"It's just as I tell you, child, but I'll hope for the best. Be eyes and ears for me to-day and you may help me."
The agony of his face and the deep note of tragedy in his voice had taken the joy out of her heart. She threw the feeling off with an effort.
"What has it all to do with my love!" she cried with a toss of her pretty head as she sprang into the saddle for the gallop to Alexandria.
The cool, bracing air of this first day of September, 1862, was like wine. The dew was yet heavy on the tall grass by the roadside and a song was singing in her heart that made all other music dumb.
John had dismounted and was standing beside the road, the horse's bridle hanging on his arm in the very position he had stood and looked into her soul that day.
She leaped to the ground without waiting for his help and sprang into his arms.
"I like you better with that bronzed look—you're handsomer than ever," she sighed at last.
His answer was another kiss, to which he added:
"No amount of sunburn could make you any prettier, dear—you've been perfect from the first."
"Your General is here?" Betty asked.