Mohun | Page 6

And could any thing be
more delightful than this interview between two old friends? But let us
reserve these sweet confidences, these gushing emotions! One thing
only is wanting, to perfect the happiness of this moment; the presence
this evening of your dear brother!--but he is doubtless detained
elsewhere!"
Mohun's expression was singular as he uttered these words. The
prisoner looked at him as he was speaking with an indescribable smile.
I can only compare it to that of the swordsman about to deliver a mortal
lunge.
"My brother," she said, in accents as soft as a flute; "detained elsewhere,
do you say, sir? You are mistaken in supposing so. He commanded the
cavalry with which you were fighting to-night!"
At these words, uttered in a strange, mocking voice, I saw Mohun start
as if a rattlesnake had bitten his heel. With all his self-possession he

could not restrain this exhibition of emotion.
"Impossible! You are deceiving me--"
The prisoner interrupted him with a gay laugh.
"So you do not believe me," she said; "you think, my dear sir, that
everybody is dead but yourself! Dismiss that idea from your mind! I am
not dead, since we have the pleasure of again meeting in the flesh. He
is not dead! No! it was Colonel Mortimer Darke whom you fought
to-night. This is his horse which I borrowed to take a short ride. I have
been captured, but he is neither dead nor captured, and you will
doubtless receive some friendly message from him soon."
Under the mocking accents and the satirical glance, it was easy to read
profound hatred. The speaker could not hide that. At that moment she
resembled a tigress about to spring.
Mohun had listened with absorbing attention as his companion spoke;
but, as on the first occasion, he speedily suppressed his agitation. His
face was now as cold and unmoved as though moulded of bronze.
"So be it, madam," he said; "I will respond as I best can to such
message as he may send me. For yourself, you know me well, and, I am
glad to see, indulge no apprehensions. The past is dead; let it sleep.
You think this interview is painful to me. You deceive yourself, madam;
I would not exchange it for all the wealth of two hemispheres."
And calling an officer, he said:--
"You will conduct this lady to General Stuart, reporting the
circumstances attending her capture."
Mohun made a ceremonious bow to the prisoner as he spoke, saluted
me in the same manner, and mounting his horse, rode back at the head
of his column.
The prisoner, escorted by the young officer, and still riding her fine
horse, had already disappeared in the darkness.

V.
STUART.
An hour afterward, I had delivered my message to Mordaunt, and was
returning by the road over Fleetwood Hill, thinking of the singular
dialogue between Mohun and the gray woman.
What had these worthies meant by their mysterious allusions? How had
Mohun found himself face to face on this stormy night, with two

human beings whom he thought dead?
These questions puzzled me for half an hour; then I gave up the
mystery, laughing. An hour afterward I had passed through Culpeper
Court-House, crossed the fields, and had reached General Stuart's
headquarters.
Stuart's tent, or rather the strip of canvas which he called one, was
pitched beneath a great oak on a wooded knoll about a mile south of the
little village. Above it drooped the masses of fresh June foliage; around,
were grouped the white canvas "flies" of the staff; in a glade close by
gleamed the tents d'abri of the couriers. Horses, tethered to the trees,
champed their corn in the shadow; in the calm, summer night, the
battle-flag drooped and clung to its staff. Before the tent of Stuart, a
man on guard, with drawn sabre, paced to and fro with measured steps.
A glance told me that Mohun's singular prisoner had arrived. A courier
was holding her fine animal near the general's tent, and as I dismounted,
three figures' appeared in the illuminated doorway. These were the
figures of Stuart, the "gray woman," and a young aid-de-camp.
"Farewell, madam," said Stuart, bowing and laughing; "I am sorry to
have made your acquaintance under circumstances so disagreeable to
you; but I trust you will appreciate the situation, and not blame me."
"Blame you? Not in the least, general. You are a very gallant man."
And the gay words were accompanied by a musical laugh.
"You will have an opportunity of seeing the Confederate capital," said
Stuart, smiling.
The lady made a humorous grimace.
"And of abusing me upon the way thither; and afterward on the route to
Port Monroe and Washington, as you will not be detained, I am sure."
"I shall