The moon arose, and flooded all the mountain scenery with silver light, and flashed upon that distant bend of the river, until it seemed a silver lake, lying among the dark hills, and pointed the peaks of White Cliffs, until they stood up and glittered, like an enormous row of spears, against the deep blue sky.
At last, at last the very distant sound of wheels came faintly like a doubt to her ear, and faded away again. Then it came more distinctly, nearer, and a moving object appeared upon the road. And she knew indeed it was her father’s carriage. She saw and recognized it in the moon light. It turned into the lawn gate, rolled rapidly around the circular drive, and swept swiftly up to the entrance, where it stopped. The steps were let down, the door opened, and old Mr. Clifton got out, followed by—no one.
Carolyn had bent eagerly, unconsciously forward; now she started up and caught her father’s hand, and gazed silently, imploringly into his face, for the news she could not ask for.
“The detachment has marched, my dear child! Marched the morning of the day upon which I reached Winchester, and two days before it was expected to have gone. So, you see, I could not get a sight of either Frank or Archer. They were thirty miles on their road before I reached the city. Can’t think what could have been the reason of the new order, to anticipate their departure by two days. However! cheer up! No use fretting, my dear! No use fretting! The family have supped long ago, of course—have they kept my supper hot for me? I am as hungry as an old wolf,” said the old man.
Carolyn did not hear him. Her hold relaxed upon his arm, her hands flew up to her head, and she turned, as one struck with sudden blindness, and tottered into the house. It was so dark in the shady piazza, screened from the moonbeams by interlacing cypress vines, that the old man did not see her state. He hastened into the house, where another awaited him with equal anxiety.
Zuleime’s private hope had been that Frank would seize the opportunity of Mr. Clifton’s visit, and confess his marriage, and invent some way of delivering her father from the toils of Major Cabell.
“What news, father?” she asked, meeting him in the hall.
“‘What news?’ Why, I am as hungry as a bear, my pet! That’s the news! I stopped to supper at L——. But, my life! They like to have poisoned me with fried beefsteaks and heavy biscuits and green coffee. Couldn’t touch a morsel, child! And now I am starved up to a savage pitch! What have you got for supper?”
“Turtle soup and old crusted port, among other things, father,” replied Zuleime, waving her own anxiety for the sake of satisfying him.
“Turtle soup! And OLD CRUSTED PORT;” exclaimed the old man, in an ecstacy of delight. “Why, where on earth did they come from?”