art gave a quicker throb, for surely that was a faint sound in
the path, though too far off for her to perceive the cause. She could
not tell its precise nature, but fancied it was the footfall of some
animal. She took several quick steps forward on tiptoe, with head
extended, peering and listening, with all her senses at the highest
tension.

Hark! she heard it again. Surely it was the noise of hoofs, for it was
repeated and the sounds ran into each other as if the animal were
trotting or galloping, or mayhap there was more than one of them.

Yes; some one was drawing nigh on the back of horse or mule. There was
no mistaking the hoof beats, and in the gloom the figure of an animal
and his rider assumed vague form, growing more distinct each moment.
Nellie broke into a run, her arms outstretched and her hair flying.

"Father! father! I know it is you! It is I--Nellie, your own Nellie,
who has waited so long for you! You have come at last!"

CHAPTER XII

HOME AGAIN

The horseman coming up the trail had assumed definite form. Checking
his animal he sat transfixed until the flying girl was beside him.
Then he bent forward and in a choking voice, answered:

"Yes, Nellie, it is your father! God be thanked for permitting me to
come to you again. And you are Nellie! But how grown!"

Captain Dawson leaned over the side of his horse and, passing his
strong arm around the waist of his daughter, lifted her up in front of
him. Then he pressed his lips to hers, and half-laughing and
half-crying asked:

"Who's the happier, you or I?"

"You can't be any happier than I; but, father," she added in
amazement, "where is your other arm?"

"Buried in Southern Virginia as a memento of my work for the Union,
but, my dear child, _I_ am here; isn't _that_ enough?"

"Yes, bless your heart!" she exclaimed, nestling up to him; "it all
seems like a dream, but it _isn't_, for I can feel you. I am so
sorry," she added, noticing the sleeve pinned to his breast; "how you
must have suffered."

"Nonsense! it isn't anything to lose an arm; it's not half so bad as
having your head blown off or both legs carried away. After going
nearly through the war without a scratch, I caught it just before
Appomattox, but thousands were less fortunate and I am thankful."

"But why did you not write to me and tell me all this? Mr. Brush was
sure you were dead, and I know the rest thought so, too, though they
didn't talk that way."

"I did hav