“An emissary on whom I can rely, brought me the intelligence,” he said, “Colonel Mohun was wounded in the battle of Fleetwood, and entering a house where _she_ was nursing the wounded, fainted, and was caught in her arms. From that moment the affair began. She nursed him, and he was soon healed. I had myself inflicted the wound with a pistol ball--but the hurt was trifling. He got well in a few days--and was ready to meet me again at Upperville--but in those few days the young lady and himself became enamored of each other. She is proud, they say, and had always laughed at love--he too is a woman-hater--no doubt from some old affair, madam!--but both the young people suddenly changed their views. Colonel Mohun became devoted; the young woman forgot her sarcasm. My emissary saw them riding out more than once near Culpeper Court-House; and since the return of the army, they have been billing and cooing like two doves, quite love sick! That’s agreeable, is it not, madam?” And Darke uttered a singular laugh. As for the woman she had grown so pale, I thought she would faint. “Do you understand, madam?” continued Darke. “Colonel Mohun is in love _again_; and the name of his friend is--Georgia Conway!” The woman was silent; but I saw that she was gnawing her nails. “My budget is not exhausted, madam,” continued Darke. “The young lady has a sister; her name is Virginia. She too has a love affair with a young officer of the artillery. His name is William Davenant!” And the speaker clutched the arm of a chair so violently that the wood cracked in his powerful grasp. “That is all!” he added. “The Mohuns, Davenants and Conways, are about to intermarry, you see! Their blood is going to mingle, their hands to clasp, in spite of the gulf of fire that divides their people! All is forgotten, or they care nothing. They are yonder, billing, and cooing, and kissing! the tender hearts are throbbing--all the world is bright to them--while I am here, and you, tearing our hearts out in despair!” Darke stopped, uttering a sound between a curse and a groan. The woman had listened with a bitter smile. As he finished, she rose and approached him. Her eyes burned in the pale face like coals of fire. “There is a better thing than despair!” she said. “What?” “Vengeance!” And grasping his arm almost violently:-- “That man is yonder!” she said, pointing with the other hand toward Warrenton, “Go and meet him, and kill him, and end all this at once! Remember the banks of the Nottaway!--That sword thrust--that grave! Remember, he hates you with a deadly hatred--has wounded you, laughed at you,--driven you back, when you met him, like a hound under the lash! Remember me!--your oath! Break that oath and I will go and kill him myself!” As she uttered these words a cannon shot thundered across the woods. “Listen!” the woman exclaimed. Darke rose suddenly to his feet.