reat account of obstacles, accepting all turns of affairs,
drawing them into its main current, and moving onward toward some goal,
hardly self-conjectured, but simple, humane, and universal. The anger he
might have felt at Bloomery Gap had long passed away. He sat now
attentive, collected, broad-browed, and quiet.

"Major Cleave," said Jackson, "you will take an orderly with you and
ride across the mountains. General Ewell is at Gordonsville with a
somewhat larger force than my own. You will take this letter to him," he
folded it as he spoke, "and you will talk to him as one intelligent man
to another."

"Do you mean, sir, that I am to answer his questions?"

"Yes, sir. To the best of your ability. There is impending a junction
between General Ewell and myself. He wishes to know many things, and
seems to think it natural that I should tell him them. I am not a great
letter writer. You will give him all the information that is common to
the army."

Cleave smiled. "That, sir, is not a great deal."

"Perhaps it is not, sir. You are at liberty to give to General Ewell
your own observations and expectations. You will, however, represent
them as your own."

"May I ask, sir, when this junction is to occur?"

"I have not decided, sir."

"Does General Ewell know when it will occur?"

"Not precisely. He will be told in good time."

"Whether, when you move, you move north or west or south or east, is, I
suppose, sir, purely a matter of conjecture?"

"Purely, sir."

"But the _morale_ of the army, its efficiency and spirit, may be freely
praised and imparted?"

"Yes, sir, freely. Upon your return I shall want from you your
impression of General Ewell and the troops he commands." He drew toward
him a map which lay on the table. "You will ride through Massanutton Gap
by Conrad's Store and Swift Run Gap. Thence you will make a detour to
Charlottesville. There are stores there that I wish reported upon and
sent on to Major Harman at Staunton. You will spend one day upon that
business, then go on to Ewell."

CHAPTER XVII

CLEAVE AND JUDITH

The hospital at Charlottesville, unlovely and lovely, ghastly and vital,
brutal, spiritual, a hell of pain and weakness, another region of
endeavour and helpfulness, a place of horror, and also of strange
smiling, even of faint laughter, a country as chill as death and as warm
as love--the hospital at Charlottesville saw the weary morning grow to
weary noon, the weary noo