Toward noon a low tap was heard at the window, which was level with an alley in the rear, and a man's hand was thrust through a broken pane. Oliver pressed Grant's arm, laid his finger on his lips, caught up a heavy hammer lying on an oil-barrel, crept noiselessly along the wall toward the sound, and stopped to listen. Then he heard his name called in a hoarse whisper. "Marse Ollie! Marse Ollie! Is you in here?" "Who is it?" Oliver called back, crouching beneath the window, his fingers tight around the handle of the hammer. "It's me, Marse Ollie." "You! Malachi!" "Yassir, I'se been a-followin' ye all de mawnin'; I see 'em tryin' to kill ye an' I tried to git to ye. I kin git through--yer needn't help me," and he squeezed himself under the raised sash. "Malachi like de snake--crawl through anywheres. An' ye ain't hurted?" he asked when he was inside. "De bressed Lord, ain't dat good! I been a-waitin' outside; I was feared dey'd see me if I tried de door." "Where are the soldiers?" "Gone. Ain't nobody outside at all. Mos' to de railroad by dis time, dey tells me. An' dere ain't nary soul 'bout dis place--all run away. Come 'long wid me, son--I ain't gwine ter leabe ye a minute. Marse Richard'll be waitin'. Come 'long home, son. I been a-followin' ye all de mawnin'." The tears were in his eyes now. "An' ye ain't hurted," and he felt him all over with trembling hands. John raised himself above the oil-barrels. He had heard the strange talk and was anxiously watching the approaching figures. "It's all right, Grant--it's our Malachi," Oliver called out in his natural voice, now that there was no danger of being overheard. The old man stopped and lifted both hands above his head. "Gor'-a-mighty! an' he ain't dead?" His eyes had now become accustomed to the gloom. "No; and just think, Mally, he is my own friend. Grant, this is our Malachi whom I told you about." Grant stepped over the barrel and held out his hand to the old negro. There are no class distinctions where life and death are concerned. "Glad to see you. Pretty close shave, but I guess I'm all right. They'd have done for me but for your master." A council of war was now held. The uniform would be fatal if Grant were seen in it on the street. Malachi must crawl into the alley again, go over to Oliver's house, and return at dusk with one of Oliver's suits of clothes; the uniform and the blood-stained shirt could then be hidden in the cellar, and at dark, should the street still be deserted, the three would put on a bold front and walk out of the front door of the main warehouse over their heads. Once safe in the Horn house, they could perfect plans for Grant's rejoining his regiment. Their immediate safety provided for, and Malachi gone, Oliver could wait no longer to ask about Margaret. He had been turning over in his mind how he had best broach the subject, when her brother solved the difficulty by saying: