IHE 
 
 CYRUS 
 
 T0WNSEND 
 
 BRADY
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 NlVERSmr OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO
 

 
 THE PATRIOTS
 
 It's nothing,' said her husband, .... 'A bullet in my 
 heart couldn't hurt now that I have found you ' ' 
 
 (Page 219)
 
 THE STORY OF LEE 
 AND THE LAST HOPE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE SOUTHERNERS," "A LITTLB TRAITOR TO THE 
 SOUTH," ' MY LADY'S SLIPPER," ETC., ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR 
 BY WALTER H. EVBRBTT 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD. MEAD & COMPANY 
 1906
 
 COKTRIGHT, 1906, BT 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANF 
 
 Published, February, igo6
 
 Dedicated to 
 John Barnett Knox 
 
 of Alabama, an American indeed whom 
 
 I am proud to call 
 
 my friend.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 " PATRIOTISM," sententiously declares Dr. Samuel 
 Johnson, " is the last refuge of a scoundrel ! " 
 
 Yet there have been not a few indifferent honest 
 men who confute the dictum of the tea-drinking 
 lexicographer, in that their chiefest glory was in their 
 love of country; as Washington and Grant, Lincoln 
 and Lee to name four of our greatest. 
 
 All these men are mentioned hereafter in these 
 pages; two are merely referred to, a third plays a 
 small but important part, while the whole romance 
 revolves about the last. I have shown Lee in some 
 of the supreme moments of his career: when he de 
 clined the chief command of all the armies of the 
 United States to become a major-general in the Vir 
 ginia line ; when he took upon himself the blame for 
 the fruitless assault at Gettysburg; when he would 
 fain have led his men into the jaws of death, the veri 
 table mouth of hell at Spottsylvania ; and, lastly, 
 where character is most terribly tried, in defeat at 
 Appomattox. 
 
 In every situation he was a great, a dominant 
 figure. The character of Lee has been somewhat lost 
 sight of in the study of his career, but it fairly glows 
 with all that is high and noble and true. The Bayard 
 of the South exhibits the characteristics of the Chris 
 tian gentleman to the full. His is a personality to be 
 studied, to be followed, to be loved. In his greatness 
 and in his simplicity he is an enduring inspiration to 
 true manhood for all America the world even. 
 
 I did not always think thus. Born amid the roar
 
 PREFACE 
 
 of battle, the son of a brave Northern soldier, trained 
 while yet the bitterness engendered during the conflict 
 lingered in the memory, my youthful impressions, 
 hard to eradicate as such ever must be, gave me quite 
 another idea of the great Virginian, and one that 
 was comprehended in an ugly word. Years of study 
 and reflection gradually modified that conception, 
 until I think differently now. 
 
 History has ever been my favourite study, and the 
 American Civil War has engrossed a large part of 
 my attention during my life. In addition to my 
 already extensive researches in this field, in prepara 
 tion for this book, I read, I believe, every life of Lee 
 that has been published: I examined a great num 
 ber of volumes of memoirs and magazine and other 
 ephemeral articles in which references to him appear. 
 I corresponded or conversed with members of the Lee 
 family about certain disputed points. I have also 
 discussed Lee with many ex-soldiers on both sides. 
 These all have helped me make the picture. May 
 those who knew him and loved him, those who fought 
 with or against him, find my presentation a true one. 
 
 I shall not now discuss the oft-mooted question, 
 which was the greater soldier, Grant or Lee? It is 
 a fascinating theme which I hope some time to con 
 sider, but not now. Suffice it to say that there was 
 greatness, and military ability, and high-souled con 
 duct and character enough about each of these men to 
 make us proud and glad that it was given to the same 
 land to father them both. From the Rappahannock 
 to Appomattox there was abundant illustration on 
 both sides of every soldierly and personal quality in 
 captains and men, to make us love to dwell impar 
 tially upon the story. And the appropriateness of the 
 title I have selected for my novel I think no one will 
 dispute to-day.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 For the rest, some of the incidents in the double 
 love story that follows for be it remembered that 
 primarily this is a romance, after all are founded 
 upon facts and, in part, at least, I do but tell the tale 
 as it was told to me. As will be seen, the coloured 
 brother plays some small part, too. Unwilling to 
 trust my own ability to transcribe his speech, I availed 
 myself of the service of a friendly expert who shall 
 be nameless and submitted the matter to his critical 
 judgment. The letter that follows accompanied the 
 much corrected proof. 
 
 Sad'dy. 
 MY DEAR BRER BRADY, 
 
 Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Is anybody 
 yever see de beat er dat! I grab my stummick V laff, seh, twell I 
 mos' bus'. It seem lek ter me dat when white fokes tries fer ter 
 talk niggar fokes, dey sho' does 'splay der igfnunce. Fo' Gawd, 
 Brer Brady, I'se downright shame er you, oat's what I is, I'se 
 downright shame er you. 
 
 Passin' de time er day wid you an' yo' fambly, I stay des lek 
 I alters is, 
 
 Yo'n, 
 
 BRER RABBIT. 
 
 I insert this letter that the gentle reader may begin 
 the book with a good laugh at me, if not with me 
 and thus be in a proper frame of mind to look kindly 
 on what follows. 
 
 CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY 
 
 TOLEDO, OHIO 
 Christmastide,
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 PACK 
 
 THE PATH OF DUTY xiii 
 
 BOOK I 
 IN THE VALLEY OF DECISION 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I ANSWERED 3 
 
 II " GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES !" 18 
 
 III FOR ARIADNE'S SAKE 33 
 
 IV THE DAY BREAKS 42 
 
 V AGE AND YOUTH AND A WOMAN 51 
 
 VI "So RUNS THE WORLD AWAY" 58 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 THE TIMES THAT TRIED 
 VII THE ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA 69 
 
 VIII OH, THE WILD CHARGE THEY MADE ! 79 
 
 IX THE PROPHET'S WORD 92 
 
 X THE AFTERMATH OF PAIN 102 
 
 XI THE SEARCH AMONG THE SLAIN 116 
 
 XIJ REVELATIONS 128 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 KATHLEEN 
 
 XIII THE DOUBLE TRUST 145 
 
 XIV A WRONG AMENDED 158 
 
 XV THE CHANGING CURRENTS 167 
 
 XVI THE REVELATION 176 
 
 XVII KATHLEEN REAPS WHERE SHE HAD NOT SOWN . . . 184 
 XVIII THE BOOK OF THE HEART , 192
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 ARIADNE 
 
 CHAPTBR PAGB 
 
 XIX IN THE WILDERNESS ... 205 
 
 XX A FORGOTTEN DUTY 214 
 
 XXI A BRAVE MESSENGER 226 
 
 XXII THE RISK IN THE RUSE 241 
 
 XXIII A HEAVY PRICE 252 
 
 XXIV THE MESSAGE IN THE DARK 263 
 
 BOOK V 
 " LEE' s MISERABLES ' ' 
 
 XXV THE MAN AGAINST THE GUN 279 
 
 XXVI THE MERCY OF THE GREAT CAPTAIN 293 
 
 XXVII THE SALIENT IN THE LINE 304 
 
 XXVIII THE BLOODY ANGLE AT HELL'S HALF- ACRE ... 316 
 
 XXIX AFTER SPOTTSYLVANIA 322 
 
 XXX THE ROBINGS OF GLORY, THE GLOOM OF DEFEAT 333 
 
 POSTLUDE 
 THE PATH OF DUTY TO THE END 344
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "'IT'S NOTHING,' SAID HER HUSBAND, . . . 
 'A BULLET IN MY HEART COULDN'T HURT 
 NOW THAT I HAVE FOUND You." Frontispiece 
 
 " IT WAS ARMISTEAD. BEHIND HIM THE FLAGS 
 AND A FEW, OH, GOD, A MERE HANDFUL 
 OF MEN ! " Facing page 90 
 
 "' GOOD-BYE,' SAID KATHLEEN IN A WHISPER; 
 ' I CAN'T HATE You ; I MUST LOVE 
 You.*" " " 156 
 
 " IT WAS A WIRD AND MYSTERIOUS PROGRESS, 
 
 AS THE NIGHT FELL AND DARKNESS CAME." " " 264 
 
 "YOUTH WITH ITS PURPOSE, AGE WITH ITS 
 KNOWLEDGE, THE WOMAN BETWEEN, THEY 
 STOOD THEN STARING OUT UPON A STARRY 
 FLAG " " 346
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 THE PATH OF DUTY 
 
 IT was springtime in that city embowered in trees and 
 flowers, Washington. An officer sat his horse on the 
 gravel walk in front of a stately old Colonial man 
 sion, with its high-pillared porch, which, from its 
 coign of vantage on the high bluffs bordering the 
 river, overlooked the Potomac and the white city 
 upon the other side of the wide stream. 
 
 " You will be back for supper, Robert? " queried a 
 handsome matron who stood beneath, the portico 
 looking down upon her husband. 
 
 " Yes, without fail." 
 
 " Do not let anything keep you, dear." 
 
 " I shall not." ' 
 
 " I feel so nervous in these unsettled times without 
 you and . . ." 
 
 " I have only two persons to see, my dear," re 
 turned the horseman reassuringly, " Mr. Blair, who 
 wrote me that he had a message from the President, 
 and General Scott." 
 
 " Well, do not get to talking over old army ex 
 periences with the general and forget that I am wait 
 ing for you." 
 
 "No one could make me forget that," said the 
 man, smiling pleasantly. Then his voice changed; he 
 shook his head. " We will not talk over old army 
 experiences now, Mary," he added, with a touch of 
 sadness.
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 " It is hard for you, I know," returned the woman, 
 comprehending with wifely instinct the hidden mean 
 ing in the phrase, " but you must do your duty." 
 
 " Yes," answered the husband thoughtfully. 
 " Duty." He paused. " It is the noblest word in the 
 English language, I think . . and the hardest. 
 Good-bye. I shall be back for tea, do not fear." 
 
 He lifted his hat with chivalric courtesy and 
 knightly grace, bent low before her, called a cheery 
 good-bye to the children playing on porch or lawn and 
 cantered slowly away. There was one word above 
 duty in the feminine vocabulary, and that was love. 
 It shone in the woman's eyes as she watched her sol 
 dier-horseman in the uniform of a lieutenant-colonel 
 in the United States Army ride away from the green 
 slopes of tree-clad Arlington. Yet the woman who 
 stood there was of a race that would not hesitate to 
 hold even its love as naught beside its duty. 
 
 Down the hill, across the long bridge, through the 
 dusky outskirts, into the city and then to an office- 
 building on Pennsylvania Avenue the horseman rode, 
 busy with his thoughts. He was a person of no little 
 importance, well known to the city of Washington, 
 and although he was intensely preoccupied he did not 
 fail to notice and invariably to return, not merely the 
 perfunctory salutes of the soldiers, with which the 
 town was already filling, but the formal recognitions 
 of sundry citizens who claimed the honour of his ac 
 quaintance, as well as the more cordial bows from 
 certain fair ladies who looked upon his goodly and 
 handsome person with smiles of approbation, as they 
 passed him in carriages or on foot, on the broad tree- 
 shaded avenue. 
 
 He had been followed by a liveried negro on horse 
 back, and to him he tossed the bridle as he went into 
 the building. Long time he stayed there. He had
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 been a grave, silent figure when he entered; he was 
 graver and more silent when he came out. 
 
 Ambition is said to be the god of the soldier. 
 Power, opportunity, had tempted this man's talent. 
 Direct from the President of the United States him 
 self, through one who stood near to him, had come 
 an unequivocal offer to him of the highest position in 
 his chosen vocation. Virginia had seceded. War 
 would eventuate before many days. The command 
 of the army of the United States, the chief, the su 
 preme command, had been offered to this man who 
 was then merely a lieutenant-colonel of cavalry and 
 he had refused it! 
 
 He was gifted with that imagination without which 
 there is no greatness, the imagination which foresees, 
 which men sometimes call prophetic. He could read 
 the signs of the times. He could realise the deadly 
 nature of the approaching struggle. No position had 
 been offered him by any authority on the other side. 
 He did not know that any would be tendered him. 
 Certainly he could not hope for such a preferment 
 there. Indeed he might be relegated to obscurity. 
 He might not find favour with the powers that were 
 shaping the destinies of the new Confederacy. His 
 sword might rust in its scabbard. Against that pos 
 sibility of oblivion he had received the assurance posi 
 tive of such professional advancement, with its corre 
 sponding opportunities for glory and fame, as have 
 rarely come to a soldier. 
 
 Rich, influential, possessed of all that could make 
 life easy and delightful, this officer had clung to his 
 military career from pure love of it. The blood of 
 his father, the great light horseman, whose legions 
 had been famed alike in the valleys of the Hudson 
 and in the mountains of the Carolinas, was quick in 
 his veins. He had remained the soldier even though
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 his calling parted him from home, from those he 
 cherished, his wife, his children, his friends, and sent 
 him alone to the arid plains of Texas. He had loved 
 he did still love that flag which he had carried to 
 victory, that banner for which he had blazed a path 
 way through valleys and mountains of old Mexico. 
 
 Yet as he came out of that door he realised that he 
 had refused definitely, even peremptorily, the com 
 mand of the army of the United States ! Irrevocably 
 but not lightly, promptly but not carelessly, unequivo 
 cally but not indifferently, had he chosen. Back of 
 his decision was that profound feeling of obligation, 
 the sense of oughtness, that men call duty that hard 
 word which is spread on honour's guide post to point 
 the way to service, God's and Man's. From a pro 
 found conviction that his allegiance lay with his 
 native state, that his duty first was to her, he had 
 chosen, and with almost a breaking heart. 
 
 Yet his feelings did not make him hesitate a mo 
 ment as to his course. He had known from the first 
 what his choice would be. There was no balancing 
 of reasons pro and con; his convictions were clear and 
 definite. Any other decision was as impossible to him 
 as lying or theft. Virginia called him, the land of 
 his fathers, the land of his wife, the land of his chil 
 dren, the land of his friends his home. Whatever 
 happened he was hers. He must be upon her side. 
 He was a Virginian first, a citizen of the United 
 States second. Virginia had been a state and his fore 
 bears had led in its councils and struggles long before 
 the Articles of Confederation were dreamed of. The 
 Old Dominion had the prior claim. His course was 
 as clear as it was righteous to him. He was as truly 
 patriotic as he was sincere in his belief. 
 
 He had one other duty to perform. In an office 
 further in the city sat an old man, a huge belaced old
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 veteran, who had fought for his country with bril 
 liancy and courage and success in two great wars. 
 This old soldier had been his commander. From him 
 he had learned that practical part of the art of war 
 which cannot be had from text-books. To him he 
 must go. He had been on the old general's staff in 
 Mexico, and the general had ever been his friend. 
 It was to his recommendation that the offer from the 
 President was due. Courtesy, duty, affection, all led 
 him to the man who was then general-in-chief and 
 whom he would have succeeded had he acceded to the 
 President's request. 
 
 It was evidence of the urgency of the situation that, 
 without any other formality than the announcement 
 qf his name, he was admitted instantly into the 
 presence of the most punctilious and ceremonious cap 
 tain of his times. The interview between the great 
 chieftain and his brilliant subordinate was brief. This 
 soldier, too, was a Virginian, but from his childhood 
 he had been separated from his state. He had been 
 a soldier for forty-three of his seventy-five years. 
 There was no possibility of a change in his allegiance 
 in his mind. To him the United States was all. To 
 his subordinate Virginia occupied the highest place. 
 Each man respected the other's feeling. There was 
 no bitter argument between them, no recrimination, 
 only a great sadness, a lasting regret. The younger 
 man told the elder of his decision, thanked him for 
 the good words he had spoken, declared his intention 
 of resigning from the United States service, and bade 
 him farewell. 
 
 He came out of that room with a heightened 
 melancholy. He had looked his last upon his ancient 
 captain. That veteran soldier was about to relinquish 
 the duties of active service too exacting and arduous 
 for his great age. From his well-earned retirement,
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 as his life declined to its close, he was to watch with 
 the interest of a master and of a friend bereft the 
 great game of war about to be played, in which his 
 old friend showed to such advantage and some 
 times in spite of himself to feel a thrill of pride per 
 haps at the brilliant strategy and tactics of his pupil ! 
 
 And the heart of the younger man, who had ever 
 looked up to and reverenced his former commander, 
 whom he had served so brilliantly, was sad, too, when 
 he thought that he should see him no more. He was 
 heavy in the knowledge that he might some day be 
 called upon to break up the other's plans, to turn the 
 sword against him. 
 
 He was back again at Arlington in the evening, 
 as he had promised that Arlington he loved and 
 which he must soon leave forever, that Arlington in 
 which the spirits of his gallant forebears now mingle 
 with the spirits of the brave who sleep in thousands 
 'neath its leafy aisles, upon its verdant slopes. The 
 contented negroes came to meet their beloved master. 
 His happy children clustered about him. Only that 
 daughter of noble line who bore most worthily his 
 name read beneath the unruffled brow, which he ever 
 presented to adversity and sorrow, what was in the 
 great heart. 
 
 A few days after an officer was received in state by 
 the Legislature of Virginia in the capitol at Rich 
 mond. The soldier of Arlington had put off the uni 
 form of the United States and was now clad in the 
 modest grey clothes that indicated the service of 
 Virginia. That Legislature, speaking for the state 
 alone, had just created him major-general and com- 
 mander-in-chief of her forces, and its members were 
 now gathered to receive him as of old their fore 
 fathers had received George Washington. In words 
 of graceful compliment they congratulated him and
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 welcomed him. And to them Robert Edward Lee, as 
 modest as his great prototype, his father's friend, 
 made this simple reply: 
 
 " Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Convention : 
 Profoundly impressed with the solemnity of the occa 
 sion, for which I must say I was not prepared, I ac 
 cept the position assigned me by your partiality. I 
 would have much preferred had the choice fallen upon 
 an abler man. Trusting to Almighty God, an approv 
 ing conscience and the aid of my fellow-citizens, I 
 devote myself to the service of my native state, in 
 whose behalf alone will I ever again draw my sword." 
 
 It is only the voice of ignorance, of malice, that 
 dares to call this man a traitor.
 
 BOOK ONE 
 In the Valley of Decision
 
 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ANSWERED 
 
 LESS subtle than the woman, the man's thoughts were 
 entirely obvious and they spelled adoration I If one 
 had sought to discern from her outward manifesta 
 tions what emotions her breast tabernacled, mockery 
 mingled with merriment would have been apparent. 
 She stood above him the woman's place ; he looking 
 up to her the man's duty. Woe to the sweet alliance 
 of the sexes in love in which the woman does not 
 bend above, the man does not aspire to the woman's 
 height ! 
 
 She was tall enough, had they been side by side, 
 to have met him with a level glance, or almost. There 
 was that difference physically between them that there 
 should be spiritually, only physically he as it should 
 be was the larger and stronger being, as spiritually 
 she predominated. His strength was in abeyance just 
 then. Her beauty and her charm had mastered him. 
 She fancied him like clay within her hands, shapely 
 and beautiful and strong for moulding. Could she 
 mould him ? That was to be seen. Now, that after 
 noon, it was to be tried. 
 
 Before those two loomed a parting of the ways. 
 Should she take his hand and follow along the right- 
 hand path? Or should she go to the eastward and 
 summon him to her? Was the leash that held the
 
 4 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 heart of her lover in check strong enough to drag 
 the man whither he fain would not go? 
 
 A horse fastened to the hitching post outside the 
 gate at the end of the long lane stamped his feet 
 impatiently; his tail slapped his sides, irritated by the 
 summer flies. That horse had borne him there at a 
 gallop. If he had been human he might have eased 
 his fretting by considering whether he was to spend 
 the night in the cool shade of the great red barn back 
 of the house, or whether he was to carry back the im 
 patient rider who had found his best pace too slow 
 in the coming. The woman had suggested that the 
 horse be stabled, but the man had declared that the 
 exigencies of the time demanded that he should first 
 have a decision which, at some peril to his liberty and 
 in some sense to his honour, he had come to receive. 
 
 The young man had been at the old farmhouse 
 many a time during the last two years. She had 
 placed herself before him many a time as she was 
 placed that afternoon, seated on the low rail of the 
 porch, her alluring foot as handsome and shapely 
 a foot, if a little larger, and as well clad, as that 
 of any Southern girl with whom he had ever 
 tripped through the dance swinging dazzlingly 
 like a pendulum before him. Her back was 
 bordered by clinging . masses of purple clematis 
 twining around white pillars, against which her 
 bright hair shone golden in the sun. Had 
 she caught that violet touch of colour in her eyes 
 from the flowers ? he wondered, on that day he had 
 first declared his love, and, reaching up from where 
 he had stood on the step slightly beneath her, had 
 kissed her hand and then had slipped his arm about 
 her waist and held her tightly less she should fall 
 from the porch. That was a year ago this present 
 summer. He had imagined that the course of his life
 
 ANSWERED 5 
 
 was thenceforth and forever settled, that it was to be 
 spent with this beloved woman. But now he had 
 come to see indeed whether the dream of the year 
 was to vanish in a stern awakening to the sound of 
 cannon. 
 
 For these two were from different sections of a 
 country which was hopelessly divided upon a question 
 of principle. The question was an abstract one, and 
 it might so cold philosophy would have put it 
 have been discussed without heat, without animosity; 
 but philosophy makes no accounting of human pas 
 sions, and the debate about the interpretation of an 
 ancient document revered as the Constitution had en 
 gendered bitter antagonisms which had bred hot un 
 reasoning hatreds. The contention was exceeding 
 sharp and bitter. Love shot his bolts against bucklers 
 of misunderstanding which his blunt points, made for 
 penetrable human hearts, could not pierce. Partaking 
 of the national hatred, a coldness, better, a constraint, 
 had sprung up between the lovers a constraint that 
 one other, who had only suspected how things had 
 been, viewed with equanimity, nay, satisfaction. 
 
 The young man from the South was a student, or 
 had been four days before, at Harvard College. His 
 dearest friend and classmate was a brother of this 
 girl. Scarcely second in his affections was the third 
 person who had been glad at the signs of the impend 
 ing rupture between his friend and his other friend's 
 sister. Philip Grafton cherished Burt Kirkwood and 
 George Manning in his heart of hearts after Kathleen 
 Kirkwood, Burt's younger and only sister. The three 
 friends, one from Massachusetts, one from Pennsyl 
 vania and one from Virginia, had developed in their 
 six years at the great old University one of those 
 friendships which not sixty years of severance would 
 diminish. They had been more than brothers to
 
 6 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 one another, yet singularly enough Grafton had not 
 confided either to his prospective brother-in-law or 
 to Manning the engagement which had been entered 
 upon by him and Kathleen, though Kirkwood found 
 it out certainly and Manning at last suspected it. 
 
 Perhaps Grafton divined Manning's passion for 
 the girl he loved, and, knowing it to be hopeless, pitied 
 him. It is only the love that is returned that awakens 
 jealousy. With the forlorn hope that in time Man 
 ning might get over it, or recognise the futility of 
 further pursuit, Grafton had consented to Kathleen's 
 wish that there should be no announcement of an en 
 gagement between them. Why Kathleen wished it 
 this way well, that was a whim of hers, perhaps. 
 At any rate Grafton made no attempt to discover a 
 reason, content in the sharing of the sweet, delightful 
 secret, confident that the time would soon come to 
 declare it to the world. The fact that it was not 
 known, although it had not entered into Kathleen's 
 calculations at the time, was advantageous in the 
 present situation ; for, should she be unable to answer 
 Grafton as he desired, should Grafton fail in the test 
 of his affection which she proposed to lay upon him, 
 they could separate and no one would ever know. 
 
 The friendship between the three men had been so 
 great that the impending Civil War, which broke up 
 so many affections, had not been allowed by any of 
 them to interfere. Indeed Grafton's course had been 
 something of an enigma. Promptly upon the seces 
 sion of their several states the young Southern men 
 at Harvard, especially those in the graduating classes, 
 who had reached man's estate, had severed their con 
 nection with the University. Alone, among the 
 Southerners, Grafton had remained to be graduated 
 with his class. The student life was like art in those 
 days, very long, and the three men did not receive their
 
 ANSWERED 7 
 
 diplomas until July 17, 1861. Philip, in addition to 
 his four-year course in Arts and Letters, had given 
 two years to the Law. Kirkwood and Manning 
 also. 
 
 Kathleen had visited Cambridge for the Class Day 
 exercises and then had returned to New York for a 
 week's shopping, then back to old York in Pennsyl 
 vania, her home. There had been a tentative debate 
 on certain propositions impending between her lover 
 and herself, and he had promised to stop over at York 
 for the conclusion of the whole matter before he went 
 South a promise that involved much, for Grafton's 
 course in staying at the University had been severely 
 commented upon both in Cambridge by the departing 
 Southerners, and in Virginia, where his family and 
 wealth made him a person of some little importance. 
 It had excited notice even among the Northern men, 
 who were as fiercely patriotic and as fully determined 
 to put down the growing rebellion as the men of Vir 
 ginia and the South were resolute to break away and 
 set up a government of their own. 
 
 It was only the staunch and tried friendship of 
 Kirkwood and Manning, who stood by their friend, 
 that prevented the antagonism his known secession 
 views aroused from breaking out into open demonstra 
 tions of animosity. Grafton, who had previously 
 been popular with every one, found himself suddenly 
 ostracised, yet he went about the closing duties of his 
 last term with a quiet Intensity of purpose, with a 
 calm, cool courage, that awakened the admiration of 
 the fair-minded men of his class who were not few. 
 He made no parade of his sentiments on the one hand, 
 neither did he refrain from expressing his opinions, 
 when it was proper, on the other. His course and 
 his friends' advocacy won respect, and when his di 
 ploma was handed him, the last representative of
 
 8 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 Virginia and the South in " Fair Harvard," as much 
 of a stranger in Massachusetts as if he had been from 
 a foreign land, he was actually cheered. For the 
 moment a better feeling was exhibited, and his class 
 mates closed about him, congratulating him and bid 
 ding him good-bye. For many of those who went 
 into the army on either side it was an eternal fare 
 well. 
 
 Manning had already been commissioned in a Mas 
 sachusetts regiment and only awaited his graduation 
 to march away. Kirkwood was also appointed to a 
 subaltern's station in the Pennsylvania line. To his 
 friends Philip had announced his intention of enlist 
 ing in the Virginia troops so soon as he received his 
 diploma. The parting between the three friends was 
 a sad one. When they met again it might be in the 
 forefront of battle. They swore friendship everlast 
 ing to one another, and each promised himself to help 
 the other should the fortunes of war ever afford an 
 opportunity, and then they bade one another good-bye. 
 Manning was forced to stay with his company; Kirk- 
 wood had been ordered to join his regiment in Phila 
 delphia; therefore Grafton came down alone to the 
 little Pennsylvania town nestling among the hills. 
 
 He should have hastened across the line to Vir 
 ginia without a moment's delay, but he could not go 
 without resolving that unsettled question with Kath 
 leen Kirkwood. He feared that the war would be a 
 long one and a bloody one. He surmised that most of 
 it would be fought to the south of Mason and Dixon's 
 line. When he could see the woman of his choice 
 once he left her he could not imagine. The separa 
 tion would be a long one. He could not go without 
 a settlement. For that settlement he had come to 
 her. 
 
 The girl had refused to believe in the urgency and
 
 ANSWERED 9 
 
 the strength of the call upon him which would hale 
 him from her side. 
 
 " I cannot understand," she said, " how you can 
 feel in this way now." 
 
 ;'Why not now?" 
 
 " Because you stayed so long at college. Let me 
 see, Virginia went out of the Union on the iyth of 
 April, three months to the very day before you 
 graduated. All the Southerners at Harvard left, but 
 you stayed on. I thought . ." she said, looking 
 away from him, but artfully turning her head so that 
 he could see the delicious curve of her chin and note 
 the lovely colour of youth and health upon her cheek, 
 " I thought you stayed for . . for me . . 
 for my sake." 
 
 Philip was nothing, if not honest. 
 
 " Kathleen, dearest Kathleen," he said, leaning 
 forward until he could put his arm around her waist, 
 " I did not know that you were in the balance. I 
 thought I had your heart secure, as you have mine." 
 
 She flashed a look down upon him and then lifted 
 her head quickly again. 
 
 " I stayed for that diploma," he continued. " My 
 father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, all 
 graduated from Harvard. I had worked six years, 
 counting my Arts and Letters course, for that bit of 
 parchment. My heart . . what of it you did not 
 own, dearest . . was with the South, but I knew 
 there would be plenty of opportunities to prove my 
 devotion there later on." 
 
 Kathleen shook herself with a movement of irrita 
 tion. 
 
 " Wait, hear me ! " continued the man. " And so 
 I stayed until I graduated, for the degree." 
 
 " You must prize that bit of parchment highly ! " 
 snapped the offended young woman.
 
 io THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " I do. Saving two things it is more to me than 
 anything . ." 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " And those are?" cried the girl. 
 
 " The first is, You, dearest." 
 
 "Phil!" 
 
 She laid her hand upon his head. He turned his 
 face up, and as her hand dropped slowly down across 
 his brow he kissed the palm. 
 
 " Then you still . . ." 
 
 " You didn't give me time to finish, darling." 
 
 " Oh, I remember. There was a second thing." 
 
 " Yes." He was reluctant to say what it was, but 
 honour and duty constrained him. 
 
 "And that was?" she questioned. 
 
 " Virginia P* 
 
 No, Virginia was not a woman, as well she knew. 
 There was no other woman. It was the state. Not 
 merely an extent of territory, but a state of being also, 
 for in that single word was comprised to him all the 
 manly qualities that blended into what we call by the 
 name of honour; to her it stood for the loss of her 
 lover, for many things she hated. 
 
 " First the diploma, and then Virginia and then 
 me ! " cried the girl, impatiently shaking off his hand 
 and rising to her feet. She was hurt, wounded, dis 
 appointed, angry, and showed it plainly. " Well, 
 sir, you have earned the diploma. But you must 
 choose between . . ." 
 
 " Kathleen, don't say . . ." 
 
 " Between me and your state, sir! " 
 
 " Are you jealous of a state, of a. point of honour? " 
 
 " I am jealous of nothing, of no one," she re 
 sented quickly, " but I brook no divided allegiance. 
 No, do not misunderstand me," she went on swiftly, 
 not giving him a chance to speak; " I am a Pennsyl-
 
 ANSWERED n 
 
 vanian, but above all I am for the United States! 
 My fathers fought to establish it, as did yours. I can 
 not bear to think that the man I love is going to fight 
 to hold a portion of the human race in bondage." 
 
 " It's not that," interrupted Philip hotly. " It's 
 States Rights versus . . ." 
 
 " I do not care how you phrase it," persisted the 
 girl obstinately; "that's the way I feel about it. I 
 cannot, will not, love a man who is not true to the 
 flag! There is no question with me between state 
 and nation. And I'll marry no man who will not love 
 me above everything ! " 
 
 " And if I were for the North would you have me 
 love you above the flag you have floating from the 
 staff yonder?" 
 
 In those days of doubt and trouble many a yard had 
 its own private flagstaff. 
 
 " That's different," she returned audaciously; " we 
 would love it together anyway, you and I, and I 
 should not care. I should glory in you then." 
 
 This was shockingly inconsistent, and under other 
 circumstances he would have promptly called her at 
 tention to it, but neither stood upon the trivialities 
 of debate then. They had got down to the root 
 of things and were in no mood for argumentative 
 trifles. 
 
 " And I say," retorted Grafton quickly, " that the 
 very fact that I give my allegiance to Virginia makes 
 me the more worthy, so far as any man could be 
 worthy of such a treasure " he spoke in all sin 
 cerity, there was no suggestion of mockery " of 
 your love." 
 
 " I do not see it that way," answered the girl. 
 " You have lived in the North for years. I have often 
 heard you say you believed in manumitting your 
 slaves."
 
 12 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " I tell you that has nothing to do with it. We 
 would have maintained the doctrine of State Rights 
 with any other cause for its assertion." 
 
 " It has everything to do with it with me, for, as 
 you very well know, if you Southerners would free 
 your slaves there would be no war." 
 
 " We cannot, upon compulsion," said the young 
 man, lifting his head with a pride that matched her 
 own, " and if you are to make my political principles 
 the cause of separation I cannot help it." 
 
 " Oh, you feel that way, do you? " cried the girl, 
 who was amazingly quick of temper. " The engage 
 ment is broken then ! " 
 
 She tore from her finger a ring and extended it to 
 him. 
 
 " Kathleen, don't ! " he protested, going suddenly 
 white. " What difference does it make ? " 
 
 " It makes all the difference in the world," an 
 swered the young woman. " I can't give my love to 
 the enemy of my country, to a man who thinks so 
 little of me that he is willing to fight against my 
 people. Against that flag yonder ! " 
 
 " But you said you loved me ! " 
 
 " I take it back, then I " 
 
 " And is yours a love that can come and go at 
 will?" 
 
 " It shall. Listen to me, Philip. You know that 
 George Manning is devoted to me. I swear to you, 
 unless you giye me your word that you will not turn 
 traitor . . ." 
 
 " Kathleen," the man interrupted sternly, " there 
 are some things that even you cannot say to me." 
 
 "What are they, pray? " 
 
 4 You shall not apply that word ' traitor ' to me I 
 I will not endure it ! " 
 
 " Ypu are domineering, like the South ! " said the
 
 ANSWERED 13 
 
 girl bitterly but she did not repeat the charge 
 then. " You Southerners have always governed the 
 United States," she continued, " but you will find now 
 that . . ." 
 
 " That is because we have possessed the ability, 
 the birth and breeding." 
 
 " You will find out," said Kathleen, fiercely re 
 sentful, " that the people of the North will decide 
 what is to be done hereafter. You and all the rest 
 are . . ." 
 
 What word trembled on her lips ? 
 
 " Stop ! " cried the man imperiously. 
 
 " Will you take that ring of yours and leave me 1 " 
 urged the woman. 
 
 Poor Philip ! He was angry, hurt, surprised, yet 
 he was so overwhelmingly in love with the beautiful 
 wayward being before him that as he looked upon 
 her he forgot all other things. He mounted the 
 steps to the porch on which she stood and stretched 
 out his arms to her. 
 
 " Why should we quarrel, darling? It is most 
 foolish. What have our political differences to do 
 with our personal affections? I love you , . I 
 have to go where honour calls me . . I shall go 
 . . but, saving my state, my heart is yours." 
 
 "I . . I do not understand such love. I do 
 not care for it! I won't marry you . . ." 
 
 " Is this the quality of your affection? " ' 
 
 "It is!" 
 
 " No Southern woman would act so." 
 
 "Go back to one and find out! " 
 
 " Do you mean that? " 
 
 " I do ! Will you take your ring? " 
 
 Grafton seized it and in a passion threw it from 
 him. Kathleen resisted a wild inclination to run after 
 it and stood facing him, her face flushing, her foot
 
 i 4 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 tapping the floor. He had received his dismissal, yet 
 he could not go. 
 
 " Kathleen," he began again very softly. 
 
 " I don't think there is anything more to be said 
 between us," she interrupted. 
 
 " But, my darling " he held out his hand to her, 
 and in spite of herself her heart yearned toward him, 
 he was so handsome, so splendid. Why couldn't he 
 have been on her side? Why couldn't she bring him 
 to her way of thinking? Wilful, wayward, impe 
 rious, she would not give up. She saw the love burn 
 in his cheek, flash in his eye, tremble on his lip. He 
 could not go away ! She stepped nearer to him. 
 
 " Phil," she said, " you needn't fight against the 
 South if you stay here. But don't fight for it against 
 the United States and me. Just stay here with me 
 to show me and the world how much you love me. 
 I will marry you to-morrow. I can't let you go, 
 dear." 
 
 It was her time to plead now, she thought. She 
 came close to him. He could see the rise and fall of 
 her beautiful bosom as her arm stole around his 
 neck. Lips that he had often pressed approached his 
 own. Her eyes scanned his face as if to read his 
 heart. He closed his own eyes, his heart stopped 
 beating. How could he go, with her in his arms 
 when he loved her so ! Then the interruption came 
 that saved his honour and his happiness, although he 
 thought his life was wrecked thereby. A man, one 
 of the servants of the farm, dashed into the yard on 
 a reeking horse. He was shouting something. The 
 two parted instantly as he approached. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Kathleen, angry at 
 the untimely interruption. 
 
 " We've been defeated," gasped out the excited 
 man. " Beauregard has licked McDowell ! Our
 
 ANSWERED 15 
 
 men run like sheep, the Rebels are goin* to take 
 Washington ! The Union Army has been cut to 
 pieces I They begun fightin' at noon, there's twenty 
 thousand of our'n killed! There was two hundred 
 thousand of 'em ag'in' us." 
 
 "What's that you say?" cried the woman, her 
 face pale at the news. 
 
 " It's true, Miss Kirkwood. The town's full of 
 it! They're postin' bulletins at the telegraph office. 
 Here's a message for you. It's from Washington, 
 from your brother, the operator sez." 
 
 Kathleen tore it open with trembling fingers. 
 
 " It's from Burt ! " she cried. " His regiment has 
 reached Washington. He says there has been a 
 dreadful battle and we have been defeated." 
 
 " Great heaven ! " exclaimed Grafton. " Already? " 
 
 " There's a message for you," said the girl, read 
 ing: "'Tell G if he doesn't wish to be de 
 tained he must go home immediately. It's rumoured 
 that all passes have been revoked.' ' 
 
 She looked up as she spoke. In spite of himself 
 there was a look of exultation in Grafton's face. The 
 first blow had been struck, the Yankees had been de 
 feated! They had run like cowards, the man had 
 said so. Well, the victory was to be expected. No 
 wonder that the ghost of a smile flickered about 
 Grafton's mouth, that a glint of triumph could be 
 seen in his eye. It was the last straw to the woman. 
 Nervously she clutched the telegram in her hand. No, 
 she would not speak while there were observers. 
 
 "Take the horse around to the stable," she 
 ordered the man, " and when you have had supper 
 go down town and bring me more news." 
 
 The man turned eagerly to tell the news elsewhere 
 and disappeared. Then she turned and faced Graf- 
 ton.
 
 1 6 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " You laughed," she said with pardonable exag 
 geration; "you gloated over this defeat, over me! 
 Shame!" 
 
 " Kathleen," began Grafton, heartily ashamed of 
 himself to think that he had allowed his expressive 
 face to declare his feelings to his sweetheart's hurt. 
 
 " Do not speak to me ! I never wish to hear your 
 voice, to see your face again ! I never shall ! " 
 
 " But you love . . ." 
 
 " Do not mention that word to me ! I hate you. . 
 I despise you ! You have had your message," she 
 continued pale with anger and scorn, flinging the tele 
 gram at him. " Go ! " 
 
 " Is this your final word? " 
 
 "My final word!" 
 
 " You can say that after what we have been to 
 each other? A moment ago you were in my arms, 
 your lips ready . . ." 
 
 4 You insult me in the remembrance ! " she cried. 
 " I despise you ! I hate you ! I tear you out of my 
 heart as you have torn yours out of your country ! " 
 
 She ,was wild with passion. Her lips curled in con 
 tempt, and still she was beautiful, and still Grafton 
 loved her ! He opened his mouth to speak again; she 
 raised her hand and pointed to the gate. 
 
 " It is over, then," said the man; " your love is a 
 thing that comes and goes with the seasons. You 
 hate me, you say. I wish to God I could reciprocate 
 that feeling ! " 
 
 He turned without another word, and ran down 
 the path. He could not trust himself to walk. He 
 threw himself upon the horse and galloped away, 
 rage, indignation, and overwhelming affection fight 
 ing a battle in his soul. Left on the porch the girl 
 watched him go. She stretched out her arms to him, 
 she took a step down to the walk. Then she stopped.
 
 ANSWERED 17 
 
 No, he had made his choice! His love had proved 
 unequal to the test. She hated him, she despised him ! 
 She turned and went into the library. There on her 
 desk lay a letter received that morning, a letter from 
 a gallant young soldier who wore the blue. She 
 seized a sheet of paper, wrote half a dozen lines, en 
 veloped it, addressed it, sealed it, stamped it, went 
 out into the hall, thrust it into the hands of one of the 
 servants, ordering it to be posted at once, and then, 
 returning to the deserted library, sank down before 
 the desk again, buried her face in her hands and burst 
 into a flood of tears.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES 
 
 THEY made a pretty picture, those two. 
 
 The white-haired old man sat in a large easy chair 
 which had been especially designed for his comfort. 
 For many years he had been without the use of his 
 lower limbs and a light coverlet of silk was spread 
 over them. His handsome and intellectual old face 
 was clean-shaven, his long hair, white as the infre 
 quent snows of his native land, fell in waves that 
 were almost curls upon his still broad shoulders. Age 
 had dimmed the sight of his eyes, but they could still 
 flash with the soft wavering light of crowning years, 
 like a far-off vanishing storm upon a summer night. 
 His thin aristocratic hands lay listless upon his mo 
 tionless knees. There was a troubled look on his face 
 which ill-accorded with the beautiful, peaceful scene 
 spread before his fading vision. 
 
 By his side stood a mere slip of a girl, pale of face, 
 dark of hair, slight of figure an undeveloped child 
 who had just passed her sixteenth birthday. The 
 lines of her face and form were full of promise, but 
 the realisation would be long deferred. This was 
 singular, for in the sunshine of that Southland the 
 flowers blossomed early, and most things that were 
 beautiful including the young women matured 
 early. Girls frequently were married at sixteen, at 
 seventeen they were mothers, and in those terrible 
 days of war some of them became widows while they 
 were yet scarcely more than children. 
 
 It was not so with Ariadne Lewis. Perhaps some 
 
 18
 
 GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES 19 
 
 quality of her French great-grandmother, Anne de 
 Rohan, which she had received along with her some 
 what whimsical name from that famous Breton 
 woman, had retarded her development, so that when 
 others of her sex were women she was as yet only a 
 child. Child or not, she was nevertheless the main 
 dependence and the sole comfort of her grandfather, 
 the Judge. So far as nature permitted she supplied 
 the place of his wasted limbs; and if she were slender 
 and thin, it may be that her assiduity in promoting 
 the old man's comfort, her constant and unstinted 
 care for him, had contributed to that result. 
 
 Mentally the girl was far in advance of her day 
 and generation. Continuous contact with a mind 
 so richly furnished as that of her grandfather had 
 brought her in touch with stores of unwonted learning. 
 The astute observations of the wise old man of the 
 world had sharpened her native wit until, though a 
 child in body, she had become a woman in knowledge 
 a woman in knowledge of all those things her 
 grandfather could teach her, but lacking all sorts of in 
 formation peculiar to her sex which is instinctive in 
 womankind and which was latent in her, could she 
 have had a mother, or even a friend, to call it forth. 
 
 Judge Lewis and his granddaughter lived alone on 
 the old plantation. A proud man had been the old 
 Judge and a great part had he played in the history 
 of his native state and his country. A wild spirit of 
 adventure moving him, in the War of 1812 he had 
 attached himself to the fortunes of that brave back 
 woods preux chevalier, Andrew Jackson, and with 
 the bold Tennesseans and Kentuckians and the dapper 
 Creoles he had stood behind the mud walls below 
 New Orleans and watched the British power wither 
 before the rifle blasts of the men of the forest glades. 
 
 Resigning from the army in the piping times of
 
 20 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 peace, he had followed the law and had been called 
 to the bench. Thereafter he had been sent to Con 
 gress and then he had been elected and re-elected 
 again and again a Senator of the United States from 
 [Virginia. He had ever remained, in Washington and 
 out of it, the friend of the great Tennessean soldier, 
 who, like the Judge himself, was one of the finest 
 gentlemen of his time. When in 1832 South Caro 
 lina passed her famous Ordinance of Nullification, 
 Judge Lewis had been one of the chief upholders of 
 Jackson's determined and brilliant policy. 
 
 He could have been re-elected to the Senate until 
 he died had not a paralytic stroke cut him down some 
 ten years since. Thereafter, in a pride which was 
 natural if somewhat foolish, he had withdrawn from 
 all participation in the affairs of men and had buried 
 himself with his little granddaughter at Vallewis, his 
 ancestral plantation on the James River, a few miles 
 below Richmond. For a time his contemporaries had 
 sought him for comfort or counsel, but presently a 
 new generation which knew not Joseph arose, and in 
 his retirement he was left as he desired, unvexed by 
 the intrusion of strangers or unharassed by the visit 
 of friend. 
 
 Had Richard Lewis, his only son, lived, it would 
 all have been different of course. His boy's body lay 
 beneath the frowning cliffs of Chapultepec. " Bury 
 him on the field which he honoured with his life's 
 blood," had been the Judge's reply to those who sug 
 gested bringing him home, and there his comrades of 
 Scott's army had left him the corpse of an enemy 
 in a foreign land, alone, forgotten by all but the 
 Judge himself and some few of his comrades who 
 sometimes gave backward thoughts to the wars of the 
 past in the threatening conditions which were rapidly 
 developing then.
 
 GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES 21 
 
 There was another grave near the little chapel on 
 the slope of the hill facing the river. Ariadne's 
 mother lay there. Two thousand leagues of hill 
 and valley, of plain and mountain, parted all that was 
 left of her from all that was left of the man she had 
 loved, whose daughter she had given birth to ere she 
 died of heartbreak at the news from the far-off field 
 of battle. But in the sight of Him to whom a thou 
 sand years are but as a watch in the night, as yester 
 day when it is past, there is no distance, and before 
 God the souls of Captain Richard Lewis and Ariadne 
 his wife met and clasped hands in joy unspeakable. 
 
 The little girl often went alone to the low grave 
 marked with its plain white stone an unostentatious 
 race, these Lewises and sat down on the green turf 
 and stared out across the sparkling waters of the 
 placid river. She dreamed of the young soldier in 
 that tropic land, of her mother lying at her feet, of 
 the two who were parted for a little space and united 
 for eternity. But flowers blossomed, as they e'en will 
 do, about the grave before her and over the grave 
 'neath the shadow of the great Aztec rock, and the 
 reveries of the child were sweet, not sad. Sweet it 
 is to think that the dust that returns to the earth some 
 day becomes the frond of the flower from death, 
 life, and that life everlasting. 
 
 Her father's and her mother's portraits hung side 
 by side in the drawing-room. Ariadne often stood 
 at gaze before them and wondered if she would ever 
 be as beautiful as the face of the young woman- 
 scarcely more than a girl indeed that smiled down 
 at her from the dusky background of the fading can 
 vas. She dreamed, too, of a lover, who should be a 
 brave and gallant soldier like her father; a lover who 
 was to fight the battles of his country, but who should 
 not, like him, fall at the head of a charging column.
 
 22 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 No; full of honours and quick with life he was to come 
 back and claim her, and even but the man she really 
 loved with all the strength of her youthful heart was 
 not a soldier at all 1 He was a lawyer, and some de 
 clared him to be a recreant, because he delayed the 
 proffer of his services to his state. While thousands 
 of her best people were already in arms he had 
 lingered in the North, that North that Ariadne in 
 a blind unreasoning, totally feminine, as well as en 
 tirely youthful way, was growing to hate with an 
 inveteracy which should have bespoke a better cause 
 for animosity. And Ariadne despised when she hated. 
 Had not the craven Yankees run like sheep before 
 the dashing attacks of Beauregard's brave young 
 Southerners through all the long July afternoon but 
 yesterday at Manassas and her lover was not there 
 with the young manhood of the state I 
 
 However, Ariadne did not question the young law 
 yer's patriotism on that account, not she. She trusted 
 like youth, naturally; she dreamed like youth, abso 
 lutely; and she hoped like youth, without a doubt, 
 without a reservation. She knew why he had delayed, 
 or if she did not, he would explain it all, for he was 
 coming back to-day ! A servant had galloped up to 
 the great house by the river road that morning with 
 a note for the old Judge in which the writer said that 
 he had at last reached Richmond, and that after he 
 had attended to some necessary business in the city 
 he would be with them ere the night fell. 
 
 The Judge's race was nearly run. Had the times 
 been peaceful he might have lingered on long past 
 three-score-and-ten years, but his heart had been rent 
 and torn within him by the events of the past year, 
 even as the Union for which he had fought had been 
 rent and torn. In the last analysis Judge Lewis was 
 for the state as against the United States. That is
 
 GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES 23 
 
 not saying that he viewed the severance of relations 
 between the grand old Dominion between the Chesa 
 peake and the mountains and the greater Dominion 
 that extended from the Atlantic to the Pacific with 
 equanimity or satisfaction. 
 
 Virginia neither desired nor countenanced Secession. 
 The hot-headed impulsiveness of South Carolina was 
 not reflected by the great calm state which had given 
 Washington to the land and was soon to give Lee as 
 evidence of the quality of her manhood. But when 
 armed foot was set upon her soil and she was re 
 quired to choose between fighting against and fighting 
 with the wayward sisters that lay beyond her borders 
 to the South, her decision was certain. There was 
 only one course she could pursue. 
 
 It was pain and grief to the old man, as it was to 
 many another true-hearted patriot, when Virginia, 
 which had been its mother, as it were, went out of the 
 Union. Sadly, sadly, with eyes that did not flash, but 
 that brimmed with tears, he saw the slender hands of 
 Ariadne strike the flag of the United States from the 
 staff from which from sunrise to sunset, by his orders, 
 it had ever fluttered. Mistily he saw her while she 
 hoisted in its place the new flag to which he was 
 almost too old to give allegiance. 
 
 New things are for youth. Ariadne had not fought 
 for that flag as he had, she had not poured out her 
 life blood for that flag as her father did; she had not 
 seen it grow star by star until it had become the most 
 glorious constellation in the heraldry of the heavens. 
 Old Aza, the Judge's body servant, who had been 
 Ariadne's father's man also in Mexico, usually hoisted 
 and lowered the flag, but on that day that it had come 
 down for the last time Ariadne herself insisted upon 
 striking it, and her own self hauled the flag which she 
 with the assistance of Aunt Dessy, her black old
 
 24 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 mammy, had made, to the top of the tall staff. It was 
 the twitch of her vigorous young arm she was a 
 wiry little body, strong, if slight which had shaken 
 it out to the breeze before the audience of wondering 
 and amused slaves, who clapped their hands and 
 cheered delightedly, not discerning what either ban 
 ner meant to them. Ignorance knows no standard 
 and is indifferent to its flag. 
 
 Yet the triumphant Ariadne was sorry after it was 
 all over when she saw the stricken look and noted the 
 despairful gesture with which the old man covered 
 his white face with his whiter hand. Had he been 
 in power he could have done no other than as his 
 friends and successors in the state had done, yet the 
 doing of it broke his heart. 
 
 Ariadne had become suddenly fearful lest the ex 
 pected guest would not arrive in time to see her grand 
 father again. When the letter came that morning the 
 Judge had revived marvellously. He had insisted 
 upon being dressed for the first time in months, after 
 dinner, and they had brought him out upon the broad 
 gallery surrounding the old Colonial house. There 
 through the fading hours of the long afternoon his 
 eye had wandered from field to copse, from copse to 
 river. It was the home of his ancestors, the home of 
 his boyhood, soon to be his no more. Many and broad 
 were its acres, happy and joyous its slaves. Con 
 tentment and the peace of fruitful summer were there. 
 
 But generally, with an eagerness so great as to be 
 painfully obvious even to the girl by his side, the 
 Judge would turn from the fields and woodlands, in 
 which he had played as a child, to search the winding 
 river road. Anticipation gave him a certain fictitious 
 strength, or the appearance of it; excitement lent to 
 his pale cheek a touch of colour which wavered like 
 the rosy glow that fitfully comes from a dying fire on
 
 GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES 25 
 
 a midnight hearth, as he saw away down the road a 
 far-off moving figure. It had been visible to the girl 
 for some time. She was keen-eyed, but she had said 
 nothing lest she raise false hopes. The Judge shaded 
 his brows with his hand and looked. 
 
 " My child," he said in a voice of silvery sweet 
 ness, which, when it had been strong with virile power 
 had charmed his friends and even awakened the ad 
 miration and, what was more important, commanded 
 the silence, of his enemies, when he had spoken : " My 
 child, is not that he, yon horseman? " 
 
 " Yes, Grandfather," answered the girl in the soft 
 tones of the Southern woman. 
 
 Her voice had a contralto note in it, scarcely ma 
 tured as yet, like her person, but surprising in its ful 
 ness and its sweetness a reflex of the old " man's 
 speech but tempered by her gentler sex. It always 
 startled the Judge when he heard it suddenly after a 
 little silence, it was so like that of his wife. He had 
 married while still young Ariadne de Rohan Grafton. 
 Her grandmother had been of a noble house in Brit 
 tany. She had been wooed and won in Colonial days 
 by a young American sailor named Philip Grafton, 
 who had brought her to Virginia and had founded a 
 numerous race of brave men and beautiful women. 
 
 " And do you think," continued the old man after 
 a little pause staring at the rapidly approaching figure, 
 "that it is he?" 
 
 " It is Philip, I am sure of it." 
 
 With a deep sigh of satisfaction the Judge sank 
 back in his chair and together the two watched the 
 coming horseman. They saw him easily and clearly 
 against the shimmering background of the river, 
 bright with the sunset; therefore they could make him 
 out before he could recognise them in the shadow of 
 the porch; but as he drew nearer he discerned them,
 
 26 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 for they saw him lift his hat and wave it in the air. 
 Then they knew it was he. The sound of a faint cry, 
 an old-fashioned view hallo, came softly to them in 
 the still evening air. Old Aza heard it, too, as he 
 came around the corner of the house at that moment. 
 
 " You Jeff 1 " he called to his son and general fac 
 totum, " heh cum Marse Phil. Come 'long out heh 
 an' tek he horse." 
 
 Not only Jeff, but the whole body of negroes in 
 or about the house responded to the call, and when 
 the rider galloped up the broad driveway and drew 
 rein before the long flight of steps that led to the high 
 gallery he was at once surrounded by a laughing, 
 tumultuous group of black men and women whose 
 white teeth, flashing, indicated, as did their smiling 
 faces and approving shouts, the warmth .of their wel 
 come. Grafton thrust them aside good-naturedly as 
 he sprang from his horse with a pleasant word of 
 recognition here and there which made the objects of 
 his attention strut around with pride, and then he ran 
 lightly up the steps. 
 
 Ariadne, the excitement having brought a delicate 
 wild rose colour into her pale face, met him at the top. 
 In her freshly laundered muslin frock very sweet and 
 pretty she looked to the young man dusty from his 
 rapid ride; poised above him with outstretched hands, 
 whether for flight or welcome, like a little white sprite 
 or fairy. Unthinkingly he seized her, lifted her 
 slender person in the air, held it there a moment or 
 two, and then kissed her full on the lips and gently 
 set her down on her feet again. He marked with 
 amused surprise the fierce flame of colour that suffused 
 her cheeks, the mixture of indignation and pleasure 
 in the look she threw upon him, and then he turned 
 to the old man. 
 
 The Judge sat leaning far forward, his will almost
 
 GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES 27 
 
 supplying him with ability to rise. He reached out his 
 hands and took both of the young man's in his own. 
 
 " Thank God ! " he said, and the satisfaction in his 
 voice was as pathetic as the appeal in his fettered 
 attitude. " You have come at last. I feared that you 
 would be too late." 
 
 " As fast as steam and steed could bring me, sir," 
 said Philip gently, " have I come, sir. As soon as I 
 got my diploma I left Boston." 
 
 " Had you trouble getting through the lines? " 
 
 " Not much, sir. General Scott, for Cousin Dick's 
 sake, gave me a pass." 
 
 " Philip," cried Ariadne suddenly, conscious of 
 what to her was a striking fact, " you have a grey 
 jacket on ! " 
 
 " Yes," said the young man promptly, " I am a 
 soldier." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " Since this morning." 
 
 "Cavalry?" 
 
 Philip shook his head. 
 
 "Artillery?" 
 
 " Infantry," answered the young man calmly, " a 
 high private in the rear rank, you know." 
 
 "What!" cried Ariadne, scandalised. "I 
 thought you would be a general surely." 
 
 " We have too many generals now," said the 
 young man gravely, " and what we need are more 
 privates." 
 
 " But why did you go and be a foot-soldier, you, 
 the best rider in Prince George County? " 
 
 " Yes, Philip," said the Judge, " since we must 
 fight I should prefer you to have been a horseman. 
 The musket is well enough, but the sword is ever the 
 gentleman's weapon." 
 
 " I, too, should have preferred the cavalry, sir,"
 
 28 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 returned Philip, "but General Lee, whose advice I 
 took, urged me to join the infantry. He said that 
 all the best young men of the state were crowding 
 into the cavalry and artillery. The Richmond How 
 itzers begged me to come with them, but I saw it the 
 way the general did. We need to leaven up the 
 infantry." 
 
 " But only a private soldier! " cried Ariadne. 
 
 " But I know nothing about the art of war," pro 
 tested Philip. 
 
 "The art of war?" exclaimed the girl. "I 
 thought every Southern gentleman knew how to 
 fight." 
 
 '' To fight, yes. But drill and tactics and so on 
 are quite another thing." 
 
 "Tactics? Why didn't you study them at 
 Boston?" 
 
 " Yankee tactics? " asked the young man mis 
 chievously. 
 
 " Any kind of tactics are better than none, I sup 
 pose," replied Ariadne, and then " Philip, why 
 didn't you come here before? They are saying all 
 sorts of things about you . . ." 
 
 " I know it," said the young man, grown sud 
 denly grave, " but I felt it proper for me to remain 
 at the college until I was graduated and had received 
 my diploma. It was hard enough, sir," he continued, 
 turning to the old man; " God knows I wanted to 
 be the first to enlist for old Virginia. But I knew 
 there would be plenty of time, and I could not waste 
 the work of those six years. I wanted that 
 sheepskin." 
 
 " And you were right," said the Judge em 
 phatically. 
 
 " A Yankee diploma from an abolition college ! " 
 interrupted Ariadne scornfully.
 
 GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES 29 
 
 " Learning is learning, North or South," replied 
 Philip. " Harvard did not affect my principles one 
 way or the other." 
 
 " Oh, if you had only studied war, too, and . . ." 
 
 " My dear little girl," returned Philip, in a pat 
 ronising, jesting manner which always infuriated 
 Ariadne, " I was too busy studying law for anything 
 else then . . now it is different. I shall begin 
 to prepare for a general's commission at once." 
 
 " There is no nobler profession than that of law, 
 my child," interposed the old Judge, just in time to 
 check an angry response from the young girl. " In 
 the end the scales of justice weigh the world, and the 
 law is justice. Philip did well to make sure of his 
 diploma. I should have grieved if he had not 
 secured it, as we all did. Yet I am loath to see him 
 serve in the army in so humble a capacity, where his 
 fathers have led." 
 
 " Sir, said the young man, with sudden gravity, 
 " as General Lee says, it will be a long war. Those 
 who learn in its hard school will have opportunity 
 to show what they can do before it is ended." 
 
 " A long war? " cried the girl; " why, we'll sweep 
 those Yankees into the sea in three months! Mr. 
 Toombs says he is going to call the roll of his slaves 
 from the foot of Bunker Hill. I read it myself the 
 other day in the Examiner." 
 
 " That is foolish talk, Ariadne," said the Judge, 
 with a reproving shake of the head, " and I told 
 you so when you read it to me." 
 
 "It is indeed, sir," assented Grafton; "I have 
 come from the North, and I know." 
 
 " And what is the spirit there? " questioned the old 
 man. 
 
 " As strong as it is here," answered Philip 
 promptly. " There is as much enthusiasm in Boston
 
 30 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 as there is in Richmond. I never saw finer troops 
 than some of the regiments that have been mustered 
 into the Federal forces there. The Six Massachu 
 setts is a stunning body of men; and so are the 
 Pennsylvania troops. Burt Kirkwood is a lieutenant 
 in one of those regiments." 
 
 "Burt Kirkwood?" said Ariadne, "your college 
 chum?" 
 
 " Yes. We graduated together and bade each 
 other good-bye immediately. George Manning . . 
 I have often written about him, you know " 
 Ariadne nodded " he's in a Massachusetts regiment 
 . they're all right, too. We three fellows were 
 the best of friends at college . . the insepara 
 bles, they called us." 
 
 " But one Southerner, you know," interrupted the 
 girl, " can whip five Yankees." 
 
 There was no amusement in her manner. This 
 extraordinary statement was not badinage, for 
 Ariadne and most of the women and many of the 
 men of the South fully believed that what she had 
 said was quite true, only the odds were frequently 
 longer. 
 
 " Not three like Burt or George," answered Philip 
 quietly. He knew the absurdity of that claim, which 
 nevertheless may have served some good purpose, 
 since it created a confidence that is sometimes a 
 precursor of success. " No, dear, we're going to 
 have our hands full." 
 
 " But we will win, of course; we must win," said 
 Ariadne. 
 
 " Oh, of course, we shall," answered Philip, with 
 equal confidence. 
 
 '' With a just cause and the favour of Heaven, we 
 
 cannot fail," said the old man softly and sadly. 
 
 ' Yet I wish there was some other way. I dread
 
 GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES 31 
 
 the appeal to arms. I wish we could be let alone. 
 Do you think there is any possibility? " 
 
 " None whatever, sir. They say in the North that 
 we shall not leave the Union." 
 
 " But we have left it/' said the Judge. 
 
 ' Then they will force us back into it." 
 
 "Never, never!" exclaimed Ariadne, full of in 
 dignant protest. 
 
 " Not while we have a man alive to be influenced 
 by such spirit as yours, my dear child," said Philip, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Phil Grafton, I wish you wouldn't call me a 
 child! " vehemently cried Ariadne, her indignation 
 finding another object upon which to spend itself be 
 sides the Yankees. " I'm sixteen years old and Mamie 
 Dylett " pointing to an adjoining plantation 
 " was married from that house day before yester 
 day to Mr. John Oakley. And, by the way, he's a 
 lieutenant in the Ninth Infantry." 
 
 " My regiment," interrupted Grafton pleasantly. 
 
 " Well, I'll tell him to make you behave your 
 self," continued the girl, not in the least mollified by 
 his good-humour. u And Mamie Dylett's only past 
 seventeen." 
 
 " And are you contemplating matrimony, Miss 
 Lewis?" rejoined the vastly amused Grafton. In 
 deed, the idea was so utterly incongruous with the 
 immature little figure standing so dauntlessly erect 
 before him that first he smiled, then he laughed. ^ 
 
 " Of course not! But I'm old enough to be, sir, 
 and I'd have you to know . . ." 
 
 " Skuse me, gent'mum an' Miss Adny," said old 
 Aza at that moment, coming out on the gallery with 
 a huge tray uplifted on his black hands in a most 
 stately manner. The salver bore two tall glasses 
 looking somewhat lonely on the vast expanse of silver.
 
 3* THE PATRIOTS 
 
 In them ice twinkled alluringly and the light was re 
 flected from green leaves from which a delicious 
 fragrance of mint was diffused. There was a third 
 glass of the paler hue of lemon, which was for Ari 
 adne. It was a most fortunate entrance and inter 
 ruption. " I reckoned dat Marse Phil'd be thirsty 
 fum he long ride down de ribbah road, an' I knowed 
 't was 'bout time fer yer ebenin' s'lute, suh," con 
 tinued the old darkey, proffering the glasses. 
 
 The sun had just dipped beyond the house to the 
 west. Thomas Jefferson was already fumbling at 
 the halliards at the foot of the flagstaff. The Judge 
 lifted his glass, Ariadne took her glass of lemonade, 
 Philip the other julep, and the two young people 
 stood very straight as the flag came slowly down. 
 Jeff, with that instinctive appreciation of the beau 
 tiful and picturesque common to his race, lowered 
 it so slowly that he seemed to give a touch of grace, 
 of romance almost, to the fall of the flag, as it 
 floated, wavered and at last settled softly, like a 
 great bird, in the dying wind on the grass below 
 them. 
 
 " Let me give a toast," said Ariadne impulsively, 
 as they watched its gentle descent. 
 
 " My child," said the Judge, bowing acquiescently 
 toward the little figure. 
 
 " Happiness and prosperity to Virginia and the 
 Southern Confederacy! " said Ariadne. 
 
 " I drink deep to that," Philip promptly joined in. 
 
 " Virginia," said the old man, his glance sweep 
 ing the prospect before them, " home of my boy 
 hood, land of my fathers, rest of my old age, much 
 prosperity to thee . . happiness . . yes . ." 
 He hesitated. Two tears trickled softly down his 
 cheeks. "God save the United States!" he mut 
 tered as his head fell forward on his breast.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 TOR ARIADNE'S SAKE 
 
 THE young men and young women of Virginia were 
 eager for war with the United States. Older men like 
 Judge Lewis and others, who had seen war, thought 
 differently. There were also a few young men like 
 Grafton, who were familiar with the state of feeling 
 in the North, who realised that the struggle was not 
 to be that holiday excursion, that mere military 
 promenade by the Southern armies, which those less 
 well-informed fancied would take place. Conse 
 quently the younger man shared the old man's sad 
 ness as they together watched the falling flag. 
 Blood was to be poured out like water, money was 
 to be spent without stint, all that heroic courage, en 
 tire consecration, absolute devotion, coupled with 
 talent and ability of the highest order, could do, 
 would be done to keep up that flag. Men and 
 women, grandsires and matrons, youths and maidens, 
 were to live to serve it and love to die for it in 
 vain. In the end it was to fall softly upon the grass 
 of the war-blasted land its pall and remain only 
 a deathless memory in Southern hearts. 
 
 There was no premonition of that then. Believ 
 ing fondly as they did in the justice of their cause and 
 convinced that right must and would prevail, they 
 had no doubt that as surely as men in the end must 
 observe the law, so in the end the might of God, 
 acting through the power of man, would enable them 
 to achieve their desires. 
 
 With the setting of the sun a breeze sprang sharply 
 
 33
 
 34 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 from the river. There was a little chill touch in 
 its breath across the steel-grey waters. They must 
 take the old man in. As he looked upon him, Grafton 
 realised how tenuous was his hold on life. In the 
 twilight, with the glow of the sun off his face and 
 the surprise and excitement of Philip's arrival gone, 
 he looked very old, wasted and broken. A great 
 tenderness filled the heart of the young man, not 
 only for the old friend of his boyhood, but for 
 Ariadne. Hers was a beauty that required light at 
 that stage of its development. In the half-shadow 
 she seemed thinner, frailer, softer, than before 
 as if, wraith-like, she would vanish away. 
 
