SOMERS returned the pistols to his belt as he listened to the sounds of the retreating cavalry. This action on his part seemed to afford Maud and the major an immense relief. Death no longer stared them in the face, and both of them began to grow bold again.

“Now, Major Riggleston, when you see your uncle, Dr. Scoville, again, you will have a story to tell him,” said Somers.

“I shall not be likely to tell him of it.”

“I think we have obtained some new ideas concerning the Yankees, to-day,” added Maud, spitefully. “I had supposed their making war on women and children was merely a poetic figure; but it appears to be literally true.”

“Pray, am I to regard you as a woman or a child, Miss Hasbrouk?” asked Somers; “or as both?”

“I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you hanged!” exclaimed she, with compressed lips.

“That’s the sentiment of a woman, rather than a child,” laughed Somers.

“How long before we shall be rid of your presence, Captain Somers?”

“How long will it take your servants to bring up the horse and chaise in which I saw you arrive?”

“Not ten minutes; if that will facilitate your departure, the chaise shall be brought up instantly,” replied she, directing the waiter present to give the stable boys the necessary orders.

“Thank you, Miss Hasbrouk. May I trouble you also to get ready to accompany me?”

“Accompany you, sir!”

“I do not regard myself as entirely safe yet,” replied the staff officer, taking one of the pistols from his belt. “Before I am out of sight, my friend the major may feel justified in calling for the cavalry again.”

“They are five miles off, or will be by the time you have started,” said the major.

“I think not. When I fall among people who are as sharp as you are, I always use extraordinary precautions. It is part of my purpose that you should go with us, my dear major.”

“Go where?” demanded the traitor, intensely alarmed.

“I will not trouble the lady to go any farther than the farm-house where I left my horse. In regard to yourself, I shall have to insist upon your going with me to headquarters.”

“Why so?”

“You are a traitor of the blackest stamp, and it is quite proper that you should be attended to before you have done any more mischief.”

“You are quite mistaken, Captain Somers. I am—”

“I will pledge myself not to prevent your escape,” interposed Maud, apparently unwilling that the major should say too much.

“Excuse me, if, after what has happened, I decline to trust you.”

“This is insolent, sir.”

“It is open to that construction, I admit,” said Somers, as he picked up the letter which the major had read with so much astonishment.

It was a blank sheet, but the direction on the outside was in a lady’s handwriting, evidently Maud’s. It was nothing but a “blind,” to afford a reasonable pretence for the major’s sudden departure. Somers put it in his pocket for future reference.

“The chaise is ready, captain,” said Maud.

“So am I; but you are not.”

“My hat and shawl are in the entry,” she replied, sullenly.

They passed out of the house when she had robed herself for the ride. Somers assisted her into the vehicle.

“Where is the major?” asked he, turning to the spot where he had stood a moment before. Maud’s reply was a silvery laugh, which was a sufficient explanation that he had taken himself off.

“So much the better,” said Somers. “Good afternoon, Miss Hasbrouk,” he added, as he walked rapidly up the road, in the direction of the farm-house.

She was so surprised by this sudden and unexpected change in the programme, that she could make no reply. She did not know whether the movement boded good or evil; whether the captain had gone in pursuit of the major, or to the place where he had left his horse.

Somers, when he discovered that the major had escaped him, was afraid to trust himself in the family chaise, which would too surely betray his movements to a pursuing force, if the traitor could find one in the vicinity. He decided that it would be safer for him to walk, and then he could avoid the public road if it became necessary for him to do so. Though he would have been glad to hand the treacherous scoundrel over to the military authorities for punishment as a deserter, or for giving aid and comfort to the enemy, he would have been a great encumbrance to him on the road. As events often happen for the best, he consoled himself with the belief that the traitor’s escape was not the worst thing that could have occurred.

He walked rapidly till he obtained his horse. Whatever his late friends had done to secure his capture, he was not molested on the road, nor did he discover any pursuers behind him. His horse was fresh, after the long rest he had had, and Somers rode at a break-neck gait till he reached the headquarters of the general. On the way, after he had carefully arranged in his mind the information he had obtained, he could not help thinking over the exciting events of the afternoon. Major Riggleston’s conduct was very strange. On the preceding day he had been a loyal soldier; now he was apparently in full sympathy with the rebels. It was a sudden change, if it was a change at all.

But the major, like a lobster, had a lady in his head, and it was quite impossible to tell what a major or a lobster would do, with a lady in his head. Somers had met the beauty at the house of Mr. Riggleston, in Frederick. They had ridden over to her home that morning in the chaise; and the best solution which he could give of the matter was, that Maud had converted him from one side to the other. As this seemed to be a satisfactory explanation of the singular conduct of the fighting man, he was satisfied with it, and gave the subject no further consideration.

His ride was not so long as it had been in the morning, for the army had advanced some miles; and at sunset Somers reported his information to the general. He also told his story about the attempt which had been made to capture him, and in the course of his narrative involved the loyal major of the Maryland Home Brigade in trouble and dishonor. The general was not a little amused at the story, and hoped other officers, who were invited to dinner by fair rebel ladies, and then entrapped, would resort to similar strategy. But the information which Somers brought was the most interesting and valuable part of the proceeds of his trip, and the general was soon busy in the study of his maps in the new light he had obtained.

