t doesn't mean what
it did at Manassas--eh? We're all Regulars now, ourselves.--Yes, Cold
Harbour, I reckon, or maybe a little this way--Gaines's Mill. That's
their second line. Wonderful breastworks. Mac's a master engineer!--Now
I'll clear out and let you and Cary talk."

The two cousins sat down on the grass beneath the sycamore. For a little
they eyed each other in silence. Edward Cary was more beautiful than
ever, and apparently happy, though one of his shoes was nothing more
than a sandal, and he was innocent of a collar, and his sleeve demanded
a patch. He was thin, bright-eyed, and bronzed, and he handled his rifle
with lazy expertness, and he looked at his cousin with a genuine respect
and liking. "Richard, I heard about Will. I know you were like a father
to the boy. I am very sorry."

"I know that you are, Edward. I would rather not talk about it, please.
When the country bleeds, one must put away private grief."

He sat in the shade of the tree, thin and bronzed and bright-eyed like
his cousin, though not ragged. Dundee grazed at hand, and scattered upon
the edge of the wood, beneath the little dogwood trees, lay like acorns
his men, fraternizing with the "Tuckahoe" regiment. "Your father and
Fauquier--?"

"Both somewhere in this No-man's Land. What a wilderness of creeks and
woods it is! I slept last night in a swamp, and at reveille a beautiful
moccasin lay on a log and looked at me. I don't think either father or
Fauquier were engaged last evening. Pender and Ripley bore the brunt of
it. Judith is in Richmond."

"Yes. I had a letter from her before we left the Valley."

"I am glad, Richard, it is you. We were all strangely at sea,
somehow--She is a noble woman. When I look at her I always feel
reassured as to the meaning and goal of humanity."

"I know--I love her dearly, dearly. If I outlive this battle I will try
to get to see her--"

Off somewhere, on the left, a solitary cannon boomed. The grey soldiers
turned their heads. "A signal somewhere! We're spread over all creation.
Crossing here and crossing there, and every half-hour losing your way!
It's like the maze we used to read about--this bottomless, mountainless,
creeky, swampy, feverish, damned lowland--"

The two beneath the sycamore smiled. "'Back to our mountains,' eh?" said
Edward. Cleave regarded the forest somewhat frowningly. "We are not," he
said, "in a very good humour this morning. Yesterday was a day in which
things went wron