Harry that night, as he sat in the little anteroom of Jackson's quarters
awaiting orders, heard again the low tone of his general praying.
The words were not audible, but the steady and earnest sound came to
him for some time. It was late, and all the soldiers were asleep or at
rest. No sound came from the army, and besides Jackson's voice there
was none other, save the sighing of the winds down from the mountains.

Harry, as he listened to the prayer, felt a deep and overwhelming sense
of solemnity and awe. He felt that it was at once a petition and a
presage. Sitting there in the half dark mighty events were
foreshadowed. It seemed to him that they were about to enter upon a
struggle more terrible than any that had gone before, and those had
been terrible beyond the anticipation of anybody.

The omens did not fail. Jackson's army marched the next morning,
turning southward along the turnpike in order to effect the junction
with Lee and Longstreet. All Winchester had assembled to bid them
farewell, the people confident that the army would win victory, but
knowing its cost now.

There was water in Harry's eyes as he listened to the shouts and cheers
and saw the young girls waving the little Confederate flags.

"If good wishes can do anything," said Harry, "then we ought to win."

"So we should. I'm glad to have the good wishes, but, Harry, when
you're up against the enemy, they can't take the place of cannon and
rifles. Look at Colonel Talbot and Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire.
See how straight and precise they are. But both are suffering from a