by G. A. Henty
CHAPTER XIV.
ACROSS THE BORDER.
Dan, on his return with the cart, had brought back a message from itslate owner to say that if she could in any way be of use to them, sheshould be glad to aid them. Her farm lay on the road they were nowfollowing, and they determined therefore to stop there. As the cart drewup at the door the woman came out.
"Glad to see you," she said; "come right in. It's strange now you shouldhave been lodging in my house for more than six weeks and I should neverhave 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 inthe supposed relationship to each other, but Vincent slightly shook hishead. It was not worth while to undeceive the woman, and although theyhad agreed to pass as brother and sister, Vincent was determined not totell an untruth about it unless deceit was absolutely necessary fortheir safety.
"And you want to get out of the way without questions being asked, Iunderstand?" the woman went on. "There are many such about at present. Idon't want to ask no questions; the war has brought trouble enough onme. 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 cartwith the sort of stuff you take to market--apples and pumpkins, andthings of that sort. If we had gone to buy them anywhere else, theremight have been questions asked. From what the doctor said you can letus have some."
"I can do that. The storeroom's chuck-full; and it was only a few daysago I said to David it was time we set about getting them off. I willfill your cart, sir, and not overcharge you neither. It will save us thetrouble of taking it over to Columbia or Camden, for there's plenty ofgarden truck round Mount Pleasant, and one cannot get enough to pay forthe 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 notwant to be extra cheap or dear."
The woman informed them of the prices they might expect to get for theproduce; 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, "andfarmers don't often put up at hotels when they drive in with gardentruck to a town, though they may do sometimes; besides it's always nicebeing with friends. I will just write a line to Jane and tell her youhave been my tenants at Woodford, and where you are going, and ask herto take you in for the night and give you a note in the morning toanyone she or her husband may know, a good bit along that road."
When they reached the house it was dark, but, directly Vincent showedthe note, the farmer and his wife heartily bade them come in.
"Your boy can put up the horse at the stable, and you are heartilywelcome. But the house is pretty full, and we can't make you ascomfortable as we should wish at night; but still we will do our best."
Vincent and Lucy were soon seated by the fire. Their hostess bustledabout preparing supper for them, and the children, of whom the houseseemed full, stared shyly at the newcomers. As soon as the meal was overChloe's wants were attended to, and a lunch of bread and bacon taken outby the farmer to Dan in the stables. The children were then packed offto 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, andwe 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 interferingwith your arrangements."
"Not at all, ma'am--not at all; it makes a nice change having someonecome in, especially of late, when there is no more pleasure in goingabout in this country, and people don't go out after dark more than theycan help. Ah, it's a bad time! My sister says you are going west, but Isee you have got your cart full of garden truck. How you have raised itso soon, I don't know; for Liza wrote to me two months since as shehadn't been able to sell her place, and it was just a wilderness. Areyou going to get rid of it at Camden to-morrow?"
Vincent had already been assured as to the politics of his present hostand hostess, and he therefore did not hesitate to say:
"The fact is, madam, we are anxious to get along without beingquestioned by any Yankee troops we may fall in with; and we have boughtthe things you see in the cart from your sister, as, going along with acart full, anyone we met would take us for farmers living close by, ontheir road to the next market town."
"Oh, oh! that's it!" the farmer said significantly. "Want to get throughthe lines, eh?"
Vincent nodded.
"Didn't I think so!" the farmer said, rubbing his hands. "I thoughtdirectly my eyes hit upon you that you did not look the cut of agranger. Been fighting--eh? and they are after you?"
"I don't think they are after me here," Vincent said. "But I have seen agood deal of fighting with Jackson and Stuart; and I am just gettingover a collar bone, which was smashed by a Yankee bullet."
"You don't say!" the farmer exclaimed. "Well, I should have gone outmyself, if it hadn't been for Jane and the children. But there are sucha lot of them that I could not bring myself to run the chances ofleaving them all on her hands. Still, I am with our army, heart andsoul."
"Your wife's sister told me that you were on the right side," Vincentsaid, "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 onmy horse to-morrow and ride with you a stage, and see you put up for thenight. I know lots of people, and I am sure to be acquainted withsomeone, whichever road we may go. We are pretty near all the right sideabout here, though, as you get further on, there are lots of Northernmen. 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. "Thereare some Yankee troops moving about to the west of the river, but notmany of them; and even if you fell in with them, with your cargo ofstuff they would not suspect you. Anyhow, I expect we can get you passeddown 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 suchmen here. What made you take those two darkies along with you? I shouldhave thought you would have got along better by yourself."
