments you will be an honored wife, on your way to a place of refuge, instead of a helpless girl whose defenders may soon be scattered or dead."

"Truly, Miss Baron," said the clergyman, rising and approaching, "you cannot hesitate in circumstances like these."

Miss Lou felt her tongue clinging to the roof of her mouth, and could only say in a hoarse whisper, "But I do not love my cousin—I do not wish to marry."

"That may be your feeling at this moment. Indeed, circumstances are not conducive to gentle amatory feelings, and all may seem sudden and hasty to you, but you must consider that your relatives in this emergency—indeed that all your neighbors—are doing many things and taking many precautions that would not be thought of in a time of security. I have already sent my own family further South, and now in your case and Mrs. Whately's I feel that time is pressing. Will you please rise and take your cousin by the hand?"

She shook her head and remained motionless. Whately advanced decisively, took her hand, and sought gently to draw her into position before the clergyman. His touch broke the spell, the paralysis of dread, and she burst out, "No, no, you cannot marry me when my whole soul protests. I will not be married!"

"Louise, I command you," began Mr. Baron excitedly.

"It makes no difference. I will not! I will not!" was the passionate and almost despairing response.

"Oh, come, cousin, you are just excited, frightened, and off your balance," said Whately soothingly.

"My dear Miss Baron," added the clergyman, "let me reassure you. It is evident that you are a little nervous and hysterical. Pray be calm and trust your relatives to do what is best for you. I do not wonder that your nerves have given way and that—"

"My nerves have not given way. Unfriended child that I am, I must not lose self-control. God grant that my WILL does not give way."

"Unfriended!" exclaimed Mrs. Whately reproachfully. "Few girls in these times have so many to care and think for them. We are all bent on securing your welfare at every cost."

"Yes, at every cost to me."

"Dr. Williams sees the wisdom and reasonableness of our course. My son is even straining his sense of military duty to escort us to a place of safety, where you will still be among relatives."

"Then let him escort me as his cousin, not his wife," cried the girl.

"But, Miss Baron, in the turmoil and confusion which may ensue you will be far safer as his wife," Dr. Williams urged. "I would have been glad if I could have given my daughter like protection. Truly, it is not wise to be swayed by mere nervous excitement at such a time."

"Oh, even you, from whom I hoped so much, are against me!"

"No, my dear child," replied the minister, earnestly and sincerely, "I am for you always, but I cannot help seeing, with your relatives, that at present you are not in the quiet state of mind which would enable you to act wisely for yourself. What earthly motive could I have except your safety, welfare and happiness?"

"Well, then," said the girl, with a swift glance around and as if turning into stone, "do your worst. I will never give my consent, NEVER!"

They looked at each other perplexedly and inquiringly, as if to ask what should be done, when Perkins burst in at the back door of the hallway shouting, "The Yanks!"

The girl sank into a chair and covered her burning face for an instant. Deep in her soul she divined who her rescuer was, yet in the midst of her hope she felt a certain consciousness of guilt and fear. Mr. Baron, Dr. Williams, and the ladies, half-paralyzed, yet drawn by a dreadful fascination, approached the open windows. Mad Whately now played a better part. He was in full uniform and his horse stood saddled without. He went to it, mounted with almost the swiftness of light, and was just in time to see the Federals sweep around the drive which led to the stables. Scoville had brought his little force by the familiar way of Aun' Jinkey's cabin. Furious at being forestalled, and in obedience to a headlong courage which none disputed, Whately's sabre flashed instantly in the rays of the sinking sun, and his command, "Charge!" rang clear, without a second's hesitancy.

The order echoed in the girl's heart and she felt that she had too much at stake not to witness the conflict. Her own high spirit also prompted the act, and in a moment she was out on the veranda. She saw her cousin spur directly toward the leader of the Federals, in whom she recognized the Union scout. His men came galloping after him, but seemed more inclined to envelop and surround the Confederates than to engage in hand-to-hand conflicts. The latter were experienced veterans and quickly recognized that they were being overpowered and that there was no use in throwing away their lives. Hasty shots were fired, a few sabres clashed, but the demand, "Surrender!" heard on all sides, was so well enforced by the aspect of the situation that compliance soon began. Scoville and Whately, with those immediately about them, maintained the conflict. The two young officers were evenly matched as swordsmen, although the Federal was the larger, stronger, and cooler man. As a result, their duel was quickly terminated by the loss of Whately's sabre, wrenched from his hand. Then the point of his foe's weapon threatened his throat, and the word "Surrender!" was thundered in his ears.

