Just then came the sound of a horse, galloping. Up the road came a
trooper, white with dust, his animal flecked with foam.

"For Colonel Morrison. Urgent," he rasped from a dry throat, as he
thudded across the lawn and dismounted. "From headquarters," and he
thrust out a dispatch, "I'm ordered to return with your detachment."

Snatching the dispatch from the man's hand Morrison ran his eye over
it--then started visibly.

"Orderly! Report to Harris double-quick. Recall the men. Sound
boots-and-saddles. Then bring my horse--_at once!_ Any details?" he
asked peremptorily of the courier.

"Big battle to-morrow," the man answered. "Two gunboats are reported
coming up the river and a wing of the Rebel army is advancing from
Petersburg. Every available detachment is ordered in. You are to reach
camp before morning."

"All right. We'll be there." Then, as the bugle sounded, "Ride with us,"
he said, and strode over to where Mrs. Cary stood, arrested by the news.

"Madam, I must make you a rather hurried farewell--and a last apology.
If ever we meet again, I hope the conditions may be happier--for you."

"I thank you, Colonel," the proud Southern woman said sincerely, with a
curtsy. "Some day the 'rebel scout' may thank you also for me and mine."
And with a smile that augured friendship when that brighter day should
come she passed out of his sight among the trees.