and dismounted,
and came clanking back into the deserted hallway where she stood.

"What is it?" he asked, lowering his voice so she could hear him under
the din of the cannonade.

"The Moray matter.... I want two troopers detailed."

"Have you nailed him?"

"Yes--I--" She faltered, staring fascinated at the distorted face,
marred by a sabre to the hideousness of doom itself. "Yes, I think so.
I want two troopers--Burke and Campbell, of the escort, if you don't
mind----"

"You can have a regiment! Is it far?"

"No." She steadied her voice with an effort.

"Near _my_ headquarters?"

"Yes."

"Damnation!" he blazed out, and the oath seemed to shock her to
self-mastery.

"Don't ask me now," she said. "If it's Moray, I'll get him.... What are
those troops over there, General?" pointing through the doorway.

"The Excelsiors--Irish Brigade."

She nodded carelessly. "And where are the signal men? Where is your
signal officer stationed--Captain----"

"Do you mean West? He's over on that knob, talking to Wilcox with flags.
See him, up there against the sky?"

"Yes," she said.

The general's gimlet eyes seemed to bore through her. "Is that all?"

"All, thank you," she motioned with dry lips.

"Are you properly fixed? What do you carry--a revolver?"

She nodded in silence.

"All right. Your troopers will be waiting outside.... Get him, in one
way or another; do you understand?"

"Yes."

A few moments later the staff galloped off and the escort clattered
behind, minus two troopers, who sat on the edge of the veranda in their
blue-and-yellow shell jackets, carbines slung, poking at the grass with
the edges of their battered steel scabbards.

The Special Messenger came out presently, and the two troopers rose to
salute. All around her thundered the guns; sky and earth were trembling
as she led the way through an orchard heavy with green fruit. A volunteer
nurse was gathering the hard little apples for cooking; she turned, her
apron full, as the Special Messenger passed, and the two women, both
young, looked at one another through the sunshine--looked, and turned
away, each to her appointed destiny.

Smoke, drifting back from the batteries, became thicker beyond the
orchard. Not very far away the ruddy sparkle of exploding Confederate
shells lighted the obscurity. Farther beyond the flames of the Union
guns danced red through the cannon gloom.

Higher on the hill, however, the air became clearer; a man