“Excuse me, madam, but I think the gentleman who came in with you got left. I saw him get off the omnibus with a bundle in his hand and run after the car, but he missed it.” “Then I don’t know what to do,” I said in despair to the conductor. “I haven’t a ticket, and I haven’t any money.” “Where are you going?” he asked kindly. “I don’t know!” I gasped. The conductor looked blank. I explained the manner of my starting to him. “Do you know where your husband’s command is stationed?” “No, I don’t know that either. You see,” I explained, “as he belongs to the cavalry it is much harder to keep up with his whereabouts than if he were in the infantry.” “What division is he in?” “General Rooney Lee’s.” “Do you know what brigade?” “Chambliss’s.” “All right. I know what to do with you, then. You stop at Milford. Your husband will come on the freight this afternoon--at least, that’s what I expect him to do. Your best plan is to wait at Milford for him.” When we reached Milford the conductor took me out and introduced me to the landlord of the tavern, and I was shown into what I suppose might be called by grace the reception-room. It was literally on the ground floor, being built on native brown earth. The ceiling was low, the room was full of smoke, and rough-looking men sat about with pipes in their mouths. I asked for a private room, and was shown into one upstairs, but this was so cold that I went out into the porch which overhung the street and walked up and down in the sun to keep myself warm. Very soon the gong sounded for dinner. I went down, sat with a rough crowd around a long table, swallowed what I could, and went back to my promenade on the porch. After a time an ambulance drove up and stopped under the porch, and an orderly sang out: “Adjutant of the Thirteenth here?” I leaned over the railing. “I am his wife,” I said. He saluted. “Can you tell me where the adjutant is, ma’am?” “He will be here on the next train.” “That might be midnight, ma’am, or it might be to-morrow. My orders were to meet the adjutant here about this time.” “The adjutant got left by the regular passenger. But a freight was to leave Richmond soon after the passenger, and the adjutant will come on that.” “The freight?” the orderly looked doubtful. “Maybe so.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “Well, ma’am, all trains are uncertain, and freight trains more so. And sometimes freight trains are mighty pertickular about what kind of freight they carry.”