Shall I reveal to you, gentle reader, what Tom told me long afterward?

He had advanced and been repulsed--had attacked and been "scattered."

Pardon the slang of the army, and admire the expeditious operations of the gentlemen of the cavalry!

Tom was blushing, but laughing too. He was game, if he _was_ unfortunate. He did not even decline the material enjoyment of lunch, and having led in the young Miss Katy, with a charmingly foppish air, took his seat at the table, which promised so much pleasure of another description.

The fates frowned on us. Tom was unlucky that day, and I was drawn into the vortex of bad fortune.

Suddenly a clatter of hoofs came from the gra.s.s plat in front of the house; the rattle of sabres from a company of cavalry followed; and the young ladies had just time to thrust us into the conservatory, when the door opened, and an officer in blue uniform, accompanied by a lady, entered the apartment.

XI.

I OVERHEAR A SINGULAR CONVERSATION.

I recognized the new-comers at a glance. They were Darke, and the gray woman.

There was no mistaking that powerful figure, of low stature, but herculean proportions; that gloomy and phlegmatic face, half-covered with the black beard; and the eye glancing warily, but with a reckless fire in them, from beneath the heavy eye-brows.

The woman wore an elegant gray riding habit--gray seemed a favorite with her. Her cheeks were as white as ever, and her lips as red. Her bearing was perfectly composed, and she advanced, with the long riding skirt thrown over her arm, walking with exquisite grace.

All this I could easily see. The gla.s.s door of the conservatory had been left ajar in the hurry of our retreat, and from behind the lemon-trees and flower-bushes, we could see into the apartment without difficulty.

There was evidently little danger of our discovery. The new-comers had plainly entered the house with no design to search it. Darke advanced into the apartment; made the ladies a bow, which more than ever convinced me that he had been familiar with good society; and requested food for the lady. She had tasted none for many hours, and was faint.

He would not ask it for himself, inasmuch as he was an enemy.

He bowed again as he spoke, and was silent.

The young ladies had listened coldly. As he finished, they pointed to the waiter, and without speaking, they left the apartment.

Darke was left alone with the woman in gray. She seemed to have regarded ceremony as unnecessary. Going to the table, she had already helped herself, and for some moments devoured, rather than ate, the food before her.

Then she rose, and went and took her seat in a rocking-chair near the fire. Darke remained erect, gazing at her, in silence.

The lady rocked to and fro, pushed back her dark hair with the snowy hand, and looking at her companion, began to laugh.

"You are not hungry?" she said.

"No," was his reply.

"And to think that a romantic young creature like myself _should_ be!"

"It was natural. I hoped that you would have given up this fancy of accompanying me. You can not stand the fatigue."

"I can stand it easily," she said. "When we have a cherished object, weariness does not count."

"A cherished object! What is yours?"

"Sit down, and I will tell you. I am tired. You can rejoin the column in ten minutes."

"So be it," said Darke, gloomily.

And he sat down near her.

"You wish to be informed of my object in going with you everywhere,"

she said. And her voice which had at first been gay and careless, a.s.sumed a mocking accent, making the nerves tingle. "I can explain in a very few words my romantic desire. I wish to see _him_ fall."

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Darke, coldly; "you mean--"

"That man--yes. You promised to kill him, when you next met. Did you not promise me that?"

Darke looked at the speaker with grim admiration.

"You are a singular woman," he said; "you never forget a wrong. And yet the wrong, people might say, was committed by _you_--not _him_."

"Do _you_ say that?" exclaimed the woman with sudden venom in her voice.

"I say nothing, madam," was the gloomy reply. "I only declare that you hate much more strongly than I do. I hate him--and hate him honestly.

But I would not take him at disadvantage. You would strike him, wherever you met him--in the dark--in the back--I think you would dance the war-dance around him, when he was dying!"

And Darke uttered a short jarring laugh.

"You are right," said the woman, coolly. "I wish to see that man die--I expected you to kill him on that night in Pennsylvania. You promised to do it;--redeem your promise!"

"I will try to do so, madam," said Darke, coolly.

"And I wish to be present on the occasion."

Darke laughed as before.

"That doubtless has prevented you from having our good friend Mohun--well--a.s.sa.s.sinated!"

The woman was silent for a moment. Then she said:---

"No, I have tried that."

"Ah!--recently?"

"Yes."

"By what means--who was your agent?"

"Swartz."

Darke waited, listening.