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A sweet color was I. "Yes, that's what I said; Cockerel. Isn't your last name Cockerel?"

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I went to Gholson. He told me I was relieved of my captive and bade me go care for my horse and return in half an hour. In going I passed close by the Sessions plantation house. Every door and window was thrown wide to the night air, and preparations were in progress for a dance; and as I returned, a slave boy ran across my path, toward the house, bearing a flaming pine torch and followed by two ambulances filled with daughters of the neighborhood in clouds of white gauze. I found the General in fatigue dress. His new finery hung on the tent-pole at his back. Old Dismukes, the bull-necked colonel of the Arkansans, lounged on a camp-cot. Both smoked cigars.

I turned upon her choking with anger, but her melting beauty rendered me helpless. Black woods were on our left. "Shall we turn in here?" I asked.

"Yes." She stooped low under the interlacing boughs and plunged with me into the double darkness.

I dilated. "Who told--did Ned Ferry tell you that story?"

"Oh, no, no! I cannot let you!" She clutched the hand she had been stroking.

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