“I will go and see him. Do nothing rash, to-morrow, Mordaunt. Remember that poor Old Virginia, if no one else, needs you yet!”
“Be tranquil, Surry,” he replied, with a cool smile. “Farewell; we shall meet at Philippi!”
And we parted with a pressure of the hand.
I rode toward the fire. Stretched on his cape, beside it, I saw the figure of Mohun. He was reading in a small volume, and did not raise his head until I was within three paces of him.
“What are you reading, Mohun?”
He rose and grasped my hand.
“The only book for a soldier,” he said, with his frank glance and brave smile—“the book of books, my dear Surry—that which tells us to do our duty, and trust to Providence.”
I glanced at the volume, and recognized it. I had seen it in the hands of Georgia Conway, at Five Forks. On the fly leaf, which was open, her name was written.
“That is her Bible,” I said, “and doubtless you have just parted with her.”
“Yes, I see you know that she is here, not far from me.”