“You certainly loved him once, when he had done nothing to distinguish himself, and if you truly loved him then, you love him still, for true love knows no ‘shadow of turning.’” “He whom I loved then was a gentleman, or I thought him such, not a barn burner, not a hen-roost robber!” answered Elfie, contemptuously. Again Alberta ignored the degrading terms that were applied to the guerrilla chief; for in truth nothing on earth had power to move her impassive nature, unless it were something nearly concerning Vittorio Corsoni, her idolized lover-husband, and she said: “Albert Goldsborough was destined by his parents and by mine to marry me, and you knew it from the first, yet you saw him and loved him, and won his love. Not that I regretted your success. I was very glad to be well rid of my cousin, for I was fully determined to marry Vittorio Corsoni, my beloved. But you took him away from me, only, it seems, to cast him off from yourself. In truth, I cannot understand such inconstancy,” she gravely added. “You cannot! Do you suppose, then, that _my_ love can survive esteem, and walk hand in hand with contempt?” said Elfie, scornfully. “No, I do not. Nor has Albert Goldsborough done anything worthy of contempt, but everything worthy of admiration.” “Pouncing upon me, and carrying me off by main force against my will, was among the rest of his admirable achievements, I suppose you think,” sneered Elfie. “Yes, for it was a brave deed.” “Very brave, to kidnap a weak girl.” “Yes, it was, for he seized that girl, as I said before, from between the teeth of the enemy. Elfie, have you any idea what he risked when he crossed the river for your sake?” gravely inquired Alberta. “He risked the halter, I suppose, and I wish to goodness he had got it,” answered Elfie, bitterly. “Yes, he did, heartless girl. He risked capture and an ignominious death for your sake. He risked all knowingly and willingly, for when, for love of you, he crossed the Potomac, he knew that Scott’s Nine Hundred—and _they_ are _your_ guerrillas, Elfie—were on the north side of the river below the Monocacy, and that Rosenthal’s cavalry were on the same side above the Monocacy, and that the scouts of one or the other force would be sure to strike his trail.” “Rosenthal’s cavalry!” echoed Elfie, passing over everything else in her surprise at hearing this phrase. “Yes, Rosenthal’s cavalry. You didn’t know that Major Rosenthal is in command of the regiment in which he first enlisted as a private soldier, did you?” “Major Rosenthal! No.” “That proves how much earlier and more accurate our information is than yours.” “Or how much better the devil is served than the Lord!” muttered Elfie.