The mutterings of war came ever nearer and nearer to Lake Champlain and crowded out all other thoughts and interests.
Morgan waited two weeks for a sight of his Lady. Nobody came to tell him the news, so he could only hope the Captain would recover and need to go for an airing after a while.
One day the orderly, a mannerly youth whom horses liked, groomed him so carefully that the old horse guessed the airing he had looked forward to was about to take place.
He was scarcely able to control his impatience as he stood at the step waiting. He was sure she would see him this time, and he trembled with longing, and the hope that she had not forgotten him.
She came down the steps slowly, the Captain, a little weak still, leaning on her arm, yet not entirely for support—a little for the joy of laying his thin, white hand on her strong, steady one.
At last, as her husband spoke, she raised her eyes.
“This is the horse I’ve written you so much about, my Hollyhock!”
She knew him at once!
“Why, my dear! ’Tis the very horse that won you for me!” she cried, joyfully; she might forget a person—his lady—but never a horse. “Why did you not tell me so before? I have asked so often about him, and ’twould have brought me to Vermont before this!”