nd with such instruments as shall faithfully work His
purpose, give the victory to them that have the right. Man, woman, and
child may perish, and house and home may be burnt over our heads, and
the blood of brave men may make the dust of the road red; yes, and the
pastures rich as if new laid with manure; but the will of God shall be
done and His providence be accomplished. The cause of the just shall
prevail against the unjust."

"There were no soldiers," inquired Mary, addressing David Ramsay, "that
you have heard of, who followed towards Fair Forest? I should be sorry
if John was to be troubled with persons going after him; because,"--the
maiden hesitated an instant,--"because it's unpleasant and disagreeable
to be obliged to be riding off the road, through bushes and briers, to
keep out of the way."

"If they were not greatly an overmatch, girl," interrupted Ramsay, "John
wouldn't give himself much trouble upon that account."

"Oh, Mr. Ramsay," said Mary earnestly, "I was thinking of that. It's
hard to say what John would call an overmatch: men are so headstrong and
venturesome."

"That's God's own truth, Mary," interposed Mrs. Ramsay; "and what I have
always been telling David and John both. But they never heed me, no more
than if I was talking to the child in that cradle."

"I've told John as much myself," said Mary, blushing.

"And he would not heed you either," interrupted her father, "A soldier
would have a holiday life of it, if he followed the advice of his
mother or his sweetheart. Daughter, amongst friends here, you needn't
blush; we know more of the secrets betwixt you and the trooper lad than
you count upon. John's a clever boy, Mistress Ramsay, and I think you
have reason to brag of him somewhat; and as there's particular good-will
between him and my Mary, I'll not stand in the way when the war is over,
if God spares us all, and Mary and the lad keep in the same mind; I'll
not stand in the way of a new settlement in the neighborhood. Mary is a
good daughter, well nurtured, and--I don't care to say it to her
face--will make a thriving wife."

The mother smiled as she replied, "I don't pretend to know the young
people's secrets, but I know this, you don't think better of Mary than
John does--nor than me neither, perhaps."

The conversation was interrupted by a knocking at the door, and, in a
moment afterwards, Arthur Butler and the woodman entered the apartment.

"Major Butler, as I am a living