In all their lives they had exchanged so little speech! Yet from the first--from the first moment, when she had raised her gaze to him as he entered in his long, blue cloak, her silence had held a deeper meaning than her speech. And on that blessed night instinct broke the silence; yet, with every formal word exchanged, consciousness of the occult bond between them grew. But it was not until she thought him dead that she understood that it had been love--love unheralded, unexpected, incredible--love at the first confronting, the first encountering glance. And to the memory of that mystery she had been faithful from the night on which she believed he died. How had it been with him throughout these years? _How had it been with him?_ The silvery trumpets of the cavalry were still sounding as she mounted her horse before the colonel's tent and rode out into the splendour of the setting sun. On every side cavalrymen were setting toe to stirrup; troop after troop, forming by fours, trotted out to the crest of the hill where the Western light lay red across the furrowed grass. A blaze of brilliant color filled the road where an incoming Zouave regiment had halted, unslinging knapsacks, preparing to encamp, and the setting sun played over them in waves of fire, striking fiercely across their crimson fezzes and trousers. Through their gorgeous lines the cavalry rode, colonel and staff leading; and with them rode the Special Messenger, knee to knee with the chief trumpeter, who made his horse dance when he passed the gorgeous Zouave color guard, to show off the gridiron of yellow slashings across his corded and tasseled breast. And now another infantry regiment blocked the way--a heavy, blue column tramping in with its field music playing and both flags flying in the sunset radiance--the Stars and Stripes, with the number of the regiment printed in gold across crimson; and the State flag--white, an Indian and an uplifted sword on the snowy field: Massachusetts infantry. On they came, fifes skirling, drums crashing; the colonel of the Fourth Missouri gave them right of way, saluting their colors; the Special Messenger backed her horse and turned down along the column. Under the shadow of her visor her dark eyes widened with excitement as she skirted the halted cavalry, searching the intervals where the troop captains sat their horses, naked sabres curving up over their shoulder straps. "Not this one! Not _this_ one," her little heart beat hurriedly; and then, without warning, panic came, and she spurred up to the major of the first squadron. "Where is Captain Stanley?" Her voice almost broke. "With his troop, I suppose--'F,'" replied that officer calmly; and her heart leaped and the color flooded her face as she saluted, wheeled, and rode on in heavenly certainty.