MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
"Have you met the same trait before, then?"
The bright color swept to her hair, her direct gaze faltering for the first time.
"What few Yankees I have had the misfortune to meet," she said quickly, "have not been greatly troubled with modesty. I hoped you might prove a new species."
"And I disappoint you. I fear the color of the uniform, even the birthplace, makes little difference in the hearts of men: a young and pretty woman attracts us all alike."
"Do not attempt compliment."
"That would be impossible; my eyes speak the truth."
Perhaps some tone of my voice sounded familiar, woke some vague memory, for she leaned forward.
"Who are you?"
"A lieutenant on the staff of General Rosecrans."
"What is your name?"
"King."
She drew a quick, startled breath, her hands clasping tightly.
"King—how—how strange! Do you know an Elbert King, of your army? A—a sergeant of artillery?"
I waited as if thinking, endeavoring to determine which would be best, to deceive her, or confess the truth outright. Something in her face forced me to the falsehood.
"Yes, Reynolds's Battery; he was reported killed in our last battle. Did you know him?"
"No, not really; indeed I have never even seen his
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