eavier and heavier, always coming to the
attack.

Harley glanced at the women. They, too, saw as he saw. He read it in the
deathly pallor of their faces, their lips parted and trembling, the
fallen look of their eyes. It was not a mere spectacle now--something to
gaze at appalled, not because of the actors in it, but because of the
spectacle itself. It was beginning now to have a human interest, vital
and terrible--the interest of themselves, their friends and the South to
which they belonged.

Helen suddenly remembered a splendid figure that had ridden away from
her window that morning--the figure of the man who alone had come to bid
her good-by, he who had seemed to her a very god of war himself; and she
knew he must be there in that flaming pit with the other marionettes who
reeled back and forth as the master minds hurled fresh legions anew to
the attack. If not there, one thing alone had happened, and she refused
to think of that, though she shuddered; but she would not picture him
thus. No; he rode triumphant at the head of his famous brigade, sword in
hand, bare and shining, and there was none who could stand before its
edge. It was with pride that she thought of him, and a faint blush crept
over her face, then passed quickly like a mist before sunshine.

The battle shifted again and the faces of the three who watched at the
window reflected the change in a complete and absolute manner. The North
was thrust back, the South gained--a few feet perhaps, but a gain
nevertheless, and joy shone on the faces where pallor and fear had been
before. To the two women this change would be permanent. They could see
no other result. The North would be thrown back farther and farther,
overwhelmed in rout and ruin. They looked forward to it eagerly and in
fancy saw it already. The splendid legions of the South could not be
beaten.

But no such thoughts came to Harley. He felt all the joy of a momentary
triumph, but he knew that the fortune of the battle still hung in doubt.
Strain eye and ear as he would, he could see no decrease in the tumult
nor any decline in the energy of the figures that fought there, an
intricate tracery against the background of red and black. The afternoon
was waning, and his ears had grown so used to the sounds without that he
could hear everything within the house. The low, monotonous crying of
the coloured woman was as distinct as if there were no battle a
half-mile away.

The dense fine ashes c