The dinner at which Mutchison presided, went off very merrily for the guerrillas; not so very much so for the picnickers. Mutchison drank a great deal more of Allison’s choice brandy than was good for him; and towards the last of the feast he lost his temper, and began to swear at the waiters and bully the musicians; and then he apologized to the ladies for forgetting their presence, laying the blame on his camp life, deprived of their refining influence. The feast was very prolonged, and Mutchison and his boon companions chose to linger still longer over their wine; but he would on no account permit the ladies to retire. He had been too long debarred from their delightful society to give it up easily, he said. Meanwhile the sun had set; and Mutchison ordered some of his men to light pine knots and hold them aloft, to illuminate the scene. And a score or two of these primitive torches made the whole area sufficiently light. When at length the feast came to an end, Mutchison rose from his seat, crying out; “A dance! a dance! Strike up the Virginia reel, darkies! That is the figure that will take in an unlimited number of performers. And here is a natural hall large enough to allow a reel a quarter of a mile long. And dash me to dust if every man-jack sha’n’t join! Take your partners, gentlemen; I’ve got mine!” And instigated by the very spirit of mischief, he seized the lively old lady, who was too wise to resist, and trotted her off to the head of the reel to open the ball. “Come, my little miniature hero; don’t be backward! Bring the lady of your worship along!” cried Mutchison. And Elfie, to keep her little champion out of trouble, drew him into the reel. The guerrillas, with their unwilling partners, followed. And even the wretched youth of the picnic party were compelled to join the orgies. And a reel commenced, wild as the dance of witches in Kirk Alloway, where old Nick was piper. “The mirth and fun grew fast and furious! The piper loud and louder blew! The dancers fast and faster flew! They reeled, they set, they crossed, they”—— Suddenly, in the midst of these orgies, a cheer was heard from the men in the back ground. And an officer, mounted, and attended by his staff, galloped up in the midst of the area. “My traitor!” exclaimed Elfie, under her breath, as she recognized Albert Goldsborough. A very handsome man was this guerrilla chief—this licensed brigand, who bore a colonel’s commission. He was taller and stouter than when first presented to the reader; his hair and beard were of a darker and richer auburn; his face and figure more martial and dignified than heretofore. So Elfie thought as she covertly watched him. He dashed into the midst of his band and raised his hand, exclaiming: “Break up your bivouac! Boots and saddles! A squadron of the enemy’s cavalry are out in search of us, and they have struck our trail!”