Before any one could make reply, quick steps were heard on the graveled walk. Mr. Tompkins, motioning the servant aside, went himself to the door, and, as he opened it, heard Oleah's voice, imperious and harsh: "You are my prisoner, sir!" "Oleah, my son, this is a matter too serious for jesting," said the father. "I am not jesting. My first duty is to my country. He is an enemy to my country, and my country's enemies are mine. My men are within call," he continued, turning to Abner. "Do you surrender?" "Most assuredly I shall not," replied Abner. "Then, by heavens! you shall fare no better than any other Yankee spy. You are within our lines!" He snatched his sword from its scabbard, and before Mr. Tompkins could interpose, there was a clash. Again the door opened, and Mrs. Tompkins and Mr. Diggs appeared; but the sight that met their eyes froze to terror the smile of welcome on the mother's lips, and sent Diggs, his radiant complacency all gone, shrinking back into the house, muttering, "Oh, Lordy, I know I shall be killed." Clash, clash! clank, clank! the swords went, circling in the air, thrusting, crossing, clashing. Irene came flying down the path, and Mr. Tompkins sprang between and threw them apart. "Hold!" he cried, "if you must have kindred blood, turn your swords first on me, and on your mother and sister. Abner, if your enemies are near, go. Let them not find you in your own father's house. Go at once!" Without a word, Abner returned his sword to its scabbard and started to leave his home. His mother and Irene followed him to the gate, and, a moment later, his horse's feet were heard clattering up the hill toward Snagtown. Oleah, soon after, left with Diggs, to join his men. Mr. Tompkins and his wife sat in silence in the silent house, while Irene, who believed herself the guilty cause of this new sorrow, crept up to her room to weep and pray. CHAPTER XX. WAR IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD. It was a Sabbath morning in the latter part of October, clear and frosty. The sun had risen in a cloudless sky, the wind blew northward in rolling columns, the smoke from the village chimneys, and the leaves on the magnificent forest trees, which surrounded the village on the north, east, and south, had grown brown and sear, but the great plantations of the level valley on the west were still verdant. While on the west, faintly outlined in the distance, rose the Cumberland mountains. An old man, with a basket on his arm, was walking down the broad sidewalk past the cottages, from which came the fragrant odor of coffee, a sure indication that breakfast was preparing. The old man chanced to cast his eyes towards the eastern part of the town, and paused in amazement.