Wide awake, and refreshed by
the keen morning air, which alone of all created things seemed to have
shaken the burden of the dreadful yesterday from its dewy wings, he
turned away and lit a candle on the table. As he was rebuckling his
sword belt he saw a piece of paper lying on the foot of the bed from
which he had just risen. Taking it to the candle, he read in a roughly
scrawled hand:
"You are asleep when you should be on the march. You have no time to
lose. Before daybreak the supports of the column you have been foolishly
resisting will be upon you.--From one who would save YOU, but hates your
cause."
A smile of scorn passed his lips. The handwriting was unknown and
evidently disguised. The purport of the message had not alarmed him; but
suddenly a suspicion flashed upon him--that it came from Miss Faulkner!
She had failed in her attempt to pass through the enemy's lines--or she
had never tried to. She had deceived him--or had thought better of her
chivalrous impulse, and now sought to mitigate her second treachery by
this second warning. And he had let her messenger escape him!
He hurriedly descended the stairs. The sound of voices was approaching
him. He halted, and recognized the faces of the brigade surgeon and one
of his aides-de-camp.
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