h others' names."

"Do you care to know mine?"

She hesitated, and I thought her eyes dropped.

"I--I hardly know," doubtfully. "Yet you have been very kind, and,
perhaps, sometime I might serve you. Yes, you may tell me."

"Robert Galesworth."

"Of what rank?"

"Lieutenant, Ninth Illinois Cavalry, but detailed for special service."

"Thank you. I--I am rather glad you told me."

"And you," I insisted, determined this confidence should be mutual.
"May I not, in return, be told your name?"

"I am Willifred Gray," she said quietly. "That is all--just Willifred
Gray."

There was something about the manner in which she said this which held
me silent. I should have liked to ask more, a second question trembling
on my lips, but the words would not come. It was altogether new to me,
this fear of offending a woman, so new it almost angered, and yet
something about her positively held me as though in bonds. To this day I
do not know the secret of it, but I sat there silently staring out into
the night.

I could see a little now, becoming aware that dawn was approaching, the
sky shading to a dull gray in the east, and casting a weird light over
the landscape. It was a gloomy scene of desolation, the road a mere
ribbon, overgrown with grass and weeds, a soggy marsh on one side, and a
line of sand-hills on the other, sparsely covered by some stunted
growth. Far away, across the level, my eyes caught a glimmer of water,
locating the river, but in no direction was there any sign of a house,
or curl of smoke. The unproductive land--barren and swampy--sufficiently
accounted for lack of inhabitants, and told why it had been avoided by
the foragers of both armies. Seeking safety the girl had chosen her
course wisely--here was desolation so complete as to mock even at the
ravages of war. The gray in the east changed to pink, delicately tinting
the whole upper sky, objects taking clearer form, a light breeze
rustling the long grass. Tirelessly the pony trotted, his head down, the
lines lying loose. I turned to gaze at my companion, and our eyes met.
Hers were either gray or blue; I could not be certain which, so quickly
were they lowered, and so shadowed by long lashes. And they were merry
eyes, smiling, and deep with secrets no man could hope to solve. Perhaps
she deemed it only fair that I should look at her as she had been
observing me; perhaps it was but the coquetry of the "eternal feminine"
conscious of her own attracti