Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1892-07-20
CHAPTER w.


of the sentry was softened almost into
silence; and the fire, now cracking
merrily on the old hearth, whirled the
sparks up the cracked chimney in dizzy
dance.
Carolyn Clay sat like statue, her
chin resting o& her hand, and her face,
now pale, swept by light or shadow, as
busy memory sent each from her brain.
For the rencontre in the generals
tent had added other and far different
thoughts to anxious memory and eager
speculation on the outcome of this ad-
venture-the most dangerous, so far,
that all her risky essays as blockade
breaker had forced upon her.
In all her previous tramps along the
Potomac trail-as in her "hair-breadth
'scapes" from patrol gunboats in cross
ing the well-watched river-Miss Clay
had escaped capture. Indeed, had the
operetta been written then, she had
certainly gained the sobriquet of 'sfhe
Mascotte," from her good fortune.
But now, added to the danger of sus-
picion for a spy was the trial of dar-
ling brother, loved beyond expression
of words, whose chances in his struggle
for life or death would be lessened by
her delay.
In the rapidly-forming Goals rose pic
lures of a narrow cot in a hospital
ward, a fever burned boy tossing rest
lessly upon it, and stately form, worn
by watching and anxiety to semblance
of itself, leaning tenderly over him,
smoothing the hot pillow, while the
age-veined hand put the cooling draught
to his lips. And the girls sense could
actually hear the words of fervent
prayer go up, above the boys fair hair,
amen changed to cheering talk of sister
soon to come and bring relief.
Quickly, unconsciously, memory's
camera had changed its slide, and in the
Goals before her the picture was of a
gay ballroom of the previous year. 1t
was New Year night, the roads frozen,
and Richmonds best and fairest were
there-her bravest and her tenderest.
To dim nook, stairway half hidden
from the throng, came subdued hum of
distant voices, softened music of waltz.
She heard the very notes-low, sweet
and tremulous-and her breathing kept
time to the strain, Lanner's "Romanti-
ker." And to that rhythm there had kept
time eager, earnest, pleading of
strong, brave voice, tempered by deep
est feeling and resistless truth, as it
told anew "the old, old story"
A SILVER ran through her 1.-THE form,
the shining coils of ruddy hair bent
lower on her breast, as Carolyn Clay
saw the woman in the Goals hesitate
half yield; as she heard her own voice,
scarce protesting, give its solemn pledge
to remember, to cherish those words
always-to wait until the war was over,
but to truSt-until the death
Then a groan burst from her CULVER
ing lips. The cheeks that glowed-spite
of captivity and peril, spite of watching
mother and fevered bairn-suddenly
sallowed, and the lips, thin-curved by
scorn, pressed tightly on each other,
and cruel light of disdainful hate
CLEANED from the hot gray eyes.
For now memory whispered of that
gray, bitter cleaning at headquarters
when the hints of men became certain
ty. Rumor-coming as the wind comes,
whence no man listeth-crept through
the camps that he-Peyton Fitzhugh,
their pride and boast, though but three
months returned from Europe to serve
his state-had ridden out of the lines
without leave and was heard of no morel
Then-worse than news of capture-ot
death itself!-that he, flower of Virgin
ian chivalry, had deserted.
Oh! the shame, the hidden horror OF
it! None dreamed of his plighted love,
of her half-plighted troth; but Carolyn
Clay came of line to whom their OWL
disapproval was keenest Of all reproach.
And her heart hardened itself, even as
Pharaoh's of old, against the man who
had betrayed her-worse, himself
worst of all, his countryl
Nor was room left for doubt. Rumors
strange doubts, crept in at first, Their
came stories of disloyal work, with
raiding federals; and, last, Capt. Charl
ton reported that, riding with a gay
party from a farmhouse frolic, he him
self had seen the traitor by the fedora
officer who had ambushed them. Charl
ton had fired, in his fight, and saw the
tall deserter reel in his saddle, BLOOD
streaming from his brow, as his Ken
lucky hunter cleared the fence and dis
tanced pursuit. And when this forma
report was made at headquarters, will
name and date given, the fair, franl
face of Gen. Stuart had grown black a
night. Twice he advanced on Charlton
ready to speak. Twice, by supreme eff
fort, he controlled himself, striking hi
fist upon the table at last, and thun
dering out:
''From this hour, let no man dare t.
breathe the name of Peyton Fitzhugl
: in my command! Gentlemen, SO in
struct your troops. Remember, this i
r not request, but an order. See tina
l it is obeyedp'
So the grave Of oblivion had close
over the memory of him who had bee
Stuart's chosen soldier, his knight ez
Q emplar. For Jeb Stuart's word wa
g law, sealed by the love of his men; an
! for months Peyton Fitzhugh had bee
e as dead to his old comrades as thoug
h his body actually festered in the grave
l. with the stake of superstition drive
through it.
a Thus the fair girl sat and thought tn
s uight away, its minutes gliding swift
r IN, as though her fancies had bee
o yweet; the snow falling without, faster
II leeper, more silSAtly; the thud of tn
70 I0ntry's football less and less distinct