sat silent, looking intently into my face, with merely the slightest inclination of the head.
"I came into your lines dressed just as I am now, drifting across the river behind a log. It was my third attempt to get through your pickets, and this time I succeeded. I found myself in thick brush near a cluster of tents, and overheard two officers talking. One was a major by the name of Hardy--do you know him?"
"Yes," a swift little catch in her voice.
"The other was a shorter, heavier-set man, out-ranking Hardy."
"Speaking with short, crisp sentences," she interrupted, "and wearing a heavy beard?"
"He spoke that way--yes; but as to the beard I could not say owing to the darkness."
"It must have been General Johnston."
"I thought as much. The two were discussing the getting of despatches through to Beauregard, and decided no one could succeed but a fellow they called Billie, some relative or friend of Hardy's. It was all arranged he should try it, and the major started off to complete arrangements. An aide, with the despatches, was to meet the messenger at the 'Three Corners,' where the little log church is, and then accompany him through the pickets. It was plainly enough my duty to intercept these if I could, but in order to do so I must pass through two miles of the Confederate camp, meeting soldiers almost every step of the way. That was when I stole the jacket, and slipped it on, and never thought of it again until you spoke."
She was leaning forward now, intensely interested, her lips parted, the quick breath revealed by the pulsing of her breast.
"And--and you got to the 'Three Corners'?"
"To a point just below. I ran most of the way, and then had to crawl through the bushes to get around a picket-post, but I believed I was there in plenty of time. Then you came rattling down the hill, with an officer riding along beside you, and, of course, I mistook you for Billie. I jumped your outfit in the hollow."
She flung up her hands in expressive gesture.
"Were you hanging there all that time--even before the lieutenant left?"
"I certainly was; hanging on for dear life too. My limbs are black and blue. I never saw a pony travel like that little devil."
She burst into an unrestrained ripple of laughter, scarcely able to speak, as the full humor of the situation appealed to her. No doubt the expression of my face did its part, but she certainly found it most amusing. In spite of myself I had to smile in sympathy.
"Oh, that was too good; I shall have to tell the general. Well, I helped Billie Hardy out that time, didn't I? I reckon you don't see much fun in it though."
"No, I don't," frankly, "yet I cannot say I am entirely sorry."
"Indeed," sobering instantly because of my earnestness. "I cannot understand that--the despatches have gone through."
"Without doubt. From a military standpoint I surely regret my failure. But if I had intercepted Billie I should never have met you."
"Oh!"
"Nor come to know you."
Again the girl laughed, and I noticed the dimple in her cheek, the gray-blue eyes glancing up at me mockingly.
"Don't flatter yourself that you do," she retorted pleasantly, "for you might be mistaken altogether."
CHAPTER V
ACQUAINTANCES, NOT FRIENDS
The manner in which this was uttered made me feel that she was in earnest. Indeed I was already beginning to realize that this young woman was an enigma, her moods changing so rapidly as to keep me in a state of constant bewilderment--one moment frank, outspoken, friendly; the next hiding her real self behind a barrier of cold reserve which I seemed helpless to penetrate. Yet this very changeableness was attractive, keeping my mind constantly on the alert, and yielding her a peculiar charm. As she spoke these words her eyes encountered mine, almost in challenge, which I met instantly.
"Perhaps not--but I shall."
"Oh, indeed! Is this conceit, or determination?"
"The latter assuredly. Why is it not possible for one to know you?"
"Really I cannot tell," not altogether displeased at my decision, "yet it would border upon a miracle, for I do not even know myself. Besides I doubt your having the opportunity for sufficient study--that is Jonesboro yonder."
The road rounded the crest of a sharp hill, and, from off the summit, we could look directly down into the river valley. Except for little groves of scrub oak it was open country, the broad stream showing clearly between green banks, with few cultivated fields in sight. We had turned toward the north, and the straggling town lay directly in front two miles away, so hidden behind trees the houses were scarcely distinguishable; a quarter of a mile below was the bridge. I stood up, thrusting my head beyond the carriage cover, so as to see better. To the west the woods concealed everything. It was somewhere in that direction Beauregard's troops were encamped, yet, even if they were already advancing to unite with Johnston, they would hardly cross the country so far to the north. Knowing the situation as I did I felt little fear of any encounter with Confederates. Our cavalry were patrolling all the roads across the river, and, as late as the previous day, were guarding the Jonesboro bridge. I could see no signs of any such guard now, however, yet the trees were thick and obscured the view, and that heavy dust cloud to the right was probably caused by the passing of a troop of horse. Convinced that this would prove to be either a cavalry vidette, or a Federal foraging party, it made me more anxious to get quickly down into the town, hopeful they might have a spare horse with them, and I pointed out the dust spirals to my companion.
"If you have friends in Jonesboro," I said, "I've also got some coming."
"Who are they?" her eyes on the distant dust. "Yankees?"
"Certainly; there are none of your people on that side of the river. Beauregard is out yonder in those hills. Let's drive on, the town looks quiet."
She leaned forward, holding to the edge of the carriage cover to keep her balance, her glance turning toward the southwest.
"If those are your people they mustn't see me," she said quietly, a little accent of pleading in her voice. "You promise that first?"
"Of course," although surprised at her asking. "I know it is our orders to intercept everything which can aid the enemy, but I don't feel inclined to prevent your taking quinine to the poor fellows in the hospital. War hasn't made me as inhuman as that. We can easily reach the town ahead of that squad of cavalry, and if you have some safe place there to go, and will only keep indoors, there is no danger of discovery."
"I have," eagerly, "Judge Moran's house; you can see its gable there among the trees. He is so old he has not even been conscripted." She laughed, flashing
