As Mordaunt turned away, I saw him look at the floor.

"There is Achmed's blood," he said, pointing to a stain on the plank; "and the other is the blood of Fenwick, who was buried near his victim."

"I remember," I murmured. And letting my chin fall upon my breast, I returned in thought to the strange scene which the spot recalled so vividly.

"There is but one other actor in that drama of whom I know nothing, Mordaunt!"

"You mean--"

"Violet Grafton."

Mordaunt raised his head quickly. His eyes glowed with a serene sweetness.

"She is my wife," he said; "the joy and sunlight of my life! I no longer read _Les Miserables_, and sneer at my species--I no longer scowl, Surry, and try to rush against the bullet that is to end me. G.o.d has rescued a lost life in sending me one of his angels; and it was she who made me promise to come hither and pray on the grave of our dear Achmed!"

Mordaunt turned toward the door as he spoke, and inviting me to ride with him, left the mansion. As I had agreed to stay with Mohun, I was obliged to decline.

Five minutes afterward he had mounted, and with a salute, the tall form disappeared in the forest.

We set out in turn, and were soon at Mohun's bivouac.

XXIV.

A NIGHT BIRD.

I shared Mohun's blankets, and was waked by the sun shining in my face.

My companion had disappeared, but I had scarcely risen when he was seen approaching at full gallop.

Throwing himself from his horse, he grasped my hand, his face beaming.

"All right, Surry!" he exclaimed; "I have seen Mordaunt; my command is all arranged; I have four superb regiments; and they are already in the saddle."

"I congratulate you, my dear general! Make good use of them--and I think you are going to have the opportunity at once."

"You are right--the enemy's cavalry are drawn up on the north bank of the river."

"Any firing in front?"

"They are feeling at all the fords."

"Are you going there?"

"At once."

"I will go with you."

And I mounted my horse which stood saddled near by.

Swallowing some mouthfuls of bread and beef as we rode on, we soon reached Mohun's command. It consisted of four regiments, drawn up in column, ready to move--and at sight of the young _sabreur_, the men raised a shout.

Mohun saluted with drawn sabre, and galloped to the front.

A moment afterward the bugle sounded, and the column advanced toward the Rapidan, within a mile of which it halted--Mohun and myself riding forward to reconnoitre at Germanna Ford, directly in our front.

The pickets were engaged, firing at each other across the river. On the northern bank were seen long columns of Federal cavalry, drawn up as though about to cross.

I rode with Mohun to the summit of the lofty hill near the ford, and here, seated on his horse beneath a tree, we found Mordaunt. It was hard to realize that, on the evening before, I had seen this stern and martial figure, kneeling in prayer upon a grave--had heard the brief deep voice grow musical when he spoke of his wife. But habit is every thing. On the field, Mordaunt was the soldier, and nothing but the soldier.

"You see," he said, "the game is about to open," pointing to the Federal cavalry. "You remember this spot, and that hill yonder, I think."

"Yes," I replied, "and your charge there when we captured their artillery in August, '62."

As he spoke, a dull firing, which we had heard for some moments from the direction of Ely's Ford, grew more rapid. Five minutes afterward, an officer was seen approaching from the side of the firing, at full speed.

When he was within a hundred yards, I recognized Harry Mordaunt. He was unchanged; his eyes still sparkled, his plume floated, his lips were smiling.

He greeted me warmly, and then turned to General Mordaunt, and reported the enemy attempting to cross at Ely's.

"I will go, then; will you ride with me, Surry? Keep a good look out here, Mohun."

I accepted Mordaunt's invitation, and in a moment we were galloping, accompanied by Harry, toward Ely's.

"Glad to see you again, colonel!" exclaimed the young man, in his gay voice, "you remind me of old times, and a young lady was speaking of you lately."

"A certain Miss Fitzhugh, I will wager!"

"There's no such person, colonel."

"Ah! you are married!"

"Last spring; but I might as well be single! That's the worst of this foolishness,--I wish they would stop it! I don't mind hard tack, or fighting, or sleeping in the rain; what I do mind is never being able to go home! I wish old Grant would go home and see _his_ wife, and let me go and see _mine_! We could then come back, and blaze away at each other with some satisfaction!"

Harry was chattering all the way, and I encouraged him to talk; his gay voice was delightful. We talked of a thousand things, but they interested me more than they would interest the reader, and I pa.s.s on to matters more important.

Pushing rapidly toward Ely's, we soon arrived, and found the enemy making a heavy demonstration there. It lasted throughout the day, and I remained to witness the result. At sunset, however, the firing stopped, and, declining Mordaunt's invitation to share the blankets of his bivouac, I set out on my way back to Orange.

Night came almost before I was aware of it, and found me following the Brock road to get on the Orange plank road.

Do you know the Brock road, reader? and have you ever ridden over it on a lowering night? If so, you have experienced a peculiar sensation. It is impossible to imagine any thing more lugubrious than these strange thickets. In their depths the owl hoots, and the whippoorwill cries; the stunted trees, with their gnarled branches, are like fiends reaching out spectral arms to seize the wayfarer by the hair.

Desolation reigns there, and you unconsciously place your hand on your pistol as you ride along, to be ready for some mysterious and unseen enemy.

At least, I did so on that night. I had now penetrated some distance, and had come near the lonely house where so many singular events had occurred.