The taller man remained silent, his hands clasped, and head sunk on his
breast. Finally he glanced up into the face of the other, with shoulders
thrown back.

"No Hardy ever yet failed in duty," he said sternly, "nor will one now.
Where are the papers?"

"In my tent, but the bearer will be safer not to come here for them.
Even my orderly may be a spy. An aide shall deliver them at Three
Corners in an hour--will that be too early?"

"No; which aide? There should be no mistake."

"There will be none. I will send Lieutenant West, and he shall act as
escort as far as the outer pickets; beyond that--"

"Wit and good luck, of course. What is the word?"

"'Cumberland'; now listen, and repeat exactly what I say to Billie." His
voice fell into lower, more confidential tones, and, listen as I would,
I could catch only now and then a word, or detached sentence. "The upper
road"; "yes, the wide detour"; "coming in by the rear will be safer";
"that isn't a bad story"; "he's a tartar to lie too"; "just the thing,
Major, just the thing"; then, "But that's enough for the outlines;
details must take care of themselves. Let's waste no more time; there
are only four more hours of darkness."

The two men separated hurriedly with a warm hand-clasp, the stocky
general entering the tent, and brusquely addressing some one within,
while the major swung into the saddle of the waiting horse, and driving