strangers--enemies, indeed, for I am a Rebel clear through. We don't
even know each others' names."

"Do you care to know mine?"

She hesitated, and I thought her eyes dropped.

"I--I hardly know," doubtfully. "Yet you have been very kind, and,
perhaps, sometime I might serve you. Yes, you may tell me."

"Robert Galesworth."

"Of what rank?"

"Lieutenant, Ninth Illinois Cavalry, but detailed for special service."

"Thank you. I--I am rather glad you told me."

"And you," I insisted, determined this confidence should be mutual.
"May I not, in return, be told your name?"

"I am Willifred Gray," she said quietly. "That is all--just Willifred
Gray."

There was something about the manner in which she said this which held
me silent. I should have liked to ask more, a second question trembling
on my lips, but the words would not come. It was altogether new to me,
this fear of offending a woman, so new it almost angered, and yet
something about her positively held me as though in bonds. To this day I
do not know the secret of it, but I sat there silently staring out into