Then he held out his hand and I clasped it gladly.
"I cannot express the gratitude I feel, Major Hardy," I faltered.

"One hardly expects such kindness from an enemy." "Not an enemy, my boy--merely a foeman.

I am a West Pointer, and some of the dearest friends I have are upon the other side.

But come, let us not be the last on the field." He tried to talk with me pleasantly as we crossed the garden, and approached the stable, and I must have answered, yet my mind was elsewhere.

This was all new to me, and my mood was a sober one.