"You must see a surgeon, whatever the risk," Lucy said when the others joined them, for now that it was light she could see by the paleness of Vincent's face, and the drawn expression of the mouth, how much he had suffered.
"You have made so light of your wound that we have not thought of it half as much as we ought to do, and you must have thought me terribly heartless to be laughing and talking when you were in such pain. But it will never do to go on like this; it is quite impossible for you to be traveling so far without having your shoulder properly attended to."
"I should certainly be glad to have it looked to," Vincent replied. "I don't know whether the bullet's there or if it has made its way out, and if that could be seen to, and some splints or something of that sort put on to keep things in their right place, no doubt I should be easier; but I don't see how it is to be managed. At any rate, for the present we must go on, and I would much rather that you said nothing about it. There it is, and fretting over it won't do it any good, while if you talk of other things I may forget it sometimes."
In two hours they came upon the railway, whose course lay diagonally across that they were taking. They followed it until they caught sight of the houses of Mount Pleasant, some two miles away, and then crossed it. After walking some distance farther they came upon a small clearing with a log-hut, containing apparently three or four rooms, in the center.
"We had better skirt round this," Vincent suggested.
"No," Lucy said in a determined voice, "I have made up my mind I would go to the first place we came to and see whether anything can be done for you. I can see you are in such pain you can hardly walk, and it will be quite impossible for you to go much further. They are sure to be Confederates at heart here, and even if they will not take us in, there is no fear of their betraying us; at any rate we must risk it."
Vincent began to remonstrate, but without paying any attention to him the girl left the shelter of the trees and walked straight toward the house. The others followed her. Vincent had opposed her suggestion, but he had for some time acknowledged to himself that he could not go much further. He had been trying to think what had best be done, and had concluded that it would be safest to arrange with some farmer to board Lucy and her nurse for a time, while he himself with Dan went a bit farther; and then, if they could get no one to take them in, would camp up in the woods and rest. He decided that in a day or two, if no improvement took place in his wound, he would give himself up to the Federals at Mount Pleasant, as he would there be able to get his wound attended to.
"I don't think there is anyone in the house," Lucy said, looking back over her shoulder; "there is no smoke coming from the chimney, and the shutters are closed, and besides the whole place looks neglected."
Upon reaching the door of the house it was evident that it had been deserted. Lucy had now assumed the command.
"Dan," she said, "there is no shutter to the window of that upper room. You must manage to climb up there and get in at that window, and then open the door to us."
"All right, missie, me manage dat," Dan said cheerfully. Looking about he soon found a long pole which would answer his purpose, placed the end of this against the window and climbed up. It was not more than twelve feet above the ground. He broke one of the windows, and inserting his hand undid the fastening and climbed in at the window. A minute later they heard a grating sound, and then the lock shut back under the application of his knife, and the door swung open.
"That will do nicely," Lucy said, entering. "We will take possession. If the owners happen to come back we can pay them for the use of the place."
The furniture had been removed with the exception of a few of the heavy articles, and Chloe and Lucy at once set to work, and with bunches of long grass swept out one of the rooms. Dan cut a quantity of grass and piled it upon an old bedstead that stood in the corner, and Lucy smoothed it down.
"Now, sir," she said peremptorily to Vincent, "you will lie down and keep yourself quiet, but first of all I will cut your coat off."
One of the table-knives soon effected the work, and the coat was rolled up as a pillow. Dan removed his boots, and Vincent, who was now beyond even remonstrating, laid himself down on his cool bed.
"Now, Chloe," Miss Kingston said when they had left Vincent's room, "I will leave him to your care. I am sure that you must be thoroughly tired, for I don't suppose you have walked so many miles since you were a girl."
"I is tired, missie: but I am ready to do anything you want."
"I only want you to attend to him, Chloe. First of all you had better make some tea. You know what is a good thing to give for a fever, and if you can find anything in the garden to make a drink of that sort, do; but I hope he will doze off for some time. When you have done, you had better get this place tidy a little; it is in a terrible litter. Evidently no one has been in since they moved out."
The room, indeed, was strewed with litter of all sorts, rubbish not worth taking away, old newspapers, and odds and ends of every description. Lucy looked about among these for some time, and with an exclamation of satisfaction at last picked up two crumpled envelopes. They were both addressed "William Jenkins, Woodford, near Mount Pleasant."
"That is just what I wanted," she said.
"What am you going to do, Miss Lucy?"
"I am going to Mount Pleasant," she said.
"Lor a marcy, dearie, you are not going to walk that distance! You must have walked twelve miles already."
"I should, if it were twice as far, Chloe. There are some things we must get. Don't look alarmed, I shall take Dan with me. Now, let me see. In the first place there are lemons for making drink and linseed for poultices, some meat for making broth, and some flour, and other things for ourselves; we may have to stay here for some time. Tell me just what you want and I will get it."
Chloe made out a list of necessaries.
"I shan't be gone long," the girl said. "If he asks after me or Dan, tell him we are looking about the place to see what is useful. Don't let him know I have gone to Mount Pleasant, it might worry him."
Dan at once agreed to accompany the girl to Mount Pleasant when he heard that she was going to get things for his master. Looking about he found an old basket and they started without delay by the one road from the clearing which led, they had no doubt, to the town. It was about two miles distant, and was really but a large village. A few Federal soldiers from the camp hard by were lounging about the streets, but these paid no attention to them. Lucy soon made her purchases, and then went to the house that had been pointed out to her as being inhabited by the doctor who attended to the needs of the people of Mount Pleasant and the surrounding district. Fortunately he was at home. Lucy looked at him closely as he entered the room and took his seat. He was a middle-aged man with a shrewd face, and she at once felt that she might have confidence in it.
"Doctor," she said, "I want you to come out to see someone who is very ill."
"What is the matter with him? or is it him or her?"
"It is—it's——" and Lucy hesitated, "a hurthe has got."
"A wound, I suppose?" the doctor said quietly. "You may as well tell me at once, as for me to find out when I get there; then I can take whatever is required with me."
"Yes, sir. It is a wound," Lucy said. "His shoulder is broken, I believe, by a pistol bullet."
"Umph!" the doctor said. "It might have been worse. Do not hesitate to tell me all about it, young lady. I have had a vast number of cases on hand since these troubles began. By the way, I do not know your face, and I thought I knew everyone within fifteen miles around."
"I come from the other side of the Duck River. But at present he is lying at a place called Woodford, but two miles from here."
