The man shook his head stubbornly:
"No—it's the highest patriotism. My Commander is brave enough to dare the authorities at Washington for the good of his country. The sooner this farce under Pope ends the better—no man of second rate ability can win against the great Generals of the South."
The girl's keen brown eyes looked steadily into his and her lips trembled.
"I call it treachery—the betrayal of his country for his selfish ambitions! I'm surprised that you sympathize with him."
John frowned, was silent and then turned to her with a smile:
"Let's not talk about it, dear. The day's too beautiful. We're alone together. This is not your battle—nor mine—it's Pope's—let him fight it out. I love you—that's all I want to think about to-day."
The golden brown curls were slowly shaken:
"It is your battle and it's mine—O John dear, I'm heartsick over it! The President's anguish clouded the morning for me, but the thought of you made me forget. Now I'm scared. You've surprised and shocked me."
"Nonsense, dear!" he pleaded.
She looked at him with quick, eager yearning.