“If you are wounded, you will send for me. Promise me; I beg you on my knees. You will send for me; say it or I shall be always wretched. Do you want to kill me, Dan? Promise.” “I shall send for you. There, will that do? It would be almost worth dying to have you come to me. Would you kiss me then, I wonder?” “Then and now,” she answered passionately. “Oh, I sometimes think that wars are fought to torture women! Hold me in your arms again or my heart will break. I have missed Virginia so--never a day passes that I do not see her coming through the rooms and hear her laugh--such a baby laugh, do you remember it?” “I remember everything that was near to you, beloved.” “If you could have seen her on her wedding day, when she came down in her pink crepe shawl and white bonnet that I had trimmed, and looked back, smiling at us for the last time. I have almost died with wanting her again--and now papa--papa! They loved life so, and yet both are dead, and life goes on without them.” “My poor love, poor Betty.” “But not so poor as if I had lost you, too,” she answered; “and if you are wounded even a little remember that you have promised, and I shall come to you. Prince Rupert and I will pass the lines together. Do you know that I have Prince Rupert, Dan?” “Keep him, dear, don't let him get into the army.” “He lives in the woods night and day, and when he comes to pasture I go after him while Uncle Shadrach watches the turnpike. When the soldiers come by, blue or gray, we hide him behind the willows in the brook. They may take the chickens--and they do--but I should kill the man who touched Prince Rupert's bridle.” “You should have been a soldier, Betty.” She shook her head. “Oh, I couldn't shoot any one in cold blood--as you do--that's different. I'd have to hate him as much--as much as I love you.” “How much is that?” “A whole world full and brimming over; is that enough?” “Only a little world?” he answered. “Is that all?” “If I told you truly, you would not believe me,” she said earnestly. “You would shake your head and say: 'Poor silly Betty, has she gone moon mad?'” Catching her in his arms again, he kissed her hair and mouth and hands and the ruffle at her throat. “Poor silly Betty,” he repeated, “where is your wisdom now?” “You have turned it into folly, sad little wisdom that it was.” “Well, I prefer your folly,” he said gravely. “It was folly that made you love me at the first; it was pure folly that brought you out to me that night at Chericoke--but the greatest folly of all is just this, my dear.” “But it will keep you safe.” “Who knows? I may get shot to-morrow. There, there, I only said it to feel your arms about me.” Her hands clung to him and the tears, rising to her lashes, fell fast upon his coat. “Oh, don't let me lose you,” she begged. “I have lost so much--don't let me lose you, too.” “Living or dead, I am yours, that I swear.”