The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1892-09-02

cast OH D6CduSS uS QCSOTbEQ Ole CONlcuCldCy.
He recognizes her and she is held as a spy. be.
ing confined in a solitary hut under guard of
sentinel Here she is left to bitter reflections
on Fitzhugh's perfidy.
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 isteth-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 more!
Then-werse than news Of capture-of
death itselfl-that he, flower Of Virgin
ian chivalry, had deserted.
Oh! the shame, the hidden horror Of
iti None dreamed of his plighted love,
Of her half-pighted troth; but Carolyn
Clay came of line to whom their own
disapproval was keenest of all reproach.
And her heart hardened itself, even as
Phareoh's of old, against the man who
had betrayed her-worse, himself
WOESt VI S6lAs Allo CouAe1yt
Nor was room left for doubt. Rumors,
strange doubts, crept in at first, then
came stories Of disloyal work, with
raiding federals; and, last, Capt. Charl-
ton reported that, riding with gay
party from farmhouse frolic, he him
self had seen the traitor by the federal
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 formal
report was made at headquarters, with
name and date given, the fair, frank
face of Gen. Stuart had grown black as
night. Twice he advanced on Charlton,
ready to speak. Twice, by supreme ef-
fort, he controlled himself, striking his
fist upon the table at last, and thun-
dering out:
''From this hour, let no man dare to
breathe the name of Peyton Fitzhugh
in my command! Gentlemen, SO in
struct your troops. Remember, this is
not request, but an order. See that
it is obeyedp'
So the grave of oblivion had closed
over the memory of him who had been
Stuart's chosen soldier, his knight ex-
emplar. For Jeb Stuart's word was
law, sealed by the love of his men; and
for months Peyton Fitzhugh had been
as dead to his old comrades as though
his body actually festered in the grave,
with the stake of superstition driven
through it.
Thus the fair girl sat and thought the
night away, its minutes gliding swiftly
on, as though her fancies had been
sweet; the snow falling without, faster,
deeper, more silently; the thud of the
ssntry's football less and less distinct.
And the hre-hame fickered, grew dull,
the brush branches falling into Goals,
fast CRAVING into ash. But she never
moved, only the changeful fit Of feel
ing over her features telling that she
still walked and thought and suffered,
even while the fertile brain formed
plan after plan for escape, each quick
dismissed as hopeless.
Out in the dim, misty edge of the
snowdrifts, cut by a clump of trees
some dozen yards away from the hut,
shaSov lurked. Once-again it moved,
dim, noiseless, fitting asa ghost. Then,
as the sentry turned away, beating his
arms and shifting his caHbine to keep
down the snow-cramp, the shadow
glided forSh into the hazy light. Swift,
noiseless, direct it sped upon the troop.
er's track. Nearer it drew - nearer
still; sudden spring, and an iron arm
had encircled his throat, a sudden
wrench had torn the carbine from his
grasp.
Deadly still, hat in deadly strain, the
two strong men tugged some seconds.
Then the shadows arm RELAXED; the
trooper-limp, inert, helpless-slid from
that death-like grip and sank notion
less upon the snow.
The hinges of the crazy old door
creaked ominously, as Carolyn Clay
turned her head. An instant later she
stood erect, defiant, as the smolderin2
brush flashed into flame before the
draught.
"How dare you-coward?"
Low, clear, but almost in a hiss, came
the words frorn tile pale woman.
'tHushp the man answered, in voice
30 hollow she scarce recalled it. 'Be-
tray yourself by any noise. and we both
are lost. Icome-"
"peyton Fitzhugh! leave me this In
slant, Or call the guardP' She drew
up to her full height, pointing to
the door with arm-sweep of queen.
"Your very presence would be insult to
any virginian woman; to me it is dis
greceF'
'sListenI" the man answered, in
hoarse whisper. ''Think what you
will, but, for Gods sake, hear me. l
have just left the general. He is
angered, vengeful. He knows all-your
real name, your attachment to Stuart,
your mission to the river"
"And gou told hin!" The scorn in her
voice was infinite. s'Yoaf"