Walking with her husband and son that last lovely evening before the regiment left, a hand of each clasped in her own, she strove very hard to keep up the gaiety of appearances, tried with all her might to keep back the starting tears, steady the lip that quivered, the hands that trembled locked in theirs.

They were walking together in a secluded lane that led from behind the Farm Hospital barns to a little patch of woodland through which a clear stream sparkled, a silent, intimate, leafy oasis amid an army-ridden desert, where there was only a cow to stare at them, knee deep in young mint, only a shy cardinal bird to interrupt them with its exquisite litany.

Their talk had been of Paige and Marye, of Paigecourt and the advisability of selling all stock, dismissing the negroes, and closing the place with the exception of the overseer’s house.  And Celia had made arrangements to attend to it.

“I certainly do despise travelling,” she said, “but while I’m so near, I reckon I’d better use my pass and papers and try to go through to Paigecourt.  It’s just as well to prepare for the impossible, I suppose.”

Colonel Craig polished his eye-glasses, adjusted them, and examined the official papers that permitted his wife to go to her estate, pack up certain family papers, discharge the servants, close the house, and return through the Union lines carrying only personal baggage.

He said without enthusiasm:  “It’s inside their lines.  To go there isn’t so difficult, but how about coming back?  I don’t want you to go, Celia.”

She explained in detail that there would be no difficulty—­a little proudly, too, when she spoke of her personal safety among her own people.

“I understand all that,” he said patiently, “but nobody except the commander-in-chief knows where this army is going.  I don’t want you to be caught in the zone of operations.”

She flushed up with a defiant little laugh.  “The war isn’t going to Paigecourt, anyway,” she said.

He smiled with an effort.  “I am not sure, dearest.  All I am sure of is that we march in the morning, and go aboard ship at Alexandria.  I don’t know where we are expected to land, or where we are going to march after we do land.” . . .  He smiled again, mischievously.  “Even if you believe that a Yankee army is not likely to get very far into Virginia, Paigecourt is too near Richmond for me to feel entirely sure that you may not have another visit from Stephen and me before you start North.”

“Listen to the Yankee!” she cried, laughing gaily to hide the sudden dimness in her blue eyes.  “My darling Yankee husband is ve’y absurd, and he doesn’t suspect it!  Why! don’t you perfec’ly ridiculous Zouaves know that you’ll both be back in New York befo’ I am—­and all tired out keeping up with the pace yo’ general sets you?”

But when it was time to say good-bye once more, her limbs grew weak and she leaned heavily on husband and son, her nerveless feet dragging across the spring turf.