Mrs. Cary clasped her hands together at her breast with a look of entreaty.

“Herbert!  Must you go so soon?”

Her husband looked back at her with eyes dark with regret.

“Yes,” he said briefly.  “I’m on my way to Richmond.  How many horses are there in the stable?”

“Two—­only two,” was the broken response, as his wife sank down disconsolate on a bench.  “Belle and Lightfoot—­we sold the others—­I had to do it.”

“Yes, I know, little woman.  It couldn’t be helped.  Here, Billy!  Take my horse and get Belle out of the stable.  Lead them down to the swamp and hide them in the cedars.  Then saddle Lightfoot—­bring him here and give him some water and a measure of corn.  Look sharp, Billy!  Lively!”

In the face of danger to his master Uncle Billy’s response was instant.  “Yes, seh.  Right away, seh,” and he took Cary’s lathered animal and made off for the stables at top speed.

Mrs. Cary looked up at her husband with a great fear written on her face.

“Why, Herbert dear.  You—­you don’t mean to say that the Yankees are in the neighborhood?”

Immediately Cary was on the bench beside her with his arm around her, while Virgie climbed up on the other side.

“Now, come,” he murmured, “be a brave little woman and don’t be alarmed.  It may be nothing after all.  Only—­there are several foraging parties—­small ones, a few miles down the river.  I’ve been dodging them all morning.  If they come at all they won’t trouble either you or Virgie.”

“But I’m not afraid of them, Daddy-man,” cried the small daughter, and she doubled up her fist ferociously.  “Look at that.”

“Aha!  There’s a brave little Rebel,” her father cried as he swept her up in a hearty hug. “You’re not afraid of them,—­nor you either, God bless you,” and his lips rested for a moment on his wife’s soft cheek.  “Only, you are apt to be a little too haughty.  If they search the house for arms or stragglers, make no resistance.  It’s best.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” his wife cried out, “but you, dear, you!  Why are you here?  Why aren’t you with your company?”

Cary looked away for a moment across the fields and down the slope towards the shimmering river.  They were very beautiful—­he wondered why he had not fully realized all that wife and child and home meant to him when he volunteered recently for a certain hazardous duty.  He knew, too, how quickly his dear wife would know the full extent of the peril with which he felt himself surrounded.  And so his reply was short and seemingly gruff, as many another man’s has been under too heavy circumstances.

“Scouting duty.  I’ve been on it for the past two months.”

Mrs. Cary’s hand went to her heart.

“A scout, Herbert!  But, darling, why?  It’s so dangerous—­so horrible—­so—­”

He put up his hand, with a forced smile, to check her, and broke in gayly.