Bale told them, calling through the white haze which drifted between: “There’s a pump around in back. Tell them they’re all welcome.” He went up the path and into the house. It was cooler the instant he had stepped inside the silent, brick-walled rooms. Somewhere a clock was ticking … This house, my house in Gettysburg. Grandfather lived here, he lay in that room in his coffin … And now the memory was a legend, and nothing else.

He was drinking, in the kitchen, when he heard somebody tramping up on the front porch; the mosquito-bar door rattled as a fist knocked against it. Still in his damp undershirt, he went through the house. Framed against the glare outside was a gaunt, bearded man in uniform, his sword scabbard caught up in his gloved hand. “Hello,” his nasal voice was calling, “hello, inside—”

“Yes?” Dan asked.

The man reached for the door handle. “Sorry to disturb you, my friend,” and then he was inside. An officer, with dull gilt leaves in his shoulder-straps, and the meal of dust lying over him. He bent forward, whispering as he nodded toward the staircase. “I make bold to ask your momentary kindness, sir. If I shall not disturb your family.”

“There is no one else here.”

He nodded rapidly; his hazel eyes peered sadly out of caves in his yellow skull; there was something of a schoolmaster about him, and something of a grim wood-chopper as well. “Glenn’s the name. Major Titus Glenn, Gamble’s brigade.” One hand fumbled with a plump leather pouch attached to the side of his sword belt, behind the revolver holster. “I’ve got an old wound that’s bothering me; it’s the very nuisance in this heat. If you will be so kind—” You will not deny me, his eyes declared. You dare not. For all the mildness of my voice—

Dan said, “My name’s Bale. You’re quite welcome to anything I can offer.”

“I shan’t trouble you for long.” Already he was unbuckling his belt; the saber banged against the floor. “Just give me a basin of water and show me the way to your privy.”

“Privy?” Dan heard himself repeat the word stupidly.

“I want to do a dressing.”

“You’re welcome to the kitchen.” Dan felt all the embarrassment of a country gawk; the officer walked behind him, and he was unfastening his blouse. “I have bandages with me,” he explained, “but try to find a surgeon when you want him!”