"We couldn't very well leave them," Vincent said; "the boy has been withme all through the wars, and is as true as steel. Old Chloe was Lucy'snurse, and would have broken her heart had she been left behind."
"They are faithful creatures when they are well treated. Mighty few ofthem have run away all this time from their masters, though in the partsthe Yankees hold there is nothing to prevent their bolting if they havea mind to it. I haven't got no niggers myself. I tried them, but theywant more looking after than they are worth; and I can make a shift withmy 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 andVincent stretched themselves upon a heap of straw covered with blanketsthat was to serve as their bed, Chloe having hours before gone up toshare the bed of the negro girl who assisted the farmer's wife in hermanagement of the house and children.
"It's best to get through Camden before people are about. There areYankee 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 meetwith Yankees; but as it would look queer, you taking your garden truckout of the town, it's just as well to be on the road before people areabout. Once you get five or six miles the other side you might be goingto the next place to sell
your stuff."
"That is just what I have been thinking," Vincent said, "and I agreewith you the earlier we get through Camden the better."
Accordingly, as soon as daylight appeared, the horse was put in thecart, the farmer mounting his own animal, and with a hearty good-by fromhis wife the party started away. The Yankee sentinels at each end of thebridge were passed without questions, for, early as it was, the cartswere coming in with farm produce. As yet the streets of the town werealmost deserted, and the farmer, who, before starting, had tossed atarpaulin into the back of the cart, said:
"Now, pull that over all that stuff, and then anyone that meets us willthink that you are taking out bacon and groceries, and such like, forsome store way off."
This suggestion was carried out, and Camden was soon left behind. A fewcarts were met as they drove along. The farmer knew some of the driversand pulled up to say a few words to them. After a twenty-mile drive theystopped at another farm, where their friend's introduction insured themas cordial a welcome as that upon the preceding evening. So, step bystep, they journeyed on, escorted in almost every case by their host ofthe night before, and meeting with no interruption. Once they passed astrong body of Federal cavalry, but these, supposing that the partybelonged to the neighborhood, asked no questions; and at last, aftereight days' traveling, they passed two posts which marked the boundarybetween Tennessee and Alabama.
For the last two days they had been beyond the point to which theFederal troops had penetrated. They now felt that all risk was at anend. Another day's journey brought them to a railway station, and theylearned that the trains were running as usual, although somewhatirregular as to the hours at which they came along or as to the timethey took upon their journey. The contents of the cart had been left atthe farm at which they stopped the night before, and Vincent had now nodifficulty in disposing of the horse and cart, as he did not stand outfor price, but took the first offer made. Two hours later a train camealong, and the party were soon on their way to Rome in Georgia; aftertheir arrival there they went to Macon, at which place they alighted andhired a conveyance to take them to Antioch, near which place Lucy'srelatives resided.
The latter part of the journey by rail had been a silent one. Lucy feltnone of the pleasure that she had expected at finding herself safelythrough her dangers and upon the point of joining relations who would bedelighted to see her, and she sat looking blankly out of the window atthe surrounding country. At last Vincent, who had been half an hourwithout 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 courseit is unpleasant saying good-by when people have been together for sometime," she said with an effort.
"I hope it will not be good-by for long," he said. "I shall be back hereas soon as this horrible war is over."
"What for?" the girl asked, looking round in surprise. "You live a longway 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 knowthat I love you?"
The girl gave a start of surprise, her cheek flushed but her eyes didnot drop as she looked frankly at him.
"No, Vincent," she said after a pause, "I never once thought you lovedme--never once. You have not been a bit like what I thought people werewhen they felt like that."
"I hope not, Lucy. I was your protector then, I have tried my best tobe what people thought me--your brother; but now that you are just homeand among your own people, I think I may speak and tell you how I feeltoward you, and how I loved you since the moment I first saw you. Andyou, Lucy, do you think you could care for me?"
"Not more than I do now, Vincent. I love you with all my heart. I havebeen trying so hard to believe that I didn't because I thought you didnot care for me that way."
For some minutes no further word was spoken. Vincent was the first tospeak:
"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 whateveryone is doing, are hateful inventions. It is perfectly absurd, whenone finds one's self the happiest fellow living, that one is obliged tolook 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 asI felt that there was no longer any harm in speaking, out it came; butit'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 Ithink the train begins to slacken, and it is the next station at whichwe get out."
"I think, Lucy," Vincent said, when they had approached the house of herrelatives, "you and Chloe had better get out and go in by yourselves andtell your story. Dan and I will go to the inn, and I will come round inan hour. If we were to walk in together like this, it would be next toimpossible for you to explain how it all came about."
