“Yes—in your wife’s Bible.”
“Well, my dear Surry, when I had finished reading, I placed the volume in my breast, as usual. When I was shot, on the next morning, the bullet struck the book and glanced. Had the Bible not been there, that bullet would have pierced my heart. As it was, it only wounded me in the breast. Here is my old Bible—I carry it about me still.”
As he spoke, Mohun drew from his breast the small leather-bound volume, in the cover of which was visible a deep gash.
He looked at it with a smile, and said:—-
“This book has been the salvation of my body and soul, Surry. I was haughty and a man-hater once—now I try to be humble. I had no hope once, now I am happy. I have one other souvenir of that memorable day at Appomattox—this scrap of paper between the leaves of my old Bible.”
He drew out the scrap, which was dirty and discolored with blood.
Upon it was written in pencil, the words:—
“This is the body of General Mohun, C.S.A.”
As Mohun pointed to it, a ray of sunset shot athwart the forest, and fell on his serene features, lighting them up with a sort of glory. The clear eyes gave back the ray, and there was something exquisitely soft in them. Mordaunt and Landon too, were bathed in that crimson light of evening, disappearing beyond the shaggy crest of the Blue Ridge—and I thought I saw on their proud faces the same expression.
“These three men are happy,” I thought. “Their lot has been strange; they have been nearly lost; but heaven has sent to each an angel, to bring back hope to them. Ellen Adair, Georgia Conway, Violet Grafton—these fond hearts have changed your lives, Landon, Mohun, and Mordaunt!”