made a stampede for a thicket of poplar and
willow saplings that was near the creek. The Danite still held by
Susannah's sleeve.

"Where is my husband?" she again asked. She had not moved since he last
spoke to her.

Some men were busy laying the dead, of whom there were eighteen, on the
floor of a shed which was not far off. Susannah and the Danite moved
about together and found Halsey lying still on the green, his limbs
decently composed, his eyes for ever shut. The bearers were about to
lift him, but the Danite interposed. He had an excited fancy concerning
Susannah's dead and what must be done for them. He lifted Halsey easily
in both his arms and walked away, Susannah following with the dead
child.

Without a word they went till they came to Halsey's camp. Nothing had
been touched since Susannah left in the morning. The Danite, remembering
the camp as he had seen it a few evenings before, looked about him now
curiously, and laid Halsey down on the very spot where he had stood to
plead for a divine righteousness.

It was not a time for words. Having deposited his burden, he looked to
Susannah, but she had no directions to give. She sat down beside her
husband, as though preparing to remain.

"I thought you'd like to lay them both out here, but I guess I ought to
get you into the bush, ma'am."

"I will stay here," she said; "you had better go to help some one else."

The cries of the wounded were still heard from the vicinity of the
houses. A crowd of the uninjured people were to be seen making their way
through the first bushes of the thicket. They seemed to be carrying the
wounded thither, for men bearing shutters, and doors upon which the sick
were stretched now started in the direction of the bush. There was need
for help, as the Danite well saw; then, too, inactivity was torture. He
left Susannah and ran back to bear his part in the common task.

When almost every other living soul was lost in the close thicket he
came again, approaching the camp with soft footsteps, peering anxiously.
Susannah had laid the child in his father's arms. Their enemies seemed
to have taken aim for the heart, for Halsey's wound was also there. She
had so laid the child within his arms, heart to heart, that no sign of
injury appeared. She sat by them now, sobbing her tearless sobs,
stroking gently, sometimes the hair of the child, more often the thick
locks of light hair that lay above her husband's brow. She was talking
to