Instead of complying, he fell from his horse as if shot, lay still an instant, and then in the confusion of the melee glided through an adjacent basement door and disappeared. Seeing him fall, his mother uttered a wild shriek and gave way to almost hysterical grief. A backward glance revealed to Whately that the fight was lost, or rather that it had been hopeless from the first, and his one thought now was to escape and lead back a larger force for the purposes of both rescue and vengeance. Gaining a rear door, a bound took him to some shrubbery. A second later he was behind the kitchen. Aun' Suke saw him, threw up her hands, and uttered an inarticulate cry. A moment or two more and he was in the stable, leading out a horse. All attention was now so concentrated in front of the mansion that he was not observed. He took only time to slip on a bridle, then springing on the animal's bare back, he struck into a field behind a clump of trees. Putting the horse to a run, he was soon beyond successful pursuit. Some of his own men had seen him fall before they were driven back, and believed that he was either wounded or dead; thronging Federals, unaware of the circumstances, occupied the ground, and only Miss Lou, with an immense burden lifted from her heart, saw his ruse and flight. She wished him well sincerely if he would only leave her to herself. Hastening to Mrs. Whately she speedily restored the lady with assurances of her son's escape, then with her joined the group on the veranda. Mr. Baron, in the crisis of his affairs and as the head of the family, maintained a dignity and composure which of late had been lacking.

Scoville paid no heed to them until every vestige of resistance had ceased and the Confederates were disarmed and collected as prisoners. Then sitting on his horse in front of the piazza steps he rapidly gave his orders. His first act was to send a vedette down the avenue toward the main road; then he selected five men, saying, "Take charge of the stables, barn, and out-buildings. Keep them as they are and permit no one to approach without my written orders."

At this moment the field-hands, who had been surging nearer and nearer, sent forward a sort of improvised deputation. They approached bowing, with hats in hand and wistful looks in their eyes. Were these in truth the messengers of freedom of whom they had heard so much? Mr. Baron almost gnashed his teeth as he witnessed this action on the part of his property.

"Mars'r," said the spokesman, "I reck'n you got good news for we uns."

"Yes, good news. You are all free." His words rang out so that they were heard by every one. Shouts and cries of exultation followed like an echo, and ragged hats were tossed high in joy.

The young soldier raised his hand with a warning and repressive gesture. In the silence that ensued he added, "My men here are both free and white, yet they must obey orders. So must you. Go back to your quarters and prove yourselves worthy of freedom by quiet behavior and honesty. If I find any one, black or white, acting the part of a thief while I am in charge it will go hard with him. The general will be here to-morrow and he will advise you further."

His words found immediate acceptance, the negroes returning to the quarters, laughing and chatting joyously, not a few wiping tears of deep emotion from their eyes. The long-expected day had come. They little knew what the future had in store for them, but this was the beginning of a new era and the fulfilment of a great hope.

Scoville now dismounted and gave the reins to Chunk, who stood near with a droll assumption of soldier-like stiffness and oblivion to all the well-known faces. Mounting the steps, cap in hand, the young officer approached Mr. Baron, who was becoming a little assured that the orders thus far heard had not included a general application of the torch.

"Mr. Baron, I presume?" said Scoville.

"Yes, sir," was the stiff reply.

"The ladies of your household, I suppose?"

"They are."

Scoville bowed ceremoniously to each, giving Miss Lou no other sign of recognition than a humorous twinkle in his eye. "Ladies," he began, "since it is the fortune of war that I must have command here for a brief time, I hasten to assure you that we shall give as little annoyance as possible. A few men on both sides were wounded, and I fear that the officer commanding your men was killed. At least I saw him fall. The night is warm and still and I can make a hospital here on the piazza with a little aid from you. Please dismiss all further fears. Unless we are attacked, the night shall pass quietly. Each and every one will be treated with respect and courtesy. I must request of you, however, sir," addressing Mr. Baron, "food for myself and men and forage for our horses."

"I suppose you will take them anyway," growled the unwilling host.

"Certainly," replied Scoville, giving him a steady look. "Do you expect us to go hungry? I shall do my duty as a soldier and an officer, as well as deport myself as a gentleman."

There was nothing left but for Mr. Baron to give his directions to Perkins, or for the ladies to make preparations for the improvised hospital. Miss Lou gratefully recognized that Scoville did not intend to compromise her in the least nor reveal his previous acquaintance unless it should become known through no fault of his. She lingered a moment as Dr. Williams stepped forward and asked, "May I be permitted to return to my home?"

"I trust so, certainly, sir, but my duty requires brief explanation on your part and pledges that you will take no hostile action. We are not among friends, you know."

"I can very readily account for myself, sir," was the stiff response. "I was summoned here to perform a wedding ceremony which your most inopportune arrival prevented. I am a man of peace, not of war, yet I cannot and will not give any pledges."

"It is scarcely fair then, sir, for you to take refuge in your calling, but I will waive that point. I must warn you, however, that we can give protection to those only who do not seek to harm us. You are at liberty. Good-evening, sir."

He had extracted from the clergyman the fact that he had arrived in time, and he again gave the girl in the doorway a mirthful glance, then turned on his heel to attend to his military duties.

Miss Lou hastened to her room with hot cheeks.