 They were alone on the porch, in the twilight, in 
 the world, those three. The ancient family of Lewis 
 was reduced to Ariadne, and the equally old race 
 of Grafton to Philip. One of those slender blood 
 connections of which the South makes much existed 
 between the two families. Philip's great-grandfather 
 had been an uncle to the Judge's wife. He and 
 Ariadne, therefore, were cousins very far removed. 
 Grafton had a small plantation, Braeside, adjoining 
 Vallewis, opposite South Acres, the Dylett place, 
 whence Philip's boyhood friend, Oakley, had just 
 taken a bride. Grafton had never lived on the place, 
 however. Ever since his father died, bequeathing 
 him to the Judge, he had been an inmate of Vallewis. 
 He was a small boy of seven when Ariadne was born, 
 and he knew the whole history of her life, therefore; 
 a simple, innocent, uneventful story it was, holding 
 absolutely no promise of its dramatic future. 
 
 Philip was very fond of Ariadne. For a long time 
 she had held undisputed the first place in his heart, 
 but within the last two years, at least since he had 
 met Kathleen Kirkwood, Ariadne had taken second 
 place. Philip, indeed, loved her, but his affection was
 
 FOR ARIADNE'S SAKE 35 
 
 that of a brother for a younger sister. On her part 
 Ariadne had always loved Philip. He represented to 
 her the beau ideal of everything in humanity, in 
 masculine humanity, that is. It was but a childish 
 heart that beat beneath that immature breast, but in 
 it were latent and nascent the fires of a woman's 
 passion. She dreamed of him. She stared long at 
 his picture. She treasured his letters. It was all 
 childlike and innocent now, but unless it were checked 
 some day it would overwhelm her. The current of 
 her being was like a wavering tide, but when it should 
 settle it would go with the force of a flooding sea 
 toward him, and, unlike the tide, there would be no 
 ebb to that mighty flow. 
 
 Philip was entirely unconscious of this feeling on 
 the part of Ariadne. His heart had been heavy 
 within him all the way from Pennsylvania. He saw 
 Kathleen Kirkwood still on his soul's horizon. In 
 the separation which, like distance to the view, some 
 times lends enchantment to the recollection, her 
 beauty was enhanced, her charm intensified, while 
 with each receding mile the sting of her bitter words 
 lost force. She could not mean what she had said; 
 that last cruel decision should not stand as the final 
 one between them. Yet his hope was but a faint 
 one. He had enlisted in Richmond that morning in 
 a mood full of desperation. He would have enlisted 
 in any event, of course, but not in that way. He had 
 felt that he had nothing left to love but Virginia; 
 as if now that Kathleen had sent him off the sooner 
 he laid down his life for his land the better; but as 
 he stood on the gallery beside the feeble old man 
 there came across him suddenly, with the force of a 
 blow, that the Judge's time was over and that he 
 must live for Ariadne. 
 
 They carried the Judge into the house and laid
 
 3 6 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 him upon his couch in the library. He did not wish 
 to be taken to his chamber. He would die among 
 his books with his wife's face above him and the 
 world in view through the open window by his side. 
 He had grow suddenly weaker. Graf ton, who had 
 not seen him in one of these attacks of f aintness, was 
 greatly alarmed, and even Ariadne, to whom use had 
 made them not so appalling, was filled with dismay. 
 The Judge did not respond to the remedies they ad 
 ministered, and Jeff was sent galloping in hot haste 
 for a physician. The old man realised what the others 
 only suspected, that his end was at hand. When he 
 recovered a little strength from the stimulants which 
 they gave him, he begged Ariadne to leave him alone 
 with Philip for a little space. 
 
 " My boy," said the dying man feebly, as the 
 younger man knelt down at the side of the couch 
 and took the hand of his faithful old friend and 
 mentor in his own, " I have lived my time. I am 
 quite ready to go, yet I prayed that I might be 
 allowed to live until you came home for " his 
 voice faltered " for Ariadne's sake." 
 
 "Do not say that, sir I" 
 
 " It is true. I do not wear a soldier's jacket, like 
 you, Philip, but I can face death as a soldier should, 
 and I do not wish to live longer. Virginia could do 
 no less, but I was too long under the old flag to be 
 happy under the new." 
 
 " Do not speak of that now, sir," said Grafton, 
 scarce knowing what to reply. 
 
 " Perhaps it will come out right in the end, but 
 I shall not live to see it. Indeed, there is little 
 time left me and less strength. I must tell you 
 quickly. You will take care of the child when I am 
 gone? " 
 
 " With all my heart, sir! I shall be like . . ."
 
 FOR ARIADNE'S SAKE 37 
 
 " Philip, you are not engaged to any of those 
 Northern girls, are you?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Your letters of late have been full of a young 
 lady's name, Miss . . ah . . Kirkwood . . is 
 she . . are you . . ." 
 
 " There is nothing whatever between Miss Kirk- 
 wood and myself," answered Grafton, although the 
 admission wrung his heart. 
 
 "Good! Then I can say what I please. Philip, 
 Ariadne has nothing. The place is very much run 
 down; the last overseer I had was a Yankee. He 
 robbed me right and left. I raised what money I 
 could on the plantation; Hill & Jamison were my 
 brokers in Richmond. They invested it in Northern 
 securities. Hill & Jamison failed the other day, and 
 this threatened war has ruined me. I find I can 
 realise nothing in the North. Vallewis is gone; I 
 shall not live to see it . . ." 
 
 "Good heavens, sir!" cried Philip, "is there 
 nothing left?" 
 
 " Nothing. Even the slaves, except Asa and Aunt 
 Dessy . . ." 
 
 " What will become of Ariadne? " 
 
 " Philip," said the old man impressively, with a 
 sudden accession of strength, " you must marry her." 
 
 " What, sir ! " exclaimed the young man, involun 
 tarily starting back. 
 
 " Marry her." 
 
 " Why, she is only a child ! " 
 
 " I know that. Give her the protection of your 
 name. Wait to claim her until . . well . . until 
 the war is over." 
 
 " But I will provide for her without that. What 
 I have shall be hers. She shall share everything that 
 is mine."
 
 38 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " No," said the old Judge. " That will not do. 
 I know that child. She will be beholden to no one. 
 She will go out and try to earn her own living rather 
 than accept your charity." 
 
 " But it will not be charity. I shall be delighted 
 to do . ^ . ." 
 
 " Nothing can sweeten the bitter bread of de 
 pendence, Philip. Ariadne is only a child in appear 
 ance, but she has a well-stored mind. There isn't a 
 more honourable soul dwelling in a human body than 
 hers. Her independence is boundless. It does not 
 appear what she will be in person to inexperienced 
 eyes, perhaps, but her grandmother was a beautiful 
 woman, the most beautiful I ever saw," said the old 
 man, his mind reverting in his dying moment to the 
 wife of his youth. " See her picture there on the 
 wall. Ariadne is very like her . . very like . . 
 I shut out the past and see her when the child ap 
 pears. I listen and I hear her voice when Ariadne 
 speaks. Marry her, my boy. She loves you. She 
 is like my Ariadne, and I, who know, tell you there 
 are capacities in the hearts of the women of that race 
 that promise joy unspeakable. I cannot go and 
 leave her to fight her battle alone. You will be in 
 the field; you may be killed. Give her the protection 
 of your name. She is so young, so innocent, and she 
 loves you, Phil. It will be her happiness and yours." 
 
 " Why not," thought Philip as he listened to the 
 Judge's plea. " I can repay the devotion this old 
 man has spent on me. Does the child really love me? 
 I can make her happy then. She need never know ; 
 it's all off between us. Kathleen Kirkwood will never 
 change. And if she would, I cannot stoop where 
 I have been so thrust aside. Virginia . . I was 
 willing and anxious to lay down my life for Virginia. 
 She has first claim upon me. But Ariadne, she too
 
 FOR ARIADNE'S SAKE 39 
 
 has a claim. What I have will be hers. I can give 
 her my name. I am sure she will bear it worthily." 
 
 " You will, Philip ? You cannot refuse me 
 that. . . ." 
 
 " Say no more, sir," said Grafton. " If Ariadne 
 will do me the honour she shall be my wife." 
 
 " May it be now, Philip, before I die?" 
 
 " Whenever you please, sir, if she will," answered 
 Grafton promptly. Having made up his mind there 
 was no occasion for delay. 
 
 Just then Dr. Ellison rode up to the door. Ari 
 adne, fiercely jealous because of her exclusion from 
 her grandfather's room, brought the doctor in. He 
 was an old friend of the Judge, as his father had 
 been. With a sympathetic glance the doctor stepped 
 to the old man's side and began his examination. He 
 asked a few questions of grave import and produced 
 a medicine-case which he had brought with him, and 
 began compounding a certain prescription. 
 
 " Ellison," began the Judge faintly, " I am not 
 afraid to die." 
 
 " I know you are not," answered the doctor. 
 
 " And I ask you as a man and a gentleman, tell 
 me, is not this the end? " 
 
 " Only God can determine that, Judge; but so far 
 as my poor skill allows me to say " he lingered 
 over the words as if he would fain delay their utter 
 ance " I think you will scarcely recover from this 
 attack." 
 
 Ariadne clenched her hands and bit her lip. Her 
 heart almost stopped its beating, but she made no 
 sound. Philip stepped closer to her and put his arm 
 around her waist. She was grateful for the sup 
 port, which, however, she scarcely needed and little 
 availed herself of, she stood so erect. She had known 
 that in the nature of things her grandfather's death
 
 40 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 could not be far off, and she had tried to prepare her 
 self. But when the moment arrived it came to her 
 with all the shock of the utterly unexpected. Death 
 is a thing for which the loving are never ready. It 
 is always a surprise to the bereft. 
 
 ;< Will it be long? " asked the Judge. 
 
 " Indeed, I scarcely think you can survive the 
 night." 
 
 " Ellison," said the old man, with a sudden access 
 of vigour, " I must live until morning ! You must 
 keep me here until then! " 
 
 " You are in the hands of the Lord, Judge. I 
 will do my best." 
 
 " Is there no remedy, unusual but powerful, which 
 you can employ? " 
 
 The doctor nodded. 
 
 " I have just received a certain drug from France," 
 he said ; " I have not fully determined its qualities, 
 but they say . . ." 
 
 " Give it me," cried the Judge; " I can't die to 
 night! " 
 
 There was something appalling in that sudden and 
 resolute clinging to life by the old man. 
 
 "Why does he say that? " whispered Ariadne to 
 Philip. 
 
 Death sometimes temporarily sharpens the failing 
 senses. Her grandfather had heard her faint whis 
 per and he himself made answer. 
 
 " I must live to see you and Philip married in the 
 morning. Will some one send for Bishop Meade ? " 
 
 " He is an old man, sir," said Grafton quickly. 
 " Will not the Rector . . ." 
 
 " The Bishop," interrupted the Judge firmly. 
 " He married me, he married my son. He will rise 
 from his dying bed to marry my granddaughter." 
 
 " If you expect to live until morning, Judge," said
 
 FOR ARIADNE'S SAKE 41 
 
 the physician, approaching with a glass containing 
 the medicine, " you must drink this, and then you 
 must be quiet. Excitement would only hasten the 
 end." 
 
 " Is that the French drug? " 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " Will it make me sleep?" 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " Shall I ever awaken? " 
 
 ;' I hope so." 
 
 " You will watch by me and not let me die . 
 alone? " 
 
 " I will not leave you throughout the night." 
 
 " And I, too," said Ariadne. 
 
 "No, my dear," said the doctor, turning to her; 
 " I, alone. Philip, take her away." He had known 
 them both from childhood. Indeed, he had brought 
 Ariadne into the world. 
 
 ' You will call me . . if . ." whispered the 
 girl, unwilling to leave. 
 
 "Yes," said the physician; "you may trust me." 
 
 Ariadne stepped softly to the side of her grand 
 father's couch and bent her head and kissed him. 
 
 " Philip has made me very happy," whispered the 
 old man tenderly; " may he make you happy, too." 
 
 " I will, so help me God ! " cried Philip. 
 
 " Good-night, children," said the Judge; " I shall 
 see you in the morning. Now, doctor, the medicine,"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE DAY BREAKS 
 
 OUT through the hall, past the silent line of awe 
 struck negroes, Grafton led the poor little lonely 
 girl. Anxious to escape from even their friendly 
 eyes, she turned to the nearest door, which happened 
 to be that of the drawing-room. He half-carried, 
 half-led her into the long room. 
 
 " Phil," she said as he closed the door, " tell me 
 the truth. Is Grandfather going to die?" 
 
 " I am afraid so, little sweetheart." 
 
 He watched her narrowly as he spoke, fearful lest 
 she should break down. Her eyes were preternatu- 
 rally bright and her face paler than ever, but there 
 was no unsteadiness in the glance with which she 
 looked at him. 
 
 " What did he mean . . about . . ." 
 Here she hesitated. 
 
 "About our marriage, Ariadne? " asked Grafton 
 slowly. 
 
 1 Yes," she nodded. 
 
 " It is . . I wish you to be my wife. Will 
 you? " he asked her. 
 
 " But I . . I am so young . . ." 
 
 ' Your grandfather has given his consent. It is 
 the dearest wish of his heart." 
 
 "And of yours, Philip?" 
 
 Grafton lied like a gentleman. With the rich 
 beauty of Kathleen Kirkwood's face smiting him as 
 he spoke, he yet looked steadily at the pathetic face 
 of the young girl so close to him and answered: 
 
 42
 
 THE DAY BREAKS 43 
 
 " It is the dearest wish of my own, also." 
 
 He stepped nearer to her and stretched out his 
 arms to take her, but the girl put one slender hand 
 upon his breast. 
 
 "Wait, Phil," she said slowly; "I am so young 
 v . and I have no mother. I wonder what it is best 
 for me to do? " 
 
 Perhaps the old man was wrong. It may be that 
 Ariadne did not love him. There might be a way 
 of escape, thought Grafton. 
 
 " Do you love me, little sweetheart? " he asked, 
 employing his boyhood pet name for her. There was 
 a touch of eagerness in his question which she 
 mistook. 
 
 "Love you, Phil!" Her hands went together 
 against her breast. 
 
 The moon had just risen. A broad beam of light 
 streamed through the long window into the other 
 wise dark room and fell upon her. He was aston 
 ished, almost appalled, by the change in her expres 
 sion. The contrast between her look of a moment 
 before and that present aspect was almost as great 
 as from the darkness in which he stood to the light 
 in which she stood. Yes, his way was dark, her 
 path was light. He had his answer and his sentence 
 in that exclamation. For the first time in his life 
 he had a perception of the possibilities of beauty in 
 that face, and for a second he forgot the Northern 
 woman. He stepped nearer to Ariadne and took her 
 hands. 
 
 " Then you accept me? " he said. " You make me 
 very glad. You make your grandfather's last hours 
 happy. You will be my wife? " 
 
 " But . . but . . I am only a . . girl . . 
 a child . ." she urged, hesitatingly, forgetful of her 
 claim of the afternoon.
 
 44 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " And a child you shall be until the war is ended. 
 You shall bear my name, dear. I will claim you 
 when the fighting is over." 
 
 He drew her toward him, slipped an arm around 
 her and pressed her to his heart. She made no re 
 sistance. She trusted herself to him, and she was 
 glad. 
 
 Is it settled, then ? " he asked. 
 
 " Phil," said the girl suddenly, raising her head. 
 It seemed to her that she had grown years in the last 
 few moments. She laid her hand upon his shoulder 
 and leaned away from him a little, although he still 
 retained his hold upon her. " Do you really love 
 me?" 
 . " I dp." 
 
 " This is not to please Grandfather? " 
 
 Philip shook his head. 
 
 " There is no other girl in your heart? " 
 
 Philip thanked God for the darkness which con 
 cealed his clenched hand. 
 
 " No one," he said, forcing the falsehood. 
 
 " That girl you wrote about, Kathleen Kirk- 
 wood?" 
 
 " There is nothing between us." 
 
 " On your word of honour, Phil? " 
 
 " On my word of honour, there isn't anything be 
 tween us," he said promptly, glad to be able to assure 
 her of that one fact. " Why do you question me in 
 this way, dearest? " 
 
 " I wish to be sure. I am so alone, you see . . 
 and I don't know. If my mother were only 
 here!" 
 
 " Ariadne, I will be mother, father, brother, hus 
 band . . everything . . to you, if you will only 
 take me," he urged, persuading himself that in all 
 those things she would not mind if he failed to be
 
 THE DAY BREAKS 45 
 
 that without which all the others were mere empty 
 terms between them lover! 
 
 " Come here, into the light, Philip. Let me look 
 at you," she said, drawing him forward. " Your 
 face is very white." 
 
 " It is only the moonlight, dear," he protested. 
 
 " You are sure that you love me, only me, and 
 that you really wish me to be your wife? " 
 
 ;< Very sure." 
 
 " Oh, Phil ! " cried the girl, with a little move 
 ment of lassitude, the tension under which she had 
 laboured relaxing for the moment, " I am so miser 
 able and . . so happy ! " 
 
 Her head sank forward, he caught her in his arms 
 and she burst into a flood of tears on his shoulder. 
 She was so young and she had no mother! The 
 man held her against his breast, that frail, slender 
 figure, and thanked God that he had had the courage 
 to withhold the truth from her. He swore in his 
 heart of hearts that that which had been committed 
 to him he should cherish in his soul. By and by he 
 lifted her up and carried her to one of the sofas and 
 laid her down upon it, and bade her rest. He sat 
 beside her and held her slender hand, promising that 
 he would not leave her alone the long night, and 
 kissed her often and spoke to her tenderly, and 
 watched her fall asleep. He sat there in silence 
 with the little hand clasped in his stronger one. If 
 he moved to release her hand, without awakening, 
 she held him with a sudden instinctive tightening of 
 her grasp. He was bound. The hand of the woman 
 who was to be his child-wife, to whom he was about 
 to give the protection of his name, the woman who 
 loved him, held him fast, asleep, awake, in life, in 
 death forever ! 
 
 Grafton was not vain, but there had been illumina-
 
 46 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 tion even to so modest a soul as his in her look, in her 
 voice, in her bearing in that dark room that told him 
 what depth of passion, what wealth of affection, 
 would be his as the child ripened into womanhood. 
 Yet, clasping the hand of the girl, his thoughts went 
 back to the old farmhouse in the pleasant Pennsyl 
 vania hills, to the bright, proud, splendid face of the 
 woman who had mocked him and cast him off in 
 scorn. He would be Ariadne's husband, he would 
 be to her all that a man could be with his heart 
 forever given to the woman of the North, the girl 
 with the smiling mouth, the red lips, the bright hair, 
 the mocking laugh ! But it was hard. He could not 
 realise what it meant; neither what he had lost nor 
 what he had gained. 
 
 So through the long hours in one chamber of the 
 house affection watched death, while in another sad 
 ness brooded over a troubled yet happy heart. And 
 what would be the end ? Philip hoped, he could only 
 hope that was all. 
 
 But that slender child, whose uneasy breathing 
 marked her restless slumber, was not of a race which 
 is content with half a heart, and such devotion as 
 she gave to him could be fairly met and measured 
 by nothing save an equal return. That did not 
 occur to him then, but some day he would awake to 
 the knowledge. She would learn it perhaps and 
 then her heart would break ! 
 
 The grey light of the cool dawn was just stealing 
 through the openings of the Venetian blinds when 
 Ariadne awoke to hear a carriage stop on the gravel 
 driveway before the door. The good Bishop, ap 
 prised of the urgency of the case, had not waited until 
 morning, but had come at once to marry his young 
 friend and see his old friend die. The doctor, too, 
 weary with his long vigil, had heard the sound. His
 
 THE DAY BREAKS 47 
 
 exit into the hall and the voice of the venerable old 
 man, even though he spoke softly as he entered the 
 door and asked how did his ancient friend, awakened 
 the Judge. 
 
 A moment and the Bishop alone entered the room 
 and knelt praying beside the dying man. The Bishop 
 had lived many years and had served much. His 
 own race was nearly run. The meeting between the 
 two old friends was tender, the one almost over the 
 threshold, the other approaching the door. They 
 had little to say to each other, and their interview 
 was soon over. The Bishop called the doctor, and he 
 summoned Ariadne and Philip. 
 
 " He is awake? " asked the girl. 
 
 " Yes," answered the physician, " but there is lit 
 tle time to lose." 
 
 Hand in hand the two young people entered the 
 room. 
 
 " It was a marvellous draught," said the Judge 
 faintly, and they were shocked by the change in him, 
 " I thank you . . Ellison . . Ariadne . . 
 Phil . . are you ready? " 
 
 " Yes, Grandfather," said the girl, fighting for her 
 courage again. 
 
 ; ' Ready, sir," said Philip. 
 
 " William," said the Judge, turning to the Bishop, 
 his boyhood friend. 
 
 ' Yes, Henry," answered the prelate. 
 
 " I am dying . . you know . . and before 
 I go I wish you to marry . . Ariadne and Phil 
 here . . as you married me . . as you married 
 her mother." 
 
 " Is it your wish, too, my dear? " asked the ven 
 erable Bishop. 
 
 " Yes, Bishop." 
 
 "And yours, Philip?"
 
 48 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " Yes, Bishop Meade." 
 
 The Bishop rose and opened the well-worn Prayer 
 Book which was his constant companion. 
 
 "Wait," said the Judge; " I have but little time, 
 but . . I shall last this out. Your robes of office, 
 Will. I remember . . how you looked when . . 
 I stood before you . . years ago. You were not 
 . . a Bishop . . then." 
 
 The doctor had hastened out at the Judge's word 
 and came back bringing the Bishop's robe case. 
 Swiftly, but with fingers that trembled not so much 
 from age as feeling, the Bishop adjusted his vest 
 ments. He was a soldier in his way, who had met 
 death in the high places upon many a field upon which 
 he reigned supreme, yet he could not recall a sight 
 quite like this. His voice shook, too, as he bade the 
 young people stand before him. The tears dimmed 
 his eyes, he could not see the book. That was no 
 matter; he knew the service by heart, and out of his 
 heart he spoke on that day as he had rarely spoken 
 before. 
 
 " Wait," said the Judge once more; " I wish Asa 
 . . and Aunt Dessy . . here." 
 
 On tiptoe the two negroes, who had been wait 
 ing outside the door, came into the room. 
 
 " Asa," said his old master, " you belong to me 
 and to my son. . . I wish to give you . . your 
 freedom . . now." 
 
 " Doan do dat, Marse Henry! Gimme to Miss 
 A'dny, heah, me an' Aunt Dessy, suh. We doan 
 want no freedom, suh I " 
 
 " Nor, suh, Marse Henry," echoed Aunt Dessy, 
 who was Aza's wife. " Dat's right, suh. You ain't 
 gwine to lef us 'lone widout belongin' to nobody 
 't all?" 
 
 " Well, then," said the Judge, " I give you to your
 
 THE DAY BREAKS 49 
 
 young mistress. . . She is to be married this morn 
 ing . . and I called . . you in as . . witnesses. 
 Now, William." 
 
 He turned to the clergyman. Solemnly, sadly, the 
 Bishop read the words that bound the two young 
 people together until death did them part. Silent, 
 a darkly pale little figure of repression, Ariadne 
 stood. Stern and still, Philip, in the grey jacket of a 
 private in the old Virginia line, made the responses 
 as if in a dream, fighting within himself a civil war 
 which rent and tore his heart, with a woman of the 
 South arrayed against a woman of the North; 
 one claiming him through duty, the other through 
 love, awakening to find himself at last in honour 
 bound. 
 
 As the Bishop laid his hands in blessing upon the 
 bowed heads of the two kneeling before him, there 
 was a little silence in the room. Presently the 
 Bishop turned to his old friend. The Judge had 
 struggled to lift himself upon his arm. His face 
 was turned toward the open window. Far up the 
 river the glow of the sunrise tinged the woods and 
 fields and turned the water into gold. The light fell 
 upon his white face. The breeze of the morning 
 stirred his white hair in tender caress. 
 
 u Thank God," he murmured, " it is done. Ari 
 adne will be happy. . . Good bless you, Phil ! " 
 
 Mechanically Jeff had gone out at sunrise and 
 hoisted the flag. The old man saw it rising on the 
 staff. 
 
 "What flag is that? Virginia . . God bless 
 her . . and save the United States. See . ." 
 he lifted his hand, " the day breaks." 
 
 He fell softly back upon the pillows and lay quite 
 still. 
 
 " The day breaks," said the Bishop solemnly, lay-
 
 50 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 ing his hand upon the lightless eyes of his old friend; 
 " the day breaks and the shadows flee away." 
 
 So with the dawn the soul of the Judge entered 
 that other country from whose unity there is no 
 secession.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 AGE AND YOUTH AND A WOMAN 
 
 Two days after his death they buried the old Judge 
 in the little graveyard by the side of the chapel on 
 the slope of the hill facing the river. On one side 
 of him lay Ariadne, his wife, on the other, Ariadne, 
 his daughter, while at the foot of the grave stood 
 Ariadne, his grandchild, last of her race. On the 
 right of his girl-wife, clad in his plain grey soldier's 
 jacket, stood her husband, holding her lightly by 
 the arm. On the other side of her stood a tall, im 
 posing-looking man of middle age. He was booted 
 and spurred for riding, and wore a handsome grey 
 uniform with three gold stars on the collar. His 
 face was ruddy, his hair was dark and thick, and like 
 his moustache was slightly tinged with grey. He 
 wore no beard then. His head was a noble one and 
 his countenance revealed at a glance his high char 
 acter and suggested that " perfect balance of facul 
 ties, mental, moral, and physical," which his subse 
 quent career showed he enjoyed. 
 
 He was the busiest man in Richmond at the time, 
 but he had ridden down to Vallewis when his friend 
 and counsellor, Bishop Meade, told him of the death 
 of the Judge, to do him honour on the day of his 
 funeral. 
 
 There were other gentlemen present, mostly old 
 men, from neighbouring plantations, and many 
 women, young and old, who had not gone to Rich 
 mond or to camp to be near loved ones in the army. 
 Back of all were the house servants and plantation 
 
 51
 
 52 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 slaves, tears glistening on their black faces as they 
 listened to the white-haired Bishop reading those last 
 words of farewell. All those present in their several 
 stations had loved and honoured the Judge. They 
 had enjoyed his friendship, they had followed his 
 counsel, they had obeyed his commands, they would 
 remember him with affection and regret; yet, under 
 the circumstances, it does no violence to the sin 
 cerity of their grief to say that they had a deeper 
 interest in the living than in the dead. 
 
 'Tis life that appeals to man. There is but one 
 answer to Rip Van Winkle's pathetic question, " Are 
 we then so soon forgotten? " The eyes of all present 
 were turned from the narrow flower-strewn opening, 
 from the beloved form of the old Bishop, from the 
 casket upon which the earth fell from friendly hands 
 with a caressing touch, to seek the three figures at 
 the foot of the grave. 
 
 Philip represented the young manhood of Vir 
 ginia, its dauntless courage, its unbounded enthusi 
 asm, its absolute devotion, its willingness to fight 
 to the bitter end for a principle it believed to be right. 
 The elder man typified the ineffable dignity, the royal 
 majesty, the profound ability of the South. Not 
 an unknown man he of the greying hair and the three 
 stars, but with the greater part of his marvellous 
 reputation still in the future. Robert E. Lee, as he 
 stood there on that sunny summer morning, illus 
 trated the character and quality, as he bore the hopes, 
 of those upon whom the burden of the struggle must 
 fall. Between the two, so frail, so delicate, so dainty, 
 yet so brave and so undaunted, was a Southern 
 woman, leaning upon one, looking up to the other. 
 The object of one's devotion and the other's pro 
 tection, she was a living suggestion of the country for 
 which they were both to fight to the bitter end.
 
 AGE AND YOUTH 53 
 
 Nor did there seem anything incongruous in this 
 conjunction of major-general and private soldier. 
 They were both gentlemen of the old stock, and al 
 though it was given to one to sway the destinies of 
 thousands, to determine great events, to hold armies 
 in the hollow of his hand, while the other was but 
 a single pawn on the great chess-board upon which 
 masters were to play the mighty game of war, each 
 was giving his all, himself. Each was doing his best, 
 learning and labouring truly, as the good Bishop 
 might have said with catechetical remembrance, in 
 that state of life unto which it had pleased God to 
 call him. 
 
 Beneath the sadness and solemnity befitting the 
 occasion which had brought them together, different 
 emotions were present in the faces of those two. 
 Grafton had other cause for grief than in the death 
 of his friend and the secession of his state. Ariadne 
 was visibly present by his side; his hand clasped her 
 own; should she lean toward him his arm would en 
 fold her. Yet he did not have to close his eyes 
 or turn his head to see Kathleen Kirkwood, nor 
 was she less really present to him than was his 
 wife. 
 
 In the first days of his marriage the irrevocable 
 nature of the situation came home to him with ever 
 increasing force, and the sense of his sacrifice grew 
 upon him until he felt that he should grow mad in 
 playing a part. Not that he did not love Ariadne, 
 but that he loved the Northern woman more. In 
 deed, his heart went out to the mournful little figure 
 of his wife. He pitied her; he was wishful, earnest, 
 to promote her happiness; yet the very fact that he 
 was tied, fettered, bound to her turned the ordinary- 
 affection he had borne her in the long days of their 
 comradeship together into something that at first
 
 54 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 blush seemed almost like hatred. And he fought 
 stoutly against such a feeling. 
 
 He had kissed her with a glad heart many times, 
 and, indeed, it was a very kissable mouth that she 
 lifted up to him from time to time, but now to caress 
 her in the most casual way required a constraint that 
 almost unmanned him. Fortunately for him, the 
 demands of the situation while her grandfather lay 
 unburied, the many duties devolved upon them both, 
 the necessity laid upon him to ride to Richmond and 
 ask a furlough for a week to arrange his affairs, had 
 kept the two apart most of the time. As she stood 
 there by his side, however, he realised that the mor 
 row must bring forth some sort of accounting. 
 
 He cursed himself for a fool to have heeded the 
 Judge's pleading, whenever he was away from his 
 wife. He said to himself that Kathleen's fiery word, 
 her rejection, was not final; that had he been more 
 patient he might have won her back again; but when 
 he was with Ariadne, when his better nature was 
 uppermost, he was not sorry. At least he was glad 
 that he had been permitted to sacrifice himself for 
 his old friend and counsellor, and he swore to make 
 the girl happy. When he saw the love and devotion 
 she expressed whenever she was alone in his presence, 
 and even in spite of herself when others were near, 
 when he marked the way her eye dwelt upon him, 
 how her soul seemed to seek his, he cursed himself 
 again that wayward fate did not allow him to re 
 turn that treasure of affection which she lavished 
 upon him. 
 
 The struggle had written something of this in his 
 face. But he was a young man. He had put on a 
 soldier's jacket. The call to arms rang in his ear. 
 He had never seen fighting; he knew nothing of the 
 wearying days in camp, of the long marching under
 
 AGE AND YOUTH 55 
 
 blazing sun; of picket guard on frozen snow; of the 
 unprotected body, naked and fever-racked; of the 
 searing wound; of hours of exhaustion and neglect 
 on some rain-washed battlefield, or in some ill-pro 
 vided hospital; of burning thirst, of racking pain; 
 the nervous agony of starvation; the humiliation of 
 defeat its despair. All this was war real war. 
 If men realised it beforehand perhaps there would be 
 less enthusiasm for fighting. 
 
 As Philip saw it, war was action, a brilliant chance 
 to do and dare, to brave death in the high places of 
 the field, to follow the advanced flag in the front of 
 the cheering line. It was to strike home upon the 
 enemy that dared assail the state of old Virginia. 
 It was to fight with the valour and courage of the 
 cavaliers who had stood for Church and King in 
 the old land, who had fought for right and freedom 
 in the new. Sometimes he forgot for the moment 
 both Ariadne and Kathleen and threw his head back 
 confident of the future and triumphant therein. 
 
 The older man was wiser. A touch of sadness 
 not altogether due to respect for his departed friend 
 lingered on his handsome face. Yet he was not a 
 sad man ; melancholy never marked him for her own. 
 There was a sternness, too, in the close-shut lips, in 
 the direct glance of those deep brown eyes, tender 
 and gentle enough, yet with a fire lurking in their 
 depths that could flash on occasion. There was in 
 his bearing a serenity, a confidence, a certain proud 
 assurance that only ability can give to those con 
 scious of their powers. An assurance modestly 
 borne without parade or pretence. This man knew 
 what war was. He had heard the bullets whistle; 
 he had set squadrons, planted guns, and led charges; 
 he had ridden with wrung heart over fields of victory 
 only less horrible than plains of defeat. Here was
 
 56 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 a man who had none of the illusions of youth. He 
 realised as Philip could not although Philip knew 
 more than most of the men of his day just what 
 was before him. The years of struggle and toil, of 
 labour and thought, of marches and fights incredi 
 ble, of triumphs and defeats, of success and failure. 
 
 Experience and ignorance, age and youth, they 
 wear not the same front before the world; yet within 
 both these men there were points of resemblance as 
 well as of difference. They possessed alike the same 
 knightly courage, the same brilliant daring, the same 
 fire and energy. His few years had not checked the 
 development of these attributes in the one ; his many 
 years had not altered these qualities in the other. 
 
 Ariadne's tender bosom shook with her deep 
 breathing, but she made no sound. She endured all 
 without a murmur, without a complaint. She could 
 suffer and be silent the supremest exhibition of 
 woman's courage! Yet her grief that day was not 
 what it might have been were it not for the man at 
 her side whose name she bore. The old love is ever 
 lost in the new. Even in that hour did she hate 
 herself for it, or was she glad? her thoughts were 
 turned from that which was dead in the ground at 
 her feet to that which was alive by her side. The 
 touch of his hand upon her arm thrilled her. The 
 new thing had come to her. Unconsciously at first 
 she had loved Philip. She did not understand exactly 
 what the feelings were that surged in her young 
 bosom. She did not realise what they were. She 
 was so inexperienced, so young, and she had no 
 mother into whose loving ears she could pour her tale 
 of hopes and fears and maidenly dreams. 
 
 When he had asked her to marry him, when he 
 had said he loved her, when he had assured her there 
 no one else Philip, who could not lie she
 
 AGE AND YOUTH 57 
 
 realised then how much she had hated that Northern 
 woman with whose name his letters had been filled. 
 Now now, she only pitied her. For Philip was 
 hers, alone, forever! Ariadne stood face to face 
 with death; bereavement had swept from her sud 
 denly him who had hitherto been all in all to her, 
 but she stood face to face with life as well. She had 
 been born again in her heart. Love was quickened 
 within her; she was Philip's and Philip was hers! 
 She thought herself heartless; she wept bitter tears 
 for the old man. She tried to silence the song in her 
 soul, but it would not be. The supreme fact for her 
 was that Philip and she were married. 
 
 Womanlike, at first, she dwelt not so much upon 
 his love for her as upon hers for him. Later the 
 other side would be in evidence to her. Now she 
 revelled in her own passion; she luxuriated in it. His 
 word, his touch, his kiss had opened the flood-gates 
 of her being and the waters were out. I wonder 
 what the old Judge would have thought of it all if 
 he could have come back? Ah, well, the happiness 
 of the dead is that they cannot come back to see 
 how soon they are forgotten ! There is always a 
 first place in every human heart, and rarely, indeed, 
 is it filled by those who have gone away. 
 
 So they stood, typical of the situation, by the body 
 of an old relationship already forgot, confronting 
 new conditions: age and youth and a woman.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 " SO RUNS THE WORLD AWAY " 
 
 THAT afternoon the lawyer came. The kind friends 
 had all gone and left them. Some of the women had 
 volunteered to stay with Ariadne, but Philip, whose 
 instinct was not at fault, had gently declined their 
 proffered services. For himself he would have pre 
 ferred not to be left alone with his wife, but he knew 
 well what her pleasure would be, and he resolutely 
 set himself to subordinate his own desires, so far as 
 he could, to hers. 
 
 The lawyer had important documents to read, im 
 portant messages to communicate. Ariadne must 
 hear them. But Philip chose to tell his wife the 
 sad news in his own way, and after a brief conference 
 with the attorney he sought her. 
 
 " Not there," she said as he turned toward the 
 library; " it was in there that grandfather died. We 
 will go in here," she pointed toward the drawing- 
 room " it was there you told me that you loved me. 
 I must put aside the past . ." her lips trembled 
 " I must live for you now. You are a soldier and 
 I am a soldier's wife. Grandfather would have 
 it so." 
 
 Hand-in-hand they stepped into the drawing- 
 room. On one of the walls hung a portrait of the 
 Judge taken in his prime, standing as was the 
 fashion, with one hand thrust in the breast of his 
 blue swallow-tail coat, the other uplifted in the 
 characteristic gesture he was wont to employ in the 
 
 58
 
 "SO RUNS THE WORLD AWAY' 59 
 
 Senate when men hung on the honeyed eloquence of 
 those lips now so peacefully still in the churchyard 
 fronting the river the river that ever flowed on, 
 washing the shores of Vallewis, although the last 
 of the great race which had made it a home was 
 gone and strangers would henceforth be its lords 
 paramount. 
 
 Once in the room Grafton stopped uncertainly. 
 Ariadne sat down in the great chair which had been 
 brought from England, two hundred years before, 
 from which the lords of the manor had dispensed 
 justice in Colonial days, and her husband knelt by 
 her side. How little she looked in that great rude 
 throne; yet there was a sort of majesty and dignity 
 about the child, a beauty spirituelle, unearthly, in 
 the pale face rising above the black robe, that moved 
 him strangely. He smiled at her, and, quick to note 
 his every mood, she questioned: 
 
 ' Why do you smile at me, Phil? " 
 
 " You are so young," he said tenderly, lifting her 
 little hand and pressing a kiss upon it, " so young to 
 be a wife ! " 
 
 " But that is a fault every day will mend," she re 
 plied anxiously. " The war will soon be over. I 
 shall try so hard, while I wait for you, to fit myself 
 for you when you come to . . to take me." 
 
 " You are fit now, little sweetheart, to be the wife 
 of a better man than I." 
 
 " There is no better, and I am not, but it makes 
 me very happy to hear you say so. If you will allow 
 me I will stay here at Vallewis, where everybody 
 loves me, with old Aza and dear Aunt Dessy to 
 take care of me, with all my people. You shall tell 
 me what to do, what books to read, how to order my 
 life, and I will try so hard! I am growing very fast. 
 Grandfather used to say that I would be a tall girl
 
 60 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 sometime, and I shall live outdoors and grow strong 
 and well. If I could only be beautiful, like my 
 mother! " 
 
 " My dear, my dear," cried Grafton, choking back 
 the tears, " you do not know how unworthy of you 
 I am . . ." 
 
 " But you love me, don't you? You said you did 
 and . . ." 
 
 "I do, I do!" protested the man, and for the 
 moment he did and the words rang true. 
 
 Ariadne flushed softly, not deeply; the delicate 
 paleness of her cheek took upon itself the hue of the 
 wild rose. She would be a dainty woman, as she was 
 a dainty child and a 1 beautiful one. Some day 
 Master Philip might find that out too late. 
 
 " If you love me," said Ariadne softly, " I do not 
 mind anything else." 
 
 " Do you mean that? " 
 
 " Of course I mean it." 
 ' Then . . that makes it . . easier to . . ." 
 
 41 It makes what easier? " asked the girl as Grafton 
 hesitated. 
 
 " What I have to tell you," he continued, reluct 
 antly, yet impelled by stern necessity. 
 
 " What is it you have to tell me? You . . you 
 love me still? " she asked anxiously, bending closer to 
 to him, her soul in her eyes. 
 
 There was something in the situation that did not 
 quite satisfy Ariadne, a doubt, an incertitude, that 
 she fought against. Philip had said again and again 
 that he loved her yet yet 
 
 " It's not that," said the young man, " but . . I 
 hate to say it. You cannot stop at Vallewis." 
 
 " Don't you wish me to do so? Very well, then, 
 if it is your desire." 
 
 " My wishes have nothing to do with it,"
 
 "SO RUNS THE WORLD AWAY' 61 
 
 " They have everything to do with me," said the 
 girl, glad to submit the direction of herself to him. 
 
 " Vallewis does not belong to you any longer, 
 dear," he said abruptly, seeing that she would not 
 understand. 
 
 " Not belong? What do you mean, Philip? " 
 
 Then Grafton told her the whole sad story. The 
 place was gone, she owned not a foot of it, not a 
 slave, not a horse or a cow, nothing but her mother's 
 jewels, her grandfather's books and her own cloth 
 ing. These the old man had had foresight to save 
 for her. It was a bitter blow for the girl. 
 
 " And . . instead of bringing you this great 
 plantation . . I . . I have nothing," she mur 
 mured, " not even a slave." 
 
 " Aza and Aunt Dessy are yours, the lawyer tells 
 me." 
 
 " And the house must be sold? " 
 
 " Yes, but the slaves are not to be sold down the 
 river. The planters of the vicinity will buy them 
 and families will not be separated. I shall buy Jeff 
 myself for my body-servant." 
 
 " I am so glad of that. Since I am married I 
 understand better than before what it must be to 
 separate man and wife." 
 
 " If there is anything else you wish, dear, it shall 
 be bought for you." 
 
 " Bonnibel, my horse?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 "And the pictures? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly, and your piano." 
 
 ^' That will be all. _ Shall I live at Braeside then? " 
 
 She was taking it bravely, he saw. And he 
 gloried at the pride of race that enabled her to sus 
 tain these successive shocks with such dauntless forti 
 tude and calm.
 
 62 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " Will you be guided by me? " he asked. 
 
 " In everything," she replied, giving him her hand 
 again. 
 
 " Then go to Richmond. Mrs. Galloway is a 
 connection of mine. She lives alone in a great big 
 house in a retired section of the city. She will be 
 delighted to have you there." 
 
 "It is settled, then," answered Ariadne, rising; 
 " I suppose there are some papers that I must sign ? " 
 
 " A few. The lawyer is waiting in the library." 
 
 " Let us have it over with as soon as possible then." 
 
 " It must be," said Philip, " since my furlough ex 
 pires day after to-morrow. All must be settled be 
 fore then." 
 
 Three days later Ariadne and Philip stood together 
 in the library of Mrs. Galloway's house in Richmond. 
 It was a pleasant house, standing back from the street 
 in a grassy lawn bordered with trees. It was not like 
 the great rambling plantation house, with its thou 
 sands of acres of valley and hill, or meadow and 
 woodland, around it, yet it would serve Ariadne until 
 her husband came back. 
 
 She had a pretty suite of rooms. Her own piano 
 stood in her parlor, the best of her grandfather's 
 books lined the walls and the pictures of her own 
 people hung from every point of display. Back of 
 them was her room. Money was plentiful in the 
 Confederacy in those days and it was as good as gold. 
 Grafton, as if to make amends by material gifts for 
 his lack of love, had not stinted his wife in any way. 
 Everything luxurious that the city afforded was at her 
 disposal, but with the simplicity of taste which had 
 distinguished her ancestors she had furnished her bed 
 chamber in white. It was as virginal, as pure, as inno 
 cent, as her heart. Many a time in wearying cam 
 paigns, in the long, silent night marches, did Philip's
 
 "SO RUNS THE WORLD AWAY' 63 
 
 mind revert to that white chamber and its loving in 
 mate. 
 
 Ariadne would have given herself to him then and 
 there unreservedly, but the promise made to the dead 
 was sacred. Philip was glad to have it so. She was 
 yet but a child, too young to be burdened with a 
 woman's responsibilities. She had troubles, griefs 
 and anxieties enough in her heart. When the war 
 would be over, if he lived to come back again and 
 claim her, he would do so. If he died all that he 
 had would be hers. 
 
 It had been a terrible thing for Ariadne to part 
 with her slaves, who had known her from birth, as 
 they crowded about her sobbing and weeping, kissing 
 the hem of her garment, and she had almost broken 
 down. She thought that the limit of endurance had 
 been reached then, but when Philip stood before her 
 ready to leave her, the loss of her grandfather, the 
 farewell to her people, the parting with her property, 
 were as nothing to her. Then and there her heart 
 broke. 
 
 " Oh, Phil! " she cried, " don't go! I can't give 
 you up ! You are all I have. Let others fight for 
 Virginia ! It breaks my heart to . . ." 
 
 "Is this the spirit of the South?" asked Philip 
 tenderly, a growing pity for her in his heart. 
 
 The parting was a sadness to him, but it was a re 
 lief as well. As he had felt at the farmhouse at York 
 a short time before, when Kathleen drove him away, 
 he could understand how Ariadne must feel now. 
 Yet there were depths in his girl-wife's heart greater 
 than any that Philip's experience called upon him to 
 sound. His love for Kathleen Kirkwood, deep and 
 abiding as he believed it to be, was evanescent, a trifle, 
 compared to the devotion of poor truthful little 
 Ariadne.
 
 64 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " You must not give way," he said, gently laying 
 his hand upon her head. Philip could be so tender, 
 so kind yet there was always something lacking, she 
 
 thought. Was he afraid of her or " It's for 
 
 Virginia, you know," he went on, " and you would 
 not love me if I did not go." 
 
 " Yes, yes," sobbed the girl, " I know. That is 
 the way I ought to feel. I do feel so, now, but I can 
 not bear to see you go. You see Virginia has so many 
 and I have only . . you." 
 
 " I shall come back to you," said Grafton, with the 
 confidence he did not feel, and his words did not voice 
 a hope he cherished greatly, either " never fear. 
 We shall have many years together. You will get 
 tired of me." 
 
 " Never, never ! " cried the girl. " You will write 
 to me often ? " 
 
 " Whenever I can in the camp." 
 
 " And I will write you every day," she said. " I 
 will keep a journal; I will put down my heart that 
 you may see it and know there is nothing in it but 
 you. I shall try to be ready for you when you come 
 to claim me." 
 
 Could it be possible that only a week had elapsed 
 since Philip had tossed Ariadne up in the air in his 
 arms on the gallery at Vallewis that evening? She 
 looked older already, more mature. Not in person, 
 but in face, in bearing. The war would soon be over. 
 Would she be indeed a woman before it ended? 
 
 There was a sudden blare of bugles, a rattling of 
 drums up the street. The regiment to which Philip 
 belonged was marching. It was a curious-looking 
 regiment. Philip's company and one or two others 
 were uniformed in Confederate grey, but other com 
 panies had dressed themselves in accordance with their 
 fancy and there had not yet been time to make the
 
 "SO RUNS THE WORLD AWAY' 65 
 
 uniforms alike. In only one thing was there uni 
 formity, and that was the cheerful alacrity with which 
 the jolly, light-hearted young men followed its flag. 
 It was a sort of military picnic for them. Well, the 
 jollity and carelessness would be shot out of the sur 
 vivors in a few. battles. A campaign or two would 
 make all the uniforms of a similar pattern of dilapida 
 tion. The new flag would be torn to rags, bullet- 
 ripped, shot-slashed, but the courage, the daring, the 
 dash and zeal were abiding possessions of those men, 
 and nothing could ever abate them. 
 
 Ariadne heard the music as the column turned the 
 corner. 
 
 " Here comes the regiment," cried Philip, his face 
 ashine. " I promised to join the company as it came 
 up. Good-bye, dear, and God bless you." 
 
 He strained her to his breast. She threw her slen 
 der arms about his neck and hung upon his lips until 
 he tore himself away. Ariadne thought she should 
 die as she heard his footfall upon the gallery, but the 
 spirit of the Southern woman nay, the loving 
 woman everywhere was summoned to her aid. She 
 stepped out upon the gallery and ran down the walk, 
 stopping under the magnolia trees that over 
 shadowed the gate, a slender little figure, white- 
 faced, clad in black. She laid her hand upon her 
 heart, and, lifting the other, waved a little Confed 
 erate flag that she had caught from the table in the 
 hall. The soldiers saw it and laughed and cheered. 
 
 " Good for the little one ! " shouted one of them. 
 
 A little one indeed, with her wifehood light upon 
 her. By and by down the street came Philip's com 
 pany carrying the colours. At its head marched 
 young Oakley, Mamie Dylett's husband. There 
 were others there who knew Ariadne. They had 
 heard of her marriage.
 
 66 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 ; ' Three cheers for Mrs. Grafton! " shouted one. 
 
 There wasn't much discipline in that army just 
 then. The men learned that later under fire in ways 
 that made them never forget it, and it was rather a 
 tumultuous crowd of waving hats and uplifted guns 
 that swept on before her. In all the noise she had eyes 
 but for one man, Philip, dogged, stern, not partaking 
 of the jollity, but smiling up at her nevertheless. She 
 watched him until she lost him in the confusion. She 
 could stand no more. She turned and ran to her room 
 and, throwing herself upon the lonely little white bed, 
 sobbed and sobbed as if her heart would break; 
 sobbed as she had not done when she left her old 
 home, when she had bidden farewell to her people, 
 when she said good-bye to her dead grandfather. 
 
 Philip, Philip, whom she loved, was gone to the 
 wars, and she, like woman from time immemorial, 
 could only wait and weep. So runs the world away ! 
 
 Old Aunt Dessy found her there when the dark had 
 fallen. She took her up in her strong arms, undressed 
 her like a child, as she had done many times before, 
 and cuddled her to sleep on her own broad black 
 bosom.
 
 BOOK TWO 
 The Times that Tried
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA 
 
 Two years had passed since that day Philip Graf ton 
 had said good-bye to Ariadne his wife and had gone 
 away to the wars. In all the hard campaigning of 
 those two years he had done his share. He had 
 marched and fought, he had advanced and retreated, 
 he had starved and thirsted, he had been burned and 
 frozen. He had seen victory often and defeat some 
 times. Opportunities for brilliant service had come to 
 him and he had availed himself of them. In spite of 
 this and because there was no provision for quick pro 
 motion from the ranks for bravery and soldiery abil 
 ity in the Confederate army fatal defect ! Grafton 
 had not been awarded the coveted shoulder straps, 
 although upon his arms he sported the chevrons of 
 a sergeant. 
 
 He had become, however, one of the finest soldiers 
 that ever obeyed a command. Two years of march 
 ing and fighting, of drill and discipline in camp and 
 on field, and under fire, had forged that Army of 
 Northern Virginia into an exquisitely tempered, 
 thoroughly tested weapon of offence and defence, 
 fitted to the hand of Lee and used by him with the 
 ease and effectiveness of a skilled swordsman wielding 
 a Toledo blade. 
 
 In that most notable of all the armies of the world 
 there were literally hundreds of gentlemen like 
 Grafton, of birth, refinement and education, who had 
 acquired enough knowledge of the art of war in their 
 two years of service, under such masters as Lee, Long- 
 
 69
 
 yo THE PATRIOTS 
 
 . ,..* 
 
 street, Jackson and Stuart, to entitle them, if capacity 
 counted, to any command, who were yet in the ranks 
 and some of them remained in the ranks until the 
 final muster out ! Better, it is said, is an army of stags 
 led by a lion than an army of lions led by a stag; but 
 this was an army of lions led by a lion, and it is no 
 disparagement to that gallant opponent of equal fame 
 with which the Army of Northen Virginia struggled 
 upon a hundred fields and which finally wore it down, 
 the Army of the Potomac, to say that probably no 
 finer army was ever assembled under one flag, ani 
 mated by one purpose, amenable to one man, than that 
 body of soldiers which was born at Manassas and 
 died at Appomattox the followers of Lee. 
 . Yet there was rarely a time in the four years of its 
 history when the Army of Northern Virginia was not 
 hungry; there was rarely a time when it was not in 
 part at least naked. It .was generally unshod and 
 half-clothed, the half raiment that it wore being taken 
 from the enemy. Its arms were inferior in quality, 
 its powder was generally bad, its uniforms things to 
 be jeered at. In but one thing did it equal its bounti 
 fully provided, thoroughly equipped antagonist. That 
 was its patriotism, its unconquerable courage. In but 
 one thing did it surpass its brave opponent. That 
 was the quality of its leadership. That was enough ! 
 The man of the South was as true a patriot in his own 
 eyes and in mine as the man of the North. With 
 one his native land for which he fought was the state, 
 with the other, the United States. That was the only 
 difference. It was to settle which was right, prac 
 tically as well as theoretically, that the war was prose 
 cuted until the last bitter end. The fact that in the 
 argument of force the final decision was against the 
 Southerner ought not, can not, be allowed to impugn 
 his patriotism !
 
 ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA 71 
 
 Another difference between the Northern and 
 Southern troops was this: there were few mercenary 
 soldiers in Lee's army; the Confederates would have 
 used them gladly, if they had been available without 
 doubt, but there were none to be had. The Army of 
 Northern Virginia was a homogeneous force. There 
 were differences between the Virginia and Texas di 
 visions as wide as the leagues which separated the 
 two great states, but a common purpose, a common 
 hope and a common leader made them one and the 
 same. And they were all Americans of purest strain. 
 When it came to fighting and dying, the blood of the 
 cavalier was not poured out more freely than the 
 blood of the mountaineer or the plainsman. 
 
 It does no violence to the well-merited claims to 
 distinction of other divisions of that army to say that 
 perhaps the flower of them all was that noble five 
 thousand, the Virginia division commanded by 
 Pickett, which was a part of Longstreet's first 
 army corps. The fame of Longstreet has been 
 somewhat obscured by that of Jackson, yet Lee him 
 self said that Longstreet was the best marcher 
 that he ever saw that in spite of the fact that 
 Jackson's men were habitually called the " foot 
 cavalry." As for fighting ability, not even the old 
 Stonewall brigade itself could surpass them. All 
 the men of the organisation, from Armistead, 
 Garnett, Kemper, and Corse, the brigadiers, down 
 to the humblest private, felt proud to belong to 
 the Virginia division. There were other Virginia 
 regiments brigaded with the different regiments of 
 other state troops, but Pickett's was the only division 
 of the army to which none but Virginians were ad 
 mitted. Its officers were as jealously exclusive in ad 
 mitting men to their ranks as they were proud of its 
 reputation for efficiency and courage.
 
 72 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 Grafton, like many of his fellows, would rather be 
 a private under Pickett than an officer under someone 
 else. / His was the first regiment of Armistead's 
 brigade. The brigade lay at ease with two others 
 Corse's brigade, to its eternal regret, was in the rear 
 guarding communications on the reverse slope of 
 a certain hill on the afternoon of July 3, 1863. 
 The men lounged under the trees awaiting the order 
 to advance. In front of them the crest of the hill 
 which afforded them concealment and shelter blazed 
 like a volcano and thundered like a tornado. The re 
 sponse from the opposing hill was even greater, and 
 the roaring from hundreds of cannon shattered the 
 heavens and shook the earth. 
 
 Pickett's men were waiting the order to advance, 
 eagerly awaiting. Across the ridges and valleys sur 
 rounding a little Pennsylvania town for two days 
 their brothers in arms had been fighting a desperate 
 battle with the army of General Meade. Lee had 
 not succeeded in routing that army, but on each day 
 he had gained inspiring successes. The Confederates 
 hoped to crown their achievements by piercing the 
 center of the Army of the Potomac, riving it asunder, 
 shattering it and driving it in disorderly retreat on 
 this, the third day, of the most Titanic conflict which 
 had been waged upon the continent. 
 
 The word had been passed among Pickett's men 
 that Lee expected these Virginians to lead the assault, 
 that he depended upon them; and without looseness 
 of tongue or braggart boast which ill become the 
 veteran they expressed themselves as firmly re 
 solved not to fail him. They knew that no child's 
 play lay before them. The army they were to be 
 hurled against had usually been badly commanded 
 during its existence; its units had frequently been 
 placed in untenable positions; it had often been sent
 
 73 
 
 on impossible errands, by unskilled, impracticable 
 officers; but whenever there was any real fighting to 
 be done and it had come in actual contact with the 
 Army of Northern Virginia, its struggle had called 
 out to the last limit the manhood and the courage of 
 the great men who followed the St. Andrew's Cross. 
 
 Just how tremendous was the task to which they 
 had been assigned, they could not realise on that side 
 of Seminary Ridge on which they lay. Some of them 
 laughed and jested. Some of them played games. 
 Others passed the time in more quiet pursuits. There 
 were many men in many moods in such an array, but 
 when the time came he who talked would fight 
 neither more nor less determinedly than he who had 
 been silent. The man who was sad would go into 
 battle with the same resolution as the man who 
 was glad. 
 
 Philip Grafton was one of the quiet men. One 
 woman can usually fill the heart of a man, but present 
 to him before every battle were two, Ariadne, his 
 wife in the quiet home at Richmond ; Kathleen Kirk- 
 wood in the one in York. There across those hills be 
 yond that distant crest whence came the hurtling shells 
 lay the home of the Northern girl. Like a shuttle his 
 mind went back and forth between Virginia and 
 Pennsylvania. He had seen Ariadne a few times, 
 although he might have seen her a great many more 
 than he had if he had so willed. But he gladly wel 
 comed the press of duties which kept him with the 
 army and only upon rare occasions did he ask for a 
 furlough to Richmond. 
 
 Oftentimes when the army was near the capital 
 Ariadne would have ridden Bonnibell out to see her 
 husband, but she had learned that Philip did not 
 approve of women in camp and his lightest wish was 
 law to her. She, too, had bided her time. The two
 
 74 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 years had made of her not a soldier, but a woman. 
 The privations that afterward came to the South at 
 that time had not been keenly felt by the people of 
 that land. There came a time when the women de 
 nied themselves the necessaries of life to feed the 
 soldiers, and some starved to death to put bread in the 
 mouth of the men at arms, but that time was still 
 in the future. There were, of course, many luxuries 
 with which the women of the South were forced to 
 dispense, and the number of these daily increased with 
 the growing stringency of the life-throttling block 
 ade, but of the real necessaries there was yet an abun 
 dance. Grafton's wife had plenty to eat, a comfort 
 able place to live in, and, chiefest of all human 
 blessings, work to do. 
 
 She had developed amazingly physically and men 
 tally, especially in the last year. Grafton, lying on 
 the reverse slope of Seminary Ridge at Gettysburg, 
 reflected that he had not seen her for nearly a year. 
 How pretty she had been when he last looked upon 
 her ! He was wondering how she looked now. She 
 would be a beautiful woman some day, he thought, 
 and she was his. No one could be more completely 
 devoted to another than she to him. If he could 
 only return it ! He still cherished an ideal adoration 
 for Kathleen Kirkwood. He was not of a race which 
 changes its livery of heart lightly, but he would not 
 have been human if he had not taken satisfaction in 
 Ariadne's growing beauty. He pictured her in the 
 virginal whiteness of her bed-chamber which he 
 himself had so fitted for her at her request. He saw 
 her standing under the magnolia trees at the gate 
 waiting. 
 
 Deep down in Philip's heart a change was work 
 ing. Use, habit, custom, still kept him true to the 
 Northern girl, but Ariadne was dearer to him than
 
 ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA 75 
 
 ever before. The long letters moiled with her kisses 
 which she sent him by every available means were 
 so passionately sweet, the revelation of her heart had 
 been so frank and so innocent, that no man could 
 fail to be affected by them. At first she had prattled 
 on the pages like the child she was, but as she grew 
 older a certain sweet reserve crept into her writing 
 that piqued him, aroused his curiosity, stimulated his 
 affection. She could not conceal her adoration for 
 the man, yet she checked herself when she began to 
 dwell upon it. Her letters were full of stops, sen 
 tences unended, phrases broken, with tales begun that 
 were not finished. Ariadne was very real to Philip, 
 and Kathleen Kirkwood was only a memory, a 
 dream. If things should go on as they had the real 
 would oust the remembrance, the concrete fact would 
 shatter, as it always does, the abstraction. 
 
 Poor little Ariadne ! How she tried to be worthy 
 of her husband, and how unworthy felt that man who 
 could as yet make no adequate return for that devo 
 tion. Ariadne was not happy in the situation ; neither 
 was she satisfied. No one had dreamed the war 
 would last so long. Grafton was in no hurry to claim 
 his wife, she realised painfully. He did not come 
 so often to see her as he might. Young husbands 
 would burst in upon other young wives of her ac 
 quaintance, sweep them to the hearts that beat only 
 for them in a whirlwind of kisses, linger for a few 
 hours and ride away. Philip came so infrequently 
 and stayed so short a time. When he was with her, 
 although he was kindness and consideration itself, 
 there was something lacking. She thrilled to the 
 pressure of his lips, but her own kisses evoked no 
 response. Yet Philip seemed devoted enough, his 
 letters were gentle, tender, but she missed something. 
 Her passion struck no spark of fire from his heart.
 
 7< THE PATRIOTS 
 
 Poor Ariadne did not know what was the matter. 
 She fancied that she herself was at fault in some 
 way. She would not see anything wrong with her 
 idol, and so she redoubled her efforts to please. 
 
 It was touching; it was pitiful. Grafton strove to 
 assume a virtue which he could not exhibit, but his 
 success was not apparent. By and by a fear began 
 to possess him that some day she would find out the 
 truth, and that would break her heart. In that fear 
 he came less than ever to see her, although he tried 
 to make his letters doubly affectionate. Love that is 
 strong as death is effortless, and the attempt was a 
 failure. 
 
 Yet Ariadne was not altogether unhappy. She 
 resolutely dismissed her vague suspicions so far as she 
 could. She set herself to dispel her dissatisfaction. 
 She chided herself for feeling that something was 
 lacking in her love story, and always she blamed her 
 self for an unworthiness which did not permit her to 
 measure up to the high stature in which she had 
 imagined him. If she were different, he would be 
 also. Alas, love knows no difference of that kind. 
 
 She wrote him daily letters, taking advantage of 
 every opportunity to .send him a little bundle of 
 closely written sheets, and she treasured the missives, 
 brief and infrequent, but kind always that written 
 on marches, by camp fires, prayer on the eve of bat 
 tle, after the fighting assurance that she received 
 from her husband. She had work to do. There was 
 plenty of work for the women of Richmond in mak 
 ing clothing for the soldiers, in knitting socks for 
 them, in making bandages for the wounded. And 
 Ariadne kept Philip well provided for. Uncon 
 sciously she felt some of the brooding care of a 
 mother in her heart that child ! as she sewed and 
 stitched for her absent soldier. There were other
 
 ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA 77 
 
 opportunities for service, too, like the privilege of 
 assisting the doctors and nurses in the hospitals when 
 some great battle strained the resources of the proud 
 little city beyond its capacity. 
 
 Indeed, if it had not been for this opportunity to 
 work she and many another woman in the South 
 would have died of nervous anxiety. After every 
 action, with thousands of her sisters, how she scanned 
 the papers for the long lists of killed, wounded and 
 missing, looking with a stopped heart for the be 
 loved name. She thanked God night and morning 
 that she had never read her husband's name in the 
 list of heroes who had passed beyond, and she remem 
 bered him with a fervor and fervency born of love 
 and faith and prayed God to watch over and care for 
 the one she loved best on earth. Nor was her de 
 votion selfish, for in her petitions she included all 
 the men and women who in their several stations with 
 equal courage were fighting for their country. Many 
 a soldier on the field was nerved to higher deed at the 
 thought of some woman at home who held him in 
 her heart of hearts and told God of her feelings and 
 her hopes for him and one of them was Philip. 
 
 News of the battle of Gettysburg had reached 
 Richmond almost as soon as it was begun. The 
 old men and boys and all the women there knew that 
 Lee and his legions were being hurled upon the 
 Federal troops in the Pennsylvania hills. Ariadne 
 had learned that Pickett's division had not been en 
 gaged during the famous fighting of the first two 
 days of the struggle. She was enough of a soldier 
 every woman in the South and many in the North 
 had learned the principles of military manoeuvring, 
 strategy and tactics in those days to know that the 
 battle would not be ended without the Virginia divi 
 sion being permitted to share in it. She guessed,
 
 78 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 as many a daughter of the Old Dominion, that for 
 a fresh division like that of Pickett's some desperate 
 endeavour would be appointed. 
 
 She spent the hours of that long afternoon on her 
 knees in prayer for the man she loved, and for all 
 those dear to every other woman, for the great cap 
 tain and his men. In the fervency of her devotion 
 she wrestled with the Divine as Jacob at Bethel 
 wrestled with the angel. Well Philip and his com 
 rades needed those prayers. If ever men were placed 
 in a situation of extreme peril and unsurmountable 
 danger, it was this Virginia division, which sprang to 
 its feet at the call of its different captains, and in three 
 long lines slowly mounted the slope and stood upon 
 the ridge amid the hot and now silent cannon staring 
 down the smoke-filled valley spread before them.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 OH, THE WILD CHARGE THEY MADE! 
 
 FRONTING them a mile away rose another range of 
 hills roughly paralleling the ridge upon which they 
 stood. The ground sloped gently down from their 
 feet until it met a country road running diagonally 
 upon a slight rise through the valley. On the east 
 side of the road there was a dip and then a sudden 
 rise a partial ravine or swale in the ground which 
 thereafter rose gently by easy ascents to the top of the 
 opposite line of hills. 
 
 Far to the left, bathed in the brilliant sunshine of 
 the long midsummer afternoon, the sky above them 
 bright with light, not a cloud floating overhead, 
 lay the buildings of a little Pennsylvania town. 
 Church spires rose above it pointing heavenward 
 as spires should while upon the earth beneath men 
 played the game of hell. In front of and to the 
 right of the Virginians lay a ruined peach orchard, 
 to the left of that what had been a wheat field. 
 Clumps of trees here and there dotted the valley. 
 Farmhouses with huge barns and outbuildings at 
 tached clung along the road. Save for a faint blue 
 haze, the light mist of smoke that still hung over the 
 valley, the scene was as peaceful as it had been four 
 days before when the converging of great armies 
 upon this field had not been dreamed of. 
 
 Topping the ridge upon the other side were long 
 lines of men in blue. They were not distinguishable 
 to the Virginians save as thin streaks of dark colour 
 against the yellow earth or the green grass. These 
 
 79
 
 go THE PATRIOTS 
 
 men occupied positions a little below the crest of that 
 opposing range of hills. Along the line at intervals 
 flagstaffs upreared themselves; banners bright with 
 stripes and stars fluttered gaily in the wind. Against 
 the skyline, wherever trees permitted, great guns were 
 silhouetted. The smoke was thickest about the guns, 
 but the breeze blowing down the valley from the 
 north was rapidly driving it away. 
 
 Two great armies for two long hot summer days 
 had been tearing at each other's throats in a terrific 
 death grapple. Every foot of that valley had been 
 fought over. The peach orchard was almost cut to 
 pieces by the stream of bullets that had swept through 
 it. The wheat field had been trampled into a sodden 
 mass of mire whose solvent had been the blood of 
 men. In the barns and outhouses were great gaping 
 holes that told of bursting shells, and some that had 
 been happy homes of yesterday were now open to 
 the sky in smouldering ruins. Not a square yard 
 of earth scarcely that had not welcomed to its dust 
 what had once been a man, and many of these square 
 yards still upbore their dead tenants. 
 
