“He has a different story,” said Joyce, smiling; and then she told the wonderful story of Harmon’s capture as related by himself.
“His capacity for lying is equalled only by his cowardice,” said Calhoun, indignantly.
“Yet he is a man to be feared,” said Joyce, “for he is rich and has influence, although every one knows him to be a coward.”
The days that passed were the happiest Calhoun had ever spent. He told Joyce of his Kentucky home, of his cousin Fred, how noble and true he was, and of his own adventures in raiding with [pg 274]Morgan. She never tired of listening. Is it strange that these two hearts were drawn close to each other. They lived in a sweet dream—a dream which did not look to the future. But almost unknown to them Cupid had come and shot his shafts, and they had gone true.
The day came when Calhoun was able to be placed in an easy-chair and drawn to an open window. It was a proud day to him, yet it was the beginning of sorrow. The Doctor came and congratulated him on his improvement.
“Doctor Hopkins, how can I thank you for your kindness?” he said; “you have done so much for me.”
“You need not thank me, thank that young lady there,” replied the Doctor, pointing to Joyce. “She it was who saved your life.”
“I know, no reward I could give would ever repay her,” answered Calhoun. “I can only offer to be her slave for life.”
“Your offer is not accepted; you are well aware I do not believe in slavery,” replied Joyce, with a merry laugh.
When the Doctor was ready to go, he asked for a private interview with Joyce. It was hard work for him to say what he had to say. He choked and stammered, but at last Joyce understood what he meant. He had promised the government officials to inform them when Calhoun could be moved without endangering his life. That time had come. “But,” said he, as he noticed the white face of [pg 275]Joyce, “I shall recommend that he be allowed to remain two weeks longer, as there is no danger of his running away in his weak condition.”