For, in truth, at this time, unhappy as my own situation undeniably
was,--and as a soldier I realized all its dangers,--I gave it but
little consideration. Usually quick of wit, fertile in expedients, ever
ready to take advantage of each opportunity, I had taken stock of all
my surroundings, yet discovered nowhere the slightest opening for
escape. The vigilance of the guard, as well as the thorough manner in
which I was bound, rendered any such attempt the merest madness.
Realizing this, with the fatalism of a veteran I resigned myself in all
patience to what must be.

Then it was that other thoughts came surging upon me in a series of
interrogatories, which no knowledge I possessed could possibly answer.
Who was this proud, womanly woman who called herself Edith Brennan? She
had been at some pains to inform me that she was married, yet there was
that about her--her bearing, her manner--which I could not in the least
reconcile with that thought. Her extreme youthfulness made me feel it
improbable, and the impression remained with me that she intended to
make some explanation of her words, when the coming of Bungay
interrupted us. How they might be explained I could not imagine; I
merely struggled against accepting what I longed to believe untrue. And
this man? this Federal major, bearing the same name, whom she called
Frank, who was he? What manner of relationship existed between them? In
their meeting and short intercourse I had noted several things which
told me much--that she feared, respected, valued him, and that he was
not only swayed by, but intensely jealous of any rival in, her good
opinion. Yet their unexpected meeting was scarcely that of husband and
wife. Was he the one she sought in her night ride from one Federal camp
to another? If so, was he brother, friend, or husband? What was the
bond of union existing between these two? Every word spoken made me