At this exhibition of careless indifference I could see Miss Conway’s face flush. An expression of freezing hauteur came to the beautiful lips; and the disdainful glance indicated that her _amour propre_ was deeply wounded. She turned her back upon him abruptly--but as Mohun had already turned his, the movement failed in its object. The officer was looking at Stuart, who had grasped his hand. He winced as the general pressed it, and turned paler, but said nothing. “Then you are not dead, Mohun!” exclaimed Stuart, laughing. “Not in the least, general, I am happy to inform you,” replied Mohun. “I am truly glad to hear it! What news?” “Our party is all over. We followed them up until they recrossed the river--and I owed them this little piece of politeness for I recognized an old acquaintance in the commander of the squadron.” “An acquaintance?” “A certain Colonel Darke--a charming person, general.” And Mohun laughed. “I recognized him yonder when we charged on the hill, and, at first, he followed his men when they broke. As I got close to him, however, in the woods, he recognized me in turn, and we crossed swords. He is brave--no man braver; and he did his utmost to put an end to me. I had somewhat similar views myself in reference to my friend, the colonel, but his men interposed and prevented my carrying them out. They were all around me, slashing away. I was nearly cut out of the saddle--I was carried away from my friend in the mêlée--and the unkindest cut of all was his parting compliment as he retreated through the river.” “What was that, Mohun?” “A bullet from his pistol, which grazed my shoulder. A mere scratch, but provoking. I saw him grin as he fired.” “An old friend on the Yankee side? Well, that happens,” said Stuart-- “Frequently, general,” said Mohun; “and this one was _very_ dear, indeed--most tenderly attached to me, I assure you. My affection for him is of the same endearing nature: and we only crossed sabres in jest--a mere fencing bout for amusement. We would not hurt each other for worlds!” And Mohun’s mustache curled with laughter. There was something restless and sinister in it. Suddenly his face grew paler, and his eyes were half closed. “Well, Mohun,” said Stuart, who was not looking at him; “I am going to send you across the river on a reconnaissance to-night.” “All right, general.” And the officer made the military salute. As he did so, he staggered, and Stuart raised his eyes. “You are wounded!” he exclaimed. “A trifle,” laughed Mohun. But as he spoke, his frame tottered; his face assumed the hue of a corpse; and he would have fallen, had not Miss Georgia Conway started up unconsciously from the wounded man whom she was attending to, and supported the officer in her arms. Mohun opened his eyes, and a grim smile came to his pale face. “A pretty tableau!” I heard him murmur; “it would do to put in a romance. A cup of tea--or a pistol--that would finish--”