“And she hustled me on the horse.  And just as I was off, as I bent from the saddle to catch her hand for the last time, she gave me two more shocks together.”  Silent reminiscent laughter shook him.

“‘When am I going to see you again?’ asked I hopelessly, for I felt as if everything was mighty uncertain, and I couldn’t bear to leave her.

“‘To-morrow,’ said she, prompt as taxes.  ’To-morrow.  Good-by, Captain Carruthers.’

“And she gave the horse a slap that scared him into a leap, and off I went galloping into darkness, with my brain in a whirl as to where I could see her to-morrow, and how under creation she knew my name.  The cold bath had refreshed me—­I hadn’t had the like of it for nine days—­and I galloped on for a while feeling fine, and thinking mighty hard about the girl I’d left behind me.  Twenty-four hours before I’d never seen her, yet I felt, as if I had known her all my life.  I was sure of this, that in all my days I’d never seen anybody like her, and never would.  And that’s true to this minute.  I’d had sweethearts a-plenty—­in a way—­but the affair of that day was the only time I was ever in love in my life.”

To tell the truth I had been a little scandalized all through this story, for I knew well enough that there was a Mrs. Carruthers.  I had not met her—­she had been South through the months which her husband had spent in New York—­but the General’s strong language concerning the red-haired girl made me sympathize with his wife, and this last sentiment was staggering.  Poor Mrs. Carruthers! thought I—­poor, staid lady, with this gay lad of a husband declaring his heart forever buried with the adventure of a day of long ago.  Yet, a soldier boy of twenty-three—­the romance of war-time—­the glamour of lost love—­there were certainly alleviating circumstances.  At all events, it was not my affair—­I could enjoy the story as it came with a clear conscience.  So I smiled at the wicked General—­who looked as innocent as a baby—­and he went on.

“I knew every road on that side the river, and I knew the Confederates wouldn’t dare chase me but a few miles, as it wasn’t their country any longer, so pretty soon I began to take things easy.  I thought over everything that had happened through the day, everything she’d said and done, every look—­I could remember it all.  I can now.  I wondered who under heaven she was, and I kicked myself that I hadn’t asked her name.  ’Lindy’—­that’s all I knew, and I guess I said that over a hundred times.  I wondered why she’d told me not to go to Kelly’s Ford, but I worked that out the right way—­as I found later—­that her party expected to cross there, and she didn’t want me to encounter them; and then the river was too full and they tried a higher ford.  And I’d run into them.  Yet I couldn’t understand why she planned to cross at Kelly’s, anyway, because there was pretty sure to be a Union outpost on the east bank there, and she’d have landed right among them.  That puzzled me.  Who was the girl, and why on earth was she travelling in that direction, and where could she be going?  I went over that problem again and again, and couldn’t find an answer.