 Off to the right were two steeper hills, the Round 
 Tops. Not Chickamauga itself would see a deadlier 
 struggle than had taken place the day before to seize 
 those conical projections. Well was the spot beneath 
 them called the Devil's Den, for the place had been 
 piled so thick with slain that they had hidden the 
 shamed face of Mother Earth, and men might walk 
 from one end to the other upon them where they still 
 lay unheeded. Let the dead bury the dead is an in 
 junction to which battles always give heed. 
 
 A strange silence, a solemn hush, had fallen over 
 the whole scene as if nature itself took breath with 
 a heart beating stilly before the approaching shock 
 of charging troops. Not a single gun roared its
 
 WILD CHARGE THEY MADE! 81 
 
 hoarse note of defiance and sped its missile of de 
 struction toward the foe on either hill. To the north, 
 to the south, even around the great grey crescent 
 encircling the compacter blue lines to the far east, 
 the combat had ceased as if by unanimous consent. 
 There was a concentration of interest where there 
 was a concentration of force. 
 
 Those Virginians of the valley, the knightliest race 
 upon the continent, were about to attempt a deed 
 which should be celebrated in song and story, which 
 for hardihood and courage was never to be sur 
 passed. They were going to charge and break that 
 waiting blue line. The fate of the Confederacy was 
 to be determined then and there. With these brave 
 men under the stars and stripes brushed aside, 
 routed, driven headlong in defeat, with that splendid 
 army crumpled and crushed, the result would be cer 
 tain. New York, Philadelphia, even Washington 
 itself, would be at the disposal of Lee. If the Vir 
 ginians failed, all the desperate fighting of two years 
 which had gone before would have been unavailing. 
 It would all have to be begun over again, and begun 
 under circumstances and conditions which held little 
 promise of success. Failure wrote a doom sentence 
 large upon the wall which the prescient alone might 
 read a doom sentence no less accurate because the 
 millions could not, or would not, understand. Yet 
 the soldiers who were there did dimly and in part 
 discern the meaning of the moment, the result for 
 which they so proudly endeavoured. 
 
 Ordinary troops detailed to lead a charge like that 
 would have seen only the immediate issue to the 
 effort, but those Virginians were different. As they 
 realised what success meant, they saw in part, at 
 least, the meaning of failure. They were not going 
 to fail! It was a forlorn hope perhaps, but they
 
 82 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 intended to convert it into a real thing. To achieve 
 the impossible? they were accustomed to do that! 
 
 There was some hesitation at first. Not hesitation 
 among the men, oh, no! They were like eager 
 hounds held in leash with the quarry before them. 
 The great soldier who commanded the corps, better 
 judge than the rank and file, hesitated to give the 
 order which devoted the five thousand Virginians to 
 annihilation as he saw it. Their own Virginia gen 
 eral, stark, strong, his auburn hair falling on his 
 shoulders, his cap raked over his ear, looking the 
 dashing cavalier that he was on his great black horse, 
 rode up to the tall bearded man standing with his 
 staff in advance of the line. There was a little 
 colloquy between them. Would Longstreet give the 
 order, the order which must be given? No! He 
 stood silent. Wiser than the rest, he recognised here 
 an impossibility to which even the Virginians were 
 unequal. 
 
 " I shall lead my men forward then, General," 
 said Pickett. Longstreet's lips could not frame the 
 fatal command, but he bowed his head, and Pickett 
 turned away and rode to the front of his division. 
 
 A quiver ran along the line. The watching Fed 
 erals a mile away heard the cheering the old-time 
 Rebel yell marked it rise and fall and die away. 
 The ranks stood immobile. " Attention! " Another 
 word of command. The guns crashed against the 
 shoulders. "Forward!" The long grey line 
 stepped as one man. There was no hurry, no crowd 
 ing, no haste. They had both a stage and an audi 
 ence, those men, for their grim play the greatest 
 of tragedies. They were determined to show to the 
 largest assemblage of spectators ever gathered to 
 gether on the continent to witness a drama of life 
 and death, that they were as proficient in the niceties
 
 WILD CHARGE THEY MADE! 83 
 
 of the soldier's art as they were striking exemplifica 
 tions of its manhood and valour. 
 
 Taking direction from the guiding regiment, the 
 men, their arms at a right shoulder, coolly dressed 
 their lines upon the battle flags as if on parade. Some 
 of those banners flapped broadly in the gentle breeze, 
 others were mere shreds of colour from splintered 
 staffs. They had been torn to pieces on many a bat 
 tle field. In three long lines, each brigade forming 
 one, Garnett in the lead, Armistead in the centre, 
 Kemper bringing up the rear, the grey-clad men of 
 Virginia softly descended the hill. 
 
 One hundred and twenty thousand pairs of eyes 
 stared at them as they left their places in the line. 
 They made a front about four hundred yards long. 
 To the left of them were two divisions of sup 
 porting troops, mainly North Carolinians, with bri 
 gades of Tennesseeans and Mississippians, and 
 another Virginia brigade with two Alabama regi 
 ments under Pettigrew and Trimble. They had 
 fought and suffered severely in the battles of the days 
 before, but with spirit undaunted, emulous of the 
 Virginians, they, too, dressed their lines and moved 
 confidently toward the enemy. In rear of either 
 flank of the long lines marched brigades in solid 
 column. There was no ruffling of drums or blaring 
 of bugles. Even the commands were given in an 
 ordinary tone of voice, as if the occasion was quite 
 an everyday affair. The pomp and circumstance of 
 which the poet sings, on which the romancer dwells, 
 were not in evidence. These men meant business. 
 The, only bits of colour, the only display, were in 
 the fluttering battle flags. Each line of dusty men 
 was capped with a hedge of steel. The sunlight 
 sparkled from polished bayonet or was reflected from 
 glittering blade. The shouts with which the order
 
 84 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 to march had been greeted gave place to silence. 
 Quickly, firmly, silently, the men pressed on. 
 
 Grafton's heart was beating like a drum. The 
 excitement of the advance was getting into his blood. 
 The stillness seemed appalling to him. He longed 
 for the moment when the silence would be broken by 
 the roar of a gun. His soul craved the instant when 
 the common time would be quickened, when the 
 march should become a run, when into the blue 
 smoke, bayonet in hand, he could throw himself 
 breast to breast with the enemy. Anything was bet 
 ter than this slow, deliberate approach. 
 
 He glanced down the line taking note of faces. 
 Some were as white as death, others engorged with 
 blood. Here and there a lip was drawn back over 
 the teeth in an angry tiger-like snarl. Some faces 
 wore grim smiles of pleasure. There was a forced 
 gaiety about others. Some marched with frowning 
 brows, dogged lines about firm, tense mouths. They 
 went slowly down the hills, and the descent was easy, 
 yet some already breathed heavily, panting as if 
 after a hard run. 
 
 "God!" whispered a nervous recruit, "why in 
 hell don't they begin?" 
 
 " Wait a bit, you'll get all you want," a veteran 
 replied. 
 
 " And 'twill be hell, all right," whispered another 
 as they stumbed over the uneven ground. 
 
 " Silence in the ranks ! " cried an officer, closing the 
 files. His voice was much as usual, but to Grafton it 
 sounded shrill and high, as if a premonitory note of 
 warning ran through it. Nothing had yet happened 
 to cause any confusion, but the men instinctively be 
 gan to crowd together a little the natural craving 
 for a human touch in emergency. The front wav 
 ered, curved in and out, was in danger of breaking.
 
 WILD CHARGE THEY MADE! 85 
 
 " Back on the left, there ! " said Grafton sharply 
 from his position on the right, as his eye ran down 
 his company front. " Open out and keep your dress. 
 Let those Yankees see that we can march as well as 
 fight. Easy, now; that's better! He was gratified 
 to find that he could speak easily and naturally, and 
 more gratified to see the men relax their pressure and 
 line dress on the guide again. 
 
 So that devoted band went down the hill carrying 
 the hopes of six millions of people, the focus of 
 observation for every soldier on either side. Pres 
 ently they had advanced far enough to uncover the 
 crest they had just left. They could hear quick move 
 ments back there, the trampling of horses, the creak 
 ing of wheels, a sharp word of command. Guns were 
 coming after them, a battery of light artillery hastily 
 gathered together was following them. And 
 the cannon on the ridge behind them were making 
 ready. Hark, what was that! A roar from the 
 rear of them, the scream of a shell through the air 
 close above the advancing lines. The recruit ducked 
 his head. 
 
 " That's from our own guns, boy," said the vet 
 eran composedly; "they are covering the advance. 
 iYou needn't fear that." 
 
 " I don't fear anything," cried the recruit, his pale 
 face flushing. 
 
 " Well, by G , sonny, I wish I could say the 
 same," returned a nervous-looking man who always 
 went into battle chockful of the most unpleasant 
 emotions, which he promptly forgot when the actual 
 fighting began. 
 
 " Wisht I was a woman or a baby," exclaimed 
 another, with a low laugh. His reputation for brav 
 ery was as high as any in the regiment. 
 
 "Why don't the Yankees begin?" asked the re-
 
 86 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 cruit, manfully trying to keep his teeth from 
 chattering. 
 
 "Silence, there! Silence! " 
 
 The talking stopped instantly. Truth to tell, 
 others than the newly enlisted were wondering why 
 the enemy delayed opening on so fine a target as the 
 long grey lines presented. 
 
 What was that? 
 
 " Here it comes I" cried one as a puff of smoke rose 
 suddenly into the air from the crest of the other hill 
 and was as quickly blown aside in a great white 
 cloud. The report of the discharge came faintly to 
 them. Then there was a nearer sound, a dull, hor 
 rible, sickening thud, the scream of a horse. The 
 colonel of one of the regiments shot into the air and 
 fell back with his horse, both killed by the solid shot. 
 The men of the second brigade saw it all plainly. A 
 shiver ran through the lines, yet there was relief in 
 it, too. The Yankees had begun. Now it was real 
 fighting. There was a mighty surge forward in 
 answer to a common eager impulse. 
 
 " Steady, steady ! " came warning voices from the 
 rear of the lines. 
 
 The men clamped their jaws together and instinc 
 tively quickened their step. In another moment they 
 would be out of hand on the run, and the time for 
 that had not yet come. 
 
 " Back there, back there ! Dress on the colours ! " 
 cried the sergeants. " Step, step ! " they shouted in 
 the old familiar way as if on a practice march. 
 
 Another roar came from the batteries in front as 
 all the guns along the ridge gave tongue. They 
 were firing solid shot and making great gaps in the 
 lines now. 
 
 " Close up, men, close up the ranks ! Dress on the 
 colours ! Steady, boys, steady ! "
 
 WILD CHARGE THEY MADE! 87 
 
 There was plenty of smoke blowing down that 
 valley now. Enough to distort but not sufficient to 
 obscure. There was no concealment possible, no way 
 of escape, from that hail of iron sweeping the hills, 
 nothing to do but go on, straight into the heart of 
 that infernal cataclysm of destruction, to oppose 
 frail human breasts to lead and steel. Suddenly the 
 deep diapason of the cannonade was shattered by 
 sharper sounds close at hand. These were 
 shells. 
 
 A long gap, half a dozen files front, was suddenly 
 ripped out of Grafton's company. The survivors 
 reeled in closing the rent in the living, line. New 
 hands grasped the colours from a falling bearer. 
 And still the great advance went on in a rain of 
 blood and death. 
 
 But this could not last. Would they never come 
 to grapple with their enemies? Yes, thank God! 
 Before them rose a series of blue dots skirmishers. 
 There was a sudden popping, snapping, crackling of 
 small arms, a sound different from the thunder of 
 the cannonade. It seemed almost ridiculous in the 
 greater tumult. Yet the sharp staccato was mur 
 derous. They were just beyond the Emmitsburg 
 road. A word, a yell, a cheer, a charge, and the 
 blue dots scampered up the hill. Not all of them, 
 however, for many writhed on the grass or lay quite 
 still, past all fighting forever. The grey line tram 
 pled over them relentlessly. Their eyes were fixed 
 above at the flame-shot, smoke-covered crest. They 
 saw nothing of what was under foot. There was 
 some shelter across the road in the little ravine. 
 Thank God for it ! The line plunged for it, reached 
 it, halted panting. They had come two-thirds of the 
 way come with a fearful loss, and the worst part 
 was still before them. The line was rectified and
 
 88 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 straightened out, the men closed in and made ready 
 for a final dash. 
 
 It had been bad enough before, yet what had 
 passed was as nothing to what was to come. The 
 Confederate guns were in a continuous roar behind 
 them. The air was rent and torn with screaming 
 shell. Yet the Federal cannon fire had slackened, 
 although now the rifles blazed a continuous death rat 
 tle from the entrenchments they were facing. They 
 knew the reason for the sudden silence of the cannon ; 
 they knew that every smoking gun would be charged 
 to the muzzle with the deadliest projectile then 
 known to man, canister. That so soon as they ap 
 peared out of their last cover each gun would make 
 of their bodies a target. What of that? That was 
 to be expected. Battles are not won without death. 
 O sunny Southland, for whose liberties we fight, we 
 who are about to die salute you ! 
 
 Belts were tightened, guns were looked to, im 
 pedimenta were thrown aside. Hands gripped 
 tighter the flagstaffs. The quick breath came more 
 quickly, hearts beat faster. " Forward ! " The 
 hoarse words ran along their contracted lines. Like 
 the dragon teeth of Cadmus' sowing those Vir 
 ginians burst out of the earth and ran toward the 
 Federal line, so near, yet so far away. With a tre 
 mendous roar every cannon, every rifle, every musket, 
 opened upon the doomed men. A tornado of bullets 
 sw.ept down upon them. Nearly every horse ridden 
 by a field officer was killed on the instant. Men fell 
 and lay in long windrows as if cut by a gigantic 
 scythe. It was such a battle storm as no human body 
 ought to be asked to face, as no human body could 
 be expected to endure. 
 
 But these men faced it and they endured it. The 
 division off on the left bending before the storm had
 
 8 9 
 
 obliqued away till it had lost touch with them, al 
 though it still advanced. A great gap was opened 
 between them and the Virginians a fatal breach 
 since it exposed the flank of Pickett's men. Also the 
 progress of the Carolinians had been a little slower 
 than the Virginia advance. Garnett was down, his 
 brigade, too, involuntarily inclined toward the left 
 as rushes bend before a tempest. Bodies of troops 
 from the left of the Union line swarmed forward, 
 taking Garnett's brigade in reverse. Where, in 
 God's name, were the supports? With a wild 
 swerve the men in grey turned to the left, but in their 
 avoidance of the death-dealing torrent they did not 
 forget to go forward. To go forward, that was 
 their end in life. Advance, always the advance. 
 
 The seconds were minutes, the minutes hours, and 
 still that rapidly withering body of men climbed that 
 fatal hill. Thousands on every ridge watched the 
 great drama. The spectators shouted, screamed, 
 prayed, laughed, cursed, while into the battle smoke 
 the gods in grey and the gods in blue plunged madly 
 for the final test. Hearts stopped beating. Would 
 they make it? 
 
 Would they make it? The men on the hill now so 
 near stone wall or rail fence answered. That was 
 Armistead's great voice. What godlike power had 
 he to make himself heard in that infernal clamour? 
 The orders to form a column penetrated the brains 
 of the soldiers as by some telepathic transmission. 
 Instinctively they obeyed. There had been a constant 
 concentration of the survivors upon the flags. Bearer 
 after bearer had been shot down, but always willing 
 hands had seized each banner. They were huddled 
 together in front of the column. Garnett was gone. 
 By Heaven, his brigade, too, was gone, melted away. 
 A few stragglers fired into the faces of the men in
 
 90 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 blue so close at hand and fell, making way for the 
 second line. Into the reek and smoke and whirling 
 mass of men Armistead burst with his heroes. A few 
 feet intervened between him and a stone wall. There 
 stood the Union guns silent at last. The Virginians 
 were shooting now, their hearts exulting to be within 
 range. The blue line swerved. It was gone. " For 
 ward, forward ! " deliriously cried the officers. 
 
 The grey line advancing, the Blue men retreating, 
 had a glimpse of a figure on the stone wall, a sword 
 in hand, his hat perched upon the point, his eyes 
 aflame, an incarnation of war. A general officer 
 on foot like a private. He was yelling like a 
 demoniac. It was Armistead. Behind him the flags 
 and a few, oh, God, a mere handful of men! The 
 Union line was breaking, it was broken, it was gone ! 
 They were victorious ! 
 
 One hundred men burst over a stone fence cheer 
 ing madly. In front of them stood a gun; its gun 
 ners lay dead about it. One slight boyish figure, pale 
 as death, his clothing red-marked and gory, held the 
 lockstring. " Webb . . I'll give them one more 
 shot," they heard him cry, as Gushing discharged 
 the piece and fell dead upon the gun trail. Armis 
 tead, too, is down. Marking the high tide of that 
 charge he falls. 
 
 A few score men in the Union lines. Where were 
 the rest? God Almighty, how long? Mercifully the 
 issue was not delayed. Out of the smoke and dust 
 of battle a blue-clad force hurled itself upon the 
 remnant of the Virginians. A hail of musketry was 
 poured upon them. Grafton felt something hit him 
 once, twice, thrice. He was a dead man, yet he kept 
 his feet and thrust savagely with his bayonet in the 
 smoke. He felt it thud against something soft that 
 gave way as he struck and struck. He shouted in
 
 "It was Armistead. Behind him the flags and a few, 
 oh, God, a mere handful of men ! "
 
 WILD CHARGE THEY MADE! 91 
 
 triumph, he would not die alone. He held on to the 
 gunbutt, striving unavailingly to withdraw the 
 bayonet from a falling figure. He heard voices all 
 about him. 
 
 " Surrender ! It's all over! You're beaten ! " 
 
 " Never 1 " he cried, wrenching vainly at the gun. 
 Then he threw up his arms. 
 
 " Virginia ! " he rnuttered thickly, a strange weak 
 ness possessing him. 
 
 As he collapsed arms caught him. Some one 
 recognised him. A voice he heard faintly as he lost 
 consciousness cried: 
 
 " Great God, it's Graftonl " 
 
 That was all.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE PROPHET'S WORD 
 
 OUT of the jaws of death, out of the mouth of hell, 
 came reeling back those Virginians. All that was 
 left of them, that is, for many were killed, more 
 were helpless from ghastly wounds, and some had 
 been captured. In rear now, as he had been in 
 advance before, rode Pickett on his great black horse. 
 By a miracle both had passed through the conflict 
 unhurt. The general's handsome face was haggard 
 and filled with despair. His eyes were bloodshot, his 
 brow was furrowed, his hands were trembling. He 
 had succeeded; yes, he had pierced, he had broken 
 the Union lines. But his supports, where were they? 
 The awful slaughter upon the slopes had not left him 
 enough men to hold or use the advantage he had 
 gained. There was nothing left but to go back down 
 the hill. Stormed at by such a fire as cannot be 
 imagined, all that was left of those dauntless regi 
 ments retreated in disorganised bodies over the slip 
 pery red ground up which they had so triumphantly 
 advanced. Where, where, were the supporting 
 lines? asked the general and his men with rage and 
 bitterness? Why had not the whole corps advanced 
 in the way of that forlorn hope? Why had not the 
 whole army followed those three divisions? 
 
 Where were the Carolinians, the Tennesseeans, the 
 Alabamians, who had followed Pettigrew on the left; 
 those other men of the South whose cause Virginia 
 had espoused, to help whom she had so reluctantly 
 left the Union? For whose safety she had poured 
 
 92
 
 THE PROPHET'S WORD 93 
 
 out her life blood upon her own fields, to save whom 
 she had offered herself as a champion and had con 
 sented to make of her own smiling land a battle- 
 scarred waste? Where were those men when the 
 Virginians charged up Cemetery Ridge? 
 
 Alas, none could reproach nor blame them! In 
 long rows they lay silent as in line. Here and there 
 a writhing figure showed that life was not quite gone. 
 No, no; the task had been too great for any of woman 
 born. That the Virginians had all but succeeded, 
 could not be explained on any hypothesis begot of 
 experience anywhere. Such valour, such heroism, 
 such soul as they had shown marked them as gods 
 rather than men. 
 
 They were conscious not at all of that as they 
 reeled down the hill. They only knew they had 
 failed. It was no comfort to them that they had at 
 tempted the impossible. For the first time in their 
 history these men had gone forth to conquer and 
 had come back defeated. They envied those who 
 remained on the hill, the dead men, the wounded 
 men, who could not be driven outside the Union 
 lines. Staggering back, sullenly stopping in little 
 groups to fire at the crest where Armistead lay with 
 his soldiers, they experienced, like that Spartan sur 
 vivor of Thermopylae, a feeling of shame that they 
 were living to tell the story of their overthrow. 
 
 Yet their general himself, marvellously unscathed 
 amid that carnage, was leading them back. Fain 
 would he, too, have laid beside Garnett and Armi 
 stead on that high watermark of Confederate valour, 
 on the crest of that heaven-kissed hill which the pas 
 sions of men had turned into an inferno. There are 
 times when to live and go back are the hardest duties 
 of a soldier. It takes more heroism sometimes to 
 retreat than to advance. It was so when Pickett led
 
 94 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 back the poor remains of his shattered battalions. 
 In the charge organisation had been necessarily lost. 
 Regiments had been swept away. Companies had 
 been decimated, brigades had been shattered, officers 
 had been killed. The few of subordinate rank who 
 survived ran to and fro among the group of men, 
 toiling terribly, labouring like Titans to bring some 
 sort of order out of chaos. The assault had ended in 
 a dreadful confusion of intermingled men and guns, 
 but the retreat was not a rout. Even in that hail 
 of fire the men remembered that they were soldiers 
 and seconded the pleas and orders of their officers as 
 best they could. It was after all something like a 
 battle line which toiled up Seminary Ridge to the 
 place they had left an hour one short hour be 
 fore: a torn, irregular, blood-stained, broken rank, 
 but thank God, it was a fighting force still. 
 
 Most of the men were weeping, the tension being 
 off. Well, they had shown themselves men, they had 
 a right to cry like women. There were movements 
 in hot haste along the Confederate lines. Batteries 
 were advanced. Other troops were brought forward 
 and stretched out in long, thin ranks to fill the places 
 of the dead and missing, in anticipation of the return 
 shock, the return charge. Men looked with bated 
 breath at the blue lines upon the hill waiting each 
 instant to see masses treading over the bodies of the 
 slain lying so thick in the valley and advancing 
 toward the shattered line in grey. How would they, 
 how could they, meet it? 
 
 Galloping up on his great grey horse into that 
 confusion burst a soldier alone. He neither checked 
 steed nor drew rein until he was in the middle of 
 the heaving, panting, sobbing, chaotic mass of re 
 treating men. 
 
 " It's my fault ! " he cried in his deep, splendid
 
 THE PROPHET'S WORD 9$ 
 
 voice; " it's all my fault. I take the blame. You 
 have done nobly. I want all true men now. Face 
 the other way. Those people will soon be upon us. 
 We must show them that we can defend as well as 
 attack. Face the other way. There must be no 
 further retreat. It's all my fault ! " 
 
 They were breathing hard, those exhausted men. 
 They had little strength for words, but as Robert 
 Lee, with a face like iron, such a figure of repression 
 as men had not often seen, but with his soul upon 
 his lips, magnanimously assuming the burden of de 
 feat, rode back through his faithful Virginians, they 
 turned and cheered him like mad. Now the black 
 horse meets the grey. There is a fierce outcry, a 
 passionate protest from the commander who has seen 
 the flower of his division go down to utter destruc 
 tion. Why was he not supported? Where were the 
 other men? Why was such a brilliant opportunity of 
 success allowed to fail of fruition? Who was at 
 fault? 
 
 " I, I alone am to blame," said the deep voice of 
 the great captain, calming his excited subordinate. 
 " You have done magnificently. Virginia is proud 
 of you. No more now. The time for discussion is 
 not yet. Let all brave men rally. We must be ready 
 to fight. We must make secure our own lines." 
 
 So riding to and fro the heroic figure of the great 
 captain brings order out of chaos and nerves his 
 broken, sobbing men again to confront the foeman 
 and hurl him back should he assail the line. The 
 Army of the Potomac came not. Meade gave no 
 order. Its opportunity and his were gone. Fate 
 knocks but once on any man's door. Meade's chance 
 did not present itself again. He lost his golden 
 moment when he held his eager war hounds in leash. 
 The Confederates waited throughout the long after-
 
 9$ THE PATRIOTS 
 
 noon, but there was no movement from the other 
 hill. The last ditch is a great place in which to die. 
 The men in grey were not dead, but they were against 
 the wall. The leader of the men in blue had had 
 enough. He did not wish to rouse the maddened 
 lion from his final lair. Perhaps after all he de 
 cided wisely when he concluded that it was his 
 strength to sit still. 
 
 And the sun sank to rest amid rising banks of low 
 ering clouds that presently blotted out the stars. As 
 night fell the floods came and the rains descended 
 and beat upon that earth as if they would fain wash 
 from it surface the red stains of quarrel. But not 
 all the waters of the mighty deeps could erase from 
 the records of men the story of that great charge 
 made by those immortal Virginians. 
 
 A week later and a woman sat at the door of a 
 room in the White House. Telegraph instruments 
 clicked unceasingly in the large apartment in which 
 she sat. Officers dashed in and out with despatches 
 and orders. Grave and venerable Senators and states 
 men came and went, with a sprinkling of the com 
 mon people among them, while the woman sat there 
 unheeded. She had been there since early morning. 
 While the long hours had dragged away she had 
 waited and waited. It was late in the afternoon be 
 fore she received the opportunity to meet which she 
 had come so far and to create which she had laboured 
 and sorrowed. A negro messenger beckoned to her 
 at last. He opened the door before her and she en 
 tered another room. 
 
 A tall man was writing at a desk near the window. 
 He looked up as she came in, and then he rose slowly 
 to his feet and stood in all his great height, in all 
 his gaunt ugliness before her. It was to see this man 
 that she had gone on her knees to the Confederate
 
 THE PROPHET'S WORD 97 
 
 authorities in Richmond; it was to see this man that 
 she had begged and implored the Union troops 
 guarding Washington to let her pass. Through an 
 old friend of her grandfather's who was now repre* 
 senting Pennsylvania in the Federal Congress she had 
 received permission from the President to call on him. 
 
 Now that she stood in his presence she was silent. 
 She had never met a man quite like Abraham Lin 
 coln. There was in his face and bearing none of the 
 grace and refinement and distinction that might have 
 been expected from the position he occupied. At 
 first glance he seemed like a plain, homely, uncouth 
 old man. Her thoughts were intensely personal, her 
 own grief, her own anxiety, had brought her here. 
 Yet she was not too engrossed to realise that this 
 strange, somewhat forbidding, personality held the 
 destinies of the land in his hand. Certainly of his 
 own section of the country, and perhaps of hers, as 
 well. 
 
 She had been ready of tongue, eloquent of speech 
 before, but now she was almost paralysed. What if 
 he should say her nay? She had had such hard work 
 to get where she could proffer her final plea that her 
 heart stood still in sudden terror at that fear. Be 
 hind that figure there was no appeal, back of Abra 
 ham Lincoln 'stood only God. Well, to Him at least 
 again and again she had made fervent petition. He 
 would help her now with this earthly potentate 
 surely. Her lips formed another, a last request. 
 
 The President stepped nearer to her. Ariadne was 
 taller than she had been; indeed among women she 
 was no longer small, and she was beautiful. The 
 roughest man, the rudest heart, the most engrossed 
 being is not insensible to that supreme power with 
 which woman in her weakness is so fitly panoplied. 
 There is beauty and beauty. Ariadne's was the
 
 98 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 beauty of sweetness and light, the beauty that pleases, 
 that enchants and enthralls, not so much by the sud 
 den shock of its splendour as by its subtle, tender 
 femininity that appeals to the strong. Hers was the 
 beauty that fascinates but does not dazzle. 
 
 An exquisite figure of grace and charm, she lifted 
 her brown eyes toward the man who approached her 
 slowly. An observer might have thought of the 
 nursery fable of Beauty and the Beast, save that there 
 was nothing of the Beast about the President except 
 his plain ugliness. 
 
 " My child," he said, in his deep resonant voice, 
 and with the first word his face took upon itself 
 another aspect to her appealing vision how had she 
 thought him so plain of feature? "what do you 
 wish?" 
 
 "I . . I . . lam . . ." 
 
 The President lifted a note. 
 
 " Mrs. Philip Grafton," he said, kindly helping 
 her out. " Congressman Grossman says he knew your 
 grandfather, Senator Lewis, in the old days before all 
 this unhappiness came upon us." 
 
 ' Yes, sir . . and . . and .. he ..." 
 
 ;< I, too, remember to have met him," continued 
 the President, perceiving her agitation and hoping 
 to calm her, also to reassure her, by his words; " I 
 was in Congress with him, and I remember with what 
 interest and reverence I looked up to the man whose 
 name had been great in my ears since I first began 
 to take notice." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Grandfather was a great man, 
 and with his dying breath he called down blessings 
 on the United States." 
 
 " More than ever in her history does she need the 
 prayers of the righteous now," said the President 
 softly.
 
 THE PROPHET'S WORD 99 
 
 " But my grandfather was a true son of Virginia, 
 sir," cried Ariadne quickly, fearful lest she should 
 have given a false impression and thus disgraced her 
 race. 
 
 " He might be that and a righteous man still," 
 said the President, " might he not? " There was a 
 little twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " He could not be other than righteous if he was 
 true to the South, sir," returned the girl jealously. 
 
 " That is a question about which there is a differ 
 ence of opinion," remarked the great man quaintly, 
 " and I opine that it will not be settled for some time 
 to come yet. But you didn't seek me to talk pol 
 itics or principles, I am sure. You come from 
 Richmond?" 
 1 Yes, sir. 
 
 u For what purpose? " 
 
 " I wish you to let me seek my husband." 
 4 Your husband? Is he a prisoner? " 
 
 "I . . I do not know," faltered poor Ariadne, 
 her lips trembling. 
 
 She would not cry, she would not break down be 
 fore this man, the enemy of her country, she said, 
 but nevertheless two great tears swam in her eyes 
 and slowly trickled down her cheeks. 
 
 " Explain yourself, pray," said Lincoln. 
 
 "He was a . . sergeant in the Ninth Virginia 
 Infantry, sir, in General Armistead's brigade of 
 General Pickett's division." 
 
 " Ah ! " replied the President, comprehending 
 all. 
 
 " And he charged up that hill with the rest and 
 . . and . . never came back." 
 
 Lincoln shook his head softly. 
 ' There were many who did not come back." 
 
 "He wasn't killed? You haven't heard ."
 
 ioo THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " I have heard nothing of him, my dear child," 
 answered the President, laying his hand gently on 
 her shoulder. 
 
 "Oh!" she said, clasping her breast, "I 
 thought . . . 
 
 "And some of those," continued the President, 
 " who did not come back are in our hands to-day. 
 It may be ... 
 
 " It must be that he is alive, sir. He was to come 
 to claim me after the war . . when we had won 
 . . I was only a child when we were married -. . 
 oh, my God, my God, I cannot give him up ! " 
 
 " Sit down, my dear lady," said the President 
 kindly, as if he had been her father, "and tell me all 
 about it." 
 
 " When my grandfather died," began Ariadne, 
 something in this strange man compelling her 
 obedience, " Philip . . Mr. Grafton . . Ser 
 geant Grafton, you know . . he married me. I 
 was only sixteen then, and Vallewis, our place, was 
 gone and I had nothing. And Philip married me and 
 left me in Richmond to wait for him until the war 
 was over." 
 
 " How old are you now? " 
 
 " Eighteen, sir. And I have tried so hard to be 
 worthy of him! I have worked for our soldiers, I 
 have studied, I have written him every day, and after 
 every battle he has always sent me word. The news 
 came, I heard from Gettysburg. One of the men of 
 his regiment was sent to Richmond. He told me 
 that he saw Philip last on the top of the hill. He did 
 not . . he could not tell whether he was . . 
 alive . . or not, and I have come to you . . ." 
 
 " What do you wish me to do? " 
 
 " To find him." 
 
 " And if he is wounded? "
 
 THE PROPHET'S WORD 101 
 
 " To let me go to him. If he is a prisoner, to 
 let me share his prison." 
 
 " My child," said the President, " I will find him. 
 If he is a prisoner, you cannot see him, of course. 
 If he is wounded, you may go to him, if possible." 
 14 When may I have the news, sir? " 
 " To-morrow. Where are you to be found? " 
 
 " At Judge Grossman's." 
 
 " So he is giving aid and comfort to the enemy, 
 is he? " said the President, smiling. 
 
 Ariadne knew not what to say. 
 
 " Well, I can forgive him since I am doing prac 
 tically the same thing myself. I hope to tell you 
 to-morrow that your husband is well. And now I bid 
 you good-bye." 
 
 " Sir," said Ariadne, rising and taking the Presi 
 dent's great hand in both her own, "I . . we have 
 hated you in the South. But one woman will ever 
 remember and pray God to have you in His keeping." 
 
 Before he could prevent she had bent and kissed 
 his hand. 
 
 " As for me," said the President quietly, " I love 
 the South as I love the North and the East and the 
 West. I would fain have it back in the old Union, 
 under the old flag." 
 
 He stretched out his hand as he spoke, forgetful 
 for the moment of the woman who stood before him. 
 Ariadne knew her Bible thoroughly. As she stared 
 up into that plain face, transfigured, glorified, the 
 words of an ancient and unfulfilled appeal that was 
 as much prophecy as prayer ran through her mind : 
 
 " O Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets and 
 stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often 
 would I have gathered thy children together even as 
 a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and 
 ye would not ! "
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE AFTERMATH OF PAIN 
 
 THE condition of the wounded at Gettysburg was 
 terrible. The suffering after the battle is always 
 tremendously greater than the suffering during the 
 course. The spiritual exaltation, the mental ex 
 hilaration of combat are similar in effect to surgical 
 shock after an operation, or that paralysis of the 
 nervous system which follows immediately upon a 
 severe wound. All these produce an insensibility to 
 pain : but as shock, or exaltation or nervous paralysis 
 is dissipated, pitiful weakness, anguish, sharp and 
 keen, overwhelming mental depression, complete and 
 prostrating reactions, manifest themselves. 
 
 When an army is far from its base of supplies 
 and has to make long rrfarches, especially in retreat, 
 before it gets its men to places where they can receive 
 proper treatment, the horrors of war are sickening, 
 indescribable. That economy of men which the 
 paucity of resources in the Southern Confederacy 
 made necessary, compelled the retreating army of 
 Northern Virginia to take with it in its ambulances, 
 baggage wagons and such vehicles as could be se 
 cured in the neighbourhood, every man who could 
 possibly stand the journey. 
 
 Some of them had received no treatment at all; 
 others had been attended to in the most perfunctory 
 manner. This was not due to heartlessness or neg 
 lect, but to the fact that all the surgeons, working 
 night and day without rest or sleep, were unequal to 
 the constant demands imposed upon them. No army 
 
 103
 
 THE AFTERMATH OF PAIN 103 
 
 could by any possibility carry enough surgeons to 
 treat all its wounded effectively at once. 
 
 Of course, there were numbers of Confederate 
 foldiers who could not be moved, who had to be left 
 on the field to the care of their Northern foemen, 
 and these were, comparatively speaking, fortunate. 
 Thus the work imposed upon the Northern medical 
 department was vastly greater than that upon the 
 Southern. To have had merely their own wounded 
 to deal with would have been bad enough, but when 
 to them were added those of the Confederates 
 every one of them in desperate case, since all who 
 could be moved had been taken away the task was 
 appalling. 
 
 Fortunate it was for Philip that he had fallen into 
 the hands of friends. The voice that he had heard 
 as he fell was that of Major Burt Kirkwood, who 
 had commanded a battalion of troops which had 
 delivered the coup de grace that repulsed Pickett's 
 grand assault. While the lines were being re-formed, 
 by Kirkwood's directions Graf ton was taken to the 
 road and laid beneath a shady tree in a place where 
 he was sheltered at least in part from the Confederate 
 shells, which had already begun to rain upon that 
 shot-torn hill. So soon as other duties permitted 
 them, Kirkwood, bringing Manning, who com 
 manded one of Webb's regiments, came back to 
 where their old classmate lay. With them was a 
 regimental surgeon. 
 
 A hasty examination of the unconscious figure re 
 vealed the fact that Grafton was shot through the 
 left arm, through the right groin and through the 
 right shoulder, and had received a terrible smash 
 over the head. He had lost a great deal of blood and 
 lay like one dead. He had not spoken or given a 
 sign of consciousness since he had been struck down.
 
 104 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 The surgeon looked him over skilfully, if quickly v 
 and pronounced his case practically hopeless. 
 
 " He's got about one chance in a thousand," he 
 said, " and that but a slim one. If he is left out here 
 he will die to-night it's certain to rain. I doubt if 
 we could save him in a hospital. He wants quiet 
 somewhere, and nursing." 
 
 After probing the wounds and leaving instructions 
 as to bandaging and dressings, which the two sol 
 diers followed out with clumsy fingers, but with 
 hearts as tender as women, the harassed and over 
 worked physician hurried away in response to many 
 appeals upon him. 
 
 " By heavens ! " said Manning, " it's too bad. We 
 can't leave old Phil here to die in this way." 
 
 " We must send him to Kathleen," said Kirkwood; 
 " she was always fond of him, you know. If we 
 could get him to York perhaps she could pull him 
 through." 
 
 " I can't help thinking of that graduation up at 
 Harvard," said Manning, " it doesn't seem as if it 
 were only two years ago, does it? " 
 
 "No; here, help me with this bandage. You 
 know that he and Kathleen had some words that 
 day about his going South." 
 
 ' Yes, I knew it," answered Manning; " she told 
 me all about it. You know once I used to think 
 she was too fond of Grafton here, but they had a 
 real quarrel before he left." 
 
 * That will make no difference with Kathleen, 
 now," returned her brother quickly. 
 
 " Of course not," assented Manning heartily; 
 " she will do everything for him that she would do 
 for either of us. The question is, how to get him 
 to her." 
 
 " I'm going over to see General Gibbon pres-
 
 THE AFTERMATH OF PAIN 105 
 
 ently," said Kirkwood. ' They've got to get these 
 wounded out of here in some way, and some of them 
 will go to York. There is a big hospital there 
 and ... " 
 
 " Hurry up, then ! " said Manning. " I'll wait 
 here with Phil." 
 
 As Kirkwood rode away Manning knelt down by 
 the side of his old friend and classmate. 
 
 " Phil," he murmured, " I was frightfully jealous 
 of you once. I hated you so that I would have been 
 almost willing to kill you myself. But now, by 
 Heaven, I'd almost give my life to hear your voice 
 again," so his thoughts ran. " What fools we are 
 any way! There ought to be some better way to 
 settle such differences as lie between the North and the 
 South than by fighting about them. Yet, when I'm 
 actually in the fight I don't think of anything but 
 hitting the other fellow." 
 
 He observed that an involuntary movement of the 
 wounded man's arm had slightly disarranged a band 
 age. He had applied the bandages on the arm and 
 leg while Kirkwood had attended to the shoulder 
 and head. He bent over him to adjust the dressing. 
 A little gold chain hung around the neck of the 
 wounded man. From it a locket depended. In some 
 way it had opened. As Manning bent over Graf- 
 ton to close it the pictured face within caught his 
 eye in a flash. He recognised the portrait of a 
 woman. 
 
 "What!" he exclaimed, his heart full of bitter 
 wrath and sudden jealousy, " what is that Rebel sol 
 dier doing with that picture? " 
 
 All the anger and uncertainty which had once 
 threatened to impair their friendship flamed up 
 again. He had not meant to look, merely to close 
 the locket. It had happened by chance, but having
 
 106 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 happened he could not put the recognition out of his 
 mind. Resisting a temptation to tear it from the 
 other man's neck, he reached his hand down and 
 closed the locket, and then turned to find Kirkwood 
 by his side once more. 
 
 " I met Generals Webb and Gibbon over at General 
 Meade's headquarters," said Kirkwood briefly, " and 
 found out that Dr. Letterman the surgeon-in-chief 
 of the Army of the Potomac is going to start a 
 trainload of wounded for York to-night. He says 
 we can get Grafton on it if we hurry." 
 
 " Do you know, Kirkwood," began Manning un 
 certainly, " I don't . . believe . . that Kathleen 
 is the person to ... 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " I think we'd better . . . 
 
 " George Manning," said Kirkwood sternly, " are 
 you letting that old foolish feeling get the mastery 
 of you?" 
 
 " Burt, he's got her picture in a locket around his 
 neck." 
 
 " Did you open it? " 
 
 "What do you take me for? " blurted out Man 
 ning fiercely; " do you think I would examine a gen 
 tleman's private belongings and Grafton helpless! 
 It was lying open on his breast. I started to close 
 it. I couldn't help seeing it." 
 
 " Manning, forgive me," said Kirkwood; " I 
 ought to have known, of course. Now you must be 
 magnanimous. He's as good as dead already. We 
 simply have to save him, if we can. We must give 
 him every chance, and you must trust Kathleen." 
 
 ' What is he carrying her picture around his neck 
 for, I'd like to know! " 
 
 " I suppose . . well, yes, I might as well admit 
 it. He did love her once and probably he has never
 
 THE AFTERMATH OF PAIN 107 
 
 taken the thing off. Besides, she is not responsible 
 for his action." 
 
 " But Kathleen swore to me that there was noth 
 ing between them ! " 
 
 " No more there was," said Kirkwood gravely. 
 " If you need my assurance to add to hers, I declare 
 that she told you the truth. Come, George, you can't 
 afford to be jealous of a dying man." 
 
 " No," said Manning, " but it is hard to stand 
 quietly and . . . 
 
 " I know it is, but . . well . . we are 
 soldiers, and perhaps we'll have to stand stranger 
 things than that. At any rate, unless he is to die 
 right here we must get him on that train. I won't 
 do it without your consent." 
 
 "And do you think I would refuse? " said Man 
 ning quickly. " I wouldn't put such a slight on 
 Kathleen." He shut his lips firmly. 
 
 ;t Very well, then; send him up." 
 
 " I wish I could go, too," said Manning, almost 
 envious of Grafton. 
 
 " Can't you get leave for a few days, George? " 
 
 " It's not to be thought of, Burt. I wouldn't ask 
 for it. I wouldn't take it. I wouldn't leave my men 
 now. Besides r we may be ordered to attack the Rebs 
 any minute." 
 
 " No; from what I heard at headquarters, I think 
 not. I guess they think this army has done enough. 
 By George, it has! I never saw anything come on 
 like those fellows." 
 
 "Wasn't it glorious? I just felt like cheering 
 them as I saw them breast that hill in the thick of our 
 fire." 
 
 " It seemed cruel for us to shoot down that little 
 huddle in the smoke that got over the wall after 
 Webb's brigade gave back," said Kirkwood.
 
 io8 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Manning, " but if we hadn't shot 
 down that little huddle, God help us ! There's only 
 one way to stop those fellows, and that's to kill 
 them." 
 
 " Isn't it strange," mused Kirkwood, " that one 
 minute after we have been doing our level best to 
 kill them we are straining every nerve to save their 
 lives, as Phil's here? " 
 
 " Yes, and the strain of it in this case is in 
 deed terrible," commented Manning, with a gloomy 
 look. 
 
 " I know, I know, George," said Kirkwood, with 
 kindly sympathy; " but Kathleen will honour you for 
 this when she hears." 
 
 " I hope so," returned the other. 
 
 " Here come some stretcher-bearers from my regi 
 ment," continued Kirkwood. " By the way, I think 
 you had better write a note to Kathleen to let her 
 know we're all right and to beg her to do the best 
 she can for Grafton. I shall drop her a line, too." 
 
 " She will not need urging to do that," said 
 Manning bitterly, taking out his notebook and pencil 
 and beginning to write. 
 
 " We're ordered to report to you, sir," said the 
 corporal who with a detail of eight men for carry 
 ing the stretcher stopped at the side of the little 
 group. 
 
 ' Very good, Corporal," said his major, " you are 
 to take this Reb this soldier here to an ambulance 
 which you will find at General Meade's headquar 
 ters. Here's an order from Dr. Letterman for the 
 ambulance and a further order that this soldier, Ser 
 geant Philip Grafton, one of those Virginians who 
 charged up that hill, is to go on the first train to York 
 this evening. After you have put him in the ambu 
 lance the men will rejoin the regiment. You will
 
 THE AFTERMATH OF PAIN 109 
 
 go on to York with him here are your orders and 
 you are not to turn this soldier over to the hospital, 
 but will take him to this address and urge that he 
 be taken in there. Having delivered him there 
 you will also deliver two notes which I will hand 
 you in a few minutes. You will then get whatever 
 answer is given you and rejoin us immediately. I 
 think it is hardly likely that we shall move for a 
 day or two, but wherever we are you will find us. 
 Here," continued Kirkwood, handing out two or 
 three gold pieces, " is what you will require for your 
 journey." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the orderly, a young man from 
 Kirkwood's own town, who was thoroughly to be 
 depended upon. 
 
 Meanwhile the stretcher-bearers were busy putting 
 the senseless form upon the litter. 
 
 " Begob ! " said one of them, a big Irishman, " it's 
 a dale of throuble the Meejor do be takin' fer a man 
 phwats only a sargint." 
 
 Kirkwood looked up from the note he was writing 
 and spoke sharply. 
 
 " Hennessey, it's because men like that one are 
 only sergeants in the Rebel army that the rank and 
 file fight the way they do. It was men like that one 
 that charged up that hill to-day in the face of our 
 guns." 
 
 ' Yis, sor, av the Meejor plazes, sor." 
 
 " He was once a classmate of mine at Harvard, 
 and I suppose before this war he was worth one or 
 two hundred thousand dollars." 
 
 " Begob ! " said Hennessey the abashed, for the 
 sum named was wealth in those days, " if thot's wot 
 they make sargints out of in the Ribil Ar-r-my, wot 
 must the offycers be? " 
 
 " Ready, now, sir," said the corporal as the
 
 no THE PATRIOTS 
 
 bearers lifted the stretcher from the ground. Kirk- 
 wood and Manning had each torn a leaf from his 
 memorandum book and scribbled a few hasty words 
 thereon. The notes were folded and handed to the 
 corporal, who saluted and marched away. Men 
 learned to be sharp and brief in times like that. 
 Nothing was wasted, no, not even human life, cheap 
 est of things in wars. Lives were expended but for 
 a purpose. The best general was he who spent them 
 for the best results and with the most economy. 
 
 It was well for Grafton that he remained insensi 
 ble during that awful journey. Others were not so 
 fortunate as he. He was laid in an ambulance which 
 was not reserved for him alone. There were too 
 many wounded to be carried, and too few vehicles in 
 which to carry them, for any one man, unless he were 
 a general officer, to take that journey alone. The 
 mules attached were like all army mules, not gentle, 
 but irritable and fractious. The way was broken, the 
 roads terribly rough. Part of the time they had to 
 drive across the country to reach the station at Gettys 
 burg. 
 
 The driver was careful enough; he did the best 
 he could, but he had hauled similar cargoes so 
 often that he was more or less callous about it, or 
 at least indifferent to the shrieks, the yells, the curses 
 and groans and cries that came from the men behind 
 him. 
 
 "Oh, God, why can't I die!" 
 
 "Jesus, Jesus, will no one kill me?" 
 
 " Oh, mother, mother! " 
 
 " Have mercy on me and for Christ's sake put 
 me out of my misery! " 
 
 " Water, water, for the love of heaven ! " 
 
 " Stop, stop, just a minute ! Put me out and let 
 me die on the roadside ! "
 
 THE AFTERMATH OF PAIN in 
 
 " Give me a drink! " 
 
 " I am dying, driver. I can't stand this any more. 
 There's a load in my pistol. Won't you end it for 
 me? " 
 
 " I am dying ! My poor wife, my little children ! 
 What will become of them? " 
 
 It was well for the drivers that they were hardened 
 to such appeals as these, for they would have broken 
 the hearts of men whose sensibilities had not been 
 dulled by the iteration of frequent usage. But all 
 journeys have an end, even the journeys of those who 
 go down to the River which all must inevitably cross, 
 and as night fell the town was reached. The train, 
 a long array of freight cars, some of which had been 
 used to carry cattle to supply the army, and which 
 had only been cleaned in the most hasty and perfunc 
 tory manner, was filled with wounded, and slowly 
 clanked out of the station. 
 
 The faithful corporal, by dint of his pass, signed by 
 Dr. Letterman, and his orders, upon which Kirkwood 
 had induced Meade himself to write his name, went 
 in the car with Grafton. He was assiduous in his 
 care for the wounded Confederate, but there was lit 
 tle he could do save to bathe his brow and moisten 
 his lips and keep the bandages wetted; for Grafton 
 had not yet regained consciousness. When the train 
 drew in to York the next day the townspeople, who 
 had been apprised of its coming, were down at the 
 station with every available vehicle. 
 
 A few days before the battle a division of the 
 Confederate army had marched through that town. 
 The men had conducted themselves like gentlemen. 
 They had burned no barns, had not pillaged any 
 houses, had not insulted any woman. General Gor 
 don, who led them, had indeed made a favourable 
 impression upon many citizens of the place, and the
 
 ii2 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 people were grateful. Naturally they preferred to 
 care for their own wounded, but the Confederate 
 soldiers who were intermingled with their Northern 
 foemen were received with little less cordiality and 
 treated with the same kindness as the men in 
 blue. 
 
 The corporal was familiar with the person of the 
 lady whom he was seeking, and he easily found her 
 among the hundreds of others who had gathered at 
 the station. Forcing his way through the crowd he 
 saluted her and handed her two notes. 
 
 " Major Kirkwood? " she asked, recognising that 
 he belonged to her brother's regiment. 
 
 " Well, ma'am." 
 
 "And Colonel Manning?" 
 
 " Just the same. These letters are from them. 
 I've got a wounded soldier here which they ask you 
 to take care of," continued the corporal as Kathleen 
 hastily opened one of the notes, glanced over it and 
 pressed it to her lips with a look of relief upon her 
 face. The other she did not look at then. 
 
 " One from either of the regiments? " she asked, 
 alluding to the fact that both men for whom she had 
 inquired had command of their regiments that day. 
 
 " No, ma'am. It's a Rebel soldier. They were 
 very particular ordering me to ask you to take 
 him in." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly; where is he?" 
 
 " He's in that car yonder, and I'm trying to get 
 an ambulance." 
 
 " I have a spring wagon here with a mattress and 
 blankets in it. I knew there would be need for such 
 things. Two of the farm hands are here, too. I will 
 send them to you at once. Come with me and they 
 will go with you and bring him out here. Is he badly 
 wounded? "
 
 THE AFTERMATH OF PAIN 113 
 
 " I guess he's about done for, ma'am. I heard the 
 Major say that he'd about one chance in a thousand 
 for his life, and he thought you could give it to him 
 by nursing." 
 
 "What is his name?" cried Kathleen suddenly. 
 The interest the two men with whom she was most 
 intimately associated had taken in this Confederate 
 soldier had awakened a sudden heartbreaking sus 
 picion in her mind. 
 
 " It's in Colonel Manning's letter, ma'am" it 
 was Manning's letter that she had not opened, and 
 with rare consideration her brother had let his friend 
 tell the story and give direction. " His name is 
 Grafton," continued the corporal; "he's a sergeant 
 in Are you ill, ma'am? " asked the soldier, catch 
 ing the woman by the arm. She had gone suddenly 
 white and reeled and would have fallen but for 
 him. 
 
 " Oh, no," she said, summoning her courage and 
 struggling to control herself; "he is not dead, you 
 say? " 
 
 " Not yet, ma'am, but ... " 
 
 "Hurry, hurry!" 
 
 The corporal ventured upon a question as they 
 pushed through the outskirts of the crowd. 
 
 " Beg pardon, ma'am, but do you know him? " 
 
 "Know him? I . . I . . ." she checked 
 herself in time. " Yes, he was a classmate of my 
 brother's at Harvard." 
 
 The horses were a nervous pair, and the crowd, the 
 confusion, the tumult, were fretting them terribly. 
 The man who drove them could scarcely manage 
 them, but Kathleen would not hear of his remaining. 
 
 "I can hold them," she said; "go with the cor 
 poral, both of you, and bring Mr. Grafton here 
 immediately. Quick, as you value his life . . and
 
 n 4 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 mine," she added under her breath as the two men 
 turned away with the soldier. 
 
 With the assistance of some of the bystanders and 
 an improvised stretcher Grafton was carried from 
 the car and placed in the wagon, Kathleen, with won 
 derful vigour and strength, directing all. She could 
 give way to her emotions later; now there was work 
 to do. He must be saved, and she would save him. 
 Half an hour later Grafton was laid on a clean bed 
 in a great cool chamber, the windows of which were 
 shaded by ancient chestnuts that were full-grown 
 trees when William Penn had purchased the terri 
 tory from the Indians for a trifle. A doctor had 
 been summoned imperiously by Kathleen. The 
 wounds had been probed, the bullets extracted, the 
 dressings renewed, proper medicine prepared and 
 everything that medical skill could suggest had been 
 done. The rest was with Kathleen. 
 
 Thus he had come back to her. She had heard no 
 word from him or about him since that day they had 
 parted with bitter words on the porch. She had 
 striven, and with more or less success, to put him out 
 of her heart, and out of her mind as well, yet she 
 knew now that her attempt had been a failure. She 
 bent over him in an agony of soul. He could not 
 die, he must not die ! At least not until she told him 
 that she had not meant it all. That in spite of what 
 she had said she still loved him and Kathleen had 
 no right to love him, nor had he a right to love her, 
 had he but known it. Yet there are passions before 
 which conventions snap like threads. That in the 
 woman's heart was of such a character. There was 
 nothing in Grafton's almost pulseless heart but a 
 great blackness. What would there be when he 
 awakened ? 
 
 The doctor had said that he could do no more,
 
 THE AFTERMATH OF PAIN 115 
 
 that it was simply a case of care. He would come 
 every day, and, if fever did not kill his patient in the 
 meantime and if the wounds did not refuse to heal, 
 he might pull him through. Kathleen determined 
 that if it were in the power of woman to supplement 
 the skill of man and to move the will of God, she 
 would not be found lacking.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE SEARCH AMONG THE SLAIN 
 
 ARIADNE spent the afternoon and night and the next 
 morning in a state of anxiety unspeakable, which her 
 kind hosts could not relieve. About midday a mes 
 senger handed in at the front door an envelope ad 
 dressed to her in a strange and peculiar handwriting. 
 In one corner of it were printed the words " EXECU 
 TIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON, D. C." She tore it 
 open with trembling fingers and read it with much 
 the sensations that a man would examine a paper 
 which might prove either a death warrant or a re 
 prieve. It ran: 
 
 "Mv DEAR MRS. GRAFTON: 
 
 " Sergeant Philip Grafton of Pickett's division was 
 left wounded on Cemetery Hill. Colonels Kirk- 
 wood and Manning, who were in command of regi 
 ments that finally repulsed the charge, had him sent 
 from the field with the first train of wounded, which 
 was unloaded at York, Pennsylvania. He was un 
 conscious and desperately hurt, but alive. If he is 
 still alive and I pray God he may be! he will be 
 in one of the hospitals in York. 
 
 " I have secured a pass for you to go to York from 
 Secretary Stanton, which I enclose. A special train 
 bearing medical supplies for the wounded at York 
 and Carlisle and elsewhere leaves the station this 
 afternoon. Here is a permit to allow you to go on 
 that train. I hope you may find your husband on the 
 
 116
 
 THE SEARCH AMONG THE SLAIN 117 
 
 road to recovery, and I know that he will be the better 
 for your coming. I am glad to be able to do this 
 for you. 
 
 " Your sincere friend and well-wisher, 
 
 "ABRAHAM LINCOLN." 
 
 The pass and the permit would perhaps have been 
 enough to have carried Ariadne safely to York, but 
 the kind letter of the President, which he had taken 
 the trouble to write himself, served amazingly. The 
 officers in charge of the trainload of supplies for the 
 sick had nothing but sympathy and respect for the 
 beautiful young woman who was seeking her hus 
 band. There were other women on that train, 
 Northern women, who were bound upon similar 
 errands. The one touch of nature brought by a com 
 mon grief, and a common hope, made them all 
 friends. Ariadne found herself listening to the con 
 fidences of a grey old woman from Indiana, who was 
 coming to seek her son, who had had a leg shot off 
 at Gettysburg. A heart-broken young wife from 
 New York, just able to rise from a sickbed, leaving 
 a new-born infant for others to care for, was hurry 
 ing to the side of her husband, who had been shot 
 through the lungs and who could not survive the 
 wound. A sad-faced woman from New Jersey, 
 shrouded in black, was going to get the body of her 
 father. Each passenger was upon some such soul- 
 tearing errand. 
 
 The little Confederate had thought she would be 
 alone amid such an assemblage, but when they 
 learned her story they opened their hearts to her and 
 took her in. The slow freight train reached York 
 quite early in the morning. There were no con 
 veniences for sleeping on that train, but Ariadne 
 could not have closed her eyes if she had enjoyed
 
 n8 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 every luxury of travel. She did not know when she 
 had slept, indeed. Of course, she had human 
 nature, even under the most spiritual impulse, can 
 not long be sustained without rest. To sleep, to 
 eat, to drink these are necessary though to-day 
 the heart break and to-morrow we die. It was not a 
 counsel of mere materialism that the apostle ad 
 dressed to those that grieved unless they ate and 
 drank they could not mourn. 
 
 Ariadne was too wise a girl to waste her strength 
 where she could avoid it. That regimen that she had 
 set before herself to make herself worthy of her hus 
 band she would not abandon, now, at least until she 
 had satisfied herself that Philip no longer lived. He 
 was certainly desperately wounded; perhaps he was 
 dead. If he were alive he would need care and nurs 
 ing. She must keep her strength for him. To sleep, 
 that was impossible, but she could, and did, force 
 down her reluctant throat the good food provided 
 by the kind officers of the train, who were sorry for 
 her and for all the wretched women. 
 
 The bright sunlight of the clear morning dazzled 
 her as she stepped out on the platform. With the 
 selfishness of grief and they were to be pardoned 
 in their anxiety most of the women hurried away 
 under the escort of waiting friends or others to whom 
 they could properly appeal; but poor Ariadne was a 
 Rebel an alien from the South. Not until she spoke 
 would any one realise this fact from her betraying 
 speech, but she felt it herself. She was a stranger in 
 a strange land, and knew not where to turn until she 
 came upon Mrs. Gray, the woman who had come 
 to claim the body of her dead father. She had hesi 
 tated and turned back to the forlorn, tired, dusty 
 figure of her sister of the South. 
 
 "I am in no hurry," she said mournfully; "mo-
 
 THE SEARCH AMONG THE SLAIN 119 
 
 ments are nothing to me now. My errand can wait. 
 Can I help you? Where was your husband taken? " 
 
 " I do not know. Your President said that he was 
 brought here." 
 
 " The President ! " exclaimed the woman. 
 
 * Yes, I have his letter." 
 
 "Have you a letter from President Lincoln? 
 You, a Southern woman I " asked the other. 
 
 " Yes," answered Ariadne, taking it from her 
 bosom, where she guarded it jealously as her most 
 precious possession, the open sesame out of all her 
 difficulties; "here it is." 
 
 Mrs. Gray scanned it hastily. She was a woman 
 of decision. Her father had been colonel of a regi 
 ment temporarily commanding a brigade when he 
 had been mortally wounded. An ambulance stood 
 near the station. She called the driver to her with an 
 imperious gesture. 
 
 ' This lady," she said, " is looking for her 
 husband." 
 
 " There's many a woman on the same errand, 
 ma'am," returned the man not unkindly. 
 
 " He was a Reb . . a Confederate soldier." 
 
 " There's a mort of 'em in town, ma'am." 
 
 " I know," said Mrs. Gray, " and I want you to 
 tell us how to find him." 
 
 " I'm sorry I can't help you, ma'am." 
 
 " Can't you take us in your wagon to the different 
 hospitals? " 
 
 " I can't do it, ma'am. I'm waitin' here for 
 Colonel Townley. He's got command of the troops 
 hereabouts." 
 
 'Where is he?" 
 
 " In the station arrangin' for some special trains, 
 or . . ." 
 
 " Come with me," said Mrs. Gray to Ariadne.
 
 120 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 They met Colonel Townley just leaving the agent's 
 office. 
 
 " Sir," said Mrs. Gray, " this lady is a Southern 
 woman. She is seeking her husband, Mr. Grafton, 
 who was brought here wounded from Gettysburg." 
 
 "What hospital is he in, madam?" asked the 
 colonel politely. 
 
 " We do not know. We thought perhaps you 
 could tell us." 
 
 " I'm very sorry I can't. Everything is in such 
 confusion. We are so swamped with wounded men 
 who require attention that we have but little time 
 for reports. If your friend will find quarters some 
 where and will give me her address, I will . . ." 
 
 " Sir," cried Ariadne, " my husband is dying or 
 dead. I can't wait! I must see him now. The 
 President told me . . ." 
 
 "What President?" 
 
 1 Your President." 
 
 " Show him the letter," said Mrs. Gray, and again 
 Ariadne brought it forth. 
 
 " I will do what I can for you," said the colonel, 
 stepping out on the platform after he had read it. 
 " Orderly, take these ladies in my ambulance to every 
 hospital in the town. Present my compliments to the 
 surgeons in charge and ask them if they have a 
 patient named . . what name did you say, 
 madam? " 
 
 " Sergeant Philip Grafton." 
 
 " A Reb . . a Confederate soldier named Graf- 
 ton, in their wards." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, and may God bless you ! " cried 
 Ariadne, turning away. 
 
 "And what may I do for you, madam?" asked 
 the colonel, turning to the other woman. 
 
 " If you will let me have an ambulance later on to
 
 THE SEARCH AMONG THE SLAIN 121 
 
 bring back the body of my father to the station, that 
 will be all," returned Mrs. Gray, biting her lip to 
 keep back the tears. 
 
 " Who was your father, may I ask? " 
 
 " Colonel Morris of the Seventy-first New Jersey." 
 
 " You shall have it," said Colonel Townley, reach 
 ing his hand to her in warm sympathy. " I knew 
 Colonel Morris very well. He died for his country 
 like a hero, and you have my sincere sympathy." 
 
 And from the Northern lips there was given to 
 the gallant officer the same simple prayer that had 
 fallen from those of her Southern sister " God bless 
 you, sir." That was all. 
 
 " But, Colonel," protested the orderly respect 
 fully, " what are you going to do, sir? How are you 
 going to get up to camp ? " 
 
 He pointed to the tents on the hills several miles 
 away as he spoke. 
 
 "I will walk," said the colonel simply; "you at 
 tend to the ladies." 
 
 The body of Colonel Morris had been removed 
 with other dead to the building set apart for the 
 purpose, and, as it was nearest the station, there 
 Ariadne parted from her new friend. 
 
 All that morning the girl drove with the soldier 
 from one hospital to another. She made inquiry 
 every place for her husband. She was met every 
 where by the statement that nothing whatever was 
 known of him. Everywhere she was invited into 
 the wards to look among the patients, who had been 
 unable to give an account of themselves, to see if one 
 of the unknown might be he whom she sought. Such 
 an ordeal for a woman had not come to many of her 
 sex. 
 
 To walk through long lines of unconscious, silent, 
 deathlike figures; to pass by cot after cot where delir-
 
 122 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 ious men raved of home and mother, or of the fight 
 ing on the high places of the field; to have one's ears 
 assailed by moans, curses, groans, cries, and some 
 times and most horrible of all, by wild bursts of 
 laughter; to look and look and look in face after face; 
 to bend over figure after figure, with fear and hope 
 both tugging at the heart; and to find nothing! 
 No sign ! To have come so far on an errand of such 
 moment and have it proved a fruitless quest in the 
 end. Yet the President could not have been mis 
 taken ; he must be there ! If she could only find him ! 
 Finally she left the last hospital. 
 
 " Are you sure there are no more? " she asked the 
 soldier, as she climbed wearily into the ambulance. 
 
 " There . . there is the dead house," faltered 
 the man, his rough voice softening. He had be 
 come nearly as much interested in the search as this 
 gentle, uncomplaining, tireless, grief-stricken woman 
 by his side. 
 
 " Oh, my God! " whispered Ariadne, " not there, 
 not there ! " 
 
 ' What shall we do next, then? " asked the driver. 
 
 " I suppose we'd better try there," answered the 
 poor young wife, filled with leaden despairs. All 
 arrangements had been completed for sending away 
 the body of Colonel Morris, and Mrs. Gray had come 
 back to that point to look after the shipment of some 
 other of the officers and men of her father's regi 
 ment, else she would have been gone long since. She 
 caught the fainting figure of the Southern girl in her 
 arms. 
 
 " Have you found him, my dear? " 
 
 " No ; I have been everywhere. I have looked in 
 every hospital and at hundreds of poor men. He 
 was not there." 
 
 " And did you think to find him here? "
 
 THE SEARCH AMONG THE SLAIN 123 
 
 "I do not know; I cannot think at all. I only 
 know that I must go on until I find him." 
 
 A medical officer had been detailed to attend to the 
 forwarding of the bodies of the dead. He had kept 
 the records, so far as they could be compiled, of 
 those who had passed through his hands. With a 
 desperate resolution Ariadne waited while Mrs. Gray 
 explained her errand. No, there was no Grafton 
 on the list. " Thank God for that! " she breathed. 
 There had been many unknown dead, however, but 
 there was no means of identifying them. One of 
 them might have been he. 
 
 " There are some unknown dead here, now," con 
 tinued the surgeon. " Would you like to look at 
 them, ma'am? " 
 
 " I must," said poor Ariadne. 
 
 Was it harder or easier to gaze upon those whose 
 sufferings were over than upon those who still lin 
 gered in the hospitals? The majesty of death was 
 upon those faces. Sometimes the anguish that had 
 gone before had left its imprint, but generally they 
 were peaceful. Each one of them represented not 
 merely a life quenched, but some woman's heart 
 broken. Ariadne was not too selfish to say a prayer 
 for those loved ones far away. She could understand 
 what they must feel. No, he was not there. What 
 should she do? 
 
