irection.

Seeing this, Mrs. Leland and her son ran to a window overlooking the new
scene of contest, their hearts beating between hope and fear.

Mr. Leland had slipped cautiously out of the back door, and, revolver in
hand, stepped into the yard, but only to find himself surrounded by his
foes.

They attempted to seize him, but eluding their grasp, he fired right and
left, several shots in succession, the others returning his fire, and
following in hot pursuit.

There was no moon that night, and the darkness and a simple suit of
black, were favorable to Leland, for while the long white gowns of the
Ku Klux not only trammelled their movements, but rendered each an easy
target for his shot, they could take but uncertain aim at him, and on
gaining the woods, he was soon lost to their view in the deepened gloom
of its recesses.

But the balls had been falling about him like hailstones, and as the
sounds of pursuit grew fainter, he found himself bleeding profusely from
a wound in the leg. He dropped behind a fallen tree, and partially
stanched the wound with some leaves which he bound on with a
handkerchief, fortunately left in his coat pocket on retiring that
night.

This was scarcely accomplished, when sounds of approaching footsteps and
voices told him the danger was not yet over.

He crouched close in his hiding place, and hardly dared breathe as they
passed and repassed, some almost stepping on him. But he remained
undiscovered, and at length they abandoned the search, and returning to
the vicinity of the house, gathered up their wounded and went away.

Yet Leland felt that it was not safe for him to venture back to his
home, as they might return at any moment; but to remain where he was
with his wound undressed was almost certain death.

He resolved to accept Mr. Travilla's offered hospitality, if his
strength would carry him so far, and was rising to make the attempt,
when the cracking of a dead branch told him that some living thing was
near, and he fell back again, listening intently for the coming
footsteps.

"Robert! Robert!" called a low tremulous voice.

"O Mary, is it you?" he responded, in low but joyous accents, and the
next moment his wife's arms were about his neck, her tears warm upon his
cheek, while Archie stood sobbing beside them.

"Thank God, thank God that you are alive!" she said, "But are you
unhurt?"

"No, I am bleeding fast from a wound in my leg," Leland answered
faintly.