"This you must guard with your life," he said. "It is not addressed
to anybody, but you can give it to Senator Yancey, who is probably
in Charleston, or Governor Pickens, of South Carolina, or General
Beauregard, who, I understand, is coming to command the troops there,
and whom I knew in former days, or to General Ripley. It contains
Kentucky's promise to South Carolina, and it is signed by many of us.
And now, Harry, let prudence watch over action. It is no common errand
upon which you ride."

The colonel walked with him to the gate where the horse stood. Harry
did not know who had brought the animal there, but he believed that his
father had done so with his own hand. The boy sprang into the saddle,
Colonel Kenton gave him a strong grasp of the hand, undertook to say
something but, as he did so, the words choked in his throat, and he
walked hastily toward the house.

Harry spoke to his horse, but a hundred yards away, before he came to
the first curve in the road, he stopped and looked back. Colonel Kenton
was standing in the doorway, his figure made bright in the moonlight.
Harry waved his hand and a hand was waved in return. Tears arose to his
own eyes, but he was youth in the saddle, with the world before him,
and the mist was gone quickly.

The snow was six or eight inches deep, and lay unbroken in the road.
But the horse was powerful, shod carefully for snow and ice, and Harry
had been almost from infancy an expert rider. His spirits rose.
He had no fear of the stillness and the dark. But one could scarcely
call it the dark, since brilliant stars rode high in a bright blue
heaven, and the forest on either side of him was a vast and intricate
tracery of white touched with silver.