Its spotless, peaceful walls and draperies affected him strangely, as if
he had brought into its immaculate serenity the sanguine stain of war.
He was awakened suddenly from a deep slumber by an indefinite sense
of alarm. His first thought was that he had been summoned to repel
an attack. He sat up and listened; everything was silent except the
measured tread of the sentry on the gravel walk below. But the door was
open. He sprang to his feet and slipped into the gallery in time to see
the tall figure of a woman glide before the last moonlit window at its
farthest end. He could not see her face--but the characteristic turbaned
head of the negro race was plainly visible.
He did not care to follow her or even to alarm the guard. If it were the
spy or one of her emissaries, she was powerless now to do any harm, and
under his late orders and the rigorous vigilance of his sentinels she
could not leave the lines--or, indeed, the house. She probably knew
this as well as he did; it was, therefore, no doubt only an accidental
intrusion of one of the servants. He re-entered the room, and stood for
a few moments by the window, looking over the moonlit ridge. The sounds
of distant cannon had long since ceased.
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