It had been a sad day for those two.  The mutual tolerance that prevailed among their friends in the beginning of the war had given way to intense bitterness now.  There was no thrill for them in the flags fluttering a welcome to them from the windows of loyalists, for under those flags old friends passed them in the street with no sign of recognition, but a sullen, averted face, or a stare of open contempt.  Elizabeth Morgan had met them, and turned her head when Harry raised his cap, though Chad saw tears spring to her eyes as she passed.  Sad as it was for him, Chad knew what the silent torture in Harry’s heart must be, for Harry could not bring himself, that day, even to visit his own home.  And now Morgan was coming, and they might soon be in a death-fight, Harry with his own blood-brother and both with boyhood friends.

“God grant that you two may never meet!”

That cry from General Dean was beating ceaselessly through Harry’s brain now, and he brought one hand down on the fence, hardly noticing the drop of blood that oozed from the force of the blow.

“Oh, I wish I could get away from here!”

“I shall the first chance that comes,” said Chad, and he lifted his head sharply, staring down the street.  A phaeton was coming slowly toward them and in it were a negro servant and a girl in white.  Harry was leaning over the fence with his back toward the street, and Chad, the blood rushing to his face, looked in silence, for the negro was Snowball and the girl was Margaret.  He saw her start and flush when she saw him, her hands giving a little convulsive clutch at the reins; but she came on, looking straight ahead.  Chad’s hand went unconsciously to his cap, and when Harry rose, puzzled to see him bareheaded, the phaeton stopped, and there was a half-broken cry: 

“Harry!”

Cap still in hand, Chad strode away as the brother, with an answering cry, sprang toward her.

. . . . . .

When he came back, an hour later, at dusk, Harry was seated on the portico, and the long silence between them was broken at last.

“She—­they oughtn’t to come to town at a time like this,” said Chad, roughly.

“I told her that,” said Harry, “but it was useless.  She will come and go just as she pleases.”

Harry rose and leaned for a moment against one of the big pillars, and then he turned impulsively, and put one hand lightly on the other’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, old man,” he said, gently.

A pair of heels clicked suddenly together on the grass before them, and an orderly stood at salute.

“General Ward’s compliments, and will Lieutenant Buford and Lieutenant Dean report to him at once?”

The two exchanged a swift glance, and the faces of both grew grave with sudden apprehension.

Inside, the General looked worried, and his manner was rather sharp.

“Do you know General Dean?” he asked, looking at Harry.