"Oh, yes! I know it. But I thought it was empty. Let me see, a man named Jenkins lived there. He was killed at the beginning of the troubles in a fight near Murfreesboro. His widow moved in here; and she has married again and gone five miles on the other side. I know she was trying to sell the old place."
"We have not purchased it, sir; we have just squatted there. My friend was taken so bad that we could go no further. We were trying, doctor, to make our way further south."
"Your friend, whoever he is, did a very foolish thing to bring a young lady like yourself on such a long journey. You are not a pair of runaway lovers, are you?"
"No, indeed," Lucy said, flushing scarlet; "we have no idea of such a thing. I was living alone, and the house was attacked by bushwhackers, the band of a villain named Mullens."
"Oh! I saw all about that in the Nashville paper this morning. They were attacked by a band of Confederate plunderers, it said."
"They were attacked by one man," the girl replied. "They were onthe point of murdering me when he arrived. He shot Mullens and four of his band and the rest made off, but he got this wound. And as I knew the villains would return again and burn the house and kill me, I and my old nurse determined to go southward to join my friends in Georgia."
"Well, you can tell me more about it as we go," the doctor said. "I will order my buggy round to the door, and drive you back. I will take my instruments with me. It is no business of mine whether a sick man is a Confederate or a Federal; all my business is to heal him."
"Thank you very much, doctor. While the horse is being put in I will go down and tell the negro boy with me to go straight on with a basket of things I have been buying."
"Where is he now?" the doctor asked.
"I think he is sitting down outside the door, sir."
"Then you needn't go down," the doctor said. "He can jump up behind and go with us. He will get there all the quicker."
In five minutes they were driving down the village, with Dan in the back seat. On the way the doctor obtained from Lucy a more detailed account of their adventures.
"So he is one of those Confederate officers who broke prison at Elmira," he said. "I saw yesterday that one of his companions was captured."
"Was he, sir? How was that?"
"It seems that he had made his way down to Washington, and was staying at one of the hotels there as a Mr. James of Baltimore. As he was going through the streets he was suddenly attacked by a negro, who assaulted him with such fury that he would have killed him had he not been dragged off by passers-by. The black would have been very roughly treated, but he denounced the man he had attacked as one of the Confederate officers who had escaped from the prison. It seems that the negro had been a slave of his who had been barbarouslytreated, and finally succeeded in making his escape and reaching England, after which he went to Canada; and now that it is safe for an escaped slave to live in the Northern States without fear of arrest or ill-treatment, he had come down to Washington with the intention of engaging as a teamster with one of the Northern armies, in the hope, when he made his way to Richmond, of being able to gain some news of his wife, whom his master had sold before he ran away from him."
"It served the man right!" Lucy said indignantly. "It's a good thing that the slaves should turn the table sometimes upon masters who ill-treat them."
"You don't think my patient would ill-treat his slaves?" the doctor asked with a little smile.
"I am sure he wouldn't," the girl said indignantly. "Why, the boy behind you is one of his slaves, and I am sure he would give his life for his master."
Dan had overheard the doctor's story and now exclaimed:
"No, sah. Massa Vincent de kindest ob masters. If all like him, de slaves eberywhere contented and happy. What was de name of dat man, sah, you was speaking of?"
"His name was Jackson," the doctor answered.
"I tought so," Dan exclaimed in excitement. "Massa never mentioned de names ob de two officers who got out wid him, and it war too dark for me to see their faces, but dat story made me tink it must be him. Bery bad man dat; he libs close to us, and Massa Vincent one day pretty nigh kill him because he beat dat bery man who has catched him now on de street ob Washington. When dat man sell him wife Massa Vincent buy her so as to prevent her falling into bad hands. She safe now wid his mother at de Orangery—dat's the name of her plantation."
"My patient must be quite an interesting fellow, young lady," the doctor said, with a rather slight twinkle of his eye. "A very knight-errant! But there is the house now; we shall soon see all about him."
Taking with him the case of instruments and medicines he had brought, the doctor entered Vincent's room. Lucy entered first; and although surprised to see a stranger with her, Vincent saw by her face that there was no cause for alarm.
"I have brought you a doctor," she said. "You could not go on as you were, you know. So Dan and I have been to fetch one."
The doctor now advanced and took Vincent's hand.
"Feverish," he said, looking at his cheeks, which were now flushed. "You have been doing too much, I fancy. Now let us look at this wound of yours. Has your servant got any warm water?" he asked Lucy.
Lucy left the room, and returned in a minute with a kettleful of warm water and a basin, which was among the purchases she had made at Mount Pleasant.
"That is right," the doctor said, taking it from her. "Now we will cut open the shirt-sleeve. I think, young lady, you had better leave us, unless you are accustomed to the sight of wounds."
"I am not accustomed to them, sir; but as thousands of women have been nursing the wounded in the hospitals, I suppose I can do so now."
Taking a knife from the case, the doctor cut open the shirt from the neck to the elbow. The shoulder was terribly swollen and inflamed, and a little exclamation of pain broke from Lucy.
"That is the effect of walking and inattention," the doctor said. "If I could have taken him in hand within an hour of his being hit, the matter would have been simple enough; but I cannot search for the ball, or in fact do anything, till we have reduced the swelling. You must put warm poultices on every half hour, and by to-morrow I hope the inflammation will have subsided, and I can then see about the ball. It evidently is somewhere there still, for there is no sign of its having made its exit anywhere. In the meantime you must give him two tablespoonfuls of this cooling draught every two hours, and to-night give himthis sleeping draught. I will be over to-morrow morning to see him. Do not be uneasy about him; the wound itself is not serious, and when we have got rid of the fever and inflammation I have no doubt we shall pull him round before long."
"I know the wound is nothing," Vincent said; "I have told Miss Kingston so all along. It is nothing at all to one I got at the first battle of Bull Run, where I had three ribs badly broken by a shell. I was laid up a long time over that business. Now I hope in a week I shall be fit to travel."
The doctor shook his head. "Not as soon as that. Still we will hope it will not be long. Now all you have to do is to lie quiet and not worry, and to get to sleep as quick as you can. You must not let your patient talk, Miss Kingston. It will be satisfactory to you, no doubt," he went on, turning to Vincent, "to know that there is no fear whatever of your being disturbed here. The road leads nowhere, and is entirely out of the way of traffic. I should say you might be here six months without even a chance of a visitor. Everyone knows the house is shut up, and as you have no neighbor within half a mile no one is likely to call in. Even if anyone did by accident come here you would be in no danger; we are all one way of thinking about here."
"Shall we make some broth for him?" Lucy asked after they had left the room.
