All along the line of march there were crowds to see them and cheer them, with here and there a white-haired woman who waved her handkerchief and smiled at them through a rain of tears.

The major rode at the head of a small and straggling division of cavalry whose men ambled along and guyed one another about the management of their green livery horses who were inclined to bunch and go wild with the music.

A few pieces of heavy artillery lumbered by next, and just behind them came three huge motor-cars packed and jammed with the old fellows who were too feeble to keep up with the procession.  They were most of them from the Soldiers’ Home and in spite of empty coat sleeves and crutches they bobbed up and down and waved their caps with enthusiasm as cheer after cheer rose whenever they came into sight.

Andrew Sevier stood at his study window and watched them go past, marching to the conflicting tunes of The Bonnie Blue Flag, played by the head band, and Dixie by the following one.  It was great to see them again after five years; and in such spirits!  He felt a cheer rise to his lips and he wanted to open the window and give lusty vent to it—­but a keen pain caught it in his throat.

Always before he had ridden with David at the head of the division of the Confederacy’s Sons, but to-day he stood behind the window and watched them go past him!  There were men in those ranks who had slept in the ditches with his father, and to whom he had felt that his presence would be a reminder of an exceeding bitterness.  The had quietly fought the acceptance of the statue offered by the daughter of Peters Brown from the beginning, but the granddaughter of General Darrah, who had led them at Chickamauga, must needs command their acceptance of a memorial to him and her mother.

And they would all do her honor after the unveiling.  Andrew could almost see old General Clopton stand with bared head and feel the thrill with which the audience would listen to what would be a tender tribute to the war women.  A wave of passionate joy swelled up in his heart—­he wanted them to cheer her and love her and adopt her!  It was her baptism into her heritage!  And he gloried in it.

Then across his joy came a curious stifling depression—­he found himself listening as if some one had called him, called for help.  The music was dying away in the distance and the cheers became fainter and fainter until their echo seemed almost a sob.  Before he had time to realize what he did he descended the stair, crossed the street and let himself into the Buchanan house.

He stood just within the library door and listened again.  A profound stillness seemed to beat through the deserted rooms—­then he saw her!  She sat with her arms outspread across the table and her head bent upon a pile of papers.  She was tensely still as if waiting for something to sound around her.

“Caroline!” It was the first time he had called her by her name and though the others had done it from the first, she had never seemed to notice his more formal address.  It was beyond him to keep the tenderness that swept through every nerve out of his voice entirely.