It was perhaps the effect of the night, with its misty silver coloring, and perhaps their long experience of war, giving them an intuitive knowledge, that made these foes know nothing was to be gained by further combat.  They were so well balanced in strength and courage that they might destroy one another, but no one could march away from the field victorious.  Perhaps, too, it was a feeling that the God of Battles had already issued his decree in regard to this war, and that as many lives as possible should now be spared.  But whatever it was, the finger fell away from the trigger, the saber was returned to the scabbard, and they sat on their horses, staring at one another.

Dick took his glasses from his shoulder and began to scan the hostile line.  His heart leaped when he beheld Harry in the saddle, apparently unharmed, and near him three youths, one with a red bandage about his shoulder.  Then he saw the two colonels, both erect men with long, gray hair, on their horses near the center of the line, and talking together.  One gestured two or three times as he spoke, and he moved his arm rather stiffly.

The three Union colonels were in a little group not far from Dick, and they also were talking with one another.  Dick wondered what they would do, but he was saved from long wonderment by the call of a trumpet from the Southern force, and the appearance of a horseman not older than himself riding forward and bearing a white flag.

“They want a truce,” said Colonel Hertford.  “Go and meet them, Mason.”

Dick, willing enough, turned his horse toward the young man who, heavily tanned, was handsome, well-built and dressed with scrupulous care in a fine gray uniform.

“My name is St. Clair,” he said, “and I’m an officer on the staff of Colonel Leonidas Talbot, who commands the force behind me.”

“I think we’ve met once before,” said Dick.  “My name is Mason, Richard Mason, and I am with Colonel Arthur Winchester, who commands one of the regiments that has just been fighting you.”

“It’s so!  Upon my life it’s so, and you’re the same Dick Mason that’s the cousin of our Harry Kenton, the fellow he’s always talking about!  He’s on General Lee’s staff, but he’s been detached for temporary duty with us.  He’s over there all right.  But I’ve come to tell you that Colonel Talbot, who commands us, offers a flag of truce to bury the dead.  He sees that neither side can win, that to continue the battle would only involve us in mutual destruction.  He wishes, too, that I convey to your commander his congratulations upon his great skill and courage.  I may add, myself, Mr. Mason, that Colonel Talbot knows a brave man when he sees him.”

“I’ve no doubt the offer will be accepted.  Will you wait a moment?”

“Certainly,” replied St. Clair, giving his most elegant salute with his small sword.

Dick went back to the Union colonels, and they accepted at once.  That long line of dead and wounded, and the mournful song of the wind through the trees, affected the colonels on both sides.  More flags of truce were hoisted, and the officers in blue or gray rode forward to meet one another, and to talk together as men who bore no hate in their hearts for gallant enemies.