"My younger son," explained Judge Roscoe; while "the ladies" with their quick transitions from subject to subject were sidling about the rooms, sinking their feet as deep as possible into the soft pile of the velvet carpets, and feeling with their slim fingers the rich gloss of the satin damask coverings, complacent in the consciousness that it was all very fine and revelling in a sense of luxury. Poor little ladies!
But Mrs. Gwynn with a word presently sent them scuttling back to the warmth of the library. As she began to extinguish the lamps Baynell offered to assist. She accepted civilly, of course, but with the unnoting, casual acquiescence that had begun to pique him, and as they closed the door upon the shadowy deserted apartments he thought they were of a grewsome favor, that the evening was of an untoward drift, and he lingered only for the conventional interval after returning to the library before he took his leave.
As the door closed after him he noted that the stars were in the dark sky. The wind was laid. The lights in the many camps had all disappeared, for "taps" had sounded. Now and again in close succession he heard the clocks in divers towers in Roanoke City striking the hour. There was no token of military occupation in all the land, save that from far away on a turnpike toward the dark west came the dull continuous roll of wagon wheels as an endless forage train made its way into the town; and as he passed out of the portico, a sentry posted on the gravelled drive in front of the house challenged him. He had ordered a guard to be stationed there for its protection against wandering marauders, so remote was the place. He gave the countersign, and took his way down through the great oak and tulip trees of the grove that his authority had also been exerted to preserve. His father's old friend had this claim upon his courtesy, he felt, for century oaks cannot be replaced in a fortnight, and without them the home would indeed be bereft.
Thinking still of the placid storm centre, Leonora Gwynn's face was continually in his mind; the tones of her voice echoed in his revery. And then suddenly he heard his step ringing on the frosty ground with a new spirit; he felt his finger tips tingle; his face glowed with rancor. The man was dead, and this indeed was well! But—profane thought! was it her hair? her beautiful hair? "The coward! the despicable villain!" he called aloud between his set teeth.
CHAPTER II
The next day naught of interest would Baynell detail of his venture into the storm centre. His invitation to the house of Judge Roscoe, somewhat noted for the vigor of his rebellious sentiments, resentful, implacable, even heady in the assumptions of his age, had roused the curiosity of Baynell's two most intimate friends concerning the traits of that secluded inner exclusive circle which only the accident of ancient association had enabled him to penetrate. In the tedium of camp routine even slight matters were of interest, and it was the habit of the three to compare notes and relate for mutual entertainment their varied experiences since last they had met.
The battery of six pieces which Baynell commanded enjoyed a certain renown as a crack corps, and spectators were gathering to witness the gun-drill,—a number of soldiers from the adjoining cavalry and infantry camps, a few of the railroad hands from the repair work on a neighboring track, and a contingent of freedmen, jubilantly idle. Standing a little apart from these was a group, chiefly mounted, consisting of several officers of the different arms of the service, military experts, critically observant, among whom was Colonel Vertnor Ashley, who commanded a volunteer regiment of horse, and a younger man, Lieutenant Seymour of the infantry.
It was a fine fresh morning, with white clouds scudding across a densely blue sky chased by the wind, the grass springing into richer verdure, the buds bourgeoning, with almost the effect of leaflets already, in the great oak and tulip trees of the grove. Daffodils were blooming here and there, scattered throughout the sward,—even beneath the carriages of the guns a score perhaps, untrampled still, reared aloft the golden "candlesticks" with an illuminating effect. The warm sun was flashing with an embellishing glitter on the rows of the white tents of the army on the hills around the little city as far as the eye could reach. The deep, broad river, here and there dazzling with lustrous stretches of ripples, was full of craft,—coal-barges, skiffs, gunboats, the ordinary steam-packets, flatboats, and rafts; the peculiar dull roar of a railway train heavily laden, transporting troops, came to the ear as the engine, shrieking like a monster, rushed upon the bridge with its great consignment of crowded humanity in the long line of box cars, an additional locomotive assisting the speed of the transit.