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

"Oh, if you were you wouldn't say so. You'd let on to be looking for good crossings on Pearl River, so that if Johnston should get chewed up we needn't be caught here in a hole, Ferry's scouts and all."

"Too tired?"

It was the envelope which had contained Coralie Rothvelt's pass. Its four flaps were spread open, and on the inside was scrawled in a large black writing the following:

"Ah, he is, I doubt not, but the burnt-out ruin of what he was half a year ago. You perceive, he has not succeeded; he has not devoured her; actually she has turned his fangs upon himself and has defeated his designs toward her as if by magic. And yet the only magic has been her vigilance, her courage, her sagacity. Smith,"--again he stroked the mane of his charger--"if I tell you--"

"'Tis the enemy, I think," he said, "but only scouts, I suppose."

"Don't swallow him," said Ferry, smilingly, "this isn't your private war."

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