“I must order your father to remain at home,” he smiled.
“My father is not one to take orders; he gives them,” she said, proudly.
Captain Allen looked up at her, the expression of admiration in his eyes deepened. “I think it likely,” he said with a nod. “Well, I don’t always take them so meekly myself. Good-by. Do you require your prisoner to report at all?” He held out his hand.
“Good-by—I—don’t know: No.”
He smiled up at her. “You don’t know all your privileges. Good-by. I always heard you Yankees were cruel to prisoners.”
It was said in such a way that Ruth did not mind it, and did not even wish to fire back. The next minute Steve was on his horse, cantering away without looking back, and curiously, Ruth, still seated on her leafy perch, was conscious of a feeling of blankness.
“I hate that man,” she said to herself, “he has been doing nothing but make fun of me. But he is amusing—and awfully handsome. And what a splendid rider! I wonder if he will have the audacity to come back?”
As she reached the ground she saw her father far across the field, coming up the same road along which her visitor was going away. When the two men met they stopped and had a little talk, during which Ruth watched with curiosity to see if Captain Allen would return. He did not, however. It was only a moment and then he cantered on, leaving Ruth with a half disappointed feeling, and wondering if he had told her father of their meeting.
When Major Welch arrived, Ruth waited with some impatience to discover if he had been told. He mentioned that he had met Mr. Allen and thought him a striking-looking and rather nice fellow; had invited him to return, but he said he could not, that he had seen her, and would call again.
“He is a gentlemanly fellow, but is said to be one of the most uncontrolled men about here, the leader in all the lawlessness that goes on.”