h a cry of surpassing joy and love, she rushed back to
where the two men waited for her on their knees.

CHAPTER X

In the shade of a fringe of trees that edged the river bank a troop of
cavalry was drawn up in one long, thin line. Knee to knee, the silent,
blue-coated riders sat, waiting, waiting--not for a charge upon the
enemy, or orders for a foray through an already harried land. They
waited for a leader--a man who had led them through the heat and cold,
through peaceful valleys and the bloody ruck of battle; a man whom they
loved and trusted, fearing him only when they shirked a duty or
disobeyed the iron laws of war.

This man had been taken from them, himself a servant who had disobeyed
these laws, his sword dishonored, his shoulder straps ripped off before
their eyes. And now the troopers waited--and for what? An order had come
which put them on review, a long thin line of horsemen waiting on the
river bank, while the sun beat down on the parched red fields, and the
waters of the muddy James lazed by as they murmured their sad, low song.

The troopers were silent--waiting. A horse stamped idly in the dust, and
a saber rattled against a booted leg. A whisper ran down the line. The
eyes of the men turned slowly at the sight of a single rider who
advanced from the distant Union camp. He did not take the dusty road
which swept in a wide, half-circle to where the waiting troopers sat in
line, but jumped a low worm-fence and came straight across the fields.

An officer he was, erect in his saddle, chin up and shoulders squared.
On his shoulders his straps had been replaced, and his saber rattled
against his thigh to the rise and fall of his horse's stride.

Straight on he came till he checked his mount before the center of the
waiting line, and the troopers knew that Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison had
once more come into his own.

Their sabers rasped from out the scabbards and rose in a joyous, swift
salute, while Morrison's once dishonored sword acknowledged it.

"_'Tention_ ..._company!_"

The long line stiffened and waited for their officer to speak; yet the
voice was not the voice of an officer in command, but that of a comrade
and a friend.

"Thank you, boys! It's good to be back again." He swallowed something in
his throat and struggled manfully to speak in even tones. "I must ask
you to be quiet--and not to--"

He stopped. Again his troop had disobeyed him--disobeyed him to a man. A
shout wen