en; and then looking
toward the gate Chad saw her coming up the garden walk bare-headed,
dressed in white, with flowers in her hand; and walking by her side,
looking into her face and talking earnestly, was Richard Hunt. The
sight of him nerved Chad at once to steel. Margaret did not lift her
face until she was half-way to the porch, and then she stopped suddenly.

"Why, there's Major Buford," Chad heard her say, and she came on ahead,
walking rapidly. Chad felt the blood in his face again, and as he
watched Margaret nearing him--pale, sweet, frank, gracious,
unconscious--it seemed that he was living over again another scene in
his life when he had come from the mountains to live with old Major
Buford; and, with a sudden prayer that his past might now be wiped as
clean as it was then, he turned from Margaret's hand-clasp to look into
the brave, searching eyes of Richard Hunt and feel his sinewy fingers
in a grip that in all frankness told Chad plainly that between them, at
least, one war was not quite over yet.

"I am glad to meet you, Major Buford, in these piping times of peace."

"And I am glad to meet you, General Hunt--only in times of peace," Chad
said, smiling.

The two measured each other swiftly, calmly. Chad had a mighty
admiration for Richard Hunt. Here was a man who knew no fight but to
the finish, who would die as gamely in a drawing-room as on a
battle-field. To think of him--a brigadier-general at twenty-seven, as
undaunted, as unbeaten as when he heard the first bullet of the war
whistle, and, at that moment, as good an American as Chadwick Buford or
any Unionist who had given his life for his cause! Such a foe thrilled
Chad, and somehow he felt that Margaret was measuring them as they were
measuring each other. Against such a man what chance had he?

He would have been comforted could he have known Richard Hunt's
thoughts, for that gentleman had gone back to the picture of a ragged
mountain boy in old Major Buford's carriage, one court day long ago,
and now he was looking that same lad over from the visor of his cap
down his superb length to the heels of his riding-boots. His eyes
rested long on Chad's face. The change was incredible, but blood had
told. The face was highly bred, clean, frank, nobly handsome; it had
strength and dignity, and the scar on his cheek told a story that was
as well known to foe as to friend.

"I have been wanting to thank you, not only for trying to keep us out
of that