other he showed only weariness, dashed with
something tragic--a handsome, brooding, melancholy face. They stayed
like this for some time, the fire burning before them, the moon flooding
the forest, the owl hooting from his hole in some decaying tree.

At last, however, another sound intruded, a very low, subdued sound like
a distant ground swell or like thunder without resonance. It grew; dull
yet, it became deep. Allan knocked the ashes from his pipe. "That is a
sound," he said, "that when you have once heard you don't forget. The
army's coming."

Stafford rose. "I must get back to General Ewell! Thank you, Gold, for
your hospitality."

"Not at all! Not at all!" said Allan heartily. "I am glad that I could
put that matter straight for you. It would blight like black frost to
have Stonewall Jackson's hand and mind set against you--and Richard
Cleave is not the least in that predicament!"

The Army of the Valley, advance and main column, and rearguard,
artillery and wagon train, came down the moon-lighted road, having
marched twenty miles since high noon. On either hand stretched pleasant
pastures, a running stream, fair woods. Company by company the men left
the road, were halted, stacked arms, broke ranks. Cessation from motion
was sweet, sweet the feel of turf beneath their feet. They had had
supper three hours before; now they wanted sleep, and without much
previous ado they lay down and took it--Stonewall Jackson's "foot
cavalry" sleeping under the round moon, by Mt. Solon.

At the mill there was a meeting and a conference. A figure in an old
cloak and a shabby forage cap dismounted, ungracefully enough, from a
tired nag, and crossed the uncovered porch to the wide mill door. There
he was met by his future trusty and trusted lieutenant--"dear Dick
Ewell." Jackson's greeting was simple to baldness. Ewell's had the
precision of a captain of dragoons. Together they entered the small mill
office, where the aides placed lights and writing materials, then
withdrew. The generals sat down, one on this side of the deal table, one
on that. Jackson took from his pocket a lemon, very deliberately opened
a knife, and, cutting the fruit in two, put one half of the sour
treasure to his lips. Ewell fidgeted, then, as the other sucked on,
determined to set the ball rolling. "Damn me, general! if I am not glad
to have the pleasure at last--"

Jackson sent across the table a grey-blue glance, then gently put down
one half of th