The dead calm that had ensued after the uproarious tumult of the firearms, and the fierce struggle of the combatants in the room below, alarmed Mrs. Halliday more than all else. Whether her husband had been overpowered at last and taken away, or had been left dead upon the floor, with some of the murderous crew watching to see who would come for the body, she knew not. Possibly he might be lying there alone, wounded and insensible, with the life-blood ebbing away, and no friendly hand to stay the crimson tide, and the thought was terrible and agonizing. An hour went by. An hour into which years of misery were crowded to the forlorn woman, and yet no sound of life, no ray of light gleaming through the impenetrable darkness, to relieve the awful gloom and suspense, or give her one faint shadow of hope. Halliday was indeed lying there, exhausted and unconscious from the numerous wounds and contusions he had received. In his right hand he still held the bowie knife firmly grasped, as if awaiting the further onslaught of the foe, while his left was clenched with the determination of his iron will. The cool wind blowing off the mill-stream and coming in through the open doorway, aroused him at length to consciousness. The remembrance of the fight, his successful resistance, the retreat of the assailing party, and, above all, his wife and children, saved--and by his own right arm!--came back to his recollection and nerved him to action. He roused himself from his lethargy, and groping his way to the stairs, he called out: "Are you there, mother! and our darlings!" Who shall tell the feelings of that wife-mother's heart, bowed in its terrible anguish, and now so suddenly raised to the highest pinnacle of happiness as she responded, "Here! and safe, thank God, and our husband and father." Who shall describe the music that will compare, in Halliday's bosom, to the pattering feet of his darlings, as they rushed to meet his strong and loving embraces, and shouted, "Papa, papa!" amid their fast falling tears. Halliday's wounds, though not fatal, were still serious enough to alarm his wife, and as early in the morning as she dared, she sent one of the negroes for a doctor; but it appeared that every doctor in the vicinity was busy with patients who had been "taken suddenly ill during the night." One of these was the only son of a widow, the nearest neighbor to the Hallidays. He had received a "severe fall" the night previous, they said, upon a sharp instrument that had pierced his bowels and caused his death. This proved to be the man Halliday had cut. Five funerals attested the energy and strength of the hero's arm, and the dead bodies of the victims remained as lasting "warnings" to the "defenders of the white man's government," and that it was not always wise to attack the members of the "white man's race."