Once more the scene is laid at "The Solitude;" but this time the earth is not clothed in winter's snowy mantle. Hid in the wealth of foliage the trees are wearing, the birds are singing their vesper hymns, the sun is just sinking behind the woods, and throws his last rays over a group seated on the grass near the slope into the ravine.
Henry Lee is there, and Margaret and Annie and her children; but Mr. Mohun is down in Tennessee with Rosecrans, and the wife's brow wears an expression of anxiety, as she watches her children, that was a stranger to it when we last saw her. Florence, too, is there, looking very well, people say; but there is an indefinable change that those nearest her feel, though they cannot say where or in what it lies. One or two young ladies are added to the group, and a young gentleman, whose shoulder-straps show his rank as second lieutenant, while the foot still bound up and the crutches lying near, show cause for his presence on the scene. He is William Mohun, a younger brother of Annie's husband, and was wounded in the siege of Vicksburg. What he is saying now must be listened to.
"I wish you knew our colonel, Mr. Lee; for a braver, nobler, kinder-hearted man never lived. He led a charge at Vicksburg, and exposed himself unsparingly; indeed, he seemed to court death; yet when he could help a wounded man, he was as gentle as a woman. O Miss Florence! a friend of yours is the regimental surgeon—Arthur Hinsdale, don't you remember him?"
"Oh! yes," replied Florence, with wonderful self-command.
"He, too," continued the young man, "deserves the thanks of the nation; for I never saw such devotion to the wounded and dying. Poor Warrington! hope he is not seriously wounded, for he will be a great loss to us; and I hope Hinsdale is with him, for then I know he will be well cared for."
"See, is there any mention of Joe's regiment. Will?" asked his sister-in-law; and the young man referred to the paper in whose columns he had seen the wounding of his colonel—Warrington. Florence rose quietly and went into the house; the old Newfoundland, who had been lying beside her, got up and walked at her side in stately satisfaction, ever and anon thrusting his cold nose into her hand in token of sympathy. When Florence returned, there were traces of tears in her eyes; but her face wore an expression of loving gratification her aunt understood well.
A month and more has passed, and October began to touch, with her changing pencil, the trees and shrubs. The air was hazy and balmy, and the sun still warm; so the family at "The Solitude" spent many of their evenings in the open air. William Mohun was gone back to duty, and the young lady friends were again at home. Florence and her two aunts were busy over comforts for the soldiers, to help them through the weary winter with the thought that loving hearts at home had not forgotten them. One evening Florence had been down to the spring, and, lured by the lovely evening, seated herself in the summer-house on the knoll above it, with a book. She did not hear a carriage which approached the house from the direction of Hamilton, nor did she see the two gentlemen who alighted from it. Mr. Lee received Arthur Hinsdale and his companion with cordial welcome, though surprised at the sudden arrival, and wondering at Arthur's eager, excited manner. He greeted Henry and Margaret warmly, but asked instantly for Florence. They told him where she was, and the young man, instead of crossing the bridge, which would have apprised her of his coming, passed with a swift foot down the lane, and, springing over the fence among the cherry-trees, down the slope, across the path, was in the summer-house almost before Florence saw him.
"Florence, my darling, our trial is at an end. My precious one, I know your secret now. Cruel! that you doubted me. Could you not feel that nothing could change my love?"
He had taken her hands in his, and held them, looking down into her sweet face while he spoke, Florence looked at him in bewilderment; then, with a sobbing, convulsive movement of her lips, almost fainted.
Meanwhile the gentleman, whom Arthur had introduced as Colonel Warrington, followed Henry and Margaret into the parlor by the door that opened at the end of the house toward the gate. When they entered and Margaret turned to offer him a chair, she saw he was deadly pale, and was glancing round the room as if it recalled something painful. At the same moment a veil dropped from Margaret's eyes. She walked up to him, and, laying her hand on his arm, said, "Paul Athern, in heaven's name speak."