"You lazy Irish marine!" it cried petulantly, "that beef stew was to have been given me an hour ago."

"Sure, sor," was the soothing reply, "it wasn't to be given yer honor till two o'clock."

"Well, it's all of three now."

"Wan-thirty, on me sowl, sor."

That first voice sounded oddly familiar, and I turned my face that way, but was unable to perceive the speaker.

"Is that Lieutenant Caton?" I asked doubtfully.

"Most assuredly it is," quickly. "And who are you?"

"Captain Wayne, of the Confederate Army."

"Oh, Wayne? Glad you spoke, but extremely sorry to have you here. Badly hurt?"

"Not seriously, I think. No limbs missing, anyhow, but exceedingly weak. Where did they get you?"

"In the side, a musket ball, but extracted. I would be all right if that lazy Irish scamp would only give me half enough to eat. By the way, Wayne, of course I never got the straight of it, for there are half-a-dozen stories about the affair flying around, and those most interested will not talk, but one of your special friends, and to my notion a most charming young woman, will be in here to see me sometime this afternoon. She will be delighted to meet you again, I'm sure."