Whatever cruel suspicion or nameless dread this was, Laura tried bravely to put it away, and not let it cloud her happiness.
Communication that summer, as may be imagined, was neither regular nor frequent between the remote confederate camp at Harding and Hawkeye, and Laura was in a measure lost sight of--indeed, everyone had troubles enough of his own without borrowing from his neighbors.
Laura had given herself utterly to her husband, and if he had faults, if he was selfish, if he was sometimes coarse, if he was dissipated, she did not or would not see it.

It was the passion of her life, the time when her whole nature went to flood tide and swept away all barriers.

Was her husband ever cold or indifferent?
She shut her eyes to everything but her sense of possession of her idol.
Three months passed.

One morning her husband informed her that he had been ordered South, and must go within two hours.
"I can be ready," said Laura, cheerfully.
"But I can't take you.

You must go back to Hawkeye." "Can't-take-me ?" Laura asked, with wonder in her eyes.