Sitting there by the shaking window, with the daguerreotype in her clasped hands, she looked at the summer sky, now all stained and polluted by smoke; the uproar of the guns seemed to be shaking her reason, the tumult within her brain had become chaos, and she scarcely knew what she did as, drawing on both gauntlets and fastening her soft riding hat, she passed through the house to the porch, where the staff officers were already climbing into their saddles. But the general, catching sight of her face at the door, swung his horse and dismounted, and came clanking back into the deserted hallway where she stood.
“What is it?” he asked, lowering his voice so she could hear him under the din of the cannonade.
“The Moray matter.... I want two troopers detailed.”
“Have you nailed him?”
“Yes—I—” She faltered, staring fascinated at the distorted face, marred by a sabre to the hideousness of doom itself. “Yes, I think so. I want two troopers—Burke and Campbell, of the escort, if you don’t mind——”
“You can have a regiment! Is it far?”
“No.” She steadied her voice with an effort.
“Near my headquarters?”
“Yes.”
“Damnation!” he blazed out, and the oath seemed to shock her to self-mastery.