Stuart threw his plumed hat upon a chair, and drew near the foot of the table. The light fell full on the ruddy face, the heavy beard and mustache, and brilliant fighting jacket. He looked round with a gay smile. “Was any one absent,” asked the kind lady of the house, as she saw the glance. Stuart made a low bow, and said:-- “All are here, madam!” All at once, however, a voice at the door responded:-- “I think you are mistaken, general!” And he who had uttered these words advanced into the apartment. He was a young man, about twenty-three, of medium height, graceful, and with a smile of charming good humor upon the lips. His hair was light and curling; his eyes blue; his lips shaded by a slender mustache. His uniform was brand new, and decorated with the braid of a lieutenant. Yellow gauntlets reached his elbow, he wore a shiny new satchel, and in his hand carried a brown felt hat, caught up with a golden star. Stuart grasped his hand warmly. “Here you are, old fellow!” he exclaimed. And turning to the company, he added:-- “My new aid-de-camp, Lieutenant Herbert, ladies. A fop--but an old soldier. Take that seat by Colonel Surry, Tom.” And every one sat down, and attacked the supper. I had shaken hands with Tom Herbert, who was far from being a stranger to me, as I had met him frequently in the drawing-rooms of Richmond before the war. He was a fop, but the most charming of fops, when I first knew him. He wore brilliant waistcoats, variegated scarfs, diamond studs, and straw-colored kid gloves. In his hand he used to flourish an ivory-headed whalebone cane, and his boots were of feminine delicacy and dimensions. Such was Tom at that time, but the war had “brought him out.” He had rushed into the ranks, shouldered a musket, and fought bravely. So much I knew--and I was soon to hear how he had come to be Stuart’s aid. The supper was charming. The young girls waited on us with mock submission and delighted smiles. Tom and I had fallen to the lot of a little princess with golden ringlets; and Miss Katy Dare--that was her name--acquitted herself marvellously. We supped as though we expected to eat nothing for the next week--and then having finished, we rose, and waited in turn on the fair waiters. Behind every chair now stood an officer in uniform. Bright eyes, rosy cheeks, jewelled hands, glossy curls--there was the picture, my dear reader, which we beheld as we “waited” at that magical supper near Buckland. When we wrapped our capes around us, and fell asleep on the floor, the little maidens still laughed in our dreams![1] [Footnote 1: A real incident.] XVI. AN HONEST FOP. Stuart moved again at dawn. The scene of the preceding evening had passed away like a dream. We were in the saddle, and advancing. Riding beside Lieutenant Tom Herbert, I conversed with that worthy, and found the tedious march beguiled by his gay and insouciant talk.