and held out his hand. As he gazed at me in silence I could see his
face flush.

"You remind me of Jackson," he said, retaining my hand and gazing
fixedly at me.

I bowed my head, making no other reply; for the sight of Stuart brought
back to me also many memories; the scouting of the Valley, the hard
combats of the Lowland, Cold Harbor, Manassas, Sharpsburg,
Fredericksburg, and that last greeting between Jackson and the great
commander of the cavalry, on the weird moonlight night at
Chancellorsville.

Stuart continued to gaze at me, and I could see his eyes slowly fill
with tears.

"It is a national calamity!" he murmured. "Jackson's loss is
irreparable!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words.]

He remained for a moment gazing into my face, then passing his hand
over his forehead, he banished by a great effort these depressing
memories. His bold features resumed their habitual cheerfulness.

Our dialogue was brief, and came rapidly to the point.

"Have you been assigned to duty yet, my dear Surry?"

"I have not, general."