“I could not give you up to the Yankees, Elfie. I could not, my dear. And so, at the imminent risk not only of my own life, but of the lives of all my command, I crossed the river and brought you away.”
“A great risk you ran, truly, to come with your two hundred armed guerrillas upon a harmless pleasure party of less than forty persons,” passionately and scornfully cried Elfie, who had now recovered her voice.
“Yes, Elfie, it was a great risk—an imminent risk, as I said—for we crossed and landed between two forts whose scouts were out in search of us. And in three hours after our crossing, a squadron of cavalry, armed with their murderous six-shooters, were on our trail. But I would have risked much more than life for you, my Elfie.”
“‘Risk’ again,” sneered Elfie. “I don’t see it. The only risk that was run for my sake that day was run by the only man of our party; for I hold that little Mim was the only male creature that proved himself a man on that occasion.”
“I wonder, now, if that little atom is my rival?” said Albert, musingly.
“Yes, he is!” exclaimed Elfie, spitefully catching at the idea; “he just is! I love and admire little Mim beyond everything. I love his little finger better than I ever did your whole person. He is a true hero, and I worship the very ground he walks on!”
“Very pleasant words for me to hear, Elfie.”
“I don’t care whether they are or not. They are true. I am dying in love with little Mim. And when I get back to Washington, I mean to ask him to marry me as soon as ever—Oh, my good gracious, I can’t, either!” exclaimed Elfie, suddenly breaking off and bursting into tears of rage at the recollection that she was married already to Goldsborough.
“No, you can’t! Polygamy is not lawful in this land, at least not for ladies,” laughed Albert Goldsborough.
“You will be hanged some day, shortly, and then I shall be a widow,” sobbed Elfie.