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"Have you met any officer riding toward them?"

"Who?" I cried. "What! You don't mean to say--was that Lieutenant Ferry?"

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The General looked at me between puffs of his cigar. "I hear you've ridden over fifty miles to-day."

"Yes, General." "If I give you a good fresh horse can you go twenty-three miles more by midnight?"

"I see."

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 Did you not say it was an unpublished song written by a messmate of yours?--oh, Mr.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.

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