A servant of the house tapped at the door and said Major Garnet was in the office, waiting for Johanna. March rose to his elbow and gave her a hand. "Why, I shan't ever know how to be sick without you any mo'!" he said, as her dark fingers slipped timidly from his friendly hold. "Johanna!--now--now, don't you go tellin' things you'd oughtn't to; will you?" "No, seh," came from the maid slowly, yet with a suspicious readiness quite out of keeping with the limp diffidence of her attitude. "Hold on a moment, Johanna," he called, as she turned to go. "Just wait an instant--sounds like----" He rose higher. Fair stepped to the west window. Loud words were coming from the sidewalk under it. March started eagerly. "That's Proudfit's----" Before he could finish the bang of a pistol rang, evidently in the office door, another, farther within, roared up through the house, and a third and fourth re-echoed it amid the wailings of Johanna as she flew down the stairs crying: "Mahs John Wesley! O Lawdy, Lawdy! Mahs John Wesley! Mahs John Wesley!" At the same instant came Tom Hersey's voice, remote, but clear: "Stop! Great God! Stop! Don't you see he's dying?" Fair was already on the staircase and March was whipping on his boots, when Shotwell, coming up by leaps, waved them back into the room. "It's all ova, Mr. Fair. Po' Proudy's gone, John. He fi-ud an' missed, and got Garnet's first bullet in his heart an' the othe's close to it. Garnet's locked himself into Tom Hersey's private room an' sent for Fatheh Tombs, to----" "Fair!" interrupted March, "go! Go tell her he's safe and will not be--interfered with! I'll make your word good; go, Fair, go!" But Fair answered with hardly less emotion, "I cannot, March! It isn't a man's errand! It isn't a man's errand!" "Take Mrs. Ravenel!" cried March, and read quick assent in his friend's face. "But make her go dressed as she is; you've got to outrun rumor! Captain, go tell Tom to give him Firefly, won't you? She's mine, Fair," he continued, following to the stairs; "she's the mare I cured for Bulger; perfectly gentle, only--Fair!--don't touch her with the whip!" "If you do," drawled Shotwell to Fair, as they hurried down into the lamplight, "you'll think the devil's inside of her with the jimjams. Still, she's lovely as long as you don't. Ah me! this is no time to jest! Po' Proudfit! He leaves a spotless characteh!"