"I will be brief," continued the woman, rising slowly, and looking at Georgia Conway, with that dagger-like smile. "General Darke-Davenant has related a pleasing little history. I will relate another, and address myself more particularly to Judge Conway--my dear uncle. He does not, or will not, recognize me; and I suppose I may have changed.

But that is not important. I am none the less Lucretia Conway. You do not remember that young lady, perhaps, sir; your proud Conway blood has banished from your memory the very fact of her former existence. And yet she existed--she exists still--she is speaking to you--unbosoming herself in the midst of her dear family! But to tell my little story--it will not take many minutes. I was born here, you remember, uncle, and grew up what is called headstrong. At sixteen, I fell in love with a young Adonis with a mustache; and, as you and the rest opposed my marriage, obdurately refusing your consent, I yielded to the eloquence of Mr. Adonis, and eloped with him, going to the North. Here we had a quarrel. I grew angry, and slapped Adonis; and he took his revenge by departing without leaving me a wedding-ring to recall his dear image. Then I met that gentleman--General Darke-Mortimer-Davenant!

We took a fancy to each other; we became friends; and soon afterward travelled to the South, stopping in Dinwiddie. Here I made the acquaintance of General Mohun--there he stands; he fell desperately in love with me--married me--Parson Hope will tell you that--and then attempted to murder me, without rhyme or reason. Luckily, I made my escape from the monster! rejoined my friend, General Darke-Davenant; the war came on; I came back here; have been lately arrested, but escaped by bribing the rebel jailers; only, however, to find that my naughty husband is going to marry my cousin Georgia! Can you wonder, then, that I have exerted myself to be present at the interesting ceremony? That I have yielded to my fond affection, and come to say to my dear Georgia, 'Don't marry my husband, cousin!' And yet you frown at me--you evidently hate me--you think I am _lying_--that I was married before, perhaps. Well, if that be the case, where is the proof of that marriage?" "Here it is!" said a voice, which made the woman turn suddenly.

And opening the heavy window-curtains, which had, up to this moment, concealed him, Nighthawk advanced into the apartment, holding in his hand a paper.

A wild rage filled the eyes of the woman, but now so smiling. Her hand darted to her bosom, and I saw the gleam of a poniard.

"This paper," said Nighthawk, coolly, "was found on the dead body of a man named Alibi, who had stolen it. See, Judge Conway; it is in regular form. 'At Utica, New York, Mortimer Davenant to Lucretia Conway.'

Attested by seal and signature. There can be no doubt of its genuineness."

Suddenly a hoa.r.s.e exclamation was heard, and a poniard gleamed in the hand of the woman.

With a single bound, she reached Georgia Conway, and struck at her heart. The corsage of the young lady, however, turned the poniard, and at the same instant a thundering volley of musketry resounded without.

Furious cries were then heard; the wild trampling of horses; and a loud voice ordering:--

"Put them to the bayonet!"

Darke drew his sword, and reached the side of the woman at a bound.

Throwing his arms around her, he raised her, and rushed, with his burden, through the hall, toward the lawn, where a fierce combat was in progress.

Suddenly the woman uttered a wild cry, and relaxed her grasp upon his neck. A bullet had buried itself in her bosom.

Darke's hoa.r.s.e and menacing voice echoed the cry; but he did not release the body; with superhuman strength he raised it aloft, and bounded down the steps.

As he reached the bottom, a man rushed upon him, and drove his bayonet through his breast. It was withdrawn, streaming with blood.

"Put all to the bayonet!" shouted the voice of General Davenant, as he charged with his young son, Charles, beside him.

At that voice Darke stretched out both hands, and dropping his sword, uttered a cry, which attracted the general's attention.

For an instant they stood facing each other--unutterable horror in the eyes of General Davenant.

"I am--done for," exclaimed Darke, a b.l.o.o.d.y foam rushing to his lips, "but--I have told him--that _I_ was the murderer--that _you_ were innocent. Give me your hand, father!"

General Davenant leaped to the ground, and with a piteous groan received the dying man in his arms.

"I am a wretch--I know that--but I was a Davenant once"--came in low murmurs. "Tell Will, he can marry now, for I will be dead--kiss me once, Charley!"

The weeping boy threw himself upon his knees, and pressed his lips to those of his brother.

As he did so, the wounded man fell back in his father's arms, and expired.

XXI.

FIVE FORKS.

On the day after these events, Lee's extreme right at Five Forks, was furiously attacked, and in spite of heroic resistance, the little force under Pickett and Fitzhugh Lee was completely routed and dispersed.

Do you regard that term "heroic," as merely rhetorical, reader?

