“Look, Mara! Do my old eyes deceive me, or is that a horseman?”
“Where, grandpa?”
“Crossing the ridge yonder.”
They presented a striking picture--one bowed beneath the weight of
four-score years, his countenance shrunken and wrinkled, his long, thin
lock glistening in the sunlight with the frosts of time; the other just
budding into womanhood, fair as a poet’s dream, with hair that vied
with the gold of the sun and eyes of a heavenly blue.
She was leaning gently on the arm of her aged companion as they stood
in the doorway of their southern home, gazing upon the surrounding
landscape, until his eye had caught sight of an object in the distance
which had startled the foregoing dialogue.
“I see him, grandpa!” she exclaimed, as her gaze followed the direction
he pointed out.
“He seems to be coming this way, Mara. Who can it be?”
“I cannot tell, grandpa. Oh, in these terrible times I tremble lest
every comer be a foe.”
“Nay, child; I think we have nothing to fear. Ah, he heads more to the
south. He is not coming here.”
The maiden drew a breath of relief, and as the strange rider
disappeared from sight a minute later, she said:
“He is gone. I am so glad, too. But, grandpa, have you forgotten that
you were to go to Hammond’s for me? You will have to start at once,
while I shall have to look after my work.”
“Yes, yes, Mara, my child. But hark! Dinah is calling for you now. I
never saw such a troublesome nigger.”
With the words he went into the house, leaving her still standing in
the doorway.
She was about to follow her grandparent, when a moving object in the
distance caught her gaze.
It looked like a man moving at the top of his speed.
“Who can it be?” she said, speaking aloud. “He is coming this way, too.”
Not a little surprised and anxious she continued to watch and wait.
“It must be the horseman grandpa and I saw on the ridge,” she mused.
“And he is certainly coming here. I suppose I ought to rouse the folks,
but little good that will do. Poor old grandpa is our only protection.”
The approach of the stranger was no longer a matter of doubt.
In a few minutes he was within plain view.
The maiden saw that he was young--not more than twenty-one or
twenty-two. He was handsome, too. Quite tall, broad-shouldered and with
a countenance that Apollo might have envied.
But there was a haggard look upon his face, and he carried his left arm
in a sling. His step, too, seemed uneasy and she saw that he had gone
about as far as nature would permit him.
“A northern man--an accursed Yankee!” she exclaimed under her breath,
somewhat fiercely.
No one else had appeared in sight as far as she could see.
“Help, fair lady!” cried the wounded stranger, when he had come within
a short distance. “I can go no further!”
She quickly sprang to his side and kindly lent her aid to his falling
strength.
With her assistance he reached the doorway, where he sank upon the
threshold pale and faint.
“Let me get you a glass of wine,” she said, disappearing into the house.
Gone but a minute, she placed the cordial to his lips, when he drank a
strong draught.
Revived by its potent power he started up to look wildly around.
“Do you see them?” he asked, huskily.
“Who?” she questioned in surprise.
“A body of horsemen. I had a narrow escape from them. My horse was shot
and after running until nearly exhausted I saw your house. I had barely
strength to get here. I trust you will befriend me,” and his dark eyes
were turned toward her in pleading more eloquent than words.
Her eyes fell before his gaze.
“You are a Yankee!” she exclaimed in confusion.
“Yes,” he answered frankly. “I am one of Sherman’s scouts.”
A shadow fell upon her fair countenance.
“We are rebels, here!” she faltered. “I have a brother in Johnston’s
army.”
It was his turn to look dismayed.
“Pardon me, I could go no further. I----”
“Never mind; you seem like an honest man, though one of Abe Lincoln’s
hirelings. You can rest here until you regain your strength.”
“Thank you. I will not stop long, for it would not be well for you to
have them find me here.”
“They may not come this way. Do you know whose command it was?”
“It was led by Captain Dermot.”
She turned pale as he uttered the name.
“He is a bad man. But you are wounded. Forgive me for not thinking of
it before.”
“I do not think it is anything serious. I bandaged it so as to stop
somewhat the flow of blood. It is nothing,” and he smiled faintly.
“But I must insist upon seeing that it is properly cared for with your
permission. I am quite a surgeon.”
“Your countenance seems very familiar to me, but it can’t be that we
have met before.”
“No; our name is Morland.”
“Morland!” he repeated, excitedly. “Then you are Mara Morland?”
She started with wonder as he mentioned her name.
“Forgive me,” he hastened to say, “but I have recognized you from your
portrait which I have seen many times. You have a brother Harry.”
“Yes; but he is in the army now.”
“He and I were chums at college.”
“And you are Curtis Remington?”
“The same. This is a glad surprise to me. I little dreamed of meeting
you.”
“I wish that Harry were here. He used to speak of you often, and he
told me how you once saved his life. It seems like meeting an old
friend.”
“Thank you. So Harry is in the army. I have not heard from him since we
left college. The war broke out soon after and I enlisted at once.”
“I shall be glad when this cruel war is over,” she exclaimed with a
shudder. “But look! there is a body of horsemen coming this way!”
“It is Captain Dermot’s company!” declared Curtis Remington. “Can it be
possible they have tracked me here?”
“They are coming directly this way. They are riding fast, too.”
“Then I must leave you at once. Many thanks for your kindness. Ah,” he
added, suppressing a groan as he staggered to his feet, “my race is
almost run.”