 " Did you try the private houses in the town, 
 ma'arn? " asked the officer. " A great many soldiers 
 were taken there. Mostly Union soldiers, but per 
 haps your husband might have been among them." 
 
 It was a forlorn hope. The houses were so many 
 and it was afternoon now. Ariadne was faint, weary, 
 heartbroken. Probably if it had not been for the 
 other woman, she would have walked on a little 
 space and then have fallen and perhaps died if no-
 
 124 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 body Had picked her up. But Mrs. Gray found some 
 relief for her own grief in comforting her Southern 
 sister. She took her to the crowded hotel. She man 
 aged to find a quiet corner where she persuaded her 
 to eat and drink and afterward to take a little rest. 
 Then with a heart-pang which it would seem so short 
 an acquaintance could never develop, Ariadne bade 
 the kind woman farewell and started out once more 
 on her search. She walked down the main street and 
 stopped before the first house she came to. 
 
 "Have you any wounded soldiers here? Is one 
 of them named Graf ton . . a Confederate? " she 
 asked of the woman who opened the door.. 
 
 It was a question she put many times that long 
 afternoon. Once in a while she met with a rebuff, 
 but generally she was received with kindness. She 
 was often asked to come in, and rest and partake of 
 refreshment. But always she refused, and plodded 
 up and down, street after street, knocking at door 
 after door, until her weary limbs could scarcely drag 
 her along. 
 
 If Philip could ever know of this he would be 
 proud of her, she felt, if never before. Oh, if Philip 
 only knew! Would Philip ever know anything? 
 Was he alive ? She could not find him. Late in the 
 evening she turned a corner and sank down on the 
 sidewalk. She could go no further. Her head fell 
 forward on her knees. She was completely and 
 utterly exhausted. She had expended the last vestige 
 of her strength and energy. Human nature could not 
 be driven further even by so imperative a thing as her 
 heart. One or two passers-by stared at her curiously. 
 But no one spoke to her and she did not look up. She 
 was dying, she thought, and she prayed it might 
 be quickly. If Philip were dead death would be a 
 meeting. Presently a shuffling barefoot pattered
 
 THE SEARCH AMONG THE SLAIN 125 
 
 softly upon the sidewalk. A man stopped by her 
 side. She heard a voice in her ear, a familiar voice, 
 exclaiming: 
 
 " Gawd a 'mighty, who dat? " 
 
 A hand was laid upon her shoulder. She looked 
 up. 
 
 " Please, ma'am . . ." Then there was a sud 
 den cry. " Hit's Miss 'Adny, Miss 'Adny, bless de 
 Lord ! Oh, Miss 'Adny, Miss 'Adny ! " 
 
 In wild excitement the girl sprang to her feet, 
 finding a sudden renewal of vigour from what source 
 she could not tell. There on his knees before her, 
 clutching her dress, kissing her hands, sobbing, cry 
 ing, was Jeff! Not the sleek, prosperous, well-fed 
 young black of the plantation days, but Jeff, thin, 
 dirty, hungry, barefoot, ragged ! Jeff, who had been 
 with Philip ! He would know ! 
 
 "Jeff," cried the girl, "tell me, where is Mr. 
 Grafton?" 
 
 " Oh, Miss 'Adny, I'se so glad ter see you. I des 
 ben a-prayin' fer de sight of you . . ." 
 
 "Tell me, tell me!" 
 
 " He's up yander, Miss 'Adny, in dat ar big house 
 on de hill. Dey put him in dar; dey wouldn't lef 
 me stay wid him. Dey druv me off. When Marse 
 Phil cha'ge up dat hill at dem Yankees an' he didn't 
 come back no mo', I didn't wait fer ter git back wid 
 Marse Rob't. I des tek to de mount'ns an' I reck 
 oned dey mought be er fotchin' him heah, an' I fin' 
 out dat Marse Phil is brung to dat big house, 
 an' . . ." 
 
 "Is he dead?" 
 
 " No, but I spec' he moughty nigh it. He's des 
 a-pinin' and a-pinin' fer you." 
 
 " Show me the way! " cried Ariadne, the fatigues 
 of the past dropping from her like a cast-off garment.
 
 126 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 In a few moments she followed the ragged negro 
 through a large yard shaded with great chestnut trees. 
 Her hand trembled, not from weakness, but excite 
 ment, so that she could hardly strike the knocker 
 against the plate upon the door underneath the white- 
 pillared porch. 
 
 " He asked for me, you say, Jeff? " 
 
 " He mus' a-done it, Miss 'Adny," said Jeff. " No 
 body aint tole me so, but I des knows dat he's des 
 cryin' fer you. Many a time I done see him tek a 
 look at yo' picture in dat locket by de camp fiar." 
 
 " What Iccket? " asked Ariadne, but she had no 
 time to pursue an investigation, for the door opened. 
 
 A tall, beautiful woman stood before her. She 
 was as different from Ariadne as it was possible for 
 a woman to be, a splendid, glorious creature, blue- 
 eyed, bright-haired, cheeks that in happier days had 
 gloried with colour, although now the pallid brush 
 of trouble had washed them white. 
 
 " Madam," said a low, pleasant voice, expectantly. 
 
 "I . . I am looking for a soldier . . called 
 Graf ton. A Confederate soldier. Is he here? " 
 
 " He is." 
 
 "Is he alive?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Thank God ! Where is he ? " 
 
 " In that room yonder." 
 
 Ariadne started forward. The woman interposed 
 a hand and would have questioned her further. Her 
 eyes were bright with an emotion of some kind; what 
 it was Ariadne did not know or care. 
 
 " I have come from Richmond to see him," she 
 cried, and brushed aside the woman without a mo 
 ment's hesitation. Followed by Jeff she entered the 
 room. 
 
 At last there, indeed, lay Philip Grafton. He was
 
 THE SEARCH AMONG THE SLAIN 127 
 
 burning with fever, his eyes were like stars. He was 
 moving his head uneasily on the pillow. One of his 
 wasted hands lay on the coverlid. He was deathly 
 white and terribly thin. Ariadne stopped, appalled. 
 She clasped her hands. A long silence followed. 
 Her bosom rose and fell, her body shook. Jeff flung 
 himself upon the floor at his master's feet. 
 
 " Oh, Marse Phil ! " he sobbed, " doan you know 
 me? Gawd a-mighty, heh's Miss 'Adny come fer 
 you, Marse Phil." 
 
 The woman who had admitted these two had fol 
 lowed them and stood in the doorway of the room 
 watching. She did not understand who this strange 
 girl could be, but her heart sank with a sudden pre 
 monition of disaster. 
 
 "Miss 'Adny?" she asked inquiringly, stepping 
 forward. " You are a friend, a relation, of this 
 gentleman, perhaps?" 
 
 " Madam," gasped Ariadne brokenly, " I am his 
 wife!"
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 REVELATIONS 
 
 THE words smote Kathleen like a blow. Like one 
 stunned she stared in silent amazement at the figure 
 of the other woman. Incapable of movement for 
 the moment, she stood rooted to the spot watching 
 Ariadne with the fascination of a charmed bird. 
 Surprise, resentment, hatred of Ariadne, not Graf- 
 ton succeeded each other in her heart and were 
 expressed in her mobile countenance. She had never 
 thought of this possibility, and the shock of the, to 
 her, abrupt disclosure was almost more than she 
 could bear. His wife ! This, then, was the faith 
 fulness of which she had dreamed, and she had even 
 found her picture over his heart ! How could that 
 be since he was married to another? 
 
 Grafton had either been delirious or in a state of 
 coma since she had received him in her home, but 
 his talk senseless raving though it was had always 
 been of her. Once or twice she had caught words 
 of endearment, caressive terms with which she had 
 not been familiar from his lips, and she had wondered 
 and sought some explanation of them, but not long. 
 The burden of his speech had been for her, of her, 
 of her beauty, her cruelty, his love and now his wife 
 bent over him! 
 
 Kathleen hated the South ; she hated its cause, she 
 disliked the Southern people. But, most of all, she 
 hated Ariadne. If love can spring full-armed from 
 the human heart in an instant, so can its opposite 
 make an immediate place for itself in the human soul. 
 
 128
 
 REVELATIONS 129 
 
 What right had this slender, pale-faced Southern 
 woman to rob her of Philip's love, what right? 
 But stay. What right had she, Kathleen, to crave 
 Philip Grafton's love? She had driven him from 
 her, she had broken the engagement. She had, so 
 she had declared, put him out of her heart forever. 
 She had affected to despise him as she had rejected 
 him, and, furthermore, she had but Ariadne was 
 speaking. Kathleen concentrated her attention on 
 this most unwelcome visitor. 
 
 Since she answered that question with one rapid 
 glance toward Kathleen, Ariadne had not looked at 
 the other woman. She had only stared and stared at 
 her dying husband. 
 
 " Oh, Philip, Philip ! " she murmured softly, " to 
 see you here! You do not know me. You don't 
 know how I have tried to live for you, for you! 
 How I have loved you. If you could only know that 
 I am here! If I could only tell you once more be 
 fore you leave me how I love you ! You were so 
 good to me always. If you could only speak just 
 one word to tell me again that you love me! . . 
 your wife . . Philip, Philip ! 
 
 Her words ran on softly, brokenly, regardless of 
 who might hear her. It was the cry of a soul voiced 
 for the dead which could make no answer. There 
 were death and destruction in the heart of one of 
 the listeners of whom Ariadne was so oblivious. 
 Kathleen could endure it no longer. Her face 
 flamed. Forgetful for the moment that Grafton lay 
 dying apparently, she stepped quickly forward and 
 laid her hand upon her rival's arm. It was well 
 that she did so, for Ariadne could stand no more. 
 She sank, a limp inert figure, in the arms of the 
 other woman. She had collapsed utterly in a dead 
 faint.
 
 130 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 It was a curious situation for the mocking Fates. 
 The woman who loved Philip Grafton and the 
 woman he loved stood over his senseless, dying body 
 holding in her arms she who was his wife inert, 
 unconscious, helpless. Kathleen was a strong woman, 
 superbly vigorous. Ariadne could not be com 
 pared to her in that. There was something fierce 
 in the gesture with which the Northern woman caught 
 the Southern. For a second her arms tightened about 
 her in obedience to an angry, hateful impulse, which 
 was gone in the instant. Ariadne was a woman in 
 trouble. All the goodness in Kathleen's soul and 
 there was much came to the surface at once. 
 
 " Here ! " she cried sharply to the dazed, be 
 wildered negro boy, " help me. Take her feet. We 
 will lay her on that lounge yonder." 
 
 Jeff had been a slave all his life, but he had never 
 been so imperiously spoken to before. 
 
 " Yas'm," he answered, moving with astonish 
 ing celerity to obey her command. 
 
 Between the two they got Ariadne on the sofa. 
 Bidding Jeff look to his master, who was never left 
 alone, Kathleen loosened Ariadne's gown, applied 
 restoratives, bathed her face, chafed her hands, used 
 every expedient that the homely treatment of the 
 day gave her knowledge of, to restore her to con 
 sciousness. The shock to Ariadne had been a severe 
 one, and it was some little time before she opened her 
 dark eyes and looked in bewilderment into the blue 
 ones bending over her. But with consciousness 
 memory came with a rush. 
 
 ' You are very good to me," she murmured, " but 
 I must go to Philip." 
 
 She strove to rise, but Kathleen's firm hand kept 
 her down. 
 
 " Lie still," she said sternly, " for a few moments
 
 REVELATIONS 131 
 
 at least." She looked toward the bed. " There 
 has been no change. My God . ." her voice rose 
 almost to a cry . . " how I have watched him ! 
 There has been no change for days." 
 
 " If it means so much to you," said Ariadne, notic 
 ing, although not comprehending, the depth of feel 
 ing in the reply, " think what it means to me. I . 
 I am his wife " why that damnable iteration? 
 Kathleen could have struck her ! " and I love him 
 so. Let me go to him I " 
 
 " You are weak, ill. Have you had anything to 
 eat?" 
 
 " Something at noon. There was a kind Northern 
 woman at the hotel. I walked the streets all day 
 long. He wasn't at any of the hospitals or at the 
 Dead House. No one knew of him. How can I 
 ever thank you for taking him in? " 
 
 " I was glad to do it. You haven't asked what my 
 name is." 
 
 " I do not need to know it to know that you have 
 been an angel of mercy and kindness to one I love, 
 but I should like to know it that I may never forget 
 to remember you in my prayers." 
 
 " My name is Manning, Mrs. George Manning." 
 
 " I have heard Philip mention that name," said 
 Ariadne; " he was a college friend, was he not? " 
 
 " Yes, and he is now a colonel in the Massachusetts 
 line. He sent Phil . . Mr. Grafton here." 
 
 " Did you know my husband before the war? " 
 
 " I had met him," replied Kathleen evasively. 
 " But you must not talk any more now. I shall go 
 and get you something to eat. Every woman in the 
 town is in the hospitals. I gave up my own servants 
 for that purpose with the rest. I have only one 
 woman and a hired man or two and that woman 
 shared the watch over . . your . ." Kathleen
 
 132 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 could not frame the word " over Mr. Grafton. 
 She is asleep now, and her rest is sacred." 
 
 " Thank you," said Ariadne, sitting up. " I will 
 take charge now. You can devote yourself to your 
 own people. Your maid and I ..." 
 
 " No one shall relieve me of my charge," cried 
 Kathleen. 
 
 " It is very good of you, but I am his wife." 
 
 Ariadne looked up fearlessly at the other woman. 
 She had no cause for alarm. She did not in the 
 slightest degree understand the true situation. She 
 wondered, of course, at the other's voice and man 
 ner, but she set it down to ways and customs with 
 which she was not familiar. Ariadne's life had been 
 a very circumscribed one. The plantation, the quiet 
 years at Richmond, Philip, had been her horizon. 
 It takes a great man or a great love to fill the horizon 
 of a woman's vision and Ariadne's was a great 
 love. Kathleen put strong constraint upon herself 
 and kept back the answer that rushed to her lips. As 
 she turned to leave the room Ariadne stopped her. 
 
 " My husband's man, Jeff here, is an admirable 
 cook. He can do almost everything, in fact, and he 
 will be glad to help you." 
 
 Kathleen turned her eyes full upon the negro, who 
 waited near the foot of his master's bed. He looked 
 anything but capable or efficient. 
 
 " John," she said in a puzzled way, referring to 
 her hired man, " said there had been a vagrant negro 
 here inquiring for this officer. Why didn't you de 
 clare yourself ? " 
 
 * 'Deed, my lady, I didn't know wat mought 
 happen to me. I 'uz afeer'd dem Yankees mought 
 clap me right inter de prison, an' I was des projekin* 
 round der to git sum way to see Marse Phil heah an' 
 den to fotch Miss 'Adny. I knowed he'd nebber
 
 REVELATIONS 133 
 
 lib widout de HT Mistis'. I see him w'en he 
 didn't think I lookin', an' he ain't ca'in' nohow, 
 w'en he tek out dat HP locket an' look at de paintin' 
 an' shek he haid an' sigh des lak he gret heart mos' 
 ready fer to bus'. I knowd how he done lub liP 
 Mistis heah. He ain't sayin' much 'bout her an' he 
 eyes fill wid tears. But he doan cry, he jest shet he 
 mouf an' . . ." 
 
 " Jeff, what are you saying? Mister Philip has no 
 picture of me? " 
 
 " 'Deed he had,ma'am; I done see hit." 
 Ariadne looked toward the other woman in be 
 wilderment. "What does he mean?" she asked. 
 
 " My dear madam, how should I know? " began 
 Kathleen, who knew well enough what was about to 
 happen. Indeed, into her mind light had come. She 
 had noted the locket when Philip had been brought 
 to her and had seen it often while she dressed the 
 wound in his shoulder. She knew that locket, too; 
 it was her own. Once she had yielded to temptation 
 and looked to see if it still contained her picture a 
 wrong deed, but only those who have been in such 
 a situation might censure; only those who have felt 
 such an appeal, blame. So this wife knew nothing 
 of the locket her husband wore? That was the first 
 point that struck Kathleen. In that locket was the 
 face of the woman whom he had loved before he 
 had married this other. He loved her still, then. 
 Kathleen looked swiftly, eagerly into the face of the 
 other woman in sudden suspicion. 
 
 " Tell me," she cried, " are you really his wife! " 
 Another time Ariadne would have resented such 
 a question with righteous indignation, but there was 
 something below all this which she could not fathom. 
 This woman acted so strangely. The question meant 
 something. What? She would try to find out.
 
 i 3 4 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " I am," she replied firmly. 
 
 " But you are so young! " 
 
 " I was just sixteen when he married me, and he 
 was to claim me after the war was over." 
 
 She could hardly explain why she made that last 
 statement. Her relations to Grafton were no con 
 cern of this strange woman's yet Ariadne would not 
 sail under false colors a moment. Something con 
 strained her to add that explanation. 
 
 " And the war is not over," cried Kathleen, a bit 
 ter smile of triumph upon her lips. " I understand it 
 now." 
 
 " Understand what? There is some mystery here, 
 madam. I demand to know it! " 
 
 One of those swift revulsions of feeling to which 
 women are prone came over Kathleen, who was in 
 many ways a creature of impulse, and for whose 
 alternations of thought and action there was another 
 excuse. Her heart was full of sudden pity for the 
 poor unclaimed, unloved wife. 
 
 " Don't ask," she said; " let me persuade you. Lie 
 down once more; you are not strong." 
 
 " I am strong enough for anything that concerns 
 my husband." 
 
 " Have it your own way, then," said Kathleen, who 
 had been standing between Ariadne and the bed. 
 She now stepped aside and pointed to Grafton. Ari 
 adne walked over to the bed and bent over her hus 
 band, the unconscious subject of all this strife. She 
 folded back the sheet, opened the breast of his night 
 shirt, shuddered at the sight of the bandages, and 
 there lay a locket. A little gold locket shaped like a 
 heart. She had never seen it; she did not know what 
 it contained. 
 
 " Yas'm, dat's hit," said Jeff, who had followed the 
 scene with interest, although he comprehended little
 
 REVELATIONS 135 
 
 of it; " dat's de ve'y one. I done see him kiss hit 
 an' . . ." 
 
 Ariadne closed the shirt and drew back the cover. 
 
 u Don't you want to see the picture inside? " asked 
 Kathleen. 
 
 " No," said Ariadne, wrenching the statement 
 from quivering lips; " it is my husband's secret. I 
 should not dream of opening that locket now." 
 
 But Ariadne was doubly bereaved now. She had 
 never had a picture taken that would go in a locket 
 of that size. She knew instinctively that it could 
 not be her likeness that her husband had stared at 
 and kissed so often. She jumped to the conclusion 
 that it might be that of Kathleen Kirkwood, whose 
 name had been so frequent in those latterday letters 
 from college. Yet Grafton was the soul of honour 
 he had sworn there was nothing between them. 
 Had he deceived her? She could no longer doubt 
 it. Love, faith, hope all went from Ariadne in 
 that moment. Grafton was dying. She could have 
 endured that, this wife in name only, if she could 
 have believed that he loved her. It was evident now 
 that he did not. She might have sustained the loss 
 of his affection if she could have cherished his name 
 in honour. Even that was denied her ! No sudden 
 death warrant read in the midst of life, joy, peace, 
 health, strength, could have shocked her more. 
 
 So it was for this recreant she had striven to make 
 herself a good wife! For this deceiver she had 
 cherished such high ideals, which she had striven so 
 hard to follow ! Was it for this revelation that she 
 had overcome obstacles, that she had pleaded with 
 two Presidents and braved dangers and difficulties 
 without limit? Was it in search for this traitor she 
 had agonised in the hospitals? Had walked street 
 after street searching for him until she dropped?
 
 136 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 Ariadne was of finer fibre than the other woman. 
 The temptation that urged her to look In that locket 
 was greater than that felt by Kathleen, but she did 
 not look. The other woman watched her eagerly. 
 She had anticipated a moment of triumph. Ari 
 adne had frustrated that expectation. Well, she 
 should be made to look! Brushing aside the unre 
 sisting wife, Kathleen in turn approached the pros 
 trate figure. Ariadne watched her, scarcely conscious 
 in the blinding agony in her soul of what she was 
 about. Kathleen nervously drew down the sheet, 
 opened the shirt, lifted the locket. Then Ariadne 
 realised. 
 
 " I forbid you to touch it ! " she cried. What 
 ever happened she was still Philip's wife, and while 
 he lay there helpless, hers was the decision in mat 
 ters in which he was involved. She laid her hand 
 upon the shoulder of the other woman as she spoke, 
 but Ariadne's spirit, great though it was, was no 
 match for Kathleen's strength backed by her fierce 
 anger and jealousy. 
 
 ' You shall see it ! " she cried vehemently. Her 
 fingers found the spring. "Look! " She detached 
 it from the chain and held it open before the eyes 
 of the other woman. 
 
 For a moment Ariadne tried to close her eyes. She 
 thanked God afterward that she had succeeded in 
 doing so, but no movement of the eyelid could be 
 quick enough to prevent her recognising the face in 
 the locket as that of the woman who thrust it before 
 her. 
 
 1 You I "she cried. 
 
 " I! It's my picture! My locket! He looked at 
 it in camp, your husband. He kissed it there! He 
 thought of me ! " 
 
 "Gawd a'mighty!" gasped Jeff, perceiving now
 
 REVELATIONS 137 
 
 whither his indiscreet babbling had tended, " I 
 thought . . I thought it was . . ." 
 
 "Silence! " interrupted Kathleen, who would not 
 have her triumph spoiled by any such interruption. 
 " He loves me, he loved me from the very first ! Not 
 you ! See, the evidence ! " 
 
 She shook the little damning trinket before the 
 Southern girl. Ariadne started and stared at the 
 woman and the locket. Still she did not under 
 stand. 
 
 " Who are you? " she asked at last. 
 
 * The woman he loves ! " 
 
 " Your name, your real name? " 
 
 " Kathleen," said a faint voice from the pillow, 
 " for God's sake don't cast me off because I must 
 go with the South ! I can't help that any more . . 
 than . . loving you." 
 
 The feeble voice died away. It was as if fate itself 
 had spoken. No more startling could have been the 
 speech of Bacon's bronzed head. The two women 
 listened to that voice from the dead in silence. 
 
 " I am . . I was Kathleen Kirkwood," said the 
 elder woman at last. 
 
 " But you . . you said your name was 
 Manning." 
 
 Kathleen's face flamed with colour. She had for 
 gotten it! 
 
 " And do you, a married woman, love my hus 
 band? " persisted Ariadne. 
 
 What was the use of denying it ? 
 
 " Yes," said Kathleen. 
 
 "Shame!" 
 
 " Spare me your comment, madam." 
 
 " And does my husband, a married man, love 
 you?" 
 
 " I believe so; I hope so."
 
 138 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " Oh, my God, my God, why don't You strike me 
 dead? That I should live to hear this! " 
 
 "Miss 'Adny, Miss 'Adny! ' cried Jeff, clumsily 
 stepping forward, flashing a look of hatred at the 
 other woman. Ariadne turned to him. 
 
 " And you say that he used to look at that locket 
 . . to kiss it?" 
 
 " No, 'deed, I was mistooken, Miss 'Adny. I 
 nebber see him wid no locket, 'deed, I ain't . . ." 
 
 " It is a kindly lie, Jeff, but I wish the truth now." 
 
 " Well, den, Miss 'Adny, yas'm," answered the 
 negro desperately. " I wish ter Gawd I done got 
 shot befo' young Marse Phil come heah." 
 
 " But he swore to me on his word of honour that 
 there was nothing between you," said Ariadne, turn 
 ing to the other woman. 
 
 " He told the truth," said Kathleen in answer to 
 the mute appeal to the other's statement. Another 
 swift change in her feelings had taken place. She 
 was sorry and ashamed. ' There was nothing. I 
 was a foolish girl," she went on. " I told him he 
 would have to give up the South or me. I didn't 
 know. I thought I could persuade him. I've never 
 seen him nor heard from him since that day." She 
 made this admission grudgingly. Yet she could do 
 no other. She, too, would fain defend Grafton's 
 honour, even at the expense of her triumph in his 
 love. 
 
 " You don't know the gentlemen of Virginia," 
 said Ariadne proudly; "they prize honour above 
 everything, even love." 
 
 "Is that an evidence?" cried Kathleen, angry 
 again, pointing to the prostrate figure. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, and although I . . I know he 
 doesn't . . love me . . how could he . . you 
 are so beautiful . . and I am nothing." Kathleen
 
 REVELATIONS 139 
 
 bit her lip. " Yet he told me the truth. It was 
 broken off; there was nothing between you. He saw 
 how much I . . I loved him." 
 
 There was great relief in Ariadne's voice. Philip 
 did not love her, but he had spoken truly. Some of 
 her faith came back to her, and she thanked God for 
 it. If she had to choose between a lost love and a 
 lost faith, she would have let her heart be the sufferer. 
 She let Kathleen see that, too. There was no veiling 
 of passions now between these women. They had 
 got down to things elemental and simple in this great 
 crisis. Their hearts were naked to each other, and 
 even Jeff was an unconsidered trifle. 
 
 " He had lost you," Ariadne continued, justify 
 ing Philip to herself and to the other woman. Her 
 husband might love whom he would, whom he must, 
 she thought, but no one should impugn his honour. 
 She reproached herself that she had done so in her 
 heart for a moment. " I see it all, now," she said. 
 " He . . thought he could make me happy . . 
 and Grandfather happy. So he married me. He was 
 always kind to me. I am glad to have my trust in 
 him restored. Now . . I . . I must take him 
 away." 
 
 " You cannot," said Kathleen bluntly. " It would 
 be certain death to move him." 
 
 " Poor Philip, and will life hereafter be so pleas 
 ant to you that you crave it?" thought Ariadne 
 swiftly. " You are right," she said at last. " I sup 
 pose he must stay here and . . ." 
 
 " And you must also." 
 
 "And eat your bread, accept your hospitality?" 
 
 " But think! Could anything drive you from the 
 side of your husband now? " pleaded the Northern 
 woman, somewhat strangely eager to keep Ariadne 
 there.
 
 i 4 o THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " I have no money ; I have spent it all getting here. 
 But here is my watch. It is worth a great deal of 
 money. Philip gave it to me. That will pay you." 
 
 " Do you think I wish pay, that I would take any 
 thing? " cried Kathleen violently, wishful to strike 
 the outstretched hand. 
 
 " Madam," said Ariadne, with a sudden blaze of 
 
 Eassion, " I will leave the house this instant un- 
 !ss . . ." 
 
 Kathleen realised the situation. The woman must 
 stay with her husband now that there had been such 
 a revelation between them. There was no other way. 
 
 " Very well," she said, " although I shall give 
 it to charity I must let you have your own way." 
 
 " Thank you," said Ariadne. 
 
 She sat down by the side of the bed and took her 
 husband's hand in her own. 
 
 " You will not prevent me from helping you to 
 nurse him? " queried Kathleen, gone suddenly hum 
 ble. There was something so desperately hopeless, 
 crushed about Ariadne's look that it actually ap 
 pealed to the other woman. The triumph had been 
 such a sorry affair, after all. 
 
 " No," said the wife, " you he loves and your 
 presence may help him . . I . . I shall assist 
 you. I shall do what you say." 
 
 " I shall leave you alone with him for a little while, 
 then," said Kathleen. " Come, Jeff." 
 
 She walked out quickly and closed the door, and no 
 one knew what the effort cost her. She pictured 
 Ariadne bending over her husband and pressing 
 kisses upon his brow. She could almost hear her 
 whispered endearments. It was torture to her, tor 
 ture the more keen because all the time her conscience 
 smote her at the thought of that brave and gallant 
 soldier on the field, who had trusted her and her
 
 REVELATIONS 141 
 
 honour, whose note committed his whilom friend to 
 her care. The note lay on her secretary, where she 
 had carelessly tossed it as she found it in her pocket 
 the day after Grafton's arrival. She had betrayed 
 her husband's trust, in thought at least. She had 
 betrayed herself to this woman, Grafton's wife! 
 With a bosom wrung and torn with conflicting emo 
 tions she sank down before that secretary and 
 dropped her head upon the soldierly scrawl, written 
 almost in blood as it were, which carried the love 
 and confidence of her husband, and sobbed and 
 sobbed, while Jeff, with that instinctive good breed 
 ing which slaves sometimes caught from their masters, 
 softly left the room. 
 
 But Ariadne did not weep. She only looked 
 piteously at her husband with every hope, every aspi 
 ration gone. She would have prayed, had it been 
 possible, that she might change places with him lying 
 there still and dying on the bed. The fountains of 
 the great deeps within her were suddenly dried up 
 and her soul had become an arid waste of mute ex 
 pressionless sorrow. The head on the pillow moved 
 uneasily and turned in her direction. 
 
 " Little sweetheart," came the words brokenly. 
 She bent forward in one flash of hope instantly gone. 
 There was no recognition in the wild eyes that met 
 her own. " If I could only have loved her," the 
 fevered voice ran on, " Ariadne . . ." 
 
 And it was the first time that he had mentioned 
 her name since he had been stricken down upon that 
 fatal hill.
 
 BOOK THREE 
 Kathleen
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE DOUBLE TRUST 
 
 THEREAFTER a strange wrestle with death began; 
 two women, their differences in abeyance, fighting for 
 the life of Philip Grafton. A truce, definite and 
 clearly understood, although its provisions were not 
 committed to writing or made the subject of protocols, 
 subsisted between them. Kathleen's strong common 
 sense and Ariadne's sweet reasonableness brought 
 about a modus vivendi. 
 
 At first Ariadne had peremptorily refused to leave 
 the bedside of her husband. From a perfectly natural 
 feeling of delicacy, Kathleen, who had been putting 
 strong constraint upon herself, had hesitated to 
 urge her to take any rest even. But such a persistent 
 watch as the wife sought to keep was impossible to 
 nature. Ariadne would have become ill if something 
 had not broken the deadlock. The initiative came 
 from the older woman. 
 
 " I understand how you feel, madam," she said 
 after some hard thinking, " but you must see that the 
 watch over your " she could not frame that decid 
 ing word " over Mr. Grafton must be divided. 
 If there should be a change of any sort, any change 
 for better or for worse, if he should regain conscious 
 ness during my hours of duty, I will summon you 
 instantly." 
 
 " You will surely do so ? " asked Ariadne, search 
 ing the other woman's face with wistful glance. 
 
 " I give you my word of honour."
 
 i 4 6 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " There is no need, I believe you. It must be as 
 you say. I will go and get rest, if I can." 
 
 " You may depend upon me, madam. I shall keep 
 faith." 
 
 " You are not keeping faith with your own hus 
 band," murmured the tired Ariadne, quite uncon 
 scious for the moment that she was voicing her 
 thoughts. 
 
 " How dare you ! " cried Kathleen, crimson with 
 anger. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the gentle Southern 
 woman deprecatingly. " I did not mean to speak 
 aloud, but what I said is true and . . he, too, was 
 faithless . . almost." She turned toward her hus 
 band as if to comprehend him in the compact of 
 broken faith. 
 
 " If you only knew I . . how much . . we 
 cared . . before . ." began Kathleen impul 
 sively. 
 
 " Do you think," said Ariadne, " that I do not 
 know what love is . . and unrequited love, at 
 that? Yet . . ." 
 
 " And do you think," cried Kathleen, " that I am 
 not struggling against it now? I wish with all my 
 heart that I had never seen him again! I am mar 
 ried to Colonel Manning. He is kindness and devo 
 tion to me itself. He is fighting the battles of his 
 country now. It was he and my brother who sent " 
 she forced the word this time " your husband to 
 me. They trusted me. For God's sake don't stand 
 and look at me like a white-faced conscience ! You 
 know how you loved him. Try to understand . . 
 me." 
 
 The slender, youthful Ariadne, so straight, so 
 dauntless, was the stronger and older, after all. The 
 burden of the other woman's wayward passion was
 
 THE DOUBLE TRUST 147 
 
 upon her. She put out her hand and drew Kathleen 
 toward her. 
 
 ' You poor woman," she said, comprehending and 
 pitying another's sorrow through her own suffering 
 the true precious jewel of adversity " I do under 
 stand. May God help you and turn your heart to 
 your own husband." 
 
 " And may he turn Philip's heart." Ariadne 
 winced as Kathleen said this, but the Northern 
 woman simply could not finish the sentence. " May 
 God help me," she murmured in echo of the other's 
 plea. 
 
 "He will, He will!" 
 
 " I think you are an angel," said Kathleen, bow 
 ing her head on her younger companion's shoulder. 
 
 Matters were on a practicable footing thereafter. 
 By tacit consent they refrained from discussing their 
 feelings toward Philip. Their conversation was at 
 first confined entirely to his condition and the steps 
 to be taken to save his life and promote his recovery. 
 They met only at the table, for while one was awake 
 the other slept, but two women could not be thrown 
 together the way these two women were without 
 entering into conversation upon other subjects, es 
 pecially as the object of their common solicitude grew 
 better although still not yet in his right senses. The 
 doctor gave them hope that he would soon return to 
 consciousness and that his convalescence would be 
 speedy and practically certain. 
 
 Gradually there developed a constant interchange 
 of opinions between them about the sole question 
 after Philip that was uppermost in their hearts, 
 that was uppermost in all hearts in those days, the 
 war between the sections. Neither made the slight 
 est effort to convert the other to her way of belief, 
 yet the discussion did much to ameliorate prejudice
 
 148 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 and soften animosity in both women. Differences of 
 opinion seemed small things anyway in the presence 
 of a precious life hanging in the balance. Each 
 woman did the other good. 
 
 It was fortunate, from one point of view, that 
 Grafton continued in such desperate case, for the ir 
 reconcilable differences between the two, growing out 
 of their common devotion to the one man, were held 
 in abeyance after the first shock had passed because 
 of their intense desire for his recovery. If he died, 
 the terrible bereavement would make all their sor 
 rows faint, and there would be no longer cause for 
 strife between them ; if he lived, the common passion 
 would add to the anguish in both their hearts, and in 
 Grafton's, too, they both realised, but for the present 
 they thought only of him. The future must take care 
 of itself. It would be time to decide when the mo 
 ment arose. Each woman sought only to live in the 
 present, in her hope for Grafton. 
 
 Most of the soldiers wounded in the war received 
 but indifferent care and suffered from lack of atten 
 tion, but no man was ever watched and served as 
 Grafton. The shrewd old doctor, pleased at the un 
 usual situation, with the North and South both urg 
 ing him on, devoted his best efforts to the case, and 
 finally announced to them that in all probability 
 Grafton would recover his consciousness shortly, and, 
 if no complications set in, in a brief time he would be 
 on the road to convalescence. Moved by a common 
 impulse of joy and thanksgiving, the two women 
 turned and clasped hands, forgetting all else for the 
 moment but that. 
 
 That night Ariadne, who was not on watch, spent 
 the hours deciding what she should do when her hus 
 band became conscious and out of danger, and mak 
 ing some preparations required by the decision to
 
 THE DOUBLE TRUST 149 
 
 which she came. The necesssity for acting on her 
 conclusion came upon her sooner than she had antici 
 pated. The two women were at breakfast together 
 in the long, old-fashioned dining-room with its pleas 
 ant outlook upon the broad fields of the farm, the 
 administration of which Kathleen, in the absence of 
 her brother the two being without father or mother 
 had taken upon herself. The woman who relieved 
 them in the sick chamber while they took their meals 
 together came suddenly into the room. 
 
 " He's awake, ma'am," she said in great excite 
 ment, looking toward her mistress. " He's been 
 
 . leastways he opened his eyes and wanted to 
 know where he was, and I told him not to speak, that 
 I'd fetch somebody that would explain." 
 
 The two women looked at each other in silence. 
 What would happen now? It was Kathleen who 
 spoke first. To her the woman had reported. 
 
 " Go back to him, and say to him that he is 
 not to talk," she said. " Tell him that the doctor 
 will be here presently and he will explain every 
 thing." 
 
 " And did . . did he say anything . . else?" 
 asked Ariadne. 
 
 " Nothing that I could make out," answered the 
 woman. " He seems to have some arithmetic in his 
 brain. It was something about addin'." 
 
 " Go ! " cried Kathleen angrily. " Why do you 
 leave him alone? " 
 
 The two left behind in the dining-room well under 
 stood that Philip's mind was not bent upon arith 
 metic. Into the mind of the wife flashed the con 
 sciousness that her name had been first upon his 
 lips. She laid her hand upon her heart as if to still 
 its throbbing. Kathleen leaned forward, her arm 
 outstretched upon the table.
 
 150 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 11 1 suppose now you will go to him? " she asked 
 fiercely. 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 "Well, why don't you speak? You are his wife, 
 you have every right; I am nothing." 
 
 " I shall not go to him," returned Ariadne quietly, 
 but her lip trembled. " I shall never go to him 
 again." 
 
 " What do you mean? You are his wife." 
 
 " In name only. I . . I shall never be any 
 thing else." 
 
 " Do you contemplate divorce? " 
 
 "I do not believe in that; but, at least, I shall 
 never trouble him again. I see now that he did not 
 love me. He has never cared for me as . . as a 
 husband should. Oh, yes, he was always good and 
 kind, but it is different. I shall go away and never 
 trouble him again. Perhaps God will have pity upon 
 us and make him free." 
 
 "You don't know what you are saying!" cried 
 Kathleen. "Will you leave him to me?" 
 
 Was there some hidden threat in that question? 
 Ariadne could not tell, but she did the magnanimous 
 thing nevertheless. She stared hard at the older 
 woman, and Kathleen could scarce sustain her gaze, 
 although she was as fearless as a woman should be. 
 
 " Mrs. Manning," said the Southern girl and 
 the word shook Kathleen's determination, " I have 
 known you a very short time, but I have studied you 
 as few women have ever been studied before. I 
 wished to know why Philip loved you " a wan 
 little smile that seemed more like a sob spread across 
 her face " you are beautiful, much better to look 
 at than I, and . . ." 
 
 " You don't know how good-looking you are I " 
 cried Kathleen sharply. Ariadne shook her head.
 
 THE DOUBLE TRUST 151 
 
 " And you are sweet as well. Oh, yes, you have a 
 temper, you are as impulsive as we are accredited 
 with being down South, but you, au fond, are gener 
 ous, loyal, true. Your husband trusted you . 
 and he did well. I, too, leave him in your hands." 
 
 Ariadne was without design, there was no duplicity 
 in her nature. She spoke innocently what was in her 
 sad heart. But not Macchiavelli himself could have 
 made a more artful suggestion as to her course. She 
 would not, could not, stay and fight for Philip's 
 heart. To leave it to Kathleen's innate nobility was 
 the safest way. A woman's intuition will some 
 times insignificise a Solon. 
 
 " But I . . I love him, I tell you ! " answered 
 Kathleen boldly, trying to force the fighting tactics 
 which promised best results for her. 
 
 " You can't help that any more than I can," was 
 the unexpected answer. " That makes no difference. 
 I do not know my husband's heart, it seems, but I 
 know his honour." 
 
 " And you can trust his honour, I suppose, not 
 mine? " 
 
 " Have I not said that I trusted yours? " 
 
 " I would rather you would fight me for his affec 
 tion," said Kathleen, ingenuously revealing another 
 phase of her complex character. 
 
 " Love is not won by fighting," answered Ariadne. 
 " I know Philip's nature. His affections will never 
 change. If it is any comfort to you, he will probably 
 love you until the end of his life, but that is all. He 
 will hold you, his friend's wife, as sacred as he has 
 held me, his own wife." 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " exclaimed Kathleen. " I give him 
 to you." 
 
 " Would I take him from another woman's 
 hand? " cried Ariadne, angered on the instant.
 
 152 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " No ! It is all over between us," she went on more 
 calmly after a little time. " I shall go away without 
 a word to him. I ask you to give me your word of 
 honour. . . ." 
 
 " Will you accept it? " 
 
 " Certainly, or I should not ask it . . that you 
 will not mention, or allow anyone else to mention 
 my presence here? When my hus . . Mr. Graf- 
 ton is well he will be sent to some Northern prison; 
 then he will be exchanged, I hope. At least I shall 
 try to arrange it." 
 
 " But where will you go ? " 
 
 " South, to my own people." 
 
 I' Where, where!" 
 
 " I can tell you no more." 
 
 " Mrs. Grafton," said Kathleen and it was the 
 first time she had so addressed her " I do not know 
 what to say to you. But this I swear: Philip shall 
 never know that that I that I still 
 
 care." 
 
 " Don't promise that," protested Ariadne. * You 
 could not be in his presence now without letting him 
 know, and I need no oaths." 
 
 " You don't know what I can do," answered Kath 
 leen resolutely. Somehow she felt in this moment of 
 parting that she would give anything for the affection 
 and regard of this wronged and suffering Southern 
 woman. 
 
 There was a step in the hall. 
 
 " It's the doctor," exclaimed Ariadne, glad of the 
 interruption. 
 
 Kathleen ran to him and brought him into the din 
 ing-room. 
 
 " He is awake, he is conscious," she cried. 
 
 " Good! " said the doctor; " I expected he would 
 be. Now I think we may call him out of danger.
 
 THE DOUBLE TRUST 153 
 
 With two such nurses as you ladies, we'll soon pull 
 him through." 
 
 " There will be but one, since I am leaving," said 
 Ariadne. 
 
 " You . . what . . God bless my soul ! " 
 cried the doctor, peering at her through his glasses. 
 
 " I am going South now, this morning. Mrs. 
 Manning will look after Mr. Grafton." 
 
 " But . ." began the astonished physician, who 
 knew, of course, that Ariadne was Philip's wife. 
 " You're his wife, ma'am . ." 
 
 " Doctor, there are things I can't tell you," re 
 turned the Southern woman. "Tarn his wife, but 
 it is better that I should not see him, and more, I 
 am going to beg you to promise me upon your word 
 of honour that you will not tell him I have been 
 here." 
 
 " I do not understand," said the puzzled doctor. 
 
 " I know, and it is ungracious to refuse to make 
 any explanation, but my determination is irrevocable, 
 sir." 
 
 The wise physician looked at the straight, daunt 
 less figure of the Southern girl and realised that 
 here was a case where argument would be useless. 
 He bowed his head. 
 
 " I shall respect your wishes," he said. 
 
 " Oh, doctor," cried Kathleen, " can't you make 
 her . . ." 
 
 " Madam," said the man, " here is the spirit of 
 the South. It might be persuaded, it will not be 
 coerced." 
 
 " You have been very good to my husband," 
 continued Ariadne. " I wish I could compensate 
 you . . no, I could never do that, but at least 
 show my appreciation of your kindness and services." 
 
 " Don't mention it, madam," said the physician.
 
 154 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " I am too old to fight and perhaps 'tis best for me 
 to devote my energies to patching up the scars of 
 warfare." 
 
 " You will ever have my gratitude. I shall never 
 forget you in my prayers. I have had so much kind 
 ness in the North. We of the South did not know . . 
 we did not understand." 
 
 " There is kindness everywhere, thank God ! " 
 said the old doctor. 
 
 " And I wish to say," interrupted Kathleen im 
 pulsively, " that I . . I think differently of the 
 South since you have been here." 
 
 " You have been very good to me, too," said 
 Ariadne. 
 
 "I've done nothing," answered the other. 
 
 " Doctor," continued the young wife, " here is a 
 little trinket I wish you to wear to remind you of how 
 I appreciate you and bless you." 
 
 Ariadne detached from a slender chain about her 
 neck a tiny locket and pressed it into the physician's 
 hand. He would have been perhaps unwilling to ac 
 cept it, but he realised that the rejection would give 
 pain to the woman who stood before him, and he 
 could see that she was suffering enough. So he took 
 it without demur. 
 
 " And now good-bye," said Ariadne, putting out 
 her hand to him. 
 
 " My dear," said the old man, coming nearer to 
 her and laying his hand upon her head, " I am an 
 old man, old enough to be your father. Can't you 
 confide in me? " 
 
 Kathleen turned swiftly and went to the other end 
 of the room, where she stood and stared out of the 
 window, clenching her hands and biting her lip. 
 
 "Can't I help you?" went on the doctor 
 persuasively,
 
 THE DOUBLE TRUST 155 
 
 " No one, no one can help me but God," answered 
 Ariadne, in a quivering voice. 
 
 " May He give you His protection, my child," 
 said the old man, laying his hand gently on her head. 
 He kept it there a moment with his face uplifted in 
 prayer and then he turned and softly left the room. 
 
 Ariadne stepped to the outer door. Jeff sat on the 
 porch basking in the warmth of the morning sun. 
 
 "Jeff!" she said. 
 
 ' Yas, Miss 'Adny?" 
 
 " I'm going away. You know something of the 
 state of affairs here?" The boy nodded. "Your 
 master will recover now. I'm going South this morn 
 ing. I do not wish him to know that I have been 
 here." 
 
 " Does I go 'long wid yo', Miss 'Adny? " 
 
 " No, you remain with Mr. Philip. I shall move 
 heaven and earth to have him exchanged, so that 
 probably you will both be South so soon as he is able 
 to travel." 
 
 "'Is you gwine' 'lone? " asked the boy. 
 
 " Alone." Not until that moment did she realise 
 exactly what the word meant. " Alone I came," she 
 said steadily, " and alone I shall go back." 
 
 " Is you gwme to leab him wid dat yuther 'oman? " 
 
 " I leave him to his honour, and hers," said 
 Ariadne, speaking to her heart and not to the humble 
 black man who stood before her. " Here is a letter 
 for Mr. Philip. You are to keep it and not give it to 
 him until he leaves this house. You are not to tell 
 him that I have been here until then. Will you 
 promise me? " 
 
 ' 'Deed I will, Miss 'Adny." 
 
 " Can I depend upon you? " 
 
 " Sartin sho' you kin, Miss. I cross my heart an' 
 bress. I swar I nebber tell him a word 'bout you."
 
 156 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " I believe you, Jeff. Good-bye." 
 
 She extended her hand to him. Jeff took it in both' 
 his great paws and, touched by the honour, shook it 
 vehemently. She slipped a note into the pocket of 
 his tattered jacket, a jacket which Ariadne's needle 
 had made somewhat more presentable than it had 
 been when first he met her. Jeff was as proud as his 
 young mistress, and would not be beholden to the 
 North if he could avoid it. 
 
 Ariadne then went back into the dining-room. The 
 doctor was busy with his patient in the sick-room. 
 Kathleen still stood by the window. Ariadne's bag 
 was packed. She went up to her room, put on her 
 hat, came down through the hall. The room in which 
 her husband lay was opposite the dining-room. No 
 one would ever know the yearning that was in her 
 heart to enter that bed-chamber and take Philip in 
 her arms. She went close to the door and pressed 
 her head against it. She could hear his feeble voice. 
 Terribly weak, yet it was his natural voice speaking, 
 and speaking sanely apparently. She was too far 
 away, he spoke too low, for her to make out what 
 he said. 
 
 Perhaps if she could have distinguished the 
 words she might have hesitated, but as it was, with 
 a prayer to God, which was for the first time in many 
 days, as much for herself as for him, she turned away 
 and entered the dining-room. Kathleen was still star 
 ing out of the window. Ariadne entered softly and 
 stood quietly looking at her for a moment in silence. 
 There was no hatred in her look. Poor Kathleen, 
 she could not help it. Ariadne could forgive any 
 woman for loving Philip. That was not the painful 
 part of the situation. She went over to her and 
 touched her on the shoulder. Kathleen turned 
 around, her face working, her eyes blinded.
 
 'Good-bye,' said Kathleen in a whisper; 'I can't hate 
 you ; I must love you ' '
 
 THE DOUBLE TRUST 157 
 
 " I am going," said Ariadne ; " you were good to 
 me. You will be good to him ? " 
 
 " Stay! " cried the other, stretching out her hands. 
 " He must, he will care . . for you I " 
 
 Ariadne shook her head. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said. 
 
 Kathleen clasped her hand convulsively, and then 
 she dropped it and put her own hands over her face. 
 Ariadne turned away, crossed the room, went down 
 the long hall, stepped upon the porch that porch 
 with the purple clematis twining around its white pil 
 lars, that porch where Philip had declared his love 
 for Kathleen, and received his answer. When 
 Ariadne had crossed that porch and descended its 
 steps the house and its inmates would be behind her. 
 That was her Rubicon. Only before her lay solitude, 
 abandonment, a breaking heart and hope behind. 
 There was something in the fact that made her pause 
 an instant. There was a rush of hurried feet along 
 the hall, a woman's form burst through the door. 
 Ariadne was seized in strong young arms, she was 
 swept against a wildly-beating heart, lips were pressed 
 to her own. 
 
 " Good-bye," said Kathleen in a whisper; " I can't 
 hate you; I must love you. May God help me to 
 do what is right ! " 
 
 As quickly as she had come she was gone. Ariadne, 
 who had stood like a statue, passive, unresponsive, 
 but not indifferent, descended the steps, passed out 
 through the gate and went down the hill alone.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A WRONG AMENDED 
 
 GRAFTON had no conception as to where he was, or 
 how he got there when he opened his eyes upon that 
 bright, cheerful bedroom. His first sensation, after 
 his faculties became controlled, was of the spotless 
 neatness of his surroundings. This was an unusual 
 luxury. For months he had endured the hardships 
 of camp, with its lack of all the refinements of life, 
 and the sweet cleanness of everything about him he 
 realised with grateful feeling of surprise. 
 
 He lay quite still for a few moments, for the 
 woman who had bent over him and whom he had 
 asked where he was had left the room. He could do 
 little more than stare about him. He did not wish to 
 lift his head for the present, nor could he have done 
 it even had he so desired, but from where he lay he 
 could see through the open window the green boughs 
 outside swaying in the gentle breeze. Then his eye 
 took in the characteristics of the room. 
 
 Rooms that are lived in partake of the souls of 
 those whose lives are spent within their confines. 
 This had been Kathleen's chamber before her mar 
 riage. When he had visited the farm before the war 
 she had given it up to him on occasion. He was 
 puzzled. It seemed familiar to him. Where had he 
 seen that high bureau? Those pictures on the walls? 
 There were signs of a woman's touch all about. 
 Could Arjadne, whose name he had tried to speak 
 before he recovered consciousness, have been there? 
 If so, why was she not at his side? Poor little 
 
 158
 
 A WRONG AMENDED 159 
 
 Ariadne! The thought of one woman naturally 
 brought another before him. Kathleen Kirkwood 
 it was her room! His heart was not too feeble to 
 throb under the stimulus of that recognition. He 
 knew the place now. How had he come there? Yes, 
 he recalled the mad charge up that hill, the roar of 
 cannon, the rattling of small arms, the fierce struggle 
 around the flags on the crest. Kirkwood was in the 
 
 Federal army. It must be due to him The 
 
 woman returning to the room interrupted the reverie. 
 
 ' You are to keep still an' don't talk until the 
 doctor comes. He'll be here pretty soon, I guess." 
 
 "What day is it?" 
 
 "July 1 8th." 
 
 " And I have been sick two weeks, then? " 
 
 ' Yes, an' we didn't expect to pull you through, 
 either." 
 
 "Whose house is this?" persisted Philip. He 
 must have assurance on that one point. 
 
 " It's the Kirkwood Farm," answered the woman; 
 " but you're not to talk any more." 
 
 Grafton didn't care to talk any more since he had 
 received that confirmation. He was right, then; it 
 was the home of Kathleen. The fortune of war had 
 brought him into her presence again. Well, the earth 
 was a small place, after all. Who could have thought 
 that he would ever see her after she drove him from 
 her on that summer morning two years ago ? He had 
 been free then now there was his wife. He must 
 be true to Ariadne. He must keep tight rein upon 
 himself. He would be loyal to his wife. Kathleen 
 should never know. Yet in spite of himself his heart 
 exulted in the thought that he was to see her again. 
 He had ample food for thought as he lay there 
 quietly with his eyes closed. He wondered how she 
 looked, how she was. He wondered whether she
 
 160 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 knew He was married. How that thought kept re 
 curring to him. 
 
 He wondered, too, about his own wife. Did she 
 know? Had anyone written to her? Did she believe 
 him dead? A great wave of pity filled his heart as 
 he thought how she must be grieving for him. Alone 
 in Virginia, with miles of bayonets, which neither 
 he nor she could pass, between them. Imminently in 
 the presence of the woman he loved, yet he thought 
 more tenderly and affectionately of his wife than ever 
 before. This was a surprise to him. He could not 
 quite understand it; he did not know whether he 
 was glad or sorry because of it, but his thoughts 
 wavered between the two women. Presently the 
 doctor came in. 
 
 " Well, sir," he said cheerily, " you have had a 
 long siege of it, young man." 
 
 "Yes?" answered Philip inquiringly. "What 
 was the matter with me? " 
 
 " Bullet through the groin, piece of shell through 
 the right arm, another bullet through the right shoul 
 der, and a bad smash on the head that looks as if it 
 might have come from a sabre." 
 
 ; 'Will I get well?" asked the patient. 
 
 " Well, now, I consider that a reflection on my 
 professional skill ! " answered the physician, smiling. 
 " Of course you will get well. With a constitution 
 like yours you could have carried several more pieces 
 of lead and iron without succumbing. But when you 
 are well it will be due more to the excellent nursing 
 of these women than to me." 
 
 " I know," said Philip, " and I am very grateful. 
 When can I see Miss Kathleen?" 
 
 Now the doctor had, of course, learned that Mrs. 
 Manning and Grafton had been old acquaintances. 
 Had he not known Kathleen himself from a child and
 
 A WRONG AMENDED 161 
 
 $ 
 
 been in the habit of calling her Kathleen he would 
 have felt surprise at hearing her so referred to, but 
 he never noticed Philip's remark and answered 
 promptly. 
 
 " You shall see her this morning. You owe her 
 a debt of gratitude, young man." 
 
 " I can guess it," answered Philip. 
 
 " Now," continued the doctor, " you are not to 
 talk much. I shall lay that charge upon your nurse. 
 If you follow my directions I think I can promise you 
 a rapid recovery." 
 
 " I am a soldier, doctor, and accustomed to obey," 
 said Philip. 
 
 "Good! I shall expect you to do so. I shall 
 look in on you this evening. There are so many 
 wounded here that we haven't long to stay with our 
 patients. Good-morning," said the doctor, picking 
 up his bag and turning away. 
 
 "One moment, sir," said Philip. "The battle? 
 Did we win? " 
 
 " You lost it," returned the old man gravely. "But 
 you made the finest charge in history, you Virginians." 
 
 " Did Lee get away? " 
 
 " Safe and sound with all his army, although we 
 tried hard enough to prevent him," he answered as 
 he passed out of the door. 
 
 There was another question Philip had intended 
 to ask, but that could wait until the morrow. The 
 conversation with the doctor had exhausted him not a 
 little. He lay quiet with his eyes closed. The room 
 was very still, so still that the silence at last became 
 oppressive. He opened his eyes and looked up. 
 There bending over him was the girl with the bright 
 hair and the blue eyes, of whose face he had so often 
 dreamed. 
 
 " Kathleen," he whispered, " is it you?"
 
 1 62 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " Yes, Philip." 
 
 He was too weak to see at first how white she 
 was. The colour was gone from her cheeks; her 
 lips were paler than they were wont to be. 
 
 " Did you bring me here? " 
 
 " My brother and . . Colonel Manning . . 
 picked you up on the field and sent you to me." 
 
 " What a trouble I must have been," he 
 murmured. 
 
 "Don't say that! " she replied; "I was glad to 
 help you." 
 
 "A Southerner . . an enemy?" 
 
 " We are no longer enemies, Philip." 
 
 Oh, how her soul yearned toward him ! She could 
 have knelt down and taken his head in her arms ; her 
 heart would fain burst out in passionate tenderness 
 over him. But between her face and his she saw 
 Ariadne, slender, straight, dauntless, and beautiful 
 in her pallor. She clenched her hands and swore that 
 she would be true to her husband, true to Ariadne, 
 true to herself; but it was so hard, so very hard. She 
 did not dream that it would be like this. 
 
 " I must tell you," said Grafton suddenly, " I . . 
 I am married." 
 
 Had he been himself he might have told her more 
 delicately ; but he knew it must be done, and he did it 
 in the shortest, the quickest way. 
 
 ' Yes," said Kathleen, as if the matter were of 
 little or no importance. She divined exactly why he 
 told her, and her matter-of-fact way of receiving his 
 news for she gave no outward sign that her heart 
 was breaking startled him. 
 
 " It was not that I had forgotten you, Kathleen," 
 he began. " But because I ..." He checked 
 himself just in time. This was not loyal to Ariadne. 
 All that was necessary for Kathleen Kirkwood to
 
 A WRONG AMENDED 163 
 
 know was that he was married. " They tell me I have 
 been here two weeks," he continued. 
 
 " Yes," said Kathleen. " And we thought you 
 might be here . . forever." 
 
 " The doctor says it is due to your nursing that I 
 owe my life. I am grateful. I must live . . for 
 Ariadne," he muttered faintly enough; but she heard 
 the name " for Ariadne." 
 
 The woman was gone out of Kathleen's life, from 
 out of Philip's, too. Was the memory of her, the 
 sound of her name, to be ever present? 
 
 " Did you send her any word? " he asked at last. 
 
 Kathleen could not trust herself to speak; mindful 
 of her plighted word to Ariadne she shook her head. 
 
 " Had . . has no message from her reached 
 you?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 " But of course she could not know," he faltered, 
 and there was a great feeling of disappointment in 
 his tone. " I am very grateful to you, though." 
 
 Kathleen felt ashamed to take to herself all that 
 praise, some of which belonged to Ariadne. But she 
 could say nothing; her promise fettered her. The 
 interview was too much for her after what she had 
 gone through. She let her hand fall on Philip's fore 
 head and found that it was cool, the first time in many 
 days. 
 
 " The doctor told me that you were not to talk," 
 she said to him. 
 
 "Don't leave me," pleaded Grafton; " I will be 
 very quiet if you will only stay here." 
 
 Kathleen nodded her head and sat down in the 
 chair near the bed. 
 
 " Not there," said the young man. " Won't you 
 move where I can look at you without turning my 
 head? You know how I used to like to look at you."
 
 164 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 Kathleen moved her chair as he wished and sat 
 there resolutely looking away from him. She was 
 fighting a battle as fierce as any waged between con 
 tending armies a battle in her own soul. There are 
 passions in lonely human hearts which mock those 
 that inhabit the field. Kathleen's heart was a house 
 divided within her. Philip had the larger share, but 
 some of her affection went back to the camp in Vir 
 ginia, where her husband lay with his men, and some 
 of it followed the slender figure of Ariadne the 
 dauntless as she resolutely held her way southward. 
 
 Conflicting passions tore Kathleen's being. There 
 was hope for her. A week since there had been one 
 object in her heart, the man by her side. Now it was 
 just beginning to be different. She sat there a long 
 time fighting her battle in silence. To suffer and to 
 give no sign that is the heroism of woman. By and 
 by the struggle for self-control became insupportable ; 
 she rose from her chair to leave the room. She could 
 not resist one glance at her patient. He was asleep. 
 He had met her eyes when he awakened; upon her 
 his eyes had lingered until he slept. Yet he dreamed 
 of Ariadne ! Kathleen, kneeling by his side, pressed 
 her lips to the pillow on which his head lay. She 
 stood over him, one hand upon her heart, the other 
 outstretched to him in yearning, or benediction, she 
 could not say. She watched him a moment or two 
 and then turned from the room. 
 
 In the library hung a picture of her husband. She 
 knelt down before it and prayed as she had never 
 prayed before, for strength to keep the faith and be 
 a woman true. Then she went back into the sick 
 room again to resume her watch. She was stronger 
 now something of the peace she asked for filled her 
 soul. 
 
 Grafton was awake when she entered, and she con-
 
 A WRONG AMENDED 165 
 
 fronted him with more mastery of herself. She did 
 not shrink when he said that some one must write to 
 his wife. Although she knew that no letter could 
 reach Ariadne now, and that there was no need of 
 one, she humoured him, bringing paper and pen and 
 writing at his dictation. 
 
 I said that peace had begun to be in Kathleen's 
 heart, but it was only a foreshadowing after all, as 
 if in an o'ercast sky there should appear on the 
 far horizon a little gleam of sunlight, as it were, a 
 man's hand. To sit there and take down that letter 
 was the hardest task that had ever fallen to her. 
 
 "My dear wife," said Philip slowly; "I was 
 wounded in Pickett's charge at Gettysburg. Kirk- 
 wood and Manning had me sent here and Miss Kath 
 leen Kirkwood has nursed me back to life." Kathleen 
 paused when she heard that last sentence from his 
 feeble lips. She must tell him of her marriage; he 
 himself had set the example ; yet she hesitated. " I 
 was unconscious until this morning, and the first thing 
 I am writing to you to tell you that I shall get well 
 and to charge you not to worry," he resumed. " I 
 shall seek you as soon as I am exchanged. Miss Kirk- 
 wood is writing this for me. May God keep you." 
 He stopped. 
 
 " Don't you wish to say any more?" asked the 
 woman. 
 
 " That's all," returned the man. " Sign it ' your 
 affectionate husband.' ' 
 
 " Haven't you a word of love? " burst out Kath 
 leen, " to send to that poor child? Think how 
 frantic she must . . ." She stopped. 
 
 "Love, Kathleen?" said Philip; "God help 
 me . . ." 
 
 " Don't say it ! " she interrupted, her voice thrill 
 ing with suppressed emotion.
 
 1 66 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 He stared at her in amazement. The woman who 
 had assisted in nursing him before his wife came now 
 entered the room. 
 
 " Mrs. Manning," she began, delivering herself of 
 some trivial message. The colour came back into 
 Kathleen's face then. She gave the woman her an 
 swer, and when she left the room she turned to face 
 her patient. 
 
 Philip was looking at her with curious intensity. 
 
 " What did she call you? " he asked. 
 
 " Mrs. Manning," answered Kathleen. 
 
 " Are you the wife of George Manning? " 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " When did you marry him? " 
 
 " In September, 1861." 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 " Forgive me," said Grafton at last, " do you love 
 him?" 
 
 He forgot that he had checked his disavowal of 
 affection for Ariadne. He did not realise that his 
 question was an improper one. He had been so ill 
 and was so weak that he was not master of himself. 
 Had he been in possession of his strength and his 
 faculties he would not have presumed to ask such a 
 question. As it was, all the appeal in his soul, all the 
 passion he had repressed for two years rose to his lips 
 and shone in his eyes. It took heroic courage to re 
 sist that eloquent if voiceless pleading. Yet Kathleen 
 rose to the full measure of true womanhood at that 
 moment. 
 
 ' Yes," she answered simply; " I love him." 
 
 " May you be very happy together," said Philip, 
 turning away. 
 
 Ah, yes, Kathleen had, consciously and uncon 
 sciously, grievously wronged Ariadne, but in that 
 supreme moment she made a great atonement.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE CHANGING CURRENTS 
 
 THE desire to have what one cannot have is always 
 keener than the desire to enjoy what one can. With 
 Philip it worked two ways. Kathleen's sharp mono 
 syllable shattered his air castle irrevocably. Al 
 though he had married he had never for one moment 
 imagined that she could do the same. His marriage 
 was so formal an affair, anyway, that at times he 
 almost forgot that he was bound. With her naturally 
 it was different. 
 
 The first pang was jealousy. The next was relief. 
 Philip was not a hero of romance; he was a plain, 
 everyday, practical, honourable young man. He 
 recognised, of course, that Kathleen was always a 
 temptation to him. His common sense told him that 
 the fact that she had married, and married one of 
 his dearest friends, was an added safeguard; and 
 Philip was glad for that. He was glad, too, that he 
 had discovered it as soon as he had. 
 
 The weakness attendant upon the long illness, the 
 slow period of recovery in which a woman's care 
 means so much, bring about more love affairs than 
 any other conditions, comparatively speaking. The 
 trained nurse is not booked for the old maid's station, 
 unless she chooses. A pretty nurse and even a 
 homely one and an ill bachelor, or a widower, very 
 often come to sustain other and sweeter relations than 
 those they originally filled. Many a woman in nurs 
 ing a man back to health has nursed herself into his 
 heart. Such marriages are usually happy, too, for a 
 
 167
 
 1 68 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 man who is worth loving when he is sick is a man 
 indeed! Now that Grafton knew that Kathleen was 
 married, and happily, that she loved her husband, and 
 that her husband was his friend, he would cut out his 
 tongue rather than have allowed himself to allude to 
 any previous engagement, or affection, that had ob 
 tained between them. Grafton had two objects of 
 endeavour before him : first, to get well ; second, not 
 to betray his feeling for Kathleen. Kathleen had 
 two objects also; they were similar to Grafton's to 
 get him well and not to discover to him her own 
 heart. 
 
 Singularly enough the most effectual help that 
 either of them got in their brave endeavour was the 
 memory of Ariadne. There are some affections 
 which grow even with distance and absence. Some 
 natures idealise in separation what seems simple 
 enough in actual touch. Ariadne had been very 
 brave, very generous and very honourable. Often 
 and often when Kathleen could scarcely command 
 herself the brave young Southern woman, so straight, 
 so dauntless, would seem to be standing by her side, 
 giving her help. She could feel the soft touch of 
 restraint upon her arm which she welcomed. She 
 could hear the soft voice say, " I trust him and I 
 trust you." That made her strong. She would be 
 worthy the confidence that had been reposed in her. 
 She would be true to George Manning, and to the 
 Southern woman, and to the innate nobleness of her 
 own soul. With Ariadne's help she conquered. 
 
 Philip in the presence of Kathleen thought often 
 of his wife, thought of her with a genuine feeling of 
 surprise. He had not dreamed that under such cir 
 cumstances Kathleen's presence ! his mind would 
 have recurred so frequently to the woman who bore 
 his name. If he had been asked before to imagine
 
 THE CHANGING CURRENTS 169 
 
 such a situation he would have said that the earth 
 could hold nothing for him but Kathleen. Now he 
 found himself thinking much the same thing of his 
 wife. 
 
 The one thing that retarded his recovery was the 
 fact that he had heard nothing from her. As he 
 grew better he had painfully written to her, not once, 
 but several times, and the love Kathleen had missed 
 from the first letter he dictated to her was in these 
 other missives. He put it in, himself, as he fancied, 
 from duty and pity. These things are akin to love, 
 they say; yet Grafton did not realise at that time their 
 relationship. Those letters had been forwarded by 
 secret means which were available. They contained 
 nothing whatever that was harmful to the North or 
 useful to the South, and Kathleen did not hesitate to 
 use her influence which was considerable with cer 
 tain persons in authority to get them through the 
 lines. No answer ever came back. If the earth had 
 swallowed Ariadne she could not have been more 
 silent and unheard from. 
 
