ps.

But it was no woman's hand which was there to defend it, and as the
Englishman wheeled his horse for the attack Peyton's pistol flashed
almost in his face, and he fell forward on his charger's neck,
convulsively clasping it as the animal ran wildly forward unguided
toward the American lines. Meanwhile, the two commanders had crossed
swords, and as both were good fencers, a duel _a l'outrance_ seemed
imminent. But Tarleton had no time for chivalrous encounters. His
opponent beat down his guard, and with a sudden thrust wounded the
British colonel in the hand. The latter drew a pistol, and as he
wheeled to follow his flying squadrons discharged it at his adversary,
the ball taking effect near the knee. The battle was now really at an
end, and the pursuit was abandoned at this point.

As Walter Peyton lay down beside his camp-fire that night it was with
a body worn down by excitement and fatigue, but with a heart beating
high with pride as he looked at the flag he had so gallantly defended,
and remembered his colonel's words of commendation, which he more than
hoped meant promotion to a captain's commission.

In the city of Charleston all was gloom and sorrow except in the
little circle of society which boasted of its loyalty to the Crown.
Scarcely a family but had some representative in the Continental
ranks, and as all intelligence reached the city through British
channels, the darkest side of every encounter between the armies was
the first which the imprisoned patriots saw. The non-combatant members
of all the planters' families had moved into the city before
its capitulation, and while the ladies permitted the visits and
acquaintance of the English officers, they never lost an opportunity
to show them how hateful they esteemed the royal cause.

It was nearly a month after the victory at the Cowpens that Miss
Elliott was sitting with her mother one evening in the parlor of
their city residence. Conspicuous among the furniture was a large and
comfortable arm-chair upholstered in heavy crimson silk damask, but
while everything else in the room was neat and even elegant, this
chair appeared to be more fit for the lumber-closet, the entire square
of silk having been cut from the back, leaving the underlining of
coarse striped cotton exposed to view. The tones of the curfew or
"first bell," which may still be heard nightly in the seagirt old
city, had just died away when a loud rap came from the heavy brass
knocke