"I think that would be the best plan. My two aunts are the kindestcreatures possible, but no doubt they will be bewildered at seeing me sosuddenly. 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 Chloeto alight, and then, jumping into the buggy again, told the driver totake him to the hotel.
After engaging a room and enjoying a bath, Vincent sallied out into thelittle town, and was fortunate enough to succeed in purchasing a suit oftweed clothes, which, although they scarcely fitted as if they had beenmade for him, were still an immense improvement upon the rough clothesin which he had traveled. Returning to the hotel, he put on his newpurchases, and then walked to the house of Lucy's aunts, which was aquarter of a mile outside the town.
Lucy had walked up the little path through the garden in front of thehouse, and turning the handle of the door, had entered unannounced andwalked straight into the parlor. The two elderly ladies rose with somesurprise at the entry of a strange visitor. It was three years since shehad paid her last visit there, and for a moment they did not recognizeher.
"Don't you know me, aunts?"
"Why, goodness me!" the eldest exclaimed, "if it isn't our little Lucygrown into womanhood! My dear child, where have you sprung from?" Andthe two ladies warmly embraced their niece, who, as soon as theyreleased her from their arms, burst into a fit of crying, and it wassome time before she could answer the questions showered upon her.
"It is nothing, aunts," she said at last, wiping her eyes; "but I am soglad to be with you again, and I have gone through so much, and I am sohappy, and it's so nice being with you again! Here is Chloe waiting tospeak 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 sixyears ago," Miss Kingston said. "But how did you get through the lines?We have been terribly anxious about you. Your brother was here only afortnight ago, and he and your father were in a great way about you, andreproached themselves bitterly that they did not send you to us beforethe troubles began, which certainly would have been a wiser step, as Itold them. Of course your brother said that, when they left you to jointhe army, they had no idea that matters were going so far, or that theYankees would drive us out of Tennessee, or they would never havedreamed of leaving you alone. However, here you are, so now tell me allabout it."
Lucy told the story of the various visits of the Federal bushwhackers tothe house, and how she had narrowly escaped death for refusing to betraythe Confederate officer who had come to the house for food. Her recitalwas frequently interrupted by exclamations of indignation and pity fromher aunts.
"Well, aunts, after that," she went on, "you see it was impossible forme to s
top there any longer. No doubt they came back again a few hoursafterward and burned the house, and had I been found there, I shouldhave been sure to be burned in it, so Chloe agreed with me that therewas 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 tous--indeed, the only thing. But how in the world did you two manage totravel alone all that distance and get through the Federal lines?"
"You see, we were not alone, aunts," Lucy said; "the Confederate officerand his servant were coming through and, of course, they took care ofus. We could never have got through alone, and as Chloe was with me, wegot on very nicely; but we have been a long time getting through, for inthe fight, where he saved my life and killed five of the band, he hadhis shoulder broken by a pistol bullet, and we had to stop in afarmhouse near Mount Pleasant, and he was very ill for some time, butthe doctor who attended him was a true Southerner, and so we were quitesafe 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 nearRichmond. He was in the cavalry with Stuart, and was made prisoner whilehe 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 sayanything 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, mydear, that, while you were traveling under his protection, he ought tohave 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 abrother to me--just like what Jack would have been, if he had beenbringing me here."
"That's right, my dear; I am glad to hear it. Now, let us hear all aboutit."
Lucy told the whole story of her escape and her adventures, and when shehad finished, her aunts nodded to each other.
"That's all very satisfactory, Lucy. It was a difficult position to beplaced in, though I don't see how it was to be avoided, and the youngman really seems to have behaved very well. Don't you think so, Ada?"The younger Miss Kingston agreed, and both were prepared to receiveVincent 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 thepresence of Lucy's aunts, who could scarcely restrain an exclamation ofsurprise at his youth, for, although Lucy had said nothing about hisage, they expected to meet an older man--the impression being gainedfrom the recital of his bravery in attacking, single-handed, twelvemen, and by the manner in which he had piloted the party through theirdangers.
"We are very glad to see you--my sister Ada and myself," Miss Kingstonsaid, shaking hands cordially with their visitor. "Lucy has been tellingus all about you; but we certainly expected, from what you had gonethrough, that you were older."
"I am two or three years older than she is, Miss Kingston, and I havegone through so much in the last three years that I feel older than Iam. She has told you, I hope, that she has been good enough to promiseto be my wife some day?"
"Yes, she has told us that, Mr. Wingfield; and although we don't knowyou personally, we feel sure--my sister Ada and I--from what she hastold us of your behavior while you have been together, that you are anhonorable gentleman, and we hope and believe that you will make herhappy."
