“I will tell you,” sighed Elfie.
And then she resumed the thread of her narrative, describing the march of Goldsborough’s guerrillas and the battle of the hill, in which Colonel Rosenthal routed the guerrillas, and in which the Free Sword and his wife were killed.
“Killed! Oh, merciful Heaven, not that! Don’t say that Alberta was killed in battle!” exclaimed Erminie, clasping her hand tightly, while her eyes dilated with horror and amazement.
“Yes, she was killed,” wept Elfie.
“But how was that?”
“Oh, it seems that she would not leave him. You know what a will she had. She would not leave him. She rode by his side through all that bloody day! This is the way I heard the story: His horse was shot under him. She jumped from her saddle and insisted on his mounting hers, and at that moment she saw one of our sharpshooters aim a rifle at him, and quick as lightning she threw herself before him and received the shot in her heart! Oh! Erminie, it was a deadly minie ball! It passed quite through her body, killing her instantly, and entered the bosom which she tried to shield, wounding it mortally.”
“Oh! Heaven of Heavens!” exclaimed Erminie, sobbing for pity.
“So the same ball killed them both; but not at the same instant. He, in his great sorrow, never felt his own wound! He bore her off the field, and sat down with her under the trees at the entrance of an old turnpike road. His disappearance seemed to decide the fortunes of the day. The guerrillas lost hope and fled. Some fled down the old turnpike road; and, seeing Corsoni sitting there with his dead wife in his arms, they urged him to get up and fly for his life; but he paid no attention to them. They told him that our cavalry were in hot pursuit, and would certainty capture him if he should remain where he was. But he scarcely seemed to hear their words. They reminded him that when he should be taken an ignominious death awaited him. He did not seem to care for that or for anything on earth but the face of his dead wife, for he never lifted his eyes from it.”
“His heart must have been broken!” wept Erminie.
“It was! Justin says it would have moved his bitterest enemy to compassion to have seen him when he was captured. Some of our cavalry men rode up and very naturally swore at him, and called him hard names, and ordered him to yield. He did not return railing for railing, but without lifting his face from the still face of his wife, he answered simply, ‘I yield.’ Justin rode up, and, seeing this sight, ordered the men to withdraw; and then he himself advanced to receive Corsoni’s sword. But first he spoke some few words of sympathy and compassion for the prisoner’s awful sorrow. Corsoni did not once reply; but laid the body of his beloved wife down and arose to deliver up his sword. In the act of doing so—”