 Again and again Kathleen was on the point of tell 
 ing Grafton that his wife had been there, but she had 
 pledged her word to the Southern woman, and she 
 would not break it. The mere fact that those love 
 letters, which Grafton had received so carelessly and 
 had read with pity more than anything else, had 
 stopped, and that he could not hear from her, or 
 about her, opened his eyes to the hold this woman had 
 taken upon him. 
 
 He had ample time to analyse his emotions, and he 
 discovered presently that he was in love with both 
 women, which was sure evidence that he was not very 
 deeply in love with either of them. In other words, 
 his love for Kathleen had already begun to wane, 
 while his love for Ariadne had only commenced to
 
 1 7 o THE PATRIOTS 
 
 grow. The waning was the harder process. It had 
 at first required every effort of his will to put Kath 
 leen aside; the growth of his feeling for his wife was 
 a natural one, and, like things which are destined for 
 long life and strength, it was very slow. 
 
 Kathleen constantly helped him in both his mental 
 processes. She set herself resolutely to talk about 
 her husband. She prattled to him about Manning by 
 the hour. She read his letters to her; in short, she 
 behaved as the fondest wife would behave to an old 
 friend of hers and her husband's. And she forced 
 him to talk about Ariadne. She made him describe 
 her, and she admitted to herself that his description, 
 based on the eyes of friendship and ages old at 
 that, fell so far short of the original that she won 
 dered what would happen when he found her again. 
 What a revelation of beauty she would be to him 
 then? 
 
 The iron entered into her soul, but she did all that 
 she had set herself to do. Her passionate, more fiery, 
 more tempestuous nature was deeper than the man's. 
 At first her devotion to him did not waver, yet never 
 once did she betray herself to him. As she persisted in 
 her courageous self-sacrifice some of the compensa 
 tion of such endeavour came to her. As she re-read 
 her husband's letters, those letters which at first, like 
 Ariadne's to Philip, were matters of little moment to 
 the recipient, she began to see what a splendid, manly 
 man he was. And Grafton's encouraging praise and 
 approbation opened her eyes further. 
 
 She had taken Manning in a moment of pique and 
 anger and had never valued him for his sterling quali 
 ties. He was not a brilliant man, like Graf ton and 
 her brother, but there was much in him to admire. 
 She saw that now, and Grafton helped her to see it 
 more clearly. He had lived with Manning in the
 
 THE CHANGING CURRENTS 171 
 
 close intimacy of college life for six years, and he 
 knew him better than she. By and by, when his name 
 was mentioned in despatches for conspicuous gallan 
 try in an action which he had fought alone with his 
 regiment during the pursuit of Lee from Pennsyl 
 vania, Kathleen's heart filled with a sudden glow of 
 pride. She still loved Philip, she thought, but she 
 was no longer indifferent to Manning. So the various 
 currents of these different lives swept on. 
 
 As Graf ton got better, which he did rapidly, he 
 wrote to Manning a frank, manly, grateful letter, the 
 letter of an old friend who had never lost his love 
 for his old companion, although they were arrayed 
 against each other in war, and one in which he sang 
 the praises of Kathleen. How kind she had been to 
 him. What was of greater importance, he told Man 
 ning how Kathleen had let him see how much she 
 cared for her husband. He was anxious for the day 
 when he could see his old college mate, when peace 
 should be declared, and there would be no obstacle to 
 the renewal of their ancient friendship. Then he told 
 Manning about his own wife, and, enclosing a note, 
 begged him to read it and forward it through the 
 lines, if by any possibility it could be arranged. He 
 wrote a similar letter to Kirkwood, too. The armies 
 were in camps facing each other then and such com 
 munication often passed. 
 
 It was a letter which filled Manning's heart with 
 joy. Too honourable to voice his suspicions further 
 than he had done, he had fought two enemies during 
 that campaign, one green-clad, the other grey jeal 
 ousy and the Confederates ! He could have obtained 
 a brief leave of absence after the campaign was over, 
 but he refrained. He had trusted Kathleen. He 
 would continue to do so. His consideration, which 
 she was quite wise enough to realise, was not without
 
 1 72 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 its value to Kathleen's soul as well. She thought 
 better of the man always. 
 
 One day she had a telegram from her husband beg 
 ging her to meet him in Washington, to which point 
 he was ordered with some captured battle flags, to 
 be delivered to the Secretary of War. He would 
 have a few hours there. Would she come? 
 
 Kathleen shrank from that meeting after all she 
 had gone through, but because she shrank she de 
 termined to go to him. Contact with Ariadne, the 
 suffering she had undergone, the trust that had been 
 reposed in her, all had helped her nature. Grafton 
 was practically well. She could hardly hope to keep 
 him longer at the farmhouse. Already officers from 
 the provost marshal had come to know when they 
 could take charge of their prisoner. He must soon 
 depart to share the fate of the other Confederate cap 
 tives. There was no excuse for her non-compliance 
 with her husband's request. She would go. 
 
 She bade Grafton good-bye with a steady hand and 
 a quiet voice. She told him where she was going, 
 when she could come back, and begged him to con 
 sider the place his own until she had returned. Graf- 
 ton followed her out on the porch and watched her 
 go down the path. No one had watched Ariadne go 
 alone; the Southern woman had gone with a breaking 
 heart. Her Northern sister was not happy, in her 
 departure, but her state was not to be compared to 
 that of the wife who had put behind her everything 
 and had gone out into the world unaccompanied, 
 nothing whatever before her, to fight her battle 
 alone. 
 
 Grafton sat down on the porch and thought of 
 Ariadne. Her silence had preyed upon him until he 
 was filled with anxiety and alarm. To him came the 
 old doctor, who, passing by and seeing him on the
 
 THE CHANGING CURRENTS 173 
 
 porch, with genial kindliness drew rein and descended 
 from the buggy, coming up to speak to him. He 
 stumbled on the first step. He seized the railing of 
 the porch with his hands as he fell forward. His 
 watch guard caught a nail which had been used to 
 hold a clematis vine. The force of the wrench tore 
 from the guard a little object which hurtled through 
 the air and, as chance would have it, landed in Philip's 
 lap. The doctor straightened himself and stepped 
 forward. Grafton had the trinket that had been de 
 tached in the palm of his hand. 
 
 ; ' Where did you get this? " he asked. 
 
 " I gave my word of honour not to say," returned 
 the doctor, stretching out his hand for it. But Graf- 
 ton's hand closed over it. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Doctor, but I must know." 
 
 1 Must know what?" 
 
 " Where that locket came from. It is . . it 
 is my wife's. I gave it to her shortly after our mar 
 riage. See ? " he turned the other side up. " Here 
 are her initials. How came it into your possession? " 
 
 " My dear Mr. Grafton," returned the doctor, " I 
 scarcely know what to say to you. I came honestly 
 by it."' 
 
 ' That, of course." 
 
 " But the person from whom I received it exacted 
 a promise from me. I cannot break it." 
 
 " Was my wife here when I was unconscious? " 
 
 The doctor said nothing. 
 
 " She is a tall, slender young woman, with very 
 dark hair and eyes. A low, sweet voice; she is rather 
 pretty." 
 
 " Rather pretty ! " cried the doctor in a voice in 
 which surprise struggled with disgust at Grafton's ap 
 parent lack of appreciation. " Good Lordl " 
 
 " She was here, then? "
 
 i 7 4 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " I can tell you nothing, nothing. Ask Mrs. 
 Manning." 
 
 " She has gone to Washington to see her husband. 
 Doctor, if you could give me some word from that 
 child, I am sure . . ." 
 
 " I am very sorry for you, Mr. Grafton," said the 
 doctor stubbornly. " I cannot break my plighted 
 word." 
 
 " I know that, of course. A gentleman's promise 
 is sacred," answered Philip; " but can't you give me 
 some indication, or . . ." 
 
 " You have had all the indications I can give," 
 interrupted the doctor. " If you don't mind I'd like 
 to have my locket back." 
 
 u Certainly," assented the young man, handing it 
 to the doctor. " I wish I could add something to it 
 myself to express my appreciation of your services." 
 
 " I prize it," continued the physician, " because it 
 reminds me of . . ." 
 
 " Of whom? " asked the young man as the doctor 
 paused. 
 
 " Oh, nothing," returned the old man evasively. 
 " I do wish I could tell you. I would give anything 
 to do so. There is some mystery connected with it; 
 what it is I cannot say. Even if I could I have given 
 my promise. When you are exchanged you will per 
 haps find it out. Some day," he continued, " I should 
 like to hear the end of the romance." 
 
 " The end of it? " cried Philip. " What do you 
 mean? " 
 
 " They say," said the doctor, ignoring the ques 
 tion, " they say exchanges are being arranged for, 
 and you men that we have patched up will be going 
 South presently to get ready for another spell of our 
 attention. Perhaps you can find out then." 
 
 "I mean to," returned Grafton. " Meanwhile, I
 
 THE CHANGING CURRENTS 175 
 
 wish to thank you. It's all I can do now for what you 
 have done for me. I assure you I appreciate it." 
 
 " You needn't thank me," said the doctor. " I did 
 mighty little. It was those women." 
 
 ; ' What women?" 
 
 ' Why, Mrs. Manning and . . and . . ." 
 
 '* Doctor, for God's sake tell me 1 " 
 
 " My boy," said the doctor, " I wish I could, but 
 I can't. I must be going now. Good-bye. If you 
 take care of yourself you will be all right soon. But 
 don't get any relapses or our work will go for 
 nothing." 
 
 He turned and walked down the path and Philip 
 watched him. The doctor held many secrets locked 
 in his old breast, none that he wished so much to tell 
 as that one; yet he held his peace. He did not know, 
 any more than a few surmises enabled him to guess, 
 what was the real state of affairs, but he was sure 
 there was a tragic story behind Ariadne's pale face 
 and desperate manner. When he looked at Grafton 
 he hoped for the end. 
 
 " Poor little girl," he murmured as he glanced at 
 the locket in his great palm, " that young fellow 
 really seemed to wish to know desperately what had 
 become of her. He seemed to love his wife. And if 
 there was ever love exhibited in a woman's bearing it 
 was in hers for him. But if he loves her and she 
 loves him, why go away and why swear me to secrecy, 
 I wonder? "
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE REVELATION 
 
 THE question was an unsolvable one to the doctor, 
 but it was maddening to Philip. Ariadne must have 
 been there, then. Why had she left? Where had 
 she gone? What did it mean? He longed for the 
 return of Kathleen, not for the pleasure of her so 
 ciety, but that she might resolve this mystery and 
 tell him something of Ariadne. The woman who had 
 assisted the two who loved him was gone away on a 
 visit; a new servant was in the house. She could tell 
 him nothing. Stop, there was Jeff ! He had almost 
 forgotten Jeff. He had been there all the time. He 
 must know. 
 
 As soon as Philip had become convalescent the 
 greater part of his care had devolved upon the faith 
 ful body-servant, and Jeff never left his master for 
 very long. The negro, well-fed, happy, and better 
 dressed, because Grafton had directed him to accept 
 some of Manning's cast-off clothing which Kathleen 
 had before tried in vain to persuade him to wear, at 
 that moment came ambling around the corner. Graf- 
 ton was never more pleased in all his life to see that 
 black face and figure. 
 
 "Jeff," he cried, "come here!" 
 ' Yas, suh, Marse Phil. Huccum you ter be outer 
 de gal'ry dis arf'noon? Can't you feel de col' a'r 
 blowin' on you? " 
 
 " It is as warm and balmy a breeze as I ever felt 
 in my life. I'm all right. I wish to ask you a 
 question." 
 
 176
 
 THE REVELATION 177 
 
 "Ax me, suh?" 
 
 " Yes, and I wish the truth." 
 
 "Doan I allus tell you de truf, Marse Phil?" 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " Generally, but you're not like Caesar's wife, you 
 know." 
 
 " I ain't lek nobody's wife, Marse Phil. I'se a 
 wot you may call hit . . a backslider 'bout wim- 
 min fo'ks, suh." 
 
 " Then you're less above suspicion than ever," 
 smiled Grafton. " Who nursed me when I was 
 unconscious? " 
 
 He shot the question straight at the negro like a 
 shot from a gun. 
 
 " Wy . . wy . . ." gasped the boy. 
 
 " Quick, now ! " said his master. " No hesitation. 
 Who was it? " 
 
 "Miss . . Miss . . ." 
 
 "Miss Ariadne?" 
 
 " Now how you done find dat out, Marse Phil? " 
 
 " She was here, then?" exclaimed the young man 
 triumphantly. 
 
 "Oh, Lord, oh, Lord!" groaned Jeff, "an' I 
 done tole her dat I'd die befo' I tole you. Twell 
 be time to gib up dat letter." 
 
 " Jeff, have you a letter for me, you black rascal? 
 Do you mean to say . . give it to me instantly ! " 
 
 11 But Marse Phil . 
 
 " Not another word! " rising to his feet and stand 
 ing tremblingly. " Look at me, Jeff. You know I 
 am not able to stand here long. If I were in my right 
 strength I'd give you the worst hiding you ever had 
 for not telling me ! " 
 
 "/Deed, 'deed Marse Phil, I . . ." began Jeff, 
 rolling his eyes terrifically. 
 
 " And if you don't give me that letter at once I'll
 
 i 7 8 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 die right here in my tracks. I'll stand until my 
 wounds open and I ..." 
 
 " Here 'tis, Marse Phil. Fer Gawd sake, suh, 
 set down an' tek hit easy an' I'll tell you ev'ything." 
 
 He fished out of his pocket a note, soiled and worn 
 from his carriage of it. He had not dared allow it to 
 leave his possession. 
 
 " I'd gib hit to you 'long 'go, Marse Phil, ef I 
 hadn't swo'n an' cross my bress dat I wouldn't tell 
 you twell you was gwine to be tuk away fum heah. 
 I done promise Miss 'Adny, suh, an' as I'se a 
 gent'mun's nigger I couldn't brek my word." 
 
 He rambled on incoherently, but Philip's mind was 
 elsewhere. He held the note in his open hand. It 
 was proof positive. Ariadne had been there. The 
 questions surged through his heart again. When had 
 she come? How long had she stayed? Where had 
 she gone? Why had she not waited for him. Why 
 had Kathleen concealed her presence from him? He 
 was almost angry with her as he thought these things 
 with her letter unopened in his palm. He had been 
 so shocked by the whole affair that he felt he must 
 have some little time to recover himself before he 
 read the note. Some premonition of its contents had 
 come to him. This letter would explain his failure 
 to hear from her, her silence. He knew now that 
 she could, if she had chosen, have communicated with 
 him in some way. The fact that she had been there 
 proved her capacities. What did it mean? He tore 
 open the note and read it. And this is what it said : 
 
 " PHIL I heard that you were left on that hill at 
 Gettysburg. I managed to get through the lines to 
 Washington. The President of the United States 
 aided me to get here. I found you. I found more 
 than you. I have learned the truth at last. You do
 
 THE REVELATION 179 
 
 not love me, you have never loved me. You married 
 me to please my grandfather and because in my inno 
 cence and my ignorance I showed you how much I 
 cared for you may God help me how much I still 
 care ! I know that you have always loved Kathleen 
 Manning, that was Kathleen Kirkwood. I under 
 stand everything that was before a mystery to me. I 
 have no blame for you or for Mrs. Manning. She 
 begged me to stay with you, but I could not. I have 
 waited until I knew that you would get better, and 
 now I must go. I no longer believe in your love; you 
 have none for me, but I still trust your honour. Kath 
 leen is now a married woman, the wife of your friend. 
 You will not forget it. Nor will she. I am sorry 
 for you both, for I understand what it is to love 
 without hope. May God have mercy on us all! I 
 am your wife, and until death severs us I must remain 
 so, but when I leave you here I go out of your life 
 forever. When you get back to Richmond I shall 
 not be there. It will be useless for you to seek me. 
 You will remember me and I I shall never forget 
 you. My heart goes out to you. Oh, if you 
 could only have loved me as you loved this other 
 woman how happy I would have striven to make you. 
 I have watched over you in your delirium and have 
 heard you call her name and once in a while mine 
 * Poor little Ariadne, poor little Ariadne.' I cannot 
 write any more, Philip. God knows I love you still; 
 I always have, I always shall ! That's all ; but good 
 bye and may God bless you. For the last time I sign 
 myself, " YOUR WIFE." 
 
 So that explained it ! And yet not all of it. There 
 was an allusion all through the letter to the fact that 
 Kathleen reciprocated the passion Ariadne believed 
 he still cherished for her. Yet Kathleen had told
 
 i8o THE PATRIOTS 
 
 him herself that she was married, and happily, and 
 he was bewildered. He put his hand to his head as 
 in a dream. His mind wandered. What if they all 
 had been playing at cross purposes? Did Kathleen 
 love him? Did she love George Manning? Did he, 
 Philip, love Kathleen ? Did he love Ariadne ? What 
 was the end of this mysterious knot of human fate in 
 which the threads of their lives had been so en 
 tangled ? 
 
 " Jeff," he said at last, " you know something of 
 this. Your young mistress was here and has gone? 
 Why?" 
 
 " Marse Phil, I'se feared to tell you, suh." 
 
 " Speak. Tell me just what you think. Anything 
 will be a help now." 
 
 " Well, suh, I was in yo' room w'en Miss 'Adny 
 cum. I mought as well mek a clean bress of hit, suh. 
 I done wrong." The faithful negro hesitated. 
 
 'What did you do?" 
 
 " I done tole Miss 'Adny how much you keer fer 
 her, suh." 
 
 ' That was right." 
 
 ' Yas, suh, but I done tole her dat you look at her 
 face in de IIP locket, an' I tole her you tek hit out an' 
 kiss hit." 
 
 'I Jeff, Jeff!" exclaimed Philip. 
 
 ' Yas, suh, I knowed t'was wrong arter de 
 yuther lady show Miss 'Adny who was in dat lockit." 
 
 " Did she do that? " groaned Philip. 
 
 ' Yas, suh. Miss 'Adny done see de lockit on yo' 
 bres' w'en she bend ober you, but she ain't look in 
 hit." 
 
 "God bless her faithful, noble, gentle heart!" 
 cried Graf ton. 
 
 " But de yuther lady she done open hit an' poke hit 
 in Miss 'Adny's face, suh. Dar dey stood an' you
 
 THE REVELATION 181 
 
 a-dyin,' suh. One was red wid rage an' cryin' an' 
 Miss 'Adny she was white an' stret an' still, only her 
 eyes was a-blazin', suh, an' den she drap down an' 
 Miss Mannin' she was good to Miss 'Adny." 
 
 " I understand," said the young man sadly. 
 
 " An' I got some mo' to tell, suh," said Jeff. 
 
 Philip looked up again. 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " Dey was right down offish wid one an'er fer a 
 long time, but dey got mo' sociable like afo' she go 
 away, an' dat mornin' Miss 'Adny gib me dat letter 
 fo' you an' tol me to gib hit to you w'en you was 
 a-leabin' heah, an' de yuther lady was a-standin' by de 
 winder in de dinin'-room yander, an' de winder was 
 open an' I heerd dem. Miss 'Adny say she trus' you 
 an' trus' her, an' den I looked in fru de winder an' I 
 see Miss 'Adny come down to yo' do. You was a mut- 
 terin' to yo'sef in dar an' she heerd you. She des 
 put up her han's on her bres' an' oh, Gawd a'mighty, 
 Marse Phil, I nuver wants to see sech a look on 
 nobody agin like dat." Jeff stopped and a great 
 tear rolled down his black cheek. 
 
 " Go on," cried Philip. " What next? " 
 
 " Den she went in de dinin'-room, an' presen'ly 
 she cum out fru de hall an' fru de do' an' stop on 
 de po'ch an' look back poisin' on her feet des lak a 
 111' bird gittin' ready to fly away, you know." 
 
 Philip nodded ; he saw it all. 
 
 " Den Miss Mannin' she cum a-runnin' fru de 
 hall an' she grab Miss 'Adny in her arms an' she say 
 suppin' an' kiss an' kiss her, an' den cum back an', 
 an' dat's all, suh." 
 
 That was enough. It was all as plain as day to 
 Philip now. His heart went out to that little figure 
 at the open door poised on reluctant feet like a bird 
 on the edge of flight. He would give all he pos-
 
 1 82 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 sessed, he would be glad to go back again on that 
 bed of pain from which by a miracle he had recov 
 ered, if Ariadne could only be by his side. She had 
 gone out of his life forever? Never! He would 
 hunt through the length and breadth of North and 
 South until he found her. He lifted the letter and 
 kissed it again and again. 
 
 A squad of soldiers came up the road. They 
 had an ambulance with them. A mounted non-com 
 missioned officer rode in front. Halting the soldiers 
 outside he rode into the road and stopped before the 
 porch. 
 
 " Is you name Graftbn? " he asked. 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " Sergeant of the Ninth Virginia Infantry, Rebel 
 Army?" 
 
 ' You have named my rank and regiment in the 
 Confederate service," said Philip gravely. 
 
 " You are my prisoner," returned the other. " We 
 are sending a batch of you Johnnies away to-day, and 
 I guess you are well enough to travel." 
 
 " I am glad to go," said Grafton, whose hope now 
 was in an early exchange. He was on fire to go South 
 to seek for his wife. 
 
 " Kin I go wid him, Marse Officer? " asked Jeff. 
 
 " I guess so," said the officer, " if you like." 
 
 " If you will give me a moment," said Grafton, 
 " I will report to you here." 
 
 * You won't try to get away? " asked the other. 
 
 " I give you my word of honour." 
 
 The sergeant of the squad looked at the pale-faced 
 young man a moment, and, realising that he was to be 
 depended upon, saluted a tribute to birth and breed 
 ing, not to rank and answered : 
 
 '* Very well, sir. I will wait here." 
 
 Philip went back to the room which had been his
 
 THE REVELATION 183 
 
 own for so long. He drew from his breast the fatal 
 locket. On a sheet of paper he wrote : " I have dis 
 covered all. I bless and thank you for all you have 
 done. I go to seek her." He put the letter and locket 
 in an envelope, sealed and addressed it to Mrs. 
 George Manning and laid it on the table. Then he 
 knelt down there in that room which had witnessed 
 such sublime devotion as the two women had mani 
 fested, such noble sacrifice as both had exhibited 
 and for him and thanked God that he was alive and 
 that he had known them both. He prayed that one 
 might find happiness and that he might find the other. 
 He would be happiness enough for that other now. 
 For his eyes were opened and he knew that he loved 
 Ariadne only and forever, Ariadne. Then he went 
 forth and delivered himself to the provost marshal 
 smilingly.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 KATHLEEN REAPS WHERE SHE HAD NOT SOWN 
 
 KATHLEEN MANNING met her husband in Washing 
 ton with a curious mixture of feelings. There was 
 first of all relief in her heart that she could meet him 
 with such complacency, not to say pleasure. In the 
 journey southward she had finally resolved on her 
 course. She had determined to tell him the exact 
 state of affairs between herself and Grafton, and let 
 him be the judge of what should be done in the 
 future. She realised that things could not go on as 
 they had without some explanation. But the telling 
 did not seem quite so easy and simple a matter when 
 the big, bronzed, full-bearded, grey-eyed soldier 
 gathered her in his arms with a great bear-like hug, 
 causing the colour to flash into the cheek which had 
 paled so suddenly at the sight of him. 
 
 He was unfeignedly rejoiced to see her. His deep 
 and honest love was so obvious that even the travel 
 lers at the railroad station who were familiar with 
 such meetings, for there were many during those 
 times and nobody minded spectators at all could see 
 how this brave soldier adored his handsome wife. 
 Kathleen had always liked Manning. If she had not 
 reciprocated his feelings, she had heretofore endured 
 his caresses without any especial aversion at least, but 
 after Grafton had been brought to her again the 
 thought that she was another man's wife had grown 
 suddenly horrible to her. She had fought against 
 that feeling during Grafton's convalescence, and she 
 was pleased now to find that she had mastered it. 
 
 184
 
 KATHLEEN REAPS 185 
 
 No woman could fail to be pleased at being so 
 welcomed, and to her surprise she found herself re 
 turning her husband's kisses. Kathleen was impul 
 sive, wayward, passionate, and high-tempered. At 
 the bottom, however, she was profoundly true to her 
 womanhood. The course of self-discipline which she 
 had forced upon herself during the past month had 
 greatly developed her character. Altogether, al 
 though she had not dreamed of it, her heart was 
 turning to George Manning her husband. 
 
 There was another cause for such a turning which 
 perhaps accounted for some of the vacillations and 
 tempestuous outbreaks of her erratic nature. A 
 cause which she had discussed with no one, which 
 she had hardly admitted to herself. But before any 
 thing else she must tell her husband that. 
 
 In the room of the hotel when Manning would 
 have taken her on his knee she bade him wait. She 
 could not sit down, even on a chair, until she told him 
 all. There was some of the spirit of the soldier about 
 this Pennsylvania woman, and as the interview prom 
 ised to be a momentous one, she preferred to meet it 
 as a soldier should, on her feet. First of all, there 
 was that preliminary disclosure to be made. He 
 should be the first one in all the world to hear that; 
 it was his right. 
 
 " George," she said, a bright colour succeeding the 
 paleness which anxieity, self-struggle and care had 
 brought into her usually red cheeks, " . . I . . 
 there is something I wish to tell you. I have to tell 
 you about Philip Grafton and myself." 
 
 She marked with a quick twinge of pity Man 
 ning's face grow grave; the light and happiness 
 that her arrival had brought there died out of it 
 in a measure. He said nothing, however, and she 
 went on.
 
 1 86 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " But before we discuss that there is something you 
 must know." 
 
 There are things a woman can confess like a sol 
 dier; there are others that she must confess like a 
 woman. Kathleen forgot the last requirement when 
 she stood so boldly facing him. She stopped now and 
 hid her face in her hands. An idea shot through her 
 husband's mind. He looked at her keenly, mean 
 ingly. A smile chased away some of the gathering 
 gloom. He stepped toward her and took her in his 
 arms. 
 
 "Kate," he cried, "is It so?" 
 
 His wife nodded. She dropped her head on his 
 shoulder and clung to him, glad of the support of his 
 strong arms. At that moment she loved him. The 
 first real thrill of genuine feeling she had ever ex 
 perienced for him shot through her being. They 
 were linked together by the most effectual tie that can 
 bind a man and a woman. He whispered something 
 in her ear. She nodded again. 
 
 " My heavens, Kate ! " he exclaimed, " why didn't 
 you tell me before? " 
 
 There was no mistaking his happiness and joy now. 
 He turned up her face to his own and kissed the 
 woman again and again. " My dear Kate, my sweet 
 wife, my own Kate," he went on, over and over 
 again. 
 
 "Wait, wait! " said the woman at last. " There 
 is something else I must tell you." 
 
 " Nothing else matters," said the happy man; " I 
 don't wish to hear anything else after such news." 
 
 " But you must, you shall," said his wife. She 
 thrust him away from her. 
 
 " George," she said, " did you know that I once 
 loved Philip Grafton?" 
 
 Manning thanked God for that qualifying adverb.
 
 KATHLEEN REAPS 187 
 
 " I suspected it," he answered gravely. " But you 
 don't love him now, do you? You couldn't 
 after . . ." His eagerness was pathetic. 
 
 " I . . I don't know," answered Kathleen 
 bravely, although it was terribly hard to go on. She 
 stopped her husband's exclamation. " Wait. Do not 
 judge me," she cried quickly; "you see how . 
 how honest I am to you or I wouldn't be here telling 
 you this." 
 
 " Let me say a word, Kate," interposed 'her hus 
 band quietly. " I don't care what you have to tell 
 me, I want to say right here that I suspected some 
 thing of this; nevertheless I trusted Grafton to your 
 honour and you to his. I am not sorry that I trusted 
 you or him. I believed in both of you, I believe in 
 you still. Now, go on." 
 
 It was a brave thing splendily done, and the woman 
 was thrilled. She thanked God that she had pursued 
 her self-appointed course of action during the time 
 she had spent with Grafton. Nothing that her hus 
 band could have said or done would have so pleaded 
 for him as the magnanimity of that speech. 
 
 " You did well to trust us both," answered Kath 
 leen proudly. " There was not a thing that he said, 
 or I said, or that he did, or I did, that you could not 
 have witnessed. But I am not here to speak of do 
 ings, but of my heart." 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 He was a soldier, and accustomed to desperate 
 situations. He summoned his courage and waited for 
 what was to come with all the fortitude he could 
 muster. 
 
 " Philip and I were once engaged. We became 
 engaged nearly a year before the war broke out. 
 After he graduated he visited me on the farm. We 
 quarreled about the South. I wanted him to stay in
 
 1 88 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 the North, if he couldn't fight with us, not to fight 
 against us. He refused and I drove him off." 
 
 " And you married me out of pique, or ... ? " 
 queried Manning bitterly. 
 
 " I always liked you, I respected you," said Kath 
 leen, rather piteously, being thus suddenly put on the 
 defensive. 
 
 " Thank you. Go on." 
 
 " I don't know what I thought. I can hardly de 
 scribe the situation, but a few days after Philip was 
 brought to me his wife came. You recall that he told 
 you about her in a letter? " 
 
 "Was she there?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why didn't he mention it? " 
 
 " He didn't know." 
 
 ;' Why didn't you?" 
 
 " I promised not to." 
 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 Kathleen found the explanation every moment 
 growing more difficult than she had dreamed of. Yet 
 she had to go on. 
 
 " You see," she faltered, " there was a locket I 
 had given him . . before. He still wore it. My 
 picture was in it." 
 
 " But he is married." 
 
 " It was merely a marriage of convenience, it 
 seems, to please his guardian. He married a little 
 girl of sixteen she was his wife only in name. He 
 never loved her." 
 
 Poor Manning stared in anguish. 
 
 " But he will, I am sure of it," said his wife 
 quickly, her heart full for the man who loved her so. 
 
 " I am not so much interested in him as in you," 
 returned her husband. 
 
 " Well, then, Mrs. Grafton came there. She
 
 KATHLEEN REAPS 189 
 
 found that I . . that we . . that Philip didn't 
 love her. She surmised that he had loved me. She 
 saw that locket . . my picture . . she nursed 
 him with me until his consciousness returned . . 
 then she left him with me. She exacted a promise 
 from me not to tell him she had been there. She said 
 she would go out of his life, that he would never see 
 her again. She trusted him to me, George; she knew 
 that I . . I had cared, but still she trusted me, as 
 you did, and Grafton's honour." 
 
 "And how did you fulfil that double trust?" 
 asked her husband sternly. 
 
 " Without failing," said Kathleen proudly. " I told 
 Philip that I was married to you and . . that I 
 loved . . you." 
 
 ' That was a noble untruth." 
 
 " It wasn't true then, but I . . I thought of your 
 honour . . of the child that is coming to us . . 
 and I pretended . . ." 
 
 'Was it hard?" 
 
 ' Very hard at first. Impossible, but it grew easier, 
 and to-day I am almost glad." 
 
 "Kathleen!" 
 
 " I had to tell you, George. I hope that life has 
 much in store for you . . for us . . and I knew 
 there must be truth at the beginning. What shall be 
 done?" 
 
 " Kathleen," said Manning, " I suppose no man 
 could hear his wife confess to him her affection for 
 another man without his heart breaking, but I sup 
 pose you could no more help loving him than I can 
 help loving you. If there was anything to forgive, 
 I'd forgive it. If there was anything to say, I'd say 
 it. There isn't anything I can do but keep on loving 
 and honouring you. I can't help that. But I . . I 
 won't trouble you again. You will let me know when
 
 1 90 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 . . the little one . . comes . . and some day 
 when you have forgotten the other and perhaps grow 
 to care for me a little bit . . ." He paused, chok 
 ing back his feeling, and went on more composedly. 
 " You know there is always a chance in a war like this 
 that you may get your freedom." 
 
 " George," cried his wife, " don't say that! I do 
 not wish any . . freedom . . that way." 
 
 She came closer to him and put her arms around 
 his neck and turned her face up toward him. But 
 Manning turned away his head and kept her from 
 him. 
 
 u I do not wish pity, Kathleen. I must have every 
 thing or nothing. Friendship will never satisfy me." 
 
 " Do not repulse me now," cried Kathleen. 
 " Don't you see that I . . I . . I don't believe 
 that is a story now!" 
 
 " Kathleen, you don't mean it? " 
 
 " I do. You know from what I have said to-day 
 that I won't lie to you or deceive you. You're worth 
 a thousand like Philip Grafton. I was a blind fool. 
 If you can ever forgive enough . . ." 
 
 " Kathleen, Kathleen ! " cried the man, " is it true? 
 It can't be! Why, you came here with your heart 
 full of another! " 
 
 " I didn't," she interrupted. " I didn't give a 
 thought to any one but you. I haven't for days. 
 Will you take me back into your heart? " 
 
 ' You have never been out of it. You never shall 
 be out of it," he cried, lifting her up in her arms, and 
 although she was not a small woman, she seemed little 
 in his mighty grasp. " Now," he laughed, as her 
 arms clung about his neck, her head nestled on his 
 shoulder, " I hold all my family in my arms. This 
 has been a second wedding day for me. I was never 
 so happy in all my life. I have won you, and have
 
 KATHLEEN REAPS 191 
 
 won you from such a splendid fellow as Philip 
 Grafton." 
 
 " You goose ! " said Kathleen gaily yet tenderly, 
 her natural buoyancy returning to her in the relief 
 that had come to her in the knowledge that her love 
 had at last gone where it should have gone long ago, 
 " there isn't a man in the whole South that can hold 
 a candle to you ! " 
 
 And whether true or not, that was very important 
 for Manning.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE BOOK OF THE HEART 
 
 PHILIP GRAFTON had anticipated a speedy release. 
 He had gone with the provost guard that day at the 
 farm with the confident hope of being soon in the 
 South again; but Grafton, although he was a very 
 important personage to certain individuals in this 
 story, was but a small piece on the great chessboard. 
 Merely a sergeant in the Virginia line he was passed 
 over again and again until he grew sick with hope 
 deferred. 
 
 A consuming anxiety filled his mind to learn some 
 thing of Ariadne. Blessings it is a trite phrase 
 brighten as they take their flight. Grafton discov 
 ered it to be painfully true. He found himself long 
 ing for his wife as he had never in all his life longed 
 for anything before. 
 
 When Ariadne had been pouring out her wealth of 
 affection upon him he had no, he had not disdained 
 it but he had been indifferent to it ! Now that her 
 love was withheld, now that she had ceased to be de 
 pendent upon him, now that she had gone away, there 
 was nothing he so longed for as a sight of her face, 
 a touch of her hand, 'a kiss from her lips. It was 
 appalling to think of her away from him, suffering 
 from a broken heart, a mere child, alone perhaps 
 among strangers. 
 
 No woman who loves a man ever goes away from 
 him without hope of pursuit, thought Grafton. He 
 was sure that she loved him still. She could not 
 change in that particular. She must be awaiting him, 
 
 192
 
 THE BOOK OF THE HEART 193 
 
 then. What must she think of him, therefore? Did 
 she believe that he had tamely accepted her decision? 
 Could she think for a moment that he would allow 
 her, his lawful wife how he thrilled at the thought 
 of that to separate herself from him, to go away 
 and leave him, to live her life alone? Yet what else 
 could she think? His impatience was maddening. 
 
 Leave her, never! Not when he had a mind to 
 think and plan and a body to execute should that 
 be. He would have Ariadne. He would tell her that 
 Kathleen Kirkwood cared nothing for him, that she 
 had confessed to him that she loved her husband 
 which was as it should be and that he, Philip Graf- 
 ton, was glad of it. He would declare to her that 
 while he should ever hold the Northern woman in 
 gracious and tender memory, he would make it his 
 life-task to bring happiness to Ariadne. If he didn't 
 love her, he said, he would devote himself to her and 
 persuade her that he did, and that would be easy. He 
 tried to persuade himself, too, that all his thoughts 
 and anxiety were for his wife, and not for himself; 
 that he wanted to find her for her sake and not for 
 his own. Oh, fool and blind ! 
 
 Many a man stands in the full blaze of the morn 
 ing sun and yet fancies himself In darkness; many a 
 soul is awake while it yet dreams itself immersed 
 in slumber. Philip, more from habit than anything 
 else, clung to that idle fancy that Kathleen was still 
 in his heart. Really he was already overwhelmingly 
 in love with Ariadne, his wife and did not know it. 
 All he needed was to sustain a shock to clarify his 
 thoughts, a re-agent to precipitate his affections. One 
 sight of his wife would do that. 
 
 He did not sentimentalise much, either. As the 
 days of his captivity grew longer he grew more and 
 more anxious and more and more resolute. But it
 
 i 9 4 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 was not until five weary months had dragged away 
 on leaden feet, each with an added quota of trouble 
 and suspense to Grafton, that the welcome exchange 
 was effected. It was in January when he landed in 
 Richmond again. Reporting his arrival, as he was 
 in duty bound to do, to the Commissioner of Ex 
 changes, he at once sought and obtained immediate 
 leave to visit his home. 
 
 He was not strong. Prison life and prison fare 
 were not conducive to health at best, and when a man 
 had previously suffered from terrible wounds and was 
 a prey to the most consuming mental anxiety, he did 
 not recuperate under such conditions. Grafton there 
 fore was in a wretched physical condition. His walk 
 home was a long one and thoroughly tired him, but 
 the last two blocks he passed on a run. At last he 
 turned the corner and saw the house among the trees. 
 There, where the magnolias, bloomless now, arched 
 over the gate at which she stood when the regiment 
 had marched off to war, he had hoped that she might 
 be standing at that moment; as if some telepathic 
 word of the heart could have informed her that he 
 was coming to her, and she would come to meet him. 
 
 There was a sudden awakening from any such 
 idle dream when he stepped on the porch and saw 
 that the house was tightly closed. He walked rapidly 
 around it, observing that every blind was drawn, 
 every window shuttered and every door locked. After 
 trying all the doors, in his disappointment he beat 
 upon them with his fists. The noise of his blows came 
 back in empty echoes. His wife was not there; no 
 one was there. His kinswoman, Mrs. Galloway, who 
 kept the house for him, must have gone, too. There 
 was not even a servant about the place. Then he be 
 gan to realise what he had before refused to acknowl 
 edge, that Ariadne had already carried out her
 
 THE BOOK OF THE HEART 195 
 
 resolution, and that a long search was before him 
 before he could appear in that magnanimous part in 
 which he fancied himself, when he had thought upon 
 the matter, in prison. 
 
 Just how to begin that search he did not know. 
 Where she could have gone he could not imagine. 
 Vallewis and Braeside both occurred to him, but 
 both had been destroyed during McClellan's cam 
 paign, and Vallewis did not belong to Ariadne. He 
 was sure she had no other property. He sat down 
 on the porch in great weariness of body and faintness 
 of heart. This was such a disappointing home-com 
 ing. On the few times when he had visited his wife 
 she had always received him with such a glad light 
 in her eyes that he seemed to be sitting in thick dark 
 ness now that she was away. Where had Mrs. Gal 
 loway gone? It was incredible that Ariadne could 
 have taken her on some wild flight through the 
 South? Grafton did not know what to do. Help 
 came to him presently, however. 
 
 The women of a neighbouring house had seen a 
 ragged soldier cross the lawn common sight enough. 
 When they had looked again they noticed that he was 
 sitting on the porch, his head in his hands, in deep 
 dejection. They realised then that this was no ordi 
 nary visitor or messenger, and one of them left the 
 house and crossed the lawn toward him to find out 
 what was the matter and to see if anything could be 
 done for him. A returned Confederate soldier in 
 trouble was always an object of attention to the peo 
 ple of Richmond in those days. A woman's voice 
 broke the silence of his wretched reverie. 
 
 " Is there anything I can do for you, sir? I noticed 
 you sitting here and . . ." 
 
 " Madam," said Grafton, rising, " can you tell me 
 anything about the people of this house? "
 
 196 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 "Haven't you heard?" asked the woman, who 
 was very young and very pretty. 
 
 " I have heard nothing. I was wounded at Gettys 
 burg and have been a prisoner in the North until 
 to-day. My name is Grafton." 
 
 " Mr. Grafton," said the woman, smiling, " I am 
 Mrs. George Pickett, the wife of your commander." 
 
 " I am honoured in meeting you as he is honoured 
 in the relationship," answered Grafton, amazed at the 
 youth of his beloved general's wife. 
 
 " Nay, I am honoured," said the young woman, 
 who was scarcely more than a girl herself, " and I 
 am always glad to meet one of my husband's brave 
 
 men." 
 
 She stretched out her hand and Grafton took it, 
 bending low over it. 
 
 " Can you tell me . . forgive my importu 
 nity, but I have not heard a word from my wife since 
 that battle. She lived here . . ." 
 
 " I have met her," said Mrs. Pickett gravely, " and 
 Mrs. Galloway also. Mrs. Galloway is dead. She 
 died of fever contracted in the hospitals some four 
 months ago." 
 
 "And . . my wife?" questioned Grafton, 
 fearful that he should hear like tidings of her. At 
 another time he would have given more thought to 
 the death of his kinswoman and friend, but now he 
 could think only of Ariadne. 
 
 '^Was very well when I saw her last," quickly 
 replied Mrs. Pickett, noticing the agony in the man's 
 face. " The Dyletts . . with whom I am stay 
 ing . . have the key of the house in their pos 
 session. Mrs. Grafton gave it to them when she left. 
 They told me she had arrived from the North, where 
 she had been endeavouring to find her husband . 
 didn't you see her?" Grafton shook his head
 
 THE BOOK OF THE HEART 197 
 
 " just before Mrs. Galloway's death. She and her 
 two servants left immediately after the funeral." 
 
 ;' Where did they go?" 
 
 " I don't know. Perhaps Mrs. Oakley can tell you 
 more. You know Mamie Dylett married John 
 Oakley . . ." 
 
 " He fell at my side at Gettysburg," said Grafton; 
 " I believe I must have been in command of the regi 
 ment when we crossed the stone wall, though only a 
 sergeant." 
 
 " Come over and tell Mrs. Oakley about her hus 
 band and she will give you the key. If she cannot 
 tell you, perhaps you can find something to indicate 
 where your wife has gone in the house." 
 
 Grafton was burning to go into the house at once, 
 but there was a duty he could not shirk. He fol 
 lowed Mrs. Pickett across the yard and told the 
 meagre tale to the young woman who mourned the 
 loss of her gallant husband. Mrs. Oakley could add 
 nothing to Mrs. Pickett's account. She gave him the 
 key to the house, which his wife had directed was to 
 be given to no one but him, and bade him godspeed 
 in his quest. 
 
 There is something depressing in a lonely house at 
 any time. It is more depressing when the loneliness 
 is unexpected. Grafton had hard work to keep him 
 self from breaking down as he entered. Everything 
 was just as it had been left, in beautiful order, al 
 though covered with that impalpable dust which not 
 even the tightest closure can keep out. After one 
 glance along the hall Grafton hurriedly ran upstairs 
 and opened the door of his wife's apartments. 
 
 They were stripped bare. The book shelves were 
 empty, the pictures were gone; even the piano had 
 been taken away; there was nothing left. He crossed 
 the room, his footfall on the uncarpeted floor making
 
 i 9 8 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 a painful echo in his heart, to her bed-chamber, that 
 virginal white chamber that had made so sweet a nest 
 for his child-wife. It was empty, like the other room. 
 No, there was a little table near the shuttered win 
 dow. On it lay a small blank book. A piece of paper 
 was thrust between its leaves. As he picked up the 
 book the paper fluttered to the floor. He stooped for 
 it and read these words : 
 
 " For Philip, my husband, when he comes back. 
 Farewell." 
 
 He opened the book. It was a daily record of 
 Ariadne's thoughts and feelings. It began the day he 
 left for the war. It ended, abruptly, the day she had 
 received the news that he was among the missing 
 after that fatal charge. Evidently when she had re 
 turned after the visitation to that Pennsylvania farm 
 she had not thought it necessary to go on with any 
 thing more. Nor was it. She had written enough. 
 He had thought that he had known her heart, but 
 this was a revelation such as it is vouchsafed few men 
 to see. It was all about him. There was nothing but 
 her husband and her love for him on every page. 
 That was her life, that had been her life until what 
 was her life now? 
 
 Grafton read and read. His had been the treasure 
 of that affection so rich, so full, and so tender; blind, 
 he had never appreciated it. It had never moved 
 him. Now it was gone from him. 
 
 He closed the book. He kissed it softly again and 
 again. He lifted it to heaven and swore that he 
 would find her and tell her that he loved her. That 
 he loved her only, that he had never loved but her. 
 He knew it now. His other passion had been as 
 moonlight unto sunlight compared to this. He would 
 find her although the North and the South should 
 unite to keep him from her.
 
 THE BOOK OF THE HEART 199 
 
 There was not the slightest indication where she 
 had gone, no word, no trace. There was no clue in 
 the whole house, although Graf ton made a complete 
 search from top to bottom. There was nothing but 
 that journal, speaking to him like a voice from the 
 dead. Never mind, he would find her. God did not 
 intend to keep two who so loved each other apart. 
 He would find her wherever she was. He would live 
 to tell her that he loved her. 
 
 He was standing in the hallway when he heard a 
 footstep on the porch. He turned to meet an officer, 
 a disabled invalid soldier who was acting as a com 
 missioner for the War Department. Grafton's ex 
 change and arrival had been reported. The soldier 
 bore orders for him. 
 
 " Are you Sergeant Philip Grafton of the Ninth 
 Virginia ? " 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " I am Captain Lacy, temporarily attached to the 
 War Department on account of this " he held up an 
 armless sleeve. " I was in the North Carolina bri 
 gade that charged up Cemetery Ridge with you 
 fellows." 
 
 The two men clasped hands instantly. 
 
 " It was a great fight, wasn't it? " said Lacy, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Magnificent ! " answered Grafton sombrely. 
 
 " I am glad I was in it even if I did lose an arm." 
 
 " So am I," assented Grafton " although it is 
 like to have cost me a wife," his thoughts ran. He 
 said nothing of this aloud, however, as Lacy 
 continued: 
 
 '' The story has been told of how you led your men, 
 the ranking officer of the regiment, at the last, and 
 fell beside Armistead on the crest of the hill. Some 
 influence has been brought to bear and you have been
 
 200 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 appointed a lieutenant and attached to General Lee's 
 staff." 
 
 " I can't accept it ! " said Grafton abruptly. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Lacy, in astonishment. 
 " Why, man, there isn't a soldier in the army that 
 wouldn't give his head for such a chance. What's 
 the matter with you ? " 
 
 "I .. I ..." 
 
 " Besides," continued the young officer, " you 
 know that Grant's been put in command of the Army 
 of the Potomac, and he means business. We are en 
 listing all the men we can get hold of. ' Robbing the 
 cradle and the grave,' the Yankees say. By Heaven, 
 we need them. Grant's got a hundred and fifty to 
 two hundred thousand men confronting ' Lee's Mis- 
 erables ' " the most popular book in the Confeder 
 acy in that time was Hugo's " Les Miserables." The 
 soldiers called themselves after that title in grim jest, 
 which was full of bitter truth, nevertheless " and 
 every man, old and young, is being pressed into the 
 service. If they want more we'll have to call in the 
 women. You can't refuse." 
 
 "I was wrong; of course, I'll go," said Grafton. 
 " You see my wife . . is gone . . I don't 
 know where she is. But a man's duty now . 
 his first duty . . is to his country." 
 
 " I am glad you see it that way," said Lacy ear 
 nestly; "here is your commission. Here are the 
 transportation orders, and if you will apply at the 
 department you can get advance pay, such as it is, 
 and arrange a uniform of some kind. Have you a 
 horse?" 
 
 " I can get one." 
 
 " Well, it will cost you a thousand dollars in our 
 money now." 
 
 " I still have a little gold in the bank, enough for
 
 THE BOOK OF THE HEART 201 
 
 my needs. Thank you. Give me the orders. Say to 
 Secretary Seddon that I thank him and that I will 
 report to General Lee at once." 
 
 " The quicker the better. Advices from the front 
 say that Grant is expected to cross the Rapidan any 
 day and you won't want to miss it. Jove, I envy you. 
 I wish I had your chance." 
 
 " My friend," said Grafton gravely, " there isn't 
 a man in the army who need envy me my present 
 situation." He shook his head, turned away and 
 walked back into the house. 
 
 " He's hard hit," said Lacy. " Seems to me I've 
 heard something about the girl he married . 
 only a child. I wonder where she has gone. Yes, 
 this war is hell, as that bloody marauder, Sherman, 
 says. But I wish I could get back into it, arm or no 
 arml"
 
 BOOK FOUR 
 Ariadne
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 SPRING days and flower time in Virginia in 1864. 
 The asphodel meadows of the dead were thick with 
 the crimsoned amaranthine blossoms that spring from 
 heroic human hearts. The grey and the blue had 
 been fighting again in the wilderness. May had been 
 ushered in by a confused battle of incredible fierceness 
 in the impenetrable thickets of the virgin woods south 
 of the Rapidan. For two long and weary days the 
 armies had blindly grappled with each other. 
 
 There had been headlong charges and counter 
 charges, success and failure in the gloom of the forest 
 primeval. The great contest had finally degenerated 
 into a series of hand-to-hand struggles between com 
 panies, regiments, brigades, divisions. The generals 
 lost touch with their men in the tangles of the track 
 less depths. Only by the fitful roaring of musketry, 
 or artillery outburstmg suddenly here and there along 
 the far-flung lines, were the leaders able to keep track 
 of the writhing battle. Men stumbling through the 
 pathless woodland met others in the shadowy twilight 
 of the leaves and fired face to face. Men crashed 
 through the underbrush and fought breast to breast. 
 Each forest glade was red with blood and filled with 
 slain. The suspense and incertitude were something 
 horrible. To struggle on, to fight, to die without 
 order, plan or purpose such was the battle. 
 
 The heat was something terrific. There had been 
 little rain for a long time. The woods set on fire by 
 shells were soon blazing in every direction. Men 
 
 205
 
 206 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 charged over flaming breastworks. The impartial 
 fire fought both sides indifferently and finally tore the 
 combatants from each other's throats and compelled 
 a pause. The helpless wounded were necessarily left 
 to be burned alive, to perish miserably in the flames. 
 
 The advantage, if advantage there was, was on the 
 side of Lee. Grant had crossed the Rapidan in that 
 final campaign which had Richmond as its objective. 
 Lee had not waited to be assaulted, but with brilliant 
 courage and soldierly decision had attacked him when 
 his army was entangled in the wilderness. The loss 
 had fallen on the greater, and the few had held the 
 many back. Both sides had suffered terribly, and 
 during the 7th of May both paused for a breathing 
 space, if it could be got in that acrid smoke-laden air, 
 to determine the next move. 
 
 Grafton had been with General Lee for three 
 months now. Such had been his efficiency that he had 
 been promoted to the rank of captain. He was one 
 of the great general's most trusted aides. A most 
 valuable officer he was on account of his close study 
 of the intricacies of the law, his college training, his 
 long experience in actual war, and his absolute devo 
 tion to his duty, a devotion which the general himself 
 knew how to measure, for Grafton had taken ad 
 vantage of the first opportunity frankly to confide in 
 his chief to whom the humblest soldier had access 
 with his complaints, by the way the story of his 
 lost wife and his misfortunes. Indeed, Lee had 
 naturally asked for Mrs. Grafton when first he had 
 welcomed the young subaltern to his military family. 
 Grafton had confessed all to him with entire unre 
 serve, and the general had encouragingly held out 
 hopes to the young officer that some day he would 
 find his wife. Meanwhile he honoured him for put 
 ting aside his grief and the terrible demands her
 
 IN THE WILDERNESS 207 
 
 continued absence made upon him, to serve his 
 country. 
 
 On the morning of the yth of May Grafton 
 had been despatched with an order to Stuart, com 
 manding the cavalry then skirmishing on the far left 
 and rear of the Union army. He returned about 
 noon with grave tidings. As he galloped to head 
 quarters on the edge of the Widow Tapp's farm 
 he saw a few small tents, very much tattered, with 
 little to distinguish them from those of any other 
 general officer, pitched under the shade of some trees 
 near a running stream. A sentry paced up and down. 
 To one side the horses were tethered by a single 
 battered wagon.* Back of the camp a fire was blaz- 
 
 * " When we marched to meet Grant in the Wilderness, in the 
 spring of 1864, we were about the most destitute army that ever 
 marched to meet anybody, anywhere. We had nothing to transport, 
 and we had no transportation. 
 
 At the beginning of every campaign it is customary for the com 
 manding general to issue an order, setting forth the allotment of 
 baggage wagons to officers and men. Just before we marched that 
 spring some wag in the army had printed and circulated a mock 
 order from General Lee, a copy of which now lies before me. 
 
 GENERAL ORDERS, NUMBER I 
 HEADQUARTERS, ARMY'OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, 
 
 April 20, 1864. 
 
 The allotment of baggage wagons to the officers and 
 men of the Army of Northern Virginia during the coming 
 campaign will be as follows: 
 
 To every thirty officers No baggage wagon 
 
 To every three hundred men . . Ditto 
 
 (Signed) ROBERT E. LEE, General. 
 
 This order was a good-natured forgery, of course. Nevertheless 
 it was carried out to the letter. The fact is that we had no baggage 
 and no baggage wagons. . . . We entered that campaign stripped 
 almost to the buff. We had no tents, even for the highest officers. 
 We had no canteens. We had no haversacks. We had no knap 
 sacks. We had no oilcloths to sleep on. We had no tin cups. We 
 had almost no cooking utensils and almost no blankets. We had no 
 shoes, and our socks had long ago been worn out We had an 
 average of no overcoat to every thousand men." 
 
 This note is taken from George Gary Eggleston's charming; book, 
 "Southern Soldier Stories."
 
 208 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 ing cheerfully, and the negro cook was preparing 
 dinner. Couriers were coming and going, and the 
 scene was a busy one. Grafton had ridden practi 
 cally all morning, having taken a roundabout course 
 to avoid any Federal cavalry, and he was both tired 
 and hungry. His message was one of great impor 
 tance, however, and claimed precedence over his ap 
 petite. Disregarding invitations to partake of the 
 army's frugal fare that had been urged upon him as 
 he rode through the headquarters guard, he dis 
 mounted from his horse, gave the reins to an orderly, 
 and pushed through the crowd of officers to seek the 
 commanding general. 
 
 Lee sat on a log under a tree in front of his tent, 
 somewhat removed from the people who made up 
 his staff and escort. He was older now than when 
 he had ridden away from Arlington on that spring 
 day four years before. The strain of the greatest 
 responsibility that had heretofore been borne by an 
 American soldier had told upon him. His dark hair 
 had become very grey. His beard, which was greyer, 
 had been allowed to grow in the field. He looked a 
 much older man, but his eyes were bright and his 
 ruddy face was composed and dignified. Dinner was 
 being served him as Grafton drew near. The gen 
 eral's camp equipage was of the very simplest. His 
 plate and all his service was of the plainest tin, 
 dented and battered from hard usage, but shining as 
 brightly as the sturdy arms of the general's cook 
 could polish it. 
 
 Bacon, potatoes, crackers and a demijohn com 
 posed the menu. Alas, for the hopes of those to 
 whom a demijohn held forth specious promise of 
 strong drink, meet for soldiers! This vessel con 
 tained nothing but buttermilk, of which the general 
 was very fond. He drank no wine or other liquor
 
 IN THE WILDERNESS 209 
 
 on the field, and but little out of it. The feast was 
 a sumptuous one with such a combination. Some 
 times but infrequently there was bacon, generally 
 potatoes, hard bread and water. Coffee was a rarity, 
 and the general did not care for chicory. Lee nod 
 ded pleasantly to the approaching officer, called to 
 his boy to bring an extra tin plate and bade him sit 
 down and partake. 
 
 " I have a message from General Stuart, sir," 
 began Grafton, as he obeyed. 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed the general, who had been 
 anxiously awaiting word from the eyes of the army, 
 the cavalry. 
 
 " He says that the Federal army is preparing to 
 move by its left flank in an attempt to turn our right 
 again. He thinks Grant will endeavour to elude you 
 to-night. He wishes instructions. He ventures to 
 suggest that possibly a dash at the Federal com 
 munications would be of some service to you." 
 
 Lee shook his head. 
 
 " It was a dash at the Federal communications 
 that perhaps lost us Gettysburg," he said quietly. 
 " I shall have other use for General Stuart's men. 
 Where is he located, sir?" 
 
 " On the Brook Road near Todd's Farm." 
 
 " Has he his whole force in hand? " 
 
 " I believe so, sir. He has been skirmishing with 
 Federal cavalry yesterday and to-day." 
 
 " Whose division is in advance? " 
 
 " General Fitz Lee's, sir." 
 
 " Good," said the general reflectively. " Grant 
 has tried our lines unavailingly. He knows what 
 he can do and what he can't." He paused and a lit 
 tle smile of satisfaction overspread his face at the 
 fact that, in the first encounter with the genius 
 from the West, who was to do what no other com-
 
 210 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 mander of the Army of the Potomac had ever done, 
 defeat him, he had gained the advantage. " Natu 
 rally, since Richmond is his probable objective," re 
 sumed the general at last, " he will endeavour to 
 interpose his army between us and the capital. He 
 can only go around our left flank. Stuart is cor 
 rect. We must stop him at once. Colonel Taylor ! " 
 he called out. A young officer came forward, sa 
 luted his chief, and nodded familiarly to Grafton. 
 " Will you hand me the map of Spottsylvania 
 County?" 
 
 In a moment Taylor placed the map in the gen 
 eral's hand. Laying aside his tin plate, Lee pored 
 over it intently for a few moments. 
 
 " Spottsylvania Court House," he said at last, 
 " will be our next meeting point." His mouth closed 
 firmly and he looked thoughtfully out toward the 
 smoking, smouldering forest, where he had just 
 fought one of his greatest battles. " Captain Graf- 
 ton," he continued formally, after a little pause, 
 " when you have finished your dinner . . ." 
 
 " It comes near being breakfast as well, General," 
 said the young man, smiling. " But I am ready now, 
 sir." He had been eating with the rapidity of a busy 
 soldier since he sat down. 
 
 "Wait," said Lee; "you have had time but for 
 little. I shall wish you to take another long ride 
 presently. A good soldier always looks well to his 
 commissariat when he has a chance. Eat all you can 
 now. I don't know when you'll get much more," 
 he continued, picking up his own plate and falling 
 to again. He talked to Grafton as he ate. " Those 
 people " which was almost his invariable method 
 of referring to the enemy " will try to move down 
 the Brock Road from Todd's Tavern to the Court 
 House. Some of them will come down the Piney
 
 IN THE WILDERNESS 211 
 
 Branch Road to Alsop's. They have a little the ad 
 vantage of us in the point of distance, but there are 
 no better marchers in the whole world than our bare 
 foot soldiers. We have a very good road that 
 crosses the Po here." He pointed with his fork to 
 the map. " We'll get to Spottsylvania by way of 
 Shady Grove Church, crossing the Po again there. 
 Do you know anything about the bridges ? " 
 
 " I have just come over the road and they are 
 intact, or were this morning." 
 
 " Good! " returned Lee. " Is the road practica 
 ble for troops? " 
 
 " I think so, sir. It's terribly dusty, but we can 
 certainly get through." 
 
 "We must get through!" said the general im 
 pressively. " For should Grant succeed in turning 
 our left . . well, we won't consider that. We 
 can't allow him to do it. Tell General Stuart he 
 must take position on the Brock Road at Todd's 
 Tavern or south of it. He must send one division, 
 Hampton's, to Shady Grove Church Road via Tal- 
 ley's. When he gets in position he must dismount 
 his men, put them behind such works as he can man 
 age, and hold the enemy at all hazards . . at all 
 hazards, sir! " he repeated emphatically. Grafton 
 nodded to show that he understood, and Lee con 
 tinued, " Tell him that I will put Longstreet's corps 
 in motion immediately and either cross to him by the 
 Catharpin Road and join him at the tavern, or if 
 the Federal troops have reached there before us, we 
 shall continue down the Shady Grove Road and 
 move north to the Brock Road at Wait's or Perry's. 
 Do you understand? " 
 
 ' Yes, sir, perfectly." 
 
 " Impress upon General Stuart that the Federal 
 advance must be checked! He must give me time
 
 212 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 to get in front of Grant. I shall depend on him. 
 It means the salvation of this army." 
 
 " He'll do it, sir," answered Grafton confidently, 
 " although his boys don't care to do much fighting 
 on foot." 
 
 " It's the only possible way by which my plans can 
 be carried out," said Lee earnestly. " General 
 Grant will undoubtedly cover his advance with cav 
 alry, and while I have no doubt Stuart could whip 
 them, yet after a fight with them he would be in no 
 condition to withstand their infantry supports. He 
 must move his horses to the rear and fight behind 
 breastworks. It will be a hard enough task as it 
 is to hold back those people with his slender line 
 of dismounted cavalry. You fully appreciate the 
 importance of the message, Captain? " 
 
 " I do, sir," said Grafton, rising as Lee rose to his 
 feet. 
 
 " You will allow nothing to prevent its delivery? " 
 
 "Nothing, sir." 
 
 " I think you have a free road if you start now. 
 Except for stray bodies of scouts, I do not believe 
 any of those people will be met with on our left. 
 I shall depend upon you to let Stuart know. Per 
 haps I would better send a second messenger." 
 
 " It will not be necessary, sir," said the young 
 man. " I came safely through this morning, and I 
 am sure I can go back now." 
 
 " You will try the Catharpin Road to Todd's 
 Tavern? " 
 
 ' Yes, sir." 
 
 " Very well. Stuart has his artillery with him? " 
 'Yes, sir." 
 
 " Good! I shall expect to hear the sound of his 
 guns late in the evening, if not before. When can 
 you start? "
 
 IN THE WILDERNESS 213 
 
 " I am ready to go now, sir." 
 
 " Very well. I shall not give you any written 
 orders. Stuart knows you are on my staff, and the 
 situation is so simple that a word or two will make 
 him see it as I do. Good-bye." 
 
 Grafton saluted and turned away. Lee summoned 
 Colonel Taylor, talked with him a moment explain 
 ing his purpose, orders were hastily prepared, and in 
 a short time couriers were riding in different direc 
 tions carrying the orders to the different corps com 
 manders for the immediate movement of the army 
 from Grant's front to his left. The race for Spott- 
 sylvania Court House was begun.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A FORGOTTEN DUTY 
 
 GRAFTON'S horse had been refreshed by the brief 
 rest and as generous a provision of forage as any of 
 the horses in that army ever received then, which 
 was very little. The animal was, of course, not in 
 the best condition and had been ridden rather hard 
 during the morning, but Grafton was a consummate 
 horseman. He knew how to get the most out of 
 anything he rode without wearing it away, or fret 
 ting it to death, and there was still plenty of speed 
 in the gallant animal he bestrode. 
 
 It was about two when he left headquarters and 
 moved off. He cantered down the narrow, wretched 
 road, making as good speed as possible until he 
 struck a better way after he crossed Orange Plank 
 Road. No adventure of any sort befell him as he 
 galloped along. He met few people, and those 
 mostly small farmers, men too old for the ranks, 
 who were hurrying the women and children south 
 to get them out of the track of the wrestling 
 armies. 
 
 Grafton had plenty of leisure to indulge his 
 thoughts, therefore. As always when alone, and 
 even when he was in the company of the others, pro 
 vided they made no demand upon his attention, those 
 thoughts were of Ariadne. He had been most as 
 siduous in his search for her since his exchange, 
 through such agents as he could employ. His own 
 duties did not permit him a day's leisure for the pur 
 pose, but by letters and other means which he could 
 
 214
 
 A FORGOTTEN DUTY 215 
 
 command he had kept persistently looking for her 
 but with absolutely no success at all. There was 
 something that was hopeful in the absence of any 
 tidings, he thought, for he believed that silence in 
 dicated that she was alive and well. He trusted 
 that if anything serious were to befall her, or even 
 threaten her, her love for him, which he knew now 
 nothing could ever alter, would move her to send him 
 word. He watched every mail that reached head 
 quarters with a fervid expectancy and a hope that 
 no disappointment could ever entirely quench. No 
 tidings ever came. As he galloped along the open 
 road he wondered and wondered where she could be. 
 
 He was thankful to note that the character of 
 the country had changed. The armies moving south 
 would soon be out of the wilderness. The forests 
 had been cleared away in places and the land was 
 dotted with smiling farms. The little houses were 
 for the most part empty, but the crops had been put 
 in and were already showing well above the ground. 
 The farmers had fled, but when Lee had succeeded 
 in defeating Grant, as he had defeated every other 
 Union commander who had tried to move south, 
 they would come back again and reap where they 
 had sowed. That Lee would succeed in foiling and 
 repelling his great antagonist, Grafton did not for 
 a second doubt. That Lee could ever be beaten, 
 that the Southern Confederacy, even though it was 
 now in such desperate straits, could ultimately fail, 
 was not a possible article in any Southern soldier's 
 creed. 
 
 Always after a great battle in which the Army of 
 the Potomac had been checked or defeated, there 
 had been a long cessation of active hostilities. Grant, 
 so the young man reflected, seemed to be made of 
 sterner stuff than the others. He had been defeated
 
 216 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 and had lost terribly in his assaults upon the Con 
 federate lines; and, according to the hitherto in 
 variable practice of the Union commanders, he 
 should now be moving back across the Rapidan to 
 recuperate and reorganise before trying again, but it 
 seemed that he had not yet had enough of it ! Well, 
 the next battle would probably satisfy him, and then, 
 well, then perhaps Grafton might get leave of absence 
 and go to seek her. 
 
 Where could she be? So he rode along through 
 the hot spring afternoon until he reached the Cathar- 
 pin Road. Now it was just possible that the Federal 
 troops had seized Todd's Tavern in force and that 
 Stuart had fallen back. If that were the case, the 
 Catharpin Road would not be a safe turning for him. 
 He had no means of determining the matter, how 
 ever, so he turned his horse to the northeastward and 
 rapidly galloped on toward the tavern, perhaps two 
 miles away. If he could get through that way, he 
 could save a long and costly detour and a correspond 
 ing delay. He kept a sharp lookout and at every 
 turning of the road he stopped, cautiously examining 
 in front of him before he advanced further. 
 
