Toward noon a low tap was heard at the window, which was level with an alley in the rear, and a man's hand was thrust through a broken pane. Oliver pressed Grant's arm, laid his finger on his lips, caught up a heavy hammer lying on an oil-barrel, crept noiselessly along the wall toward the sound, and stopped to listen. Then he heard his name called in a hoarse whisper.
"Marse Ollie! Marse Ollie! Is you in here?"
"Who is it?" Oliver called back, crouching beneath the window, his fingers tight around the handle of the hammer.
"It's me, Marse Ollie."
"You! Malachi!"
"Yassir, I'se been a-followin' ye all de mawnin';
I see 'em tryin' to kill ye an' I tried to git to ye. I kin git through--yer needn't help me," and he squeezed himself under the raised sash. "Malachi like de snake--crawl through anywheres. An' ye ain't hurted?" he asked when he was inside. "De bressed Lord, ain't dat good! I been a-waitin' outside;
I was feared dey'd see me if I tried de door."
"Where are the soldiers?"
"Gone. Ain't nobody outside at all.Mos' to de railroad by dis time, dey tells me. An' dere ain't nary soul 'bout dis place--all run away. Come 'long wid me, son--I ain't gwine ter leabe ye a minute. Marse Richard'll be waitin'. Come 'long home, son. I been a-followin' ye all de mawnin'."
The tears were in his eyes now. "An' ye ain't hurted," and he felt him all over with trembling. hands.
John raised himself above the oil-barrels. He had heard the strange talk and was anxiously watching the approaching figures.
"It's all right, Grant--it's our Malachi," Oliver called out in his natural voice, now that there was no danger of being overheard.
The old man stopped and lifted both hands above his head.
"Gor'-a-mighty! an' he ain't dead?" His eyes had now become accustomed to the gloom.
"No; and just think, Mally, he is my own friend.
Grant, this is our Malachi whom I told you about."
Grant stepped over the barrel and held out his hand to the old negro. There are no class distinctions where life and death are concerned.
"Glad to see you. Pretty close shave, but I guess I'm all right. They'd have done for me but for your master."
A council of war was now held. The uniform would be fatal if Grant were seen in it on the street.
Malachi must crawl into the alley again, go over to Oliver's house, and return at dusk with one of Oliver's suits of clothes; the uniform and the blood-stained shirt could then be hidden in the cellar, and at dark, should the street still be deserted, the three would put on a bold front and walk out of the front door of the main warehouse over their heads. Once safe in the Horn house, they could perfect plans for Grant's rejoining his regiment.
Their immediate safety provided for, and Malachi gone, Oliver could wait no longer to ask about Margaret.
He had been turning over in his mind how he had best broach the subject, when her brother solved the difficulty by saying:
"Father was the first man in Brookfleld to indorse the President's call for troops. He'd have come himself, old as he is, if I had not joined the regiment.
He didn't like you, Horn; I always told him he was wrong. He'll never forgive himself now when he hears what you have done for me," and he laid his hand affectionately on Oliver's shoulder as he spoke.
"I liked you as soon as I saw you, and so did mother, and so does Madge, but father was always wrong about you. We told him so, again and again, and Madge said that father would see some day that you got your politeness from the Cavaliers and we got our plain speaking from the Puritans. The old gentleman was pretty mad about her saying so, I tell you, but she stuck to it. Madge is a dear girl, Horn.
A fellow always knows just where to find Madge; no nonsense about her. She's grown handsome, too--handsomer than ever. There's a new look in her face, somehow, lately. I tell her she's met somebody in New York she likes, but she won't acknowledge it."
Oliver drank in every word, drawing out the brother with skilful questions and little exclamatory remarks that filled Grant with enthusiasm and induced him to talk on. They were young men again now--brothers once more, as they had been that first afternoon in the library at Brookfield. In the joy of hearing from her he entirely forgot his surroundings, and the dangers that still beset them both; a joy intensified because it was the first and only time he had heard someone who knew her talk to him of the woman he loved. This went on until night fell and Malachi again crawled in through the same low window and helped John into Oliver's clothes.
When all was ready the main door of the warehouse above was opened carefully and the three men walked out--Malachi ahead, John and Oliver following.
The moonlit street was deserted; only the barricades of timber and the litter of stones and bricks marked the events of the morning. Dodging into a side alley and keeping on its shadow side they made their way toward Oliver's home.
When the three reached the Square, the white light of the moon lay full on the bleached columns of the Clayton house. Outside on the porch, resting against the wall, stood a row of long-barrelled guns glinting in the moon's rays. Through the open doorway could be seen the glow of the hall lantern, the hall itself crowded with men. The Horn house was dark, except for a light in Mrs. Horn's bedroom. The old servant's visit had calmed their fears, and they had only to wait now until Oliver's return.
Malachi stationed Oliver and John Grant in the shadow of the big sycamore that overhung the house, mounted the marble steps and knocked twice. Aunt Hannah opened the door. She seemed to be expecting someone, for the knock was instantly followed by the turning of the knob.
Malachi spoke a few words in an undertone to Hannah, and stepped back to where the two young men were standing.
"You go in, Marse Oliver. Leabe de gemman here wid me under de tree. Everybody's got dere eye wide open now--can't fool Malachi--I knows de signs.
Oliver walked leisurely to the door, closed it softly behind him, and ran upstairs into his mother's arms.
