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

"Wait a moment," she murmured, and watched the promenading pair turn back. Then she asked if I had read my mother's letter. I said I had. And then, very pensively, with head bent and eyes once more down, she inquired if I liked to get letters. Which led, quite accidentally, to my asking leave to write to her.

Turn again thine eyes, maiden passing fair. O maiden passing fair, turn again thine eyes!"

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

At the edge of the wood, where we had parted, I tied my horse, and crept along the moonlight shadows of the melon-patch to the stable. The door was ajar. In the interior gloom I passed my hands over the necks and heads of what I recognized to be the pair of small mules I had seen at Gallatin. Near a third stall were pegs for saddle and bridle, but they were empty. So was the stall; the mare was gone.

"Why, I keep the plain road, don't I?"

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