 He met nothing, however, until he was within per 
 haps three-quarters of a mile from the tavern. The 
 road there ran through a thick grove of trees and 
 underbrush. Off to the left a small neighbourhood 
 road branched from the highway and meandered 
 through the trees until it was lost in a sudden turn in 
 the forest. He stopped and looked up it carefully. 
 He saw and heard nothing. A search of the road 
 in front revealed no one. He gathered up the reins 
 and spoke to his horse, when the sound of a woman's 
 scream broke the silence. It came to him faintly 
 from some distance away. It was a shriek fraught 
 with terror, and it touched him profoundly.
 
 A FORGOTTEN DUTY 217 
 
 His natural instinct was to turn to the branch road 
 and see what was the matter, but it was a case where 
 natural instinct had to give way before military ex 
 igency. The message to Stuart was vital. He could 
 not play the wandering knight to distressed women, 
 however great the peril, and thus jeopard the com 
 ing battle by failing to carry the order with the de 
 livery of which he was charged. Yet he hesitated 
 when the scream broke on his ears, and he remained 
 a moment irresolute. He heard the wild cry again. 
 It appealed to him most powerfully. On the out 
 skirts of every army there were certain masterless 
 men of the basest sort, who ravaged and plundered 
 indiscriminately, who would not stop at robbery, or 
 murder or even worse. 
 
 There was a woman in trouble. Some of those 
 fiends had her. She was fighting for what was dearer 
 than life. What horrors war brought upon those 
 who could not enlist in the ranks and who were called, 
 in mockery, non-combatants old men, mothers, 
 women, children I God, it was horrible ! The sweat 
 beaded on his brow, yet with an aching heart he 
 turned and spoke to his horse. A black figure, tat 
 tered and torn, burst through the bushes at that mo 
 ment. It was an old negro, white-haired, his face 
 ashy under its pigment. 
 
 Fer Gawd's sake, suh I '* he cried, lifting his 
 hands as he saw the horseman, " dey got my young 
 mistis dar an' dey . . fer de lub er heabin', hit's 
 Marse Philip 
 
 " Aza 1 " cried Grafton. " What are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 " Dem iYanks, dey got Miss 'Adny. Ef you 
 doan . . ." 
 
 Philip heard no more. Those screams came from 
 the lips of his wife; she it was who it was more
 
 218 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 than flesh and blood could stand. He turned, for 
 getful of everything but that she was in deadly peril. 
 He drove the spurs until the blood-stained rowels 
 sank deep into the flanks of his astonished horse. 
 Sudden as a released arrow from its bow the horse 
 leaped into the air and was away. Grafton loosened 
 his revolver from its holster as he ran. Two minutes 
 that seemed hours brought him to a little sequestered 
 clearing. A small white house, a story and a half 
 high, nestled among the trees. Flowers bloomed 
 around the porch. A little garden lay off to the left. 
 On the porch a woman was struggling desperately 
 in the arms of three men. Half a dozen others were 
 congregated at the foot of the steps watching the 
 scene, laughing, yelling in brutal and vulgar triumph. 
 Others were ransacking some of the outbuildings 
 further away. 
 
 Their uniforms, so far as they wore any, were blue. 
 All told there might have been a score of them. But 
 Grafton did not stop for that. His advent was a 
 complete surprise. He was upon them like a storm. 
 The pistol cracked in his nervous hands. Once, 
 twice, thrice, and each time a man fell. The startled 
 survivors started to run. One man on the porch re 
 leased the woman, who redoubled her efforts to es 
 cape, and turned and drew his pistol, firing in return. 
 The bullet grazed Grafton and struck his horse 
 vitally. The poor beast stopped, faltered and fell. 
 He had been hard hit and was done for. Grafton 
 luckily disengaged himself as he went down and shot 
 the man before he could pull the trigger again. He 
 drew his sword and rushed at the remaining man on 
 the porch. A slightly wounded man at the steps, 
 who had seized his gun, rashly interposed. Grafton 
 swept him out of his path with a terrific blow of his 
 sabre. He had one load left in his pistol. He shot
 
 A FORGOTTEN DUTY 219 
 
 the foremost man on the porch and made at the last 
 with the point of his sword upwards. 
 
 This man snapped his pistol full in the furious 
 Confederate's face. The bullet grazed his cheek. 
 It staggered him for a moment, but he still came on, 
 whereupon the remaining ruffian turned, darted 
 through the house, and sought safety in the wood 
 beyond. Half a dozen dead and dying men lay 
 groaning and cursing in the yard. No enemy faced 
 the excited soldier for the moment. He could have 
 swept an army out of his path to get to Ariadne. He 
 dropped his sword and stretched out his hands to 
 his wife, standing so straight, so dauntless, before 
 him. With pale face she stared at him where the 
 blood trickled across his cheek. 
 
 "Philip!" she cried. She had not recognised 
 him till then. 
 
 She made a beautiful picture in spite of her dis 
 arranged clothing, caused by her struggle with the 
 rough men. 
 
 " Thank God, I have found you ! " answered her 
 husband, oblivious to every thought but that at first, 
 " that I have come in time to save you ! " 
 
 " You are hurt, beloved ! " cried Ariadne, moving 
 toward him as one in a dream. 
 
 " It's nothing," said her husband, wiping the blood 
 away with his hand. " A bullet in my heart couldn't 
 hurt now that I have found you. Oh, if you only 
 knew how I have . . ." 
 
 A musket shot rang through the air. Graf ton 
 acted promptly. He realised instantly that some of 
 the men, who had fled before his onslaught, seeing 
 that he was alone and knowing that he was practically 
 weaponless, had rallied, and led by him who had 
 passed through the house, had renewed the attack. 
 He seized Ariadne, who still stared at him as if in
 
 220 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 a daze, by the arm and whirled her into the house. 
 He flung to the door and locked it. 
 
 " Have you a weapon? " he cried. 
 
 " Upstairs," she answered, " in my room. I keep 
 it there." 
 
 "Which way?" 
 
 " Here." 
 
 She opened the door. He drew her into the stair 
 way and urged her up. Together they entered her 
 chamber, a half-story room, under the long roof, with 
 dormer window, furnished in that same virginal white 
 that he had seen so long ago in Richmond. She ran 
 to a bureau drawer, and, opening it, produced a small 
 but serviceable revolver, useful in close quarters. He 
 looked rapidly about him as she did so. The win 
 dows gave on the forest. The men outside could 
 easily shoot into the room. At that instant a bullet 
 crashed through the sash, passed between the heads 
 of the two young people, and buried itself in the op 
 posite ceiling. 
 
 "Down!" cried Grafton, taking his wife and 
 fairly forcing her to her knees. He took position 
 beside her where he could see with a minimum of 
 danger while she was entirely protected. 
 
 " We're in a tight place," he whispered; " I don't 
 know whether we'll get out of it alive or not. I have 
 only one thing to say. You are mistaken; I loved 
 you alone." 
 
 "And Kathleen?" 
 
 " That was a boyish infatuation. I care nothing 
 for her. I never did." Oh, Philip, Philip! Yet he 
 believed it! " I love only you." 
 
 Another bullet zipped through the window. Philip 
 raised his pistol quickly and fired at the place whence 
 the shot had come in the underbrush. Yells of pain 
 answered his shot.
 
 A FORGOTTEN DUTY 221 
 
 " I got one, I guess. That'll make them more 
 cautious," he continued. " My heart broke when I 
 found that you had been there and left me." Some 
 one ran across the open yard and Philip fired again. 
 " Missed ! " he said in great disappointment. 
 
 There was a sound of footsteps on the porch, and 
 presently the little house shook and rocked as if some 
 thing heavy and solid was hurled against the door. 
 
 " What is that? " cried Ariadne, who really didn't 
 much care what it was. Philip had found her, he had 
 come back to her and he loved her! Nothing 
 could matter after that. 
 
 " They have gained the porch and are breaking 
 the door in," he said. 
 
 ;' What will they do next?" 
 
 " Try to rush the stairs." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " Some of them will die before they get up," he 
 responded grimly. 
 
 " Save one shot for me, Philip, and a kiss," said 
 his wife. " Those men were going to . . ." 
 
 " They shall never lay hands on you again, dear," 
 said Philip savagely. 
 
 He stepped over to the door, stood before it in 
 such a way as not to be visible from the window and 
 after a moment's hesitation opened it. The stair was 
 a blind one with a sharp turn half-way up. He 
 wanted to see anybody coming that way. The 
 marauders must have been reinforced, for they sud 
 denly began a rapid fire at the window of the cham 
 ber, evidently to distract the inmates. But one of 
 those inmates was a veteran soldier and the other 
 was a woman, who had just found her lover's heart. 
 They were not to be distracted by such things as gun 
 shots then. 
 
 The bullets zipped and tore harmlessly through
 
 222 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 the room. Ariadne had crept away from the window 
 and now crouched down on the floor by Philip's side. 
 She put out her hand and touched him standing there 
 so resolute and ready. She wanted to lay her head 
 at his feet; she thought she had never imagined him 
 so brave, so handsome, so utterly magnificent I And 
 he had not time to kiss her yet! Well, he would 
 make time for that if he had to kill her and she would 
 die content. 
 
 The fusillade outside was intended to cover the real 
 attack, for Grafton heard a slight creak on the stair. 
 He raised his pistol, and as a man followed a pro 
 truding musket-barrel around the angle, Grafton put 
 a bullet in his head. Believing that he had expended 
 his last shot, another man recklessly exposed him 
 self, to meet a like fate. Philip had another life in 
 his pistol, besides one shot for Ariadne, and he cried 
 out in triumph and bade them come on. 
 
 But the musketry fire outside died away. A voice 
 bade someone kindle a fire. It was evident that the 
 besieged were to be burned out. That was a danger 
 against which Philip could do nothing. He looked 
 at Ariadne in dismay. 
 
 " I don't care," said the girl, noting his mute in 
 quiry; " you have found me and you love me. Noth 
 ing else matters." 
 
 But life was very sweet to Philip at that moment. 
 He had found his wife and he did not wish to die. 
 He wished to live to love her and to enjoy her love. 
 If he had to die, however, the time and place and 
 company could not better be chosen. He hated to 
 stay there and be burned to death like a rat in a trap. 
 If he were alone he would make a dash for it, but, of 
 course, he could not leave Ariadne. Why had Fate 
 played him so sorry a trick as to lay him by the heels 
 at the instant above all others when she had put her
 
 A FORGOTTEN DUTY 223 
 
 greatest gift in his hand? He stood irresolute for a 
 moment, when another sound broke on his ear. He 
 heard the galloping of horses, the jingle of bits, 
 sharp words of command. It was a soldierly voice : 
 there was something in the ring that gave Grafton 
 confidence. Whether Union or Confederate forces 
 made no matter. Anything would be better than 
 these guerrillas. Horsemen galloped into the yard. 
 Recklessly exposing himself, Grafton leaned out of 
 the window and shouted at the top of his voice. 
 
 ' These ruffians are trying to outrage a woman ! " 
 
 The bullets sang around him, but none hit him. 
 
 " I thought so," he heard a sharp voice say. " Lay 
 down your arms, you infernal scoundrels; you dis 
 grace the army! " 
 
 " What's that to you, damn you ! " cried the voice 
 of the man who had given the order to burn the 
 house. 
 
 " Everything," retorted the other speaker. " If 
 you don't surrender instantly, I will . . ." 
 
 The answer was a pistol shot, and the reply to that, 
 delivered by the new arrivals without orders, was a 
 volley. There was a sudden burst of firing, which 
 presently died away. 
 
 " Come," said Grafton quickly; "they're fighting 
 each other. Perhaps we can escape." 
 
 He seized Ariadne's hand and plunged down the 
 stair over the dead bodies of the men he had shot, 
 who still encumbered it. He turned to go out of the 
 back door and found himself confronting half a 
 dozen Union cavalrymen. 
 
 "Is this the lady?" asked the young officer in 
 advance. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Grafton, " and I never was so 
 glad to see a blue uniform before." 
 
 " Those cattle disgrace our ranks. They're not
 
 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 enlisted, not amenable to any orders, under no disci 
 pline, cowards ! " 
 
 " I understand exactly what they are, sir. War 
 always brings such villains to the fore. And many 
 of our own camp-followers are of the same vile 
 breed." 
 
 " There will be a few less of them when I turn 
 the rest of those hounds over to General Patrick, our 
 provost marshal," returned the officer. " I trust 
 the lady took no hurt ? " 
 
 " Not yet," answered Grafton. 
 
 " I arrived just in time, then," said the Union 
 officer. "Of course, you belong to the Confederate 
 army, sir? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Well, I must take you prisoner. I'm sorry to do 
 it, but I have no option, of course." 
 
 The officer was right; he had no option. Nor 
 had Grafton any way of escape. What had brought 
 the Federal squadron down toward the Catharpin 
 Road, he wondered? Stuart could not be at Todd's 
 Tavern then. That message he was to deliver, upon 
 which the fate of the armies hung he had forgotten 
 it until that moment! As it flashed into his mind 
 with the consciousness that he was a helpless prisoner, 
 for the second time that afternoon the sweat beaded 
 his forehead. He could not get to Stuart now. Lee's 
 army would be outflanked. He could do nothing, 
 nothing ! Something of his emotion was apparent in 
 his face; the officer saw it. 
 
 " Too bad, sir," he said kindly, " but, of course, it 
 can't be helped." 
 
 Ariadne saw it, too, and wondered. She stepped 
 closer to her husband. 
 
 " I shall have to take you with me," continued the 
 officer. "Your horse?"
 
 A FORGOTTEN DUTY 225 
 
 " He was killed by those scoundrels." 
 
 '* Well, I have a spare one here." 
 
 "Am I a prisoner also, sir?" asked Ariadne, a 
 quick idea coming to her. 
 
 " Surely not, madam." 
 
 " This officer is my husband. We have not seen 
 each other for over a year. Will you allow us to 
 speak together for a few moments before you take 
 him away? " 
 
 " Certainly," returned the gallant young officer. 
 '* The horses need water and we have been riding 
 hard since daybreak. I'll give the men a little rest. 
 You don't happen to know where the rest of your 
 army is, I take it? " he asked, smiling. 
 
 " If I did, I wouldn't tell you," returned the South 
 erner gravely. 
 
 " Of course not. Well, you can have five minutes 
 to say good-bye to your wife. Madam, a word of 
 advice to you: you'd better get out of this neigh 
 bourhood as soon as possible. There's going to be 
 fighting hereabouts and you may not be so lucky the 
 next time."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A BRAVE MESSENGER 
 
 THE officer dismounted from his horse, and, turning 
 him over to an orderly, withdrew a short distance 
 from his prisoner. His men having disarmed and 
 tightly bound the surviving guerrillas, also took ad 
 vantage of the brief respite. The horses cropped 
 the thick grass of the yard, the men threw themselves 
 down under the trees, pipes were brought out and 
 lighted, and one or two improved the shining hour 
 by kindling fires. Soon the coffee real coffee, since 
 the Federal troops had plenty of it was boiling. 
 They had travelled far and were very tired. They 
 were a detachment of Merritt's cavalry and had been 
 sent scouting on this branch route to see if the Con 
 federates were moving up the Catharpin Road or to 
 discover if Lee were moving to the right. Before 
 Grafton could exchange a word with Ariadne a huge 
 black old negress waddled on the scene. In her 
 wake, following meekly, as became his subordinate 
 station, was her husband. 
 
 " Aunt Dessy ! " cried Ariadne. " I'm so glad to 
 see you. I thought perhaps you were killed." 
 
 " I dess lak to see dem Yankee scalawags lay a 
 han' on me ! Dis heah wufless nigger run lak a 
 tarryfied rabbit an' lef me 'lone wid nobody." 
 
 " Wen I las' seed you you was a-mekin' time yo'- 
 sef ! " returned Aza angrily. 
 
 " Yas, but I was gwine todes de house an' you was 
 gwine 'way 'fum hit ! I was in de gyarden w'en dey 
 cum, Miss 'Adny, or I'd been wid you." 
 
 226
 
 A BRAVE MESSENGER 227 
 
 " I know you were, Aunt Dessy." 
 
 " An' I was gwine fer re'nfo'cements," retorted 
 the man. " I seed de Yanks was too many fer me, 
 an' ef hit hadn't been fer me, wha'd you-all been? 
 'Case I fetched Marse Phil. I des know'd he was 
 dar w'en I runned down to de big road. An' I 
 fetched him." 
 
 " You fetched him ! " cried Aunt Dessy con 
 temptuously; "he was heah fer mos' a hour fo' you 
 cum." 
 
 " I didn't had no horse," returned Aza, " but I was 
 a-movin' des as fas' as my ol' roomatic laigs 'ud cyary 
 me." 
 
 "You both did splendidly," said Ariadne; but 
 Philip broke in impatiently. 
 
 " I want you to keep these men here a little while," 
 he said under his breath to his wife. Ariadne nod 
 ded. She made a step toward the Union officer, who 
 was surveying the scene with much amusement. 
 
 " Sir," she began, " I should like to show you some 
 gratitude for my rescue. Won't you let my servants 
 make some coffee for your men? . . only you will 
 have to furnish it; we have none, . . but I think 
 we have some corn bread and bacon which . . ." 
 
 " Which will be very welcome, madam," said the 
 young officer. " And I thank you kindly." 
 
 " Dessy, you and Aza see what you can do," said 
 Ariadne. " How many men have you, Captain? " 
 
 " I started out with forty-eight, but I've lost ten 
 by the way." 
 
 " I hab de coffee bilin' in a jiffy, ef dey'll gib it 
 to me," said Aunt Dessy. " You, Aza, go fotch de 
 bacon an' de cohn meal. Cum 'long. Lemme see 
 ef you kin move as quick as you was a-movin' w'en 
 you was gwine fo' hep. I reckon I'd radder hab dat 
 gait dan w'en you was a-comin' back."
 
 228 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 The Union officer, after this development, walked 
 over to his first sergeant. Thereafter two of the 
 troopers mounted and galloped down the road to 
 look out for a possible enemy and prevent a surprise. 
 He was a prudent captain evidently, observed Graf- 
 ton. The rest now unsaddled their horses and made 
 preparations for a longer wait. Not only was the 
 officer a good soldier, but he was a gentleman as well, 
 for there was nothing on earth that could have pre 
 vented him from taking everything which the place 
 afforded, if he had been so disposed. Most soldiers, 
 even gentlemen, would not have scrupled to supply 
 their hungry men under the circumstances, yet the 
 fact that this Confederate officer had made so gal 
 lant a defence against the guerrillas and had ap 
 pealed to him for protection rather put the Union 
 officer on his mettle to show his quality. It was as if 
 the Confederate had recognised in him a man of 
 honour and had trusted to him, and he was anxious 
 to prove that he was worthy. He was a kind-hearted 
 fellow, anyway. 
 
 Then Ariadne's beauty, and her graciousness, also 
 attracted him. He was altogether inclined to go to 
 lengths in complaisance, which perhaps under other 
 circumstances he would not have thought of. He left 
 the two entirely alone, therefore, while the prepara 
 tions for the repast were being made. He was very 
 careful to keep them in sight, but that was all. So 
 soon as he could do so Philip turned to Ariadne. 
 
 " Oh," she began, " I am so glad you have found 
 me since . . ." 
 
 " Dearest," said her husband quickly, " I haven't 
 time to talk of that now." 
 
 Ariadne flushed angrily and opened her mouth to 
 speak. 
 
 " For God's sake, don't misunderstand me ! " he
 
 A BRAVE MESSENGER 229 
 
 whispered; "you are the dearest thing on earth to 
 me, but in riding here, in getting myself captured, I 
 have jeoparded the safety of the army." 
 
 " And do you regret your action? " 
 
 " I regret nothing. Look as if we were talking 
 indifferently, please. I had to do it, but the situation 
 is a fearful one to me. It spells dishonour." 
 
 "Philip!" 
 
 " Unless you can help me." 
 
 " What is it you wish me to do? " 
 
 " So soon as these men have had their meal they 
 will leave here. They will probably go further 
 south, for they have learned nothing yet, and I shall 
 be taken with them. The officer evidently does not 
 mean to take you a prisoner. So soon as he is out 
 of sight you must . . have you a horse? " 
 
 " Bonnibel is hidden in the woods." 
 
 " Good ! You must go up to Todd's Tavern . . 
 do you know where it is? " 
 
 Certainly. I know every trail in this part of 
 the country." 
 
 " It's more than I do," said Grafton. 
 
 " Go on, go on, quickly. We may not be left alone 
 long." 
 
 " After you reach Todd's Tavern you must ride 
 down the Brock Road . . do you follow me?" 
 
 " Absolutely." 
 
 " Until you fall in with General Stuart's force." 
 
 " But I don't know General Stuart." 
 
 " That makes no difference. You must tell him 
 you are my wife." 
 
 14 Does he know you? " 
 
 :< Very well. Tell him I delivered his message to 
 General Lee at noon, that General Lee says he must 
 on no account strike at the Federal communications, 
 for which he asked permission. The day for raid-
 
 230 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 ing is past. He must hold the Brock Road with 
 half his command and send the other to the Shady 
 Grove Church Road. The Federals are undoubtedly 
 advancing toward Spottsylvania Court House. They 
 must be checked on both roads until our army can 
 get ahead of them. Longstreet's corps is marching 
 to-night on the Shady Grove Church Road. General 
 Lee wishes General Stuart to dismount his men and 
 fight behind entrenchments. On no account must he 
 charge the Federal cavalry, which will probably cover 
 the Federal advance. He is to look out also for a 
 Federal advance on his flank from the Piney Branch 
 Road. He would better keep one brigade to cover 
 the Piney Branch Road, a division with the guns on 
 the Brock Road and a third division on the Shady 
 Grove Church Road. Do you understand? " 
 
 " Entirely." 
 
 " Repeat me the orders to make sure." 
 
 Grafton spoke like a soldier in his haste, and Ari 
 adne answered like one. 
 
 " It's this way," she said. She had brought to bear 
 an unusually keen intellect to comprehend her hus 
 band's rapid instructions. '* There are two roads to 
 Spottsylvania Court House, the Brock Road and 
 the Shady Grove Church Road. General Stuart is 
 somewhere about Todd's Tavern? He is to divide 
 his force into three parts. Put one part with the guns 
 on the Brock Road at the tavern, or as near it as 
 possible. The smallest division on the Piney Branch 
 Road and another division on the Shady Grove 
 Church Road. His men are to dismount and fight 
 behind breastworks, such as they can improvise. Gen 
 eral Lee is marching to Spottsylvania Court House 
 by the Shady Grove Church Road and Longstreet's 
 troops should get there some time to-morrow. He is 
 to keep the Yankees back till then."
 
 A BRAVE MESSENGER 231 
 
 " You have it exactly," said her husband. " It's 
 wonderful; I'm proud of you! " 
 
 " There hasn't been a move of the army for four 
 years," answered Ariadne, " that I have not studied, 
 map in hand." 
 
 Were you thinking of me? " 
 
 " Of whom else? " she answered, turning her eyes 
 full on him. 
 
 Heavens, how beautiful she was! Her plain and 
 simple life, in that quiet, sequestered region, the 
 hardy fare to which she perforce had accustomed 
 herself, the open air exercises in the little garden and 
 riding on the country roads, had developed her amaz 
 ingly. Her cheek was tanned by the sun and air, her 
 figure had rounded into proportions that were per 
 fection itself. A healthy, if delicate, colour glowed 
 in her cheek. Life, Youth, Love sparkled in her eye, 
 crimsoned her lips. 
 
 Philip looked at her and thought what a fool 
 he had been ever to have hesitated a moment, even 
 in thought, in comparing her to Kathleen, or to 
 any other woman, North or South. He was over 
 whelmingly in love with her, and his direct, pas 
 sionate gaze brought the blood to her cheek and made 
 her heart throb unsteadily. There had been no time 
 for love-making between these two yet, but a word, 
 a touch, a look, a whisper, in such a scene as they had 
 passed through, spoke more than a thousand caresses 
 in more quiet and less crowded hours. 
 
 " Now tell me about yourself," began the woman, 
 hardly able to sustain the passionate intensity of his 
 gaze. 
 
 : ' We must first discuss this matter in all its lights 
 and bearings. Suppose the Yankees have already 
 seized Todd's Tavern? " 
 
 " What would I better do then? "
 
 2 3 2 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " Is there any other way to get into the Brock 
 Road from here? " 
 
 " No direct way." 
 
 " Is there any way at all? " 
 
 " I might get into it by riding around ten miles." 
 
 " That would never do. You can't go back to the 
 Catharpin Road and then on so long as those fel 
 lows go that way." 
 
 " Suppose they go the other way, back to Todd's 
 Tavern, that is? " 
 
 " Well, in that case you'd better insist upon going 
 with me and then we'll trust to circumstances to make 
 a dash for it." 
 
 "Very well; I'll get there some way, since it is 
 so important to your honour and the safety of the 
 army. But what will you do? " 
 
 " Ride on to General Stuart if I can escape. If 
 it is too late, then I'll ride back to General Lee and 
 confess everything." 
 
 " What is there to confess? " 
 
 " That I turned aside from a public duty in a 
 private cause." 
 
 " He will forgive you." 
 
 " I do not know."' 
 
 "How could he do otherwise?" 
 
 " You don't know that man. With him duty is 
 everything. There's nothing he wouldn't sacrifice, 
 no private cause, that is, for a public service." 
 
 " I should have been dead if you hadn't come . . 
 or worse," said Ariadne, shuddering. 
 
 " I shall be thankful so long as I live that I did 
 come. Whatever happens to me . . I hope to 
 heaven you can get through with that message ! " 
 
 " Philip, did they tell you how I found you at 
 York?" 
 
 " Yes, after it was too late."
 
 A BRAVE MESSENGER 233 
 
 " I got through both armies then for your life. 
 I'll get through now for your honour." 
 
 " May God preserve you ! I do not know how I 
 was such a fool to have had the treasure of your 
 affection, only to throw it away." 
 
 ' You may have it back again, and welcome." 
 
 " I have searched the country for you through 
 my agents." 
 
 ' Why didn't you come yourself? " 
 
 " I could not. It broke my heart, but I was needed 
 in the army," said Grafton simply. 
 
 " I understand." 
 
 " But my heart was with you." 
 
 " And mine with you, dear." Her eyes brimmed 
 as she looked at him. She had idealised him in his 
 absence, and she was glad that the realisation made 
 the ideal seem faint and weak. " I waited for you, 
 longed for you," she continued. " I never dared to 
 believe that you would care for . . I had seen that 
 other woman . ." 
 
 " I was blind . . she couldn't hold a candle to 
 you!" 
 
 " I thought she was . . beautiful." 
 
 " I did once, but that was before . . Ariadne 
 . . do you know that you are the most beautiful 
 thing I ever looked upon? " 
 
 The woman smiled. Her husband's remark was 
 so direct, so genuine, so unexpected. 
 
 " I just worship you," he went on, " I am so 
 proud of you." 
 
 " When the war is over . . ." she began. 
 
 " Do you think I'm going to wait for the end of 
 the war before I claim you? " he interrupted. 
 
 " Oh, but, Philip, you must," she replied. " I 
 can't realise it. It's all come upon me so suddenly. 
 I feel, I wish to be wooed and won again. That
 
 234 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 marriage . . it was nothing. It seems to me there 
 ought to be another." 
 
 " Miss 'Adny," called out old Aza from the vine- 
 clad porch, " Aunt Dessy say de coffee an' bacon 
 an' hoe cake's ready. She wan' know wot ter do 
 wid hit." 
 
 " Serve it and bring it here," answered Ariadne. 
 
 She rose from the rustic bench on which she and 
 Philip had been seated. 
 
 " Sir," she said to the Union officer, " the coffee 
 and bacon are ready. I have told my servants to 
 bring it out here. Perhaps some of your soldiers 
 will assist them. You are doubtless in a hurry to get 
 away." 
 
 " Two or three of you go in the house and bring 
 out the gru . . the coffee and bacon, I mean," said 
 the officer, flushing at his mistake. 
 
 " I should like to know your name," continued 
 Ariadne, smiling at him as some of the soldiers 
 stepped toward the house. 
 
 " Harrington, madam," returned the young man. 
 " William Harrington of the Second Maine Cav 
 alry." 
 
 " My name is Grafton. I do not believe I have 
 thanked you for your timely rescue. This is my 
 husband, Captain Grafton " she turned to Philip 
 of General Lee's staff." 
 
 " His staff ! " exclaimed Harrington, staring, as a 
 sudden idea struck him. What was one of General 
 Lee's staff officers doing there ? Then his lips spoke 
 his thought. Grafton readily answered : 
 
 " I came here to see my wife." 
 
 " Umph! " said the other suspiciously; " you don't 
 happen to have a stray despatch about you? " 
 
 " I have not," said Grafton, and he thanked God 
 Lee had not reduced his orders to writing.
 
 A BRAVE MESSENGER 235 
 
 "No communication of any kind?" asked Har 
 rington. 
 
 " No communication of any kind about me," re 
 turned Grafton coolly. 
 
 " You will pardon me, I am sure," said Harring 
 ton politely, " but I must be certain. You will not 
 object to being searched? " 
 
 " Search my husband? " cried Ariadne. 
 
 " Captain Harrington means no indignity, my 
 dear," said Grafton cheerfully. " Certainly, Cap 
 tain, you can search me at your pleasure, but you will 
 find nothing." 
 
 " Because you have it so carefully hidden? " 
 
 " Because there is nothing to find." 
 
 " Look here," said the Union officer, " will you 
 give me your word of honour as an officer and a 
 gentleman, that you have no papers or written orders 
 of any description about you? " 
 
 " Cheerfully," returned Grafton, glad to be able 
 to give the required assurance. " Upon my word of 
 honour, as an officer and a gentleman, I have 
 no written orders of any kind on my person in 
 any shape or form, nor have I had any for several 
 days." 
 
 " And you, madam, have you any? " 
 
 " None," answered Ariande. " Would you like 
 to search me? " 
 
 " God forbid ! " said the officer, " but it is possible 
 that he might have passed anything he carried to 
 you." 
 
 " He did not," answered the young woman. " I 
 give you my word of honour that he did not." 
 
 " Well, it is not very military," said Captain Har 
 rington, greatly relieved, " but I accept your assur 
 ance. Now for the coffee." 
 
 If Captain Harrington had pursued his investiga-
 
 236 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 tions further he would have trapped the two. While 
 Grafton might have lied, and lied successfully, to con 
 ceal the fact that he had been charged with a verbal 
 message, which he had turned over to his wife, in 
 view of the tremendous gravity of the situation, the 
 fact that the fate of Lee's army and the Confederacy 
 practically hung upon the outcome of the conversa 
 tion,' and while Ariadne might have seconded such 
 an assertion, it was morally certain her invincible 
 honesty would have been unable to sustain a cross- 
 examination upon that point. It was with a feeling 
 of great relief, therefore, that they heard that in 
 quisition terminated. As they stood together, Ari 
 adne and her husband and Harrington on the porch, 
 the soldiers out on the grass under the trees being 
 served by the negroes, Grafton, to get his captor's 
 mind off the dangerous subject, told Harrington 
 something of his story. How his wife, possessing 
 this little property a fact, by the way, of which he 
 had been ignorant, since she had received it from 
 Mrs. Galloway had gone to live there while he 
 was in the army, and that they had not seen each 
 other for nearly a year. 
 
 " There is a girl up North," said Harrington, 
 " that I haven't seen for two years, and I'm getting 
 mighty anxious to lay my eyes on her again. I hear 
 from her nearly every time the mail gets through " 
 he tapped his breast-pocket with a pleasant smile 
 " but that's not like seeing her. I wish this war 
 would hurry up and get finished," he went on. 
 " Well, I guess we've a man now that'll wear you 
 fellows out." 
 
 "I reckon not!" said Grafton confidently. 
 " You've been trying to wear us out for three years, 
 you know." 
 
 "Oh, yes, by fits and starts," said Harrington;
 
 A BRAVE MESSENGER 237 
 
 "but Grant's different. Why, the night after the 
 battle of the Wilderness you ought to have heard the 
 men cheering when they found out we were heading 
 toward Richmond and not going across the Rap . ." 
 
 He stopped suddenly, flushing furiously. Graf- 
 ton studiously refrained from making the slightest 
 comment on this incautious admission. He turned to 
 Ariadne with the most casual remark, as if he had not 
 noticed the slip, which was confirmation of General 
 Lee's information of the movement of the army. So 
 well did Grafton play his part that Harrington was 
 convinced that he had not noticed. The incident, 
 however, put an end to the luncheon. With an un 
 easy feeling that he had lingered too long in this 
 pleasant place, the young officer rose to his feet and 
 assembled his men. The horse of one of the guer 
 rillas was assigned to Grafton, whom Harrington 
 resolved not to lose sight of for an instant. Hat in 
 hand, he stepped forward to bid the young woman 
 good-bye. 
 
 " Take my advice, madam," he said, as he thanked 
 her for her kindness and hospitality, " don't stay here 
 longer than you can. There's going to be fighting 
 here and it's no place for women." 
 
 ' Thank you for your counsel," said Ariadne 
 graciously, " which I shall try to heed. I shall prob 
 ably go away to-morrow." 
 
 ' To-day, madam, to-day ! " said Harrington em 
 phatically. " The army may be along . . I mean 
 there's no time for delay." 
 
 '* Very well, sir; I can never thank you enough for 
 your timely arrival. The house would have been 
 burned and we would have been certainly killed if you 
 had not appeared when you did." 
 
 " And I wish to thank you also," said Grafton, 
 " although you have captured me."
 
 238 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " Will you say good-bye to your wife, Captain 
 Grafton? We must be moving immediately." 
 
 There was no such thing as privacy or secrecy now. 
 The yard was full of soldiers in line. All that Graf- 
 ton could do would have to be done before the public. 
 He stepped closer to her, and although she put out 
 her hand to stop him for Ariadne had prepared for 
 the contingency of their meeting and had made 
 certain plans which unfortunately for her she could 
 not carry out under these circumstances he drew her 
 to him, kissed her passionately and whispered, " You 
 won't fail? " He heard her reply, " Trust me," and 
 turned resolutely away. 
 
 " There's your horse," said the Union officer; " I 
 suppose you do not wish to give your parole? " 
 
 " Under no circumstances, sir! " 
 
 " Very well. Sergeant, detail two men to ride on 
 each side of Captain Grafton, fastening their horses 
 to his own. Madam, good-bye and good luck to 
 you." He took off his hat. 
 
 " Good-bye, Captain Harrington," said Ariadne ; 
 " may you soon see the girl in the North. Good-bye, 
 Philip." 
 
 " Good-bye," said Grafton. " Shall I see you at 
 the old house in Richmond? " 
 
 " If I can get there," said his wife. 
 
 " And if you can, sir," laughed Harrington. " I'm 
 
 sorry to take your husband away, but " He 
 
 straightened up, clapped his hat on his head. 
 "Right forward, fours right!" he cried. "Trot! 
 March!" 
 
 Ariadne stood on the porch watching them go 
 across the yard until they struck the road. Would 
 they turn to the north or to the south? She was 
 greatly relieved when she saw the head of the column 
 swing into the road and turn to the south. Another
 
 A BRAVE MESSENGER 239 
 
 time she would have been filled with sorrow at the 
 sudden parting after that brief but passionate meet 
 ing, but now she had other objects In view. She must 
 ride to save Lee's army, to save the Confederacy, to 
 save the honour of her husband, who had perilled all 
 three to save her. How splendid he had been as he 
 dashed up. She had known him instantly he had 
 stepped on the porch and he loved her! There 
 was nothing on earth that she could not accomplish 
 with that profound assurance in her soul. He loved 
 her! He cared nothing for that Northern woman. 
 He had said that he was proud of her, that she was 
 the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever looked 
 upon. Well, there would be time enough to dwell 
 upon this later. The instant the cavalry disappeared 
 down the road she turned to Aza. 
 
 " I want Bonnibel," she cried, " as quick as you 
 can get her. My revolver! Load it, tie a cloak on 
 the saddle. A canteen, something to eat, a flask of 
 whiskey! Aunt Dessy, help me with my riding 
 things. Everything on earth, life and love and 
 honour, the Confederate cause, all depend upon me 
 now! " 
 
 " Gawd a'mighty ! " cried old Aza, turning obedi 
 ently, " is you gwine to suppote 'em all? " 
 
 ' You kin do hit, honey," said Aunt Dessy, survey 
 ing her charge, " you kin do hit. You got beauty, an' 
 de strength an' de cur'ge dat'll match agin de whole 
 er de Norf." 
 
 Ten minutes later Ariadne, equipped for riding, 
 came out on the porch where Aza had the horse 
 ready for her. 
 
 " Stay in the house," she said to the faithful serv 
 ants, " and protect it as long as you can. I shall come 
 back to you, if I can. If I do not, I shall go on to 
 the old place in Richmond. If the house is not
 
 240 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 destroyed by the Yankees, stay here until I come for 
 you. If it is, try to get to Richmond and the old 
 house. Do you understand? " 
 
 " Yas, Miss 'Adny," said Aza. 
 
 " Gawd bless you, honey," cried Aunt Dessy, lift 
 ing her arms and taking the girl to her breast. Gawd 
 bless 'n spar' you fer Marse Phil! Ain't I glad he 
 cum back to lub you ! " 
 
 Ariadne swung herself into the saddle, called to 
 Bonnibel and cantered up the road upon her tre 
 mendous errand.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE RISK IN THE RUSE 
 
 BONNIBEL, a handsome gray mare, was in fine 
 fettle. Like the well-bred horse she was, she was 
 eager to go, but her mistress was too good a horse 
 woman, she had too vivid an appreciation of the de 
 mands that she might have to meet later on, to give 
 her mare her head. The fate of the Confederacy, 
 and her husband's honour, depended upon her that 
 night, and she must depend upon the horse. When 
 the time came Bonnibel would be ridden unsparingly, 
 if necessary but now Ariadne kept her down to a 
 long easy canter which carried her up the winding 
 road at a rapid pace. 
 
 Although Ariadne had displayed a marvellous apti 
 tude in comprehending the military exigencies of the 
 situation she sought to relieve, she was a woman, not 
 a soldier. She had not learned the extreme necessity 
 of vigilance in such undertakings through years of 
 experience, and she therefore neglected precautions 
 which a veteran scout would not have failed to ob 
 serve. She did not stop at each turn and reconnoitre, 
 for instance, but raced along rapidly, intent only 
 upon her arrival at her goal and the delivery of her 
 message. Outwardly intent, that is. Inwardly she 
 was thinking of other things. 
 
 Never in her life had she been so happy. Philip 
 had found her and she had found his heart. He 
 loved her. Nothing else in the heavens above, or in 
 the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth, 
 could her thoughts have been projected in either 
 
 241
 
 242 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 direction, mattered. Philip loved her! The impos 
 sible had come to pass. He had saved her from the 
 most horrible of fates, to do which he had risked 
 everything that men hold dear. It was not by word 
 of mouth alone, therefore, that she knew how abso 
 lutely she possessed her husband's heart. 
 
 With what intensity of passion she had waited for 
 him, longed for his presence, during those months in 
 which she had fled from him! She had known, of 
 course, that he would seek her, and she had wondered 
 in what spirit he would meet her, whether with re 
 proach, reproof, appeal, or resentment, or but he 
 loved her! She had never dreamed of that. His 
 passion for her matched hers for him. She could 
 read the signs by intuition by observation of herself 
 she had learned to know. She was sure of his love, 
 there was no doubt about it. Her heart sang, her 
 pulses throbbed as she rode swiftly over the winding 
 path. 
 
 And there was sweetness almost beyond under 
 standing in the fact that she was now doing something 
 for him. Not only did he love her, but he was de 
 pending upon her. She was necessary to him. Not 
 merely necessary to his happiness, but to his honour 
 perhaps to his very life. She was riding for him 
 and for the cause that, next to him, she loved above 
 everything else. Although every moment put dis 
 tance between them, and she felt that she never wished 
 to be parted from him again, she rode, the Kapprest 
 girl in the Southern Confederacy. 
 
 The road was a very crooked one, simply a tenu 
 ous line through the wilderness, of which there were 
 many to bring scattered clearings in touch with the 
 great highways. It zigzagged through the woods in 
 the most erratic fashion, to take in every wayside hut 
 that desired connection with the main travelled roads.
 
 THE RISK IN THE RUSE 243 
 
 Little branch paths just wide enough for a wagon to 
 pass through meandered off at intervals, ending no 
 where. 
 
 Ariadne had often travelled this road to Todd's 
 Tavern on her way to the Piney Branch Church, 
 which she sometimes attended. She was thoroughly 
 acquainted with it and needed to give it no particular 
 attention. It would be time enough for her to worry, 
 she fancied, when she reached the tavern. She was 
 more and more absorbed and entranced in her own 
 thoughts, and there never was a more surprised 
 woman than she when a sharp voice bade her halt. 
 At the same instant a man carrying a shining rifle 
 sprang out of the underbrush, presenting his piece 
 full at her breast. 
 
 Her first impulse was to ride him down. She 
 raised the whip she carried, but before it fell another 
 man scrambled through the coppice on the opposite 
 side. He, too, presented his piece threateningly. 
 The first man cried loudly: 
 
 "All right, Captain; it's only a woman." 
 
 An instant after the road was filled with men on 
 horses. Ariadne had thrown Bonnibel violently 
 back on her haunches when she saw the impossibility 
 of escape before her. Quick as a flash as the road 
 filled with the men she wheeled the mare for a dash 
 back, and this time the whip fell, but a resolute hand 
 had already grasped the bridle. In her excitement, 
 with difficulty keeping her seat on the plunging mare, 
 Ariadne struck at the man with her whip. Her ef 
 fort was futile, of course, for the man caught the 
 whip and wrenched it from her hand. 
 
 " It's no use, madam; whoa . . damn you ! " he 
 cried, dividing his attention impartially between the 
 rider and the horse. " We've got you." 
 
 " Who is it, Corporal? " asked a tall bearded man
 
 244 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 spurring through the press until he confronted the 
 woman. Instantly his hat came off. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, madam," he said, " but we 
 must know who you are and your business." 
 
 Ariadne looked at him with the deepest interest. 
 She was dismayed beyond measure at being thus 
 checked at the very outstart of her journey. She 
 realised that she should have been more careful. 
 She recognised, too late, that she should have given 
 more thought to her errand and less to her own affec 
 tions. As her peril had been Philip's undoing, so his 
 love had like to be hers. Also, what answer to make 
 to this question did not immediately occur to her. 
 
 The men were nondescript as to uniform. Some 
 of them wore the regulation uniform of United States 
 soldiers, infantry, artillery, cavalry, although they 
 were all mounted. A few of them and these the 
 most dilapidated had on grey jackets. The officer 
 who was addressing her was shrouded from head to 
 foot in a blue military cape, although the evening was 
 extremely warm. Were they her people or did they 
 belong to the enemy? Before she answered Ariadne 
 studied the faces of the men who had closed around 
 her, and they did not look like Northern men. 
 
 " Which side do you belong to? " she asked, in turn 
 hoping for a clue. 
 
 This was something of a poser, and it was the cap 
 tain's turn to hesitate. 
 
 " Madam," he said at last, and the voice sounded 
 Southern to her, although she could not be sure, " an 
 swer me a few questions and I'll tell you. Where 
 do you live? " 
 
 There was no reason for concealing that fact, 
 thought Ariadne, so she promptly replied. 
 
 " Back a mile or so down the road in a little cot 
 tage."
 
 THE RISK IN THE RUSE 245 
 
 " Are you a Virginian? " 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " Are you for the North or South? " 
 
 Now that was a strange question, but some Vir 
 ginians were for the North, and the secret service of 
 either army employed a good many women agents, 
 who were less liable to suspicion than men. 
 
 " For the South ! " answered Ariadne instantly. 
 There was such a ring of sincerity in her voice that 
 the officer was more than half convinced. He ques 
 tioned her further, however. 
 
 ' Will you tell me your name? " 
 
 " My name " Ariadne hesitated. " Lewis," 
 
 she said at last. 
 
 " Are you related to Judge Lewis of Prince George 
 County?" 
 
 " I was. He is dead, you know. I am his grand 
 daughter." 
 
 This admission would have been very damaging 
 had the captain belonged to the other side, but 
 Ariadne had shrewdly studied the faces of the cap 
 tors and she was at last convinced that they were 
 Southerners. Besides, when it came to a point of 
 that kind Ariadne was incapable of lying. Indeed, 
 she had answered the first question impulsively, and 
 she had to go on telling the truth. Fortune was with 
 her. 
 
 " We are for the South, too, madam," said the 
 officer. " My name is Elson, Captain Elson." 
 
 4 You relieve me greatly," said Ariadne. " I am 
 delighted to me meet you, sir. But those blue uni 
 forms?" 
 
 " We got them from some Yanks who won't need 
 any other covering than Mother Earth from now 
 on," said the captain. " Our army is so destitute of 
 everything that we are forced to live off the enemy."
 
 246 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 He smiled. " We are doing it, too. See ! " He 
 throw off the heavy cloak which was so oppressive 
 in the warm weather, and Ariadne saw his own uni 
 form of worn Confederate grey. " I shall not need 
 this for a space," continued the officer. " When we 
 heard your horse thundering down the road we didn't 
 know what was coming, and we laid a trap for you. 
 You were making enough noise for a troop of 
 cavalry." 
 
 " I know," said Ariadne; " I forgot. I have much 
 to learn before I can be a soldier." 
 
 The captain laughed again. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said, " but the idea is so 
 absurd." 
 
 " Yet I am charged with a vital message," said 
 Ariadne gravely. " I will tell you all about it now." 
 She was dead sure of her position by this time. In 
 fact she remembered to have heard of the Elson 
 family. " My name is Grafton." 
 
 " But you said Lewis." 
 
 " That was my maiden name. I am married to 
 Captain Grafton 1 , . . ." she stopped. " Have 
 you ever heard of him? " 
 
 " I know a Philip Grafton on General Lee's 
 staff." 
 
 " He is my husband," said Ariadne promptly. 
 
 " Madam, I am more than pleased to meet you 
 now and beg your forgiveness for the detention." 
 
 "It is nothing," said Ariadne; " my husband was 
 riding with important orders from General Lee to 
 General Stuart. He was captured by a squad of 
 Federal cavalry. They didn't think it necessary to 
 take me with them. My husband managed to give 
 me his orders and I'm riding to find General Stuart." 
 
 11 Where do you expect to find him ? " asked Cap 
 tain Elson.
 
 THE RISK IN THE RUSE 247 
 
 "At Todd's Tavern." 
 
 " You won't find him there. The Yanks are there 
 in force. We're a scouting party from Early's 
 corps that was Hill's. We have been sent to find 
 a practicable way to reach the Catharpin Road." 
 
 " This road here," said Ariadne, " will take you 
 directly to it." 
 
 " Are there any Federal troops down that way? " 
 
 " Only a scouting party, so far as I know." 
 
 "The one that captured your husband?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The Catharpin Road leads into the Brock Road 
 at Todd's Tavern, doesn't it?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I suppose they will have sent detachments down 
 it also? * 
 
 " I suppose so," answered Ariadne. 
 
 " They won't be in great force, however," com 
 mented Captain Elson. " The only troops at Todd's 
 Tavern are Yankee cavalry. So far as I can learn 
 the Federal infantry hasn't come up yet." 
 
 ' What are you going to do now? " asked Ariadne. 
 
 " Nothing. I can depend upon this information 
 you have given me ? " 
 
 "Absolutely. Can I depend upon you?" 
 
 " With the greatest confidence, madam," said the 
 captain. "What do you intend to do?" he asked 
 in turn. 
 
 " I must get to General Stuart. Where are you 
 going?" 
 
 " Back to General Early to report the practica 
 bility of this road, immediately. Unless I can serve 
 you." 
 
 ' Thank you," said the young woman, who had 
 been thinking hard, but without seeing any light, "you 
 see there is no way to get into the Brock Road down
 
 248 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 which General Stuart has probably retreated except 
 by way of Todd's Tavern, unless I should go back 
 with you and take a wide circle around to the north 
 and get on the Piney Branch Road." 
 
 " In which case you would inevitably fall into the 
 hands of some of the marching Yanks." 
 
 " Exactly. Therefore I must break through at 
 Todd's Tavern somehow." 
 
 " Is there any road that leads off to the east 
 ward?" 
 
 " None that I know of, and if there were it would 
 stop at the Catharpin Road and so take me to the 
 tavern in the same way." 
 
 " You'll have to give it up, I fear." 
 
 "I cannot!" 
 
 " How are you going to get through then? " 
 
 " I do not know how, but I must get through 
 some way." 
 
 " May I ask what the orders are you have for 
 General Stuart? " 
 
 " I do not think I ought to tell you, sir," said 
 Ariadne doubtfully. " If you could get through 
 yourself, or you would be willing to make the at 
 tempt, or should take the responsibility . . ." 
 
 " It's out of the question for me to try it," re 
 turned Captain Elson; " I must get back to General 
 Early as soon as possible. Have you written 
 orders? " 
 
 " No, they are verbal." 
 
 " Because if they were written I was going to 
 suggest that you destroy them after committing 
 them to memory before you approach the Union 
 lines." 
 
 " I should have done that, but the orders are not 
 written." 
 
 " I can guess," said Elson, " that General Lee
 
 THE RISK IN THE RUSE 249 
 
 orders General Stuart to hold the Union forces back 
 until he reaches Spottsylvania Court House." 
 
 " You can guess all you wish," said Ariadne, smil 
 ing pleasantly, " and if your guess is correct, you can 
 see the importance of my getting through." 
 
 " I see," returned the captain, delighted with his 
 own acumen. " Well, what do you propose and how 
 can I help you." 
 
 A plan had come to Ariadne while they had been 
 talking, a forlorn hope, but the only one that prom 
 ised any success at all. 
 
 " I would like you to ride with me as near to the 
 Union lines as possible," she began, " and then let 
 me get ahead of you a short distance. Then you 
 and your men can chase me into the Union lines. 
 Fire and make as much noise as you wish, but don't 
 hit me, if you can help it. I'll pose as a Northern 
 woman seized by Confederate troops and get per 
 mission from the commanding officer to go to my 
 home near the Piney Branch Church. There is a 
 short cut that leads from the Piney Branch Road 
 about a mile above Todd's Tavern straight into the 
 Brock Road a mile below it. I will take that road, 
 which will put me in advance of the Union troops 
 and so get to Stuart." 
 
 " It's a good plan," said Captain Elson, " but 
 risky." 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 " In the first place, to make the pursuit a success 
 ful one we will have to approach near the Federal 
 lines and some one is pretty sure to get hurt." 
 
 " Oh, I hadn't thought of that," said Ariadne, dis 
 mayed. 
 
 11 It's part of a soldier's life, madam, to risk things. 
 I take it your orders are of sufficient importance to 
 justify me in hazarding my men,"
 
 250 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " They are. You may not take my woman's word 
 for it . . I mean you might think I am not capa 
 ble of judging . . but my husband said . . ." 
 
 " I know they must be," interrupted Captain 
 Elson, who had divined them all, " and I will take 
 the risk." 
 
 "Thank you. Let us ride on?" said Ariadne; 
 "it's getting late." 
 
 The captain turned to his men. 
 
 "Men," he said, "this lady is the wife of an 
 officer on General Lee's staff. Her husband was 
 carrying important orders from General Lee to Gen 
 eral Stuart when he was captured. His wife volun 
 teered to carry the orders. She is to pass through 
 the Union lines to Todd's Tavern. She will pose 
 as a Union woman. We're going to help her out in 
 her deception by giving chase to her when near 
 enough to make it interesting. I wish you to make 
 as much noise as possible, yell, shoot, but be careful 
 not to hit the lady. Go as close to the line as pos 
 sible, but keep your horses well in hand, and at my 
 signal^I shall be in the lead wheel and ride back 
 for your lives. If I fall, if any of us fall, the sur 
 vivors will join General Early and report the 
 practicability of the road. Do you understand?" 
 
 They were veteran soldiers, and their faces lighted 
 with pleasure as they took in the daring ruse. A 
 shout of acquiescence came from their bearded lips. 
 One old sergeant, he who had seized Ariadne's 
 horse, spoke for his comrades. 
 
 " We understand, Cap'n, but I would like to ax 
 you one question, sir, if I mought be so bold." 
 
 ;'What is it?" 
 
 " We're not to shoot at the leddy . . God 
 bless her . . but you wouldn't mind ef we 
 plugged a few of them Yanks with lead, would you? "
 
 THE RISK IN THE RUSE 251 
 
 " Certainly not," said the captain, smiling; " that'll 
 make the affair more real." 
 
 Ariadne shuddered at the evident relish with 
 which these men received that word of their captain. 
 
 " Oh, I hope no one will be shot! " she saia. 
 
 " I hope none of our men will," said Elson, mo 
 tioning her forward and with her leading the way. 
 
 An hour's riding brought them to the turn of the 
 road, half a mile beyond which lay the Union lines. 
 Elson and Ariadne rode forward until they had a 
 fair view of the situation. The Union cavalry, save 
 for some picket guards on the road, had dismounted 
 and the men were evidently preparing supper. It 
 was by this time about six o'clock. 
 
 " Everything is favourable," said Captain Elson. 
 " Now you stay where you are. I will ride back 
 and tell the men. When you hear a pistol shot be 
 hind you ride like mad straight down the road. 
 Don't look back or draw rein for anything. We'll 
 do the rest. Remember if the thing is to be carried 
 out safely you must go at the best speed of your 
 horse." 
 
 " I shall remember. You have been very good to 
 me. If you . . if I get through I shall tell your 
 general what you did. Good-bye." 
 
 She extended her hand to him. He took it in his 
 own. 
 
 " For the sake of a girl down South," he said 
 gallantly, bending over it and kissing her hand.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A HEAVY PRICE 
 
 THE Confederate bowed gracefully to her, wheeled 
 his horse and galloped back toward his men. She 
 watched him a moment as he disappeared through 
 the trees, and then, gathering her reins in her hand, 
 with a wildly-beating heart she waited. Presently 
 she heard a shot from the woods behind her. In 
 stantly she spoke to Bonnibel. The mare sprang 
 forward at the sound of her mistress' voice. Glad 
 was Ariadne that she had saved her during the after 
 noon. Happy was Bonnibel at being given freedom 
 to do her best. Like a brown arrow she leaped for 
 ward, and in a few seconds she was running at full 
 speed along the road. 
 
 Ariadne cast one quick glance backward and there 
 behind her, a short distance away, thundered the 
 squadron. It was spread out in a long line, by Elson's 
 prearrangement, of course, as if the chase had been a 
 hot one. The wind blew swiftly by her ears, but she 
 caught the sound of yells and heard the crack of 
 shots. Sometimes the dust flicked up on either side 
 of her. There was something fearfully real about 
 the situation which made Ariadne's heart beat faster 
 and her cheek pale. Suppose one of those men in 
 his excitement should make a mistake and a bullet 
 should strike her? But she could not give much 
 thought to this; another peril suddenly confronted 
 her a peril that the captain had realised, but which 
 he had in mercy withheld from Ariadne. 
 
 252
 
 A HEAVY PRICE 253 
 
 The Union picket on the road had heard the first 
 shot and had instantly given the alarm by firing his 
 carbine. He fired it straight in the direction of 
 Ariadne, too. A bullet whizzed past her ear. The 
 sentry was a bold one, for instead of riding to join 
 the main guard, posted halfway between the line 
 and the picket, she could see him lower the carbine 
 and jam another cartridge in it. One or two of her 
 pursuers were armed with long-range rifles. The 
 sentry discharged his piece again. He was not 
 shooting at Ariadne it was obvious to him that she 
 was trying to escape but was gallantly trying to 
 stop her pursuers. The range was too long for the 
 cavalry weapon and the sentry hit no one. He 
 wheeled his horse to fly and suddenly pitched for 
 ward in the saddle before the eyes of the woman who 
 was approaching him at a furious gallop. He had 
 been shot dead. The main guard by this time were 
 in the saddle and racing forward to meet the onrush. 
 Back of them in the Union line bugles were shrilling, 
 men were running to and fro. 
 
 With every second the distance between the two 
 bodies of troops, with Ariadne in the middle, was 
 decreasing. Now they were both firing rapidly. 
 How could she hope to escape in that cross fire? 
 She would have turned to the right and left, but 
 the road prevented. She bent her head low over Bon- 
 nibel and with a swift but fervent prayer rode des 
 perately on. She would be killed, she knew, but it 
 would be in Philip's service and the Confederacy's. 
 And he loved her 1 She was almost in touch with the 
 Union picket now; they were trotting rapidly for 
 ward. Remembering her plot, she instantly raised 
 her head and screamed: 
 
 " I am a Union woman, escaping. Help ! " 
 
 The sergeant in command nodded, the ranks
 
 254 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 opened and she ran through. The greater part of 
 her peril was over. Instinctively she checked the 
 speed of Bonnibel and turned to look. The two 
 bodies of cavalry, the Union detachment being out 
 numbered two to one, had met with a terrific smash 
 in the middle of the road. The Federals, uncon 
 scious of what might be coming on behind the Con 
 federate troop, were being deliberately sacrificed in 
 order to give the supporting battalions already 
 starting from the Union line time to form to resist 
 what might be an attack in force. 
 
 The Confederates fell on them like a storm. 
 There was a tremendous melee, in which the clouds 
 of dust flicked up in the road by the horses were shot 
 with fire and smoke ; out of which came yells, cheers, 
 shrieks, and pistol shots, with the ringing, gritting 
 sound of sabre on sabre. Ariadne came to a dead 
 stop, appalled. 
 
 It was all over in a few moments. The Union 
 troops were cut down or beaten back. A few help 
 less figures, bleeding from wounds, were carried to 
 the rear by their horses. Others lay on the road 
 trampled by the terrified horses running aimlessly 
 about. The Union troops from the tavern were 
 coming up on a gallop. The Confederates, in 
 obedience to some command, were retreating as rap 
 idly as they had come. 
 
 In the rear, with a man supporting him on either 
 side, Ariadne could see a big black horse, which she 
 recognised as Elson's, bearing the body of the cap 
 tain, which lay limply upon the pommel of the 
 saddle. There had been risk in the ruse. He had 
 paid for the bit of realism with his life. His men 
 were carrying his body with his report to his general. 
 A moment since he had kissed her hand for the sake 
 of a girl in the South. Ariadne's temptation was to
 
 A HEAVY PRICE 255 
 
 turn and race after him. Her hand went to her 
 breast, she choked down a sob. 
 
 She had backed her horse as far into the under 
 brush by the side of the way as she could. In the 
 meantime the cheering men in blue went racing past 
 her in chase of the Confederates. It would have 
 gone hard for the Confederates had not the Union 
 cavalry been recalled after a time by the brigadier, 
 who presently rode up to where Ariadne sat her 
 horse, pale as death, her bosom heaving, her lips 
 dry, a look of terror in her eyes, and asked what was 
 the explanation of it all. 
 
 This indeed was real war, such as this woman had 
 not before experienced or imagined. She had not 
 dreamed of anything like this. This was what 
 Philip indulged in every day; the thought of that 
 soldier who loved her aided her in her resolution. 
 
 " Madam," said the general, " can you explain 
 this . . but you are wounded ! " 
 
 "Wounded?" 
 
 "Yes, in the arm." 
 
 Ariadne looked down at her arm. Blood was on 
 her sleeve. Some bullet from one side or the other 
 had grazed that arm and she had never felt it. 
 
 " Allow me," said the officer, lifting her arm; " it 
 is only a scratch," he went on reassuringly. " Have 
 you a handkerchief? " 
 
 Ariadne did not answer. She was incapable of 
 speech for the moment. The sight of blood, her 
 own blood, sickened her. 
 
 " Here," said the general, proffering her a flask, 
 " take a swallow of this." 
 
 He tore the thin sleeve, and, producing his own 
 handkerchief, bound it tightly around the bloody 
 streak that showed upon the tender surface. Ariadne 
 with difficulty took a swallow of the whiskey, but it
 
 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 was not easy for her to speak even then, though she 
 summoned all her courage to reply to> the officer. 
 
 " Perhaps you can explain now," he said once 
 more. 
 
 " I am a Northern woman, sir. The Confed 
 erates are approaching from the south, I learned. I 
 live down near where this road joins the Catharpin 
 Road, and I am going to the residence of a friend of 
 mine at Piney Branch Church. Those Rebels, who 
 were scouting the country, took me prisoner. They 
 didn't guard me very well, and when I saw your 
 camp through the trees I made a dash to escape." 
 
 " Well, you are either a very foolish woman or a 
 very brave one. You will pardon my frankness, I 
 am sure," said the general. " My name is Manning. 
 I command this brigade." 
 
 Ariadne started and looked at him curiously. 
 There had been something in his appearance that 
 had been familiar to her. She knew that he had been 
 a lieutenant-colonel of infantry at Gettysburg. She 
 had not heard that he had been promoted successively 
 to colonel and brigadier-general and had been as 
 signed to the cavalry for this campaign. She had 
 seen Manning's picture many times at the farm 
 house, but he had not worn a beard when it was 
 taken. For a moment she thought of telling him 
 everything and appealing to him, but a second 
 thought convinced her that it would be the height of 
 foolishness, for Manning would inevitably detain 
 her if the slightest suspicion were awakened in his 
 mind that she were not heart and soul for the North, 
 and she knew that he knew that the wife of Grafton 
 must be Southern through and through. Therefore 
 when he spoke to her again and asked her name her 
 answer was that it was Lewis. It was indeed her 
 maiden name, but he had never heard it.
 
 A HEAVY PRICE 257 
 
 " Well, Miss Lewis," he continued, taking for 
 granted that so young a woman would naturally be 
 unmarried, " you have certainly shown that you pos 
 sess plenty of pluck, and devotion to the cause as 
 well, by risking your life to get away from our 
 friends, the Confederates. How you escaped I don't 
 see. I saw you plainly; you were between two fires, 
 and you are lucky to have got off with only this. 
 How does it feel? " 
 
 He pointed to her wounded arm, her left arm, 
 fortunately. 
 
 "It . . it hurts a little," answered Ariadne, 
 " but not much. I didn't feel it until you spoke and 
 I saw the blood." 
 
 " There's many a wound that is not felt," said the 
 general, "until the blood is seen, but that in your 
 arm fortunately is superficial. One of my surgeons 
 will bind it up and beyond a day or two's inconven 
 ience and some slight annoyance you will take no 
 hurt from it. Now, what further can I do for you? " 
 
 " Nothing but let me get through your lines to 
 Piney Branch Church." 
 
 " You will find our troops on that road and may 
 have difficulty in getting through." 
 
 " I must go," said Ariadne, " my mother is there 
 and . . ." 
 
 She was astonished at the fluency with which she 
 could tell this shocking untruth, and dismayed as 
 well. It seemed so base in her deliberately to take 
 advantage of the confidence of the Union general, 
 who was moreover the husband of the woman for 
 whom she now felt pity, almost affection, since Philip 
 did not love her. Well she had earned the confi 
 dence of that Northern general by her tremendous 
 exploit of a few moments before. 
 
 " Very well," said Manning, "I will give you a
 
 258 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 note which you can present, if you are stopped by 
 any troops you may come across, which will enable 
 you to get to the church, undoubtedly." 
 
 While they were speaking the Union cavalry re 
 turning from the pursuit began to defile past them. 
 A man in the rear battalion was leading a great black 
 horse. Upon it lay a grey-jacketed figure. 
 
 "What have you there?" asked the general, as 
 the troops approached him and Ariadne. " See what 
 it is, Fiske," he said to a staff officer who had accom 
 panied him. The men had halted at the general's 
 word. Lieutenant Fiske rode forward and returned 
 in a moment. 
 
 " It's the body of the Rebel captain, sir. He was 
 evidently killed in the melee and his men tried to 
 take him with them. The men say that two troopers 
 who were with him fought like tigers before they 
 were killed." 
 
 " Is the captain dead, you say?" asked Ariadne. 
 
 1 Yes, madam," said the lieutenant. 
 
 Ariadne shuddered. Fifteen minutes before he 
 had kissed her hand " for the sake of a girl down 
 South." She felt that she could not endure the situa 
 tion, yet something that nervous reserve of power 
 and strength which even the weakest woman seems 
 to have at command when the emergency arises 
 came to her assistance. She had played a part so 
 far, and to play it had cost the lives of many brave 
 men. To give way now, to break down, would make 
 the sacrifice vain. She locked her teeth together and 
 stared ahead. The general spoke to her. 
 
 " Did you know this man? " 
 
 "He told me his name was Elson," said Ariadne; 
 " I had never seen him until they captured me on 
 the road." 
 
 "Poor fellow," said Manning; "that was a gal-
 
 A HEAVY PRICE 259 
 
 lant charge on our line. I wish it had been for a 
 nobler purpose than the pursuit -of a woman." 
 
 Here again Ariadne did not have power to speak. 
 One word would have cleared the dead man's mem 
 ory. He had not been pursuing a- woman. He was 
 risking his life to save the army and the Confeder 
 acy and Philip's honour. She was silent. 
 
 "It was a brave dash, though. We'll give him 
 honourable interment. He was your enemy," he 
 continued, " will you . . ." 
 
 " I shall be anxious to do anything you wish," said 
 Ariadne eagerly. 
 
 " I will have his body examined, and if there are 
 any papers or other private matters upon him, I will 
 turn them over to you. Will you see that they are 
 forwarded where they belong when occasion 
 serves? " 
 
 " I will do it gladly," said Ariadne. 
 
 She was so honest, so sincere a soul, that even when 
 she was deceiving, people trusted her. This made 
 her task the harder. 
 
 " Did you find whether they got all the party, 
 Fiske?" asked the general. 
 
 " No, sir, they didn't," returned the lieutenant. 
 " About half of them got away." 
 
 " How many of ours unhurt? " 
 
 " About twenty-five have been killed or badly 
 wounded and a number scratched." 
 
 Over forty men, therefore, had laid down their 
 lives in that little episode in order to get Ariadne 
 through the lines. In war, for the slightest thing, 
 sometimes, one pays a heavy price. 
 
 Half an hour later, with a lock of hair, a bundle 
 of letters and a watch in the breast of her dress, all 
 of which had belonged to the captain which were 
 not so heavy and cold as the sad heart that beat
 
 26o THE PATRIOTS 
 
 against the timepiece Ariadne, armed with a safe 
 conduct from General Manning, explaining how she 
 came through his lines and where she was going, set 
 forth on the Piney Branch Church Road. Just as she 
 left the general a courier dashed up at full speed. 
 The general tore open the despatch, scanned it rap 
 idly and instantly ordered Lieutenant Fiske to ride 
 after Ariadne, who was still within easy sight on 
 the road, and bring her back. Fiske at the full speed 
 of his horse rapidly overhauled her. 
 