"No; he had better take nothing whatever during the next twenty-four hours except his medicine and cooling drinks. The great thing is to get down the fever. We can soon build him up afterward."
By nightfall the exertions of Dan, Lucy, and Chloe had made the house tidy. Beds of rushes and grass had been made in the room upstairs for the women, and Dan had no occasion for one for himself, as he was going to stop up with his master. He, however, brought a bundle of rushes into the kitchen, and when it became dark threw himself down upon them for a few hours' sleep, Lucy and her old nurse taking their place in Vincent's room and promising to rouse Dan at twelve o'clock.
During the early part of the night Vincent was restless and uneasy, but toward morning he became more quiet and dozed off, and had but just awoke when the doctor drove up at ten o'clock. He found the inflammation and swelling so much abated that he was able at once to probe for the ball. Chloe was his assistant. Lucy felt that her nerves would not be equal to it, and Dan's hand shook so that he could not hold the basin. In a quarter of an hour, which seemed to Lucy to be an age, the doctor came out of the room.
"There is the bullet, Miss Kingston."
"And is he much hurt, sir?"
"It is a nasty wound," the doctor replied. "The collar-bone is badly broken, and I fancy the head of the bone of the upper arm, to put it in language you will understand, is fractured; but of that I cannot be quite sure. I will examine it again to-morrow, and will then bandage it in its proper position. At present I have only put a bandage round the arm and body to prevent movement. I should bathe it occasionally with warm water, and you can give him a little weak broth to-day. I think, on the whole, he is doing very well. The feeling that you are all for the present safe from detection has had as much to do with the abatement of the fever as my medicine."
The next morning the report was still satisfactory. The fever had almost disappeared, and Vincent was in good spirits. The doctor applied the splints to keep the shoulder up in its proper position, and then tightly bandaged it.
"It depends upon yourself now," he said, "whether your shoulders are both of the same width as before or not. If you will lie quiet, and give the broken bones time to reunite, I think I can promise you that you will be as straight as before; but if not—putting aside the chances of inflammation—that shoulder will be lower than the other, and you will never get your full strength in it again. Quiet and patience are the only medicines you require, and as there can be no particular hurry for you to get south, and as your company here is pleasant and you have two good nurses, there is no excuse for your not being quiet and contented."
"Very well, doctor. I promise that, unless there is a risk of our being discovered, I will be as patient as you can wish. As you say, I have everything to make me contented and comfortable."
The doctor had a chat with Lucy, and agreed with her that perhaps it would be better to inform the mistress of the house that there were strangers there. Some of the people living along the road might notice him going or coming, or see Dan on his way to market, and might learn that the house was inhabited, and communicate the fact to their old neighbor.
"I will see her myself, Miss Kingston, and tell her that I have sent a patient of mine to take up his quarters here. I will say he is ready to pay some small sum weekly as long as he occupies the house. I have no doubt she would be willing enough to let you have it without that; for, although I shall say nothing actually, I shall let her guess from my manner that it is a wounded Confederate, and that will be enough for her. Still I have no doubt that the idea of getting a few dollars for the rent of an empty house will add to her patriotism. People of her class are generally pretty close-fisted, and she will look upon this as a little pocket-money. Good-by! I shall not call to-morrow, but will be round next day again."
On his next visit the doctor told Lucy that he had arranged the matter with her landlady, and that she was to pay a dollar a week as rent. "I should not tell your patient about this," he said. "It will look to him as if I considered his stay was likely to be a long one, and it might fidget him."
"How long will it be, doctor, do you think?"
"That I cannot say. If all goes well, he ought in a month to be fairly cured; but before starting upon a journey which will tax his strength, I should say at least six weeks."
Ten days later Vincent was up, and able to get about. A pile of grass had been heaped up by the door, so that he could sit down in the sun and enjoy the air. Lucy was in high spirits, and flitted in and out of the house, sometimes helping Chloe, at others talking to Vincent.
"What are you laughing at?" she asked as she came out suddenly on one of these occasions.
"I was just thinking," he said, "that no stranger who dropped in upon us would dream that we were not at home here. There is Dan tidying up the garden; Chloe is quite at her ease in the kitchen, and you and I might pass very well for brother and sister."
"I don't see any likeness between us—not a bit."
"No, there is no personal likeness; but I meant in age and that sort of thing. I think, altogether, we have a very homelike look."
"The illusion would be very quickly dispelled if your stranger put his head inside the door. Did anyone ever see such a bare place?"
"Anyhow, it's very comfortable," Vincent said, "though I grant that it would be improved by a little furniture."
"By a great deal of furniture, you mean. Why, there isn't a chair in the house, nor a carpet, nor a curtain, nor a cupboard, nor a bed; in fact all there is is the rough dresser in the kitchen and that plank table, and your bedstead. I really think that's all. Chloe has the kettle and two cooking-pots, and there is the dish and six plates we bought."
"You bought, you mean," Vincent interrupted.
"We bought, sir; this is a joint expedition. Then there is the basin and a pail. I think that is the total of our belongings."
"Well, you see, it shows how little one can be quite comfortable upon," Vincent said. "I wonder how long it will be before the doctor gives me leave to move. It is all very well for me who am accustomed to campaigning, but it is awfully rough for you."
"Don't you put your impatience down to my account, at any rate until you begin to hear me grumble. It is just your own restlessness, when you are pretending you are comfortable."
"I can assure you that I am not restless, and that I am in no hurry at all to be off on my own account. I am perfectly contented with everything. I never thought I was lazy before, but I feel as if I could do with a great deal of this sort of thing. You will see that you will become impatient for a move before I do."
"We shall see, sir. Anyhow, I am glad you have said that, because now, whatever you may feel, you will keep your impatience to yourself."
Another four weeks passed by smoothly and pleasantly. Dan went into the village once a week to do the shopping, and the doctor had reduced his visits to the same number. He would have come oftener, for his visits to the lonely cottage amused him; but he feared that his frequent passage in his buggy might attract notice. So far, no one else had broken the solitude of their lives. If the doctor's calls had been noticed, the neighbors had not taken the trouble to see who had settled in Jenkins' old place. His visits were very welcome, for he brought newspapers and books, the former being also purchased by Dan whenever he went into the village, and thus they learnt the course of events outside.
Since Antietam nothing had been done in Northern Virginia; but Burnside, who had succeeded McClellan, was preparing another great army, which was to march to Richmond and crush out the rebellion. Lee was standing on the defensive. Along the whole line of the frontier, from New Orleans to Tennessee, desultory fighting was going on, and in these conflicts the Confederates had generally the worse of things, having there no generals such as Lee, Jackson, and Longstreet, who had made the army of Virginia almost invincible.