The next day was Sunday; but it was not the quiet sabbath of the soul that rests the body, and renews the spirit’s waning hope; it was a day of storm and battle—a day of death and destruction. Somers performed his first staff duty in the field on this occasion. During the forenoon the artillery thundered along the range of the South Mountain. The enemy was posted on the steeps, and all along the side of the mountain, on both sides of the Cumberland road, which is the direct route to the Upper Potomac. Beyond the hills were the wagon and ammunition trains of the rebels, as well as the more considerable portion of their army. The possession of this road was necessary to their safety, as well as to the success of their grand scheme of carrying on a war of invasion.

The battle was opened by the corps of General Reno, next to which in the line of march was the first army corps. During the early part of the day, the action was fought with artillery, and was an attempt to dislodge the enemy from the strong position they had taken. The slope of the mountain was rugged, consisting of irregular ledges, and the whole covered with wood, which grew out of the interstices of the rocks, and on the shelves where there was earth enough to give life to a tree. In these woods and among these rocks the rebels were located,—infantry and sharpshooters,—while their cannon were placed in such positions that they commanded all the approaches to the Gap, through which the road passed.

An attack of infantry was ordered, and the gallant fellows went forward with alacrity to execute the command. They rushed boldly up the steeps, to a stone wall behind which the main line of the enemy rested, driving the skirmishers before them. Torrents of blood flowed, and moistened the soil where hundreds of brave fellows gave up their lives; but they won the ground, and held it. The rebels fought with desperation, and their generals rallied them in vain to do what could not be done.

Partial successes and partial reverses occurred in different parts of the line until noon, when the artillery alone was actively engaged. The day was not yet won, and hundreds more were to fall on the field before the obstinate foe would yield the position.

At two o’clock in the afternoon the head of the first army corps appeared, which had been ordered forward by General McClellan to the support of Reno’s hard-pressed forces. As “Fighting Joe” appeared before the lines, the utmost enthusiasm was manifested by the troops. They cheered him as though he had already saved the day. The general was examining the ground. His quick eye had already grasped the situation. He had been ordered by the general commanding to make a feint in favor of Burnside’s forces; but, satisfied that an attack on the south side of the road would not be a success, he turned his attention to that portion of the rebel line at the north of the road, which had been reported upon by Captain Somers.

The general proceeded, as he always did, directly to the front. He seemed to know precisely what he was about, and to have all his force entirely in hand. Then he began to send off his orders, and the members of his staff were dashing about in every direction, till the line was formed. Batteries were posted behind the troops, and the shot and shell whizzed through the air over the soldiers’ heads. The order to advance was given; the line moved up the precipitous steeps, and for half an hour the battle raged with tremendous fury.

Somers found every instant of his time occupied, as he dashed from one division to another; while shot, shell, and bullets flew through the air like hailstones. Kind Providence protected him again, as it had before, and he escaped all injury. On marched the victorious line, conquering every obstacle, and driving the rebels before them; but it was long after dark before the red field was entirely won, and the Union troops were in possession of the crests of the mountain.

“Captain Somers, you have done admirably, and fully justified my selection of you for the important and difficult position to which you have been assigned.”

Somers bowed, and felt as happy as though he had commanded the successful army.

“One more task to-night, captain. You will ride to the headquarters of the army, give my compliments to General McClellan, and inform him that we have carried the position, and routed the enemy.”

Somers saluted the general, and urged forward his weary horse towards Middletown. He found the commander-in-chief still in the saddle, and delivered his message. He was directed to bear the congratulations of General McClellan to the commander of the first army corps on his success, with instructions to follow up the retreating rebels, and to employ General Richardson’s division, which had been sent forward to report to him, in this work, if the condition of his own troops required it.

Somers made his salute, and was riding off, thinking over what had just been said to him, as he had learned to do when sent on an errand in his childhood. He was fully absorbed in his thoughts, when a voice pronounced his name.

“Captain Somers, I am glad to see you again,” said an officer, urging forward his horse to intercept him.

Somers looked at him, and was not a little surprised, in the darkness of the evening, to recognize Major Riggleston, who appeared to be one of the numerous staff of the commanding general. Perhaps it was fortunate for the messenger that he had already faithfully conned his errand, or the appearance of the traitor would have forever driven it from his mind.

“Major Riggleston!” exclaimed he, hardly able to believe the evidence of his own senses.

It was plain, after all, that he had not been fully converted to the rebel faith by the blandishments of the beautiful Maud; but he was occupying a worse and more disgraceful position, in Somers’s estimation, than to have stood square up with the enemies of the country. It was most audacious in the major to hail him, after what had occurred at the mansion of the Maryland grandee, and Somers regarded him not only as a rebel, but as the stupidest rebel he had ever met.

“The same, my boy,” replied the major, familiarly. “Ride on, and I will go with you a short distance, to hear the news. They say Reno was killed.”

“I am sorry to say it is true,” replied Somers, coldly.

“He was a brave fellow, and a splendid soldier. You must have had a warm time over there.”

“Rather.”

“You are tired, arn’t you, old fellow? Can’t you talk?”

“Not much to you,” answered Somers, bluntly.

“To me? Why, what the dickens is the matter?” demanded the major, with apparent surprise.

“The matter, indeed! How does it happen that you are here?”

“Why shouldn’t I be here, old boy?”

“After the affair of yesterday—”

“What affair of yesterday?”

The major had entirely lost his memory again. He had not heard a word about the adventure at the mansion of Maud’s father.