 To avoid suspicion she had ridden her horse very 
 slowly away. She did not wish to seem too eager 
 to leave the Union lines. General Manning had 
 offered to send an escort with her, but she had re 
 fused, persisting that she knew every inch of the road 
 and that it was unnecessary. She had imprudently 
 added that she knew every bypath thoroughly, and 
 had said that she was sure no one would molest her 
 with the general's safe conduct. The staff officer 
 halloed to her and, resisting a wild impulse to put 
 spur to her horse and fly, she turned as she saw him 
 approaching. 
 
 " Beg pardon, madam," he said, as he drew rein 
 beside her, " but General Manning wishes to see you 
 again." 
 
 With deep misgiving Ariadne turned her horse 
 and went back to the general. 
 
 " Miss Lewis," he said, " you have a chance to 
 render our cause a great service." 
 
 ; ' What is it? " asked Ariadne, with sinking heart. 
 
 " You said you knew every road, every bypath in 
 the vicinity." 
 
 She nodded; she could do nothing else after that 
 uncalled for but accurate assertion. 
 
 " I have received orders from General Sheridan 
 to send regiments scouting on all the roads parallel-
 
 A HEAVY PRICE 261 
 
 ing the Brock Road. He has learned that Stuart's 
 cavalry is contemplating an advance movement to 
 ward Todd's Tavern, and he wishes us to check him, 
 if possible, and hold him in play until he gets up. 
 Now I have heard there is a road that leads out of 
 the Piney Branch Road into the Brock Road about a 
 mile above us here. There is such a road, I 
 presume? " 
 
 1 Yes," faltered Ariadne. 
 
 "If you will ride with one of my regiments, then, 
 and indicate the road, I shall be greatly obliged to 
 you. I think I can depend upon your intelligence 
 and I have had unequivocal proof of your courage 
 and devotion to the Union . . a rare thing in 
 Virginia," he added gallantly, " but not the less ap 
 preciated on account of that." 
 
 Poor Ariadne was trapped. There was absolutely 
 no way to escape. There was nothing she could do 
 but acquiesce. This business of playing the courier 
 brought her in strange positions. She found herself 
 obliged to use her knowledge of the country to lead 
 the Union troops down upon her friends. There 
 was no way to avoid it. She could have told Man 
 ning the truth, but that would be the end of her 
 message to Stuart. If she were silent and went on, 
 by some trick of Fate she might get away and de 
 liver the orders. At any rate she could do nothing 
 by remaining at headquarters, and every step took 
 her nearer her goal. Fortunately she was asked to 
 lead the troops in the direction which her errand 
 indicated. 
 
 " Certainly," she replied, as all this flashed into 
 her mind. " I will go gladly and show the path." 
 
 " Good," said Manning; " I knew I could depend 
 upon you. Lieutenant Fiske, is the Second Maine 
 Cavalry ready to move ? "
 
 262 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 This was the regiment to which Harrington's de 
 tachment belonged. One troop held her husband 
 prisoner, and now she was to lead the rest of the regi 
 ment against Stuart. 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Fiske. 
 
 "Ask Colonel Ledyard to report here. Ah, 
 Colonel Ledyard, let me present you to Miss Lewis, 
 a devoted Union woman, although a Virginian. She 
 knows the country hereabouts and will show you the 
 bypath that leads into the Brock Road. You will 
 take your regiment as far toward the Brock Road 
 as you can without endangering it too greatly. 
 Should you meet any of the Rebel cavalry advancing 
 you are to keep them in check as long as you can. 
 The Ninth Corps is marching toward PIney Branch 
 Church, and should reach there to-morrow morning. 
 You can fall back that way upon Burnside, or upon 
 us, in case you are hard pressed. I shall advance 
 down the Brock Road and send a regiment down the 
 Catharpin Road as well. We must hold them off 
 until Merritt and Warren and Sedgwick get up. 
 You understand?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 By the way, any report from Harrington yet? " 
 
 By t 
 
 "No, 
 
 ;t Well, he can take care of himself, I guess." 
 
 " I'm sure of it, sir," answered Ledyard 
 
 confidently. 
 
 " You will find Miss Lewis devoted to our cause," 
 
 laughed the general; " she will tell you how she came 
 
 into the Union lines as you go along."
 
 THE MESSAGE IN THE DARK 
 
 ARIADNE never forgot that ride at the head of that 
 splendid regiment of Union cavalry. Even her in 
 experienced eye could mark the difference between 
 the well-fed horses, the well-armed, well-clothed, con 
 tented-looking men, and the lean and hungry steeds 
 and the riders of the Confederate army, living on air 
 and hope, and one ear of raw corn per diem between 
 them the men sharing the rations with their price 
 less horses. To have to talk, in a quiet conventional 
 way, with a strange officer who wore the uniform of 
 the enemy, at the time when her heart was quivering 
 with excitement, alarm, uncertainty, and all sorts of 
 complex emotions, was not the least part of her task. 
 She had made up her mind to lead the regiment cor 
 rectly. Indeed there was nothing else to do. She 
 was desperate now, and the only plan she could think 
 of, in case they did come in touch with the Con 
 federates, was to make another dash for it and trust 
 to Providence to carry her safe from one line to the 
 other between the two fires. 
 
 It was a weird and mysterious progress, as the 
 night fell and darkness came. They wended their 
 way through a heavy growth of trees, which, in the 
 blackness of the moonless night, was well-nigh im 
 penetrable. Just at dusk they had struck the branch 
 road which was one of those wood trails through the 
 forest, so encumbered with logs and brush as to 
 make the going almost impossible to horses. Once 
 having set the column on that road, Ariadne could do 
 
 263
 
 264 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 little more. She could not see; there were no land 
 marks by which the way could be traced. It was a 
 mere question of feeling. Some of the most experi 
 enced men under the command of a vigorous officer 
 formed the advance, and the regiment in a column of 
 fours, for the road was barely wide enough for that, 
 was strung out in a long line. 
 
 They made a tremendous noise in spite of every 
 effort. The horses starting and stumbling, the men 
 muttering and cursing, as they crashed along in no 
 little confusion. It was nervous work this plunging 
 through blackness, not knowing what would happen. 
 At any moment they might run across the enemy 
 wandering aimlessly as they, and then one of those 
 horrible scenes with which the Battle of the Wilder 
 ness had abounded, a death-grapple in the darkness, 
 would ensue. Every man had his carbine ready, 
 every officer loosened his pistol in his holster. 
 
 Ariadne rode near the head of the column by the 
 side of the colonel. Manning had not told Colonel 
 Ledyard that Ariadne was going to the Piney 
 Branch Church, so when she turned with the rest of 
 the regiment in the byroad he expressed no surprise. 
 Conversation had been forbidden in a vain effort to 
 lessen the noise, and the colonel rode in silence, 
 saying nothing save to give a whispered reply to an 
 equally low report from some officer or man who 
 fancied he had something to tell. 
 
 As for Ariadne, she was in a state of nervous 
 tension almost amounting to hysteria. She had seen 
 so much death, she had passed through so many ex 
 citing scenes, that she had not strength for this ter 
 rible prowl in the Stygian darkness. She knew the 
 dangers that lay before them, that any moment they 
 might blunder ino the enemy in spite of every pre 
 caution, and she kept listening in strained expectation
 
 'It was a weird and mysterious progress, as the night fell 
 and darkness came"
 
 THE MESSAGE IN THE DARK 265 
 
 for the report of a weapon, the shriek of a victim, 
 the cheer of a fighter. Listening while her heart 
 beat so that it sounded in her ears like the tap of 
 a drum. 
 
 The intangible is always the more terrible than 
 the real to the being whose only courage is moral. 
 This is the high variety in which women abound. If 
 it had been daylight, Ariadne could have stood it bet 
 ter, but each slow, plodding step of her horse, as they 
 felt their way over the broken road, made her wish 
 to give vent to her feelings in a wild scream. She 
 had reached the limit of her endurance when the 
 expected happened. 
 
 Without a word of warning, without the slightest 
 indication, the wood to the right was suddenly illumi 
 nated by what seemed to the startled girl to be a 
 number of vivid flashes of lightning, and the darkness 
 was split by a series of terrific concussions. Her 
 horse stopped, screamed horribly and sank shudder 
 ing to the ground. She heard shrieks and cries, 
 groans and curses. She herself was conscious of a 
 sharp pain in her shoulder; something smote her 
 head like a hammer. She felt and knew nothing 
 more. 
 
 Merciful oblivion rushed over her like a wave. 
 She could not hear the spluttering fire with which the 
 discharge was returned; the words of command, by 
 which the officers strove to rally the regiment; the 
 wild flight back up the road in a confused, disorgan 
 ised mass, which the officers tried in vain to stay. 
 She knew nothing at all until a light flashed into her 
 face and she opened her eyes to find a figure bending 
 over her, a bearded, rough-looking man, seen dimly 
 in the faint light cast by a lantern, and to hear a 
 voice exclaiming: 
 
 " Great God, it's a woman ! "
 
 266 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 It was a Southern voice, it must be a Southern 
 man. 
 
 " Who are you? " she asked feebly. 
 
 " My name is Wittington. I belong to the Sixth 
 Virginia Cavalry." 
 
 " General Stuart's command? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "Is he here?" 
 
 " Back on the road about a mile and a half away." 
 
 " Take me to him immediately." 
 
 " But you are wounded in the shoulder," said the 
 officer, lifting his lantern. 
 
 " No matter. I have a message from General 
 Lee to General Stuart of the greatest importance." 
 
 " How came you to be with that Yankee regiment, 
 then?" 
 
 " I can't explain now," said Ariadne. " But if 
 you love your country, for God's sake take me to 
 General Stuart! " 
 
 "What is it, Wittington?" asked Colonel Green, 
 who commanded the regiment, at that moment rid 
 ing up. 
 
 A detachment of Confederates was busy with 
 lanterns inspecting the dead and wounded, who lay 
 in great heaps in the road. A sharp fire further on 
 in the forest indicated that Colonel Ledyard had 
 finally got his troops in hand, and as he greatly out 
 numbered the small Confederate force, he was at 
 last holding their advance in check. No blame could 
 have been attached to him for the ambush into which 
 he had fallen under such circumstances. After the 
 first shock of surprise was over he rallied his men 
 and was carrying out the orders to check the advance 
 of the Confederates with the coolness and precision 
 of a veteran. Now that he knew that the enemy was 
 there, after dismounting his men he could play the
 
 THE MESSAGE IN THE DARK 267 
 
 game of wild forest fighting in the dark as well as 
 they. 
 
 " It's a woman, a lady, sir," answered Captain 
 Wittington, lifting his lantern higher. " She says 
 she has a message for General Stuart from General 
 Lee." 
 
 ' You may give me the message, madam." 
 
 " I will not; I cannot give it to any one but the 
 general. You must send me to him at once ! " 
 
 " She's wounded," said Wittington, " in the 
 shoulder." 
 
 " Madam," said the colonel, getting off his horse 
 and kneeling beside her as she lay half supported 
 by the Confederate officer, "it is so; you have a 
 bullet through your shoulder. And bless me, a gash 
 across your temple. You are in no condition . . ." 
 
 " For God's sake, sir, I must get to General Stuart 
 if I die ! I have come through everything." 
 
 " But that Yankee regiment? " 
 
 " I had to go with them. I will explain all to 
 General Stuart. The fate of the army de 
 pends . . ." 
 
 " What is your name? " 
 
 " Grafton, Mrs. ^Philip Grafton." 
 
 " Your husband is . . ." 
 
 " A captain on General Lee's staff." 
 
 "Why, he was at General Stuart's headquarters 
 this morning, Colonel. I saw him there," said 
 Wittington. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Ariadne. " Now will you take 
 me back? " 
 
 ;< Where is the surgeon?" 
 
 " Here, sir," said the doctor from a nearby 
 wounded man. 
 
 " Ah, Doctor. Here's a woman . . ." 
 
 "What, sir!"
 
 268 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " Yes, see what you can do for her quickly." 
 
 The physician came over and knelt down beside 
 Ariadne, slit her dress on the shoulder, the right 
 shoulder this time, and began a hasty examination. 
 
 " Wittington," said Colonel Green, as the doctor 
 relieved the staff officer, " get a horse somewhere. 
 Ride back with this lady to General Stuart, if the 
 doctor says she can go, that is." 
 
 " I must go ! " said Ariadne, wincing as the sur 
 geon examined the wound. 
 
 " It's only a flesh wound, madam. Your temple 
 is grazed, too. What's the matter with this arm ? " 
 he asked as he noticed the bandage on the left 
 arm. 
 
 " That was from a Yankee bullet this afternoon," 
 answered Ariadne, struggling desperately against an 
 overwhelming inclination to faint. 
 
 "Great heaven!" exclaimed the colonel, "have 
 you been shot at by both sides? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do you think she can go, Doctor? " 
 
 " I guess so," answered the surgeon dubiously. 
 " Here, take a swallow of this? " 
 
 For the second time that afternoon Ariadne was 
 revived by the whiskey, which she hated. Of course 
 the stimulant helped her, but only her iron resolution 
 carried her through. Her shoulder and her arm 
 both pained her exceedingly. The bullet that had just 
 grazed her head gave her the most suffering, how 
 ever. The skull had not been fractured, but the con 
 cussion had been terrific, and her head rang and 
 throbbed and beat until she was almost insane. 
 
 They had put her own saddle on the troop horse 
 assigned to her and knotted the reins over the pom 
 mel. She was unable to use her right hand, and to 
 move her left was also difficult. Captain Wittington
 
 THE MESSAGE IN THE DARK 269 
 
 and a soldier rode on either side of her; the latter 
 part of the journey she rode with the captain's arm 
 around her waist, her head on his shoulder. In no 
 other way could she sit her horse. The captain was 
 a gentleman, however, and he was an officer in the 
 Confederate army as well, she reflected. Philip 
 would probably be ragingly jealous if he had seen 
 her thus supported, but there was no help for it. 
 
 After riding, it seemed to her hours, through the 
 blackness she suddenly caught sight of a light among 
 the trees far ahead. Really she had only come about 
 a mile and a half from the place of the ambush. 
 The light came from Stuart's camp. The scene was 
 picturesque and peaceful. Around the fire a little 
 group of men was congregated. Some lay on the 
 ground, others sat with their backs against the trees. 
 One of them was strumming a banjo and singing a 
 song with a curious refrain : 
 
 " If you want to have a good time, 
 Jine the cavalry, 
 Jine the cavalry, 
 Bully, boys, hey!" 
 
 Back of this group could be dimly seen the heads 
 of the regiments, the men standing by their horses 
 at ease. Off to the right of the men gleamed grim- 
 looking cannon reflecting the light from their pol 
 ished brass muzzles. The peculiar odour of chicory 
 boiling over the fire met them as they approached. 
 The light was low upon the ground and the lofty tree 
 trunks were shrouded in an intenser blackness over 
 head. The effect was strange and beautiful, but 
 Ariadne had no eyes for it then. 
 
 " We're here, ma'am," said Wittington gently. 
 " There, by the fire yonder, is General Stuart."
 
 270 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 As the three horses came into the light the group 
 around the fire caught sight of them. A tall man 
 seated on a log with his back against the tree, who 
 had been listening to the banjo, sprang to his feet 
 and stepped toward the newcomers, shading his face 
 with his hand. 
 
 "Whom have we here?" he exclaimed. "By 
 heavens, Wittington, and a woman ! " 
 
 " Help her down, gentlemen," said Wittington. 
 " She has a message for you, General." 
 
 The general sprang to the side of Adriadne's 
 horse. He fairly lifted her to the ground, and as he 
 observed her reeling, he held her tightly. 
 
 "Whiskey! "he cried. 
 
 "No," said Ariadne, " I've had enough whiskey; 
 let me down. Give me a drink of water." 
 
 She knew that she was going to die, at least she 
 felt so, but she knew that she could keep up until 
 she had delivered her message. With coats and sad 
 dles the men of the staff made a seat for her on a 
 log backed by a tree near the camp fire. Some one 
 brought her cool water from a nearby spring. They 
 waited until she drank, and, pouring the rest upon 
 her hands, wetted her face. 
 
 " Will you have a cup of coffee, madam, only it's 
 chicory? " asked the chief officer. 
 
 " Nothing more," said Ariadne. " Are you Gen 
 eral Stuart? " she asked, looking up at the tall blond 
 figure bending over her. 
 
 " I am; what can I do for you? " 
 
 " General Lee is moving toward Spottsylvania 
 Court House. He got your message that the Fed 
 erals were converging upon that point also. He 
 orders you to send a division up the Brock Road, dis 
 mount them, throw up breastworks, and to hold back 
 the Union advance as long as possible."
 
 THE MESSAGE IN THE DARK 271 
 
 The general listened in silence. The staff 
 crowded around in breathless attention. 
 
 " That's not all," continued Ariadne, after taking 
 another swallow of water; " another division is to 
 be sent over to the Shady Grove Church Road to 
 hold it and the Catharpin Road, if possible. General 
 Longstreet is already on the march toward Spottsyl- 
 vania Court House by way of the Shady Grove 
 Church. By morning all of General Lee's corps will 
 be moving. You are not to try to cut Grant's com 
 munications. It's more important to hold these 
 roads, to give General Lee time to get to Spottsyl- 
 vania Court House before the Federals, than any 
 thing else. Wait, there's something more. He thinks 
 that the Federal troops may move down the Piney 
 Branch Church Road, so you are to be careful not to 
 be taken in flank there. You are to be sure to fight 
 dismounted, for if you charged the Federal cav 
 alry . . although you could beat them, you 
 would not be in condition to withstand the advance 
 of the infantry supports. You are to fight to hold 
 them back to the last gasp. That's all." 
 
 " Madam, who are you that you deliver such a 
 message?" asked Stuart in amazement. 
 
 " My name is Grafton. I am the wife of Captain 
 Philip Grafton of General Lee's staff. 
 
 " He's got a wife to be proud of, then," said 
 Stuart. "But have you any written orders?" 
 
 " None. The orders were given verbally to Cap 
 tain Grafton this noon." 
 
 " How do you happen to transmit them? " 
 
 " He was captured by a squadron of Union cav 
 alry near my house, just off the Catharpin Road, two 
 miles below Todd's Tavern, this afternoon. I 
 escaped . . rather, they didn't think me impor 
 tant enough to detain me as a prisoner. My husband
 
 272 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 gave me the message to deliver to you at all hazards 
 for the sake of the army, for the sake of the 
 Confederacy, for the sake of his honour." 
 
 " How did you get through the Union lines at the 
 tavern? " 
 
 " I fell in with a body of scouts from General 
 Early's corps." 
 
 " But General Early has no corps." 
 
 " He was appointed to-day in place of General 
 Hill, who is ill. They were looking for a road and 
 captured me. We made up a ruse by which they 
 pursued me nearly into the Union lines. The Union 
 troops came out to fight them and I got this wound 
 in my arm here." 
 
 " What was the name of the Confederate 
 officer?" 
 
 " Elson." 
 
 " Do any of you know him? " asked the general, 
 turning to his staff. 
 
 " I do," answered one. 
 
 " I have his letters and watch and ring here," 
 said Ariadne, drawing them forth. 
 
 She handed them to the general, who glanced at 
 them quickly. 
 
 "What's this? " he asked, holding up one of the 
 papers. It was Manning's note to secure her passage 
 through the Union lines. " Pardon me," continued 
 the general, " I must make sure." He read the note 
 carefully. " This does not bear out your claim, 
 madam," he said finally, " a Federal safe conduct! " 
 
 " And, General," broke in Captain Wittington, 
 " she was with a Yankee regiment when we am 
 bushed them and drove them back with heavy 
 loss." 
 
 " I supposed you had, from the firing," said 
 Stuart. " Madam, this doesn't fit in with your start-
 
 THE MESSAGE IN THE DARK 273 
 
 ling story. Have you any other evidences as to 
 who you are? " 
 
 ' Yes," said Ariadne, after thinking deeply. " I 
 have." She brought another paper out of her 
 bodice, a worn paper. She thanked God she had had 
 forethought enough to bring it with her that after 
 noon. " Here is a letter from the President of the 
 United States." 
 
 " Is he vouching for you? " said Stuart, in greater 
 surprise than before. 
 
 " It will show who I am. My husband belonged 
 to Pickett's division. He was badly wounded at 
 Gettysburg. I went North to seek him. The Presi 
 dent gave me this letter. It says who I am." 
 
 She handed it to Stuart. 
 
 " Madam," said the general, after reading it over, 
 " I have heard of your story. I believe you now. 
 Can you describe Captain Grafton? " 
 
 Describe her husband? Every feature was 
 printed on her heart. Rapidly she told the general 
 of Grafton's perfections. There was a genuineness, 
 a spontaneity about her description, that brought a 
 smile to Stuart's face and covert laughter to some of 
 the others who watched the strange scene. 
 
 " You have convinced me at last, absolutely," said 
 Stuart. 
 
 " Thank God for that Am I in time? " 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 Just then a courier dashed up as rapidly as the 
 darkness and the trees permitted. 
 
 " General Stuart ! " he cried. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " The Yankee cavalry has already seized Spottsyl- 
 vania Court House." 
 
 Stuart looked thoughtful. If Ariadne were not 
 what she pretended to be, if the orders that scat-
 
 274 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 tered his corps and detained him where he was were 
 not genuine, he would be ruined. The enemy would 
 soon occupy the Piney Branch Church Road, they 
 were already upon the Brock Road and the Catharpin 
 Road, and now they had seized Spottsylvania Court 
 House in his rear. He had no doubt that by recall 
 ing the regiments, like that of Colonel Green, which 
 he had sent scouting, and massing his force, he could 
 seize the Court House, or break through the Union 
 lines, but if he did that he would leave all the roads 
 open. It was a grave matter to depend upon a 
 woman's word and a man's judgment. Every staff 
 officer appreciated it; indeed Ariadne appreciated it 
 herself. The general, who was not given to hesitation, 
 considered the subject for a brief space. 
 
 " I believe you and I shall carry out the orders," 
 he said finally. " General Lee," he turned to Fitz- 
 hugh Lee, one of his division commanders and a 
 nephew of the commander-in-chief } " you will take 
 your division and hold the Brock Road. The men 
 are to be dismounted, the horses to the rear. I will 
 give you Major Breathed's guns. You are to ob 
 struct the road, conceal yourself in the woods, throw 
 up any kind of breastworks you can, and hold back 
 the Yankees at all hazards. You would better hold 
 one brigade in reserve to protect your right flank in 
 case the enemy comes down the Piney Branch Church 
 Road. Do you understand? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said General Lee. " Shall I move 
 at once? " 
 
 " Immediately." 
 
 "Very good, sir. Come, Breathed," he said to 
 another gallant young officer, scarcely more than a 
 boy, whose achievements with the horse artillery 
 were the marvel of both armies. 
 
 " General Hampton," continued Stuart, turning
 
 THE MESSAGE IN THE DARK 275 
 
 to another officer who had heard all, " you will move 
 south by the blockhouse road and advance as far to 
 the west toward Shady Grove Church as you think 
 safe. If possible, cover the junction of the Church 
 Road and Catharpin Road. I cannot give you any 
 guns. The main attack will be on the Brock Road, 
 but you must do the best you can. Don't let the 
 enemy flank you down the Catharpin Road. You are 
 to dismount your men also and on no account use 
 them other than as infantry, whatever the tempta 
 tion. Do you hear that, Lee?" he called after the 
 general, who was mounting his horse. 
 
 "I do, sir," answered Fitz Lee; "although my 
 boys won't like it, your orders shall be obeyed, sir." 
 
 " A cavalryman on foot is like a sailor on shore," 
 said Stuart, " but this time it can't be helped. Where 
 is General Rooney Lee?" he continued, referring to 
 W. H. F. Lee, his other division commander and the 
 son of the commander-in-chief. 
 
 " Here, sir," answered that officer. 
 
 " I shall keep Barringer's brigade of your division 
 with me," said Stuart. " You will take Chambliss* 
 brigade and ride back toward the Court House. 
 You are not to bring on an engagement with the 
 Yankees there, but must prevent them attacking 
 Hampton, or Fitz Lee in the rear, if they advance. 
 You are only to observe, but the duty is a most im 
 portant one. All three of you gentlemen will find 
 me here with Barringer's brigade, which I shall hold 
 as a reserve to be sent in wherever it is necessary. But 
 for God's sake don't send for them unless you are 
 in the last ditch. You understand what you have to 
 do? Go ahead, then. I should like to be with every 
 division and I think it's the first cavalry fight in the 
 army that I haven't led in, but in conducting these 
 complicated operations," continued Stuart, laughing
 
 276 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 like a boy, " over such a large extent of territory, 
 I shall have to stay at the centre of events. Good 
 bye and good luck to you. The salvation of our 
 army, and our country," he added with a sudden 
 gravity, " depend upon you. I know that I can trust 
 you." 
 
 The officers saluted and turned away. In an in 
 stant the woods were filled with commotion as the 
 troops were called to attention and the brigades be 
 gan to move. 
 
 " Captain Wittington, ride back to Colonel 
 Green," said Stuart, " and tell him what the move 
 ment is and that he must hold on to that branch 
 road. If he is driven in he can rally his men here. 
 But he must not be driven in." 
 
 "We'll hold it, General, depend upon us," said 
 Wittington, turning away to deliver his message. 
 
 General Stuart was left alone with Ariadne. She 
 had been listening with intense attention to the con 
 versation. 
 
 " Madam," said the general, " you see I trust 
 you." 
 
 " You do well, sir; you will never regret it." 
 
 " Do you understand the purport of my orders? " 
 
 " Every one of them, sir. They are exactly what 
 I told you to do." 
 
 Stuart laughed. 
 
 " By Heaven," he cried, " you ought to have been 
 a soldier. Grafton is a lucky man. You are the best 
 general of us all." 
 
 But Ariadne was very far from being a soldier, 
 for, as the general spoke, there came to her a con 
 sciousness that her errand was fulfilled, that she had 
 saved the Confederacy her husband's honour, and 
 that there was no necessity for her to bear up any 
 longer, so she gently collapsed then and there.
 
 BOOK FIVE 
 "Lee's Miserables"
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE MAN AGAINST THE GUN 
 
 HARRINGTON was a daring young soldier, and he 
 pushed far south on the Catharpin Road until he 
 arrived at its junction with the Shady Grove Road. 
 There he divided his force and sent one moiety under 
 a veteran sergeant to the west, while with the other 
 he advanced to the eastward. Each party was to 
 proceed cautiously and after inspecting the road for 
 a mile or so was to return to the junction where they 
 separated. Grafton was left alone at the junction 
 with the remaining sergeant and half a dozen 
 troopers. The sergeant had orders to withdraw into 
 the wood a short distance and seek a suitable place 
 of concealment where they might pass the night. 
 He was enjoined to guard his prisoner carefully. 
 
 He carried out his instructions to the letter. 
 Forcing a way back through the underbrush for a 
 few hundred yards the sergeant came across a small 
 natural clearing which he decided, with the eye of 
 an experienced soldier, would do admirably for a 
 camp when the other detachments joined him. He 
 left Grafton severely alone, save for the presence 
 of his armed guard, who stood constantly by him, 
 ready to shoot him at the first movement, while 
 preparations were made for tn"e encampment. 
 
 It had become dark long since, but the sergeant 
 did not dare kindle a fire. The men ate from their 
 haversacks, sharing a portion with Grafton, and then 
 all but the sergeant and his guard stretched them 
 selves out for a nap. About ten o'clock a picket 
 
 279
 
 28o THE PATRIOTS 
 
 which the sergeant had placed at the junction came 
 back and reported horsemen approaching. 
 
 They proved to be Captain Harrington's own de 
 tachment. They had ridden five or six miles down 
 the road and had seen absolutely nothing. Shortly 
 after his arrival the other sergeant came up with 
 his party. He reported that a large force of the 
 enemy were marching down the Shady Grove Road, 
 not more than five miles away. He stated that he 
 had experienced great difficulty in bringing his own 
 men off without being observed. 
 
 The Federal captain concluded that he had pushed 
 his reconnoisance' as far as was prudent, and the best 
 thing for him to do now would be to return and 
 report to the troops, which must by this time have 
 occupied Todd's Tavern and the Brock Road. The 
 horses of the fatigue party were saddled and the 
 whole troop trotted rapidly up the Catharpin Road, 
 over which Grafton had galloped eight hours before. 
 
 It was not after twelve o'clock at night and very 
 dark. Confident that his enemies were all behind 
 him, ignorant that there was a road from the west 
 that led into the Catharpin Road, Harrington ad 
 vanced as rapidly as his tired horses admitted, and, 
 with less care than usual, kept a somewhat negligent 
 watch ahead. Accordingly he ran into a carefully 
 prepared ambush engineered by the advance of 
 Early's corps and led by the remnants of Elson's 
 troop. There was a sharp melee in the darkness. 
 Harrington was shot, with one of his sergeants and 
 several of his men. The remainder of his troop 
 scattered; some took to the woods, others raced back 
 toward the Shady Grove Road, some were captured ; 
 as an organised force the troop was wiped out. 
 
 The melee freed Grafton. As he made no effort 
 to escape, of course the Confederates grabbed him
 
 THE MAN AGAINST THE GUN 281 
 
 unresisting. He asked for the captain of the de 
 tachment and to him declared his name and rank. 
 After some difficulty he persuaded this officer that he 
 was really what he claimed to be, an officer on the 
 staff of General Lee charged with a message for 
 General Stuart, which should have been delivered 
 six hours before. In establishing his identity he was 
 helped by the story told by the men of Elson's de 
 tachment about the assistance they had rendered 
 Mrs. Grafton, and his assertions were borne out and 
 generously seconded by the Union captain, who was 
 dying. 
 
 That girl up North, like the girl down South 
 whom Elson had remembered, would never see him 
 again. The war which he had deplored and for the 
 termination of which he had sighed a few hours be 
 fore, was over for him sooner than he had fancied 
 and in a different way. He lay on the ground 
 breathing heavily, dying from a shot through the 
 lungs. Some one held a lantern over him and Graf- 
 ton knelt down by his side. The young man, 
 scarcely more than a boy, was trying to speak. 
 
 " Captain," he whispered, " those letters . 
 you will see that she gets . . ." 
 
 " I will," answered Grafton. 
 
 Death was an everyday matter in the army, but it 
 never came home personally to any man without his 
 being deeply affected by it, and this soldier of the 
 enemy, although he had frustrated Grafton's er 
 rand, had saved the life, the honour, of his wife; and 
 Grafton was profoundly touched. 
 
 " You will find the address there . . tell her 
 . . I died . . for my country. Could . . 
 you . . say . . a prayer, do you . . 
 think?" 
 
 Grafton had never prayed for any one before, that
 
 282 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 is, he had never voiced any one else's prayer in pub 
 lic, and he felt a natural hesitation, a false shame 
 in doing it now, but the request was one that he could 
 not refuse. He took off his hat and the men of the 
 detachment followed his example. 
 
 " What shall I say? " he asked nervously. 
 
 " I guess anything'll do . . so long . . as 
 it's . . a prayer." 
 
 Grafton was a Churchman and, like all Episco 
 palians, he was familiar with the splendid liturgy of 
 his church. But he was as one stricken dumb at that 
 instant. He could not remember a single one of 
 the familiar prayers. 
 
 " You will . . have to . . hurry," whis- 
 
 Eered the dying man painfully, " if I . . am to 
 ear . . ." 
 
 " Lord," began Grafton desperately, " be merci 
 ful to me . . a sinner." 
 
 It was a strange phrase, yet perhaps there could 
 be none better on a man's lips when he appears be 
 fore his final Judge. 
 
 " Lord .. . ." said Harrington very slowly. 
 " That's . . good. A sinner . . be merci 
 ful . . to me." 
 
 That was all. Grafton rose to his feet and faced 
 the officer. 
 
 " I must go to General Stuart," he said, " if it is 
 not too late. Can you give me a horse? " 
 
 " Take any one of those we have captured," said 
 the officer, " although horses are scarcer than men, 
 and a blamed sight more precious." 
 
 It used to be after battles and skirmishes, so it 
 is said, that commanders asked each other first of all, 
 " How many horses did you lose?" and then after 
 exchanging comparisons, " What were your casual 
 ties among your men? " Yet men were scarce, too,
 
 THE MAN AGAINST THE GUN 283 
 
 in those struggling days when the Confederacy was 
 slowly being constricted to death by Grant's tre 
 mendous columns. 
 
 Aided by the lantern, Graf ton picked out the best 
 horse, and, bidding the commander of the detach 
 ment good-bye, galloped on ahead of him down the 
 Catharpin Road. He knew that it would be per 
 fectly futile to try to reach Todd's Tavern now. 
 The Union troops must be there in force by this 
 time. He intended to strike down the Shady Grove 
 Road, turn north at the Blockhouse Road, in the hope 
 of intercepting Stuart, in case his wife should not 
 have been able to deliver the message. He was 
 thankful for what he had heard of her progress from 
 Elson's men. The anxieties that had overwhelmed 
 him during the long hours while he had been a pris 
 oner were immeasurable at the thought of Ariadne, 
 alone, wandering around that wilderness, in danger 
 from friend and foe alike, seeking Stuart, with pos 
 sibly the Union army in possession of the roads. 
 
 He had lost much time and could not spare the 
 horse. Hence he rode him like one possessed. If 
 he could reach Stuart by daylight he might not be 
 too late, but the way was long and the horse was 
 very tired. It was dawn before he came to the 
 bridge at the old Block House. As he hurried down 
 the hill toward the little valley of the Po he saw a 
 cloud of dust in the road below, and above it the nod 
 ding figures of horsemen. His own horse was lit 
 erally at the end of his strength. There was nothing 
 he could do. He was on a bare hillside. There was 
 no concealment possible. To escape, if there was 
 a necessity, was not to be thought of. 
 
 Graf ton therefore went down the hill. The ap 
 proaching troops might be Union cavalry, although 
 the chances were against it. At any rate he must go
 
 284 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 on. As he approached the horsemen nearer he saw 
 that they were Confederates. Instinctively he put 
 spurs into his horse, but the brave beast was done 
 for. He faltered and fell dying, as Grafton leaped 
 from him and ran down the hill to the bridge, at 
 which he arrived just as the first regiment of Hamp 
 ton's advance crossed it. The men stared hard at 
 him, but he explained that he was from General Lee, 
 and demanded to see their commander. In a few 
 moments Hampton stopped before him. 
 
 " Captain Grafton ! " he exclaimed, recognising 
 him at once. 
 
 " Yes, General. I have orders from General Lee 
 to General Stuart. Where is he? " 
 
 " Back on the Brock Road near Alsops, I be 
 lieve." 
 
 " Are you retreating? " 
 
 "Does this look like it?" laughed Hampton, 
 pointing ahead. 
 
 " General Lee says that General Stuart is . . ." 
 
 " Oh, you needn't bother to deliver that message. 
 We've had it." 
 
 Grafton's heart leaped in his breast. 
 
 " Did my wife get there? " 
 
 " She did. And told us late last night just what 
 you would say. I'm down here to cover the Shady 
 Grove Road." 
 
 " Longstreet is marching toward you. He can't 
 be more than a dozen miles away now, and Early is 
 coming down the Catharpin Road. He will be here 
 during the morning." 
 
 " Good," said Hampton; " I guess we won't have 
 to fight for it." 
 
 " I don't know about that The Federal troops 
 are in force at Todd's Tavern and will probably come 
 down the Catharpin Road. If you get there before
 
 THE MAN AGAINST THE GUN 285 
 
 Longstrect or Early does, you'll have a chance at 
 them." 
 
 " We'll get there," answered Hampton jovially. 
 " Fitz Lee's division is on the Brock Road holding 
 back the advance that way." 
 
 " He's sure to get in it ! ' 
 
 'Yes, he's got all the luck this morning." 
 
 " Where is the other division ? " 
 
 " One brigade of it is facing Spottsylvania. The 
 Yanks are there. The other brigade Stuart has 
 in the centre of events ready to reinforce every 
 thing." 
 
 "And my wife? She was all right? " 
 
 "Well, she got battered up a little in getting 
 through the Union lines." 
 
 " General, for God's sake tell me exactly what's 
 the matter with her." 
 
 " She has a flesh wound in the arm, the left, an 
 other in the right shoulder, and a gash across the 
 forehead pretty bad for a woman, but we wouldn't 
 mind it." 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 " We left her with General Stuart." 
 
 " Can you give me a horse? " 
 
 " Well, I'd rather give you anything else," an 
 swered Hampton frankly, " for they're scarcer 
 than hen's teeth and . . ." 
 
 " I must get a horse! " said Grafton. " I must 
 go on." 
 
 ;< Where do you wish to go ? " 
 
 " Up to General Stuart's headquarters to . . ." 
 
 " I see. Well, I guess I'll have to get one for 
 you. I think there are two or three spare ones be 
 longing to me. Take any one you wish. ' 
 
 "Will you sell one?" 
 
 " No," said the general decisively; " I couldn't put
 
 286 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 a price on one. If we both get out of this war 
 alive you can give me another. If I get killed, he's 
 yours." 
 
 " Thank you," said Grafton. 
 
 " Any man that's got a wife like yours, Grafton, 
 can have anything the cavalry can give." 
 
 Grafton wrung the general's hand and turned 
 away. In a few moments he was mounted again 
 and riding north along the Blockhouse Road. It 
 didn't take him an hour to find the place where 
 Stuart ought to be, but he was not there. He had 
 distributed the regiments of his reserve brigade where 
 they would do most good at the beginning of the 
 battle, and then had rejoined the front. No one at 
 Alsops knew anything about Ariadne. There was 
 nothing for Grafton to do but to ride on and find 
 Stuart. 
 
 He found him surrounded by his staff on a little 
 hill which commanded a view so far as a view could 
 be had through the trees for several miles in every 
 direction. In front of him in the woods Fitz Lee's 
 line was engaged. Grafton dashed up to him and 
 after the briefest of salutes, such was his anxiety, 
 asked him where his wife was. 
 
 " In that house off to the left there on that road 
 yonder, just back of our fighting lines," returned the 
 general, pointing at a house on a clearing over a mile 
 away. 
 
 "Is she all right, sir?" 
 
 " Well, in the first place, she was physically utterly 
 exhausted by all she had gone through; in the sec 
 ond, she has three nasty little wounds, not one of 
 them serious, but very annoying. She fainted after 
 she delivered your message last night, and I had her 
 carried to that house, which I noticed at dusk. There 
 was an old negro woman there who hadn't been
 
 THE MAN AGAINST THE GUN 287 
 
 frightened away by this fighting, and she promised 
 to take care of her." 
 
 ' You have had General Lee's message, I see." 
 
 " Every word of it. I tell you no man on earth 
 could have made it more clear than that magnificent 
 girl. By Jove, Graf ton, I want to tell you that you 
 have a wife in a thousand, and if she ever needs help 
 from anybody but you, I am hers to count on." 
 
 "Thank you," said Grafton; "may I ride over 
 to see her? " 
 
 " Certainly," replied Stuart. " I think you'd better 
 get her out of that house, if you can. There's a road 
 that leads up past it and I've been expecting every 
 moment to see some of those Yanks make their 
 appearance on it. I have no troops, not even a man 
 to put in it to guard it, but what could I do? I'm 
 practically surrounded here now. You know the 
 Yanks are in force at the Court House." 
 
 " There are not many of them there," said Graf- 
 ton confidently. " It is probably a division of Sheri 
 dan's cavalry." 
 
 " One is too many for us at this juncture. But if 
 these fellows in front of us would let us alone we'd 
 soon clear the Court House." 
 
 " Longstreet and Early are advancing They 
 should be here some time to-day. They'll make short 
 work of them if you can only hold this main attack 
 on the Brock Road." 
 
 " My men don't like beetle crushing," said Stuart, 
 " but by Heaven we'll hold the Yanks as long as 
 there's a man left to crawl behind a log and pull a 
 trigger. Eh, Jim ? " 
 
 He turned to Breathed as he spoke. The com 
 mander of the horse artillery laughed softly. 
 
 " We're just waiting for orders to go in," returned 
 that young gunner.
 
 28 8 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " Breathed is my last reserve, Grafton," said Stuart 
 familiarly; "when I turn him loose the Yankees 
 would better get to cover. You should have seen 
 him fight yesterday and the day before at Todd's 
 Tavern. But go on, man, and look for your wife." 
 
 Grafton saluted and turned away. He ran rapidly 
 down the hill until he got to the bypath back of the 
 hastily improvised breastworks behind which the 
 Confederates were holding back the Union advance. 
 He turned to the right and darted up the road. A 
 few hundred yards away there was a large clearing; 
 a great house had been in the centre of it once, but 
 had been burned, and the clearing was bare of build 
 ings save for one little whitewashed negro cottage. It 
 was there that his wife had been taken. 
 
 As Grafton approached it he was startled beyond 
 measure to observe the wood on the edge of the 
 clearing several hundred feet away from him sud 
 denly alive with horses and men. A section of ar 
 tillery broke through the trees and wheeled to the 
 front. Grafton had a repeating rifle which he had 
 taken from one of Harrington's men. 
 
 As he saw the gunners prepare to fire the piece he 
 realised that they had got in such a position that they 
 could enfilade and make untenable the right of Fitz 
 Lee's division, which had not observed the danger. 
 Before Grafton could ride back and warn the men the 
 gun would open fire. 
 
 The little house in which his wife lay was so near 
 the line of fire that a carelessly aimed shot might 
 demolish it. Grafton's first impulse was to gallop 
 to the house. His second was to warn Fitz Lee. 
 Neither proposition was practicable. There was but 
 one thing he could do. He could fight the battery. 
 This would perhaps save his wife, alarm Lee, and 
 bring Stuart to the rescue.
 
 THE MAN AGAINST THE GUN 289 
 
 He leaped from his horse, threw the bridle over 
 the branch of a tree, and stepped out in the open, 
 rifle in hand. The weapon was a brand new one of 
 the latest and most approved pattern. Grafton had 
 filled his pockets with cartridges, and he was a dead 
 shot. He took deliberate aim and pulled the trigger. 
 One of the cannoneers fell. Another took his place 
 and Grafton sped another bullet into the group. 
 Another man fell. Now, the cannoneers expected 
 to get hit, of course. They had deliberately exposed 
 themselves in the dangerously open place to secure 
 the advantage of a raking fire, but as one after an 
 other was shot down before their gun could be dis 
 charged, they perceived that a sharpshooter of some 
 kind had their range, and at the fourth shot they 
 marked him standing boldly in the open on the other 
 side of the clearing. 
 
 There were no infantry supports with that piece 
 of artillery at the time; some bold youngster why 
 was it that most of the artillery commanders in both 
 armies were such young men? had conceived the 
 desperate design and was carrying it out on his own 
 hook. They were well within range of Graf ton's 
 rifle, but they had no weapon with which to return 
 his fire save the cannon. The place was untenable 
 unless that pestilent " Johnny " standing there in the 
 open, composedly fighting them, could be put out of 
 the way. 
 
 The trail piece was whirled around and a canister 
 shot which had been intended for the fighting line was 
 fired at him. In their hurry their aim was poor. 
 By a miracle Grafton was untouched by the storm of 
 bullets. He fired rapidly again and again into the 
 smoke, making some of his shots tell. The report of 
 that cannon called the attention of Stuart to that end 
 of the line. Through a vista in the trees he saw the
 
 2 9 o THE PATRIOTS 
 
 whole performance, Grafton standing there alone 
 fighting the cannon. He could see more than Graf- 
 ton, too; for beyond the gun, which was being re 
 loaded for another discharge against the lone soldier, 
 he marked other sections of some battery and a heavy 
 column of infantry, or dismounted cavalry. The 
 Union commander had quickly backed up the young 
 artillerist's audacious move, perceiving the impor 
 tance of the position. 
 
 " Breathed,". said Stuart to his subordinate, " look 
 yonder at Grafton. It's up to you now. If you 
 don't hold those fellows back we're outflanked and 
 we'll have to retire in a hurry." 
 
 Breathed, his eyes shining, had already turned to 
 his men. He shouted a command and the pieces 
 raced madly down the hill. After a moment's hes 
 itation Stuart followed them. He was met halfway 
 down the slope by a staff officer from the front. 
 
 " General Fitz Lee's compliments, sir, and he is 
 outflanked on the fight. Unless you can hold back 
 the enemy there, sir, he will have to retire." 
 
 " Tell him to hold on. Breathed and I will attend 
 to the right." 
 
 The officer in command of the single gun on the 
 right realised that it was a waste of opportunity to 
 pay any more attention to Grafton. The men would 
 have to stand and take their medicine if they were 
 not to lose the chance of crumpling up the Rebel 
 right. The gun was slewed again until it pointed 
 into the woods at the line of breastworks. Although 
 Grafton kept up his fire with telling effect the cannon 
 sent a screaming charge of canister into the open 
 flank of Fitz Lee's men. 
 
 They rose to their feet and began to give back, at 
 the same time the Union troops in front dismounted 
 cavalry, like their antagonists made a dashing
 
 THE MAN AGAINST THE GUN 291 
 
 charge upon them. The fate of that little battle de 
 pended on that instant. Breathed's guns saved the 
 day. They whirled into action on the edge of the 
 clearing and concentrated their fire upon that reckless 
 gun. It was knocked to pieces and dismounted in 
 an instant. 
 
 " Well done, Breathed," cried Stuart as he marked 
 the effect of the discharge; "but load, load quickly 1 
 See, here they come ! " 
 
 Cannon are no use against men skirmishing in the 
 open or against a single individual, like Grafton, but 
 against men in mass at a proper range they are simply 
 irresistible. Breathed's brawny gunners, throwing 
 off their coats and standing naked to the waist, 
 worked their guns like demons. The advance of 
 Warren's corps, the Sixth, broke through the trees 
 in dense columns. They were trying to outflank the 
 Confederate lines. Breathed's guns hurled canister 
 and shell into them, tearing up the front in fearful 
 gaps and driving them back into the woods again. 
 
 But no cannon unsupported by infantry can fight 
 infantry very long. The position the Federals had 
 won, and to gain which they must have wiped out 
 Colonel Green's regiment, was such as to render un 
 tenable Fitz Lee's line. Supported by Breathed, the 
 Confederates on the right had beaten off the Federal 
 charge, and Stuart took advantage of the respite to 
 withdraw his line some distance back where his right 
 was covered by a high hill. Here the Confederates 
 entrenched again with skill begot of long experience, 
 and here the little battle was continued until the ar 
 rival of the head of Longstreet's corps changed the 
 state of affairs. 
 
 The Federal advance was checked, their troops 
 were driven out of Spottsylvania Court House by 
 Longstreet's rear divisions, and Hampton, who had
 
 292 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 been engaged In holding back the Federal troops on 
 the Catharpin Road until Early's men seized it, re 
 tired, and the cavalry corps was united again. 
 
 With them was Graf ton, frantic with anxiety. He 
 would have run across the zone of fire to the little 
 house to which his wife had been taken had not 
 Stuart held him back by main force. 
 
 " You can do her no good," cried the general. 
 " It's sure death to go out there, and you're too good 
 a man for us to lose. God will take care of her. 
 You can do no more."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE MERCY OF THE GREAT CAPTAIN 
 
 GENERAL LEE arrived at Spottsylvania Court House 
 on the 9th. To him Grafton at once reported. 
 
 " Captain Grafton," said the general, " I find Gen 
 eral Stuart has carried out my orders. It is evident 
 that my message was delivered. I have heard from 
 others of the brilliant fighting of the cavalry, and that 
 they have succeeded in holding back the Union ad 
 vance and giving us this place is due in large measure 
 to your intelligent carrying out of my orders. I shall 
 recommend you for promotion. The service you 
 have rendered your country has been invaluable, 
 sir." 
 
 " General Lee," said Grafton, paling under his 
 sunburn, "I . . I . . ." 
 
 " What is it, Captain? " asked Lee kindly. 
 
 " I deserve nothing . . nothing . . of 
 what you have said, sir." 
 
 "Were not my orders given to General Stuart?" 
 
 " They were, sir." 
 
 " Did not you . . ." 
 
 " But not by me." 
 
 "By whom, then?" 
 
 " By my wife, General Lee." 
 
 " I do not understand." 
 
 " I have to confess a dereliction of duty, sir." 
 
 " Explain yourself, Captain Grafton." 
 
 It was a hard thing to have to face that incarnate 
 greatness, by whom the sacrifice of Brutus, or of 
 Virginius, if it had been required, would have been 
 
 293
 
 294 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 cheerfully emulated, and confess that which Grafton's 
 honour compelled him to disclose. 
 
 " After leaving you, General," he began desper 
 ately, " I met with no adventure until I reached the 
 Catharpin Road. I concluded to try that in the hope 
 that the Federal troops had not occupied Todd's 
 Tavern, and I could save a great deal of time that 
 way. About halfway to the tavern I heard a woman 
 scream for help. Just where a small branch road 
 turns out of the Catharpin Road to the left. I 
 stopped . . ." 
 
 The general shook his head. 
 
 " I can understand the appeal of a woman in trou 
 ble," he said, " but there are times . . go on, 
 sir." 
 
 " I am happy to say, sir, that I did not turn aside 
 from the road at first, although to refrain from it 
 was the hardest task I ever essayed." 
 
 " You did well." 
 
 " But, sir, as I started on a man burst out of the 
 bushes, a negro, and begged me to come to the rescue 
 of his mistress, who was in the hands of guerrillas. 
 You know what that meant? " 
 
 " I know," answered the general. 
 
 " What I should have done I cannot say, but I 
 recognised the man as Judge Lewis' former body- 
 servant, who had been with my wife. He said that 
 it was she who was in danger. I had not seen her 
 for a year . . she had disappeared . . I 
 forgot . . everything. I put spurs to my horse, 
 dashed up the road a short distance, turned into the 
 clearing, and found her struggling in the arms of 
 some human brutes. I surprised them, managed to 
 kill two or three and took shelter in the house with 
 her. They tried to storm the house, then burn it. 
 They would have killed both of us had not a squadron
 
 MERCY OF THE GREAT CAPTAIN 295 
 
 of Union cavalry come up the road and put an end to 
 the whole thing. They saved our lives . . my 
 wife's honour . . but captured me." 
 
 "But the orders? How were they delivered?'* 
 
 " They did not hold my wife prisoner. Before 
 they took me away I told her what you told me. 
 She knew the country thoroughly. She had been liv 
 ing there since she left Richmond, and she compre 
 hended everything wonderfully. She said she would 
 deliver the orders to General Stuart." 
 
 "And did so?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. Late that night the detachment of 
 horse covering General Early's advance had the 
 good luck to capture that Union party on the Cath- 
 arpin Road. I was released, got a horse and rode 
 on to General Stuart. I found him yesterday morn 
 ing. He told me, as General Hampton had en route, 
 that my wife had delivered the message late the night 
 before. I was present in the fight that took place 
 while he was holding back the Union advance. 
 That's all, sir. I know that I should have placed 
 the orders above everything else." 
 
 The general nodded his head. 
 
 " And that by turning aside even for the most 
 powerful personal appeal I jeoparded their delivery," 
 continued Grafton accusingly. " And that if the 
 orders were not delivered in some way the safety of 
 the army would be seriously jeoparded and our coun 
 try perhaps ruined." 
 
 The general stared at his young subordinate with 
 a steady, intent gaze and a somewhat forbidding 
 countenance, but he said nothing. What he would 
 better do was a puzzle to him. He waited further 
 developments without interrupting his already over 
 whelmed staff officer. 
 
 " No one can accuse me more severely than I do
 
 296 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 myself, sir," continued poor Grafton, writhing in 
 spirit in the situation, " and I place myself in your 
 hands for any disposition you may wish to make of 
 
 me." 
 
 " General Stuart's compliments, and he would like 
 to see you, sir," said Colonel Taylor, at that moment 
 coming into the tent in which this conversation was 
 taking place. 
 
 " Beg him to enter at once," said Lee, with that 
 unvarying courtesy which distinguished him on all 
 occasions. 
 
 " Shall I withdraw, sir? " asked Grafton. 
 
 " Wait." 
 
 An instant later the opening of the tent framed a 
 splendid picture. Stuart was the beau ideal of a 
 cavalryman and a cavalier. His uniform was beau 
 tifully made of the finest English broadcloth. It 
 fitted him like a glove. By some miracle he had kept 
 it reasonably clean amid the dust and exposure of 
 the hard campaign. The lace was slightly tarnished, 
 but it was lace still. His faithful servant had used 
 every opportunity to keep his high cavalry boots, the 
 tops of which were embroidered in gold, brilliantly 
 polished. From the hat which he held in his buff 
 gauntleted hand a long scarlet plume depended. It 
 was held in place by a gold star. With his blue eyes, 
 blond hair and laughing mouth he was a splendid 
 sight to look upon. 
 
 He was in great contrast to Lee. They were 
 both men of handsome type, but different. One 
 was dashing, light-hearted, careless, free and easy, 
 a bold rider and hard fighter, a splendid horse 
 man. The other was a tremendous personality 
 of such strength, dignity and power that he tow 
 ered like a Roman imperator among his brilliant 
 contemporaries.
 
 MERCY OF THE GREAT CAPTAIN 297 
 
 " Congratulations, Stuart, on the brilliant way in 
 which you carried out my orders. It is due entirely 
 to your splendid fighting and your quick comprehen 
 sion of my plans that we are able to reach this most 
 advantageous position. We should have been out 
 flanked but for you." 
 
 ' When you lay a plan, General, we're the boys 
 to carry it out," said Stuart, smiling with pleasure; 
 "and if I may take the liberty, I congratulate you on 
 the choice of a messenger." 
 
 "Captain Grafton?" asked Lee interrogatively. 
 
 " Oh, Grafton be hang . . beg pardon, Grafton 
 . . I refer to Captain Grafton's wife, General 
 Lee. She got through the Union lines, was three 
 times wounded, and yet arrived safely and delivered 
 the orders. She had a terrible time of it, but it takes 
 Southern women to do things like that. If the sup 
 ply of men gives out, as it most likely will, I propose 
 that we ask the women to ' Jine the cavalry,' " said 
 Stuart, chuckling, with a twinkle in his eye, humming 
 the first bar of that merry little chorus. 
 
 But General Lee was in no mood for trifling. 
 
 " General Stuart," he said, " I gave the orders to 
 Captain Grafton. I impressed upon him the neces 
 sity of delivering them without delay and at all 
 hazards. I enjoined him to let nothing whatsoever 
 distract him from his purpose for a moment even. 
 I pointed out to him that upon the delivery of those 
 orders and your carrying them out depended the sal 
 vation of the army, the Confederacy. Captain 
 Grafton heard a woman scream for help along the 
 Catharpin Road. Although it was his business to 
 deliver those orders and to allow nothing to deter 
 him, he turned to succour this woman." 
 
 "Who was this woman, may I ask, General?" 
 questioned Stuart.
 
 298 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " My wife," said Grafton, standing very erect, 
 clenching his hands to keep back his emotions. 
 
 " Did you know that she was your wife when you 
 went to her? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 Stuart turned to Lee, a look of pity and appeal in 
 his eyes. 
 
 General Lee went on in measured tones. 
 
 " Captain Grafton had not seen his wife for nearly 
 a year. She had left him at Gettysburg, for reasons 
 which do not reflect upon her or him, and which we 
 will not go into further . . which you will not 
 refer to, of course . . ." Stuart nodded. " When 
 this appeal was made to him he plunged aside to 
 rescue her from imminent danger to life." 
 
 . " And honour," Grafton ventured to interrupt 
 again. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but don't forget that, Gen 
 eral," urged Stuart, perceiving whither all this 
 tended. 
 
 " I shall not," returned Lee, who wished above all 
 things to state the case fairly. " He was captured, of 
 course, and prevented from delivering that message. 
 Indeed his wife barely managed to get it to you. 
 Captain Grafton, seeing that his wife was not to be 
 made prisoner, told her the orders and she promised 
 to deliver them. In some way she managed to get 
 through." 
 
 " She looked as if she had been drawn through 
 death and destruction when she came fainting into 
 my camp," said Stuart. 
 
 " She is an honour to Virginia, to the whole South, 
 and the story of her ride, when it is known, will be 
 an inspiration to the soldiers of the army," went on 
 Lee gravely. " Being ignorant of the circumstances, 
 I had just congratulated Captain Grafton upon his
 
 MERCY OF THE GREAT CAPTAIN 299 
 
 brilliant achievement. He very honourably told me 
 the story I have told you and placed himself in my 
 hands. He has committed a serious breach of mili 
 tary duty. What do you advise me to do? " 
 
 Undue leniency was General Lee's greatest fault. 
 It was the one blemish upon his brilliant record as a 
 leader that he sometimes seemed to lack that ruth- 
 lessness which measures out well-merited severity to 
 subordinates who jeoparded the safety of a cause by 
 incompetency or contumacy. He knew that he was 
 severely blamed for this mistaken mercy, and in this 
 instance he really wished some encouragement to be 
 kind and overlook Grafton's breach. Hence his sud 
 den reference of the matter to Stuart. From one 
 point of view Lee could not have appealed to a worse 
 man than the impulsive gallant chief of cavalry. 
 From another point of view there was no better to 
 whom to leave the decision. 
 
 "Do?" blurted out the cavalryman. "Forgive 
 him, for his wife's sake, sir." 
 
 " I do not wish to be forgiven for my wife's sake," 
 said Grafton haughtily. " I know what I have done, 
 and that I merit punishment." 
 
 " Grafton," said General Lee suddenly, " were the 
 thing to be done over again, would you heed such 
 an appeal from your wife again? " 
 
 Grafton answered without hesitation. 
 
 " God forgive me, sir, I couldn't resist it." 
 
 " It may be all wrong from a military point of 
 view, General," said Stuart quickly, " but if I had 
 a man in my division who wouldn't have done the 
 same thing to prevent his wife from being outraged 
 by those ruffians, I'd have him cashiered and driven 
 out." 
 
 Lee put up his hand. 
 
 " There speaks the cavalier," he said reprovingly,
 
 300 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 yet fully understanding the other's feeling. " It's 
 not in that way battles are won and causes established. 
 Grafton was wrong, but the temptation was terrible. 
 The appeal was a fearful one, I grant and I ..." 
 
 " General, one moment, please. Did you know 
 that Captain Grafton finally reached me and that 
 single-handed he fought a section of artillery alone? " 
 
 ; ' What do you mean, General Stuart? " 
 
 " I put his wife in a little cottage beyond Alsops. 
 She was in no condition to move, and I had to leave 
 her there under the care of a negro woman. When 
 Grafton did join me on the morning after his wife 
 delivered the message, he wanted to know where she 
 was. I told him off to the left of our line. He rode 
 down there to see her. The Yanks rushed a section 
 of artillery to enfilade the line. They would have 
 smashed in General Fitz Lee's right with terrible loss 
 if it hadn't been for Grafton. He had a repeating 
 rifle that he got from some Yankees when he was re 
 captured and he stood out there in the open and fought 
 that gun alone until Breathed's artillery came up. I 
 saw him, sir. They just got there in the nick of time, 
 too, for Warren's corps broke into the clearing, and 
 if it hadn't been for the delay that Grafton caused, 
 Breathed's battery would not have been there to hold 
 back this charge. They would have got Fitz Lee 
 enfiladed and have torn my lines to pieces in spite of 
 all we could do. In that case, General, you wouldn't 
 be where you are to-day." 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me of this, Captain Graf- 
 ton? " asked Lee. 
 
 " It had no bearing on my previous action, sir," 
 said Grafton simply. 
 
 11 1 see." 
 
 " And I must admit that I was fighting as much 
 for my wife as for the cause. I was afraid a shot
 
 MERCY OF THE GREAT CAPTAIN 301 
 
 from that gun would strike the house and kill 
 her." 
 
 " That's not all, General," continued Stuart. 
 " He fought like a tiger with the guns. Major 
 Breathed told me himself, and I was a witness to it. 
 They drove Warren's division back, but they brought 
 up heavier artillery and forced me to retire to a 
 second line. That open space was swept by a tor 
 rent of bullets. He wanted to go out in that fire and 
 get his wife, or at least die with her. I told him he 
 was too good a man to lose and that it was his duty 
 to stay with us, and he remained." 
 
 "Where is Mrs. Grafton now?" asked Lee. 
 
 Stuart shook his head, but did not answer. 
 
 " I suppose she's killed, sir," said Grafton, chok 
 ing back a sob. " I could stand her death, but . ." 
 He stopped, unable to go on. 
 
 " I pray God she has escaped," said Lee. He 
 stretched out his hand to the young captain. " Come, 
 it was wrong, I must say that. But you atoned amply 
 by your gallantry in this action. I pardon you freely. 
 Your wife's ride has saved your honour, and your 
 rank. Let us say no more about it. You will not 
 discuss this conversation with any one, General 
 Stuart?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " And I shall be equally reticent," said Lee kindly. 
 He was always happy to do a kind act, and he only 
 wanted an excuse to pardon Grafton. The young 
 officer could have gone on his knees to his adored 
 chieftain. He only shook his hand and turned away. 
 Stuart grasped his great commander by the hand and 
 shook it vigorously. 
 
 " By heavens," he exclaimed, " General, it's -no 
 wonder the whole army, from the highest down, 
 would be glad to die for you I "
 
 302 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 Lee smiled, and the smile was a rare one in those 
 days of trouble, and turned to Grafton again. 
 
 " Don't give up," he said; " I have a feeling that 
 Mrs. Grafton will be restored to you. She has done 
 much for her country, and we may hope and pray 
 that God has her in His keeping." 
 
 " I hope so, sir," Grafton answered; " and, General 
 Stuart, I want to thank you for your kindness to her 
 and to me." 
 
 ' Now, Stuart, what next?" said Lee, as Grafton 
 shook Stuart's hand in turn. 
 
 " With your permission, sir, now that I've got my 
 rough riders mounted and together again, I'd like to 
 go after Sheridan, who is heading for Richmond, I 
 believe." 
 
 " Go, and may God go with you," answered the 
 general solemnly. 
 
 The two generals shook hands once more. Stuart 
 nodded to Grafton and left the tent. They heard 
 him humming as he left headquarters his favorite 
 air, " Jine the cavalry." They both thought of his 
 gay, ardent nature, his brilliant bearing, when three 
 days later the news came that he had died, as he 
 craved, at the head of his men in the bloody battle 
 with Sheridan at Yellow Tavern. 
 
 Grafton went out of the tent presently, an utterly 
 hopeless and desperate man. Lee had not reassured 
 him. The cup of happiness had been held to his lips 
 and dashed aside. Ariadne had saved Lee's army; 
 she had saved the Confederacy. She had saved her 
 husband's honour, but she was gone ! He could not 
 escape the conclusion that she had laid down her life 
 for those three great things, that as she had lived to 
 love him, so she had died to save him. The anguish 
 of separation had been great. The days in which he 
 had craved a sight of her, longed for the moment
 
 MERCY OF THE GREAT CAPTAIN 303 
 
 when he could tell her that he had made a great mis 
 take and that he loved her, had been almost unendur 
 able, but they were nothing to the mental torture he 
 had to endure now. 
 
 He found relief in nothing but action. Lee, under 
 standing this, kept him busy. He was with the 
 general in the trenches at Spottsylvania on the night of 
 the nth of May. There had been prodigies of 
 fighting all along the great crescent of the Confeder 
 ate lines covering the position Lee had elected to 
 defend, and every time the overwhelming assaults 
 of the Federals had been beaten back with terrific 
 loss, although the defenders had by no means paid 
 little for the line to which they so tenaciously clung.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE SALIENT IN THE LINE 
 
 THE Confederate linds at Spottsylvania Court House 
 were traced in the shape of a great irregular crescent 
 which ran roughly from west to east for half their 
 length and then bent around to the south, the chord 
 of the arc connecting the two ends of the circle being 
 about four miles long. Nearly in the middle of the 
 line, or at the north-east point of it, a tremendous 
 salient half a mile wide at its base ran the same dis 
 tance almost due north and south, culminating in a 
 blunt obtuse angle. The existence of such a salient 
 in such a line was a grave mistake. Its one advan 
 tage was that it was an excellent position for artillery. 
 The Confederate lines had been formed under fire, 
 however, an4 in running them in the somewhat hap 
 hazard methods necessitated by the fact that they had 
 to be placed during action, advantage had been taken 
 of the topography of the land, which had been fol 
 lowed, as was usually the case, in disregard of strict 
 engineering principles. Wherever the ground was 
 found to be defensible the trained soldiers usually 
 seized upon it and rapidly threw up temporary breast 
 works, which, when connected with other similar 
 coigns of vantage, and strengthened, constituted the 
 main line which the army must defend. Nor had 
 there been in the two days of continuous battle much 
 opportunity for rectifying the crooked, irregular lines. 
 The tremendous assaults delivered by Grant and his 
 overwhelming force could only be resisted by the 
 most superhuman efforts on the part of the Confed- 
 
 304
 
 THE SALIENT IN THE LINE 305 
 
 crates. They had no time for anything but fighting. 
 To cling to the line they had made was a necessity. 
 And it was commonly observed that when the men 
 selected their own line they held it better than when 
 it was traced by the engineers. They seemed to feel 
 a certain affection as well as a responsibility for it, 
 and it was difficult or impossible to dislodge them 
 from it. 
 
 Lee was as keenly alive as his officers to the vul 
 nerability of the salient, and had given orders that a 
 line of works should be built across its rear, so that in 
 case of necessity it could be abandoned without im 
 pairing his main line of defence. Such few men as 
 could be spared from the fighting line had been at 
 work upon these new lines, but they were yet in a very 
 incomplete state. Meanwhile the works in the sa 
 lient had been strengthened by the men who held it 
 until they were the most formidable in the whole line 
 which was proper, as the position naturally invited 
 attack. The non-military reader will understand that 
 once a line is effectively broken at any one spot the 
 whole line becomes untenable, and the defending 
 army must retreat under circumstances of terrible dis 
 advantage, or be broken to pieces and annihilated 
 where they are. 
 
 Grant, in the previous fighting, had tried both 
 flanks of the line, and, finding them impregnable, had 
 decided to concentrate a force and endeavour to break 
 the line at the tempting salient. For this purpose he 
 selected Hancock's corps. There was no finer corps 
 in his army than the famous Second Corps com 
 manded by Winfield Scott Hancock; indeed, there 
 was no more splendid body of fighters in the Army of 
 North Virginia itself than those Hancock had led 
 in so many battles. By natural selection under fire 
 he had assembled a body of soldiers who would go
 
 306 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 anywhere and do anything that a captain could ask 
 of humanity. They may be fitly compared to Pick- 
 ett's famous Virginia division. And it may be re 
 membered that it was Hancock's men upon whom the 
 assault at Gettysburg had fallen, and it was they who 
 had repulsed the famous charge. 
 