"I will do my best to do so," Vincent said earnestly. "As to mycircumstances, I shall, in another year, come into possession of estatessufficient to keep her in every comfort."
"I have no doubt that that is all satisfactory, Mr. Wingfield, and thather father will give his hearty approval when he hears all thecircumstances 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 sheheard Vincent knock. "I dare say you will like a quiet talk together,"she added, smiling, "for she tells me you have never been alone togethersince you started."
Lucy required several calls before she came down. A new shyness, such asshe had never before felt, had seized her, and it was with flushedcheeks and timid steps that she at last came downstairs, and it neededan encouraging--"Go in, you silly child, your lover will not eat you,"before she turned the handle and went into the room where Vincent wasexpecting her.
Vincent had telegraphed from the first station at which he arrivedwithin the limits of the Confederacy to his mother, announcing his safearrival there, and asking her to send money to him at Antioch. Herletter in reply reached him three days after his arrival. It containednotes for the amount he wrote for; and while expressing her own and hissisters' delight at hearing he had safely reached the limits of theConfederacy, she expressed not a little surprise at the out-of-the-wayplace to which he had requested the money to be sent.
"We have been examining the maps, my dear boy," she said, "and find thatit is seventy or eighty miles out of your direct course, and we havepuzzled 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 somemessage from one of your late fellow-prisoners to his family. I am notgood at guessing, and am content to wait until you return home. We hopethat you will leave as soon as you get the remittance. We shall countthe hours until we see you. Of course we learned from a Yankee papersmuggled through the lines that you had escaped from prison, and havebeen terribly anxious about you ever since. We are longing to hear youradventures."
A few hours after the receipt of this letter, Vincent was on his wayhome. It was a long journey. The distance was considerable, and thetrain service greatly disordered and unpunctual. When within a few hoursof Richmond he telegraphed, giving the approximate time at which hemight be expected to arrive. The train, however, did not reach Richmonduntil some hours later. The carriage was waiting at the station, and thenegro coachman shouted with pleasure at the sight of his young master.
"Missis and the young ladies come, sah; but de station master he say detrain 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 andsisters.
"You grow bigger and bigger, Vincent," his mother said after the firstgreeting was over. "I thought you must have done when you went awaylast, 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 sixfeet one."
"You are a dreadful trouble to us, Vincent," Annie said. "We have awfulanxiety whenever we hear of a battle being fought, and it was almost arelief to us when we heard that you were in a Yankee prison. We thoughtat least you were out of danger for some time; but since the news cameof your escape it has been worse than ever, and as week passed afterweek without hearing anything of you we began to fear that somethingterrible had happened to you."
"Nothing terrible has happened at all, Annie. The only mishap I had wasgetting a pistol bullet in my shoulder which laid me up for about sixweeks. There was nothing very dreadful about it," he continued, asexclamations of alarm and pity broke from mother and sister. "I was welllooked after and nursed. And now I will tell you my most important pieceof news, and then I will give you a full account of my adventures fromthe time when Dan got me out of prison, for it is entirely to him that Iowe 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 tooridiculous!"
Vincent laughed and nodded.
"Annie is right, mother; I am engaged to be married."
Mrs. Wingf
ield looked grave, Rosie laughed, and Annie threw her armsround his neck and kissed him.
"You dear, silly old boy!" she said. "I am glad, though it seems soridiculous. Who is she, and what is she like?"
"We needn't ask where she lives," Rosie said. "Of course it is inAntioch, though how in the world you managed it all in the two or threedays you were there I can't make out."
Mrs. Wingfield's brow cleared. "At any rate, in that case, Vincent, sheis a Southerner. I was afraid at first it was some Yankee woman who hadperhaps sheltered you on your way."
"Is she older than you, Vincent?" Annie asked suddenly. "I shouldn'tlike her to be older than you are."
"She is between sixteen and seventeen," Vincent replied, "and she is aSouthern girl, mother, and I am sure you will love her, for she saved mylife 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, thatyou 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 aboutit. We expected your story to be exciting, but did not dream thatlove-making had any share in it."
Vincent accordingly told them the whole story of his adventures from thetime of his first meeting Dan in prison. When he related the episode ofLucy's refusal to say whether he would return, although threatened withinstant death unless she did so, his narrative was broken by theexclamations of his hearers.
"You need not say another word in praise of her," his mother said. "Sheis indeed a noble girl, and I shall be proud of such a daughter."
"She must be a darling!" Annie exclaimed. "Oh, Vincent, how brave shemust be! I don't think I ever could have done that, with a pistolpointing straight at you, and all those dreadful men round, and no hopeof a rescue; it's awful even to think of."
