So the Confederates waited now in the Union hour of darkness for Bragg to strike his blow.  He did strike it, but it was at the heart of the South.  He stunned the Confederacy by giving way before Buell.  He brought hope back with the bloody battle of Perryville.  Again he faced Buell at Harrodsburg, and then he wrought broadcast despair by falling back without battle, dividing his forces and retreating into Tennessee.  The dream of a battle-line along the Ohio with a hundred thousand more men behind it was gone and the last and best chance to win the war was lost forever.  Morgan, furious with disappointment, left Lexington.  Kentucky fell under Federal control once more; and Major Buford, dazed, dismayed, unnerved, hopeless, brought the news out to the Deans.

“They’ll get me again, I suppose, and I can’t leave home on account of Lucy.”

“Please do, Major,” said Mrs. Dean.  “Send Miss Lucy over here and make your escape.  We will take care of her.”  The Major shook his head sadly and rode away.

Next day Margaret sat on the stile and saw the Yankees coming back to Lexington.  On one side of her the Stars and Bars were fixed to the fence from which they had floated since the day she had waved the flag at them as they fled.  She saw the advance guard come over the hill and jog down the slope and then the regiment slowly following after.  In the rear she could see two men, riding unarmed.  Suddenly three cavalrymen spurred forward at a gallop and turned in at her gate.  The soldier in advance was an officer, and he pulled out a handkerchief, waved it once, and, with a gesture to his companions, came on alone.  She knew the horse even before she recognized the rider, and her cheeks flushed, her lips were set, and her nostrils began to dilate.  The horseman reined in and took off his cap.

“I come under a flag of truce,” he said, gravely, “to ask this garrison to haul down its colors—­ and—­to save useless effusion of blood,” he added, still more gravely.

“Your war on women has begun, then?”

“I am obeying orders—­no more, no less.”

“I congratulate you on your luck or your good judgment always to be on hand when disagreeable duties are to be done.”

Chad flushed.

“Won’t you take the flag down?”

“No, make your attack.  You will have one of your usual victories—­with overwhelming numbers—­and it will be safe and bloodless.  There are only two negroes defending this garrison.  They will not fight, nor will we.”

“Won’t you take the flag down?”

“No!”

Chad lifted his cap and wheeled.  The Colonel was watching at the gate.

“Well, sir” he asked, frowning.

“I shall need help, sir, to take that flag down,” said Chad.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“A woman is defending it.”

“What!” shouted the Colonel.

“That is my sister, Colonel,” said Harry Dean.  The Colonel smiled and then grew grave.