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I made no reply. He looked momentous, leaned to me sidewise with a hand horizontally across his mouth, and whispered a name. It was new to me. "Charlie Toliver?" I murmured, for we were at the tent door.

The smoker twinkled. "You're different from Ned Ferry," he said.

The aide-de-camp laughed like a rustic and vanished. "Smith," said the Major, "your eyes are--"

I snatched the document from my bosom, into which I had thrust it to seize the General's hand "Oh, Gholson!" I said, in deep-toned grief, as I looked up from the superscription, "is that honest!"

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

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

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