"It was an awful moment, as you may imagine," Vincent replied. "I shallnever 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 afugitive Confederate officer whom she shielded from his pursuers."
"Go on, Vincent; please go on," Annie said. "Tell us what happenednext."
Vincent continued his narrative to the end, with, however, manyinterruptions and questions on the part of the girls. His mother saidlittle, but sat holding his hand in hers.
"It has been a wonderful escape, Vincent," she said when he hadfinished. "Bring your Lucy here when you like and I shall be ready toreceive her as my daughter, and to love her for her own sake as well asyours. She must be not only a brave girl but a noble girl, and you didperfectly right to lose not a single day after you had taken her safelyhome in asking her to be your wife. I am glad to think that some day theOrangery 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 Iget it."
"What, haven't you got one now?"
"She had not one to give me. You see, when the troubles began she waslittle more than a child, and since that time she has scarcely lefthome, but she promised to have one taken at once and send it to me, andthen, if it is a good likeness, you will know all about it."
"Mother, when you write to-night," Rosie said, "please send her yourphotograph and ours, and say we all want one of our new relative that isto be."
"I think, my dear, you can leave that until we have exchanged a letteror two. You will see Vincent's copy, and can then wait patiently foryour own."
"And now, mother, I have told you all of my news; let us hear abouteveryone here. How are all the old house hands, and how is Dinah? Tonyis at Washington, I know, because I saw in the paper that he had made asudden attack upon Jackson."
Mrs. Wingfield's face fell.
"That is my one piece of bad news, Vincent. I wish you hadn't asked thequestion until to-morrow, for I am sorry that anything should disturbthe pleasure of this first meeting; still, as you have asked thequestion, I must answer it. About ten days ago a negro came, as Iafterward heard from Chloe, to the back entrance and asked for Dinah. Hesaid he had a message for her. She went and spoke to him, and then ranback and caught up her child. She said to Chloe, 'I have news of myhusband. I think he is here. I will soon be back again.' Then she ranout, 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 hasmet her husband, and that he has persuaded her to make off at once withhim to Yorktown or Fortress Monroe."
"This is bad news indeed, mother," Vincent said. "No, I do not think fora moment that she has gone off with Tony. There could be no reason whyshe should have left so suddenly without telling anyone, for she knewwell enough that you would let her go if she wished it; and I feel surethat neither she nor Tony would act so ungratefully as to leave us inthis 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 theold rascal has seen in some Northern paper an account of his son havingbeen attacked in the streets of Washington, and recaptured by Tony, andhe 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 notput myself out this first evening of my return, and will say no moreabout 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 gettingon? Have you heard of any more of my old chums being killed since I wastaken 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 beenslight since Antietam; but that battle had made many gaps among thecircle of their friends, and of these Vincent now heard for the firsttime, and he learned, too, that although no battle had been fought sinceAntietam, on the 17th of September, there had been a sharp skirmish nearFredericksburg, and that the Federal army, now under General Burnside,who had succeeded McClellan, was facing that of Lee, near that town, andthat it was believed that they would attempt to cross the Rappahannockin a few days.
It was not until he had retired for the night that Vincent allowed histhoughts to turn again to the missing woman. Her loss annoyed and vexedhim 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 alloccasions, and her untiring watchfulness and care during his illnessfrom his wound, had touched him, and the thought that she was nowprobably in the hands of brutal taskmasters was a real pain to him. Inthe next place, he had, as it were, given his pledge to Tony that sheshould be well cared for until she could be sent to join him. And whatshould he say now when the negro wrote to claim her? Then, too, he felta personal injury that the woman should be carried off when under hismother's protection, and he was full of indignation and fury at thedastardly revenge taken by Jackson. Upon hearing the news he had at oncementally determined to devote himself for some time to a search forDinah; but the news that a great battle was expected at the frontinterfered with his plan. Now that he was back, capable of returning toduty, his place was clearly with his regiment; but he determined thatwhile he would rejoin at once, he would, as soon the battle was over, ifhe were unhurt, take up the search. His mother and sisters were greatlydistressed when, at breakfast, he told them that he must at once reporthimself as fit for duty, and ready to join his regiment.
"I was afraid you would think so," Mrs. Wingfield said, while the girlswept silently; "and much as I grieve at losing you again so soon, I cansay nothing against it. You have gone through many dangers, Vincent,and have been preserved to us through them all. We will pray that youmay 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 aremaking the same sacrifice; but it is hard to give you up when butyesterday you returned to us."