XII.

HOW THE MOMENT AT LAST CAME.

Mohun rode on for more than a mile at full gallop, without uttering a word. Then he turned his head, and said, with a sigh:--

"Well, what do you think of your new acquaintance, Surry?"

"I think she is an impostor."

"As to her visions, you mean?"

"Yes. Her story of Darke I believe to be true."

"And I know it," returned Mohun. "A strange discovery, is it not? I went there to-day, without dreaming of this. Nighthawk informed me that Swartz had often been at the house of this woman--that the paper which I wish to secure might have been left with her for safe keeping--and thus I determined to go and ferret out the matter, in a personal interview. I have done so, pretty thoroughly, and it seems plain that she knows nothing of its present whereabouts. Will she discover through her visions--her spies--or her strange penetration, exhibited in the recognition of our persons? I know not; and so that matter ends. I have failed, and yet have learned some singular facts. Can you believe that strange story of Darke? Is he not a weird personage? This narrative we have just heard puts the finishing touch to his picture--the murderer marries the daughter of his victim!"

"It is truly an extraordinary history altogether," I said, "and the whole life of this man is now known to me, with a single exception."

"Ah! you mean--?"

"The period when you fought with him, and ran him through the body, and threw him into that grave, from which Swartz afterward rescued him on the morning of the 13th December, 1856."

Mohun looked at me with that clear and penetrating glance which characterized him.

"Ah! you know that!" he said.

"I could not fail to know it, Mohun."

"True--and to think that all this time you have, perhaps, regarded me as a criminal, Surry! But I am one--that is I was--in intent if not in reality. Yes, my dear friend," Mohun added, with a deep sigh, his head sinking upon his breast, "there was a day in my life when I was insane, a simple madman,--and on that day I attempted to commit murder, and suicide! You have strangely come to catch many glimpses of those past horrors. On the Rappahannock the words of that woman must have startled you. In the Wilderness my colloquy with the spy revealed more. Lastly, the words of Darke on the night of Swartz's murder must have terribly complicated me in this issue of horrors. I knew that you must know much, and I did not shrink before you, Surry! Do you know why? Because I have repented, friend! and thank G.o.d! my evil pa.s.sions did not result, as I intended, in murder and self-destruction!"

Mohun pa.s.sed his hand across his forehead, to wipe away the drops of cold perspiration.

"All this is gloomy and tragic," he said; "and yet I must inflict it on you, Surry. Even more, I earnestly long to tell you the whole story of which you have caught these glimpses. Will you listen? It will not be long. I wish to show you, my dear friend--you are that to me, Surry!--that I am not unworthy of your regard; that there are no degrading scenes, at least, in my past life; that I have not cheated, tricked, deceived--even if I have attempted to destroy myself and others! Will you listen?"

"I have been waiting long to do so, Mohun," I said. "Speak, but first hear me. There is a man in this army who is the soul of honor. Since my father's death I value his good opinion more than that of all others--it is Robert E. Lee. Well, come with me if you choose, and I will go to Lee with you, and place my hand upon your shoulder, and say: 'General, this is my friend! I vouch for him; I am proud of his regard.

Think well of him, or badly of me too!' Are you satisfied?"

Mohun smiled sadly.

"I knew all that," he said. "Do you think I can not read men, Surry?

Long since I gave you in my heart the name of _friend_, and I knew that you had done as much toward me. Come, then! Go to my camp with me; in the evening we will take a ride. I am going to conduct you to a spot where we can talk without interruption, the exact place where the crimes of which I shall speak were committed."

And resuming the gallop, Mohun led the way, amid the trailing festoons, through the fallen logs, across the Rowanty.

Half an hour afterward we had reached his camp.

As the sun began to decline we again mounted our horses.

Pushing on rapidly we reached a large house on a hill above the Nottoway, and entered the tall gateway at the moment when the great windows were all ablaze in the sunset.

XIII.

FONTHILL.

Mohun spurred up the hill; reined in his horse in front of the great portico, and, dismounting, fastened his bridle to the bough of a magnificent exotic, one of a hundred which were scattered over the extensive grounds.

I imitated him, and we entered the house together, through the door, which gave way at the first push. No one had come to take our horses.

No one opposed our entrance. The house was evidently deserted.

I looked round in astonishment and admiration. In every thing appertaining to the mansion were the indications of almost unlimited wealth, directed by the severest and most elegant taste. The broken furniture was heavy and elaborately carved; the remnants of carpet of sumptuous velvet; the walls, ceiling, doorways, and deep windows were one ma.s.s of the richest chiselling and most elaborate fresco-painting.

On the walls still hung some faded portraits in the most costly frames.

On the mantel-pieces of variegated marble, supported by fluted pillars, with exquisitely carved capitals, rested a full length picture of a gentleman, the heavy gilt frame tarnished and crumbling.

The house was desolate, deserted, inexpressibly saddening from the evident contrast between its present and its past. But about the grand mansion hung an august air of departed splendor which to me, was more striking than if I had visited it in the days of its glory.

"Let me introduce 'Fonthill' to you, or rather the remains of it, Surry," Mohun said, with a sad smile. "It is not pleasant to bring a friend to so deserted a place; but I have long been absent; the house is gone to decay like other things in old Virginia. Still we can probably find two chairs. I will kindle a blaze, and we can light a cigar and talk without interruption."

With these words, Mohun proceeded to the adjoining apartment, from which he returned a moment afterward, dragging two chairs with elaborately carved backs.

"See," he said, with a smile, "they were handsome once. That one with the ragged remnants of red velvet was my father's. Take a seat, my dear Surry. I will sit in the other--it was my mother's."

Returning to the adjoining room, Mohun again reappeared, this time bearing in his arms the broken remnants of a mahogany table, which he heaped up in the great fireplace.

"This is all that remains of our old family dining-table," he said.

"Some Yankee or straggling soldier will probably use it for this purpose--so I antic.i.p.ate them!"

And, placing combustibles beneath the pile, Mohun had recourse to the metallic match case which he always carried with him in order to read dispatches, lit the fuel, and a blaze sprung up.

Next, he produced his cigar case, offered me an excellent Havana, which I accepted, and a minute afterward we were leaning back in the great chairs, smoking.

"An odd welcome, this," said Mohun, with his sad smile; "broken chairs, old pictures, and a fire made of ruined furniture! But one thing we have--an uninterrupted opportunity to converse. Let us talk, therefore, or rather, I will at once tell you what I promised."

XIV.

"LORD OF HIMSELF, THAT HERITAGE OF WOE."