"Enough, madam," said he, icily; "the miscreant shall expiate his villainies by death, but not at your hands."
She submitted in silence, and without one backward look upon the man who had been her life's curse, she galloped back with her attendants, to watch over her dead boy, and to keep him from the dews of Heaven and the birds of prey for many a dread day.
There is yet another scene to paint in this series of life-pictures, gentle reader.
It is the last.
On through dim night sped the little force, under a rising moon eclipsed by drifting clouds, and met face to face a regiment in full march.
The leaders anxiously gazed at each other, hoping to encounter friends, but in the gloom their uniforms were undistinguishable.
"What regiment is yours?" demanded St. Udo, at last.
There was a pause, brief and ominous.
"What is yours?" cautiously returned the officer in command.
"The—Vermont," said Udo Brand.