To Virginia it was her own bridal over again with the fear
of war gone from her, and the quiet happiness she wanted stretching out
into the future. To Dan there was first his own honour to be won, and then
only Betty and himself--Betty and himself under next year's mistletoe
together.
"Well, well," sighed the Governor, and came back regretfully to the
present. "It's a good place we're thinking of, and I reckon you're sorry
enough you left it before you were obliged to. We all make mistakes, my
boy, and the fortunate ones are those who live long enough to unmake them."
His warm smile shone out suddenly, and without waiting for a reply, he
began to ask for news of Jack Powell and his comrades, all of whom he knew
by name. "I was talking to Colonel Burwell about you the other day," he
added presently, "and he gave you a fighting record that would do honour to
the Major."
"He's a nice old chap," responded Dan, easily, for in the first years of
the Army of Northern Virginia the question of rank presented itself only
upon the parade ground, and beyond the borders of the camp a private had
been known to condescend to his own Colonel. "A gentleman fights for his
country as he pleases, a plebeian as he must," the Governor would have
explained with a touch of his old oratory. "He's a nice old chap himself,
but, by George, the discipline fits like a straight-jacket," pursued Dan,
as he finished his coffee. "Why, here we are three miles below Winchester
in a few threadbare tents, and they make as much fuss about our coming into
town as if we were the Yankees themselves.
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