and a face like parchment. His eyes were two deep wells, solemn and unwinking.
"Peace to you both!" he said gravely. "I ask naught save fire and shelter."
"To these you are welcome," the girl answered, still clinging to my arm. "You travel alone?"
"Even as my master in rags and poverty, having no place wherein to lay my head. The foxes have holes, the birds of the air have nests—you know me, young woman?"
"Yes; you are Parson Nichols."
"An unworthy soldier of the Cross. I address the daughter of Major Harwood and this young man?"
"Lieutenant Raymond, of the Federal Army," she explained simply. "He sought refuge here from the storm."
The man's eyes searched my face, but without cordiality, without expression of any kind. Deliberately he removed his long, water soaked cloak, and flung it over the back of a chair, placing his hat on top. His undergarments were dry enough, butternut jeans, and he wore high boots, splashed with mud. His head, the hair upon it thin and gray, rose into a peculiar pear-shaped peak, but his temples were broad and prominent. Saying nothing he crossed to the fireplace, and held out his hands to the warmth
