“It has been blessed by Father Mulvey,” I said. “Wear it about your neck. Maybe it will bring you back safe.” I was leaning upon the horse’s neck, crying as if my heart would break. General Stuart’s own eyes were dim. “Good-by,” I said, “and if you can send Dan back I thank you for us both--I thank you anyway for thinking of it; but--the South and his duty first. Good-by, and God bless you, General Stuart!” That was the last time I ever saw him, the last time that knightly hand clasped mine. Before he rode away he said some cheerful, hopeful words, and looked back at me with the glint of merry mischief in his eyes, threatening to tell Dan Grey that I was losing my good repute for bravery. Dan did not come back to say good-by. I had a little note which he contrived to send me in some way. It was only a hasty scrawl, full of good-bys and God bless yous. After saying good-by to General Stuart I returned to the house. Esten Cooke sat at a table writing. He was preparing some official papers for General Stuart, I think, and had been left behind for that purpose. I understood him to answer one of my questions to the effect that he was going to follow the cavalry presently. “Colonel Cooke,” I asked humbly enough, for I was ready then to take information and advice from anybody, “how long do you think it will be before the army comes back?” “Can’t say, madam.” “Would you advise me to wait here until its return?” “Can’t say, madam.” “Would you advise me to go to Richmond?” “Madam, I would advise you to go to Richmond.” “You think then it will be some time before the army returns?” “I can’t say, madam?” I felt like shaking him and asking: “What _can_ you say?” He may have been a brave soldier and written nice books and all that, but I think John Esten Cooke was a very dull, disagreeable man. I waited several days, but as I got nothing further from Dan than the little note--which was bare of advice because, perhaps, he didn’t have time to write more, and because he may not have known how to advise me--I took John Esten Cooke’s advice and went to Richmond. I stopped there only a very short time, and then went on to Petersburg, where mother was. Reunion with her was compensation for many troubles, and then, too, she needed me. She had not heard from Milicent since my departure for Culpeper. Then a letter had reached us through the agency of Mr. Cridland, in which Milicent had stated her purpose of coming to us as soon as she could get a pass--a thing it was every day becoming more difficult to secure--for she was determined upon reaching us before the cold weather came again. Since that letter there had been absolute silence.