roar to cover the emotion working at his mouth and eyes.

He seized Ailsa's hand and shook it vigorously.

"Excuse my profanity. I can't avoid it when I think of
_you_--dead! There, there. I'm an old fool and you're a--younger
one. See if you can find somebody to take you to Azalea. I want
that batch of invalids carefully watched. Besides, there's a
furlough there for you. Don't say one word! You're not well, I
tell you. I had to send those invalids back; the place here is
atrociously crowded. Try to find some way of getting to the
landing. And take care of your pretty little self for God's sake!"

She promised, shook hands with him again, disengaged herself from
the crowd around her, turned about to search for Berkley, and
caught sight of him near the stables, saddling his horse. He
buckled the last strap as she came up; turned a blank gaze on her,
and did not appear to comprehend her question for a moment. Then,
nodding in a dazed way, he lifted her to the saddle in front, swung
up behind her, passed one arm around her waist, gathered bridle,
and edged his way carefully through the crowd out into the road.

The 3rd Zouaves in heavy marching order filled the road with their
scarlet column, moving steadily southward; and Ailsa, from her
perch on the saddle, called to Colonel Craig and Major Lent,
stretching out her hot little hand to them as she passed.

Engineers blocked their progress farther on, then Wisconsin
infantry, young giants in blue, swinging forward in their long
loose-limbered stride; then an interminable column of artillery,
jolting slowly along, the grimy gunners swaying drowsily on their
seats, officers nodding half asleep in their saddles.

"Philip," she ventured timidly.

"Yes."

"Is there--anything--you wish to tell me? Anything that
I--perhaps--have a faint shadow of a right to know?"

For a long time they rode in silence, her question unanswered. A
narrow cart road--less of a road than a lane--led east. He turned
his horse into it.

For a moment no sound broke the silence save the monotonous clank
of his sabre and the creak of girth and saddle.

"Ailsa!"

"Yes, Phil."

"Move closer; hold very tight to me; clasp both arms around my
neck. . . . Are you seated firmly?"

"Yes, Phil."

He encircled her slender body with his right arm and, shaking out
the bridle, launched his horse at a gallop down the sandy lane.
Her breath and his mingled as they sped forward; the