, for in the first years of
the Army of Northern Virginia the question of rank presented itself only
upon the parade ground, and beyond the borders of the camp a private had
been known to condescend to his own Colonel. "A gentleman fights for his
country as he pleases, a plebeian as he must," the Governor would have
explained with a touch of his old oratory. "He's a nice old chap himself,
but, by George, the discipline fits like a straight-jacket," pursued Dan,
as he finished his coffee. "Why, here we are three miles below Winchester
in a few threadbare tents, and they make as much fuss about our coming into
town as if we were the Yankees themselves. Talk about Romney! Why, it's no
colder at Romney than it was here last week, and yet Loring's men are
living in huts like princes."

"Show me a volunteer and I'll show you a grumbler," put in the Governor,
laughing.

"Oh, I'm not grumbling, I'm merely pointing out the facts," protested Dan;
then he rose and stood holding Virginia's hand as he met her upward glance
with his unflinching admiration. "Come again! Why, I should say so," he
declared. "I'll come as long as I have a collar left, and then--well, then
I'll pass the time of day with you over the hedge. Good-by, Colonel,
remember I'm not a grumbler, I'm merely a man of facts."

The door closed after him and a moment later they heard his clear whistle
in the street.

"The boy is like his father," said the Governor, thoughtfully, "like his
father with the devil broken to harness. The Montjoy blood may be bad
blood, but it makes big men, daughter." He sighed and drew his small figure
to its full height.

Virginia was looking into the fire. "I hope he will come again," she
returned softly, thinking of Betty.

But when he called again a week later Virginia did not see him. It was a
cold starlit night, and the big yellow house, as he drew near it, glowed
like a lamp amid the leafless trees. Beside the porch a number of cavalry
horses were fastened to the pillars, and through the long windows there
came the sound of laughter and of gay "good-bys."

The "fringe of the army," as Dan had once jeeringly called it, was merrily
making ready for a raid.

As he listened he leaned nearer the window and watched, half enviously, the
men he had once known. His old life had been a part of theirs and now,
looking in from the outside, it seemed very far away--the poetry of war
beside which the other was mere dull history in which n