"I do not know," said Irene, weeping softly. "He left a few minutes after, and I have not seen him since."
"I don't know much about law," said Uncle Dan, after a few minutes' reflection, "but I know that ain't no wedding worth a cent."
"I did not agree to it, I did not consent, but the clergyman pronounced us man and wife," sobbed Irene.
"I don't care if he did, I heard a lawyer once say that marriage was a civil contract, and if any one was induced to marry by fraud, or forced to marry any one they did not want to, it was no good. Now, although I aint a lawyer, I know you aint married, unless you want to be."
Irene still sat sobbing before the fire by the broad fire-place, which Uncle Dan's own hands had built.
At this moment a soldier looked in and said:
"The rebs are comin' down the mountains re-enforced."
"Be quiet, honey, an' I'll see you are protected. Don't leave the cabin unless I tell you to."
Uncle Dan hastened out, snatching his rifle from the door, as he went, and looked up towards the mountains. Twenty-five or thirty Confederates, headed by Oleah Tompkins, were riding at a gallop toward them.
"They mean business, Uncle Dan," said a young man, who stood by the old man's side.