eered to join us for the day, and will act as my aid. And now,
Captain, will you ride to the head of the column and order it forward?
There will be no drum-beat and no noise. When you have given your order
and seen it executed, you will wait for me."

Fitz Hugh saluted, sprang into his saddle and galloped away. A few
minutes later the whole column was plodding on silently toward
its bloody goal. To a civilian, unaccustomed to scenes of war, the
tranquillity of these men would have seemed very wonderful. Many of the
soldiers were still munching the hard bread and raw pork of their meagre
breakfasts, or drinking the cold coffee with which they had filled their
canteens the day previous. Many more were chatting in an undertone,
grumbling over their sore feet and other discomfits, chaffing each
other, and laughing. The general bearing, however, was grave, patient,
quietly enduring, and one might almost say stolid. You would have said,
to judge by their expressions, that these sunburned fellows were merely
doing hard work, and thoroughly commonplace work, without a prospect of
adventure, and much less of danger. The explanation of this calmness, so
brutal perhaps to the eye of a sensitive soul, lies mainly in the fact
that they were all veterans, the survivors of marches, privations,
maladies, sieges, and battles. Not a regiment present numbered four
hundred men, and the average was not above three hundred. The
whole force, including artillery and cavalry, might have been about
twenty-five hundred sabres and bayonets.

At the beginning of the march Waldron fell into the rear of his staff
and mounted orderlies. Then the boy who had fled from Fitz Hugh dropped
out of the tramping escort, and rode up to his side.

"Well, Charlie," said Waldron, casting a pitying glance at the yet
pallid face and anxious eyes of the youth, "you have had a sad fright. I
make you very miserable."

"He has found us at last," murmured Charlie in a tremulous soprano
voice. "What did he say?"

"We are to talk to-morrow. He acts as my aide-de-camp to-day. I ought to
tell you frankly that he is not friendly."

"Of course, I knew it," sighed Charlie, while the tears fell.

"It is only one more trouble--one more danger, and perhaps it may pass.
So many _have_ passed."

"Did you tell him anything to quiet him? Did you tell him that we were
married?"

"But we are not married yet, Charlie. We shall be, I hope."

"But you ought to have told him th