“Yes, a wild country, I should judge, like that to the left, where we fought your batteries a month ago.”

“It is, indeed, a wild country as you say.  There are ravines there, and deep glens, fringed with almost impenetrable shrubbery, and deep down in these recesses flows many a winding water-course, lined and overarched with twisted foliage.  Are you skillful at threading a woodland labyrinth?”

“Yes; my surveying expeditions have schooled me pretty well.  Why do you ask?  Do you want me to guide you through the wilderness, in search of a hermit’s cave.”

“Perhaps; women have all manner of caprices, you know.  But I want you to pay attention to those landmarks.  Over yonder, there are some nooks that would do well to hide a runaway.  I have explored some of them myself, for I passed some months here formerly, before the war.  Poor Miranda’s family resided once in the little cottage where we are stopping now.  That is why I came from Richmond to spend a few days and be with Beverly.  I little thought that my coming would bring me to Miranda’s death-bed.  Look there, now:  you have a better view of where the forest ascends into the hilly ground.”

“Why are you so topographical to-day?  One would think you were tempting me to run away,” said Harold, smiling, as he followed her pointing finger with his eyes.

“No; I know you would not do that, because Beverly, you know, has pledged himself for your safe-keeping.”

“Very true; and I am therefore a closer prisoner than if I were loaded down with chains.  When do you return to Richmond?”

“I shall return on the day after to-morrow.  Beverly has been charged with an important service, and will be absent for several weeks.  But he can procure your parole, if you wish, and you can come to the old manor-house again.”

“I think I shall not accept parole,” replied Harold, thoughtfully.  “I must escape, if possible, for Arthur’s sake.  Beverly, of course, will release himself from all obligations about me, before he goes?”

“Yes, to-morrow; but you will be strictly guarded, unless you give parole.  See here, I have a little present for you; it is not very pretty, but it is useful.”

She handed him a small pocket-compass, set in a brass case.

“You can have this too,” she added, drawing a small but strong and sharp poignard from her bosom.  “But you must promise me never to use it except to save your life?”

“I will promise that cheerfully,” said Harold, as he received the precious gifts.

“To-morrow we will ride out again.  We will have the same horses that bear us so bravely now.  Do you note how strong and well-bred is the noble animal you ride?”

“Yes,” said Harold, patting the glorious arch of his steed’s neck.  “He’s a fine fellow, and fleet, I warrant.”

“Fleet as the winds.  There are few in this neighborhood that can match him.  Let us go home now.  You need not tell Beverly that I have given you presents.  And be ready to ride to-morrow at four o’clock precisely.”