“That is like him. Of all men I ever knew in my life, I think best of Richard. Not because he is my brother, but because he is better, larger-minded, braver, than any other man I ever knew. I had a letter from him by flag of truce a fortnight ago and managed to reply by the same means. He has no doubt got my letter by this time. I have so many things to ask you, so many things to tell you, the chief of which is how much I love you; and I only have one hour with you.” And then Angela, with tender sophistry, replied: “I would not miss the chance of spending this one hour with you; but surely I can be near you--nearer than at Harrowby.” “Yes,” answered Neville gravely; “we shall be fighting probably, if not to-night, certainly from early in the morning, and a soldier cannot look beyond the present hour. If I am alive, we shall meet again within the week. If I am killed, you will return at once to Harrowby.” Angela caught Neville’s arm. The thought of a world without him staggered her. “Don’t say that,” she cried breathlessly, and then stopped. In another moment the tragedy of Richard’s death would have burst from her involuntarily. Neville, thinking he saw in Angela’s face and words and tone that a love for him, like his love for her, had been born in her soul, caught her to his breast in rapture. The hour passed so quickly to Neville it seemed as if they had but scarcely exchanged their first confidences when it was time for him to go. He gave Angela his last instructions--to remain for at least three days, or until she should hear from him, at the little farmhouse where she had spent the night. “I shall do exactly as you say,” answered Angela quietly. “And you may depend upon it that I shan’t fall into a panic and run away.” “I know that you will never fall into a panic,” answered Neville, smiling. “I think the Southern women are very like the great captain who asked when he was a boy, ‘What is fear?’ I don’t think you know as much about fear as I do.” Then, as the moment of parting approached, their voices and eyes grew grave, and presently Neville kissed Angela in the shade of the pine trees. They walked through the purple shadows of the late afternoon back to the road where the carriage still stood and the orderly led Neville’s horse up and down. Farley, consumed with chagrin and impatience, still maintained a gentlemanlike outside. Neville thanked him with sincere gratitude, and Angela added some graceful phrases without taking any more interest in him than in the orderly, a fact which Farley bitterly realized. Neville put Angela in the carriage, and, laying a letter upon her lap, said to her: “Good-by. Keep this letter, but do not open it unless you hear bad news of me. You will hear something from me within three days, in any event.” Farley turned his back and the orderly looked hard in the opposite direction as Neville kissed Angela for the last time.