He said slowly:  “He is a coward.  I have known that for a long time.  But most men are.  The disgrace lies in acting like one. . .  And I—­that is why I didn’t run in battle. . . .  Because, that first day, when they fired on our waggons, I saw him riding in the road behind us.  Nobody else suspected him to be within miles.  I saw him.  And—­he galloped the wrong way.  And that is why I—­did what I did!  He shocked me into doing it. . . .  But I never before have told a soul.  I would not tell even you—­but the man, yesterday, put himself beyond the pale.  And it can make no difference now, for he carries the mark into his grave.”

He shuddered slightly.  “God forbid I hold him up to scorn.  I might, this very moment, be what he is now.  No man may know—­no man can foretell how he will bear himself in time of stress.  I have a sorry record of my own.  Battle is not the only conflict that makes men or cowards.”

He stood silent, gazing into space.  Letty’s tears dried as she watched him.

“Have you seen—­her?” she asked tremulously.

“Yes.”

The girl sighed and looked down.

“I am so sorry about Colonel Arran . . . .  I believe, somehow, he will get well.”

“Do you really believe it, Letty?”

“Yes.  The wound is clean.  I have seen many recover who were far more dangerously hurt. . . .  His age is against him, but I do truly believe he will get well.”

He thought a moment.  “Have you heard about Stephen Craig?”

“They have telegraphed to his affianced—­a Miss Lent.  You probably know her.  Her brother was killed a day or two ago.  Poor little thing!  I believe that Miss Lent is coming.  Mrs. Craig wishes to take her boy North as soon as he can be moved.  And, unless the wound becomes infected, I don’t believe he is going to die.”

“Where is he?”

“At Paigecourt.  Many transports are waiting at the landing. . . .  They say that there was another severe engagement near there yesterday, and that our army is victorious.  I have heard, also, that we were driven in, and that your regiment lost a great many men and horses . . .  I don’t know which is true,” she added, listlessly picking at her frayed gown; “only, as we haven’t heard the guns to-day, it seems to me that if we had lost the battle we’d have Confederate cannon thundering all around us.”

“That seems reasonable,” he admitted absently. . . .  “Is Dr. Benton here still?”

“No,” she said softly.

“Where is he?”

“At Paigecourt.  I asked him to go because he is the best doctor I ever knew.  He came down here to see me; he is not detailed for duty under contract.  I asked him to go and see Stephen Craig.  He grumbled—­and went.”

She looked up shyly at Berkley, smiled for the first time, then her pale young face grew beautiful and solemn.

“You dear girl,” he said impulsively, taking both her hands and kissing them.  “I am so glad for you—­and for him.  I knew it would come true.”