As was true after the first skirmish recorded in this history, Mrs. Whately now again appeared to the best advantage. Relieved from overwhelming anxiety in regard to her son, her heart overflowed with pity for the injured. From the outer darkness, limp, helpless forms, in bloodstained garments, were borne in. Groans and half-stifled cries began to resound through the house. Even Mrs. Baron forgot all else now but the pressing necessity of relieving pain and saving life, but she had eyes only for those who wore the gray. Mrs. Whately, on the contrary, made no distinction, and many a poor fellow, in blue as well as gray, blessed her as she aided the surgeons, two of whom were from the Union lines. Miss Lou remained chiefly in her own room and busied herself preparing bandages, sparing not her own rather scanty store of underclothing in the task. Mr. Baron was in the dining-room, dispensing wines and liquors to the officers who were coming and going. The Confederate general had made the wide hearth, on which roared an ample fire, his headquarters for the time, and was turning first one side then the other toward the blaze, in order to dry his uniform. Poor Aun' Suke had been threatened into renewed activity, and with many colored assistants had begun a stewing, baking and frying which promised to be interminable. Chickens, pigs and cattle had been killed wherever found, for hungry soldiers after a battle and in darkness ask no questions on either side. Mr. Baron knew he was being ruined, but since it was in behalf of his friends, he maintained remarkable fortitude, while his wife, with her thin, white, set face, honored every requisition. Some of the negroes, sighing for what seemed vanishing freedom, sought to reach the Union force, but were stopped at the picket line by which General Marston masked his retirement from the field. The majority of the slaves, however, were kept at work indoors and out, under the eyes of the Confederates, who quickly showed themselves to be savage toward any disposition to shirk orders. There was one who would have received short shrift if hands could have been laid upon him--Chunk. None knew this better than he, yet he was as fearless as he was shrewd. Scoville had already won from him unlimited devotion--bought him, body and soul, with kindness and freedom. When he found his new master had not returned from the final charge, Chunk questioned one and another until he learned that Scoville had been seen to go down and then disappear in the gloom. Whether he had been killed or captured, no one knew, but Chunk resolved to find out before morning at all risks. Yet in the darkness and rain he felt much confidence in his ability to elude danger, for he knew every inch of the ground and of numerous places for concealment.