Fitz Hugh saluted, sprang into his saddle and galloped away. A few minutes later the whole column was plodding on silently toward its bloody goal. To a civilian, unaccustomed to scenes of war, the tranquillity of these men would have seemed very wonderful. Many of the soldiers were still munching the hard bread and raw pork of their meagre breakfasts, or drinking the cold coffee with which they had filled their canteens the day previous. Many more were chatting in an undertone, grumbling over their sore feet and other discomfits, chaffing each other, and laughing. The general bearing, however, was grave, patient, quietly enduring, and one might almost say stolid. You would have said, to judge by their expressions, that these sunburned fellows were merely doing hard work, and thoroughly commonplace work, without a prospect of adventure, and much less of danger. The explanation of this calmness, so brutal perhaps to the eye of a sensitive soul, lies mainly in the fact that they were all veterans, the survivors of marches, privations, maladies, sieges, and battles. Not a regiment present numbered four hundred men, and the average was not above three hundred. The whole force, including artillery and cavalry, might have been about twenty-five hundred sabres and bayonets. At the beginning of the march Waldron fell into the rear of his staff and mounted orderlies. Then the boy who had fled from Fitz Hugh dropped out of the tramping escort, and rode up to his side. "Well, Charlie," said Waldron, casting a pitying glance at the yet pallid face and anxious eyes of the youth, "you have had a sad fright. I make you very miserable." "He has found us at last," murmured Charlie in a tremulous soprano voice. "What did he say?" "We are to talk to-morrow. He acts as my aide-de-camp to-day. I ought to tell you frankly that he is not friendly." "Of course, I knew it," sighed Charlie, while the tears fell. "It is only one more trouble--one more danger, and perhaps it may pass. So many _have_ passed." "Did you tell him anything to quiet him? Did you tell him that we were married?" "But we are not married yet, Charlie. We shall be, I hope." "But you ought to have told him that we were. It might stop him from doing something--mad. Why didn't you tell him so? Why didn't you think of it?" "My dear little child, we are about to have a battle. I should like to carry some honor and truth into it." "Where is he?" continued Charlie, unconvinced and unappeased. "I want to see him. Is he at the head of the column? I want to speak to him, just one word. He won't hurt me." She suddenly spurred her horse, wheeled into the fields, and dashed onward. Fitz Hugh was lounging in his saddle, and sombrely surveying the passing column, when she galloped up to him. "Carrol!" she said, in a choked voice, reining in by his side, and leaning forward to touch his sleeve.