ard comments upon him again; they found fault
with his absence; he should have been there to take a part in the
defense, and while she admitted that their criticisms bore the color of
truth, she yet believed him to be away for some good purpose.

For two hours the wild battle in the dark went on, to the chorus of
shouts from white man and red, the savages often coming close to the
walls, and seeking to find a shelter under them in the dark, but always
driven back. Then it ceased so suddenly that the intense silence was
more pregnant with terror than all the noise that had gone before. Paul
Cotter, looking over the palisade, could see nothing. The forest rose up
like a solid dark wall, and in the opening not a blade of grass stirred;
the battle, the savage army, all seemed to have gone like smoke melting
into the air, and Paul was appalled, feeling that a magic hand had
abruptly swept everything out of existence.

"What do you see?" asked Lucy, upon whose ears the silence too was heavy
and painful.

"Nothing but darkness, and what it hides I cannot guess."

A report ran through the village that the savage army, beaten, had gone,
and the women, and the men with little experience, gave it currency, but
the veterans rebuked such premature rejoicing; it was their part, they
said, to watch with more vigilance than ever, and in nowise to relax
their readiness.

Then the long hours began and those who could, slept. Braxton Wyatt and
his friends again impeached the credit of Henry Ware, insinuating with
sly smiles that he must be a renegade, as he had taken no part in the
defense and must now be with his savage friends. To the slur Paul Cotter
fiercely replied that he had warned them of the attack; without him the
station would have been taken by surprise, and that surely proved him to
be no traitor.

The hours between midnight and day not only grew in length, but seemed
to increase in number as well, doubling and tripling, as if they would
never end for the watchers in the station. The men behind the wooden
walls and some of the women, too, intently searched the forest, seeking
to discover movements there, but nothing appeared upon its solid black
screen. Nor did any sound come from it, save the occasional gentle moan
of the wind; there was no crackling of branches, no noise of footsteps,
no rattle of arms, but always the heavy silence which seemed so deadly,
and which, by its monotony, was so painful to their ears.

Lu