She looked up, and his face was pale under its brownness. “I did not do that,” he said. “You’ll have reason to doubt me. I should have remained with you, no matter how it made me feel … I think of you,” and the trudging men tried to destroy his words with their canteen-clatter and multiple footsteps, “I think of you all the time. I have no peace, and no wish for any.” He drew her back from the gate. Two men were beside them, the two sad Ishmaels who’d been drinking at the well. “We’re obleeged,” one of them murmured. They began to pull their hats over their ragged manes as they went out to the road.

A man called, “Major, what men are those?” A group of officers was working past the advancing infantry, legs of horses sliding and scrambling in the shallow ditch. One animal sprang ahead of the others, and its rider nosed it in between the two soldiers and the marching, head-turning files. “What is your command?” the officer snapped. He had the cragged forehead, the ascetic mouth of a religious warrior; a Masonic ring glittered on one of his thin hands as they clenched the reins.

“Taunton’s foot-scouts, seh—”

The word went back to the other officers. “Taunton’s men, General. But they’ve fallen behind.”

“They should be beyond the head of the column, up with White.” You thought: here is one accustomed to speaking in courtrooms and political rallies. The voice seemed absurdly civil, rising out of this seasoned, tigerish horde. The general pushed close, past his jingling staff; his thin horse had two white stockings under the plastered clay. “I am General Gordon.” He bowed to the woman and to Dan. “General John B. Gordon, of Early’s Division. Have my men been committing any misdemeanor on your premises, sir?”

“No,” Bale said. “Not these men—they merely asked for a drink of water. But some of your foragers took my neighbor’s carriage horses.” His glance went from Irene, back to the Roman-faced general.

Gordon had the eyes of a young judge who dreams of senates, who stands forever through his dreams decrying in measured sentences the rascality of a thousand Catilines. He took off his little cap with its splintered bill, and he bowed again. “Madam, I regret that the necessities of military strife call for the temporary acquisition of your property. Rest assured that not one man of the Army of Northern Virginia would appropriate a stick you own, were it not for the cruel exigencies of—”

“Oh, go away!” she cried.