“Hope was left behind, you know.”
“Yes; but I fear that hope, in this instance, will be the first to wing her flight away from me,” said Ernest.
“Never climb the hill till you get to it,” said the Lieutenant. “Why allow yourself to suffer the pangs of imaginary evils?”
“It is foolish, Lieutenant.”
Ernest slowly opened the envelope, took out the folded sheet, and glanced at the subscriber’s signature. It was from Dr. Arrington. The Lieutenant noticed that a deathly pallor spread over his face, and his hands trembled violently, but he said nothing till Ernest had finished the letter. He was transformed into the very embodiment of despair.
“What is the matter?” kindly and anxiously asked the Lieutenant, his personal friend.
“I cannot tell,” Ernest almost groaned out. “There, read for yourself.”
The Lieutenant carefully read Dr. Arrington’s account of the arrest and imprisonment of his daughter.
“It is terrible news,” said the Lieutenant, “and there is no use disguising it. Yet as long as there is life, there is hope.”
“Oh! Great Heavens!” exclaimed Ernest, springing to his feet, “the villains may have already executed her! You know how hurriedly they do these things. If they have—,” shaking his head and grinding his teeth—“If they have, I will be avenged. Yes, they shall pay for her blood. I shall have only one object to live for—to avenge her death. In the next battle, Lieutenant, I desire you to command the company. I want a gun—I must have a gun. I cannot stand still while there will be such opportunities for spilling their blood. Yes, sir, I will make them pay dearly for such shameful, diabolical murder.”