ling themselves
directly upon the Northern flank. He saw the flash of sabers, the jets
of white smoke from rifle or pistol, and then the Northern line was cut
through. But new regiments came up, threw themselves upon the cavalry,
and all were mingled in a wild pell-mell among the thickets and through
the forests. Clouds of smoke, thick and black, settled down, and horse
and foot, saber and gun were hidden from the Secretary.

"Stubborn! As stubborn as death!" he murmured; "but the end is as
certain as the setting of the sun."

Turning his horse, he rode to a new hill, from which he made another
long and careful examination. Then he rode a mile or two to the rear and
stopped at a small improvised telegraph station, whence he sent three
brief telegrams. The first was to President Jefferson Davis of the
Southern Confederacy in Richmond; the others, somewhat different in
nature, were for two great banking houses--one in London, the other in
Paris--and these two despatches were to be forwarded from a seaport by
the quickest steamer.

This business despatched, Mr. Sefton, rubbing his hands with pleasure,
rode back toward the battle.

A figure, black-bearded, gallant and large, came within the range of his
glasses. It was Wood, and the Secretary breathed a little sigh of
sorrow. The General had come safely out of the charge and was still a
troublesome entity, but Mr. Sefton checked himself. General Wood was a
brave man, and he could respect such splendid courage and ability.

Thinking deeply on the way and laying many plans, he turned his pony and
rode back toward the house which was still outside the area of battle,
and the Secretary judged that it would not come within it on that day at
least. More than one in that log structure waited to hear what news he
would bring.

* * * * *

Prescott, shortly after daylight, had opened his ears to a dull, steady,
distant sound, not unpleasant, and his eyes to a wonderful, luminous
face--a face that he knew and which he once had feared he might never
see again.

"Lucia Catherwood!" he said.

"Yes, it is I," she replied softly, so softly that no one else could
hear.

"I think that you must have found me and brought me here," he said. An
intuition had told him this.

She answered evasively: "You are not hurt badly. It was a piece of
shell, and the concussion did the harm."

Prescott looked a question. "You will stay by me?" his eyes said to h