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"Well, good-bye, fellows."

The patient gentleman smiled again as he said, "Oh--Gholson can attend to that."

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."

For an hour or so the world seemed to have taken me for its center as smoothly as a sleeping top. Only after a good seven miles did my meditations begin to reveal any bitter in the sweet; but it was in recalling for the twentieth time the last sight of Camille, that I heard myself say, I know not whether softly or loudly,

The reply came slowly. "No; her husband is quite another man; this man's wife has been dead for years. No, Charlotte Oliver lives in--hark!"

"Yes, I know. But you don't know even how your mother is acquainted with her."

"Yes," I replied, stepping away for some roses, "I--saw her--by chance--for a moment--she was in the wagon she's got here--last --eh,--Thursday--morn'--" I came back trimming the roses, and as she reached for them and our glances met, she laughed and replied, with a roguish droop of the head--

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