"He has three times waylaid _him_ behind the rebel lines, and fired on him as he was riding at night through the woods," added the woman.

"Bah!" said Darke; "Swartz told you that?"

"He has done so."

"Hatred blinds you; I do not believe that story. But I design nothing of that description against Colonel Mohun. I will fight him wherever I meet him in battle--kill him, if I can--but no a.s.sa.s.sination."

A mocking smile came to the woman's lips.

"You seem to dislike the idea of--a.s.sa.s.sination," she said.

Darke uttered a sound resembling the growl of a wild animal, and a moment after, seizing the decanter, he dashed some of its contents into a gla.s.s, and raised it to his lips.

"Cursed stuff!" he suddenly exclaimed, setting the gla.s.s down violently. "I want drink--real drink--to-day!"

The woman looked at him curiously, and said quietly:--

"What is the matter?"

Her companion's brows were knit until the s.h.a.ggy ma.s.ses united over the gloomy eyes. Beneath burned a lurid fire.

"I have seen _him_ again--General Davenant," he said, in a low voice; "it is the second time."

As he uttered these words, Darke seemed the prey of some singular emotion.

"It was at Gettysburg first," he continued. "He was leading the charge, on the third day, against Cemetery Heights. I was there by accident.

They were repulsed. When he rode back, he was carrying a bleeding boy in his arms through the smoke. I recognized his tall form and gray hair; and heard his voice in the midst of the cannon, as he cheered on his men."

The speaker's face had flushed. His breast rose and fell.

"That was the first time," he said. "The second was the other day when he was riding among the enemy's guns near Bristoe--I made him out with my gla.s.ses."

Darke bent down, and gazed at the floor in silence. The fire in the dark eyes had deepened. His heavy under lip was caught in the large, sharp teeth.

All at once a ringing laugh disturbed the silence. There was a mocking intonation in it which was unmistakable.

"General Davenant!" exclaimed the woman. "Well, who is General Davenant?"

Darke looked at the mocking speaker sidewise.

"Who is General Davenant?" he said. "Is it necessary that I enlighten you, madam? He is my bugbear--my death's head! The sight of him poisons my life, and something gnaws at me, driving me nearly mad! To see that man chills me, like the hand of death!"

The woman looked at him and then began to laugh.

"You do unbend your n.o.ble strength, my lord!" she said, "to think so brainsickly of things!" throwing into the word, "brainsickly,"

exaggerated stage-rant.

"One would say," she continued, "that the brave Colonel Darke had the blues to-day! Take care how you meet Colonel Mohun in this mood! The result might be unfortunate."

Darke made no reply for some moments. He was gazing with knit brows upon the floor. Then he raised his head.

"You return to the subject of your friend," he said, coldly.

"Yes. The subject is agreeable."

"Well, I can give you intelligence of him--unless Swartz has antic.i.p.ated me."

"What intelligence?"

"Your friend Mohun is in love--again!"

The woman's face flushed suddenly.

"With whom?" she said.

"Ah! there is the curious part of the affair, madam!" returned Darke.

And in a low tone he added:--

"The name of the young lady is--Georgia Conway."

The woman half rose from her chair, with flashing eyes, and said:--

"Who told you that?"

Darke smiled. There was something lugubrious in that chilly mirth.

"An emissary on whom I can rely, brought me the intelligence," he said, "Colonel Mohun was wounded in the battle of Fleetwood, and entering a house where _she_ was nursing the wounded, fainted, and was caught in her arms. From that moment the affair began. She nursed him, and he was soon healed. I had myself inflicted the wound with a pistol ball--but the hurt was trifling. He got well in a few days--and was ready to meet me again at Upperville--but in those few days the young lady and himself became enamored of each other. She is proud, they say, and had always laughed at love--he too is a woman-hater--no doubt from some old affair, madam!--but both the young people suddenly changed their views. Colonel Mohun became devoted; the young woman forgot her sarcasm. My emissary saw them riding out more than once near Culpeper Court-House; and since the return of the army, they have been billing and cooing like two doves, quite love sick! That's agreeable, is it not, madam?"

And Darke uttered a singular laugh. As for the woman she had grown so pale, I thought she would faint.

"Do you understand, madam?" continued Darke. "Colonel Mohun is in love _again_; and the name of his friend is--Georgia Conway!"

The woman was silent; but I saw that she was gnawing her nails.

"My budget is not exhausted, madam," continued Darke. "The young lady has a sister; her name is Virginia. She too has a love affair with a young officer of the artillery. His name is William Davenant!"

And the speaker clutched the arm of a chair so violently that the wood cracked in his powerful grasp.

"That is all!" he added. "The Mohuns, Davenants and Conways, are about to intermarry, you see! Their blood is going to mingle, their hands to clasp, in spite of the gulf of fire that divides their people! All is forgotten, or they care nothing. They are yonder, billing, and cooing, and kissing! the tender hearts are throbbing--all the world is bright to them--while I am here, and you, tearing our hearts out in despair!"

Darke stopped, uttering a sound between a curse and a groan. The woman had listened with a bitter smile. As he finished, she rose and approached him. Her eyes burned in the pale face like coals of fire.

"There is a better thing than despair!" she said.

"What?"

"Vengeance!"