His voice was drowned in the thunder of another gun; Celia made her way to him, hid her face on his breast as the room shook again and the plaster fell from the ceiling, filling the room with blinding dust. "Oh, Curt," she gasped, "this is dreadful. Philip cannot stay here----" "Better pull the sheets over his head," said her husband, meeting Berkley's eyes with a ghost of a smile. "It won't last long; and there are no rebel batteries that can reach Paigecourt." He kissed her. "How are you feeling, dear? I'm trying to arrange for you to go North on the first decent transport----" "I want to stay with you, Curt," she pleaded, tightening her arms around his neck. "Can't I stay as long as my husband and son are here? I don't wish to go----" "You can't stay," he said gently. "There is no immediate danger here at Paigecourt, but the army is turning this landing into a vast pest hole. It's deadly unhealthy. I wish you to go home just as soon as I can secure transportation----" "And let them burn Paigecourt? Who is there to look after----" "We'll have to take such chances, Celia. The main thing is for you to pack up and go home as soon as you possibly can. . . . I've got to go out now. I'll try to come back to-night. The General understands that it's your house, and that you are my wife; and there's a guard placed and a Union flag hung out from the gallery----" She looked up quickly; a pink flush stained her neck and forehead. "I would not use that wicked flag to protect myse'f," she said quietly--"nor to save this house, either, Curt. It's only fo' you and Phil that I care what happens to anything now----" "Then go North, you bad little rebel!" whispered her husband, drawing her into his arms. "Paige and Marye have been deserted long enough; and you've seen sufficient of this war--plenty to last your lifetime----" "I saw Ailsa's house burn," she said slowly. "Marye-mead. When?" "This mo'ning, Curt. Phil thinks it was the shells from the gun-boats. It can't be he'ped now; it's gone. So is Edmund Ruffin's. And I wish I knew where that child, Ailsa, is. I'm that frightened and mise'ble, Curt----" An orderly suddenly appeared at the door; her husband kissed her and hurried away. The outer door swung wide, letting in a brassy clangour of bugles and a roll of drums, which softened when the door closed with a snap. It opened again abruptly, and a thin, gray-garbed figure came in, hesitated, and Celia turned, staring through her tears: "Miss Lynden!" she exclaimed. "Is Ailsa here?" Berkley sat up and leaned forward, looking at her intently from the mass of bandages. "Letty!" he said, "where is Mrs. Paige?" Celia had caught the girl's hands in hers, and was searching her thin white face with anxious eyes; and Letty shook her head and looked wonderingly at Berkley.