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Our camp was in the heart of Copiah County, Mississippi, a mile or so west of Gallatin and about six miles east of that once robber-haunted road, the Natchez Trace. Austin's brigade, we were, a detached body of mixed Louisiana and Mississippi cavalry, getting our breath again after two weeks' hard fighting of Grant. Grierson's raid had lately gone the entire length of the State, and we had had a hard, vain chase after him, also.

Remember! I had yet to make their discovery. But I was on the eve of making it.

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

My eyes rested in Camille's and hers in mine. A musical license gave us the courage. At the last note our gaze did not sink but took on more glow, while out of the forest behind us a distant echo answered the last measure of the strain. Then our eyes slowly fell; and however it may have seemed to her, to me it was as if the vanished strains were not only or chiefly of bugle and echo, but as though our two hearts had called and answered in that melodious unison.

The young ladies were in rapture. Miss Harper asked how he had done it.

"Good-morning, Smith, who is your prisoner?"

"Of course no one has seen this despatch, eh?--Oh!"--a smile--"yes? who?"

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