Mohun | Page 7

you are really a magician," I said. "You charm the evil spirit, and make prisoners laugh."
Stuart laughed in reply.
"That is a curious person that Mohun sent me," he said; "at first she was disdainful enough; but I paid her a few compliments, and now she is in an excellent humor, as you saw."
"Yes."
"But what about the fight?"
I made my report of the events of the evening.
"Well, Mohun is a trump," said Stuart. "A new man, but seems made of the right stuff--real steel. What does Mordaunt say of the attack?"
"Only a scout."
"Right, and this lady is our spoil! She is handsome, is she not? But a more curious face I have never seen. White cheeks and red lips--a sort of devil and angel mixed! Who is she, I wonder, and what was her errand. Something is under it. She gave her name as 'Mrs. Darke,'--and her horse made me break the tenth commandment, Surry! Lady and courser are splendid."
"She is certainly a beauty."
"And what eyes!"
"Dangerous."
Stuart remained silent for some moments, and then I heard him sigh.
"Do you know, my dear Surry," he said, "that if people heard us talk in this way, they would call us libertines--immoral--any thing? There are two things that people will not disbelieve about me--that I am impure, and a drunkard! Do you know what a good man was heard to say of me the other day? 'Stuart would be one of the greatest soldiers in the army, if he did not drink so hard!'[1] And others add: 'if he were not a libertine.' Well, need I defend myself to you, from these charges? I promised my mother in my childhood, never to touch ardent spirits, and a drop has never passed my lips, except the wine of the communion.[2] I know I need not tell you that I am equally guiltless of the other imputation. That person does not live who can say that I ever did any thing improper of that description. And yet I am a drunkard--a libertine--I, who never touched drink, and love but one person in this world!"
[Footnote 1: This was actually said of Stuart.]
[Footnote 2: His words]
Stuart's head sank, and he uttered a weary sigh.
"They will not let me alone," he muttered, "and yet I am here fighting for my country. But I defy them to take my good name away from me, Surry!"
And he rose to his feet.
"General Lee knows me! Jackson knew me! I have the regard of the one, and I had the love of the other. What do I care? If my children only will not hear these ignoble charges! One can never hear them, Surry-- my beloved little Flora! She died while I was fighting near Middleburg in the fall of '62--that nearly broke me down--"
And Stuart paused and covered his eyes with his hand. Between the fingers I saw a tear.
For a moment his breast heaved--something like a sob issued from the brave lip, whereon the heavy mustache trembled.
"I think of her often--I shall never get over her death, Surry!"[1] he murmured. "They think me hard and cold, and bad perhaps--it is nothing. Since she died I care less for men's opinion, and only try to do my duty, till the ball comes that will end me."
[Footnote 1: His words.]
And dashing a tear from his eyes, Stuart walked to the door of his tent, from which he gazed forth upon the stars.
Five minutes passed thus, and I did not speak. Then all at once I heard Stuart call out: "Orderly!"
"Yes, sir," came from the man on post near the tent.
"Tell Sweeney to come and bring his banjo!"
And walking fifty steps, Stuart caressed the glossy neck of his mare "Lady Margaret," who was tethered to a bough, and looked around affectionately at her master.
When he returned he was humming "The dew lay on the blossom," and following him was Sweeney--the same old Sweeney!--ever mild, courteous, almost sad, doffing his cap, saluting with simple grace, and tuning his banjo.
In a moment the tent, the wooded knoll, the whole vicinity was ringing with the uproarious notes of the mirth-inspiring banjo; and Sweeney was chanting, as only that great master could chant, the mighty epic of the sabreurs of Stuart:--
"If you want to have a good time Jine the cavalry, Bully Boys, hey!"
The staff and couriers quickly assembled, the servants were grouped in the starlight, the horses beneath the boughs turned their intelligent heads--and leading in the uproarious chorus might have been heard the sonorous and laughing voice of Stuart.

VI.
STUART'S INSTINCT.
The festivities were kept up until nearly midnight.
Then Stuart yawned; said with a laugh, "Good morning, gentle-_men_" as was his habit when he wished to work; and the tent was soon deserted.
I retired to rest, but at three in the morning felt a hand upon my shoulder.
"The general