per, a tone of gloom like that which afflicted Richmond
appeared now and then in his replies. He was sorry that they should
question him so much upon these subjects. He was feeling so good, and it
was such a comfort to be there in Richmond with his own people before a
warm fire, that the army could be left to take care of itself for
awhile. Nevertheless, he understood their anxiety and permitted no show
of hesitation to appear in his voice. Miss Harley presently rose to go.
The clouds had come again and a soft snow was falling.

"I shall see you home," said Prescott. "Mother, will you lend me an
umbrella?"

Mrs. Prescott laughed softly.

"We don't have umbrellas in Richmond now!" she replied. "The Yankees
make them, not we, and they are not selling to us this year."

"Mother," said Prescott, "if the Yankees ever crush us it will be
because they make things and we don't. Their artillery, their rifles,
their ammunition, their wagons, their clothes, everything that they have
is better than ours."

"But their men are not," said Helen, proudly.

"Nevertheless, we should have learned to work with our hands," said
Prescott.

They slipped into the little garden, now bleak with winter waste. Helen
drew a red cloak about her shoulders, which Prescott thought singularly
becoming. The snow was falling gently and the frosty air deepened the
scarlet in her cheeks. The Harley house was only on the other side of
the garden and there was a path between the two. The city was now
silent. Nothing came to their ears save the ringing of a church bell.

"I suppose this does not seem much like war to you," said Helen.

"I don't know," replied Robert. "Just now I am engaged in escorting a
very valuable convoy from Fort Prescott to Fort Harley, and there may be
raiders."

"And here may come one now," she responded, indicating a horseman, who,
as he passed, looked with admiring eyes over the fence that divided the
garden from the sidewalk. He was a large man, his figure hidden in a
great black cloak and his face in a great black beard growing bushy and
unkempt up to his eyes. A sword, notable for its length, swung by his
side.

Prescott raised his hand and gave a salute which was returned in a
careless, easy way. But the rider's bold look of admiration still rested
on Helen Harley's face, and even after he had gone on he looked back to
see it.

"You know him?" asked Helen of Robert.

"Yes, I know him and so do you."

"If I know