At the last of these visits the doctor told Vincent that he considered he was nearly sufficiently restored in health to be able to start on their journey.
"At one time I was almost afraid that your shoulder would never be quite square again. However, as you can see for yourself, it has come out quite right; and although I should not advise you to put any great strain on your left arm, I believe that in a very short time it will be as strong as the other."
"And now, doctor, how much am I in debt to you? Your kindness cannot be repaid, but your medical bill I will discharge as soon as I get home. We have not more than twenty dollars left, which is little enough for the journey there is before us. You can rely that the instant I get to Richmond I will send you the money. There is no great difficulty in smuggling letters across the frontier."
"I am very pleased to have been able to be of service to you," the doctor said. "I should not think of accepting payment for aid rendered to an officer of our army; but it will give me real pleasure to receive a letter saying you have reached home in safety. It is a duty to do all we can for the brave men fighting for our cause. As I have told you, I am not a very hot partisan, for I see faults on both sides. Still I believe in the principle of our forefathers that each State has its own government and is master of its own army, joining with the others for such purposes as it may think fit. If I had been a fighting man, I should certainly have joined the army of my State; but as it is, I hope I can do more good by staying and giving such aid and comfort as I can to my countrymen. You will, I am sure, excuse my saying that I think you must let me aid you a little farther. I understand you to say that Miss Kingston will go to friends in Georgia, and I suppose you will see her safely there. Then you have a considerable journey to make to Richmond, and the sum that you possess is utterly inadequate for all this. It will give me real pleasure if you will accept the loan of a hundred dollars, which you can repay when you write to me from Richmond. You will need money for the sakeof your companions rather than your own. When you have once crossed the line you will then be able to appear in your proper character."
Vincent grasped the doctor's hand, and with suffused eyes replied: "Thank you greatly, doctor. I will accept your offer as frankly as it was made. I had intended telegraphing for money as soon as I was among our own people, but there would be delay in receiving it, and it will be much more pleasant to push on at once."
"By the way, you cannot cross at Florence, for I hear that Hood has fallen back across the river, the forces advancing against him from this side being too strong to be resisted. But I think that this is no disadvantage to you, for it would have been far more difficult to pass the Federals and get to Florence than to make for some point on the river as far as possible from the contending armies."
"We talked that over the last time you were here, doctor, and you know we agreed it was better to run the risk of falling into the hands of the Yankee troops than into those of one of those partisan bands whose exploits are always performed at a distance from the army. However, if Hood has retreated across the Tennessee, there is an end of that plan, and we must take some other route. Which do you advise?"
"The Yankees will be strong all around the great bend of the river to the west of Florence and along the line to the east, which would, of course, be your direct way. The passage, however, is your real difficulty, and I should say that, instead of going in that direction, you had better bear nearly due south. There is a road from Mount Pleasant that strikes into the main road from Columbia up to Camden. You can cross the river at that point without any question or suspicion, as you would be merely traveling to the west of the State. Once across you could work directly south, crossing into the State of Mississippi, and from there take the cars through Alabama to Georgia.
"It seems a roundabout way, but I think you would find it far the safest, for there are no armies operating upon that line. The population, at any rate as you get south, are for us, and there are, so far as I have heard, very few of these bushwhacking bands about, either on one side or the other. The difficult part of the journey is that up to Camden, but as you will be going away from the seat of war instead of toward it, there will be little risk of being questioned."
"I had thought of buying a horse and cart," Vincent said. "Jogging along a road like that, we should attract no attention. I gave up the idea because our funds were not sufficient, but, thanks to your kindness, we might manage now to pick up something of the sort."
The doctor was silent for a minute.
"If you will send Dan over to me to-morrow afternoon, I will see what can be done," he said. "It would certainly be the safest plan by far; but I must think it over. You will not leave before that, will you?"
"Certainly not, doctor. In any case we should have stayed another day to get a few more things for our journey."
The next afternoon Dan went over to Mount Pleasant. He was away two hours longer than they had expected, and they began to feel quite uneasy about him, when the sound of wheels was heard, and Dan appeared, driving a cart. Vincent gave a shout of satisfaction in which Lucy and Chloe joined.
"Here am de cart. Me had to go five miles from de town to get him. Dat what took me so long. Here am a letter, sah, from the doctor. First-rate man dat. Good man all ober."
The letter was as follows:
"My Dear Mr. Wingfield:
"I did not see how you would be able to buy a cart, and I was sure that you could not obtain one with the funds in your possession. As, from what you have said, I knew that you would not in the least mind the expense, I have taken the matter upon myself, and have bought from your landlady a cart and horse, which will, I think, suit you well. I have paid for them a hundred and fifty dollars, which you can remit me, with the hundred I handed you yesterday. Sincerely trusting that you may succeed in carrying out your plans in safety, and with kind regards to yourself and Miss Kingston,
"I remain, yours truly,
"James Spencer."
"That is a noble fellow," Vincent said, "and I trust, for his sake as well as our own, that we shall get safely through. Now, Lucy, I think you had better go into town the first thing, and buy some clothes of good homely fashion. Dan can go with you and buy a suit for me—those fitted for a young farmer. Then we shall look like a young farmer and his sister jogging comfortably along to market; we can stop and buy a stock of goods at some farm on the way."
"That will be capital," the girl said.
Lucy started early the next morning for the town, and the shopping was satisfactorily accomplished. They returned by eleven o'clock. The new purchases were at once donned, and half an hour later they set off in the cart: Vincent sitting on the side driving; Lucy in the corner facing him, on a basket turned upside down; Dan and Chloe on a thick bag of rushes in the bottom of the cart.
Dan, on his return with the cart, had brought back a message from its late owner to say that if she could in any way be of use to them, she should be glad to aid them. Her farm lay on the road they were now following, and they determined therefore to stop there. As the cart drew up at the door the woman came out.
"Glad tosee you," she said; "come right in. It's strange now you should have been lodging in my house for more than six weeks and I should never have set eyes on you before. The doctor talked to me a heap about you, but I didn't look to see quite such a young couple."
Lucy colored hotly, and was about to explain that they did not stand in the supposed relationship to each other, but Vincent slightly shook his head. It was not worth while to undeceive the woman, and although they had agreed to pass as brother and sister, Vincent was determined not to tell an untruth about it unless deceit was absolutely necessary for their safety.
