The fighting had evidently ceased suddenly with her first cry. Maria stood panting in one corner, the deadly skillet again in her hand, her hair hanging in wisps down her back. Still unconscious from the blow he had received, one fellow lay outstretched on the floor, his head barely missing the hot ashes of the fireplace; while his companion nursed his bruises and scowled from a safe refuge behind the table. The unshaven faces of several others of the gang were peering curiously in through the open door. I know now I saw all this, for the picture of it is upon the retina of memory, but at the moment everything I appeared to perceive or hear occurred in the centre of the room. The man who had posed as the leader stood there alone facing us, his expression a strange mixture of amazement and delight. He was a powerfully built man, with keen gray eyes deeply set in their sockets. His right hand rested heavily upon the hilt of a cavalry sabre, the scabbard of which was concealed beneath the folds of the long brown coat he wore. As Mrs. Brennan burst through the doorway he stepped eagerly forward, his eyes brightening, and they met with clasped hands. “Is it possible--Edith?” he cried, as if the recognition could scarcely be credited. “Oh, Frank!” she exclaimed, eagerly, “it seems all too good to be true. How came you here?” “Hunting after you, my fair lady. Did you suppose you could disappear as mysteriously as you did last night without my being early on the trail? Have these people injured you in any way?” And he glanced about him with a threat in his gesture. “Oh, no, Frank,” hastily; “every one has been most kind. It was a mere mistake. But how strangely you are dressed! how very rough you look!” He laughed, but still retained his warm clasp of her hands. “Not the pomp and circumstance of glorious war which you expected, girl?” he asked lightly. “But we have all sorts of conditions to meet down here, and soon learn in Rome to do as the Romans do.” As he finished speaking he perceived me for the first time, and his face changed instantly into cold sternness. I saw him sweep one hasty glance around, as though he suspected that I might not be alone, and his hand fell once more upon his sword hilt, in posture suggestive of readiness for action. “Who have we here?” he asked, staring at me in amazement. “A Johnny Reb?” “Whatever I am,” I retorted, my gorge rising suddenly at his contemptuous term, and stepping out into the room before him, “I at least wear the uniform of my service and rank, and not the nondescript garments of a guerilla.” The scornful words stung him; I noticed the quick flush of anger in his eyes, and was not sorry.