THE LIEUTENANT'S STORY.

The Partisan had not sat long alone, ere the young officer returned and joined him; yet, in that brief space, almost all the actions and adventures of a not uneventful life had passed through his mind; so strongly had his imagination been excited by the occurrences of the evening.

"Come, Mr. Gordon," said the Partisan, "I fancy that by this time you have got your men settled for the night. Had you not better take your pipe, and sit down with me, that we may talk matters over. By something you let fall a while ago, it seems that you have been expecting to meet me at San Antonio, although I knew it not, nor have been there these two months. Now, you must have had some end in seeking me; and, until I know what end that is, I am at a loss to see how I can aid you."

"To make you understand that, Major Delacroix—"

"Pardon me, sir," replied the Partisan, hastily, "I have no great respect for titles of any kind, least of all for military titles, when not backed by military rank and command. So, if you please, you will call me Pierre, or Delacroix, or Partisan."

"Very well," replied Gordon. "It is on you that we have counted all along for taking us safely to our journey's end."

"Well, we have gained something at least. Now where may that very definite place, which you call your journey's end, be? And, as the next question, what made you count upon me?"

"Our journey's end—Taylor's camp, of course—where else should it be?"

"Anywhere else, I should think, considering the means you have of getting thither, and the company you have with you. You do not really mean to say that you contemplate carrying that beautiful and delicate young woman with you to head-quarters?—the thing is utter madness."

"And yet my destination is headquarters; and she has no home, save my tent."

"Julia Forester—John Forester's daughter no home!" cried the Partisan, in far louder tones than he was wont to use, and starting to his feet, half indignant and half astonished. "Did I understand you aright, young sir? Did you say Julia Forester has no home save in the tent of a second lieutenant of dragoons?"

"I did say precisely that, Pierre Delacroix," answered the soldier, nettled a little by the manner of the questioner, and shaking off his momentary embarrassment the instant he was put upon his mettle.

"When I knew Colonel John Forester, he was reputed to be worth a million of dollars," said Pierre.

"When I knew him," replied Arthur Gordon, "he was reputed to be worth two, at the lowest figure."

"And has he become a bankrupt since then, or a beggar?" asked the other, sharply.

"Neither, that I ever heard. Au contraire, he is, all but one or two, the richest man they say in Louisiana."

"And why the devil, then, did he give you his daughter for a wife, and not give you the means to sustain her."

"I never said that he did give her to me," said the other, steadily.

"You said she was your wife."

"I did say so, and do. But I will substitute a short story for a long debate."

"Pray let us do so."

"It is six years since I first visited New Orleans; and being the bearer of letters to Colonel Forester was received hospitably and entertained in his house, where he then lived nominally alone, with the exception of his only daughter, Julia, at that time a beautiful girl of fourteen. Being very young myself, we were thrown much together, a sort of childish affection, half-liking and half love, grew up between us—not altogether childish either; for it constantly increased during the three years which I spent in the city, until it became a powerful passion. When I entered the army, on the first raising of the second dragoon regiment, and before leaving the city for the north-west, I had an explanation with the colonel; and it was understood, and agreed, that at some future period, which was left undecided, Julia should be my wife. We were permitted to correspond, and I mounted my horse and rode away with my regiment, as light-hearted and as happy a soldier as ever set jack boot in steel stirrup. I received letters from my betrothed, of which I shall only say that they were all that the most sanguine lover could desire.

"After a while, however, a difference in their tone became apparent. Not, indeed, in the manifestation of affection, but of hope. At length her letters ceased altogether; and I was months without receiving any tidings from her. When the present war broke out I was eastward to recruit and had no opportunity of visiting New Orleans, although my brain and my heart were both on fire to do so. Three months since I received, the first time for nearly a year, a short, hurried, agonizing note from Julia, entreating me to come near her, without an instant's delay, as her mistress was too great to be endured, and one way or other she must release herself from it. For once, fortune favoured me; for the same post which brought her letter brought orders to the captain of my company to send me forward instantly with the men we had raised, to the very city in which I most desired to be. A fortnight afterward I was on the spot, and learned all the infamous and horrid truth.

