The flood of flame rolled and roared on and on with devouring fury; the rain of fire and burning cinders fell thick and blinding as a hailstorm. And the explosion of shells, torpedoes and powder magazines still rent the sky and shook the earth. And the groans and the curses of men, and the shrieks of women and children, filled the air! Overcome with horror in her weakened condition, she who had often led the charge in person to the very cannon’s mouth, now shrank away, covered her face with her hands, reeled and fell on her prison floor in a deadly swoon. In a mercifully permitted unconsciousness, she lay for nearly two hours. When she recovered day had dawned, and the unhallowed glare of the conflagration was fading in the blessed beams of the rising sun. There were no more explosions. The supposed bombardment seemed to have ceased. And with its cessation, the shower of sparks, and burning cinders, and the whirling storm of fiery missiles had passed away. The flames still raged and roared up into the sky, but they did not seem to spread, and they looked paler and less terrible by daylight. There was still a multitudinous sound of many feet and many tongues in the streets, but the character of these sounds had changed. They were eager, joyous, triumphant! Stiff and sore, bewildered and confused, she arose and went to the grated window, and looked forth. Oh! joy! joy! joy! Deliverance at last? The street was filled with a procession of dark figures, but these figures wore the blue uniform of the United States soldiers! She recognized them. Her regiment had stood beside them on many a well-fought field, and last of all at Cold Harbor, where she had been taken prisoner! They were a detachment of the colored soldiers forming Weitzel’s Division of the gallant Ninth Corps. And they were about to open her prison doors! Now, while they halted in the middle of the street in front of the prison, they were hailed and welcomed with tears and praises by the colored population that filled the sidewalk. They were officered by young white men; one of those attracted Britomarte’s especial attention. He was a gallant little fellow, full of fire, spirit and vivacity. He was mounted on a fine horse, and rode hither and thither, maintaining order among his excited soldiers and their overjoyed friends. Britomarte knew him, or had known him, as little Mim, and he had known and admired her but only as Miss Conyers. Afterwards, when she was known as Captain Wing, and he as Private Mim, she had recognized him again, but he had not identified her in her new character. At the battle of Cold Harbor, where she had been taken prisoner, he had still been a private. Now, however, he wore the uniform of a commissioned officer, though of what grade she could not, from her point of view, determine.