“Why,” she exclaimed eagerly, “it is Colonel Curran! Edith, dear, here is the Rebel who pretended to be Myrtle Curran's brother.” How the hot blood leaped within my veins at mention of that name; but before I could lift my head she had swept across the narrow aisle, and was standing beside me. Wife, or what, there was that within her eyes which told me a wondrous story. For the instant, in her surprise and agitation, she forgot herself, and lost that marvellous self-restraint which had held us so far apart. “Captain Wayne!” she cried, and her gloved hands fell instantly upon my own, where it rested without the coverlet. “You here, and wounded?” I smiled up at her, feeling now that my injuries were indeed trivial. “Somewhat weakened by loss of blood, Mrs. Brennan, but not dangerously hurt.” Then I could not forbear asking softly, “Is it possible you can feel regret over injuries inflicted upon a Rebel?” Her cheeks flamed, and the audacious words served to recall her to our surroundings. “Even although I love my country, and sincerely hope for the downfall of her enemies,” she answered soberly, “I do not delight in suffering. Were you in that terrible cavalry charge? They tell me scarcely a man among them survived.” “I rode with my regiment.” “I knew it was your regiment--the name was upon every lip, and even our own men unite in declaring it a magnificent sacrifice, a most gallant deed. You must know I thought instantly of you when I was told it was the act of the ----th Virginia.” There were tears in my eyes, I know, as I listened to her, and my heart warmed at this frank confession of her remembrance. “I am glad you cared sufficiently for me,” I said gravely, “to hold me in your thought at such a time. “Our command merely performed the work given it, but the necessity has cost us dearly. You are yet at General Sheridan's headquarters?” “Only temporarily, and simply because there has been no opportunity to get away, the movements of the army have been so hurried and uncertain. Since the battle Miss Minor has desired to remain until assured of Lieutenant Caton's permanent recovery. He was most severely wounded, and of course I could not well leave her here alone. Indeed I am her guest, as we depart to-morrow for her home, to remain indefinitely.” “But Miss Minor is, I understand, a native of this State?” “Her home is in the foot-hills of the Blue Ridge, along the valley of the Cowskin,--a most delightful old Southern mansion. I passed one summer there when a mere girl, previous to the war.” “But will it prove safe for you now?” “Oh, indeed, yes; everybody says so. It is entirely out of the track of both armies, and has completely escaped despoliation.”