"Slow praise is worth the most," he replied ambiguously. Harley showed disappointment. He craved a compliment and he expected it.
While they talked Prescott was watching Helen Harley out of the corner of his eye. Outside were the wild soldiers and war; here, between these narrow log walls, he beheld woman and peace. He was seized with a sudden sick distaste of the war, its endless battles, its terrible slaughter, and the doubt of what was to come after.
Harley claimed his attention, for he could not bear to be ignored. Moreover, he was wounded, and with all due deference to his sister, the visit was to him.
"Does either army mean to move?" he asked.
"I think so; I came to tell you about it," replied Prescott.
Harley at once was full of eagerness. This touched him on his strongest side. He was a warrior by instinct, and his interest in the affairs of the army could never be languid.
"Why, what news have you?" he asked quickly.
"Grant has come!"
He uttered an exclamation, but for a little while made no further comment. Like all the others, he seemed to accept the arrival of the new Northern leader as the signal for immediate action, and he wished to think over it.
"Grant," he said presently, "will attack us, and you don't know what it costs me to be lying here. I must be up and I will. Don't you see what is coming? Don't you see it, I say?"