“Ah, but think of the fun in it.  It’s like playing hide-and-go-seek with Virgie.”

But his wife was not to be put off so lightly and she put her impelling hands on his arm.

Gary changed his tone.  His voice deepened.

“They need me, dear,” he said earnestly.  “What does danger to one man mean when Dixie calls us all?  And I’m doing work—­good work.  I’ve already given one battle to General Lee and now I have information that will give him another and a bigger one.  Two nights ago I came through the Union lines.  I ...”

Mrs. Cary rose unsteadily to her feet.

“Through the Yankee lines!  Oh, Herbert. Not as a spy!”

“A spy?  Of course not.  I hid in the woods all day, then climbed a tall pine tree and got the lay of their camp—­the number of their guns—­the disposition of forces and their lines of attack.  Yesterday I had the wires at Drury’s Bluff and started trouble.  I’m on my way now to join my command, but I had a good excuse for coming home to hold you in in my arms again, if only for a moment.  You see, poor old Roger got a wound in his flank—­from a stray bullet.”

“A stray bullet,” asked Mrs. Gary, doubtfully.

“Yes,” he smiled, for he had escaped it, “a stray bullet meant for me.”

“But, Daddy,” Virgie interrupted, “while you were up in the tree—­”

A wild whoop broke off Virgie’s question.  Sally Ann was rushing down the steps, her eyes rolling up with excitement.

“Mars’ Cary!  Mars’ Cary!  Somebody comin’ long de road!”

“Who?  How many?” Cary demanded, springing up and running towards the gate that opened on the wagon road over the hills.

“Des’ one,” responded Sally Ann with naive truthfulness.  “Ol’ Dr. Simmons.  He drivin’ by de gate in de buggy.”

Mrs. Cary threw up her hands with a muffled cry of relief and laughter.  “Oh, Sally!  Sally!” she exclaimed, “you’ll be the death of me.”

“But Lor!  Miss Hallie,” said Sally plaintively, “he tole me fer to tell him.”

Cary, returning, waved Sally Ann back to her post.  “That’s right,” he laughed.  “You’re a good sentry, Sally Ann.  Go back and watch again. Scoot!”

“Herbert,” and his wife stood before him.  “Come into the house and let me give you something to eat.”

For answer Cary gently imprisoned her face in his hands.  “Honey, I can’t,” he said, his eyes grown sad again.  “Just fix me up something—­anything you can find.  I’ll munch it in the saddle.”

For a moment their lips clung and then she stepped back with a broken sigh.  “I’ll do the best I can, but oh! how I wish it all were over and that we had you home again.”

A spasm crossed the man’s face.  “It soon will be over, sweetheart.  It soon will be.”

His wife flung him a startled look.  “You mean—­Oh, Herbert!  Isn’t there a single hope—­even the tiniest ray?”