the back parlor, left by the drawing nearly together of the sliding
doors. I waited until Bradley had crawled through with an armful of
loaded guns, and then entered also, creeping silently between the piano
legs. As I did so a bullet struck the case above me, and the whole
instrument trembled to the impact, giving forth a strange moan, as if
in pain.

Some one was groaning in the corner at my left, and supposing the
wounded to be lying there, I turned more toward the right, keeping as
close as possible to the wall, hopeful I might come in contact with one
of the women. I do not honestly know why I did this--really I had no
excuse, except my natural distrust of Brennan, coupled with an eager
desire to be of service to the woman of my heart. There was little to
guide me in the search, as the flame of the discharging rifles did not
penetrate here. Once I heard the rustle of a skirt, while a faint sound
of whispering reached me from the rear of the room. Then my hand,
groping blindly along the wall, touched the lower fold of a dress. It
felt like coarse calico to my fingers.

"Mrs. Bungay," I whispered cautiously, "is this you?"

The woman started at sound of my voice, but replied in the same low
tone: "Thet's my name; who mought ye be?"

"A friend of yours, and of your husband," I answered, for I doubted if
she would recall my name. "Did you know Jed was here?"

"My man? Hiven be praised! But I'll knock ther head off ther little
divil if ever I git my hand on him, I will thet. Whar's ther little imp
bin all ther time?"