"And you want to get out of the way without questions being asked, I understand?" the woman went on. "There are many such about at present. I don't want to ask no questions; the war has brought trouble enough on me. Now is there anything I can do? If so, say it right out."
"Yes, there is something you can do for us. We want to fill up our cart with the sort of stuff you take to market—apples and pumpkins, and things of that sort. If we had gone to buy them anywhere else, there might have been questions asked. From what the doctor said you can let us have some."
"I can do that. The storeroom's chuck-full; and it was only a few days ago I said to David it was time we set about getting them off. I will fill your cart, sir, and not overcharge you neither. It will save us the trouble of taking it over to Columbia or Camden, for there's plenty of garden truck round Mount Pleasant, and one cannot get enough to pay for the trouble of taking them there."
The cart was soon filled with apples, pumpkins, and other vegetables, and the price put upon them was very moderate.
"What ought we to ask for these?" Vincent soon inquired. "One does not want to be extra cheap or dear."
The woman informed them of the prices they might expect to get for the produce; and they at once started, amid many warm good wishes from her.
Before leaving the farm the woman had given them a letter to her sister, who lived a mile from Camden.
"It's always awkward stopping at a strange place," she said, "and farmers don't often put up at hotels when they drive in with garden truck to a town, though they may do sometimes; besides it's always nice being with friends. I will just write a line to Jane and tell her you have been my tenants at Woodford, and where you are going, and ask her to take you in for the night and give you a note in the morning to anyone she or her husband may know, a good bit along that road."
When they reached the house it was dark, but, directly Vincent showed the note, the farmer and his wife heartily bade them come in.
"Your boy can put up the horse at the stable, and you are heartily welcome. But the house is pretty full, and we can't make you as comfortable as we should wish at night; but still we will do our best."
Vincent and Lucy were soon seated by the fire. Their hostess bustled about preparing supper for them, and the children, of whom the house seemed full, stared shyly at the newcomers. As soon as the meal was over Chloe's wants were attended to, and a lunch of bread and bacon taken out by the farmer to Dan in the stables. The children were then packed off to bed, and the farmer and his wife joined Vincent and Lucy by the fire.
"As to sleeping," the woman said, "John and I have been talking it over, and the best way we can see is that you should sleep with me, ma'am, and we will make up a bed on the floor here for my husband and yours."
"Thank you, that will do very nicely; though I don't like interfering with your arrangements."
"Not at all, ma'am—not at all; it makes a nice change having someone come in, especially of late, when there is no more pleasure in going about in this country, and people don't go out after dark more than they can help. Ah, it's a bad time! My sister says you are going west, but I see you have got your cart full of garden truck. How you have raised it so soon, I don't know; for Liza wrote to me two months since as she hadn't been able to sell her place, and it was just a wilderness. Are you going to get rid of it at Camden to-morrow?"
Vincent had already been assured as to the politics of his present host and hostess, and he therefore did not hesitate to say:
"The fact is, madam, we are anxious to get along without being questioned by any Yankee troops we may fall in with; and we have bought the things you see in the cart from your sister, as, going along with a cart full, anyone we met would take us for farmers living close by, on their road to the next market town."
"Oh, oh! that's it!" the farmer said significantly. "Want to get through the lines, eh?"
Vincent nodded.
"Didn't I think so!" the farmer said, rubbing his hands. "I thought directly my eyes hit upon you that you did not look the cut of a granger. Been fighting—eh? and they are after you?"
"I don't think they are after me here," Vincent said. "But I have seen a good deal of fighting with Jackson and Stuart; and I am just getting over a collar bone, which was smashed by a Yankee bullet."
"You don't say!" the farmer exclaimed. "Well, I should have gone out myself, if it hadn't been for Jane and the children. But there are such a lot of them that I could not bring myself to run the chances of leaving them all on her hands. Still, I am with our army, heart and soul."
"Your wife's sister told me that you were on the right side," Vincent said, "and that I could trust you altogether."
"Now, if you tell me which road you want to go, I don't mind if I get on my horse to-morrow and ride with you a stage, and see you put up for the night. I know lots of people, and I am sure to be acquainted with someone, whichever road we may go. We are pretty near all the right side about here, though, as you get further on, there are lots of Northern men. Now, what are your ideas as to the roads?"
Vincent told him the route he intended to take.
"You ought to get through there right enough," the farmer said. "There are some Yankee troops moving about to the west of the river, but not many of them; and even if you fell in with them, with your cargo of stuff they would not suspect you. Anyhow, I expect we can get you passed down so as to be among friends. So you fought under Jackson and Stuart, did you? Ah, they have done well in Virginia! I only wish we had such men here. What made you take those two darkies along with you? I should have thought you would have got along better by yourself."
"We couldn't very well leave them," Vincent said; "the boy has been with me all through the wars, and is as true as steel. Old Chloe was Lucy's nurse, and would have broken her heart had she been left behind."
"They are faithful creatures when they are well treated. Mighty few of them have run away all this time from their masters, though in the parts the Yankees hold there is nothing to prevent their bolting if they have a mind to it. I haven't got no niggers myself. I tried them, but they want more looking after than they are worth; and I can make a shift with my boys to help me, and hiring a hand in busy times to work the farm. Now, sir, what do you think of the lookout?"
The subject of the war fairly started, his host talked until midnight, long before which Lucy and the farmer's wife had gone off to bed.
"We will start as soon as it is light," the farmer said, as he and Vincent stretched themselves upon a heap of straw covered with blankets that was to serve as their bed, Chloe having hours before gone up to share the bed of the negro girl who assisted the farmer's wife in her management of the house and children.
"It's best to get through Camden before people are about. There are Yankee soldiers at the bridge, but it will be all right you driving in, however early, to sell your stuff. Going out you aint likely to meet with Yankees; but as it would look queer, you taking your garden truck out of the town, it's just as well to be on the road before people are about. Once you get five or six miles the other side you might be going to the next place to sell your stuff."
"That is just what I have been thinking," Vincent said, "and I agree with you the earlier we get through Camden the better."
Accordingly, as soon as daylight appeared, the horse was put in the cart, the farmer mounting his own animal, and with a hearty good-by from his wife the party started away. The Yankee sentinels at each end of the bridge were passed without questions, for, early as it was, the carts were coming in with farm produce. As yet the streets of the town were almost deserted, and the farmer, who, before starting, had tossed a tarpaulin into the back of the cart, said:
"Now, pull that over all that stuff, and then anyone that meets us will think that you are taking out bacon and groceries, and such like, for some store way off."
