"Rampageous; and his daughter is making a Confederate flag—for me. We'll stop there and get it as we pass to-morrow."
Early the next morning our troop was marshalled on the turn-pike about a mile from the house. From the rear veranda Old Master could see the flashing of their steel. He stood there gazing until Bob came out from breakfast.
"One moment," said the old man, stepping into the hall. "You do not go with my curse, but with my wounded love. There, sir, not a word from you."
They shook hands, but did not look into each other's eyes. Old Miss, Miss May and Mr. Clem walked with him to the gate. The parting was not sad, for no one of us, except Mr. Clem, attached much importance to the war cry, the bugle and the drum. Young Master mounted first, and then, turning to me, said: "Dan, I have forgotten something. Run up stairs and get my Horace. You can overtake me."
When I came down, Titine was standing alone at the gate. "They are about to leave you," she said, laughing.
"It would delight me to be left if I thought you—"
"Too late for nonsense, now, Dan."
"You have made it too late for sense, Titine."
"Of course you blame me with everything."
"No, but I blame you with one thing, which, after all, is nearly everything—the death of my heart. But why talk of heart to a heartless creature—Titine, let me kiss you."