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"What, a leather-curtained spring-wagon?"

"I am his clerk." In the car a flash of joy and then great decorum.

"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.

The thunder of our own hoofs Was all the sound we heard.

I could not speak, I shook my head, and for evidence in rebuttal I showed in my eyes two fountains of standing tears.

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