“Oh, that was too good; I shall have to tell the general.  Well, I helped Billie Hardy out that time, didn’t I?  I reckon you don’t see much fun in it though.”

“No, I don’t,” frankly, “yet I cannot say I am entirely sorry.”

“Indeed,” sobering instantly because of my earnestness.  “I cannot understand that—­the despatches have gone through.”

“Without doubt.  From a military standpoint I surely regret my failure.  But if I had intercepted Billie I should never have met you.”

“Oh!”

“Nor come to know you.”

Again the girl laughed, and I noticed the dimple in her cheek, the gray-blue eyes glancing up at me mockingly.

“Don’t flatter yourself that you do,” she retorted pleasantly, “for you might be mistaken altogether.”

CHAPTER V

ACQUAINTANCES, NOT FRIENDS

The manner in which this was uttered made me feel that she was in earnest.  Indeed I was already beginning to realize that this young woman was an enigma, her moods changing so rapidly as to keep me in a state of constant bewilderment—­one moment frank, outspoken, friendly; the next hiding her real self behind a barrier of cold reserve which I seemed helpless to penetrate.  Yet this very changeableness was attractive, keeping my mind constantly on the alert, and yielding her a peculiar charm.  As she spoke these words her eyes encountered mine, almost in challenge, which I met instantly.

“Perhaps not—­but I shall.”

“Oh, indeed!  Is this conceit, or determination?”

“The latter assuredly.  Why is it not possible for one to know you?”

“Really I cannot tell,” not altogether displeased at my decision, “yet it would border upon a miracle, for I do not even know myself.  Besides I doubt your having the opportunity for sufficient study—­that is Jonesboro yonder.”

The road rounded the crest of a sharp hill, and, from off the summit, we could look directly down into the river valley.  Except for little groves of scrub oak it was open country, the broad stream showing clearly between green banks, with few cultivated fields in sight.  We had turned toward the north, and the straggling town lay directly in front two miles away, so hidden behind trees the houses were scarcely distinguishable; a quarter of a mile below was the bridge.  I stood up, thrusting my head beyond the carriage cover, so as to see better.  To the west the woods concealed everything.  It was somewhere in that direction Beauregard’s troops were encamped, yet, even if they were already advancing to unite with Johnston, they would hardly cross the country so far to the north.  Knowing the situation as I did I felt little fear of any encounter with Confederates.  Our cavalry were patrolling all the roads across the river, and, as late as the previous day, were guarding the Jonesboro bridge.  I could see no signs of any