“I am Captain Wayne, Troop D, ——th Virginia.”
He grasped my hand warmly between both his own, and his kindly face lit up instantly with a rare smile.
“Captain Wayne, I cannot tell you how greatly I rejoice at your safe return. We certainly owe you an apology for this poor reception, but you were reported as killed in action many months ago. I doubt not Colonel Maitland truly believed he looked upon a ghost when you first accosted him.”
For the moment I was unable to speak, so deeply did his words affect me.
“I fear, Captain Wayne,” he continued gravely, yet retaining my hand within his own, “that I must bring you sad news.”
“Sad news?” Instantly there came to me the thought of my widowed mother. “Not from home, I trust, sir?”
“No,” with great tenderness, “your mother, I believe, remains well; yet the words I must speak are nevertheless sad ones, and must prove a severe shock to you. There is no ——th Virginia.”
“No ——th Virginia?” I echoed, scarce able to comprehend his meaning, “no ——th Virginia? I beg you to explain, sir; surely”—and I looked about me upon the various uniforms of the service present—“the war has not yet ceased—we have not surrendered?”
“No, my boy,” and the old hero reverently bared his gray head in the sunlight, “but the ——th Virginia gave itself to the South that day in the Shenandoah.”
I must have grown very white, for a young aide sprang hastily forward and passed his arm about me. Yet I scarcely realized the action, for my whole thought was with the dead.