Each company tossed its rifles into place, dressed down the line, marked step for a moment, and then flashed its hundred legs in unison to the band. The yellow field of corn once more wavered in the wind and blew slowly forward.
Ellen and Ralston sat motionless in the hansom as the battalions tramped by. At the head of his company marching with drawn sword, his head slightly bent and his gaze straight before him, came Steadman, but his eyes sought them not. The hospital corps with their stretchers brought up the rear and disappeared through the gates. The commissariat wagons followed stragglingly. The band could be heard dimly in the distance.
Then the whistle blew again and the man who had opened the gates ran out and closed them. The Twelfth had gone—with a full quota of officers.
"The Chilsworth," said Ralston, through the manhole.
The driver once more hitched the reins over the back of his moribund beast, and they started uptown.
"Dick," said Ellen suddenly, in a whisper, "Dick!"
He turned toward her inquiringly.
"Yes, Ellen?"
"I—I was mistaken last night," she said, coloring and looking away from him.
"What do you mean?" cried Ralston, his heart leaping.