d quickly forward, he held forth the
cards.

"The adjutant-general's compliments, sir, and he'd be glad if the
lieutenant would come over at once."

Gray took the cards, curiously studied them and then read aloud, one
after the other, and placing the topmost underneath the other two as soon
as read.

"MR. LISPENARD PRIME."
"MISS PRIME."
"MISS AMY LAWRENCE."

It was the last name that lay uppermost at the end, receiving particular
attention, and the Parson noted it.

"That's the pretty cousin, Billy," quoth he. "Case of the last shall be
first, don't you see? Scoot now, you lucky boy, and tell us all about it
later."

But Gray was still gazing dreamily at the cards.

"I'm sure I never met any of them before in my life," said he. "There
must be some mistake. Yet--that name--sounds familiar--somehow," and
"that" was the only name now in sight. "I'm off," he suddenly announced,
and vanished.

There was a sound of light, quick footsteps on the flooring of the
rearward tent at the same time. The sergeant-major glanced up from his
writing; looked at a vacant desk, then at the clock, then, inquiringly,
at his regimental deity--the adjutant. It was just the hour of the day at
which all manner of papers were coming down from division and brigade
headquarters to be duly stamped, noted and stacked up for the colonel's
action. This was the young clerk Morton's especial function, but Morton
had left the office and was gone.

CHAPTER II.

The little party of visitors in the general's personal tent made a
striking contrast to that assembled under the official canvas. In the
latter, seated on camp stools and candle boxes or braced against the tent
poles were nearly a dozen officers, all in the sombre dark blue
regulation uniform, several in riding boots and spurs, some even wearing
the heavy, frogged overcoat; all but two, juniors of the staff, men who
stood on the shady side of forty, four of the number wearing on their
shoulders the silver stars of generals of division or brigade, and among
their thinning crops of hair the silver strands that told of years of
service. One man alone, the commanding general, was speaking; all the
others listened in respectful silence. In the gloom of that late,
fog-shrouded afternoon a lantern or two would have been welcome, but the
conference had begun while it was still light enough for the chief to
read