Straight as an arrow Mr. Blake had sped across the parade, darted through the east gate, and, turning, had arrived breathless at the wooden porch of Hayne's quarters. Two bewildered-looking members of the guard were at the door. Blake pushed his way through the little hall-way and into the dimly-lighted parlor, where a strange scene met his eyes: Lieutenant Hayne lay senseless and white upon the lounge across the room; a young and pretty woman, singularly like him in feature and in the color of her abundant tresses, was kneeling beside him, chafing his hands, imploring him to speak,--to look at her,--unmindful of the fact that her feet were bare and that only a loose wrapper was thrown over her white night-dress; Captain Rayner was seated in a chair, deathly white, and striving to stanch the blood that flowed from a deep gash in his temple and forehead; he seemed still stunned as by the force of the blow that had felled him; and Buxton, speechless with amaze and heaven only knows what other emotions, was glaring at a tall, athletic stranger who, in stocking-feet, undershirt, and trousers, held by three frightened-looking soldiers and covered by the carbine of a fourth, was hurling defiance and denunciation at the commanding officer. A revolver lay upon the floor at the feet of a corporal of the guard, who was groaning in pain. A thin veil of powder-smoke floated through the room. As Blake leaped in,--his cavalry shoulder-knots and helmet-cords gleaming in the light,--a flash of recognition shot into the stranger's eyes, and he curbed his fearful excitement and stopped short in his wrath. "What devil's work is this?" demanded Blake, glaring intuitively at Buxton. "These people resisted my guards, and had to take the consequences," said Buxton, with surly--yet shaken--dignity. "What were the guards doing here? What, in God's name, are you doing here?" demanded Blake, forgetful of all consideration of rank and command in the face of such evident catastrophe. "I _ordered_ them here,--to enter and search." A pause. "Search what?--what for?" "For--a woman I had reason to believe he had brought out here from town." "_What?_ You infernal idiot! Why, she's his own sister, and this gentleman's wife!" The silence, broken only by the hard breathing of some of the excited men and the moaning cry of the woman, was for a moment intense. "Isn't this Mr. Hurley?" asked Blake, suddenly, as though to make sure, and turning one instant from his furious glare at his superior officer. The stranger, still held, though no longer struggling, replied between his set teeth,-- "Certainly. I've told him so." "By heaven, Buxton, is there no limit to your asininity? What fearful work will you do next?" "I'll arrest _you_, sir, if you speak another disrespectful word!" thundered Buxton, recovering consciousness that as commanding officer he could defend himself against Blake's assault.