They found the wagon with the woman in it. Its driver had bolted irrevocably, so Rachel's friend assumed the reins. It was slow work making their way back through the confused mass, but Rachel was lucky enough to sleep through most of it. When she awoke the next morning the wagon was still on the pike, but in the center of the army, which filled all the open space round-about. Everywhere were evidences of the terrible work of the day before, and of preparations for renewing it. The soldiers, utterly exhausted by the previous days' frightful strain, lay around on the naked ground, sleeping, or in a half-waking torpor. An officer rode up to the wagon. “There seems to be some flour on this wagon,” said the voice of Dr. Denslow. “Well, that may stay the boys' stomachs until we can get something better. Go on a little ways, driver.” “O, Doctor Denslow,” called out Rachel, as the wagon stopped again, “what is the news?” “You here again?” said the Doctor, recognizing the voice: “well that is good news. When I heard about Wheeler's raid on our trains I was terribly alarmed as to your fate. This relieves me much.” “But how about the army?” “Well it seems to have been a case of hammer and anvil yesterday, in which both suffered pretty badly, but the hammer go much the worst of it. We are in good shape now to give them some more, if they want it, which so far they have not indicated very strongly. Here, Sergeant Glen, is a couple barrels of flour, which you can take to issue to your regiment.” Had not the name been called Rachel could never have recognized her former elegant lover in the salwart man with tattered uniform, swollen face, and head wrapped in a bloody bandage, who came to the wagon with a squad to receive the flour. A tumult of emotions swept over her, but superior to them all was the feminine feeling that she could not endure to have Harry see her in her present unprepossessing plight. “Don't mention my name before those men,” she said to Dr. Denslow, when he came near again. “Very good,” he answered. “Sit still in the wagon, and nobody will see you. I will have the wagon driver over to the hospital presently, with the remainder of the flour, and you can go along.” All the old love seemed to have been out at compound interest, from the increment that came back to her at the sound of Harry Glen's voice, now so much deeper, fuller and more masterful than in the fastidious days of yore. She lifted the smallest corner of the wagon-cover and looked out. The barrel heads had been beaten in with stones, and a large cupful of flour issued to each of the hungry men. They had mixed it up into dough with water from the ditch, and were baking it before the fire on large flat stones, which abounded in the vicinity.