University of Virginia Library

XIV.
ARDEN'S SECRET.

Such had been the result of my ride with Landon
to the Old Chapel. I had witnessed an animated
skirmish; been present at a night burial of the
dead; made the acquaintance under peculiar circumstances
of a very charming young lady; captured a
Federal officer; narrowly escaped capture myself;
and was lost in the woods.

That was enough of adventure for one night, —
was it not, reader? I thought so; and all I now
asked of the kind fates was a monotonous and
humdrum termination of this “series of events,” —
permission simply to lie down with my blanket
around me, and sleep tranquilly, with “none to
make me afraid.”

Man proposes only. This night was not to pass
away without something more to remember.

I was now in the midst of the woods, not far from
the Federal lines, and the bridle path which I followed
might lead me straight into a “Yankee
picket.” I went on, however, keeping a good lookout;
and at last reached a road which I at once

recognized as the Old County Road, from Millwood
to Winchester.

I had scarcely debouched from the forest, when a
horseman, lost in the shadow of a great oak, called
out suddenly:—

“Halt!”

The click of a pistol followed.

“Who goes there?” said the voice.

“Your comrade, lieutenant,” I replied, for I had
recognized the voice of Arden. And I rode to meet
him.

“Colonel Surry?”

“In person, my dear Arden.”

And I gave him an account of my adventures.
The youth laughed heartily, congratulated me on
my escape, and then said: —

“Well, Landon is beyond Millwood in bivouac,
and I am going on a little scout.”

I thought I saw the youth blush in the moonlight
as he spoke.

“Ah! a scout,” I said, laughing, as we rode on
toward Winchester.

“To see a friend —”

And Arden certainly blushed this time.

“Good!” I cried. “I think I know the name
of your friend, my dear Arden.”

“Impossible!”

“Her name is Miss Annie.”

“What an idea, colonel!”

But the laugh of boyish pleasure revealed all.

“My guess is a natural one.”

“Natural?”

was my reply, with a smile.

Arden blushed and again laughed.

“Don't think I make fun of you,” I said; “by
no means, my dear Arden. It is good to love, and,
although our acquaintance is short, I take a very
sincere interest in you. I have seen you fighting,
and in bivouac too, and I would like to call you
friend, if you will let me.”

The words evidently won his heart.

“I am proud to think you wish to,” he said, with
boyish candor and earnestness; “and now I will
not conceal anything from you, colonel. You
laugh; but you do not seem to laugh at people.”

Acknowledge, reader, that the compliment was
charming.

“Then it is really Miss Annie you are going to
see?”

“Yes, colonel.”

“Your cousin, or playmate in childhood, doubtless?”

“Oh! no; I am not of this country.”

“You are not a Virginian?”

“I am a Yankee,” said Arden, smiling; “that
is to say, I was born in Delaware.”

“And came to Virginia to help us?”

“Not exactly, colonel. I will tell you my history
in a very few words, if you wish to hear it.”

“I should like much to.”

“Well, to begin at the beginning. I will not be
tedious, and this splendid moonlight night makes
one feel like talking. The Ardens have lived for
nearly two hundred years in Delaware, and my
father was for a quarter of a century one of the
State officers of that Commonwealth. Wealthy by
inheritance, he became poor, like many other gentlemen,
by profuse hospitality; and his two sons —
Ralph and myself — saw that it was our duty to
endeavour to become producers instead of consumers.
Well, Ralph, who was impetuous and full of energy,
chose arms for his profession, and at seventeen secured
a place at West Point, leaving me at home.
I was of exactly the same age, — as Ralph and myself
were twins, — and it made me so ashamed to remain
at home, that one day I went to my father, and
said, `I wish you would let me go into a merchant's
counting-house, and earn my bread, sir.' But my
father shook his head. `I intend you for the law,
my son, and trade will spoil you,' he said. `Then
I must go somewhere and teach,' I replied; `I can

do so, and study too.' To this, my father consented,
and, seeing the advertisement of a gentleman
in the Valley here, whom he knew, my father wrote
to him and secured the place of teacher in his family
for me. A week afterwards I was in Virginia,
teaching the young idea how to shoot.”

“The name of one of the `young ideas,”' I said,
laughing, “being Miss Annie.”

Arden smiled, and shook his head.

“You are wrong, colonel. Of course, however,
one thing brought on the other. My visit to Virginia
made me acquainted with — her.”

Arden blushed a little as he pronounced the word
“her,” pausing before it.