"Your friend, the high and honoured soldier, whom I had known of old—the very pattern and impersonation of uprightness, and chivalry, and true nobility of soul—had so far lapsed in the decline of his intellectual powers from his once glorious standard, as to have made a coloured woman—his own emancipated slave, and formerly his mistress—his lawful wife and the partner of his fortunes; placing her openly at the head of his table, and bringing his illegitimate daughters, the offspring of his foul concubinage, into equality of station and society with his own beautiful, and pure, and noble child—with my Julia!"

"Great God!" exclaimed the Partisan, bounding to his feet almost in fury; "great God! can this be so? Would that I had been near to him; for, by the Lord that liveth, if neither argument nor entreaty should have been power to prevail over such low and beast-like passion, my hand—my own hand, which has caressed his cheeks and played with his grey hairs so often—my own hand should have spared him the infamy, and slain him in his untainted honour."

"But this was not all, nor half of all, that poor Julia suffered; for the incarnate devil, whom I must call Mrs. Forester, not content with forcing the deluded old man into the rescinding of his will, and bequeathing all but a mere pittance to herself and base-born children, never ceased persecuting him day or night, till she procured his promise to send Julia secretly away to Europe, there to be immured in a convent; fearing unquestionably that if she should be married to an American gentleman and soldier, her husband would find some means to frustrate the enormities she had planned so artfully, and secure a share at least of the partial old man's fortunes. I had an interview with him, though not without much difficulty; I offered to forego all—to sign away all claim on her behalf and my own, provided he would give me her hand, portionless and alone. For a while I thought I had prevailed; but the fiend entered the room, and I saw the old man quail before the gaze of her fierce, snake-like eye, and all was lost. Then, I, too, lost my temper; and I swore by the God who made me, and by the hell to which that woman's deeds were leading her, that her plans should be frustrated, and that Julia should be my wife in spite of man or devil. I got brief leave of absence on the promise to join at head-quarters before the last day of the present month—embarked my recruits with my second lieutenant; and on the third day after, Forester's garden wall was scaled, his daughter's window broken, and before the day dawned she was my bride.

"Still flight was needful, and we fled; for by his wrath, and the unscrupulous wickedness of her who prompted him, we might still have been separated for a while, if not for ever. We fled, I say, to Natchez, and thence to Natchitoches, where by good fortune I found the little squad of dragoons who escort me, making their way down the river to join my party, which they had been detailed to enter as a veteran nucleus. With them, and this letter to yourself from an old friend of mine, who has, I believe, lived with you, Frank Arrowsmith of ours, I have made my way thus far safely.

"He gave me a letter to you, commending us to your care. He told me that if you would undertake it, you could guide us in safety into Taylor's camp, through all the guerrillas in Mexico."

"He did me too little and too much justice. Too little, in supposing that there was any if about it. The idea of Pierre Delacroix refusing to guide or assist a lady in the midst of danger. As to my being able to carry you safely into Taylor's camp, that's quite another thing."

"Is there so much danger?"

"The country is alive with horse. Every village is in arms, every rancho has turned out its riders; and keen riders they are, I assure you. Why, between us and the fences, and all the way towards Encinos, there are not less than a thousand men scattered about in little bands, from six to fifty and upward. And now, you go and bid your men to put no more wood on the fires, and lie down one and all, and get all the sleep they can. They will need it before we reach Monterey."

"What! will you have no sentinel?"

"I would rather have my brown horse, Emperor, for a sentinel, than all the dragoons in the United States, or out of it. Do what I bid you, and then get to your bed yourself. I will wake you before the morning star is up to-morrow."

Gordon arose, well satisfied that the Partisan knew his business far better than he, and went away to do his bidding, much to the delight of the unfortunate dragoon, who was pacing up and down with his carbine in the hollow of his arm, envying his more lucky comrades their sound and healthy slumbers.

This duty done, the young officer hurried back to his tent and his fair bride; and, in doing so, passed close to the bivouac of the Partisan.

He had wrapped himself close in the handsome blanket, with his knife drawn in one hand, and his pistol in the other, ready for instant defense on the least alarm; and, with his head resting in the hollow of his large Spanish saddle, was already buried in deep and dreamless sleep.

In ten minutes more there was not an eyelid open, of man or animal, in the encampment; and the broad, lustrous, Northern moon, sailing in a flood of silver glory through the azure firmament, alone watched over them, like the unsleeping eye of an all-seeing Providence.