Stuart’s tent, or rather the strip of canvas which he called one, was pitched beneath a great oak on a wooded knoll about a mile south of the little village. Above it drooped the masses of fresh June foliage; around, were grouped the white canvas “flies” of the staff; in a glade close by gleamed the tents d’abri of the couriers. Horses, tethered to the trees, champed their corn in the shadow; in the calm, summer night, the battle-flag drooped and clung to its staff. Before the tent of Stuart, a man on guard, with drawn sabre, paced to and fro with measured steps. A glance told me that Mohun’s singular prisoner had arrived. A courier was holding her fine animal near the general’s tent, and as I dismounted, three figures’ appeared in the illuminated doorway. These were the figures of Stuart, the “gray woman,” and a young aid-de-camp. “Farewell, madam,” said Stuart, bowing and laughing; “I am sorry to have made your acquaintance under circumstances so disagreeable to you; but I trust you will appreciate the situation, and not blame me.” “Blame you? Not in the least, general. You are a very gallant man.” And the gay words were accompanied by a musical laugh. “You will have an opportunity of seeing the Confederate capital,” said Stuart, smiling. The lady made a humorous grimace. “And of abusing me upon the way thither; and afterward on the route to Port Monroe and Washington, as you will not be detained, I am sure.” “I shall not abuse you, sir. You are the noblest gentleman I have ever known.”[1] [Footnote 1: The real words of Stuart’s prisoner] And with mutual salutes they parted--the young aid-de-camp accompanying the lady to her horse, and aiding her to mount. They then set forward toward the Court-House. Stuart had ordered the prisoner to be conducted thither, and detained at the village tavern, under guard, until morning, when she would be sent to Richmond. As they disappeared, I entered the general’s tent, and found him laughing. Leaning one hand upon his desk, covered with papers, upon which rested his feather-decorated hat, he carelessly played with the tassel of his yellow sash with the other hand. His blue eyes sparkled, and his mustache curled with humor. “That is really a beauty, Surry?” he said, “and I have laughed heartily.” He threw himself on his red blanket as he spoke, and began playing with his two setter pups, whose names were “Nip” and “Tuck.” He had brought them out of the lines on his saddle. “Well, you are really a magician,” I said. “You charm the evil spirit, and make prisoners laugh.” Stuart laughed in reply. “That is a curious person that Mohun sent me,” he said; “at first she was disdainful enough; but I paid her a few compliments, and now she is in an excellent humor, as you saw.” “Yes.” “But what about the fight?” I made my report of the events of the evening. “Well, Mohun is a trump,” said Stuart. “A new man, but seems made of the right stuff--real steel. What does Mordaunt say of the attack?”