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"No, madam."

"Some of our boys attacked by a rabbit," I suggested, but still hearkened.

I found but one white figure under the dim veranda eaves. "Miss Camille?"

"Why, then?"

"Ferry's scouts. What command is yours, gentlemen?"

The note of patriotism righted me and I looked a third time. The one art of dress worth knowing in '63 was to slight its fashions without offending them, and this pretty gift I had marked all day in the Harpers. But never have I seen it half so successful as in the veiled horsewoman illumined by the side-lights of those burning fence-rails. The white apparition at the veranda's edge gleamed in my mind, yet swiftly faded out, and a new fascination, more sudden than worthy heaved at my heart. Then the fire was behind us and we were in the deep night.

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

"But if she--oh, yes!--Yes, to be sure; she could easily have got here yesterday afternoon."

"I naturally thought," resumed I, with a smile meant to refer to the blond dancer, "that the madam must be away somewhere."

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