rapidly on the other side
of the street. Robert's eyes were keen, and a soldier's life had
accustomed him to their use in the darkness. He caught only a glimpse of
it, but was sure the figure was that of the Secretary.

Though wondering what an official high in the Government was about
flitting through Richmond at such an hour, he remembered philosophically
that it was none of his business. Soon another man appeared, tall and
bony, his face almost hidden by a thick black beard faintly touched with
silver in the light of the moon. But this person was not shifty nor
evasive. He stalked boldly along, and his heavy footsteps gave back a
hard metallic ring as the iron-plated heels of his boots came heavily
in contact with the bricks of the sidewalk.

Prescott knew the second figure, too. It was Wood, the great cavalryman,
the fierce, dark mountaineer, and, wishing for company, Robert followed
the General, whom he knew well. Wood turned at the sound of his
footsteps and welcomed him.

"I don't like this town nor its folks," he said in his mountain dialect,
"and I ain't goin' to stay long. They ain't my kind of people, Bob."

"Give 'em a chance, General; they are doing their best."

"What the Gov'ment ought to do," said the mountaineer moodily, "is to
get up ev'ry man there is in the country and then hit hard at the enemy
and keep on hittin' until there ain't a breath left in him. But
sometimes it seems to me that it's the business of gov'ments in war to
keep their armies from winnin'!"

They were joined at the corner by Talbot, according to his wont brimming
over with high spirits, and Prescott, on the General's account, was glad
they had met him. He, if anybody, could communicate good spirits.

"General," said the sanguine Talbot, "you must make the most of the
time. The Yankees may not give us another chance. Across yonder, where
you see that dim light trying to shine through the dirty window,
Winthrop is printing his paper, which comes out this morning. As he is a
critic of the Government, I suggest that we go over and see the task
well done."

The proposition suited Wood's mood, and Prescott's, too, so they took
their way without further words toward Winthrop's office, on the second
floor of a rusty two-story frame building. Talbot led them up a shabby
staircase just broad enough for one, between walls from which the crude
plastering had dropped in spots.

"Why are newspaper offices always so shabby," he asked.