Outside my military duties I had but one thought in those days—Edith Brennan. The great struggle was rapidly drawing to its close; hope of future military preferment could no longer inspire a Confederate soldier, for we realized fully we were battling in a lost cause. All ambition which I might otherwise have experienced was therefore concentrated by this fate upon the woman I loved. And how earnestly I endeavored not to love her; how I sought to stifle such feeling, to remain true to what I deemed my highest duty to her and to my own honor! And yet she remained my constant dream. I thought of her now as I rode into the west. Somewhere out yonder, amid those distant blue hills—ay! even within the very zone of my present duty—it was possible she yet waited for the war to cease. I wished in my heart I might again meet her, and then roundly denounced myself as a cur for having such a desire. Yet again and again would the fond hope recur, surging up unbidden into my brain as I rode steadily forward, oblivious of both distance and pace, the sinking sun full in my eyes, yet utterly forgetful of the hoof-beats pounding along behind me. It was the German sergeant who recalled me to the responsibilities of command.
“Captain,” he exclaimed apologetically, riding up to my side, and wiping his round perspiring face with great energy, “ve are riding too hard, ain't ve? Mein Gott, but der horses vill give out ontirely, already.”
“Is that so?” I asked in surprise at his words. A single swift glance around convinced me he was correct, for the mounts were exceedingly soft, and already looked nearly played out from our sharp pace. “Very well, Ebers, we will halt here.”
With a sigh of relief he drew back, and as he did so my eyes fell for the first time upon the guide. As I live, it was Jed Bungay, and when I stared at him in sudden amazement he broke into a broad grin.
“'It trickled still, the starting tear,
When light a footstep struck her ear,
And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near,'”
he quoted gravely, his eyes brightening at my recognition. “Durn if I didn't begin ter think as how ye'd gone an' clar fergot me, Cap.”
“Not a bit of it, Jed,” and I rode up to him and extended my hand. “But how came you here? Are you the guide?”
“Sure thing, Cap; know this yere kintry like a buk. 'Jaded horsemen from the west, at evening to the castle pressed.' By gum, you put Beelzebub an' me through a blamed hard jolt of it so fur.”
“Beelzebub?”
“Ye bet, ther muel; I reckon as how ye ain't gone an' fergot him, hev ye?” and the little man squirmed in the delight of his vivid recollection. “'One blast upon his bugle horn is worth a thousand men.' But ye did ride like thunder, Cap, that's a fac', an' I ain't ther only one done up, neither. Jist take a squint et thet fat Dutchman thar.”