“Will there be a battle here?” she asked, recoiling from the deadly little bombs.
The Major said, stroking the down on his short upper lip:
“There will probably be a skirmish. I do not dare let you leave this spot till the first shot is fired. But as soon as you hear it you had better run as fast as you can”—he pointed with his field glasses—“to that little ridge over there, and lie down behind the rocks on the other side. Do you understand?”
“Yes—I think so.”
“And you’ll lie there very still until it is—over?”
“I understand. May I go immediately and hide there?”
“Not yet,” he said gently.
“Why?”
“Because your father is a Union man.... And you are Union, too, are you not?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling; “are you afraid of me?”