This suggestion was carried out, and Camden was soon left behind. A few carts were met as they drove along. The farmer knew some of the drivers and pulled up to say a few words to them. After a twenty-mile drive they stopped at another farm, where their friend's introduction insured them as cordial a welcome as that upon the preceding evening. So, step by step, they journeyed on, escorted in almost every case by their host of the night before, and meeting with no interruption. Once they passed a strong body of Federal cavalry, but these, supposing that the party belonged to the neighborhood, asked no questions; and at last, after eight days' traveling, they passed two posts which marked the boundary between Tennessee and Alabama.
For the last two days they had been beyond the point to which the Federal troops had penetrated. They now felt that all risk was at an end. Another day's journey brought them to a railway station, and they learned that the trains were running as usual, although somewhat irregular as to the hours at which they came along or as to the time they took upon their journey. The contents of the cart had been left at the farm at which they stopped the night before, and Vincent had now no difficulty in disposing of the horse and cart, as he did not stand out for price, but took the first offer made. Two hours later a train came along, and the party were soon on their way to Rome in Georgia; after their arrival there they went to Macon, at which place they alighted and hired a conveyance to take them to Antioch, near which place Lucy's relatives resided.
The latter part of the journey by rail had been a silent one. Lucy felt none of the pleasure that she had expected at finding herself safely through her dangers and upon the point of joining relations who would be delighted to see her, and she sat looking blankly out of the window at the surrounding country. At last Vincent, who had been half an hour without speaking said:
"Are you sorry our journey is just over, Lucy?"
The girl's lip quivered, but she did not speak for a moment. "Of course it is unpleasant saying good-by when people have been together for some time," she said with an effort.
"I hope it will not be good-by for long," he said. "I shall be back here as soon as this horrible war is over."
"What for?" the girl asked, looking round in surprise. "You live a long way from here, and you told me you knew nobody in these parts."
"I know you," Vincent said, "and that is quite enough. Do you not know that I love you?"
The girl gave a start of surprise, her cheek flushed but her eyes did not drop as she looked frankly at him.
"No, Vincent," she said after a pause, "I never once thought you loved me—never once. You have not been a bit like what I thought people were when they felt like that."
"I hope not, Lucy. I was your protector then, I have tried my best to be what people thought me—your brother; but now that you are just home and among your own people, I think I may speak and tell you how I feel toward you, and how I loved you since the moment I first saw you. And you, Lucy, do you think you could care for me?"
"Not more than I do now, Vincent. I love you with all my heart. I have been trying so hard to believe that I didn't because I thought you did not care for me that way."
For some minutes no further word was spoken. Vincent was the first to speak:
"It is horrid to have to sit here in this stiff, unnatural way, Lucy, when one is inclined to do something outrageous from sheer happiness. These long, open cars, where people can see from end to end what everyone is doing, are hateful inventions. It is perfectly absurd, when one finds one's self the happiest fellow living, that one is obliged to look as demure and solemn as if one was in church."
"Then you should have waited, sir," the girl said.
"I meant to have waited, Lucy, until I got to your home; but as soon as I felt that there was no longer any harm in speaking, out it came; but it's very hard to have to wait for hours, perhaps."
"To wait for what?" Lucy asked demurely.
"You must wait for explanations until we are alone, Lucy. And now I think the train begins to slacken, and it is the next station at which we get out."
"I think, Lucy," Vincent said, when they had approached the house of her relatives, "you and Chloe had better get out and go in by yourselves and tell your story. Dan and I will go to the inn, and I will come round in an hour. If we were to walk in together like this, it would be next to impossible for you to explain how it all came about."
"I think that would bethe best plan. My two aunts are the kindest creatures possible, but no doubt they will be bewildered at seeing me so suddenly. I do think it would be best to let me have a talk with them, and tell them all about it, before you appear upon the scene."
"Very well, then, in an hour I will come in."
When they arrived at the gate, therefore, Vincent helped Lucy and Chloe to alight, and then, jumping into the buggy again, told the driver to take him to the hotel.
After engaging a room and enjoying a bath, Vincent sallied out into the little town, and was fortunate enough to succeed in purchasing a suit of tweed clothes, which, although they scarcely fitted as if they had been made for him, were still an immense improvement upon the rough clothes in which he had traveled. Returning to the hotel, he put on his new purchases, and then walked to the house of Lucy's aunts, which was a quarter of a mile outside the town.
Lucy had walked up the little path through the garden in front of the house, and turning the handle of the door, had entered unannounced and walked straight into the parlor. The two elderly ladies rose with some surprise at the entry of a strange visitor. It was three years since she had paid her last visit there, and for a moment they did not recognize her.
"Don't you know me, aunts?"
"Why, goodness me!" the eldest exclaimed, "if it isn't our little Lucy grown into womanhood! My dear child, where have you sprung from?" And the two ladies warmly embraced their niece, who, as soon as they released her from their arms, burst into a fit of crying, and it was some time before she could answer the questions showered upon her.
"It is nothing, aunts," she said at last, wiping her eyes; "but I am so glad to be with you again, and I have gone through so much, and I am so happy, and it's so nice being with you again! Here is Chloe waiting to speak to you, aunts. She has come with me all the way."
The old negress, who had been waiting in the passage, was now called in.
"Why, Chloe, you look no older than when you went away from here six years ago," Miss Kingston said. "But how did you get through the lines? We have been terribly anxious about you. Your brother was here only a fortnight ago, and he and your father were in a great way about you, and reproached themselves bitterly that they did not send you to us before the troubles began, which certainly would have been a wiser step, as I told them. Of course your brother said that, when they left you to join the army, they had no idea that matters were going so far, or that the Yankees would drive us out of Tennessee, or they would never have dreamed of leaving you alone. However, here you are, so now tell me all about it."
Lucy told the story of the various visits of the Federal bushwhackers to the house, and how she had narrowly escaped death for refusing to betray the Confederate officer who had come to the house for food. Her recital was frequently interrupted by exclamations of indignation and pity from her aunts.
"Well, aunts, after that," she went on, "you see it was impossible for me to stop there any longer. No doubt they came back again a few hours afterward and burned the house, and had I been found there, I should have been sure to be burned in it, so Chloe agreed with me that there was nothing to do but to try and get through the lines and come to you."
"Quite right, my dear. It was clearly the best thing for you to come to us—indeed, the only thing. But how in the world did you two manage to travel alone all that distance and get through the Federal lines?"
