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"Then Ned Ferry doesn't drink?"

The flap fell again and my panic was turned into a joy qualified only by a reduced esteem for my general as a judge of character.

"What's the name, General, of the man whose house I'm to go to?"

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.

When I said I would try she looked distressfully unassured and I added "I'll do whatever risks no life but mine."

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