Martinsburg statesman-democrat. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1906-1921, 1911-09-22


fessed. by one desirous OF writing
merely the truth, that generally
acted more upon impulse than reason.
As | stood forth in the sunlight of
that lonely mountain road. my hands
securely bound behind my back. the
end of the rope held BY one of my
captors. while his fellow leaned lazily
upon his gun and watched us. u
thought somewhat deeply over the sit.
uation and those peculiar circum
stances leading up to It.
Under other conditions might have
felt tempted to enter into converse.
ton with my guards. who. as now
perceived. were far from being the
| rough banditti had at first imagined.
| Judging from their faces and language
they We're intelligent enough young
| fellows, such as ! had often found In
the ranks of the Federal army. But
realized they could aid me little.
II any, in the one thing I most de-
| sired to know, and even II they could.
| sense OF delicacy would have caused
me to hesitate in asking those per
| sonal questions that burned upon my
| lips My deep and abiding respect for
| this woman whom / had so strangely
met, and with whom | had attained
some degree Of intimacy. would never
permit of my discussing her, even in
directly, with private soldiers behind
/ the back of their officer Every sense
| OF honor revolted at such thought
! Not through any curiosity of mine,
however justified by the depth of my
own feeling, should she be made the
subject of idle gossip about the camp
/ fire.
For, In truth, at this time, unhappy
as my own situation undeniably was
and as a soldier l realized all its
dangers gave it but little considera-
| tion. Usually quick of wit, fertile In
/ expedients, ever ready to take ad-
vantage of each opportunity, | had
taken stock of all my surroundings,
| yet discovered nowhere the slightest
| opening for escape. The vigilance OF
the guard, as well as the thorough
manner in which was bound, rend-
| cred any such attempt the merest
madness. Realizing this, with the
| fatalism of a veteran resigned myself
| in all patience to what must be.
Then It was that other thoughts
| interrogatories, which no knowledge I
! possessed could possibly answer. Who
| was this proud, womanly woman who
| called herself Edith Brennan? She
| had been at some pains to inform me
| that she was married, yet there was
that about her-her bearing, her man
| ner-which l could not in the least
reconcile with that thought. Her ex-
| IRENE youthfulness made me feel 1t
| improbable, and the impression re-
manned with me that she intended to
make some explanation of her words,
| when the coming of Bungay inter-
rupted us. How they might be ex-
planned | could not imagine; merely
| struggled against accepting what I
| longed to believe untrue. And this
| man? this Federal major, bearing the
same name, whom she called Frank,
who was he? What manner of rela-
tionship existed between them? In
their meeting and short intercourse
| had noted several things which told
me much-that she feared, respected,
| valued him, and that he was not only
swayed by, but intensely Jealous of
| any rival in, her good opinion. Yet
| their unexpected meeting was scarcely
! that of husband and wife. Was he
the one she sought in her night ride
from one Federal camp to another?
If so, was he brother, friend, or hus-
band? What was the bond Of union
existing between these two? Every
word spoken made me fear the last
must be the true solution.
Such were some of the queries
silently struggled with, and they were
rendered more acute by that deepen
ing interest which l now confessed to
myself / was feeling toward her who
inspired them 1t may be fashionable
nowadays to sneer at love, yet certain
1t is, the rare personality of this
Edith Brennan had reached and in
fluenced me in those few hours we
HaQ Deeu thrown together DIS tHdt VI
no other woman had ever done. Pos
sibly this was so because the long
years in camp and field had kept me
isolated from all cultured and refined
womanhood. This may, indeed, have
caused me to be peculiarly susceptible
to the beauty and purity of this one.
l know not; | am content to give
facts, and leave philosophy to others.
My life has ever been one OF action, OF
intense feeling; and there in the road
that day, standing bareheaded in the
sun, l was clearly conscious OF but
one changeless fact, that loved Edith
Brennan with every throb of my
heart, and that there was enmity, bit
ter and unforgiving, between me and
the man within who bore her name.
Whatever he might be to her / re-
joiced to know that he hated me with
all the unreasoning hatred OF jealousy.
III