The three entered the hut together, and as its curtain of deerskin was drawn so as to exclude all prying eyes, the overwrought girl fell into her brother's arms, weeping hysterically. The young soldier, who but a moment before stood within the shadow of death, gazed curiously and awkwardly for a second on this scene, and then turning away, sat down with his face buried in his hands.
Ralph Boyd sought to calm his brave sister with loving words. So filled was each of the three with crowding emotions that they took no note of time nor of outside sounds, until at length the girl ceased her sobbing and gazed with a smile into her brother's face. Then, with a weight lifted from his heart, he began to talk to her in a cheerful strain.
"It was nobly done, sister mine," he said, "and as a special pleader I will name you before any barrister in the land. What argument, though, was it you used at the last? I failed to catch the words, but they must have been of powerful force."
Again a tide of crimson mantled the girl's fair cheeks, as she replied: "Coacoochee knows, and I know; but let it suffice you, brother, that they were effective; for more than that I can never tell."
At this juncture, the young soldier, looking as guilty as though he had been caught at eavesdropping, rose, drew aside the curtain at the entrance, and stepped outside. As he did so, he uttered an exclamation that quickly brought the others to his side.
The village, recently so populous and filled with busy life, was deserted. Not a soul was to be seen. Even the pigs and chickens had disappeared. An unbroken silence, as of an impending doom, brooded over the place, and, as the three who were now its sole occupants walked among the vacant habitations, they felt impelled to lower their voices, as though in presence of the dead. They had gone but a short distance when their attention was attracted by the sound of many voices and the tramp of armed men. Turning in that direction, they beheld a body of troops pouring from the pathway leading to the swamp, and toward these they at once directed their steps.
As the three whose recent experiences had been so thrilling walked slowly down the grassy slope, Douglass strove to find words with which to thank Anstice Boyd for the gift of his life; but the girl interrupted him at the outset, and begged him never to mention the subject again.
"Very well," he replied, "since that is your desire, I will strive to obey. I do so the more readily that mere words fail to express my feelings; but I shall live in hope of the time when by some service I may be able to indicate my gratitude."
Whatever else the grateful young soldier might have said was interrupted by cheers from the troops, who at that moment recognized the comrade whom they had mourned as lost to them forever. As quiet was restored, his brother officers crowded about him with a hearty welcome and an avalanche of questions.
"That will do for the present, gentlemen," interposed Captain Chase. "Excuse a soldier's abruptness, madam," he added, bowing to Anstice, "but in this stern business of war, duty must precede even the ordinary courtesies of life. Now, Mr. Douglass, since you are so happily restored to us, please tell me what to expect in yonder den of swamp devils? Are we to be attacked? Shall we charge. What force opposes us? What is the meaning of this ominous silence?"