The Lady.
Nay, that’s true;
You are the kind that walks up to the stake
Unflinching and unquestioning. I sue
For pardon, and I pray you tell me all
This tale of yours. When did your lover fall—
What battle-field?
The Maiden.
Not any well-known name;
It was not Heaven’s pleasure that the fame
Of well-known battle should be his. A band
Of wild guerrillas raiding through the land,
Shot him, and left him bleeding by the way.
The Lady.
Guerrillas?
The Maiden.
Yes; John Morgan’s.
The Lady.