It must be her brother, wounded unto death, coming home to die, and she gave a great convulsive sob. Then like a bird she flew to the middle of the road. She saw that the horse’s mane and shoulders were dripping with blood, that the rider’s hair was clotted with it. As the horse came to her it stopped, and the rider rolled heavily from the saddle. With a cry she sprang forward and received the falling man; but the weight of Calhoun, for it was he, bore her to the earth. She arose, screaming for help. There was no one in the house except a colored servant, who came rushing out, and nearly fainted when she saw her mistress. No wonder, for the girl’s dress and arms were dripping with blood. “Oh! Missy Joyce! Missy Joyce!” wailed the colored woman, “what’s de mattah? Be yo’ killed?” “No, no, this soldier—he is dead or dying. Oh, Mary, what can we do?” But help was near. A couple of neighbors had also heard the sound of battle, and were riding nearer that they might learn the result. “Great heavens! what is this?” exclaimed one, as they rode up. “As I live, that is Andrew Harmon’s horse. Well, I never thought Andrew would get near enough to a battle to get shot.” By this time they had dismounted. Going to Calhoun they looked at him, and one exclaimed, “This is not Harmon; it’s one of Morgan’s men. Got it good and heavy. Served him right.” “Is he dead?” asked the girl, in a trembling voice. The man put his hand on Calhoun’s heart. “No, marm,” he answered, “but I think he might as well be.” “Carry him into the house, and send for Doctor Hopkins, quick,” she said. “What! that dirty, bloody thing! Better let us carry him to the barn. It’s a blame sight better place than our boys get down South.” “The house, I say,” answered the girl, sharply. “Why, Miss Joyce,” said the other man, as he looked at her, “you are covered with blood.” “Yes, I caught him as he fell from his horse,” she answered. “I am not hurt.” The men were about to pick Calhoun up and carry him in according to the directions of the girl, when she exclaimed, “There comes Doctor Hopkins now.” Sure enough, the Doctor had heard of the fight, and was coming at a remarkable speed, for him, to see if his professional services were needed. He reined in his horse, and jumping from his gig, ejaculated, “Why! why! what is this? And Miss Joyce all bloody!” “I am not hurt. The man, Doctor,” she said. The Doctor turned his attention to Calhoun. “As I live, one of Morgan’s men,” he exclaimed, “and hard hit, too. How did he come here?” “His horse brought him,” answered one of the men. “He clung to his horse as far as here, when he fell off. Miss Joyce caught him as he fell. That is what makes her so bloody.” “Well! well! well!” was all that the old Doctor could say.