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"Well, no. It's the horse he captured the time he got the Yankee who had him prisoner."

"Oh, I--I wish he wouldn't play cards. Smith, I've seen him play cards with the shells bursting over us!"

"Nor no woman?" I asked, and again across the back of my neck my two companions gazed at each other.

"Don't interrupt me, Smith. Yes, Clifton. You're not to reach there to-night--"

My heart beat wildly and I wanted to ask if it was on my account; but I was too pusillanimous a coward, and when I feebly tried to look into her eyes she would not let me, which convinced me that she lacked candor. A dance ended. Gold-laced fellows came and sat on the veranda rail wiping wrists and brows with over-tasked handkerchiefs, and explaining the small mishaps of the floor. Two promenaders mentioned the hour. I gasped my amazement and extended my hand. "Good-bye."

The note of patriotism righted me and I looked a third time. The one art of dress worth knowing in '63 was to slight its fashions without offending them, and this pretty gift I had marked all day in the Harpers. But never have I seen it half so successful as in the veiled horsewoman illumined by the side-lights of those burning fence-rails. The white apparition at the veranda's edge gleamed in my mind, yet swiftly faded out, and a new fascination, more sudden than worthy heaved at my heart. Then the fire was behind us and we were in the deep night.

"My God! she shall not!" I cried, and whirled about and galloped back.

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