"You see, we were not alone, aunts," Lucy said; "the Confederate officer and his servant were coming through and, of course, they took care of us. We could never have got through alone, and as Chloe was with me, we got on very nicely; but we have been a long time getting through, for in the fight, where he saved my life and killed five of the band, he had his shoulder broken by a pistol bullet, and we hadto stop in a farmhouse near Mount Pleasant, and he was very ill for some time, but the doctor who attended him was a true Southerner, and so we were quite safe till he was able to move again."
"And who is this officer, Lucy?" Miss Kingston asked rather anxiously.
"He is a Virginia gentleman, auntie. His mother has large estates near Richmond. He was in the cavalry with Stuart, and was made prisoner while he was lying wounded and insensible at Antietam; and I think, auntie, that—that—" and she hesitated—"some day we are going to be married."
"Oh, that's it, is it?" the old lady said kindly. "Well, I can't say anything about that until I see him, Lucy. Now tell us the whole story, and then we shall be better able to judge about it. I don't think, my dear, that, while you were traveling under his protection, he ought to have talked to you about such things."
"He didn't, auntie; not until we were half a mile from the station here. I never thought he cared for me the least bit; he was just like a brother to me—just like what Jack would have been, if he had been bringing me here."
"That's right, my dear; I am glad to hear it. Now, let us hear all about it."
Lucy told the whole story of her escape and her adventures, and when she had finished, her aunts nodded to each other.
"That's all very satisfactory, Lucy. It was a difficult position to be placed in, though I don't see how it was to be avoided, and the young man really seems to have behaved very well. Don't you think so, Ada?" The younger Miss Kingston agreed, and both were prepared to receive Vincent with cordiality when he appeared.
The hour had been considerably exceeded when Vincent came to the door. He felt it rather an awkward moment when he was ushered into the presence of Lucy's aunts, who could scarcely restrain an exclamation of surprise at his youth, for, although Lucy had said nothing about his age, they expected to meet an older man—the impression being gained from the recital of his bravery in attacking, single-handed, twelve men, and by the manner in which he had piloted the party through their dangers.
"We are very glad to see you—my sister Ada and myself," Miss Kingston said, shaking hands cordially with their visitor. "Lucy has been telling us all about you; but we certainly expected, from what you had gone through, that you were older."
"I am two or three years older than she is, Miss Kingston, and I have gone through so much in the last three years that I feel older than I am. She has told you, I hope, that she has been good enough to promise to be my wife some day?"
"Yes, she has told us that, Mr. Wingfield; and although we don't know you personally, we feel sure—my sister Ada and I—from what she has told us of your behavior while you have been together, that you are an honorable gentleman, and we hope and believe that you will make her happy."
"I will do my best to do so," Vincent said earnestly. "As to my circumstances, I shall, in another year, come into possession of estates sufficient to keep her in every comfort."
"I have no doubt that that is all satisfactory, Mr. Wingfield, and that her father will give his hearty approval when he hears all the circumstances of the case. Now, if you will go into the next room, Mr. Wingfield, I will call her down"—for Lucy had run upstairs when she heard Vincent knock. "I dare say you will like a quiet talk together," she added, smiling, "for she tells me you have never been alone together since you started."
Lucy required several calls before she came down. A new shyness, such as she had never before felt, had seized her, and it was with flushed cheeks and timid steps that she at last came downstairs, and it needed an encouraging—"Go in, you silly child, your lover will not eat you," before she turned the handle and went into the room where Vincent was expecting her.
Vincent had telegraphed from the first station at which he arrived within the limits of the Confederacy to his mother, announcing his safe arrival there, and asking her to send money to him at Antioch. Her letter in reply reached him three days after his arrival. It contained notes for the amount he wrote for; and while expressing her own and his sisters' delight at hearing he had safely reached the limits of the Confederacy, she expressed not a little surprise at the out-of-the-way place to which he had requested the money to be sent.
"We have been examining the maps, my dear boy," she said, "and find that it is seventy or eighty miles out of your direct course, and we have puzzled ourselves in vain as to why you should have made your way there. The girls guess that you have gone there to deliver in person some message from one of your late fellow-prisoners to his family. I am not good at guessing, and am content to wait until you return home. We hope that you will leave as soon as you get the remittance. We shall count the hours until we see you. Of course we learned from a Yankee paper smuggled through the lines that you had escaped from prison, and have been terribly anxious about you ever since. We are longing to hear your adventures."
A few hours after the receipt of this letter, Vincent was on his way home. It was a long journey. The distance was considerable, and the train service greatly disordered and unpunctual. When within a few hours of Richmond he telegraphed, giving the approximate time at which he might be expected to arrive. The train, however, did not reach Richmond until some hours later. The carriage was waiting at the station, and the negro coachman shouted with pleasure at the sight of his young master.
"Missis and the young ladies come, sah; but de station master he say de train no arrive for a long time, so dey wait for you at de town house, sah."
Dan jumped up beside the coachman and Vincent leaped into the carriage, and in a few minutes later he was locked in the arms of his mother and sisters.
"You grow bigger and bigger, Vincent," his mother said after the first greeting was over. "I thought you must have done when you went away last, but you are two or three inches taller and ever so much wider."
"I think I have nearly done now, mother—anyhow as to height. I am six feet one."
"You are a dreadful trouble to us, Vincent," Annie said. "We have awful anxiety whenever we hear of a battle being fought, and it was almost a relief to us when we heard that you were in a Yankee prison. We thought at least you were out of danger for some time; but since the news came of your escape it has been worse than ever, and as week passed after week without hearing anything of you we began to fear that something terrible had happened to you."
"Nothing terrible has happened at all, Annie. The only mishap I had was getting a pistol bullet in my shoulder which laid me up for about six weeks. There was nothing very dreadful about it," he continued, as exclamations of alarm and pity broke from mother and sister. "I was well looked after and nursed. And now I will tell you my most important piece of news, and then I will give you a full account of my adventures from the time when Dan got me out of prison, for it is entirely to him that I owe my liberty."
"Well, what is the piece of news?" Annie asked.
"Guess!" Vincent replied, smiling.
"You have got promoted?" his mother said.
He shook his head.
"Is it about a lady?" Annie asked.
Vincent smiled.
"Oh, Vincent, you are not engaged to be married! That would be too ridiculous!"
Vincent laughed and nodded.
"Annie is right, mother; I am engaged to be married."
Mrs. Wingfield looked grave, Rosie laughed, and Annie threw her arms round his neck and kissed him.
"You dear, silly old boy!" she said. "I am glad, though it seems so ridiculous. Who is she, and what is she like?"
"We needn't ask where she lives," Rosie said. "Of course it is in Antioch, though how in the world you managed it all in the two or three days you were there I can't make out."
