Part 46 (2/2)
”After the column had pa.s.sed, I listened to hear if others were coming, then stumbled down the mountain, knowing that my best chance was to strike some stream and follow the current. It would take me into a valley where I would be apt to find houses. At last I became so weary that I lay down in a dense thicket and slept till morning. I awoke as hungry as a famished wolf, and saw nothing but a dense forest on every side. But the brook murmured that it would guide me, and I now made much better progress in the daylight.
At last I reached a little clearing and a wood-chopper's cottage.
The man was away, but his wife received me kindly and said I was welcome to such poor fare and shelter as they had. She gave me a gla.s.s of milk and some fried bacon and corn-bread, and I then learned all about the nectar and ambrosia of the G.o.ds. In the evening her husband came home and said that Lee had been whipped by the Yanks, and that he was retreating rapidly, whereon I drank to the health of my host nearly all the milk given that night by his lean little cow. He was a good-natured, loutish sort of fellow, and promised to guide me in a day or two to the west of the line of retreat. He seemed very tearful of falling in with the rebels, and I certainly had seen all I wished of them for the present, so I was as patient as he desired. At last he kept his word and guided me to a village about six miles away. I learned that Confederate cavalry had been there within twenty-four hours, and, tired as I was, I hired a conveyance and was driven to another village farther to the northwest, for I now had a morbid horror of being recaptured.
After a night's rest in a small hamlet, I was taken in a light wagon to the nearest railway station, and came on directly, arriving here about six this morning. Finding our house closed, I made a descent on Merwyn. I telegraphed mother last evening that I should be home this afternoon.”
”You should have telegraphed me, also,” said Marian, reproachfully.
”You would have saved me some very sad hours. I did not sleep much last night.”
”Forgive me. I thoughtlessly wished to give you a surprise, and I could scarcely believe you cared so much.”
”You will always believe it now, Arthur. Merciful Heaven! what risks you have had!”
”You have repaid me a thousand-fold. Friend, sister, or wife, you will always be to me my good genius.”
”I wish the war was over,” she said, sadly. ”I have not heard from Captain Lane for weeks, and after the battle the first tidings from Blauvelt was that he was wounded and that you were wounded and missing. I can't tell you how oppressed I was with fear and foreboding.”
”How about Lane?” Strahan asked, with interest.
She told him briefly the story she had heard and of the silence which had followed.
”He leads us all,” was his response. ”If he survives the war, he will win you, Marian.”
”You suggest a terrible 'if' and there may be many others. I admit that he has kindled my imagination more than any man I ever saw, but you, Arthur, have touched my heart. I could not speak to him, had he returned, as I am now speaking to you. I have the odd feeling that you and I are too near of kin to be anything to each other except just what we are. You are so frank and true to me, that I can't endure the thought of misleading you, even unintentionally.”
”Very well, I'll grow up some day, and as long as you remain free, I'll not give up hope.”
”Foolish boy! Grow up, indeed! Who mounted his horse in that storm of sh.e.l.ls and bullets in spite of friendly remonstrances, and said, 'The men must see us to-day'? What more could any man do? I'm just as proud of you as if my own brother had spoken the words;” and she took his hand caressingly, then exclaimed, ”You are feverish.”
A second later her hand was on his brow, and she sprung up and said, earnestly, ”You should have attention at once.”
”I fancy the doctor was right after all,” said Strahan, rising also. ”I'll take the one o'clock train and be at home in a couple of hours.”
”I wish you would stay. You can't imagine what a devoted nurse I'll be.”
”Please don't tempt me. It wouldn't be best. Mamma is counting the minutes before my return now, and it will please her if I come on an earlier train. Mountain air and rest will soon bring me around, and I can run down often. I think the fever proceeds simply from my wound, which hasn't had the best care. I don't feel seriously ill at all.”
She ordered iced lemonade at once, lunch was hastened, and then she permitted him to depart, with the promise that he would write a line that very night.
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.
A LITTLE REBEL.
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