see them." She was silent
a moment, and then, as if she had suddenly lost all control of herself,
cried out, "Oh, what shall I do now?"

"You knew what my duty was," I said, with a sustaining arm about her,
"and you brought me here."

"But if I had it to do over again I couldn't--I couldn't!" she wailed.

"If you had it to do over again you shouldn't," I answered; and then I
seized her and held her tight in my arms. Nor did I release her until
Whistling Jim, coming up and realizing the situation, celebrated it by
whistling a jig. "If you'll say the word," I declared, "I'll go with
you."

"I can't! I can't!" she cried. "Do you say it, and I'll go with you."

But neither of us said it; something beyond ourselves held us back. I
am not sure, after all, that it was a sense of duty; but, whatever it
was, it was effectual.

"I am afraid something dreadful will happen to you," she declared. "I
have dreamed and dreamed about it. You have made a coward of me. I'm
not afraid for myself, but for you."

"One year after the war is over," I said, "I shall be at the old tavern
in Murfreesborough. One year to a day. Will you meet me there?"

"I'll be there," she replied, "or send a messenger to tell you that I
am dead."

And so we parted. I mounted my horse, and she turned her buggy around.
I watched her until she passed out of sight, and I knew that one of her
little hands must be cold, for she waved it constantly until a turn in
the road hid her from view. On the road toward which she was going I
could see a group of men and horses, and I knew that her brother
awaited her. With a heavy heart, I turned my horse's head, and went
galloping after my comrades, followed by Whistling Jim.

I had but one thought, and that was to report to General Forrest as
promptly as possible and receive the reprimand that I knew I deserved.
At that time it was the general opinion, even among those of his
command who were not thrown into daily contact with him, that this
truly great man was of a grim and saturnine disposition. But it was an
opinion that did him great injustice. There were times when he fairly
bubbled over with boyish humor, and though these moments were rare, he
was unfailingly cordial to those that had met his expectations or who
had his confidence. He could be grim enough when circumstances demanded
a display of temper, but he had never made me the victim of his
displeasure.

I looked forward with no little concern to our n