Sad, anxious days to Mara Morland followed her return from that eventful trip to Dalton.
Her grandfather sank fast from the wound he received that morning and it soon became evident, even to Mara, that he had but a few hours to live.
“I do not mind dying,” he said. “I have lived far beyond the age of man, and I have felt I must soon be called home. It is for you that I fear, my child. I dare not contemplate your fate.”
She tried to brighten his spirits with words of cheer.
He slowly shook his head.
“I see but one course for you to follow,” he said finally. “Harry cannot offer you any protection, and to remain here would be rashness. I see well enough now that the old place will be devastated ere long. Ay, I had rather die than to live to see that. And it is surely coming. Mara, are you listening, child?”
“Yes, grandpa.”
“You had better go to your Cousin Randolph’s in Woodsville. You will be safer there. I wish Harry was here. Brave boy, I never shall see him any more. Tell him that I thought of him in my last moments.”
He said but little more after this and the hue of life faded fast from his countenance.
He had lain a long time motionless, when there was a nervous twitching at his mouth and his closed eyes opened.
“Mara, where are you?”
“Here, dear grandpa.”
“See, his brow lightens with the touch of death,” whispered one of the guards to the others.
“Mara,” cried the dying man, huskily, “I have had such a vision, and things appeared so different. I see our mistake now. The flag of the South will yet trail in the dust and the stars and stripes in brighter luster than at Yorktown or New Orleans will wave over the country three times saved. It is right. ’Twas the same starry banner that my father fought for under the gallant Sumpter, and which I followed under General Jackson at New Orleans. Long may it wave, to glory undim——”
With the last word quivering upon his lips, his upraised arm fell, and his voice died to a low gasp. A minute later his spirit had fled from the scenes of war.
The guards had looked upon each other with wonder as they listened to the words that were freighted with so much of patriotism, so much of evil to at least one of the listeners—the innocent maiden whose fair countenance was wet with tears.
“Treason! treason!” they cried as in one voice. “We ought to have hung the old traitor! Let’s make an example of——”
“Hold!” exclaimed Boyd Wyman from his couch in an adjoining apartment. “Do nothing rash. They were but the ravings of a wandering mind. Let him rest in death. For the girl’s sake be merciful.”
The scout’s words were not in vain.
The soldiers curbed their anger and the dead was left in peace.
The sight of the poor girl’s grief moved them to sympathy and kindness.
Under their directions the body was prepared for a decent burial and finally, a day later, was borne to its last rest.
A few of the many slaves once owned by Colonel Morland were left at the old plantation and these shed genuine tears of sorrow.
He had been a kind master.
Two of the negroes called Pete and Dinah were very thoughtful to Mara in her bereavement.
Boyd Wyman’s wounds were growing more painful. Inflammation had set in so that his case was becoming critical.
Mara was a brave girl and controlling her grief to a wonderful extent she did all in her power for the wounded scout.
The shifting scenes of war move rapidly.
A few hours after the simple funeral of Colonel Morland, two horsemen appeared in front of the house.
The leader was Lieutenant Logan.
“I must see the prisoner,” he said. “I bear an order and a message from General B——.”
The sight of the gallant soldier was a relief to Mara.
Perhaps he came with good tidings.
But as he stopped to speak to one of the guards and listened to his speech, the officer’s face grew dark.
He came into the house a minute later.
“I am pained to find you in such a sorry plight, Miss Morland,” was his greeting.
“Only say that you have come to end this terrible farce and I will not complain,” she replied.
“I have,” he said, quickly. “I have interceded for you and at the first opportunity have come to offer you your release.”
She failed to understand his meaning.
“You have been ordered to be brought to Dalton upon the charge of treason.”
“Treason;” she repeated, with quivering lips, “who dares to accuse me of that?”
“Alas! Mara, circumstances are against you. Your grandfather’s dying words have a terrible signification. I fear it will go hard with you.”
“But Harry will intercede for me. I will go to him.”
“Stop, Mara; that is the worst feature in your case. I am sorry to tell you, but the truth must be told.”
“What is it?” she cried, catching him by the arm as he paused.
He turned aside to escape her piercing gaze.
“Must I tell you,” he stammered. “Harry has been dishonored. His commission has been taken from him and he has returned to the ranks under probation.”
“Harry in dishonor!” she cried, clasping her hands. “You cannot mean it, Lieutenant Logan.”
“It was a hard blow for me, Mara, for Harry is a fine fellow, and his disgrace came like a thunder-clap. Upon his return from Buzzard’s Roost Gap he was arrested for being accessory to the escape of Cavalry Curt and——”
“It is not so!” she cried, wildly. “I will go to Dalton at once. I can and will save him.”
“Nay, Mara, you let your grief run away with your reason. He is safe at present.”
“But I must see him.”
“You do not realize how impossible that is, could you do him any good. He has gone to Reseca with a body of troops ordered there to its defense.”
“Gone to Reseca,” she repeated; “and as a common soldier—ay, more than that, a soldier in disgrace!”
“Be brave, Mara, and it shall end well. Your own welfare claims our attention now. You must leave this place at once if you value your life.”
“And yet you just said that I could not.”
He had turned away to pause at one of the windows—turned away purposely that he might speak without being heard by Boyd Wyman.
Mechanically she followed him.
“Mara,” he said, in a low tone, “I have come up here on a trumped up errand that I might see you. I have come to save you, even at great risk to myself, if you will accept my terms.”
“Explain yourself, Lieutenant Logan.”
“Do you not understand how much I love you? I cannot tell you——”
She stopped him with a wave of her hand.
“If you have nothing else to say, Lieutenant Logan, this interview might as well come to an end. I respect you as a friend, but I do not love you.”
“But you would learn to, Mara. Promise to be my wife as soon as this war is over, and I will have you taken to a place of safety this very night. Do you promise?” he asked, earnestly.
“If you really loved me you would do so without exacting a promise that you know would break my heart.”
“You do not quite understand me. Were it not for that Yankee——”
Something in her looks caused him to stop.
“You refuse?” he continued with a look that she would never forget.
“Yes; I would not purchase life upon such conditions.”
“I am sorry. I hope you will never regret this course. I must go now. Do not blame me when the worst comes. If you change your mind I will fly to your rescue the moment you send for me. I am not so bad at heart as you think, only I had rather die than yield to a Yankee. Good-day.”
With a few parting words of encouragement to Boyd Wyman he went out of the house and mounting his horse rode away.
“Did he give you any reason for hope?” asked Wyman, as Mara returned to the side of his couch.
“None.”
“It is infamous!” exclaimed the scout, fiercely. “He told you of your brother?”
“Yes.”
“Poor boy; in his present state of mind, I tremble for his safety.”