Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 192: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

UNTO THE FOURTH GENERATION. 183 The general passed his hand over his forehead and murmured something about “ the confounded morning light.” “Vaughan,” he said presently, “do you realize that in giving yourself up you acknowledge yourself an accom- plice? It would have gone easier with you if you had simply found the pris- oner escaped at daybreak.” “ Yes, but though the ties of blood proved the stronger of the two, I could ” not forget I still owed and always will my allegiance to the South!” Again the general shaded his eyes as if to shut out the sunlight; before him rose the semblance of a woman’s face— it was that of Vaughan’s mother. He walked over to him and handed him his swotd. There was a strange expression on his face. “No truer man ever drew this in de- fense of the cause,” he said; “ forgive me, lad, for the torture that these last moments myst have given a soul like yours; but it was the test.” Aghast, Vaughan stood silent. He did not touch the offered blade. The general smiled faintly. “In thus shielding you I do the South no harm,” he said. He moved a step nearer. “General Lee surren- dered yesterday,” he added. * -* * * Jean finished reading the letter she held and then laid her cheek against it and cried. It was from Vaughan. It told of Lee’s surrender—that was all— a short note brought that morning by a messenger—but how it hurt! To have suffered, to have endured, to have fought, to have waited, to have hoped and hoped—in vain ! She opened a second letter—brought by the same orderly. She glanced at the signature in surprise. It was from Vaughan’s commander. Not long and to the point, but as she read, the happy tears stood in her eyes, for it meant Richard’s life and—she paused—she would not allow herself to think—she had thought until her eyes were heavy and her brain was dull. The morning dragged. She went to her room to dress. Vaughan had writ- ten he would be there in the afternoon —he must not find tears and long faces awaiting him. The Spartan spirit still breathed in the South. Then she went to meet him. Sud- denly, half way down the old garden path, she paused. What was that she saw, there behind the rose tree near the little graveyard? Nota blue coat sure- ly! She went nearer. A man lay on the ground asleep—his back was to her ; his left arm done up in a handker- chief as if wounded. She stooped over him and then drew back with a sharp exclamation of surprise. “ Peyton!” The man sat erect, stared, brushed his hand over his eyes as if to dispel an illusion and then started to his feet. ‘How did you come here? Is your arm hurt?” Ravenscroft smiled. It was so ex- actly like Jean to ask two questions at once. “It is a long story. I was captured —Vaughan “Yes, I know.” é¢ How? 93 A wistful note crept into the low con- tralto voice. “The general wrote me”—she paused and bowed her head, as if in the presence of some one ranking high above her. “ God bless my Richard,” she added in a whisper. That whisper was a prayer. A moment later she was facing Ra- venscroft again. “What made you corne here?” she asked. “The hope that I might catch a glimpse of you. I did not mean to force an interview,” and his voice grew a little hard. “I had nothing to say to you, but I wanted to see you—that’s all. I waited, the loss of blood over- came me and I fell asleep where you found me.” “ But your arm?” COMIC O©OKS CO