“You are from Richmond?” Olympia asked as he sat puzzling for a pretext to renew the talk with her.

“Oh, no; I am from Wilmington, but I have kinsfolk in Richmond, I am on General Beauregard’s staff.  My name is Ballman—­Captain Ballman.”

She vaguely remembered that Vincent Atterbury was on staff duty.  Perhaps this young man knew him.

“Do you know a Mr. Atterbury in—­in your army?” she asked, blushing foolishly.

“Atterbury—­Atterbury—­why, yes!  I know there is such a man.  He is in General Jackson’s forces—­whether on the staff or not I can’t say.  Stay.  I saw his name in The Whig this very day.”  He took out the paper and glanced down the columns.  “Ah, yes; is this the man?” And he read:  “Major Vincent Atterbury, whose wounds were at first pronounced serious, is now at his mother’s country-house on the river.  He is doing excellently, and all fears have been removed.”

“Yes, that is he.  We know him quite well.”  And she turned her head window-ward, with a feeling of confidence in the mission, heretofore so blank and wild.  Vincent would aid them.  He could bring official intervention to bear, without which Jack might, even though alive and well, be hidden from them.  She whispered this confidence to her mother as the train jolted along noisily over the rough road, and, a good deal inspired by it, Mrs. Sprague began to take something like interest in the melancholy country that flew past the window, as if seeking a place to hide its bareness in the blue line of uplands that marked the receding mountain spurs.

The captain was much more potential in providing a supper at the evening station than the orderly, who was looked upon with some suspicion when he told the story of his proteges.  The zeal of the new Confederates did not extend to aiding the enemy, even though weak women and within the Confederate lines.  It was nearly morning when the train finally drew up in the Richmond station, and the captain, with many protestations of being at their service, gave them his army address, and, relinquishing them to the orderly, withdrew.  It had been decided that the party should not attempt to find quarters in the hotels, which their escort declared were crowded by the government and the thousands of curious flocking to the city since the battle.

He could, however, he thought, get them plain accommodations with an aunt, who lived a little from the center of the town.  They were forced to walk thither, no conveyance being obtainable.  After a long delay they were admitted, the widow explaining that she had been a good deal troubled by marauding volunteers.  The orderly explained the situation to his kinswoman, and without parley the three ladies were shown into two plain rooms adjoining.  They were very prim and clean; the morning air came through the open windows, bearing an almost stupefying odor.  It may have been the narcotic influence of the flowers that brought sleep to the three women, for in ten minutes they were at rest as tranquilly as if in the security of Acredale.