Monck took the pipe from his mouth, and turned his head to listen. The noise increased and became uproarious. A great clatter of horses’ hoofs, as from a large body of cavalry dashing into the camp, mingled with loud cries, oaths and curses, and a confusion of strange sounds, filled the air, and nearly deafened and bewildered those who tried to listen and understand. “I’m blasted if I don’t think the Yankees have surprised the camp!” exclaimed Monck, starting to his feet to run out. At the door he paused and turned suddenly to Justin, and saying: “Remember your parole and stay where you are.” And then he rushed through the door, banging it after him. Left to himself, Justin listened anxiously to the sounds without. Had the Union cavalry gained clue to Monck’s retreat and surprised his camp? He earnestly hoped that it might be so, and he closed his eyes and strained his ears to hear. And the noise continued in all its chaos and sounds, but it told him nothing definitely. And no one came into the room of whom he might make inquiries, for in the excitement of the hour every man was on the scene of action outside. And he himself was bound by his parole to remain where he was. As he listened in keen anxiety and heavy suspense, he thought that the noise without was certainly not that of an engagement. There was no firing of shots, no ringing of steel, no sound of battle whatever. Only the prancing of horses and the yelling of men. Certainly if the confusion was caused by the onslaught of the Union cavalry, the guerrillas must have yielded without a blow. And that was scarcely a supposable case either with men of their fierce nature and reckless courage. Still as he listened the noise began to subside; the horses ceased to prance, the men to yell. And then it occurred to Justin that all this excitement might have been kindled by the return of Monck’s own foragers from their late raid. Nothing more likely, he decided. At length, when perhaps half an hour had passed, and quiet seemed to have been restored without, Major Monck re-entered the room, and resumed his seat at the table. “May one inquire what all the noise was about?” questioned Justin. “Oh, nothing in particular—nothing unusual—fortune of war,” answered Monck, evasively. Then raising his voice, he bawled out, “Here, Hoskins, bring two fresh candles. These are burning so low that they are about to slip down into the bottles.” The man called Hoskins came in, bringing the required articles, and with the increase of light, Justin saw that a great change had passed over his host. The face of the guerrilla chief, always white and heavy, was now stern and set with some grim purpose. “Throw more logs on the fire, Hoskins. It is nearly out,” he said, as he drummed thoughtfully on the table with his fat fingers. Hoskins obeyed the order given him, and once more the fire blazed up.