“I’m sorry,” said Harry, and no more; he had learned long ago how useless it was to combat any purpose of Chadwick Buford.

General Hunt and Margaret were still away when they got back to the house.  In fact, the sun was sinking when they came in from the woods, still walking slowly, General Hunt talking earnestly and Margaret with her hands clasped before her and her eyes on the path.  The faces of both looked pale, even that far away, but when they neared the porch, the General was joking and Margaret was smiling, nor was anything perceptible to Chad when he said good-by, except a certain tenderness in his tone and manner toward Margaret, and one fleeting look of distress in her clear eyes.  He was on his horse now, and was lifting his cap.

“Good-by, Major,” he said.  “I’m glad you got through the war alive.  Perhaps I’ll tell you some day why I didn’t shoot you that morning.”  And then he rode away, a gallant, knightly figure, across the pasture.  At the gate he waved his cap and at a gallop was gone.

After supper, a heaven-born chance led Mrs. Dean to stroll out into the lovely night.  Margaret rose to go too, and Chad followed.  The same chance, perhaps, led old Mammy to come out on the porch and call Mrs. Dean back.  Chad and Margaret walked on toward the stiles where still hung Margaret’s weather-beaten Stars and Bars.  The girl smiled and touched the flag.

“That was very nice of you to salute me that morning.  I never felt so bitter against Yankees after that day.  I’ll take it down now,” and she detached it and rolled it tenderly about the slender staff.

“That was not my doing,” said Chad, “though if I had been Grant, and there with the whole Union army, I would have had it salute you.  I was under orders, but I went back for help.  May I carry it for you?”

“Yes,” said Margaret, handing it to him.  Chad had started toward the garden, but Margaret turned him toward the stile and they walked now down through the pasture toward the creek that ran like a wind-shaken ribbon of silver under the moon.

“Won’t you tell me something about Major Buford?  I’ve been wanting to ask, but I simply hadn’t the heart.  Can’t we go over there tonight?  I want to see the old place, and I must leave to-morrow.”

“To-morrow!” said Margaret.  “Why—­I—­I was going to take you over there to-morrow, for I—­but, of course, you must go to-night if it is to be your only chance.”

And so, as they walked along, Margaret told Chad of the old Major’s last days, after he was released from prison, and came home to die.  She went to see him every day, and she was at his bedside when he breathed his last.  He had mortgaged his farm to help the Confederate cause and to pay indemnity for a guerilla raid, and Jerome Conners held his notes for large amounts.

“The lawyer told me that he believed some of the notes were forged, but he couldn’t prove it.  He says it is doubtful if more than the house and a few acres will be left.”  A light broke in on Chad’s brain.