you to remember it."

The girl looked at her with wide black eyes, into which the tears
crept.

"Marquise," she whispered, "you talk as if you might be sending me
away for always. Oh, Marquise--"

Judithe raised her hand warningly.

"Be a soldier, child," she said, softly, "each time we separate for
even a day--you and I--we do not know that we will ever meet again.
These are war times, you know."

"I know--but I never dreaded a separation so much; I wish you were not
to remain. Perhaps that Pluto's words made me more nervous--it is so
hard to tell how much he guesses, and those people--the Lorings--"

"I think I shall be able to manage the Lorings," said her mistress,
with a reassuring smile, "even the redoubtable Matthew--the tyrannical
terror of the county; so cheer up, Louise. Even the longest parting
need only be a lifetime, and I should find you at the end of it."

"And find me still your slave," said the girl, looking at her
affectionately. "That's a sort of comfort to think, Marquise; I'm glad
you said it. I'll think of it until me meet again."

She repeated it Wednesday morning when she entered the boat for the
first stage of her journey to Savannah, and the Marquise nodded her
comprehension, murmured kindly words of adieu, and watched the little
vessel until a bend in the river hid it from view, when she walked
slowly back to the house. Since her arrival in America this was the
first time she had been separated from the devoted girl for more than
a day, and she realized the great loss it would be to her, though she
knew it to be an absolutely necessary one.

As for Louise, she watched to the last the slight elevation of the
Terrace grounds rising like an island of green from the level lands by
the river. When it finally disappeared--barred out by the nearer green
of drooping branches, she wept silently, and with a heavy heart went
downward to Pocotaligo, oppressed by the seemingly groundless fear
that some unknown evil threatened herself or the Marquise--the dread
lest they never meet again.

CHAPTER XIX.

"Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern rights Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the bonney blue flag,
That bears the single star!"

Evilena was singing this stirring ditty at the top of her voice, a
very sweet voice when not overtaxed, but Dilsey, the cook, put both
hands to her ears and vowed cooking school would close at once if that
"yapping" was not stopped; she