e of night.

The tread of either army was heavy, dull and irregular, and the few
torches they carried added little light to the glare of the lightning
and the glow of the burning forest. The two marched on in the dark,
saying little, making little noise for numbers so great, but steadily
converging on Spottsylvania, where they were destined to meet in a
conflict rivaling in somber grandeur that of the past two days.

CHAPTER XXI

A DELICATE SITUATION

The wounded and those who watched them in the old house learned a little
of the race through the darkness. The change of the field of combat, the
struggle for Spottsylvania and the wheel-about of the Southern army
would leave them in the path of the North, and they must retreat toward
Richmond.

The start next morning was through a torn and rent Wilderness, amid
smoke and vapours, with wounded in the wagons, making a solemn train
that wound its way through the forest, escorted on either flank by
troopers, commanded by Talbot, slightly wounded in the shoulder. The
Secretary had gone again to look on at the battle.

It was thus that Lucia Catherwood found herself on the way, of her own
free will, to that Richmond from which she had recently escaped with so
much trouble. There was no reason, real or conventional, why she should
not go, as the precious pass from the Secretary removed all danger; and
there in Richmond was Miss Grayson, the nearest of her blood. Helen
removed the last misgiving.

"You will go with us? We need you," she said.

"Yes," replied Lucia simply; "I shall go to Richmond. I have a relative
there with whom I can stay until the end of the war."

Helen was contented with this. It was not a time to ask questions. Then
they rode together. Mrs. Markham was with them, quiet and keen-eyed.
Much of the battle's spell had gone from her, and she observed
everything, most of all Lucia Catherwood. She had noticed how the girl's
eyes dwelled upon Prescott, the singular compound of strength and
tenderness in her face, a character at once womanly and bold, and the
astute Mrs. Markham began to wonder where these two had met before; but
she said nothing to any one.

Prescott was in a wagon with Harley. Fate seemed to have linked for
awhile these two who did not particularly care for each other. Both were
conscious, and Prescott was sitting up, refreshed by the air upon his
face, a heavy and noxious atmosphere though it was. So much of his
strength had