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"Suppose it wasn't either."

"I knew it! I knew it was her! Ah, you rogue, you know it was her!"

The pair took our pace, the man plying me with questions, and his wife, in front, telling Lieutenant Durand all the rumors of the day. Her scant hair was of a scorched red tone, she was freckled down into her collar, her elbows waggled to the mare's jog, and her voice was as flat as a duck's. Her nag had trouble to keep up, and her tiny faded bonnet had even more to keep on. Yet the day was near when the touch of those freckled hands was to seem to me kinder than the breath of flowers, as they bathed my foul-smelling wounds, and she would say, in the words of the old song, "Let me kiss him for his mother," and I should be helpless to prevent her. By and by the man raised his voice:--

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

At the door the Colonel gave me a last look. "Good-night, Legs."

"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?"

"General Austin believes it is. You're being used to bait a trap, Richard."

"Tell her I tried to keep my promise to her."

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