Short Story Classics (American) Vol. 2 | Page 6

dead."
"What is the use of this?" he muttered hoarsely. "She is not dead. I
heard from her a week ago. She was living a week ago."
"Oh, Carrol!" stammered Charlie. "It was some mistake then. Is it
possible! And he was so sure! But he can get a divorce, you know. She

abandoned him. Or she can get one. No, he can get it--of course, when
she abandoned him. But, Carrol, she must be dead--he was so sure."
"She is not dead, I tell you. And there can be no divorce. Insanity bars
all claim to a divorce. She is in an asylum. She had to leave him, and
then she went mad."
"Oh, no, Carrol, it is all a mistake; it is not so. Carrol," she murmured
in a voice so faint that he could not help glancing at her, half in fury
and half in pity. She was slowly falling from her horse. He sprang from
his saddle, caught her in his arms, and laid her on the turf, wishing the
while that it covered her grave. Just then one of Waldron's orderlies
rode up and exclaimed: "What is the matter with the--the boy? Hullo,
Charlie."
Fitz Hugh stared at the man in silence, tempted to tear him from his
horse. "The boy is ill," he answered when he recovered his
self-command. "Take charge of him yourself." He remounted, rode
onward out of sight beyond a thicket, and there waited for the brigade
commander, now and then fingering his revolver. As Charlie was being
placed in an ambulance by the orderly and a sergeant's wife, Waldron
came up, reined in his horse violently, and asked in a furious voice, "Is
that boy hurt?
"Ah--fainted," he added immediately. "Thank you, Mrs. Gunner. Take
good care of him--the best of care, my dear woman, and don't let him
leave you all day."
Further on, when Fitz Hugh silently fell into his escort, he merely
glanced at him in a furtive way, and then cantered on rapidly to the
head of the cavalry. There he beckoned to the tall, grave, iron-gray
Chaplain of the Tenth, and rode with him for nearly an hour, apart,
engaged in low and seemingly impassioned discourse. From this
interview Mr. Colquhoun returned to the escort with a strangely
solemnized, tender countenance, while the commandant, with a more
cheerful air than he had yet worn that day, gave himself to his martial
duties, inspecting the landscape incessantly with his glass, and sending
frequently for news to the advance scouts. It may properly be stated

here that the Chaplain never divulged to any one the nature of the
conversation which he had held with his Colonel.
Nothing further of note occurred until the little army, after two hours of
plodding march, wound through a sinuous, wooded ravine, entered a
broad, bare, slightly undulating valley, and for the second time halted.
Waldron galloped to the summit of a knoll, pointed to a long eminence
which faced him some two miles distant, and said tranquilly, "There is
our battle-ground."
"Is that the enemy's position?" returned Captain Ives, his
adjutant-general. "We shall have a tough job if we go at it from here."
Waldron remained in deep thought for some minutes, meanwhile
scanning the ridge and all its surroundings.
"What I want to know," he observed, at last, "is whether they have
occupied the wooded knolls in front of their right and around their right
flank."
Shortly afterward the commander of the scouting squadron came riding
back at a furious pace.
"They are on the hill. Colonel," he shouted.
"Yes, of course," nodded Waldron; "but have they occupied the woods
which veil their right front and flank?"
"Not a bit of it; my fellows have cantered all through, and up to the
base of the hill."
"Ah!" exclaimed the brigade commander, with a rush of elation. "Then
it will be easy work. Go back, Captain, and scatter your men through
the wood, and hold it, if possible. Adjutant, call up the regimental
commanders at once. I want them to understand my plan fully."
In a few minutes, Gahogan, of the Tenth; Gilder-sleeve, of the
Fourteenth; Peck, of the First; Thomas, of the Seventh; Taylor, of the

Eighth, and Colburn, of the Fifth, were gathered around their
commander. There, too, was Bradley, the boyish, red-cheeked chief of
the artillery; and Stilton, the rough, old, bearded regular, who headed
the cavalry. The staff was at hand, also, including Fitz Hugh, who sat
his horse a little apart, downcast and sombre and silent, but
nevertheless keenly interested. It is worthy of remark, by the way, that
Waldron took no special note of him, and did not seem conscious of
any disturbing presence. Evil as the man may have been, he was a
thoroughly good soldier, and