CXXIX.
THE RETURN OF ACHMED.
MORDAUNT greeted me with a warm grasp of his strong hand,
and I asked, at once, if he had heard any news of Violet Grafton.
“Nothing whatever,” was his reply, in a gloomy
tone.
“Achmed has not returned.”
“Has he had time?”
“Ample time.”
“I hoped to hear something, but fate seems against us!”
I had scarcely spoken, when a carbine was fired within two
hundred yards of us, by the picket, in the direction of the
river.
“Attention!” came from Mordaunt; and the sleepy men rose
erect in their saddles.
“What can that mean?” muttered Mordaunt. “Some stray
scout prowling around, probably.”
Hoof-strokes were now heard from the direction of the firing,
and two men came up, with another between them.
“Well?” said Mordaunt.
“A prisoner, Colonel.”
“You fired at him?”
“Yes, sir, but he came straight on, without taking any notice
of it, and surrendered.”
uddenly Mordaunt uttered a quick exclamation, and, in another
moment, I understood the origin of it. The prisoner --
almost wholly disguised by an oil-cloth poncho—was Achmed.
In an instant Mordaunt had hastened to him, and was bending
over, eagerly, in the saddle, listening to the Moor, who spoke
rapidly, in Arabic, and with obvious excitement. He wrapped
his black poncho more closely around him as he spoke, gesticulated
with his hands; and, as the moonlight fell upon his dark
face, close to Mordaunt's, I saw that his eyes were blazing.
Mordaunt exhibited an agitation which even exceeded that of
his companion. His cheeks flushed, then turned pale—his eyes
filled with blood—and, when Achmed handed him a paper,
which he read by the moonlight, I heard his teeth grinding
together.
Suddenly he turned to me.
“Surry! you know this country?”
“Yes.”
“Where is the house at which you stopped on your way --
where you first saw Violet Grafton?”
“Within two miles of this spot,” I replied, with a sudden
thrill of the nerves. “Why do you ask?”
“Can you guide me to it?”
“Yes.”
“Come on, then! Come! the game is run to earth!”
And, hastily summoning his second in command, Mordaunt
gave him rapid instructions for his guidance, in case any movement
took place in his absence—then he put spur to his horse:
and set out, at full speed, in the direction I indicated. Achmed
followed.
“This is the road?—you are sure?” exclaimed Mordaunt, as
he went on at full gallop.
“Yes,” I said. “Keep straight on. But what has happened?”
“Here is the whole—Achmed has ferreted out
every thing!
That expedition to Maryland was all a ruse of the she-devil who
carried the young girl off! After her departure, Mrs. Fitzhugh
discovered, in her room, where she had probably dropped it by
accident, the paper which Achmed gave me to-night—and do
you know what that paper was, Surry?”
Mordaunt's eyes fairly blazed, as he glared over his shoulder.
“It is an incredibly accurate forgery of my handwriting,
Surry; and in it I state that I am wounded—suffering—languishing
for some friend to nurse me—will Miss Grafton throw
aside all rules of convention, and come to the succor of her poor,
wounded friend! That is what betrayed her into the hands of
this born devil and his drab; nor did the cunning of Fenwick --
for he it was who again committed forgery to ruin me—nor did
his cunning stop here. In that note, I beg Miss Grafton to conceal
from every one the object of her visit. I am ashamed, I am
made to say, of the request I make—evil tongues may slander
her—will she not, therefore, keep her journey entirely secret,
not even informing Mrs. Fitzhugh of its object!
“Do you understand?” added Mordaunt, as his powerful
horse still cleared the ground with long leaps. “The Forger
feared that I would come, or some friend of mine, and find the
treachery thus practised! The whole affair rust be concealed!
-- and that concealment was secured—would have been perfect --
but for the accidental loss, by Miss Grafton, of the forged paper.
Now for Achmed! He followed on the trail to Maryland, and
soon found that, after going a short way, they turned southward,
and travelled toward the Rappahannock. He tracked them
along their entire route—found they had crossed at a private
ford, so obscure and unknown that it was wholly unpicketed
-- and then, for the first time, he lost them in the Wilderness
here. He succeeded in passing through the centre of the Federal
army, disguised by his poncho—has pushed on with his information
-- and your mention of Fenwick, in connection with that
house which you stopped at, affords the clue to the whole.
Violet Grafton is a prisoner there, in the power of Fenwick!”
“You are right,” I said, “let us lose no time. We are now
within a quarter of a mile of the house.”