 The heavy losses of the Federal troops were con 
 stantly made good by the arrival of fresh troops 
 when Lee lost a man his place could not be filled. 
 Consequently Hancock was able to bring to the as 
 sault the full strength of his corps, numbering in all 
 perhaps twenty thousand men. Early on the even 
 ing of the nth of May he was ordered to withdraw 
 form his position on the extreme right, pass around 
 the rear of Warren's and Sedgwick's corps, who were 
 to extend and occupy his abandoned lines, to the 
 Brown Farm, a clearing about three-quarters of a 
 mile due north of the apex of the Confederate sa 
 lient. The open ground extended from Brown's 
 Farmhouse to the face of the salient, the distance 
 between the bordering groves of trees on either side 
 being about four hundred yards. 
 
 The advance of Hancock's troops reached the 
 Brown Farmhouse about midnight. The march had 
 been made over a terrible road in a pouring rain. 
 The weather conditions would have taken the mettle 
 out of any but veteran and tried soldiery. The night 
 was dark as pitch. Hancock spent the hours until 
 four o'clock, the designated moment, in placing his 
 men. When the time for the assault arrived it was 
 still too dark to see, and he therefore waited until 
 four-thirty-five. Taking directions from a white 
 farmhouse, the McCool house, seen dimly just within 
 the Confederate lines, at that moment he ordered the 
 advance. 
 
 With Barlow's division in two close lines of masses,
 
 THE SALIENT IN THE LINE 307 
 
 Brooke's and Miles' brigades in front, Brown's and 
 Smyth's in the second line; with Birney's division in 
 two double lines of battle on Barlow's right; with 
 Mott's division in the rear of Birney, and Gibbon's 
 division in reserve, the order was given to march 
 forward. There were no obstacles in front of Bar 
 low's division, his way being where the ground was 
 open and clear. Birney's division had to wade 
 through a morass and force its way through a rather 
 open piece of woods. By hard marching they kept 
 abreast of the troops in the open and all approached 
 the salient together. As they converged upon it they 
 naturally crowded together in masses of increasing 
 density. 
 
 Certain threatening movements of Grant's left, 
 made for the purpose, had caused Lee to believe that 
 the next attack would fall on the right of his own 
 line. He had therefore withdrawn most of the ar 
 tillery from Ewell's troops, who held the salient. 
 During the early part of the night General Edward 
 Johnson, who commanded the division at the apex, 
 had become convinced that his own front was men 
 aced, and he had sent to Lee and asked for the return 
 of the guns. Accordingly, orders had been sent to 
 the artillery to be back at the salient at daybreak. 
 The batteries were even then coming across the rough 
 country at a gallop. The men in Johnson's division 
 lay behind the breastworks ready for whatever might 
 be demanded of them. The sentries were alert and 
 watchful. Pickets were posted three or four hundred 
 yards in front of the lines. 
 
 The works here had gradually been made very 
 strong. The usual rough-and-ready fortifications 
 made use of by either army as occasion demanded 
 were merely shallow ditches with the earth piled up 
 in front of them. Around the salient, however, the
 
 308 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 trees with which the country abounded had been cut 
 down and banked with earth to a height of about 
 four feet. Along the top of the embankment a head- 
 log rose on stones, or wood blocks, so as to leave an 
 open space of about three or four inches between it 
 and the crown of the earthwork, as a sort of continu 
 ous loophole for firing through. In front of the 
 work there was a rude abattis, or slashing, impro 
 vised from sharpened tree branches; not much of a 
 protection, but still sufficient to annoy and perhaps 
 check an assailing enemy when backed by such a fire 
 as was certain to come from the veteran defenders. 
 
 The ground outside the lines sloped downward 
 gently for about forty yards, and then it rose in still 
 more gentle ascent all around the position. Within 
 the salient the country was more open, although the 
 farms and meadows were interspersed with clumps 
 of trees. Outside the lines, save for two or three 
 farms, the ground was marshy and heavily wooded. 
 Little water courses, full from the heavy rains, ran 
 here and there. 
 
 As became the commander of the most advanced 
 and exposed section of the line, Johnson was awake 
 early on the morning of the fatal I2th of May, and 
 was engaged in an inspection of his men and lines be 
 fore daybreak. Mounting the works, he stared 
 northward through the grey, dull mist of the morn 
 ing the rain had stopped for the time being, but the 
 mist was almost heavy enough to be called a storm 
 toward the Union lines. As he did so his ear caught 
 the sound of distant cheering. It came to him dull 
 and faint in the heavy, sodden air. What could it 
 mean? Why should men be cheering there at that 
 hour? There was no snapping of pieces from his 
 pickets indeed the Union advance had been so rapid 
 through the dense fog that the men in the advance
 
 THE SALIENT IN THE LINE 309 
 
 simply swallowed up the guards in front of them be 
 fore they had a chance to fire but Johnson was 
 enough of a soldier to realise what that cheering, 
 which was drawing nearer, meant. The assault he 
 had anticipated was about to be delivered. Where 
 were those missing cannon? He threw one glance 
 back into the salient; they had not come. It was day, 
 and they were not here. It was day and the enemy 
 was at hand. He would have given his life for the 
 guns. Well, he must do his best without them. 
 
 Instantly orders and shouts rang along the Con 
 federate lines. The men sleeping on their arms rose 
 to their feet and made ready. For a moment they 
 stared into the impenetrable fog, while the cheering 
 came nearer and rose higher. An instant later and 
 the grey cloud was tinged with blue. An instant later 
 and dark masses of men shouldered their way through 
 the mist, buffeting it aside as the bows of a ship a 
 wave, and fell like an avalanche on the Confederate 
 lines. 
 
 Fortune had favoured them. They had reached 
 so near the lines before they were distinguished that 
 although the breastworks blazed with sudden fire on 
 the instant and many fell, the momentum of the solid 
 mass of twenty thousand men struck the line as a 
 great breaker crashes upon a shore. The first ranks 
 of the assailants were beaten into a human spray; men 
 stumbled and fell in the abattis, only to be trampled 
 into human pulp by their oncrowding comrades, as 
 the wave of inundation swelled on, merciless, irresist 
 ible, overwhelming. The human torrent crushed 
 through the abattis, surged over the breastworks and, 
 bayonet in hand, fell upon Johnson's men. The 
 fighting was close and ghastly with the bayonet 
 mainly. The Confederates resisted desperately, but 
 no line of five thousand that were ever mustered could
 
 3 io THE PATRIOTS 
 
 contend with four times their number in mass, es 
 pecially when without cannon. In a short time those 
 who were not killed or wounded were captured; 
 included in the latter category were Johnson and an 
 other Steuart, the two general officers. There had 
 been no surprise, simply a mighty, irresistible smash 
 through, a weak point brilliantly if unsuccessfully de 
 fended. The long lines of dead indicated the vigour 
 and persistence of the defence. Their valour had 
 been unavailing, however, for Hancock had at last 
 broken the line ! 
 
 Back of the second line of entrenchments that were 
 being thrown across the base of the salient Lee had 
 his headquarters. The sound of the battle in the 
 early morning apprised him of what was happening. 
 There was not a continuous roar of small arms punc 
 tured by artillery, but one long smashing volley, and 
 then a strange sort of silence broken only by spatter 
 ing shots, by yells and cheers that came to him faintly. 
 He understood instantly. It could only mean that 
 the Union troops were over the line and using the 
 bayonet. There was no time or room for musket 
 or gun fire. So swift and so sudden had been the 
 terrible onslaught in the fog that but two of John 
 son's remaining guns had been able to fire a shot be 
 fore they were all captured. 
 
 It was evident to Lee that his line was broken. 
 Just where and in what force the enemy were he could 
 not yet decide. Some place on the salient, of course. 
 A staff officer from the front galloped up and con 
 firmed the news. In his excitement, with pardonable 
 exaggeration, he declared that there must be forty 
 thousand men already within the Confederate lines 
 and that they had complete possession of the whole 
 salient. Sending his staff officers in every direction 
 to summon reinforcements, Lee galloped through
 
 THE SALIENT IN THE LINE 311 
 
 numbers of flying stragglers, whom he attempted in 
 vain to rally, toward the salient. Gordon's division 
 had been previously ordered to reinforce Swell's 
 troops in the expectation of some such catastrophe as 
 this, and Lee knew that they were stationed near the 
 base of the salient. They were the troops which had 
 been erecting the second line of defence. Followed 
 by a single staff officer Grafton Lee, on Traveller, 
 his famous grey horse, rode at a tearing gallop for 
 this splendid division. 
 
 And well he might ride fast and hard, for if the 
 Federal troops had succeeded in seizing the salient, 
 unless they could be driven out of it, or confined to 
 the positions which they had now taken until the new 
 line of breastworks at the rear of the salient had been 
 so far completed that it could be held, the army of 
 Northern Virginia was irretrievably ruined. If 
 Grant could maintain his advantage and pour in his 
 troops through that gap, by turning to the right or 
 left, as the case might be, they could take the Con 
 federate lines in reverse, and no troops on earth could 
 resist them. The Army of Northern Virginia, the 
 Confederacy, would end right then and there. In 
 deed it might be too late to save the army even by 
 such prodigies of valour as he might expect from the 
 men he had so often led to victory. 
 
 The cheers of the Federal troops grew louder as 
 Lee raced toward the enclosure of the salient. They 
 were evidently approaching the second position. The 
 situation was even more disastrous than it had seemed 
 at first. Far to the right and left of him the roar of 
 guns told him that Grant was endeavouring by assault 
 and cannonade to prevent the detachment of troops 
 from those wings to reinforce the broken Confeder 
 ate centre. If Grant could hold the Confederate 
 troops on the right and left in their places in their
 
 3 i2 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 entrenchments, his great preponderance of force 
 would enable him to overwhelm the reserves that 
 Lee was hastening to the danger point, the disaster 
 would be converted into a rout, and then God save 
 the Confederacy, for nothing could avail 1 
 
 The situation was patent even to the private sol 
 diers in the army, much more to the officers. Rhodes 
 and Ramseur, of Early's corps to the right of the 
 salient, had already gotten their troops in line, when a 
 staff officer galloped up with Lee's commands. Best 
 of them all, Gordon, a young man who had entered 
 the war as the captain of an infantry company and 
 now commanded a division, and who went out at 
 Appomattox in the front of the last battle line in a 
 position second only to that of Lee and Longstreet, 
 was quick to see the necessity; Without orders he 
 deployed his division in line of battle and was about 
 to move forward when Lee galloped on the field. 
 The face of the great captain was set and firm. 
 There was no lack of composure in his bearing, but 
 the light in his eye, the uplift in his face, signified a 
 desperate determination, nay rather, a great resolve. 
 
 Taking off his hat he rode his splendid grey horse 
 to the head of the line, looked back at the men, and 
 wheeled toward the Union lines. His purpose was 
 patent to all. Realising the supreme effort required 
 to save the day, he was about to lead those brave 
 Georgians in person against the victorious enemy. 
 It needed, in the general's mind, his personal presence 
 to inspire this small division with ability to hurl 
 back, or even hold in check, that enormous mass of 
 men. It was the supreme moment of the war, and 
 unless he could master it, he would go to a great death 
 at the head of his men. He would win a victory or 
 he would not survive a defeat. 
 
 Over to the right as he took this position he saw
 
 THE SALIENT IN THE LINE 313 
 
 the missing cannon. The horses were on a dead 
 run, the cannoneers were yelling like fiends. As they 
 bounded over the uneven road the muddy cannon 
 leaped, banged and smashed through the air as if 
 they had been projectiles themselves. It was much 
 lighter now, and although the mists were still heavy, 
 the field of battle could be distinguished. 
 
 Some slight works in the rear of the McCool house 
 held by one of Gordon's slender brigades had tem 
 porarily checked the enemy. In the excitement of 
 the charge and the deadly hand-to-hand fight which 
 had ensued before Steuart's line had been . over 
 whelmed, the men of this division did not surrender 
 until their arms had been literally torn from them and 
 they had been borne down by sheer weight of num 
 bers. It was hoped this delay would enable the ar 
 tillery to get into action. They saw the guns whirl 
 to the front in battery, but before they had a chance 
 to fire the Union troops were upon them and the first 
 detachment of artillery was captured in the twinkling 
 of an eye. 
 
 All these movements, however, had taken time, and 
 Hancock's corps had become badly disorganised in 
 the advance and the fierce fighting, and had naturally 
 gotten entirely out of control. They came surging 
 through the salient enclosure more in the nature of 
 a mob, or a series of mobs, by this time than any 
 thing else, expecting to take the broken line in re 
 verse in the direction of the Court House and end 
 things out of hand. 
 
 Lee turned to his men. At that juncture Gordon, 
 who had been at the other end of his own line, gal 
 loped over to where Lee was restraining his impatient 
 horse. With a reckless disregard of military eti 
 quette he threw his own animal squarely across the 
 face of Traveller. Reaching out his hand he caught
 
 3 i4 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 the bridle of the general's horse and checked him. 
 Lee flushed and started to speak, when Gordon, 
 shouted out in a voice that could be heard half a 
 mile away, and which was heard as he designed it 
 to be by every man in his advance: 
 
 " General Lee, you shall not lead my command in 
 a charge! No man shall do that." 
 
 He fairly hurled the words at his astonished com 
 mander, not giving him time to answer. 
 
 " The men behind you are Georgians, Virginians, 
 North Carolinians," he cried, his voice rising tre 
 mendously as he spoke. " They have never failed 
 you in any field. They won't fail you now. Will 
 you, boys ? " 
 
 The men didn't cheer then in answer to that ques 
 tion. They simply roared. 
 
 "No, no, no!" came from the line; "we'll not 
 fail him!" 
 
 " General Lee," shouted Gordon imperiously, 
 while yet the response echoed through the dull air of 
 the morning, " you must go to the rear! " 
 
 He recognised the value of that life. Lee must 
 be saved at all hazards, else whatever happened they 
 were indeed lost. Under no circumstances was the 
 great captain to be permitted to sacrifice himself like 
 an ordinary soldier. Lee must go back! 
 
 Instantly the words were caught up by Gordon's 
 men. They were greeted by the Rebel yell certainly, 
 but this time it was not the incoherent, thrilling shriek 
 so filled with menace which animated the men who 
 voiced it, and gave pause to those who heard its ter 
 rifying cadences. It was this shout, 
 
 " General Lee to the rear ! General Lee to the 
 rear! " repeated again and again. 
 
 The men dashed forward and grasped the gen- 
 .eral's horse and strove, in spite of his involuntary
 
 THE SALIENT IN THE LINE 315 
 
 effort to prevent them, to turn his face to the rear. 
 Indeed they crowded around Traveller so closely that 
 they actually started to turn him and then push the 
 horse backward by main force. If necessary they 
 would have taken horse and man and carried them 
 both bodily to the rear. They were quite in the 
 mood for such an achievement. It was such an evi 
 dence of affection and devotion as few captains had 
 ever received on a battlefield. 
 
 Lee used to say whimsically that he never really 
 discovered where was the proper station of the gen- 
 eral-5n-chief in action, for wherever he went during 
 the course of a battle some officer was sure to remon 
 strate with him, and the words that he heard most 
 frequently when fighting was going on were these : 
 
 "General Lee, this is no place for you, sir; you 
 ought not to be here ! " 
 
 There was nothing left for Lee but compliance. 
 He shook his head and slowly forced his way out of 
 the ranks, taking position on a little hillock where the 
 whole division could see him. He was as fearless, 
 as reckless of death, as the commonest soldier, and 
 they knew it. His hold on those men was irresistible. 
 They could do anything now, and they would.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE BLOODY ANGLE AT HELL'S HALF-ACRE 
 
 WHILE the impression of the scene was still upon 
 them, Gordon gave the word " Forward ! " The 
 division, enthused to the sublime, struck the disor 
 ganised and scattered troops of Hancock with tre 
 mendous force and drove them back, stubbornly con 
 testing every foot of the way, the resistance growing 
 stronger and stronger as the blue men were crowded 
 together by the constricting walls of the angle. But 
 Gordon was not to be denied. Slowly his men pressed 
 on. The stress and strain were terrific. There was 
 more hand-to-hand fighting over the ground that 
 Edward Johnson had occupied that morning. Many 
 a man, wounded and unable to get away, fell and was 
 trampled to death by the press of feet. 
 
 As Lee had withdrawn from Gordon's front at the 
 imperious behest of that gallant young commander, 
 he had sent Grafton, who had witnessed the whole 
 scene with a feeling almost of awe, posthaste to bring 
 up some more artillery to take the place of the cap 
 tured guns. After a few minutes' fighting, which 
 Lee watched, with his heart in his mouth and a prayer 
 on his lips, for if the Federal troops did not give way 
 before that charge, if Gordon's men failed, all would 
 be lost, he saw with relief indescribable Cabell's ar 
 tillery coming up on the run. They wheeled to the 
 right, the officers saluting, waving their swords, 
 shouting as they saw Lee on old Traveller, and 
 dashed into action. 
 
 By this time Rhodes and Ramseur had also swung 
 
 3*
 
 THE BLOODY ANGLE 317 
 
 into the salient in a series of hurtling charges, and 
 added their onslaught to the tremendous thrust of 
 the Georgians under Gordon. By prodigious efforts 
 they finally forced the Union troops out of the salient 
 and over the works. But no further. To one side 
 of that narrow line of earth and logs the maddened 
 men in blue clung with the grip of an octopus. Upon 
 it the frantic men in grey threw themselves with the 
 demoniac energy of enraged tigers. 
 
 It was daylight now. All that long grey day, with 
 the rain whirling down on them, the soldiers fought 
 for that line. The Confederates had cleared the 
 salient and regained all that they had lost except the 
 extreme angles. They could not dislodge the Union 
 troops from the outer face of that portion of the 
 line, nor could the Federal soldiers in turn drive them 
 from the inner face. With six feet of earth separa 
 ting them they struggled through the long hours. 
 
 It was not a series of charges and countercharges, 
 of successive advances and retreats, as was usually 
 the course of engagements. It was not a battle in 
 which the fortunes of war wavered from one side to 
 the other, but it was a straight, continuous, steady, 
 hand-to-hand fight of over twenty hours' duration, 
 and of such a character as beggars description. 
 Never before, never since, was there a battle like it. 
 
 Men stood behind the breastworks firing until they 
 were shot down. Guns were run forward, by hand, 
 after the horses had been killed, from either side, 
 and fired until their very carriages were cut to pieces 
 by musket fire. The sponges were dipped in blood 
 which dropped from the iron muzzles as from a rav 
 ening animal's lips. Men drank the sickening com 
 pound in their consuming thirst in default of water. 
 The slopes on either side were piled with men past 
 action forever, to whom no one gave heed. The
 
 3i8 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 trenches were filled with dead, the ditches with 
 blood. The horrible mud was mixed with trampled 
 human lives. Wounded men fought with the fero 
 city of tigers or the courage of lions at bay, until they 
 could fight no more. 
 
 Fresh troops were brought up constantly, although 
 they were subjected to a fearful shattering fire from 
 the guns placed far enough back from the works on 
 either side to shoot over friend and into the foe. Still 
 that breastwork was lined with men, who fought on 
 with no note of time, knowing that the last hour 
 would strike presently for them. Opposing colours 
 were planted on it face to face and waved there until 
 cloth and staffs were shot to pieces. 
 
 In the frenzy of their passion men would leap on 
 the breastworks and fire down into the trenches on 
 the other side. Sometimes their comrades would 
 pass up gun after gun, which the heroes on the works 
 would fire until they were shot down. Bayonets 
 crossed, sabres were rammed through crevices and 
 openings in the breastworks, and the men were as 
 mad. The redoubt smoked like a volcano, writhed 
 like a serpent, bled like a heart. And over all the 
 rains fell and fell. In the whole history of warfare 
 there never was such a prolonged, desperate battle 
 period of fierce hand-to-hand fighting since the world 
 began. 
 
 Neither side would give way. Officers and men 
 fought side by side; organisation was lost. It was 
 not needed. Each man was soldier and captain at 
 once; and the sole need was to fight, to fight with 
 parched lips and sobbing breast, until merciful death 
 stayed the hand. 
 
 The rifle and musketry fire was of such fierceness 
 and intensity that the air was filled with sheets of 
 lead and steel. A deep, continuous humming sound
 
 THE BLOODY ANGLE 319 
 
 dominated the field the song of the rifle bullet, the 
 JEolizn harp of death. A large tree back of the 
 lines was cut down by musket fire and fell. Gun 
 after gun was put out of action because everything 
 wooden about it was destroyed by the small-arm bul 
 lets. The headlogs on the breastworks were shiv 
 ered into paint brushes. The reeds and rushes and 
 weeds and underbrush were cut down as cleanly as 
 though they had been mowed. 
 
 The heroism on both sides was so great that the 
 battle, in spite of its horrors, was an epic of mag 
 nificence. Every soldier on that dead line that lived 
 from hour to hour because it was constantly remanned 
 with fresh victims, was a hero or a demon. With 
 faces ghastly white from fatigue, with mouths pow 
 der-blackened from biting cartridges, with bodies 
 covered with mud from the gunstocks, until they 
 could not tell blue from grey in the rain, the men 
 fought on. 
 
 The Union troops were not withdrawn while there 
 was a hope of driving the Confederates away, for if 
 they were forced back from the lines again the Army 
 of Northern Virginia would be lost. The Confed 
 erates would not be hurled from their position, for 
 their salvation depended upon keeping the Union 
 troops at bay until the lines in the rear could be com 
 pleted. So the best troops of both armies were con 
 centrated on either side of those lines in a struggle 
 which needs the pen of Homer or the brush of 
 Verestchagin to describe it. 
 
 Meanwhile, far back of the salient, toiled franti 
 cally the wounded, the sick, the teamsters, the camp- 
 followers, every one who could handle a spade, or 
 an axe, or even shovel the earth with a tin cup. 
 Lee's personal presence sometimes animated these 
 humble toilers. He rode from place to place, from
 
 320 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 fighting line to working line, encouraging all, filling 
 his men with unconquerable determination, with an 
 ardour that nothing could quench and by which, as 
 welcome night came on, the terrible wrestle ended in 
 a victory for them. 
 
 The first success of the Federals had been nullified 
 by the sacrifice of the Confederates. The battle 
 gradually died away, leaving each army in possession 
 of the face of the angle it had fought for. About 
 three o'clock in the morning humanity could stand no 
 more. There was silence on the field. What re 
 mained alive of the Confederate divisions that had 
 held the line retreated from the Bloody Angle and 
 occupied the new breastworks that had been built 
 across the base of the salient, leaving to the Federals 
 the now useless works. The battle was over, the 
 Confederacy was saved but at a terrible cost. 
 
 Graf ton had distinguished himself on that fatal 
 field. He had received permission from Lee to go 
 forward to the angle with one of the reinforcing lines 
 late in the afternoon, and he had fought with them 
 until the withdrawal that night. By one of those 
 coincidences which so often occurred in battle, both 
 lines had made a simultaneous attempt to swarm over 
 the crest just at dusk. Graftpn crossed swords in 
 the smoke and excitement with a Union officer. 
 Their blades rang viciously together, and then a flash 
 of recognition leaped into the faces of both men. 
 
 " Kirkwood! " gasped one. 
 
 " Grafton ! " answered the other. 
 
 Neither could hear a word in the tumult, but their 
 lips framed the words. They lowered their weapons, 
 but the next moment a maddened man who had been 
 fighting by Grafton's side thrust his bayonet into 
 Kirkwood's breast. A shell burst on the breast 
 work, from which side no one could tell, and when
 
 THE BLOODY ANGLE 321 
 
 the smoke cleared away Grafton was alone. He 
 emptied his pistol into the Federal ranks immediately 
 below him. A hundred muskets were fired at him 
 and bullets sang around him until friendly hands 
 reached up and dragged him back to the Confederate 
 side. He had been grazed in half a dozen places, 
 but by a miracle was not hurt. Other hands had 
 caught Kirkwood, a colonel now, as he had fallen, 
 and had drawn him back from the crest of the hill. 
 Grafton did not know what became of him whether 
 he lived or died. 
 
 He was the saddest man in the army that night 
 as he thought of his lost wife. Although he was 
 utterly exhausted as he threw himself down on the 
 wet ground near Lee's headquarters, he could not 
 sleep. He thought and thought of Ariadne. And 
 the fact that his best friend had been practically 
 killed under his very eyes did not lighten the burden 
 of his sorrow. 
 
 To complete this tale of the fighting in " Hell's 
 Half-Acre," as the soldiers called it, the next morn 
 ing the Union troops occupied the lines which had 
 been so bitterly contested for. On both sides they 
 found them piled with dead in the ditches to the 
 height of four or five feet, a solid mass of bodies. 
 Here and there convulsive movements, a muffled 
 moan, indicated that there was some life in the hor 
 rible heaps. 
 
 The possession of the field and the honours of the 
 conflict remained with the Federals, but they were 
 barren honours, for behind the new earthworks lay 
 the veterans of the South as grimly at bay as they 
 had been before the great assault of Hancock.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 AFTER SPOTTSYLVANIA 
 
 ARIADNE was fearfully ill and weak. Not only 
 from the, to her to any woman agonising wounds, 
 but from the nervous exhaustion induced by the tre 
 mendous exertions which she had undergone. Gen 
 eral Stuart and some of his staff officers had carried 
 her to a little hut in a neighbouring clearing the 
 best they could do for her and had committed her 
 to the care of an elderly negress, who, although 
 frightened to death by the arrival of the soldiers, 
 refused to be dislodged from the miserable hut she 
 called her home. 
 
 She nursed and cared for the girl as best she could. 
 Ariadne was too ill to be moved the next day. 
 There was no place for her to go ; the Federal troops 
 were all around her, and back of Stuart's men they 
 still held the Court House. The reaction had set 
 in, and she hardly cared what became of her for the 
 time being. She heard the roar of battle close at 
 hand, but it did not come nearer as the day drew on. 
 If it did, she could not help it. She had so drawn 
 upon her nervous force the day before that she was a 
 complete physical wreck, almost a mental one. Her 
 head ached fearfully from the wound in her tem 
 ple, the wounds in her tender flesh, so hastily and 
 imperfectly attended to, gave her excruciating 
 pain. 
 
 Had it not been for Philip's sake she would have 
 wished herself dead then and there. No one came 
 near them from either army, and late in the morn- 
 
 322
 
 AFTER SPOTTSYLVANIA 323 
 
 ing the old negress came in from a reconnoisance she 
 had undertaken and declared that unless they wanted 
 to be killed they must get out of the house and seek 
 shelter somewhere else. 
 
 " Fs be'n out in ' de gyarden," she remarked, 
 " an' I see de sogers comin' in dar " she pointed 
 out the north of the clearing. " Dey's a-comin' 
 right dis way an' dey got a gret big gun wid 'em." 
 
 Ariadne hardly had the strength and resolution 
 to do so, but, urged by the old woman, she got up 
 from the bed and started toward the door, through 
 which she could see what was occurring. With her 
 keen intelligence she knew at once what was about to 
 happen. That section of artillery unlimbering on 
 the edge of the woods was trying to take the Con 
 federate line in reverse. She saw, too, that the line 
 of fire ran some distance from the hut and that unless 
 the gun were badly aimed they were in no immediate 
 danger. 
 
 Her first instinct was to warn the Confederates 
 of the blow which was about to fall, but she realised 
 that it would be impossible to warn them in time. 
 She had no horse, she could not walk. She watched 
 the approaching gun in helpless anguish. The negro 
 woman was looking the other way. 
 
 " Heh cum our folks," she cried, suddenly 
 pointing. 
 
 Ariadne wheeled swiftly and stared through the 
 adjoining window looking south. A single man was 
 stepping out of the trees. He wore a grey uniform. 
 Ariadne had been almost blind with pain, but there 
 was an illumination in that presence. It was her 
 husband; she recognised him at once. He had 
 escaped, then; he was alive. He had come to warn 
 Stuart, to seek her. But what was he doing there? 
 Alone? She could not imagine until she saw him
 
 324 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 lift his rifle and fire. Then she realised that He was 
 fighting that gun alone. 
 
 For the moment Ariadne forgot her wounds, her 
 anguish, everything, and thrilled at the sight of that 
 cool and splendid figure. She guessed that he had 
 come to take her from the house and that he had seen 
 the artillery and was making a desperate attempt to 
 check it temporarily. She saw the Federals wheel 
 the piece and fire on her husband at last. She cov 
 ered her ears with her hands at the sound of the 
 report and tried not to look toward the window until 
 the old negress, who had been watching the scene 
 with eager eyes, exclaimed : 
 
 " Dey didn't git him ? He's doin* hit agin. Look ! 
 Heah cum de res' un *em." 
 
 She saw Breathed's guns come up on the gallop, 
 marked them swing into action, then she lost sight 
 of her husband in the smoke. 
 
 " Dey's mo' Yanks yander," cried the old woman, 
 pointing through the door; " we got to git outer heah 
 somewar." 
 
 There was a little cellar under the house, a hole 
 rather, scarcely large enough for the two women. 
 Thither the older woman half led, half carried 
 Ariadne by main force. There they remained while 
 the tide of battle rolled around them. The hut be 
 tween the two armies was hit again and again during 
 the hot little fight, but no piece of shell or canister 
 injured either woman. Ariadne lay as one dead in 
 the arms of the kind old black woman. How long she 
 remained there she did not know; the minutes seemed 
 hours, the hours days, and she had lost count of all. 
 
 Finally the Federal troops drove back the Con 
 federates. The battle swept by them; they could 
 hear it far to the right and rear. At last they ven- 
 turned out. By this time Ariadne was nearly dead.
 
 AFTER SPOTTSYLVANIA 325 
 
 She was in the grip of a fever and half delirious 
 when a large body of Union cavalrymen rode past 
 the house. The general in command stopped his 
 horse and asked for a drink of water. The old 
 negress, who answered his hail, stared hard at him. 
 He looked a kindly man, and, knowing that she 
 must trust some one, she determined to ask his as 
 sistance. 
 
 " Mister," she said, handing him a gourdful of 
 water, " der's a young lady in heh. She's all shot 
 up an' I spec she gwine to die ef sumbody doan tek 
 sum notice un her." 
 
 "Take my horse, orderly," said the general, in 
 stantly dismounting and following the old woman 
 into the hut. The next moment he recognised 
 Ariadne, while she in turn was greatly surprised and 
 not a little relieved to see that he was General 
 Manning. 
 
 " Why, it's Miss Lewis ! " he cried in amazement. 
 " How did you get here? " 
 
 " I do not know, sir." 
 
 " Dey fotch her las' night, all shot up." 
 
 " I will send a doctor at once," said General 
 Manning, " and we'll see what can be done. Will 
 you stay with her? " he said, proffering a gold piece 
 to the negress. 
 
 " I doan' want none er dat, suh," said the old 
 woman proudly. " I'se Confed'it, I is. I'se gwine 
 ter tek keer er dis young lady as long as I kin' stan' 
 up." 
 
 General Manning summoned his brigade surgeon 
 to look after Ariadne, posted a guard at the hut and 
 gave instructions that her condition was to be re 
 ported to him wherever he might be camped for the 
 night. Rest, care, and good nursing were all that 
 Ariadne required, the surgeon declared; and the ma-
 
 326 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 terial portion of this Manning supplied from the 
 boundless resources of the Union army, and the old 
 negress did the rest. The day after that Manning 
 himself, whose brigade was not engaged at the time, 
 came back to see her. He found a very pale and 
 wretched woman, but one recovered in part from her 
 terrible shock. 
 
 " Miss Lewis," he began as he entered the room. 
 
 " General Manning," said Ariadne, " I deceived 
 you." 
 
 The general looked thoughtful. 
 
 " My name isn't Lewis," she went on. " It used 
 to be, before I was married." 
 
 " Married ! You ! What is it now ? " 
 
 " Grafton." 
 
 " You're not Philip Graf ton's wife? " 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " Then you're not a Northern sympathiser at 
 all?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " And that dash into our lines was . . ." 
 
 " A ruse." 
 
 " I did that young Confederate captain an injus 
 tice," said Manning, reflecting upon what he had 
 said about the other's pursuit of the woman. 
 
 " You did," said Ariadne, " and I longed to tell 
 you the truth to clear his memory, but I could not." 
 
 " There must have been serious cause for you to 
 risk life and your escort to get into my lines." 
 
 "There was. I had to get through." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " I had a message for General Stuart." 
 
 Ariadne knew that no harm would be done by 
 disclosing her story, and she really was anxious to 
 tell the whole truth to this officer, who had been so 
 kind to her. It was a relief to tell the truth, after the
 
 AFTER SPOTTSYLVANIA 327 
 
 past necessity for so many falsehoods, and she felt it 
 a sort of belated atonement as well. 
 
 " My husband is on General Lee's staff. He had 
 orders to General Stuart to hold you back. He was 
 captured, but I escaped and delivered the message." 
 
 " Upon what little things battles depend," mused 
 Manning. " If it had not been for this woman 
 Stuart would have retreated or gone away on some 
 wild raid or other. We would have seized Spottsyf- 
 vania Court House. Lee's army would have been 
 flanked, he would have been cut off from Richmond, 
 and forced to retreat or attack our overwhelming 
 force with his depleted battalions." 
 
 This had all been frustrated. by Ariadne's dash 
 and daring, her shrewdness and devotion. But Man 
 ning bore no malice. He could respect such qualities 
 even in a foe. And no one could cherish animosity 
 toward this poor, wounded, fever-racked, stricken 
 woman, yet still for all that she had sustained, look 
 ing at him out of her beautiful eyes with some of 
 the old pride of Ariadne, the dauntless. 
 
 " You outwitted me fairly," said the general, 
 smiling, " and while I am of course chagrined, it is 
 impossible for me to be angry with Philip Grafton's 
 wife. By the way, I have a message for him in my 
 pocket." He hesitated. 
 
 " A message? From whom? " 
 
 " My wife," said Manning gravely. 
 
 He could understand what value the message 
 would be both to Grafton and his wife under certain 
 circumstances. But he must know all before he de 
 livered it. 
 
 " Tell me," he said, " your husband . . You 
 see I know something of your story." 
 
 It was very hard for Manning to go on, and 
 Ariadne helped him.
 
 328 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " I fled from him, as you know," she said, " but 
 he found me day before yesterday." 
 
 " He is . . is it ^ . . ." 
 
 " He loves me," said the woman simply, un 
 derstanding Manning's query. "If I only knew 
 that he were safe I'd be the happiest woman on 
 earth." 
 
 " Good," exclaimed Manning, his course clear now. 
 " My wife begs your forgiveness. She gave me a 
 little packet which I was to give to your husband or 
 to you, if by any chance I fell in with either of you. 
 I carry it always with me. Here it is." 
 
 He took a small parcel from his breast pocket and 
 handed it to Ariadne. 
 
 " Is it . ." began Ariadne, " are you . . ." 
 
 " I am as happy as you are, Mrs. Grafton," said 
 the young officer impulsively, laughing like a boy, 
 understanding her as she had understood him. He 
 reached out his hand and met her small one, giving 
 it a vigorous shake. 
 
 The package was addressed in Kathleen's handwrit 
 ing to " Mrs. Philip Grafton, in care of her hus 
 band, kindness of General Manning." With nervous 
 fingers Ariadne tore it open. There was nothing in 
 it but a locket. Kathleen's locket, that her husband 
 had worn. The recollection of the scene in which it 
 had played so prominent a part came over her with 
 a rush. She dropped it in her lap. What had Kath 
 leen intended, she thought, by sending it to her? 
 How had it come into her possession, in the first 
 place? What had she meant by returning it to 
 Ariadne? Had Philip given it to Kathleen? Did 
 it mean that Kathleen had sent it back to Ariadne 
 as a token that she had cast off Philip ? How could 
 any one ever stop loving him? she thought, indig 
 nantly, with a flash of charming inconsistency.
 
 AFTER SPOTTSYLVANIA 329 
 
 " You'd better open it," said Manning, smiling at 
 her and comprehending something of her thoughts. 
 
 Her trembling fingers fumbled at the catch and 
 finally he had to come to her assistance. He placed 
 the open locket in her hand. She had fearfully ex 
 pected to see Kathleen's picture, but lol a little 
 chubby face stared at her. 
 
 " What is this? " she began in bewilderment. 
 
 " Can't you see? It's a baby," answered Man 
 ning, smiling like a great boy, as he always did at 
 that picture, a duplicate of which, with Kathleen's 
 face opposite, he carried in his pocket. 
 
 "But whose baby?" 
 
 1 Mine and Kathleen's.^ 
 
 " But why did she send it to me?" 
 
 " You are the baby's god-mother . . or rather, 
 you're going to be, and we've named her after you." 
 
 "Then it is a girl?" 
 
 Manning nodded. 
 
 "Ariadne Manning. See?" There was a little 
 scrap of paper in the locket. Manning took it out 
 and held it forth. 
 
 " For Ariadne " was written upon it, " from 
 Kathleen. Love me and forgive me." 
 
 Ariadne leaned back in her chair and stared at 
 the general. 
 
 " You see," he began, " we are indebted to you 
 for all our happiness. It was your trust and your 
 example that opened Kathleen's eyes. She did love 
 your husband once and who could blame her? 
 He's the most splendid fellow on earth, but after you 
 came and after you left her, well, she opened her 
 eyes and saw some of the merits of my unworthy self. 
 Mrs. Grafton, I cannot thank you enough. She said 
 that whenever she looked at me she thought of you, 
 so straight, so dauntless, so true, so unhappy. Some-
 
 330 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 how, it seems strange, she turned to me. Then 
 when . . the baby came . . and it was a 
 girl we both thought of you. Are you glad? " 
 
 " I am very glad, very happy," quivered Ariadne, 
 comprehending at last; "or I would be if I could 
 only know where Philip is, if he is alive. I did noth 
 ing. Ijt was Kathleen's innate nobleness of soul, that 
 was all, that . . that saved all . . of us." 
 
 " Now," said Manning, manlike anxious not to 
 plunge too deeply into a scene, " what are you going 
 to do?" 
 
 " I don't know. Can I get back into our lines? " 
 
 " It is absolutely impossible," returned the gen 
 eral. " In no way could it be brought about. I 
 wish you would go North. Kathleen is in Fred- 
 ericksburg, but she is going back to Pennsylvania. 
 She will be glad to take you with her. You can't 
 stay here." 
 
 Poor Ariadne had been so buffeted by fortune that 
 she was incapable of much resistance now. She de 
 murred, but Manning was persistent. He said, 
 which was perfectly true, that were conditions differ 
 ent she would have done the same ; and he promised, 
 if it were possible to get tidings to Philip, to let him 
 know. Ariadne had to comply for the present, for 
 she was too weak and too helpless to be left alone. 
 Back to Fredericksburg she went. 
 
 The day after Spottsylvania General Manning, 
 who had told the story to General Grant and re 
 ceived his permission, sent an officer to the Confed 
 erate lines under a flag of truce. He himself 
 followed Sheridan to meet Stuart, so he had to trust 
 his message to one of General Meade's staff officers. 
 The Confederate officer who met the flag received a 
 note from General Grant to General Lee. When Lee 
 opened it he found a brief letter from his great an-
 
 AFTER SPOTTSYLVANIA 331 
 
 tagonist, asking, if no military exigency prevented, 
 that he would deliver the enclosed note to Captain 
 Philip Grafton, if such an officer were still on his 
 staff. If so, and an answer was to be made, the 
 officer who brought the note under the flag would be 
 glad to take it back. It was a most unusual request. 
 Lee, however, surmised what the tenor of the note 
 would be. He called Grafton and placed it in his 
 hands. Grafton opened it, and, recognizing Man 
 ning's handwriting, read: 
 
 " DEAR OLD FELLOW: 
 
 " Your wife is wounded, but not seriously, 
 and is in our lines. I have prevailed upon her to go 
 back to Pennsylvania with Kathleen. You will be 
 glad to know that Kathleen is the most devoted of 
 wives and has an admiration for your wife second 
 only to that she feels for our little daughter, her 
 namesake. She will take good care of her until, 
 well . . until we can meet under happier circum 
 stances. Your wife refuses to determine anything 
 until she hears from you. If she can get word that 
 you are safe and well her own recovery will be cer 
 tain. You will be sorry to learn that Burt Kirkwood 
 was seriously stabbed at the Bloody Angle. Kath 
 leen and your wife are taking him back. I would 
 have brought this letter in person, but we of the 
 cavalry must always be moving. May God speed 
 the day when we can meet face to face in peace. 
 Your old friend and classmate, who never forgets 
 you, GEORGE MANNING." 
 
 Grafton laid the letter before Lee. 
 " This is not necessary, Captain," said the gen 
 eral, with his usual consideration. 
 
 "But I ask you to read it, sir," said Grafton;
 
 332 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 " you know the story, and I wish you to know this 
 chapter as well." 
 
 " General Lee handed the letter back after he had 
 read it and turned to his aide. 
 
 "A manly officer," he said; "I am glad Mrs. 
 Grafton has fallen in such hands." 
 
 " What shall I say to her, sir? " 
 
 " Tell her to stay there. Write your reply, but 
 be brief about it," was the kind answer. 
 
 " Thank God, Manning," wrote Grafton, " that 
 my wife is safe. Tell her that I am still unharmed. 
 That my honour was saved through her magnificent 
 heroism. She will understand. Tell her to stay with 
 you and your wife, and may God bless you both 
 forever. She must wait until the war is over, or I can 
 arrange to have her brought back to the South. I 
 congratulate you on the little girl and on the love of 
 one of the finest women in the world. You know how 
 happy I am, or if you don't, ask Ariadne. I have 
 something to live for now. Good-bye. 
 
 " PHILIP GRAFTON."
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE ROBINGS OF GLORY, THE GLOOM OF DEFEAT 
 
 "WELL, Colonel Grafton?" exclaimed the general, 
 as Grafton rode up to him one morning in April 
 almost a year after the battle of Spottsylvania Court 
 House. 
 
 The young staff officer, who had been promoted 
 to his present rank in the closing years of the great 
 struggle, checked his horse abruptly and saluted. 
 At a rapid gallop he had come back from the front, 
 where fierce fighting was still going on. The emer- 
 gency admitted of no delay or he would have spun 
 the moments into hours before approaching his great 
 commander-in-chief with such a message as he had 
 to deliver. 
 
 The year that had elapsed had been one of ruin 
 and disaster. There had been victories, to be sure. 
 Never had the Army of Northern Virginia fought 
 more superbly, never had the skill of its commander 
 been more wonderfully exhibited than in the long 
 death grapple from the North Anna to Petersburg, 
 and in the race from Petersburg to Appomattox. 
 Starved and naked, worn away by the attrition of 
 Grant's ceaseless grinding and hammering, a mere 
 handful stood at bay that sunny April morning, 
 striking in hopeless despair, but with all the dash 
 and daring of old, against a circle of enemies that 
 ringed around them as a pack of wolves a dying lion. 
 
 From the east, from the west, from the north, 
 from the south, came the roar of battle, painfully 
 nearing the centre where Lee stood with his staff. 
 
 333
 
 334 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 Behind them, miles away, lay a prostrate, ruined 
 town. A once proud little capital in the ashes of 
 humiliation and destruction. Ahead of them ran 
 the mountains they longed to reach, to the south of 
 them their brothers in arms were reeling back from 
 the tremendous shocks of Sherman. But between 
 Lee and the South, between Lee and the West, lay 
 the war dogs of the Union ; the quarry that had been 
 hounded from Gettysburg to Five Forks was almost 
 brought down. Pressed from the rear, assailed on 
 the right and left, with the way barred in front, the 
 Army of Northern Virginia was trying desperately 
 to break through anywhere. The wave of advance 
 rolled on, but it was now a shallow, seething spray 
 about beaten to pieces against the inexorable rocks 
 of an indomitable determination whose name was 
 Grant. 
 
 In all that fighting Graf ton had borne a splendid 
 part. He had participated in the battle at the Crater 
 at Petersburg. He had charged with Gordon at 
 Fort Steadman. Carrying orders to his old division 
 commander he had fought with Pickett at Five 
 Forks. He had narrowly escaped capture with Ewell 
 at Sailor's Creek. This morning Lee had sent him 
 forward to the front of the line, where Gordon 
 commanded, to find how the battle went and what 
 were the chances of success. 
 
 Now he was coming back to tell his chieftain that 
 inevitable defeat, nay, annihilation, stared him in the 
 face and could no longer be staved off even by his 
 genius and his army's courage. 
 
 Twice during that long time Grafton had heard 
 from Ariadne. She was well, she was with Kathleen 
 Manning, who loved her. She longed to be with 
 her husband. She might have managed to get a 
 pass through the President of the United States,
 
 THE ROBINGS OF GLORY 335 
 
 whose kindness to her had never been forgotten; but 
 Grafton, with the deadly picture of starvation and 
 misery in Richmond constantly before him, had sunk 
 his own desires in her welfare and had peremptorily 
 forbidden her to seek to enter that doomed town. 
 
 Unless a miracle from heaven came to pass the 
 Confederacy was hopelessly ruined when Lee es 
 sayed to defend Petersburg at the command of an 
 executive which short-sightedly valued a place above 
 an army. Grafton, for one, realised that the only 
 hope was in foreign intervention, which it was now 
 patent would never take place. 
 
 Conditions were terrible in Richmond in the sum 
 mer and winter of 1864. Ariadne had suffered 
 enough, and although he would have given the world 
 to have seen her, to have taken her in his arms now 
 that he loved her he charged her with all the solem 
 nity that in him lay to stay where she was and wait. 
 Because she loved him she obeyed him. 
 
 Both the times he heard from her through spies 
 and secret service messages, her letters had been 
 pleas that she might come to him, and although his 
 heart seconded the wish, he turned a deaf ear to the 
 appeals. Thus, while her husband starved and 
 fought, while her sisters sunk and died, Ariadne 
 stayed in the little Pennsylvania town helping Kath 
 leen, who was now her staunchest friend, nurse back 
 to health and strength again Colonel Kirkwood, who 
 was enabled to rejoin his regiment in the fall. 
 
 Ariadne was comfortable enough in body ; she was 
 not hungry nor ragged, as were her Southern sisters; 
 but, oh, the anguish that she suffered at the thought 
 that she wanted for nothing while they lacked all! 
 That she was safe and happy and at ease while her 
 husband was in deadly peril from the bullet or from 
 disease, was a trial harder to bear and worse than
 
 336 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 the privation of the siege. Thinking to spare her, 
 he had laid the heaviest cross upon her. That she 
 bore it was an evidence of her love for him. 
 
 Kathleen was consideration itself, love itself; but 
 nothing, nothing, could make Ariadne feel at home. 
 " Home is where the heart is," runs an old song, and 
 her heart was with Grafton alone. Each bulletin of 
 victory, each evidence of the slow death of the Con 
 federacy, of the approaching end of the great strug 
 gle, the utter defeat of those who thought as she, 
 filled her heart with sorrow. 
 
 Erect, undaunted still, she faced the future, but 
 with little hope, save for Philip. Sometimes she 
 awakened with horror to the fact that she was wish 
 ful for the end of it all in order that she might see 
 her husband once more. She hungered and thirsted 
 for him with her whole soul. 
 
 Women watched the bulletins of battle those days 
 as they never scanned newspaper reports before or 
 since, but none in the North watched them with such 
 agonising intensity as Ariadne. So the slow months 
 dragged away. In each one of them those two 
 lovers lived a thousand years. 
 
 Now Philip loved his wife with all his heart and 
 soul, and his heart was great and his soul was true; 
 but he was a man and a soldier, and when he looked 
 into the face of his captain, sitting there on his horse 
 alone, on the little hill surveying woodland and 
 meadow, from which the roar of battle rose, through 
 which the smoke of battle wavered and drifted in 
 the fitful breeze of that beautiful morning, he 
 thought only of him. Indeed that army, the cause 
 for which they had fought, had become Lee. He 
 typified everything they had struggled for, every 
 hope they had cherished, every dream they had 
 dreamed, every vision they had seen. He was,
 
 THE ROBINGS OF GLORY 337 
 
 as hj2 sat there that morning, the South in all 
 its glory, in all its pride, in all its honour. The 
 South, broken, beaten down, but undaunted; the 
 South, winning eternal fame, evoking all men's re 
 spect and many men's love, in this hour of defeat. 
 
 A magnificent picture the general made. He was 
 clad in a new and perfectly fitting uniform that had 
 seen no service. The worn grey coat in which he 
 had shared the privations of his men had been dis 
 carded. Compelled to abandon all personal bag 
 gage, each officer had put on his best uniform for a 
 last effort to break through the grip of Grant. This 
 was a uniform that had been kept for the moment 
 of triumph; it was destined to grace the day of 
 defeat. 
 
 Grafton was as ragged and tattered as any officer 
 in the army. He had been absent on service when 
 the baggage had been abandoned, and although Tay 
 lor and Venable had saved him his best suit, it had 
 been lost in the wild scramble of the retreat. He 
 was a scarecrow of an officer save for the purpose, 
 the intelligence, that shone in his face. The men in 
 that army were not estimated by clothing, and how a 
 soldier dressed accounted for nothing if he fought, 
 if he served and Grafton did both. 
 
 Lee wore an exquisitely mounted sword, attached 
 to a belt of Russia leather beautifully embroidered 
 in gold. His abundant grey hair, soft and fine as 
 silk, curled slightly on his neck. His full beard and 
 moustache, trimmed rather short, covered his mouth. 
 His ruddy face was bronzed and weather-beaten by 
 the hard, rough campaigning. There was a mourn 
 ful look in his deep brown eyes which alone indicated 
 his despair. Yet, such was the strength with which 
 this man ruled himself, that he gave little outward 
 evidence of the anguish in his soul. Although his
 
 33 8 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 heart was breaking he was a picture of iron com 
 posure. 
 
 As Grafton rode up he thought of how Lee had 
 looked on that grey morning at Spottsylvania, when 
 he had striven to lead the charge on the Union line ; 
 how his colour had mounted to his cheek, how his 
 eye had flashed as with high look and heroic bearing, 
 hat in hand, he had leaped his horse to the head of 
 the column. And, Grafton thought, happier might 
 it have been for this man if he had led the charge 
 and died then and there on that bloody field. Yet 
 he was to add the last leaf to the laurels of his fame 
 by his courageous course on this day and the days 
 that intervened between the end of the war and the 
 end of his own fighting of the battle of life. Many 
 a man is great in victory, greater in death; few are 
 greatest in defeat. Of that few was Lee. 
 
 " Well, sir," said the general, as Grafton halted 
 to deliver his message, "what from Gordon?" 
 
 He had raced toward his captain as became a 
 soldier, but now that he had to tell the message his 
 lips refused to frame the words. Indeed, it was un 
 necessary, for his bearing told everything. Clench 
 ing his hands, with a choking voice he said at 
 last: 
 
 " General, I will give you General Gordon's exact 
 words. ' Tell General Lee I have fought my corps 
 to a frazzle and I fear I can do nothing unless I am 
 heavily supported by Longstreet's corps.' ' 
 
 Gordon knew, Grafton knew, every man in the 
 army knew, that Longstreet's corps was in like 
 straits to that of Gordon. There was a long pause. 
 Grafton could see the general's lips straighten out 
 under the pressure he put upon them. He threw up 
 his head for a moment, as if seeking strength from 
 above, then bent down. Presently he said softly
 
 THE ROBINGS OF GLORY 339 
 
 to himself, staring ahead of him, his look compre 
 hending Grafton without seeing him: 
 
 " Then there is nothing left me but to go and see 
 General Grant, and I had rather die a thousand 
 deaths ! " 
 
 Perhaps his mind, too, went back to that grey 
 morning on the Spottsylvania hills. Perhaps he, too, 
 pictured a great captain at rest on the soil of Vir 
 ginia with a bullet in his breast, his heart's blood 
 wetting the earth of the state he had loved with a 
 passion passing the love of woman. But he had 
 work to do. As he had wielded the baton of leader 
 ship in winning the laurels of victory, so now he must 
 bear the burden of defeat. He must go to General 
 Grant. 
 
 Lee was too great a man to delay when the inevit 
 able was to be confronted. After that one ejacula 
 tion he turned and summoned a staff officer and 
 dictated a brief note to General Grant, asking a 
 meeting for the surrender of the army. He rode 
 forward to that surrender at a dwelling house in 
 the little village of Appomattox early that after 
 noon. Colonel Marshall, his military secretary, 
 rode with him. Grafton had rented the jacket of a 
 private soldier, which was in a fair state of repair, 
 from a man who had recently joined the army after 
 a long sick leave. He had paid him the last piece 
 of gold he had in his pocket for the use of it, and with 
 rare devotion he rode as the general's orderly to the 
 conference. 
 
 He held the horses outside while Lee and Grant 
 held that memorable interview, in which the dignity 
 of the conquered was matched by the magnanimity 
 of the conqueror; in which was given, perhaps, on 
 both sides, the finest exhibition of American cour 
 tesy and American manhood that the world has seen.
 
 340 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 He saw the Union soldiers standing at respectful 
 salute as his general came out alone and stood in the 
 doorway. He was near enough, as he brought his 
 horse to Lee, to see him smite his hands together two 
 or three times softly, the one gesture that he made 
 as he waited the approach of old Traveller. 
 
 It was a silent, horrible ride that the three took 
 back to the Confederate lines. Marshall whispered 
 the terms to Grafton, and for the rest of the way they 
 said nothing. They were right beside Lee when he 
 entered the lines. They heard him say in a voice 
 hoarse with emotion, choking and broken in spite 
 of his superhuman efforts to preserve his calm : 
 
 " Men, we have fought through the war together; 
 I have done the best I could for you." 
 
 They saw those men crowd around Lee, those 
 gaunt, ragged, hungry men, pressing upon his horse, 
 laying their hands upon him, striving to get nearer 
 to him, while tears streamed down their haggard 
 cheeks and sobs shook their wasted breasts. It was 
 the last scene of all that may be mentioned in the 
 history of the great Army of Northern Virginia. 
 
 Grafton found the private soldier and offered him 
 the coat, but the man refused to take it. He said 
 that the gold piece he had received had more than 
 paid for it. The officer must keep it. A few days 
 after the surrender, the details having been com 
 pleted and the paroles signed, Grafton, heavy- 
 hearted, rode back to Richmond. He had left there 
 four years before in the humblest station. In the 
 twinkling of an eye military rank and its distinctions 
 had been wiped out of what had been the Southern 
 Confederacy, by the surrender at Appomattox, and 
 he thought, ironically, that it was fitting that as he 
 had gone forth, so he came back in the jacket of a 
 private soldier.
 
 THE ROBINGS OF GLORY 341 
 
 His heart was sad, and yet there was a lightness 
 about it, the lightness that comes first of all from 
 relief that the inevitable which had been impending 
 has at last occurred; and the greater lightness that 
 comes from the knowledge that the hope deferred 
 is to be realised. He would go first to his own 
 house. He had there, he remembered, some clothing 
 which he would have given to his slaves four years 
 ago; but since it was at least whole and decent, he 
 would be glad to wear now. More fortunate than 
 ; most of his comrades, he could still command a little 
 money, gold, which had been saved from the wreck 
 of his fortunes. Clothed and in his right mind, with 
 the dreadful anxieties of the desperate struggle re 
 moved, he would soon see Ariadne. The war was 
 over he would claim her now. God ! how he loved 
 her! 
 
 So he rode through the prostrate, ruined city. 
 There were soldiers in blue everywhere, but they did 
 not molest him. He turned down the familiar 
 streets which he had traversed so often under other 
 circumstances. He had visited his home frequently 
 during the Petersburg siege and had at last rein 
 stated therein Aza and Aunt Dessy, who had made 
 their way into Richmond after some marauders had 
 burned the little house near Spottsylvania. 
 
 When the Confederates had evacuated Richmond 
 Grafton had sent Jeff back to the old house, instruct 
 ing him to wait there until he received word from 
 him as to what he should do. He was not surprised, 
 therefore, to see the house open and smoke coming 
 from the chimney. It was early in the spring, and 
 the magnolias were just beginning to bloom over the 
 gate. He had never approached that gate without 
 thinking of Ariadne standing there bidding him 
 good-bye as he went to the war. He never ap-
 
 342 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 preached it without a hope of seeing her again. 
 Notwithstanding his assurance to the contrary, he 
 half expected to see her there now. But she was 
 not there. Of course she could not be, he thought, 
 in disappointment most unreasoning. 
 
 He rode through the grounds up the driveway 
 and dismounted before the porch. He was in a 
 hurry; he wanted to get away to seek his wife. In 
 addition to his parole he had a pass in his pocket 
 from General Grant, which permitted him to go 
 North. Kirkwood, who was now one of Sheridan's 
 brigadiers, had secured it for him. Manning, now 
 commanding a division of infantry, had been one of 
 those left behind to guard Richmond. As Grafton 
 stood at the foot of the porch two men came around 
 the house. One was old Aza, the other Jeff. 
 
 " Gawd a'mighty! " cried Aza, " ef 'tain't Marse 
 Phil." 
 
 "Howdy, Marse Phil!" cried Jeff, running for 
 ward to take his horse. 
 
 Grafton greeted them heartily, turned over the 
 horse to Jeff, and told Aza that he wanted breakfast 
 and a bath prepared in a hurry, for he was going 
 North by the first train. 
 
 " I'm not giving you orders, Aza," he said, smil 
 ing; " the war is over and you are free." 
 
 " Marse Phil," protested the negro, with great 
 gravity, " we-all b'long to you-all ev' sense we was 
 bornded. We's gwine ter belong to you-all 't'well 
 we dies. I doan want no freedom. An' Aunt Dessy 
 she think de same way. We's gwine ter stay wid 
 you des de same as befo'." 
 
 Jeff, however, said nothing. He was younger, and 
 freedom had an alluring sound. Grafton laughed, 
 mounted the steps, opened the door, and slipped Into 
 the hall with a careless word. That word was car-
 
 THE ROBINGS OF GLORY 343 
 
 ried up stairs; it pierced the fearful hollow of a 
 maiden's ear. Grafton stood silent in the hall a 
 moment. His merriment died away. He looked 
 soberly about him and then prepared to ascend the 
 stairs to the chambers above. 
 
 Something caught his eye. A hat a woman's 
 hat lay on a table in the hall. A woman's cloak 
 hung from the old-fashioned hat rack. They could 
 not belong to Aunt Dessy. To whom then? Per 
 haps some Northern officer's wife had come down 
 to . a door was opened above his head, he 
 
 heard the patter of bare feet along the hall, a white- 
 robed figure turned the corner of the stair, A laugh, 
 a cry, and Ariadne was in his arms. 
 
 Kathleen Manning had brought her down to 
 Richmond immediately after it was entered by the 
 Union troops, and Ariadne had brought Kathleen to 
 her home. There they had waited the end. Ariadne 
 had been nearly frantic with anxiety at her utter 
 inability to get news of her husband. She had been 
 tossing on her bed after a sleepless night when she 
 heard the horse on the gravel outside, the voice in 
 the hall. In another moment she had rushed to him. 
 
 Ah, the war was over, and white-robed Ariadne 
 was in the lucky soldier's arms, kissing him, clinging 
 to him, laughing, crying, loving him in a delirium of 
 happiness and joy at last.
 
 POSTLUDE 
 
 THE PATH OF DUTY TO THE END 
 
 I BEGAN this veracious chronicle with the picture of 
 Robert Lee, and I close it in the same way. Twice 
 before death came to crown the end of that great 
 life Grafton and his wife saw the general. The 
 day after the meeting in Richmond, Grafton, in 
 doubt, like many a young Southern soldier, as to his 
 future course, went to Lee, from whom he had been 
 wont to receive orders, and asked advice. Ariadne 
 was with her husband, and they found Lee in his 
 home in Richmond. They had last seen him to 
 gether by the grave of an old friend. As they stood 
 before him now it seemed as if they were confronting 
 the grave of Virginia itself. His face lighted as 
 he saw them. 
 
 " My dear child," he said, taking Ariadne's hands 
 in both his own, " the end of the war has brought you 
 together. I never had a chance to thank you for 
 that magnificent ride in the Wilderness. There is 
 no reward I can offer you now, save to tell you what 
 you already know, that in your husband you have 
 one of my bravest, most devoted, most able soldiers. 
 He stood high in the Army of Northern Virginia, 
 and there was much bravery, much devotion, much 
 ability, displayed there." 
 
 " I know what I have gained, General Lee," ex 
 claimed Ariadne, her eyes brimming with tears. 
 
 " And no one can know what happiness has come 
 to me, General, except for our country," said Graf- 
 ton, quickly. 
 
 344
 
 POSTLUDE 345 
 
 ' You are well mated," said the general. " And 
 now you know that we are all poor, but won't you 
 let me help you a little on your honeymoon? You 
 see, I knew both of your fathers, and . . ." 
 He took out a pitifully small roll of bills, green 
 backs. There were perhaps ten dollars in that roll. 
 " I will divide with you," he said, smiling as if the 
 absurdity of his poverty was the only thing that 
 affected him. 
 
 Grafton put out his hand. 
 
 " No, sir," he cried; " I would take it in a moment 
 if I needed it, but I have saved a little from the 
 wreck of my fortune. And friends have come to 
 my assistance. Indeed, if I might offer. . . ." 
 
 But the general shook his head. He could give, 
 but he could not receive that was one of the penal 
 ties of greatness and high station. 
 
 " I thank you, but I shall do very well," he said; 
 " and you will need all you have. What do you 
 propose to do? " 
 
 " I have come to you for advice, sir. I could go 
 abroad or . . ." 
 
 " Your first duty," said Lee impressively, " is to 
 your wife now." Ariadne had had to wait long 
 enough for that sentence, but she was happier for the 
 delay when it came. ' Your next is to Virginia," 
 continued the general. " There was a time when we 
 reversed that, Mrs. Grafton; not that we loved our 
 wives any the less." Ariadne nodded. She under 
 stood. " Virginia needs her sons, now," Lee went 
 on. " More than ever does she need them now. 
 Almost any man can be a good soldier; it takes a 
 good man to be a good citizen. We must commence 
 life over again and serve the state in peaceful ways as 
 we have done with arms." 
 
 " You are right, sir," said Grafton. " We were
 
 346 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 born here; we'll live here and die here when the time 
 comes." 
 
 " I intend to remain," said the general. " Many 
 of my soldiers have been to see me. Numbers of 
 them had resolved upon self-banishment. In every 
 instance I have urged them to stay here and repair 
 the fortunes of their state." 
 
 A drum had been throbbing, a bugle shrilling, 
 down the street as they talked, unheeding them. The 
 music was so near now that they could no longer 
 disregard it. The general lifted his head; his eyes 
 kindled at the martial sound. 
 
 " What troops are those ? " he questioned, step 
 ping involuntarily toward the broad open window, 
 whither Grafton and Ariadne followed him. As they 
 had stood long ago, youth with its purpose, age with 
 its knowledge, the woman between, they stood then 
 staring out upon a starry flag, the flag of the United 
 States. Their flag now, they thought sadly, with the 
 blue St. Andrew's Cross in the red field, that they 
 had followed in many a battle, furled forever but 
 not forgotten ! 
 
 A Federal division was going by. Cavalry, in 
 fantry, artillery. They marched with free, splen 
 did step, those bronzed well-clad, well-armed 
 veterans. Lee looked at them with an eye full of 
 appreciation and with a shadow of envy, without 
 bitterness, as he thought of his own worn and wasted 
 men. The officer riding at the head of the column 
 caught sight of him, recognised him. Instinctively 
 he raised his sword. Blades were bared in the morn 
 ing air, arms crashed to the front of the marching 
 men. It was the last salute of the men in blue to the 
 leader of the men in grey. Those men in blue knew 
 him; they had fought him for four years. They
 
 ''Youth with its purpose, age with its knowledge, the 
 
 woman between, they stood then staring out upon 
 
 a starry flag, the flag of the U. S."
 
 POSTLUDE 347 
 
 could tell a man and soldier when they came face to 
 face with one. 
 
 The general bowed his head, waited a moment 
 and turned away. Without a word he held out his 
 hands to the two. Philip shook one ; Ariadne touched 
 the other with her lips. Lee turned away, and they 
 left him alone, walking up and down the great room, 
 thinking, thinking, thinking . . . 
 
 Nearly six years after, those two, lovers still, 
 stood in the chapel at Lexington, Virginia, and heard 
 the words . that committed the body of one of the 
 greatest Americans of his day to the earth and rest 
 at last. A few days before he had come home from a 
 meeting of the vestry of the little church of which 
 he was the chief support, and had stood at his din 
 ing table to invoke the blessing of that God in whom 
 he had ever trusted, upon the evening meal, and had 
 been stricken down. In his last days, ere death laid 
 its hand upon him, his mind had reverted to the 
 scenes of his glory, and, like Stonewall Jackson, his 
 great subordinate, the name of one of his corps 
 commanders, the most dependable man in the army, 
 had been upon his lips. Scarcely could greater 
 honour be vouchsafed a man's memory that he 
 should linger last, like A. P. Hill, in the minds of 
 Lee and Jackson. 
 
 On the banks of the Hudson, overlooking the 
 greatest city in the world, rises a magnificent tomb. 
 The ships of the nations sail by upon that river. 
 Again and again on festive days the roar of cannon 
 in salute awaken the echoes about the slumbering 
 hero. Around the base of the monument trade and 
 traffic, the tides of commerce, ebb and flow. Bear 
 ing upon its portal a noble phylactery that says, " Let
 
 348 THE PATRIOTS 
 
 us have peace," it speaks to men of the mighty per 
 sonality of Grant. 
 
 Far to the South in the Virginia hills in a little 
 quiet spot in which he spent his last years, training 
 the youth of his land to remember and forget to 
 forget the bitterness and remember the devotion of 
 four years of strife in a modest sepulchre rest the 
 remains of Lee. 
 
 Somewhere beyond the stars, where the tumult 
 and the shouting die, those men have met. Diffi 
 culties past, differences forgotten, they stand an in 
 spiration for American manhood, American valour 
 and American character. With them I seem to see 
 another figure, the great-hearted, gaunt-faced, hero 
 ically gentle and generous Lincoln, stricken in the 
 hour of victory, the greatest calamity of the four 
 years of strife. 
 
 In the presence of Lincoln and Grant lives there 
 a soul to-day who will say that Lee was not the peer 
 of the highest, the noblest, the best on earth 1 
 
 THE END
 
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