I was so startled that I found no word to question her.
"There is to be a battle," she said in a low voice. "Men will fight in the North. I do not know when. But there will be strange uniforms in the woods—not British red-coats.... And I know you, also, are to be there." Her voice sank to a whisper.... "And there," she breathed, "you shall meet Death ... or Love."
When presently my composure returned to me, and I saw her still regarding me across the apple-bough, I felt inclined to laugh.
"When did this strange knowledge come to you?" I asked, smiling my unbelief.
"The day I first heard your voice at my cousin Bowman's—waking me in my bed—and I came out and saw you in the eye of the rising sun. And you were not alone. And instantly I saw a strange battle that is not yet fought—and I saw you—the way you stood—there—dark and straight in a blinding sheet of yellow light made by cannon!... The world was aflame, and I saw you, tall and dark, shadowed against the blaze—but you did not fall.
"Then I came to my senses, and heard the bell ringing, and asked you what it meant. Do you remember?"
"Yes."
She released the apple-bough and came under it toward me, through a snow of falling blossoms.
"It will surely happen—this battle," she said. "I knew it when I saw you, and that other figure near you, where I sat your stolen horse and heard you shout at me in anger, and turned to look at you—then, also, I caught a glimpse of that other figure near you."
"What other figure?"