William paused, listening intently.
Upon the clear, moonlight air, rang out a voice, sweeter than angels' echoes. But the words; they spoke of love—of willing captivity—of future joys mingled with hope. Of her brother-her father-and her lover—"Harry!"
"Is it possible she has loved a rebel! O God! is my cup of bitterness not yet full? But I will steal closer, and listen!"
In a short time he reached a rock, upon which, in the clear moonlight, could be seen, two forms. The one a female, pure and lovely as the moon's own rays; the other, a delicate youth, of about twenty years of age, yet bearing the impress of a noble soldier. Alibamo spoke:
"Are you not required in camp, dear Harry?"
"Yes, love—but here, also!"
"You would not sacrifice your duty for love?"
"My first duty is here—with one I love so wildly. And you love me, do you not, Alibamo?"
"Oh! Harry—I cannot tell you how dearly!"
"Then you are not my sister!" shrieked William, who had heard these words.