tinually toward the east, where a somber black line
was beginning to form against the red-and-gold glow of the sunrise.
Louder and louder sounded the cannon. More guns were coming into action,
and the deep, blended and violent note seemed to roll up against the
house until every log, solid as it was, trembled with the concussion.
Afar over the forest the veil of smoke began to grow wider and thicker
and to blot out the red-and-gold glory of the sunrise.

Harley bent his head. He was listening--not for the thunder of the great
guns, but for the other sounds that he knew went with it--the crash of
the rifles, the buzz and hiss of the bullets flying in clouds through
the air, the gallop of charging horsemen, the crash of falling trees cut
through by cannon shot, and the shouts and cries. But he heard only the
thunder of the great guns now, so steady, so persistent and so
penetrating that he felt the floor tremble beneath him.

He searched the forest with eyes trained for the work, but saw no human
being--only the waving grass, the somber woods, and a scared lizard
rattling the bark of a tree as he fled up it.

In the east the dull, heavy cloud of smoke was growing, spreading along
the rim of the horizon, climbing the concave arch and blotting out all
the glory of the sunrise. The heavy roar was like the sullen, steady
grumbling of distant thunder, and the fertile fancy of Harley, though
his eyes saw not, painted all the scene that was going on within the
solemn shades of the Wilderness--the charge, the defense, the shivered
regiments and brigades; the tread of horses, cannon shattered by cannon,
the long stream of wounded to the rear, and the dead, forgotten amid the
rocks and bushes. He had beheld many such scenes and he had been a part
of them. But who was winning now? If he could only lift that veil of the
forest!

Every emotion showed on the face of Harley. Vain, egotistic, and often
selfish, he was a true soldier; his was the military inspiration, and he
longed to be there in the field, riding at the head of his horsemen as
he had ridden so often, and to victory. He thought of Wood, a cavalry
leader greater than himself, doing a double part, and for a moment his
heart was filled with envy. Then he flushed with rage because of the
wounds that tied him there like a baby. What a position for him,
Vincent Harley, the brilliant horseman and leader! He even looked with
wrath upon his sister and Mrs. Markham, two women wh