“Yes, it was, for he seized that girl, as I said before, from between the teeth of the enemy. Elfie, have you any idea what he risked when he crossed the river for your sake?” gravely inquired Alberta.
“He risked the halter, I suppose, and I wish to goodness he had got it,” answered Elfie, bitterly.
“Yes, he did, heartless girl. He risked capture and an ignominious death for your sake. He risked all knowingly and willingly, for when, for love of you, he crossed the Potomac, he knew that Scott’s Nine Hundred—and they are your guerrillas, Elfie—were on the north side of the river below the Monocacy, and that Rosenthal’s cavalry were on the same side above the Monocacy, and that the scouts of one or the other force would be sure to strike his trail.”
“Rosenthal’s cavalry!” echoed Elfie, passing over everything else in her surprise at hearing this phrase.
“Yes, Rosenthal’s cavalry. You didn’t know that Major Rosenthal is in command of the regiment in which he first enlisted as a private soldier, did you?”
“Major Rosenthal! No.”
“That proves how much earlier and more accurate our information is than yours.”
“Or how much better the devil is served than the Lord!” muttered Elfie.
“But our information is obtained for nothing from devoted friends, who risk their lives to keep us posted as to the movements of the enemy, and yours, when you get any, is purchased at high prices from mercenaries, who sleep when they should watch, and invent fictions when they should chronicle truths.”
“But Major Rosenthal! Did you say Major Rosenthal?” pursued Elfie, still harping on Justin.