The sun went down and the night came, with the guns yet baying at one another, and the well-posted blue yet in possession of the rocks above the gorge. But in the middle of the night the blue withdrew, hurrying away upon the Salem road. McCausland, pursuing, captured prisoners and two pieces of artillery. But the great length of Hunter’s column, wheeling from Salem toward Lewisburg, plunged into the mountains of western Virginia. From the grey administration’s point of view it was better there than elsewhere. Early, under orders now for the main Valley, rested in Botetourt for one day, then took the pike for Staunton. One day! Matthew Coffin spent it with the blue letter-paper young lady. Allan Gold and Billy and Dave Maydew covered with long strides the road to Thunder Run. Making all speed up and down, they might have the middle of the day for _home-at-last_. Richard Cleave rode to Fincastle and found in a house there his mother and sister. Miriam was sinking fast. She knew him, but immediately wandered off to talk of books, of Hector and Achilles and people in the “Morte d’Arthure.” He had but two hours. At the end he knelt and kissed his sister’s brow, then came out into the porch with his mother and held her in a parting embrace. She clung to him with passion. “Richard—Richard!—All is turned to iron and clay and blood and tears! Love itself is turning to pure pain—” Riding back to his troops he went by Three Oaks. There was only a great blackened chimney stack, a ragged third of a wall, a charred mass behind. He checked Dundee and stood long in the ragged gap where the gate had been and looked, then went on by the darkening road to the Golden Brigade. Up on Thunder Run, throughout the morning, there was great restlessness at the toll-gate. Tom knew they couldn’t come this way—yes, he knew it. Their road lay along other mountains—he wished that he had the toll-gate at Buford’s. Yes, he knew they wouldn’t be likely to stop—he knew that, too. He didn’t expect to see any one. He could have borrowed the sawmill wagon and gone down the mountain and over to the Salem road and seen them pass just as well.—No, he wasn’t too weak. He wasn’t weak at all—only he wanted to see the army and Allan. He hadn’t ever seen the army and now he didn’t reckon he would ever see it. Yes, he could imagine it—imagine it just as well as any man—but he didn’t want to imagine it, he wanted to see it! And now he wouldn’t ever see it—never see it and never see Allan. “Sho! you will,” said Sairy. “You’ll certainly see Allan.”