University of Virginia Library

XXVII.
“A TRUMP.”

In five minutes we were again at “Bizarre.”

On the porch of the mansion stood Lieutenant
Ralph Arden, his brow gloomy, his arms folded, and
I have never seen an expression of deeper shame and
mortification upon human countenance.

“Place me under guard, Captain Landon!” he
said, abruptly, as we approached. “That man has
dishonoured himself — his uniform — me — every
officer in the Federal army! You paroled him to
meet you in honourable combat; he has sneaked off
like a coward; and I was his second! He has
broken his parole like a vulgar blackguard! I, too,
am paroled; I may break mine! I surrender that
parole — now — instantly!”

Landon looked keenly at the young officer.

“You are Harry Arden's brother?” he said.

“I am.”

“That is enough. Mount your horse and report
to General Early at Winchester.”

An obstinate shake of the head was the young
officer's reply.

“You refuse?”

“I do.”

“So be it. Lieutenant Arden, you will be responsible
for your brother to-night. To-morrow I
will send him under guard to Winchester.”

And Landon entered the mansion, silent and
gloomy. I remained behind with the young men.

“O Harry!” I heard the young Federal officer
say, — his brows contracted, his eyes wet with tears
of shame, — “that ever I should come to this, and
be thus degraded!”

And like one “refusing to be comforted” the unfortunate
victim of the astute Ratcliffe turned away
in silence.

“Well, guard me, Harry!” he added, with a
bitter smile; “who knows but I may trick you and
escape before morning?”

And, leaning on the shoulder of his brother, he
entered the house.

An hour afterward I had thrown myself on a
couch, wrapped my cape around me, and was asleep.
The last sounds which I heard were the voices of
the two brothers, as they murmured a hundred recollections
of youth and home. There was an unspeakably
tender music in the accents of the two
youths, as there was something strangely pathetic in
their fate. To-morrow they might meet each other,
sabre to sabre, and shed each other's blood; to-night

they were whispering, like children, in each other's
arms!

On the next morning Harry Arden formally reported
with his prisoner to Landon, and the prisoner
still insisting upon surrendering his parole, he was
despatched under guard of two men to Early's head-quarters.

The three left “Bizarre” about noon. At six in
the evening a melancholy and “shame-faced” pair
of Night-Hawks reappeared. Their heads hung
down; their uniforms were bloody.

“Well!” said Landon.

“He's got off, captain,” groaned one; “escaped
— gone!”

“Clean gone, captain!” moaned the other.

A few words conveyed the whole melancholy story.
Half way to Winchester, Arden had wrested a pistol
from one of his guards, wounded both of them severely,
and succeeded in effecting his escape.

Landon turned to Harry Arden with a smile of
grim admiration.

“Decidedly, your brother is a trump!” he said.
“You ought to be proud of him!”