ent as their characters. Evidently they knew the knock.
She closed her lips tightly and a faint pink tint in her cheeks
deepened. He looked up quickly and the light in his eyes spoke welcome.
"Come in!" he called in a loud voice, but his sister said nothing.

The lady who entered was Mrs. Markham, as crisp as the breath of the
morning. Her dress was fresh and bright in colour, a brilliant note in a
somber camp.

"Oh, Colonel!" she cried, going forward and taking both of Harley's
hands in the warmth of her welcome. "I have been so anxious to see you
again, and I am glad to know that you are getting well."

A pleased smile came over Harley's face and remained there. Here was
one, and above all a woman, who could appreciate him at his true value,
and whom no small drop of jealousy or envy kept from saying so.

"You give me too much credit, Mrs. Markham," he said.

"Not at all, my dear Colonel," she replied vivaciously. "It is not
enough. One who wins laurels on such a terrible field as war has a right
to wear them. Do not all of us remember that great charge of yours just
at the critical moment, and the splendid way in which you covered the
retreat from Gettysburg. You always do your duty, Colonel."

"My brother is not the only man in the army who does his duty," said
Miss Harley, "and there are so many who are always true that he does not
like to be singled out for special praise."

Colonel Harley frowned and Mrs. Markham shot a warning side glance at
Miss Harley. Prescott, keenly watching them both, saw a flash as of
perfect understanding and defiance pass between two pairs of eyes and
then he saw nothing more. Miss Harley was intent upon her work, and Mrs.
Markham, blonde, smiling and innocent, was talking to the Colonel,
saying to him the words that he liked to hear and soothing his wounded
spirit.

Mrs. Markham had just come from Richmond to visit the General, and she
told gaily of events in the Southern capital.

"We are cheerful there, Colonel," she said, "confident that such men as
you will win for us yet. Oh, we hear what is going on. They print news
on wall-paper, but we get it somehow. We have our diversions, too. It
takes a thousand dollars, Confederate money, to buy a decent calico
dress, but sometimes we have the thousand dollars. Besides, we have
taken out all the old spinning-wheels and looms and we've begun to make
our own cloth. We don't think it best that the women should spend all
their time m