"I regret to learn that, cousin," and he held out his hand, "for while I never met him or you before, my father held him in most high regard. Yet I beg you pardon me if I perform my duty as a soldier, even under these conditions. We are a small band, in the heart of the enemy's country, and cannot afford any unnecessary risk. Who is this man? and why are you here with him?"
"He has told you the truth," she answered quietly, her hand still within his. "I have known him from childhood."
"He is a Confederate soldier, then?"
"Yes."
"And you, cousin?"
"I—I am his wife."
There was a moment of silence, of hesitation. I heard the soldiers moving about the room, and the murmur of voices speaking cautiously. Then Harwood released her hand, and extended his own to me, his eyes frank and cordial.
"I accept you on faith, comrade," he said pleasantly, "but there is a spare gray jacket strapped to my saddle yonder more becoming than that blue coat. Here, Stone," with a glance over his shoulder, and a crispness to his voice, "get the extra blouse from off my horse, and bring it here; run low, lad, and keep in the shadow. Saint Christopher! but 'tis
