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"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

As I mounted, our wagonmaster rode by me, busy as a skipper in a storm. "Oh, here!" he cried, wheeled, and reaching something to me added, "that's your pass. Major Harper wants you as quick as you can show up. He says never mind the column, ride straight after him. Keep this road to Hazlehurst and then go down the main Brookhaven road till you overtake him. He's by himself--nearly."

"No," he said, but Ned Ferry had lately restored to him, by proxy, some lost letters, with an invitation to come and see him.

"Such as which?" asked the Yankee, with a twinkle. "There were two kinds."

"Smith," said the Colonel, and then smoked and smiled again till my brow beaded,--"tired?"

"What do you see?" His frown scared me to my finger-tips.

Foolish, idle cry, and meant for no more, by a heart on fire with temptations of which I knew nothing. But then and there my poor adolescent soul found out that the preceptive stuff of which it had built its treasure-house and citadel was not fire-proof.

"Cruel to you?" I took her hand from my arm and held it.

"Coralie! Coralie Rothvelt!"--my cry was an honest one--"you tempt me beyond human endurance."

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