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Old Dismukes rose. "Good-night. Shall I send this boy that Yankee's horse?"

"The enemy are in Fayette to-night," he continued. "So when you get half-way to Fayette, just across Morgan's Creek, you'll take a dim fork on the right running north along the creek. Ever travel by the stars?"

She backed half a step, and quite needlessly I let it go. Then she bade me not forget I had promised her the words of a certain song. "Want them? Indeed, yes! Did you not say it was an unpublished song written by a messmate of yours?--oh, Mr. Smith! I see why you stammer! You said 'a member of your mess'! oh!--oh!--oh!--you wrote it, yourself! And you wrote it to-day! That explains--" She drew an awesome breath, rose to her toes and knit her knuckles under her throat.

"Nonsense!" muttered both men, and I liked them the better.

"We'll call it yours now," he replied. "Kendall picked it up, but he has no need of it."

"Why, the other one--the son. Lieutenant, is she that monster's wife?"

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