"No—no—nothing fresh from the army. I heard a rumor to-day about Miss Fisher—that she is engaged to be married."
"I am not surprised—the contrary would surprise me."
Seymour looked alarmed. "Had you heard it, too?"
"No; but from what I have seen of 'Sister Millie,' as they call her about here, I should say she is a fine recruiting officer."
There was an interval of silence, while Ashley swung back and forth in the hammock and Seymour sat in a clumped posture on the camp-stool, his hands on his knees, and his gloomy eyes on the square toes of his new boots. At length he resumed:—
"Did you ever hear of a fellow that hails from somewhere near here named Lloyd?"
"Lawrence Lloyd?"
"That's the man," said Seymour.
"I've heard of him. That's the Lloyd place a little down the river,—old brick house, but all torn down now—burned by Gibdon's men; good-sized park, or 'grove,' as they call it. That's the man, is it? Commanded some Rebel cavalry in the Bear-grass Creek skirmish."
"Fought like a bear with a sore head—mad about his house, I suppose."