Head bent, she moved on in the shiftless, hopeless fashion of the sort of humanity she was representing, furtively taking her bearings and making such sidelong observations as she dared. To know the shortest way back to her horse might mean life to her. She understood that. Also she fully realized that she might at that very instant be under hostile observation. In her easily excited imagination, all around her the forest seemed to conceal a hundred malevolent eyes. She shivered slightly, wiped the perspiration from her brow with one small bare fist, and plodded on, clutching her lightwood to her rounded breast. And now at last she was nearing the open cabin door; and she must not hesitate, must show no suspicion. So she went in, dragging her clumsily-shod feet. A very young man in the uniform of a Confederate cavalry officer was seated inside before the empty fireplace of baked clay. He had a bad scar on his temple. She looked at him, simulating dull surprise; he rose and greeted her gracefully. "Howdy," she murmured in response, still staring. "Is this your house?" he asked. "Suh?" blankly. "Is this your house?" "I reckon," she nodded. "How come you-all in my house?" He replied with another question: "What were you doing in the woods?" "Lightwood," she answered briefly, stacking the fragrant splinters on the table. "Do you live here all alone?" "Reckon I'm alone when I live heah," sullenly. "What is your name?" He had a trick of coloring easily. "What may be _yoh_ name, suh?" she retorted with a little flash of Southern spirit, never entirely quenched even in such as she seemed to be. Genuine surprise brought the red back into his face and made it, worn as it was, seem almost handsome. The curious idea came to her that she had seen him before somewhere. At the same moment speech seemed to tremble on his lips; he hesitated, looked at her with a new and sudden keenness, and stood looking. "I expected to meet somebody here," he said at length. She did not seem to comprehend. "I expected to meet a woman here." "Who? Me?" incredulously. He looked her over carefully; looked at her dusty bare ankles, at her walnut-smeared face and throat. She seemed so small, so round-shouldered--so different from what he had expected. They had said that the woman he must find was pretty. "Was yuh-all fixin' to meet up with _me_?" she repeated with a bold laugh. "I--don't know," he said. "By the Eternal, I don't know, ma'am. But I'm going to find out in right smart time. Did you ever hear anybody speak Latin?" "Suh?" blankly; and the audacity faded. "Latin," he repeated, a trifle discomfited. "For instance, '_sic itur_.' Do you know what '_sic itur_' means?" "Sick--what, suh?" "'_Sic itur!_' Oh, Lord, she _is_ what she looks like!" he exclaimed in frank despair. He walked to the door, wheeled suddenly, came back and confronted her.