The ride of the six hundred had ended—a ride that will ever live in song and story.
“Morgan has surrendered! Morgan is a prisoner!” was the news borne on lightning wings all over the entire North.
What rejoicing there was among the Federals! The great raider, the man they feared more than an army with banners, was in their power.
CHAPTER XIX.
AN ANGEL OF MERCY.
In front of one of the most beautiful and stately farm-houses in Columbiana County stood a young girl. With clasped hands and straining eyes she was gazing intently down a road which led to the west. The sound of battle came faintly to her ears. As she listened, a shudder swept through her slight frame.
“My brother! My brother!” she moaned, “he may be in it. O God of battles, protect him!”
She would have made a picture for an artist as she stood there. The weather being warm, she wore a soft, thin garment, which clung in graceful folds around her. Her beautifully rounded arm and shapely shoulders were bare. Her luxuriant hair, the color of sun-beams, fell in a wavy mass to her waist. Her eyes, blue as the sky, were now troubled, and a teardrop trembled and then fell from the long lashes.