“She lived only a mile off,” he continued, “at
an old house called `The Briars,' whither we are
now going. Her aunt, with whom she lived, was
not the owner of the estate. The family to whom it
belonged had moved from it, and Mrs. Meadows —
that was her name — was the tenant; a most excellent
lady, as you will have an opportunity of seeing,
I hope, to-night.”

“Well,” I said, with a smile, seeing Arden
pause.

He looked at me, blushing a little, with “What
more?” plainly written in his face.

I began to laugh.

“My dear Arden,” I said, “this is only the

preface. Tell me of your little affair! I am
anxious, I assure you; for nothing could be more
`dramatic' in a quiet, pastoral, idylic way, than
your history. Observe the `situation,' as we say in
the army. You are a young gentleman of the
North, and ought, by rights, to be courting some
little blue belle of New England, or other portions
of that favoured land, and in the blue army. Instead
of which, see what the real fact is! You are
enamoured of a little lily of the Virginia Valley,
and an officer in the gray forces. Finish, finish!
my dear Arden.”

“I see that nothing will satisfy you, colonel,” he
said, shyly, “but the whole explanation.”

“You are right.”

“Well, I soon became a friend of the family and
a regular visitor; and when the war broke out went
into the Confederate army. I beg you not to think,
however, that I yielded to somebody's solicitations,
and joined the South against my principles. No,
indeed, colonel! You would do me very great injustice
in thinking so. My whole family are antiwar
democrats, and I was raised in the strictest
State-rights doctrines from my childhood. `The
States are sovereign,' my father had said to us a
hundred times; and when South Carolina seceded
in the winter of 1860, he wrote to me, `I deplore it;
but peaceable secession is the corner-stone of State

rights.' So you see, I did not sell my sword for a
young lady's smile! I was too proud to do that;
I should have thought it a dishonour; and I would
not dishonour myself, colonel, for any consideration
in this world! I said to myself — for she did not
open her lips to me — I said `This government is
either an empire, and the States are provinces, or
it is a league of sovereignties who have parted with
a few clearly defined rights only, reserving the rest.
If it is an empire, secession is rebellion against
legally constituted authority, and calls for suppression
and punishment; as a rebellion in Yorkshire
would be suppressed and punished. If the government,
on the contrary, is a league of sovereign commonwealths,
then secession is the exercise of a right,
and to oppose it is a wrong; to make war, for that
reason, and force the South back into a hateful
union, is open tyranny, — the stronger oppressing
the weaker.' Well, when I reached that point, in
my train of reasoning, I said to myself, `What is
your duty? — to aid the oppressor or the oppressed?
— to offer your sword to the stronger, or the weaker
side?' And that question did not long puzzle me.”

I extended my hand and grasped Arden's.

“It was the decision of a brave gentleman, and I
honour you,” I said.

“Then you believe me?” said the young man,
laughing and sighing.

“Believe you! — ”

“Many do not. They say, yonder in Delaware,
I am told, that a young lady has `demoralized' me;
the war people say it, not my father.”

“Let them say it.”

Arden's head rose proudly.

“You are right, colonel. There is nothing like
doing your duty. I am trying to do mine, and I
appeal to God for the sincerity of my convictions in
this war. I did not hesitate a moment. At the
first sound of the trumpet I entered the Confederate
ranks as a private. I was young, untrained, but
tried to do my duty. I am not much, — a mere
boy; but Captain Landon is my friend, and by his
partiality I have become a lieutenant, — by that
only.”

“I do not believe a word of that! I have seen
you at the broadsword exercise,” I said, laughing;
“and your brother?”

“He is in the United States Army.”

“You have seen him?”

“More than once, but — God be thanked! —
never crossed swords with him yet.”

“He is in the cavalry?”

“Yes, and what is still more, in Ratcliffe's company
— a lieutenant.”

“That is bad, indeed,” I said, thinking of my
own brother Will, in the Northern army.

“Very bad.”

“You love each other?”

“With all our hearts, colonel. Oh, you should
know Ralph, if you admire real courage, and heart,
and honour! He is the coolest, bravest, noblest fellow
that ever lived.”

“Pity he is not with us.”

Arden shook his head.

“Ralph thinks we are a set of outrageous rebels,
and would rather die than change his colours.

“He is right.”

“Yes; but we have made a bargain.”

“A bargain?”

“Not to kill each other if possible!” said Arden,
laughing.

And suddenly extending his hand toward a mansion
buried in trees, and in sight of the road:—

“That is her house,” he said, blushing like a
boy.

“Her” house! That told the whole story.