"The Lancers rode away yesterday with General Stoneman--all except haidqua'ters and one squadron--yours, I think--and they are acting escort to General Sykes at the overseers house beyond the oak grove. Your colonel is on his staff, I believe." He lay silent, watching the burning fuses of the shells as they soared up into the night, whirling like fiery planets on their axes, higher, higher, mounting through majestic altitudes to the pallid stars, then, curving, falling faster, faster, till their swift downward glare split the darkness into broad sheets of light. "Phil," she whispered, "I think there is a house on fire across the river!" Far away in the darkness rows of tiny windows in an unseen mansion had suddenly become brilliantly visible. "It--it must be Mr. Ruffin's house," she said in an awed voice. "Oh, Phil! It _is_! Look! It's all on fire--it's--oh, see the flames on the roof! This is terrible--terrible--" She caught her breath. "Phil! There's another house on fire! Do you see--do you _see_! It's Ailsa's house--Marye-mead! Oh, how could they set it on fire--how could they have the heart to burn that sweet old place!" "Is that Marye-mead?" he asked. "It _must_ be. That's where it ought to stand--and--oh! oh! it's all on fire, Phil, all on fire!" "Shells from the gun-boats," he muttered, watching the entire sky turn crimson as the flames burst into fury, lighting up clumps of trees and outhouses. And, as they looked, the windows of another house began to kindle ominously; little tongues of fire fluttered over a distant cupola, leaped across to a gallery, ran up in vinelike tendrils which flowered into flame, veining everything in a riotous tangle of brilliancy. And through the kindling darkness the sinister boom--boom! of the guns never ceased, and the shells continued to mount, curve, and fall, streaking the night with golden incandescence. Outside the gates, at the end of the cedar-lined avenue, where the highway passes, the tumult was increasing every moment amid shouts, cracking of whips, the jingle and clash of traces and metallic racket of wheels. The house, too, resounded with the heavy hurried tread of army boots trampling up and down stairs and crossing the floors above in every direction. In the summer kitchen loud-voiced soldiers were cooking; there came the clatter of plates from the dining-room, the odour of hot bread and frying pork.