Pete and Dinah according to instructions had come out of their hiding-places soon after the fugitives had left. They were faithful to their promise, and the enraged Confederates could learn no trace of their missing prey. “I know of one way to drive her from her retreat,” said the leader, grimly. “I will do it, now.” “Here, men, some of you, Lake and Woodstaff, bear Boyd Wyman out of the house. Sergeant Howe, see that the house is surrounded and no one escapes. I will show that girl a trick she little dreams of.” While his orders were being carried out, Lieutenant Bradley, with his own hands, set fire to the house. “That will drive her out,” he muttered, with a look of satisfaction. Boyd Wyman uttered a groan as he witnessed the fiendish work. We can well anticipate the result. “Curse her!” yelled the Confederate as he looked in vain for the appearance of his victim; “she is spunky though!” Then as the flames began to decrease and the walls fell he turned away. “The fire has saved us further trouble. Come, men, follow me back to Dalton.” Meanwhile the scout and Mara were pursuing their flight. The path to the spring wound down the hill, and after going a few rods the view from the house was obscured by a thick growth of bushes. “We have no further use for these buckets and little need we should encumber ourselves with them longer,” he said. “We must get as far as possible from here before our flight is discovered.” Mara followed him in silence. Darkness was fast coming on which promised to favor them in their escape. The country was broken and their progress was necessarily slow, however. They heard the cries of their enemies once, but beyond that nothing was seen or known of them, until they had gone a mile or more, when looking back Mara uttered a low exclamation. Her companion turned quickly in alarm when he saw a bright light in the distance. “They have set fire to the house!” she exclaimed in a tremulous voice, as the night scene was lit with a brighter glare, while the flames leaped higher and higher. “See! I can distinguish the forms of some of them by the light of the flames!” she continued clutching him by his arm. “Oh, my poor home.” “Do not despair,” he said, encouragingly, as they watched the fire. “That tells that they are not following us. But we must not lose any time. Come, we must go on.” Reluctantly she turned from the sight of the burning building. “Homeless and a fugitive!” she murmured. “God have pity on me now.” “Do not lose courage,” he said. “Remember you are not alone in your grief. All that I held dear sleeps to-night beneath the Confederate sod.” Then as if wishing to change the subject he said, pointing down the valley: