twisting as it sought the easier grades, and, no longer obscured by snow, the soil showed red and yellow. The wagon was already nearly to the bottom of the hill, distinguished by its spread of dirty canvas top. Other than this I could perceive no moving object, except what appeared to be either a body of horsemen, or bunch of cattle, far away to the left. Lewisburg lay beyond a spur of the hills, invisible from my position, although distant spirals of smoke indicated its presence. A few log huts appeared along the curving road, the one nearest me in ruins, while a gaunt chimney beside a broad stream unbridged was all that remained of a former mill. Beyond this, in midst of a grove of noble trees, a large house, painted white, was the only conspicuous feature in the landscape. I recognized it at once as the residence of Major Harwood.
My gaze rested upon it, as memory of the man, and his fate, surged freshly back into mind. The place had been spared destruction; it remained unchanged—but from that distance there was nothing to indicate that the house was still occupied. It had the appearance of desertion—no smoke showing above the broad chimney, no figures moving either about the main house, or the negro cabins at the rear. This condition was no particular surprise, for Harwood's daughter, scarcely more than a girl
