"If those are your people they mustn't see me," she said quietly, a
little accent of pleading in her voice. "You promise that first?"

"Of course," although surprised at her asking. "I know it is our orders
to intercept everything which can aid the enemy, but I don't feel
inclined to prevent your taking quinine to the poor fellows in the
hospital. War hasn't made me as inhuman as that. We can easily reach the
town ahead of that squad of cavalry, and if you have some safe place
there to go, and will only keep indoors, there is no danger of
discovery."

"I have," eagerly, "Judge Moran's house; you can see its gable there
among the trees. He is so old he has not even been conscripted." She
laughed, flashing a look aside at me as she shook the reins and applied
the whip. "I wonder what he will think when he sees me driving up
alongside a Yankee. It will be like the end of the world. No, don't talk
to me any more; I've got to conjure up a nice, respectable story to
tell him."

She remained very quiet as we rattled down the hill, her forehead
puckered, her gaze straight ahead. Suddenly she asked,

"Do you sometimes tell falsehoods?"

"Guilty."

"Are they ever justified?"

"Well, really I don't know; from the standpoint of the strict moralist I
presume not; but it is my judgment the strict moralist wouldn't last