k down to the shore and
back, for a change. I'm sorry that I can't suggest any variations in the
route. But we will stop at the brook and I will get you some fresh
water."

She took a step, then hesitated.

"But I thought you were on guard," she said.

"So I am, especially detailed by our commander-in-chief to look after
the comfort and welfare of a certain gentleman, a civilian in name, but
so active an inspector of military operations that I cannot often keep
track of him unless I'm under fire myself, and also the welfare of two
volunteer nurses who are in great danger of letting their zeal outrun
their strength. No, I am wrong; I am in charge of only one nurse; she
takes care of the other. It is you whom the General has in mind." Never
was Archdale's tact finer and more opportune. After the smouldering
passion of Edmonson, felt if not yet confessed to herself, the ease and
safety of this companionship seemed to her like the difference between
the air of the tents hot and heavy with unhealthy breaths, and the salt
wind that came to her softly now, but with invigorating freshness.

"I haven't the least idea where my father is," she said. "I suppose he
is so used to business that he must have always something on hand."

"He is with the General now," he said.

"There is one walk I wish you would invite me to take," said Elizabeth,
as they sauntered away. "Into the city, I mean." And for a moment she
forgot the cost of victory in its exultation.

"I will," he answered. "Will you come, then?"

"Certainly."

They reached the brook and followed it up a little distance above the
camp. Elizabeth sat down upon the bank, and Archdale filled his cup and
brought it to her. She examined it by the dim light.

"I see that it is silver, and chased," she said. "But I can't make out
the figures upon it."

"The Archdale arms," he answered. "I brought the cup with me. It's my
canteen." She drank and gave it back to him.

"Thank you," she said. As she spoke, a shot rose high in air and ended
its parabola in the heart of the doomed city. It seemed as if a cry
uprose. Elizabeth shuddered. "How dreadful it is!"

"You will never forget it," he answered.

"No; no one who has been here ever can." She had risen, and they were
walking down toward the shore. Her fatigue, or her mood, gave her an
unusual gentleness of manner. As Stephen Archdale walked beside her he
tried to imagine Katie as Elizabeth was now, with a background of