Mohun; Or, the Last Days of Lee and His Paladins Part 107

No sooner had the door closed, than I said to Mohun:--

"That is strange, is it not?"

"Singular, indeed," he replied, calmly, "but I am not averse to this worthy man's presence, Surry. I have no concealments. I have related my whole life to Judge Conway and Georgia. They both know the circ.u.mstances which lead to the conviction that _that woman_ was already married, when she married _me_--that the proof of her marriage with Darke exists. Judge Conway is a lawyer, and knows that, in legal phraseology, the array of circ.u.mstances 'excludes every other hypothesis;' thus it is not as an adventurer that my father's son enters this house: all is known, and I do not shrink from the eye of this good man, who is about to officiate at my marriage."

"Does he know all?"

"I think not. I had half resolved to tell him. But there is no time now. Let us get ready; the hour is near."

And Mohun looked at his watch.

"Nine o'clock," he said. "The ceremony takes place at ten."

And he rapidly made his toilet. The light fell on a superb-looking cavalier. He was clad in full dress uniform, with the braid and stars of a brigadier-general. The erect figure was clearly defined by the coat, b.u.t.toned from chin to waist. Above, rose the proudly-poised head, with the lofty brow, the brilliant black eyes, the dark imperial and mustache, beneath which you saw the firm lips.

We descended to the drawing-room, where Judge Conway and Mr. Hope awaited us.

Fifteen minutes afterward light steps were heard upon the great staircase; the old statesman opened the door, and Miss Georgia Conway entered the apartment, leaning upon the arm of her father.

She was clad in simple white muslin, with a string of pearls in her dark hair; and I have never seen a more exquisite beauty. Her cheeks glowed with fresh roses; a charming smile just parted her lips; and her dark eyes, grand and calm, shone out from the snow-white forehead, from which her black hair was carried back in midnight ripples, ending in profuse curls. It was truly a _grande dame_ whom I gazed at on this night, and, with eyes riveted upon the lovely face, I very nearly lost sight of Miss Virginia, who followed her sister.

I hastened to offer my arm to the modest little flower, and followed Judge Conway, who approached the parson, standing, prayer-book in hand, in the middle of the apartment.

In another instant Mohun was standing beside Miss Georgia, and the ceremony began.

It was not destined to proceed far.

The clergyman had nearly finished the exhortation with which the "form for the solemnization of matrimony," commences.

All at I once I was certain that I heard steps on the portico, and in the hall of the mansion.

The rest seemed not to hear them, however, and Mr. Hope continued the ceremony.

"Into this holy estate," he went on, "these two persons present come now to be joined. If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

As he uttered the words the door was suddenly burst open, and Darke entered the apartment with _the gray woman_.

In the midst of the stupor of astonishment, she advanced straight toward Georgia Conway, twined her arm in that of the young lady, and said quietly:--

"How do you do, cousin? I am Lucretia Conway. Your father is my uncle.

I have come to show just cause why you cannot marry General Mohun--my husband!"

XX.

WHAT OCCURRED AT "FIVE FORKS," ON THE NIGHT OF MARCH 31, 1865.

Mohun turned like a tiger, and was evidently about to throw himself upon Darke. I grasped his arm and restrained him.

"Listen!" I said.

The house was surrounded by trampling hoofs, and clattering sabres.

Darke had not drawn his pistol, and now glanced at me. His face was thin and pale--he was scarce the shadow of himself--but his eyes "burned" with a strange fire under his bushy brows.

"You are right, Colonel Surry!" he said, in his deep voice, to me, "restrain your friend. Let no one stir, or they are dead. The house is surrounded by a squadron of my cavalry. You are a mile from all succor.

You can make no resistance. I am master of this house. But I design to injure no one. Sit down, madam," he added, to his companion, "I wish to speak first."

The sentences followed each other rapidly. The speaker's accent was cold, and had something metallic in it. The capture of the party before him seemed to be no part of his design.

All at once the voice of the strange woman was heard in the silence.

She quietly released the arm of Georgia Conway, who had drawn back with an expression of supreme disdain; and calmly seating herself in a chair, gracefully cut some particles of dust from her gray riding habit with a small whip which she carried.

"Yes, let us converse," she said, with her eyes riveted upon Georgia Conway, "nothing can be more pleasant than these sweet family reunions!"

Judge Conway glanced at the speaker with eyes full of sudden rage.

"Who are you, madam," he exclaimed, "who makes this impudent claim of belonging to my family?"

"I have already told you," was the satirical reply of the woman.

"And you, sir!" exclaimed the old judge, suddenly turning and confronting Darke, "perhaps you, too, are a member of the Conway family?"

"Not exactly," was the cold reply.

"Your name, sir!"

"Mortimer Davenant."

Judge Conway gazed at the speaker with stupor.

"You that person?--you the son of General Arthur Davenant?"

"Yes, I am the son of General Arthur Davenant of the Confederate States army--General Davenant, whom you hate and despise as a felon and murderer--and I have come here to-night to relieve him of that imputation; to tell you that it was I and not he, who murdered your brother!

"A moment, if you please, sir," continued the speaker, in the same low, cold tone, "do not interrupt me, I beg. I have little time, and intend to be brief. You believe that your brother, George Conway, was put to death by General Davenant. Here is the fact of the matter: I saw him at Dinwiddie Court-House; knew he had a large sum of money on his person; followed him, attacked him, murdered him--and with General Davenant's pen-knife, which I had accidentally come into possession of. Then I stole the knife from the court-house, to prevent his conviction;--wrote and sent to him on the day of his trial a full confession of the murder, signed with my name--and that confession he would not use; he would not inculpate his son; for ten years he has chosen rather to labor under the imputation of murder, than blacken the name of a castaway son, whose character was wretched already, and whom he believed dead.

"That is what I came here, to-night, to say to you, sir. I am a wretch--I know that--it is a dishonor to touch my hand, stained with every vice, and much crime. But I am not entirely lost, though I told--my father--so, when I met him, not long since. Even a dog will not turn and bite the hand that has been kind to him. I was a gentleman once, and am a vulgar fellow now--but there is something worse than crime, in my estimation; it is cowardice and ingrat.i.tude. You shall not continue to despise my father; he is innocent of that murder. You have no right to continue your opposition to my brother's marriage with your daughter, for he is not the son of the murderer of your brother. _I_ count for nothing in this. I am not my father's son, or my brother's brother. I am an outcast--a lost man--dead, as far as they are concerned. It was to tell you this that I have come here to-night--and for that only."

"And--this woman?" said Judge Conway, pale, and glaring at the speaker.

"Let her speak for herself," said Darke, coldly.

"I will do so, with pleasure," said the woman, coolly, but with an intensely satirical smile. That smile chilled me--it was worse than any excess of rage. The glance she threw upon Georgia Conway was one of such profound, if covert, hatred, that it drove my hand to my hilt as though to grasp some weapon.