, wary, watchful, humble--diffident as well as brave. I fear
Gates is not so."

"Then, I trust, Arthur," exclaimed Mildred, with anxious alacrity, "that
your present expedition does not connect you with his fortunes!"

"I neither follow his colors nor partake of his counsels," replied
Butler. "Still my motions may not be exempt from the influence of his
failure or success. The enemy, you are aware, has possessed himself of
every post of value in South Carolina and Georgia. I go commissioned to
advise with discreet and prudent men upon the means to shake off this
odious domination. So far only, and remotely, too, I am a fellow-laborer
with Gates. There are gallant spirits now afoot, Mildred, to strip these
masters of their power. My office is to aid their enterprise."

"If you needs must go, Arthur, I have no word to say. You will leave
behind you an aching heart, that morning, noon, and night, wearies
heaven with its prayers for your safety. Alas, I have no other aid to
give! How soon--how soon," she said, with a voice that faltered with the
question, "does your duty compel you to leave me?"

"To-morrow's sunrise, love, must find me forth upon my way."

"To-morrow, Arthur? so quickly to part!"

"I dare not linger; not even for the rich blessing of thy presence."

"And the utmost length of your journey?"

"Indeed, I know not. At present my farthest aim is Ninety-six and
Augusta. It much depends upon the pleasure of our proud and wilful
masters."

Mildred stood for some moments looking upon the ground in profound
silence. Her bosom heaved with a sad emotion.

"It is a dangerous duty," said she, at last. "I cannot speak my
apprehension at the thought of your risks amongst the fierce and
treacherous men that overrun the country to which you travel."

"These perils are exaggerated by distance," returned Butler. "A thousand
expedients of protection and defence occur when present, which the
absent cannot fancy. It is a light service, Mildred, and may more
securely be performed with a gay heart than with a sad one. I pray you,
do not suffer that active imagination of yours to invest the every day
adventures of your poor soldier with a romantic interest of which they
are not worthy. I neither slay giants, nor disenchant ladies, nor yoke
captive griffins together. No, no, I shall outrun some over-fed clown,
and outwit some simple boobies; and, perhaps, soil my boots in a great
slough, and then hasten back, love, to bo