"Lola, you are splendid!" he cried, "I wouldn't have you a little girl again. You are far ahead of any girl I know."
"How about Dorothy Hamilton?" she asked, mockingly.
"Dorothy Hamilton be hanged! How did you and she part?"
"Good friends. She and I correspond. After I saved Randolph, she could not do enough for me."
"Then she has some heart. I am glad to hear it," answered Lawrence, bitterly. "When I saved her from being crushed beneath the horse's feet, she rewarded me by calling me a miserable Yankee."
"Maybe she will be good to you some time," said Lola. "Remember how she used to cut me."
"I reckon I do," said Lawrence, "and it used to make me tearing mad. Lola, of all the girls I used to associate with, you are the only one who does not pass me with looks of contempt; but your friendship and sympathy are worth all I have lost—yes, a thousand times more."
"Don't magnify my importance; but I shall always be your friend, Lawrence," she said, simply.
They then fell to talking of other things, and Lawrence had to tell her of all his experiences. When he told her of his capture by the guerrillas, and how he had been ordered to be put to death, she shuddered and turned so pale he thought she was going to faint.
"Stop! Stop!" she gasped. "It was awful—awful! I cannot bear it."