Food and refreshment were offered everywhere to the two young horsemen, and the women and the old men—­not many young men were left—­wanted to hear of Gettysburg.  They would not accept it as a defeat.  It was merely a delay, they said.  General Lee would march North once more next year.  Harry knew in his heart that the South would never invade again, that the war would be for her henceforth a purely defensive one, but he said nothing.  He could not discourage people who were so sanguine.

Every foot of the way now brought back memories of Jackson.  He saw many familiar places, fields of battle, sites of camps, lines of advance or retreat, and his heart grew sad within him, because one whom he admired so much, and for whom he had such a strong affection, was gone forever, gone when he was needed most.  He saw again with all the vividness of reality that terrible night at Chancellorsville, when the wounded Jackson lay in the road, his young officers covering his body with their own to protect him from the shells.

When they reached the strip of railroad entering Richmond they left their horses to be sent later, and each took a full seat in the short train, where he could loosen his belt, and stretch his limbs.  It was a crude coach, by the standards of to-day, but it was a luxury then.  Harry and Dalton enjoyed it, after so much riding horseback, and watched the pleasant landscape, brown now from the July sun, flow past.

Their coach did not contain many passengers, several wounded officers going to Richmond on furlough, some countrymen, carrying provisions to the capital for sale, and a small, thin, elderly woman in a black dress, to whom Harry assigned the part of an old maid.  He noticed that her features were fine and she had the appearance of one who had suffered.  When they reached Richmond and their passes were examined, he hastened to carry her bag for her and to help her off the train.  She thanked him with a smile that made her almost handsome, and quickly disappeared in the streets of the city.

“A nice looking old maid,” he said to Dalton.

“How do you know she’s an old maid?”

“I don’t know.  I suppose it’s a certain primness of manner.”

“You can’t judge by appearances.  Like as not she’s been married thirty years, and it’s possible that she may have a family of at least twelve children.”

“At any rate, we’ll never know.  But it’s good, George, to be here in Richmond again.  It’s actually a luxury to see streets and shop windows, and people in civilian clothing, going about their business.”

“Looks the same way to me, Harry, but we can’t delay.  We must be off to the President, with the dispatches from the Army of Northern Virginia.”