fields and neat stone walls, its winding roads and orchards, and every pretty farmhouse standing as though no war were in the land, all seems so peaceful, so secure, that the faces of the people sicken me. And ever I am asking myself, where lies this other hell on earth, which only faces such as these could have looked upon?”

“It is sad,” I said, under my breath. “Even when a lass smiles on us it seems to start the tears in my throat.”

“Sad! Yes, sir, it is. I supposed we had seen sufficient of human degradation in the North not to come here to find the same cringing expression stamped on every countenance. I’m sick of it, I tell you. Why, the British are doing worse than merely filling their prisons with us and scalping us with their savages!