Caroline Mitford had not gone home. She had sent word that she intended to pass the night at the Varney house. Somehow she thought they seemed to need her. She was standing by one of the long front windows in the drawing-room, now a scene of much disorder because of the recent struggle. Tables were thrust aside out of their places, chairs were turned over, and there was a big dark spot on the carpet where Henry Dumont had poured out his life-blood unavailingly. Caroline stared out of the window at the flashes of light. She listened, with heaving breast and throbbing heart, to the roar of the cannon and the rattle of musketry. She had heard both many times lately, but now it was different, for Wilfred was there. Mrs. Varney came upon her with her hand pressed against her breast, her face white and staring, tears brimming her eyes, but, as usual, Mrs. Varney was so engrossed with her own tremendous troubles that she had little thought for the girl. “Caroline,” she began anxiously, “tell me what happened. Edith won’t speak to me. She has locked herself up in her room. What was it? Where has she been? What——” “She was at the telegraph office,” answered Caroline in a low voice. “What did she do there? What happened there?” “I am not sure.” “But try to tell me, dear.” “I would if I could, Mrs. Varney, but I was afraid and ran out and waited for her in the hall. The rest of them——” The girl broke off as the deep tones of the city bells clanged sharply above the diapason of artillery. “It’s the alarm bell,” said Mrs. Varney. “Yes,” said Caroline, “they are calling out the last reserves.” “Yes; hark to the cannonading. Isn’t it awful?” returned Mrs. Varney. “They must be making a terrible attack to-night. Lieutenant Maxwell was right; that quiet spell was a signal.” “There goes another battery of artillery,” said Caroline, staring through the window. “A man told us that they were sending them all over to Cemetery Hill. That’s where the fighting is, Cemetery Hill.” “General Varney’s Division is to the right of that position, or was the last time I heard from him,” said Mrs. Varney anxiously. The two women looked at each other for a moment, both of them thinking the same thought, to which neither dared give utterance. The object of their thought was the boy, and the continuous flashes of light on the horizon seemed to make the situation more horrible. “I am afraid they are going to have a bad time of it to-night,” said Caroline, drawing the curtains and turning away from the window. “I’m afraid so,” was the rejoinder. “Now, try to think, dear, who was at the telegraph office? Can’t you tell me something that occurred that will explain Edith’s silence? She looks like death, and——” “I can’t tell you anything except that they arrested Mr. Arrelsford.” “Mr. Arrelsford! You don’t mean that?” “Yes, I do,” answered Caroline. “General Randolph,—I went and brought him there, because they wouldn’t send my telegram,—he was in a fearful temper——”