ettysburg!"

He paused and looked from under lowered eyelashes at the General. There
had been criticism of Lee because of Gettysburg, but he never defended
himself, taking upon his shoulders all the blame that might or might not
be his. Now when Mr. Sefton mentioned the name of Gettysburg in such a
connection his face showed no change. The watchful Secretary could not
see an eyelid quiver.

"Yes, Gettysburg was a great misfortune for us," said the General, in
his usual calm, even voice. "Our troops did wonders there, but they did
not win."

"I scarcely need to add, General," said the Secretary, "that the
confidence of the Government in you is still unlimited."

Then making deferential excuses, Mr. Sefton left the tent and Lee
followed his retreating figure with a look of antipathy.

The Secretary wandered through the camp, watching everything. He had
that most valuable of all qualities, the ability to read the minds of
men, and now he set himself to the discovery of what these simple
soldiers, the cannon food, were thinking. He did it, too, without
attracting any attention to himself, by a deft question here, a
suggestion there, and then more questions, always indirect, but leading
in some fashion to the point. Curiously, but truly, his suggestions were
not optimistic, and after he talked with a group of soldiers and passed
on the effect that he left was depressing. He, too, looked across toward
the Northern lines, and, civilian though he was, he knew that their
tremendous infolding curve was more than twice as great as that forming
the lines of the South. A singular light appeared in the Secretary's
eyes as he noticed this, but he made no verbal comment, not even to
himself.

The Secretary's steps led straight toward the house in which the wounded
Colonel Harley lay, and when the voice bidding him to enter in response
to his knock was feminine, he smiled slightly, entered with light step,
and bowed with all the old school's courteous grace over the hand of
Helen Harley.

"There are some women, Miss Harley," he said, "who do not fear war and
war's alarms."

"Some, Mr. Sefton!" she replied. "There are many--in the South, I
know--and there must be as many in the North."

"It is your generous heart that speaks," he said, and then he turned to
Colonel Harley, who was claiming the attention of an old acquaintance.

The two men shook hands with great warmth. Here was one who received the
Secretary without reserve