Hear a Northern writer, a wearer of blue, but too honest not to give brave men their due:--

"Having gained the White Oak road, Warren changed front again to the right, and advanced westward, so continually to take in flank and rear whatever hostile force still continued to hold the right of the Confederate line. This had originally been about three miles in extent, but above two-thirds of it were now carried. Yet, vital in all its parts, what of the two divisions remained, still continued the combat with unyielding mettle. Parrying the thrusts of the cavalry from the front, this poor scratch of a force threw back its left in a new and short crochet, so as to meet the advance of Warren, who continued to press in at right angles to the White Oak road. When the infantry, greatly elated with their success, but somewhat disorganized by marching and fighting so long in the woods, arrived before this new line, they halted and opened an untimely fusillade, though there had been orders not to halt. The officers, indeed, urged their men forward, but they continued to fire without advancing. Seeing this hesitation, Warren dashed forward, calling to those near him to follow. Inspired by his example, the color-bearers and officers all along the front, sprang out, and without more firing, the men charged at the _pas de course_, capturing all that remained of the enemy. The history of the war presents no equally splendid ill.u.s.tration of personal magnetism.... A charge of the cavalry completed the rout, and the remnants of the divisions of Pickett and Johnson fled westward from Five Forks, pursued for many miles, and until long after dark, by the mounted divisions of Merritt and McKenzie."

That is picturesque, is it not? It is amusing, too--though so tragic.

You can see that "poor scratch of a force" fighting to the death, can you not? You can see the poor little handful attacked by Sheridan's crack cavalry corps in front, and then suddenly by Warren's superb infantry corps in both their flank and rear. You can see them, game to the last, throwing back their left in the crochet to meet Warren; see that good soldier cheering on his men "greatly elated," but "somewhat disorganized," too--so much so that they suddenly halt, and require the "personal magnetism" of the general to inspire them, and bring them up to the work. Then the little scratch gives way--they are a handful, and two corps are pressing them. They have "continued the combat with unyielding mettle," as long as they could--now they are driven; and on rushes the thundering cavaliers to destroy them! Sound the bugles! Out with sabres! charge! ride over them! "Hurra!" So'the little scratch disappears.

General Warren, who won that fight, was a brave man, and did not boast of it. Tell me, general--you are honest--is any laurel in your hardwon wreath, labelled "Five Forks?" It would be insulting that other laurel labelled "Gettysburg," where you saved Meade!

In that bitter and desperate fight, Corse's infantry brigade and Lee's cavalry won a renown which can never be taken from them. The infantry remained unbroken to the last moment; and a charge of Lee's cavalry upon Sheridan's drove them back, well nigh routed.

But nothing could avail against such numbers. The Confederate infantry, cavalry, and artillery at last gave way. Overwhelmed by the great force, they were shattered and driven. Night descended upon a battlefield covered with heaps of dead and wounded, the blue mingled with the gray.

Among those wounded, mortally to all appearances, was Willie Davenant.

He had fought with the courage of the bull-dog which lay _perdu_ under the shy bearing of the boy. All the army had come to recognize it, by this time; and such was the high estimate which General R.E. Lee placed upon him, that it is said he was about to be offered the command of a brigade of infantry. Before this promotion reached him, however, the great crash came; and the brave youth was to fall upon the field of Five Forks, where he fought his guns obstinately to the very last.

It was just at nightfall that he fell, with a bullet through his breast.

The enemy were pressing on hotly, and there was no time to bring off the wounded officer. It seemed useless, too. He lay at full length, in a pool of blood, and was breathing heavily. To attempt to move him, even if it were possible, threatened him with instant death.

A tuching incident followed. The enemy carried Five Forks as night descended. They had advanced so early, that Judge Conway and his daughters had had no time to leave their home. Compelled to remain thus, they did not forget their duty to the brave defenders of the Confederacy, and when the firing ceased, the old statesman and his daughters went to succor the wounded.

Among the first bodies which they saw was that of Will Davenant. One gleam of the lantern carried by the Federal surgeon told all; and Virginia Conway with a low moan knelt down and raised the head of the wounded boy, placing it upon her bosom.

As she did so, he sighed faintly, and opening his eyes, looked up into her face. The blood rushed to his cheeks; he attempted to stretch out his arms; then falling back upon her bosom the young officer fainted.

A cry from the girl attracted the attention of the Federal surgeon who was attending to the wounded Federalists. He was a kind-hearted man, and came to the spot whence he had heard the cry.

"He is dying!" moaned the poor girl, with bloodless cheeks. "Can you do nothing for him? Oh, save him, sir!--only save him!--have pity upon me!"

She could say no more.

The surgeon bent over and examined the wound. When he had done so, he shook his head.

"His wound is mortal, I am afraid," he said, "but I will do all I can for him."

And with a rapid hand he stanched the blood, and bandaged the wound.

The boy had not stirred. He remained still, with his head leaning upon the girl's breast.

"Can he live?" she murmured, in a tone almost inaudible.