'I am not hard-hearted. I am indifferent, that is all—what I have been made by others.'
'What others?'
'That is my secret. But, here come visitors,' said she, rising and presenting her hand. 'And let us part, Jerry, as I hope we shall meet again—good friends.'
In a few minutes Jerry was tooling back to the camp again.
'Her manner is deuced mysterious,' thought he, in great perplexity. 'What can she mean? She spoke of herself as "unworthy," too. Has she a husband somewhere, after all? Oh, the devil! That can't be.'
'Where have you been, Jerry?' asked Dalton, who was again loitering in front of the guard-hut at the camp gate, with a cigar between his lips, and saw his friend coming slowly along, with the reins dropped on his horse's neck.
'I have been at Chilcote Grange,' said Jerry, almost sulkily.
'The deuce you have,' said Dalton, with surprise.
'There is nothing new in that.'
'Calling, were you?'