I had not had a letter or any word from Lois at Fort Tioga.  At Easton there was a letter which, she wrote, might not reach me; but in it she said that they had taken lodgings in Albany near to the house of Lana Helmer; that Mr. Hake had been more than kind; that she and her dear mother awaited news of our army with tenderest anxiety, but that up to the moment of writing no news was to be had, not even any rumours.

Her letter told me little more, save that her mother and Mr. Hake had conferred concerning the estate of her late father; and that Mr. Hake was making preparations to substantiate her mother’s claim to the small property of the family in France—­ a house, a tiny hamlet, and some vineyards, called by the family name of Contrecoeur, which meant her mother was her father’s wedded wife.

“Also,” she wrote, “my mother has told me that there are in the house some books and pictures and pretty joyeaux which were beloved by my father, and which he gave to her when she came to Contrecoeur, a bride.  Also that her dot was still untouched, which, with her legal interest in my father’s property, would suffice to properly endow me, and still leave sufficient to maintain her.

“So you see, Euan, that the half naked little gypsy of Poundridge camp comes not entirely shameless to her husband after all.  Oh, my own soldier, hasten—­ hasten!  Every day I hear drums in Albany streets and run out to see; every evening I sit with my mother on the stoop and watch the river redden in the sunset.  Over the sandy plains of pines comes blowing the wind of the Western wilderness.  I feel its breath on my cheek, faintly frosty, and wonder if the same wind had also touched your dear face ere it blew east to me.”

Often I read this letter on the march to the Hudson; ever wondering at the history of this sweet mistress of my affections, marvelling at its mystery, its wonders, and eternally amazed at this young girl’s courage, her loyalty and chaste devotion.

I remember one day when we were halted at a cavalry camp, not far from the Hudson, conversing with three soldiers—­ Van Campen, Perry, and Paul Sanborn, they being the three men who first discovered poor Boyd’s body; and then noticed me a-digging in the earth with bleeding fingers and a broken blade.

And they knew the history of Lois, and how she had dressed her in rifle-dress, and how she had come to French Catharines.  And they told me that in the cavalry camp there was talk of a young English girl, not yet sixteen, who had clipped her hair, tied it in a queue, powdered it, donned jack-boots, belt, and helmet, and come across the seas enlisted in a regiment of British Horse, with the vague idea of seeking her lover who had gone to America with his regiment.

Further, they told me that, until taken by our men in a skirmish, her own comrades had not suspected her sex; that she was a slim, boyish, pretty thing; that His Excellency had caused inquiry to be made; and that it had been discovered that her lover was serving in Sir John’s regiment of Royal Greens.