ride as an invalid any more; he intended to do his share of
the work, and Talbot did not contradict him; it was a time when a man
who could serve should be permitted to do it.

Talbot said they would remain in the camp for the present and await the
fortunes of the battle; it was not worth while to continue a retreat
when none knew in which direction the right path lay. But the men as
they listened were seized with a fever of impatience. The flame of the
cannon and the thunder of the battle had a singular attraction for them.
They wished to be there and they cursed their fate because they were
here. The wounded lamented their wounds and the well were sad because
they were detailed for such duty; the new battle was going on without
them, and the result would be decided while they waited there in the
Wilderness with their hands folded. How they missed the Secretary with
his news!

The morning went slowly on. The sun rose high, but it still shone with a
coppery hue through the floating clouds, and a thick blanket of damp
heat enclosed the convoy. The air seemed to tremble with the sound from
the distant battle; it came in waves, and save for it the forest was
silent; no birds sang in the trees, nothing moved in the grass. There
was only the rumble of guns, coming wave upon wave. Thus hour after hour
passed, and the fever of impatience still held the souls of those in
this column. But the black Wilderness would tell no tale; it gave back
the sound of conflict and nothing more. They watched the growing smoke
and flame, the forest bursting into fresh fires, and knew only that the
battle was fierce and desperate, as before.

Prescott's strength was returning rapidly, and he expected in another
day or two to return to the army. The spirit was strong within him to
make the trial now, but Talbot would not hear of it, saying that his
wound was not healed sufficiently. On the morning of that second day he
stood beside Lucia, somewhat withdrawn from the others, and for awhile
they watched the distant battle. It was the first time in twenty-four
hours that he had been able to speak to her. She had not seemed exactly
to avoid him, but she was never in his path. Now he wished to hold her
there with talk.

"I fear that you will be lonely in Richmond," he said at random.

"I shall have Miss Grayson," she replied, "and the panorama of the war
will pass before me; I shall not have time for loneliness."

"Poor Richmond! It is desolate