She let the pine needles stream through her hands. “Certainly with old comrades. Father ... Louis ... People who used to come to Cape Jessamine, people I have known elsewhere.... All people, in fact, and all in better, larger houses ... all old comrades”—she turned and kissed him—“and one lover.” “In a better, nobler house,” said Edward. “But don’t die, Désirée—not yet—not yet—” The creek murmured, the wind whispered, the wild bees hummed above the flowers. Somewhere down the stream was an army forge. _Clink! clink!_ went hammer against iron. On some hidden road, too, guns were passing—you heard the rumble and the whinnying of the horses. In another direction wagons were parked; there was a sense, through vague openings in a leafy world, of the white, bubble-like tops. More horses came to the ford to be watered. The sun grew brighter and brighter, climbing the sky, the pine and pennyroyal more pungently alive, the voices in the wide woods distincter, less like a dreamy wash of the sea. The hazel bushes across the stream parted and two men appeared with water-buckets. They dipped for their mess, adjusted their heavy wet burdens and went away, sociably talking. “’T was while we was fighting at Cassville. Jake thought he was killed, but he wasn’t! Funny fellow, but you can’t help liking him!” “That’s so! He’s got converted. Converted last meeting. Says he don’t know but one prayer and was kind of surprised he remembered that. Says it now before every little fight we go into. Says— “‘_Now I lay me down to sleep, Pray the Lord my soul to keep—_’” “Sho! Everybody remembers that! Taught it to us most before we could talk! “‘_Now I lay me down to sleep, Pray the Lord my soul to keep, If I should die before I wake Pray the Lord my soul to take—_’” The hazel bushes closed and the voices died like a ripple out of water. The light grew more golden, the shadows shorter. Late May in Georgia was more hot than a Northern midsummer, but to-day a crisp breeze made the heat of no moment. The air was very dry, life-giving. A soldier with a fishing-pole made his appearance. He came along beneath the bank and the pine tree, chose a deepish pool and a rock to sit on, placed a tin cup with bait beside the latter, and had baited his hook and cast the line before he observed his neighbours. He rose and saluted, then made a movement to take up his bait-cup and proceed downstream. “No, no!” said Edward. “Fish ahead! But are there any fish there?” The fisherman sat down upon the rock. “I’m not really expecting any. But catching fish is not all there is in fishing.” “Quite true,” said Edward, and lay back upon the purple-brown carpet. Désirée sat with her hands about her knee, her eyes upon a vast castle of cloud, rising pearl-bright, into the azure sky.