Mother was sleeping soundly for the first time in several days, and I would not wake her, but touched her forehead tenderly with my lips, and then bent over my darling child.
I carried my disguise on my arm, for it seemed such a mockery of all the sad circumstances at Mr. Bemby’s that I would not put it on till we had gone some distance from the house. When we had again become the old woman and her son we mounted our horses, and with sad hearts set out on our return to Johnston’s camp. We had been delayed by Mrs. B.’s breakfast and our prolonged farewells, so that we found now that the sun had been up some time, and Nature was sparkling in dewy beauty. My feelings were too much depressed for conversation, and Ben, with Nature-taught delicacy, refrained from either futile attempts to console or irrelevant efforts to divert, and our ride began in silence. As we neared our home, and I saw the chimneys and the ashes, the old hot feeling came to my heart, and I remembered my promise to mother with something like regret. The next moment I was startled by hearing the exclamation ”Humph!” very much accented, from Ben, and seeing him dash at headlong speed down the pathway to the house, or rather where it had stood. I followed as fast as I could, and saw, as I neared the gate, the cause of his movements. A figure in blue uniform, mounted on a powerful horse, stood at the palings, and another, dismounted, was raking over the ashes and cinders with his sabre scabbard. At the sound of our gallop the man on horse-back turned and saw us, and, driving the spurs into his charger, he fled up the avenue with a speed that defied capture. Ben was some distance ahead of me, and as I saw him leap from his horse and dash into the yard, I wondered that he should thus forget his usual prudence and throw aside his assumed character when we most needed it. In another moment I was at the gate, and saw him grasp the man in blue, who, with trembling hands, was untying his horse, and drag him by the throat towards me. The prisoner, oh! promise of forgiveness! was Frank Paning.
His arm was in a sling, from Carlotta’s shot, I thought; his cap had fallen off, and his dark curls were clustering as prettily as ever around his white forehead, while his restless eyes turned any where but towards Ben or myself. Ben looked up at me with the lamps in his gray eyes burning red lights, and his lips so pressed over his set teeth that the old scar stood out like a cord; and drawing a long navy revolver from his breast, he offered it to me saying:
”Here, John, this is your mouthful; I won’t take it from you.”
”No, Ben,” I exclaimed, turning my head away; ”don’t, don’t tempt me. I promised my mother, pledged my word, at her dying request, not to take his life. I cannot break my last promise to her.”
”John, I feel sorry for you,” said Ben, solemnly, as if the obligation to spare Frank was a great affliction, and demanded his sympathy, ”but I did not promise, therefore——” and his thumb slowly drew the hammer of his pistol back, till it stood like a serpent ready to strike.
”Gentlemen,” said Frank, in a husky, nervous voice, while he raised his hand hesitatingly towards Ben’s, as if he wished to move it from his collar, but was afraid his touch would be the signal for the serpent to fall on the yellow, gleaming cap, ”you surely will not do me any violence. I am your prisoner, and will give up my arms if you will receive them, and will do anything you say or wish. If you will not spare me for humanity’s sake, only think of the danger you are in. Our troops are all around you, and there is even now a strong body of cavalry just beyond the bend in the road. You are both in disguise, and, if caught, will be hung as spies. If you harm me you cannot possibly escape, but if you promise to spare my life, I will pilot you safely through our lines, and then go with you to Gen. Johnston. I can give him very important information about Sherman’s movements, and will do so cheerfully.”
”You will?” said Ben, with two short grunts for a laugh, at the same time taking his thumb from the crest of the hammer.
”Mr. Bemby, for God’s sake don’t shoot me!” cried Frank, in an extremity of terror, clasping his hands over Ben’s, that like a vice still held his collar. ”John, don’t, don’t let him shoot me! Speak to him, please, and ask him to spare me! He won’t shoot if you tell him not. Remember, we were friends once, and save my life now for the sake of that time.”