on, and might sweep this way before many hours, yet I could no longer doubt the complete withdrawal of Confederate troops from the neighborhood.  Not a gray-jacket or flash of steel was visible, and everything about was a scene of peace.  Yet when Chambers came this house would hardly escape without an overhauling.  Of course he might not come this way, for Johnston could easily despatch a courier to advise another road, yet probably the line of march would not be changed.  Should I wait, or withdraw my little force, at least as far as the shelter of the ravine?  I cared nothing about retaining the prisoners, indeed was anxious to release both Hardy and Bell.  Nor was I any longer worried about Le Gaire—­especially his relations with Miss Willifred.  I could trust the major to relate the story of the past hour to his daughter, and the captain would scarcely venture to face her again.  It seemed to me we ought to go, as it would be no service to our cause to retain the house.  However there was no hurry; we had ample time in which to breakfast, and—­and, well I wanted to see Billie again, to leave behind me a better impression.  I gave the major the key to her room, and asked him to call her for the morning meal, already nearly ready.  She came down a few moments later, freshly dressed, and looking as though she had enjoyed some sleep.  Her father must have given her some inkling of the situation, for she greeted me pleasantly, although with a certain constraint in manner which left me ill at ease.

Our breakfast passed off very nicely, the food abundant and well cooked, although we were compelled to wait upon ourselves.  I asked Miles to join us, but he preferred messing with the men, and so the four of us sat at table alone.  As though by mutual consent we avoided all reference to the war, or our present situation, conversation drifting into a discussion of art and literature.  I realized later that Miss Willifred had adroitly steered it that way, but if it was done to test me, she could scarcely have chosen a better topic.  I had come from the senior class of a great college into the army, and was only too delighted to take part again in cultured conversation.  Bell had taken an art course, and Miss Hardy had apparently read widely, and the discussion became animated, with frequent clashes of opinion.  I was happy to know that I surprised the lady by the extent of my information, and her flushed cheeks and brightening eyes were ample reward.  The major said little, yet when he occasionally spoke it was to reveal that he was a man of unusual learning.

I shall recall the details of that meal as long as I live—­the peculiar conditions, and the faces of those present.  It was all so little like war, the only suggestion of conflict the uniforms we wore, and the dull reverberation of that distant cannonading.  For the time, at least, we forgot we were upon the very verge of a battle, and that we were politically enemies.  Prisoners were in the basement beneath,