of the guns had commenced, it ceased, and the
steady, passionate, desperate blasts of the rifles, now uninterrupted,
were more deadly and venomous if less shocking to the ear.

The movement of the minute-hand on the clock-face became uncanny and
merciless to her eye in its deliberate regularity. Dellarme had been
told to hold on until noon, she knew. Was he still smiling? Was Feller
still happy in playing a stream of lead from the automatic? Was the
second charge of the Grays, which must have come to close quarters when
the guns went silent, going to succeed?

The rifle-fire died down suddenly and she heard a cheer like that of
the morning, only wilder and fiercer and even less human. Could it be
from the Browns celebrating a repulse? Or from the Grays after taking
the position? What did it matter? If the Grays had won there was an end
to the agony so far as her mother and herself were concerned--an end to
murder on the lawn and devastation of their property. But, at length,
the rifle-fire beginning again in a slow, irregular pulse told her that
the Browns had held.

Now another long intermission. The demon was wiping his brow and
recovering his breath, Marta thought; he was repairing damaged joints in
his armor and removing the flesh of victims from his claws. But he would
not rest long, for the war was young--exactly one day old--and many
battalions of victims remained unslain.

How slowly the big hand of the clock kept hitching on from minute-mark
to minute-mark! Yet no more slowly than the hands of clocks in distant
provinces of the Browns or of the Grays, where this day was as quiet and
peaceful as any other day.

Mrs. Galland had settled down conscientiously to play solitaire, a
favorite pastime of hers; but she failed to win, as she complained to
Marta, because of her stupid way this morning of missing the combination
cards.

"I really believe I need new glasses," she declared.

"Let me help you," said Marta. Welcome idea! Why hadn't she thought of
it before? It was something to do.

"But, Marta--there you are, covering up the jack of spades, the very
card I need--though it will not help now. I've lost again!" exclaimed
Mrs. Galland at length. "Why, Marta, you miss worse than I do!"

"Do I? Do I?" asked Marta in blank surprise and irritation. "Please let
me try once alone. I'll not miss this time. Correct me if I do."

She played with the deliberation and accuracy of Feller should he have
to make a li