e were the first to trot over the recaptured
bridge, and through the deserted streets of the village. Impelled by a
curiosity which could not be resisted I wheeled my horse and rode up the
gravelled driveway to Judge Moran's door, but to my vigorous knocking
there was no response. The shades were drawn at the windows, the house
silent, and yet I felt convinced the old partisan was within, watching
from some point of vantage. Yet if I believed this, the same silence and
refusal to respond also served to convince me that Miss Hardy was no
longer there. She was a vastly different type, and would exhibit
interest even in the coming of the enemy. Ay! and she would have seen
me, and not for one moment could I be made to believe that she would
treat me with contempt.

I rode back slowly to rejoin the column of horsemen, glancing over my
shoulder at the house, my mind busily occupied with the stirring events
which had transpired there. She had gone with the Confederate troops,
and had probably already been safely returned to her own home. Moran
might have departed also, but more likely he remained to look after his
property. I wondered who was her escort for the long ride--would it be
Captain Le Gaire, sufficiently recovered from his injuries for this
service, yet scarcely capable of active military duty? If so, he was
with her still, a guest at "The Gables," sufficiently an invalid to be
interesting, and to require attention, but with tongue in good repair. I
was glad I had told my story first; the gentleman would experience some
difficulty in changing Miss Willifred's opinion of the affair.

The gray dust cloud hung about us, almost obscuring the files of
plodding troopers; to right and left the flankers showed dark against
the green of the fields, and far in front an occasional carbine barked
as some suspicious scout fired at a skulking figure. Once this would
have been full of interest, but now it was mere routine, the sturdy
veterans of the Ninth riding soberly forward, choked with dust, their
hats drawn low over their eyes, wearied by a long night in the saddle. I
glanced proudly down those ranks of fighting men, glad to be with them
once again, but my thought drifted back to Billie, for this was the road
we had travelled together. It seemed a long while ago, and much might
happen before we should meet again, if ever we did. I might be killed in
battle, or Le Gaire might insist upon an immediate marriage. This last
was w