Rosie was near screaming again, but catching sight of Mr. Lilburn’s face, laughed instead; a little hysterical nervous laugh.

“Oh t’s you again, sir!” she cried.  “Please don’t frighten me any more.”

“Ah, no, I will not,” he said, and at that moment a toy man and woman on the table began a vastly amusing conversation about their own private affairs.

In the kitchen and the domiciles of the house-servants, there was the same waiting and watching; old and young, all up and wide awake, gathered in groups and talked in undertones, of the doings of the Ku Klux, and of the reception they hoped to give them that night.  Aunt Dicey glorying in the prospect of doing good service in the defense of “her family” as she proudly termed her master, mistress and the children, kept her kettles of soap and lye at boiling heat, and two stalwart fellows close at hand to obey her orders.

Aunt Chloe and Dinah were not with the others, but in the nursery watching over the slumbers of “de chillens.”  Uncle Joe was with Mr. Leland, who was not yet able to use the wounded limb and was to be assisted to his hiding place upon the first note of alarm.

In the observatory the two young men kept a vigilant eye upon every avenue of approach to the plantation.  There was no moon that night, but the clear bright starlight made it possible to discern moving white objects at a considerable distance.  Horace was full of excitement and almost eager for the affray, Arthur calm and quiet.

“This waiting is intolerable!” exclaimed the former when they had been nearly an hour at their post.  “How do you stand it, Art?”

“I find it tedious, and there is in all probability, at least an hour of it yet before us.  But my impatience is quelled by the thought that it may be to me the last hour of life.”

“True; and to me also.  A solemn thought, Art, and yet might not the same be said of any day or hour of our lives?”

From that they fell into a very serious conversation in which each learned more of the other’s inner life than he had ever known before:  both were trusting in Christ and seeking to know and do his will, and from that hour their hearts were knit together as the hearts of David and Jonathan.

Gradually their talk ceased till but a word or two was dropped now and then, while the vigilance of their watch was redoubled; for the hour of midnight had struck—­the silver chimes of a clock in the hall below coming distinctly to their ears—­and any moment might bring the raiders into view.

Below stairs too a solemn hush had fallen upon each with the first stroke of the clock, and hearts were going up in silent prayer to God.

Horace was gazing intently in the direction of Fairview but at a point somewhat beyond.

“Look, Art!” he cried in an excited whisper, “do my eyes deceive me? or are there really some white objects creeping slowly along yonder road?”