The Special Messenger came out presently, and the two troopers rose to salute. All around her thundered the guns; sky and earth were trembling as she led the way through an orchard heavy with green fruit. A volunteer nurse was gathering the hard little apples for cooking; she turned, her apron full, as the Special Messenger passed, and the two women, both young, looked at one another through the sunshine--looked, and turned away, each to her appointed destiny.

Smoke, drifting back from the batteries, became thicker beyond the orchard. Not very far away the ruddy sparkle of exploding Confederate shells lighted the obscurity. Farther beyond the flames of the Union guns danced red through the cannon gloom.

Higher on the hill, however, the air became clearer; a man outlined in the void was swinging signal flags against the sky.

"Wait here," said the Special Messenger to Troopers Burke and Campbell, and they unslung carbines, and leaned quietly against their feeding horses, watching her climb the crest.

The crest was bathed in early sunlight, an aerial island jutting up above a smoky sea. From the terrible, veiled maelstrom roaring below, battle thunder reverberated and the lightning of the guns flared incessantly.

For a moment, poised, she looked down into the inferno, striving to penetrate the hollow, then glanced out beyond, over fields and woods where sunlight patched the world beyond the edges of the dark pall.

Behind her Captain West, field glasses leveled, seemed to be intent upon his own business.

She sat down on the grassy acclivity. Below her, far below, Confederate shells were constantly striking the base of the hill. A mile away black squares checkered a slope; beyond the squares a wood was suddenly belted with smoke, and behind her she heard the swinging signal flags begin to whistle and snap in the hill wind. She had sat there a long while before Captain West spoke to her, standing tall and thin beside her; some half-serious, half-humorous pleasantry--nothing for her to answer. But she looked up into his face, and he became silent, and after a while he moved away.

A little while later the artillery duel subsided and finally died out abruptly, leaving a comparative calm, broken only by slow and very deliberate picket firing.

The signal men laid aside their soiled flags and began munching hardtack; Captain West came over, bringing his own rations to offer her, but she refused with a gesture, sitting there, chin propped in her palms, elbows indenting her knees.

"Are you not hungry or thirsty?" he asked.

"No."

He had carelessly seated himself on the natural rocky parapet, spurred boots dangling over space. For one wild instant she hoped he might slip and fall headlong--and his blood be upon the hands of his Maker.

Sitting near one another they remained silent, restless-eyed, brooding above the battle-scarred world. As he rose to go he spoke once or twice to her with that haunting softness of voice which had begun to torture her; but her replies were very brief; and he said nothing more.

At intervals during the afternoon orderlies came to the hill; one or two general officers and their staffs arrived for brief consultations, and departed at a sharp gallop down hill.

About three o'clock there came an unexpected roar of artillery from the Union left; minute by minute the racket swelled as battery after battery joined in the din.

Behind her the signal flags were fluttering wildly once more; a priest, standing near her, turned nodding:

"Our boys will be going in before sundown," he said quietly.

"Are you Father Corby, chaplain of the Excelsiors?"

"Yes, madam."

He lifted his hat and went away knee-deep through the windy hill-grasses; white butterflies whirled around him as he strode, head on his breast; the swift hill swallows soared and skimmed along the edges of the smoke as though inviting him. From her rocky height she saw the priest enter the drifting clouds.

A man going to his consecrated duty. And she? Where lay her duty? And why was she not about it?

"Captain West!" she called in a clear, hard voice.

Seated on his perch above the abyss, the officer lowered his field glasses and turned his face. Then he rose and moved over to where she was sitting. She stood up at once.

"Will you walk as far as those trees with me?" she asked. There was a strained ring to her voice.

He wheeled, spoke briefly to a sergeant, then, with that subtle and pleasant deference which characterized him, he turned and fell into step beside her.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked softly.

"No.... God help us both."

He halted. At a nod from her, two troopers standing beside their quietly browsing horses, cocked carbines. The sharp, steel click of the locks was perfectly audible through the din of the cannon.

[Illustration: "Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty."]

The signal officer looked at her; and her face was whiter than his.

"You are Warren Moray--I think," she said.

His eyes glimmered like a bayonet in sunlight; then the old half-gay, half-defiant smile flickered over his face.

"Special Messenger," he said, "you come as a dark envoy for me. Now I understand your beauty--Angel of Death."

"Are you Major Moray?" She could scarcely speak.

He smiled, glanced at the two troopers, and shrugged his shoulders.

Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty; and his pistol glimmered in her hand.

"For God's sake don't touch your sabre-hilt!" she said.... "Unclasp your belt! Let it fall!"

"Can't you give me a chance with those cavalrymen?"

"I can't. You know it."

"Yes; I know."

There was a silence; the loosened belt fell to the grass, the sabre clashing. He looked coolly at the troopers, at her, and then out across the smoke.

"_This_ way?" he said, as though to himself. "I never thought it." His voice was quiet and pleasant, with a slight touch of curiosity in it.

"How did you know?" he asked simply, turning to her again.

She stood leaning back against a tree, trying to keep her eyes fixed on him through the swimming weakness invading mind and body.

"I suppose this ends it all," he added absently; and touched the sabre lying in the grass with the tip of his spurred boot.

"Did you look for any other ending, Mr. Moray?"

"Yes--I did."

"How could you, coming into our ranks with a dead man's commission and forged papers? How long did you think it could last? Were you mad?"

He looked at her wistfully, smiled, and shook his head.