“That settles the matter,” exclaimed Colonel Washington, laughing gayly.  “If Governor Rutledge calls out the ladies, I shall throw up my commission at once, and retire in good order to the security of private life.”

“Perhaps then Lieutenant Peyton would succeed to the command?” rejoined Miss Elliott, glancing archly at the young orderly.

“I am almost sorry that your corps has not been organized, miss, for I might then consider myself gazetted for promotion, and claim my lieutenant’s commission over your signature.”  The young man spoke in a tone of gay badinage, but a shade of annoyance came over his features as he added with a slight bow, “I am only plain ‘Mr.’  Peyton as yet.”

“I beg pardon,” said Miss Elliott, “but I thought ‘lieutenant’ was an ensign’s proper title.”

“If Peyton were the ensign of the troop, his office would be a sinecure,” laughed the colonel, “seeing we have no standard for him to carry.”

“You surely don’t mean, colonel, that your gallant corps fights without colors?” said Miss Stead.

“Why, we cannot use those that we captured from the enemy, and I fear our lady friends will be unable to present us with a stand until the war is over and silk becomes more plentiful.”

Miss Elliott’s eyes flashed with a sudden impulse, and the color deepened on her cheek as she eagerly asked, “Would you carry so poor a little flag as a Carolina girl can present to you?  Many a good knight has gone into battle with no richer standard than a lady’s scarf.”

“If Miss Elliott will honor my command by entrusting her kerchief to its keeping, I swear to fly it in the face of Tarleton’s Legion and defend it to the last drop of my blood.”

“Then let this be your flag,” cried the noble girl with a burst of enthusiasm which echoed that which rung in Colonel Washington’s tones.  A large fauteuil, covered with heavy crimson silk embroidered with raised laurel-leaves, was standing near.  Miss Elliott seized, as she spoke, the scissors from her work-basket, and in a moment had cut out the rectangular piece which covered the back and offered it to her distinguished guest.  Washington bowed low with courtly grace and touched his lips to the fair hand which presented it, while young Peyton, carried away by the excitement of the moment, sprang to his feet with a cheer which started the wild birds from the shrubbery:  “Colonel Washington, I claim the right, by Miss Elliott’s commission, to carry that flag into action, and I swear that it shall never be stained with dishonor while Walter Peyton has a right hand to grasp its staff.”

“Take it, my boy,” said the colonel in a voice tremulous with emotion, “and guard it with your life.  With God’s help we will make that flag a terror to the enemies of our country.—­Miss Elliott, accept a soldier’s gratitude for your precious gift to-day.  No prouder banner ever waved over battle-field or claimed the devotion of patriotic hearts.  It shall be fringed and mounted this very night in Charleston, and I pledge my sacred honor that Washington’s Light Horse shall prove worthy of their trust.”