Mrs. Sessions, leaning weakly against the newel-post of the banisters, saw an indistinguishable mass of figures, whirling, jostling, screaming; while once and again above the ruck flashed the sword-blade like a tongue of silver flame. A cleverly aimed sweep of the blade as the knot of men swayed bodily toward the table, and both candle sconces were knocked violently to the floor. The sudden darkness was too much for the guerrillas’ drink-shaken nerves. Still in strong doubt as to whether the hero who had attacked them were ghost or human, they had made shift momentarily to hold their ground. But to cope in the dark with a possible wraith--a homicidal wraith at that--was more than they had bargained for. Panic--mad and unreasoning--possessed them. Behind, an oblong of lesser gloom through the blackness showed the location of the door. And through the door they surged pell-mell. Down the steps they rushed and flung themselves upon their waiting horses. Out of the grounds they galloped and down the road. A hundred yards farther on they drew rein as by common consent. But before they could bring their mounts to a halt the clatter of hoofs behind them sent their scared gaze backward. By the pale starlight they could just distinguish their half-clad foe--enormous and ghostly in the dim light--astride a monster horse, bearing down on them at the speed of an express-train. The sword still gleamed above his head. There was no pause; there was no consultation; there was no impulse to investigate. Swayed by a single purpose, the four guerrillas urged their tired horses to a run. Down the road they streamed, their ghostly foe in close pursuit. Presently--or, as it seemed to them, after a thousand years of terror-flight--the foremost of them reached the by-road. And, with the instinct of a burrow-seeking rabbit, he wheeled his horse into it. His three comrades followed his example. They had ridden for perhaps a mile when the rear-most of them paused to make certain of what he had begun to hope, that their terrible ghost-foe had ceased his pursuit. One by one the guerrillas drew in their exhausted horses. No hoof-beats or any other sound came to them on the summer night’s still air. Shamefacedly the men looked at one another. Then, without a word, they set off at a walk for their camp, five miles away. * * * * * Dawn was breaking as Dad rode into a tent-street and up its long, straight course. At his side was a Union cavalry captain whom he had encountered when the first sentry and corporal of the guard at Hooker’s outposts had halted him. On a little rise of ground, from which the streets of tents fell away on every side, was a farmhouse, commandeered by Major-General Hooker as temporary headquarters. And into a front room of this house, five minutes after his arrival, Dad was conducted.