And to the battle-worn guerrillas, sweeter than the music of the spheres, sounded this warring of the elements, for it assured them of one night’s safety. CHAPTER XIII. THE ALARM. What’s the business That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The dwellers in the house?—SHAKESPEARE. The foe!—they come! they come!—BYRON. Elfie slept long and deeply. In the wild guerrilla camp something like military discipline was kept up, and at four o’clock the reveillé was beat; but even the sound of the rolling drum close under her windows failed to arouse this tired young sleeper. Alberta arose, pale, weary and shivering, in the chilly dawn of the autumn morning. She opened one of the windows, letting in the faint light of day, and the weight of a heavy dampness. The storm had passed, the sky was clear, and the air was still; but the ground was strewn thickly with fallen leaves, the trees were bared and broken, and the rain drops hung glittering upon all. Through the obscurity she could see the huts of the men with their dim fires hastily kindled to cook their breakfasts. After fastening back the shutters, she let down the window and turned to set the room in order. She drew the chunks of fire together and put on more wood from a pile that lay handy in the chimney corner. Then she filled a kettle from a pail of water in the cupboard, and hung it over the blazing fire. While thus employed she heard a low rapping at her door, and she went to see who was there. It was her husband; and he met her as if he had been parted from her for a year. “May I come in?” at length he said. “No, dear Vittorio, for our visitor still sleeps. When she is up and is dressed, then you may,” she answered. “Heaven knows I bear our fair guest no malice; yet I wish Satan had her rather than she should be here dividing us whom nothing else has ever parted,” complained Corsoni. “So does she, I think!” replied Alberta, with a shrug. “I am going now. What can I do for you?” “Send Gill for orders.” Vittorio kissed her suddenly and hurried away. Alberta went on with her preparations for breakfast. She cut slices from a stale loaf of bread and set them down before the fire to toast. And then she sat down to wait for two events—the appearance of Gill and the awakening of Elfie. She had to wait some time before either event occurred. Then came another rap at the door. She got up and opened it, inquiring: “Is it you, Gill?” “No, Madam, it is Haddycraff,” answered a voice. “Haddycraff! Why, where is Gill?” inquired Alberta. “Can’t be found, Madam, anywhere in the camp. Seems he hasn’t been seen since the height of the storm last night. The men think he has deserted, and that he is no better than a Yankee spy!” “Is that possible?” exclaimed the guerrilla’s wife, in amazement.