me food,—­possibly would make no effort even until night.  I succeeded in pushing aside the flap over the key-hole, without making any alarming noise, and applied one eye to the aperture.  There was little to be seen—­merely the end of a bench, and a pair of bare, black feet.  The judge’s sole remaining servitor doubtless, doing a turn at guard duty.  As I gazed, some outside noise aroused him, and he went softly pattering down the hall.

The same sound startled me also, and I dropped the flap, clambering upon the chair so as to see without.  It was a hundred feet to the main road, mostly velvety turf between, with a few trees partially obscuring the view.  Yet I could see clearly enough, and up the pike leading through the village, half hidden by a cloud of dust, was advancing a regiment of cavalry, their flags draped, their horses walking in double column.  As these swung into the straight road, a battery of artillery followed, gray-jacketed fellows, Confederates—­Beauregard’s advance.

CHAPTER IX

IMPORTANT NEWS

In spite of the recognized fact that these men were enemies, my heart throbbed, almost in pride, as I watched them pass.  They were Americans, and magnificent fighting men.  I had seen them, or their fellows, in the ruck and toil of battle, playing with death, smiling in the face of defeat.  Now they were marching grimly forward to another clash of arms, through the blinding dust, heedless of all else but duty.  This was what stirred me.  No proud review, with glittering uniforms and waving flags, would have choked my throat, or dimmed my eyes, as did the sight of that plodding, silent column, half hidden under the dust cloud, uniforms almost indistinguishable, officers and men mingled, the drums still, the only sounds the steady tread, the occasional hoarse shout of command.  Here was no pomp and circumstance, but grim purpose personified in self-sacrifice and endurance.  With heads bowed, and limbs moving wearily, guns held at will, they swept by in unbroken column—­cavalry, artillery, infantry—­scarcely a face lifted to glance toward the house, with here and there a straggler limping to the roadside, or an aide spurring past—­just a stream of armed men, who had been plodding on since daylight, footsore, hungry, unseeing, yet ready to die in battle at their commander’s word.  It was war; it was magnificent.

Yet suddenly there recurred to me my own small part in this great tragedy.  Here was opportunity.  Down below, on the front steps, stood the old judge, and beside him Miss Hardy, forgetful for the time of all else save those passing troops.  I sprang from the chair, drew the bed back to the centre of the room, and began my assault on the wall.  There was no necessity now for silence, and I dug recklessly into the mortar with my broken knife blade, wrenching forth the loosened stones, until I had thus successfully opened a space amply sufficient for my purpose.