Mrs. Wingfield's brow cleared. "At any rate, in that case, Vincent, she is a Southerner. I was afraid at first it was some Yankee woman who had perhaps sheltered you on your way."
"Is she older than you, Vincent?" Annie asked suddenly. "I shouldn't like her to be older than you are."
"She is between sixteen and seventeen," Vincent replied, "and she is a Southern girl, mother, and I am sure you will love her, for she saved my life at the risk of her own, besides nursing me all the time I was ill."
"I have no doubt I shall love her, Vincent, for I think, my boy, that you would not make a rash choice. I think you are young, much too young, to be engaged; still, that is a secondary matter. Now tell us all about it. We expected your story to be exciting, but did not dream that love-making had any share in it."
Vincent accordingly told them the whole story of his adventures from the time of his first meeting Dan in prison. When he related the episode of Lucy's refusal to say whether he would return, although threatened with instant death unless she did so, his narrative was broken by the exclamations of his hearers.
"You need not say another word in praise of her," his mother said. "She is indeed a noble girl, and I shall be proud of such a daughter."
"She must be a darling!" Annie exclaimed. "Oh, Vincent, how brave she must be! I don't think I ever could have done that, with a pistol pointing straight at you, and all those dreadful men round, and no hope of a rescue; it's awful even to think of."
"It was an awful moment, as you may imagine," Vincent replied. "I shall never forget the scene, or Lucy's steadfast face as she faced that man; and you see at that time I was a perfect stranger to her—only a fugitive Confederate officer whom she shielded from his pursuers."
"Go on, Vincent; please go on," Annie said. "Tell us what happened next."
Vincent continued his narrative to the end, with, however, many interruptions and questions on the part of the girls. His mother said little, but sat holding his hand in hers.
"It has been a wonderful escape, Vincent," she said when he had finished. "Bring your Lucy here when you like and I shall be ready to receive her as my daughter, and to love her for her own sake as well as yours. She must be not only a brave girl but a noble girl, and you did perfectly right to lose not a single day after you had taken her safely home in asking her to be your wife. I am glad to think that some day the Orangery will have so worthy a mistress. I will write to her at once. You have not yet told us what she is like, Vincent."
"I am not good at descriptions, but you shall see her photograph, when I get it."
"What, haven't you got one now?"
"She had not one to give me. You see, when the troubles began she was little more than a child, and since that time she has scarcely left home, but she promised to have one taken at once and send it to me, and then, if it is a good likeness, you will know all about it."
"Mother, when you write to-night," Rosie said, "please send her your photograph and ours, and say we all want one of our new relative that is to be."
"I think, my dear, you can leave that until we have exchanged a letter or two. You will see Vincent's copy, and can then wait patiently for your own."
"And now, mother, I have told you all of my news; let us hear about everyone here. How are all the old house hands, and how is Dinah? Tony is at Washington, I know, because I saw in the paper that he had made a sudden attack upon Jackson."
Mrs. Wingfield's face fell.
"That is my one piece of bad news, Vincent. I wish you hadn't asked the question until to-morrow, for I am sorry that anything should disturb the pleasure of this first meeting; still, as you have asked the question, I must answer it. About ten days ago a negro came, as I afterward heard from Chloe, to the back entrance and asked for Dinah. He said he had a message for her. She went and spoke to him, and then ran back and caught up her child. She said to Chloe, 'I have news of my husband. I think he is here. I will soon be back again.' Then she ran out, and she has never returned. We have made every inquiry we could, but we have not liked to advertise for her, for it may be that she has met her husband, and that he has persuaded her to make off at once with him to Yorktown or Fortress Monroe."
"This is bad news indeed, mother," Vincent said. "No, I do not think for a moment that she has gone off with Tony. There could be no reason why she should have left so suddenly without telling anyone, for she knew well enough that you would let her go if she wished it; and I feel sure that neither she nor Tony would act so ungratefully as to leave us in this manner. No, mother, I feel sure that this has been done by Jackson. You know I told you I felt uneasy about her before I went. No doubt the old rascal has seen in some Northern paper an account of his son having been attacked in the streets of Washington, and recaptured by Tony, and he has had Dinah carried off from a pure spirit of revenge. Well, mother," he went on in answer to an appealing look from her, "I will not put myself out this first evening of my return, and will say no more about it. There will be plenty of time to take the matter up to-morrow. And now about all our friends and acquaintances. How are they getting on? Have you heard of any more of my old chums being killed since I was taken prisoner at Antietam?"
It was late in the evening before Vincent heard all the news. Fortunately, the list of casualties in the Army of Virginia had been slight since Antietam; but that battle had made many gaps among the circle of their friends, and of these Vincent now heard for the first time, and he learned, too, that although no battle had been fought since Antietam, on the 17th of September, there had been a sharp skirmish near Fredericksburg, and that the Federal army, now under General Burnside, who had succeeded McClellan, was facing that of Lee, near that town, and that it was believed that they would attempt to cross the Rappahannock in a few days.
It was not until he had retired for the night that Vincent allowed his thoughts to turn again to the missing woman. Her loss annoyed and vexed him much more than he permitted his mother to see. In the first place, the poor girl's eagerness to show her gratitude to him upon all occasions, and her untiring watchfulness and care during his illness from his wound, had touched him, and the thought that she was now probably in the hands of brutal taskmasters was a real pain to him. In the next place, he had, as it were, given his pledge to Tony that she should be well cared for until she could be sent to join him. And what should he say now when the negro wrote to claim her? Then, too, he felt a personal injury that the woman should be carried off when under his mother's protection, and he was full of indignation and fury at the dastardly revenge taken by Jackson. Upon hearing the news he had at once mentally determined to devote himself for some time to a search for Dinah; but the news that a great battle was expected at the front interfered with his plan. Now that he was back, capable of returning to duty, his place was clearly with his regiment; but he determined that while he would rejoin at once, he would, as soon the battle was over, if he were unhurt, take up the search. His mother and sisters were greatly distressed when, at breakfast, he told them that he must at once report himself as fit for duty, and ready to join his regiment.
"I was afraid you would think so," Mrs. Wingfield said, while the girls wept silently; "and much as I grieve at losing you again so soon, I can say nothing against it. You have gone through many dangers, Vincent, and have been preserved to us through them all. We will pray that you may be so to the end. Still, whether or not, I, as a Virginia woman, cannot grudge my son to the service of my country, when all mothers are making the same sacrifice; but it is hard to give you up when but yesterday you returned to us."