I saw him smile sadly, in the dim starlight. “I am much changed,” he said, gently; “I no longer risk my life recklessly--trying to throw it away. Once, as you know, Surry, I was a poor outcast, and my conscience was burdened with a terrible crime. Life was little to me, then, and I would not have cared if a bullet cut it short. I was reckless, desperate, and had no hope. Now, I have hope--and a great deal more than all--I have happiness. My hands are not stained with the blood of that man and woman--I have the love of a pure girl who is going to give her life to me--and I have prayed to God for pardon, and been pardoned, I feel--else that All-merciful Being would not make my poor life bright again! But let me stop this talk! A strange conversation for a wedding night! Let me say again, however, my dear Surry, that I have no enmities now. I no longer hate _that man_, and would not harm _that woman_ for aught on earth. Let them go--they are indifferent to me. I appeal to God to witness the purity of my sentiments, and the sincerity with which I have prayed, ‘Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who have trespassed against us!’” I reached out my hand in the darkness, and pressed that of the speaker. “You are right, Mohun--there is something greater, more noble, than vengeance--it is forgiveness. More than ever, I can say now of you, what I said after hearing your history that night.” “What was that, old friend?” “That you were no longer the bitter misanthrope, hating your species, and snarling at all things--no longer the gay cavalier rushing to battle as a pastime--that you were altered, entirely changed, rather--that your character was elevated and purified--and that now, you were a patriotic soldier, fit to live or die with Lee!” “Would that I were!” he murmured, letting his head fall upon his breast. “That is much to say of any man; but I will add more. You are worthy of her--the blossom of Five Forks!” As I uttered these words, we reached the gate. A moment afterward we had entered the grounds, tethered our horses, and were hastening to the house. XIX. THE CEREMONY. On the threshold we were met by Judge Conway, with a bow and a smile. He pressed our hands cordially, but with a covert sadness, which I suppose comes to the heart of every father who is about to part with a beloved daughter--to give up his place as it were to another--and then we entered the great drawing-room where a gentleman in a white cravat and black coat awaited us. No other persons were visible. The great apartment was a charming spectacle, with its brilliant lights and blazing fire. The frescoed walls danced in light shadows; the long curtains were drawn down, completely excluding the March air. Coming in out of the night, this smiling interior was inexpressibly home-like and delightful. As we entered, the clerical-looking gentleman rose, modestly, and smiled.