The willow tops were tossing violently. She watched them, murmuring: "Oh! standing on this desecrated mold, Methinks that I behold, Lifting her bloody daisies up to God, Spring--kneeling on the sod, And calling with the voice of all her rills Upon the ancient hills To fall and crush the tyrants and the slaves Who turn her meads to graves." Her whisper ceased; she sat, lips parted, eyes fastened on the willows. Suddenly a horseman broke through the thicket, then another, another, carbines slung, sabres jingling, rider following rider at a canter, sitting their horses superbly--the graceful, reckless, matchless cavalry under whose glittering gray curtain the most magnificent army that the South ever saw was moving straight into the heart of the Union. Fascinated, she watched an officer dismount, advance to the house, enter the open doorway, and disappear. Minute after minute passed; the troopers quietly sat their saddles; the frightened chickens ventured back, roaming curiously about these strange horses that stood there stamping, whisking their tails, tossing impatient heads in the sunshine. Presently the officer reappeared and walked straight to the barn, a trooper dismounting to follow him. They remained in the barn for a few moments only, then hurried out again, heads raised, scanning the low circling hills. Ah! Now they caught sight of her! She saw the officer come swinging up the hillside, buttons, spurs, and sword hilt glittering in the sun; she watched his coming with a calm almost terrible in its breathless concentration. Nearer, nearer he came, mounting the easy slope with a quick, boyish swing; and now he had halted, slouch hat aloft; and she heard his pleasant, youthful voice: "I reckon you haven't seen a stranger pass this way, ma'am, have you?" "There was a lady came last night," she answered innocently. "That's the one!" he said, in his quick, eager voice. "Can you tell me where she went?" "She said she was going west." "Has she gone?" "She left the house when I did," answered the girl simply. "Riding!" he exclaimed. "She came on a hoss, I reckon?" "Yes." "And she rode west?" "I saw her going west," she nodded, resuming her knitting. The officer turned toward the troopers below, drew out a handkerchief and whipped the air with it for a second or two, then made a sweeping motion with his arm, and drawing his sabre struck it downward four times. Instantly the knot of troopers fell apart, scattering out and spurring westward in diverging lines; the officer watched them until the last horse had disappeared, then he lazily sheathed his sabre, unbuckled a field glass, adjusted it, and seated himself on the grass beside her. "Have you lived here long?" he asked pleasantly, setting the glass to his eye and carefully readjusting the lens. "No." "Your father is living, is he not?" She did not reply.