“I’m no wounded man’s enemy, at least not till he is almost well.  Were I one of my brothers, however, and you were on your horse again with your old vigor—­” and she gave him a little, significant nod.

He now laughed responsively, and said, “I like that.”  Then he added, gravely:  “Heaven grant I may never meet one of your brothers in battle.  I could not knowingly harm him.”

“Thank you for saying that,” she said, gently.  “Now, tell me truly, isn’t there anything you wish?”

“Yes, I wish to get better, so that I may have a little of your society.  These days of inaction are so interminably long, and you know I’ve been leading a very active life.”

“I fear you wouldn’t enjoy the society of such a hot little rebel as I am.”

“We should differ, of course, on some things, but that would only give zest to your words.  I’m not so stupid and prejudiced, Miss Barkdale, as to fail to see that you are just as sincere and patriotic as I am.  I have envied the enlisted men when I have heard of your attentions to them.”

“Now,” she resumed, laughing, “I’ve found out that the ‘good angel’ is not treating you as well as the common soldiers.  Men always let out the truth sooner or later.  If Surgeon McAllister will permit, I’ll read and talk to you also.”

“I not only give my permission,” said the surgeon, “but also assure you that such kindness will hasten the captain’s recovery, for time hangs so heavily on his hands that he chafes and worries.”

“Very well,” with a sprightly nod at the surgeon, “since we’ve undertaken to cure the captain, the most sensible thing for us to do is to cure him.  You shall prescribe when and how the doses of society are to be administered.”  Then to Lane, “Not another word; good-night;” and in a moment she was gone.

Suwanee never forgot that interview, for it was the beginning of a new and strange experience to her.  From the first, her high, chivalric spirit had been compelled to admire her enemy.  The unknown manner in which he had foiled her sister’s strategy showed that his mind was equal to his courage, while his hot indignation, when he found them threatened by a midnight marauder, had revealed his nature.  Circumstances had swiftly disarmed her prejudices, and her warm heart had been full of sympathy for him as he lay close to the borders of death.  All these things tended to throw down the barriers which would naturally interpose between herself and a Northern man.  When, therefore, out of a full heart, he revealed his gratitude and homage, she had no shield against the force of his words and manner, and was deeply touched.  She had often received gallantry, admiration, and even words of love, but never before had a man looked and acted as if he reverenced her and the womanhood she represented.  It was not a compliment that had been bestowed, but a recognition of what she herself had not suspected.  By her family or acquaintances she had never been thought