“Nevertheless, Victor,” he said, “hate the Yankees as I do, and I hate them with all my heart and soul, there are some things a gentleman cannot do.”
“What for instance, Uncle?”
“He cannot break faith. He cannot do evil to those who have done good to him. He must repay benefits with benefits. He cannot permit the burden of obligation to remain upon him. Go to the door, Victor, and see if any one is lurking there.”
Young Woodville went to the entrance and returned with word that no one was near.
“Victor,” resumed Colonel Woodville, “this man Slade, who was so preposterously wrong, this common overseer from the hostile section which seeks with force to put us down, this miserable fellow who had the presumption to suspect me, lying here with a wound, received in the defense of the Confederacy, was nevertheless right.”
Victor stared, not understanding, and Colonel Woodville raised himself a little higher on his pillows.
“Since when,” he asked of all the world, “has a Woodville refused to pay his debts? Since when has a Woodville refused asylum to one who protected him and his in the hour of danger? Margaret, lift the blanket and invite our young friend in.”
Dick was on his feet in an instant, and came into the chamber, uttering thanks to the man who, in spite of so much bitterness against his cause, could yet shelter him.
Young Woodville exclaimed in surprise.
“The Yankee with whom I fought at Bellevue!” he said.
“And the one who ignored your presence at Jackson,” said Miss Woodville.
The two lads shook hands.
“And now,” said Colonel Woodville, his old sharpness returning, “we shall be on even terms, young sir. Your uniform bears a faint resemblance to that of your own army, and Slade, cunning and cruel, may have had you shot as a spy. You would be taken within our lines and this is no time for long examinations.”
“I know how much I owe you, sir,” said Dick, “and I know how much danger my presence here brings upon you. I will leave as soon as the ravine is clear. The gathering of the troops for battle will give me a chance.”
“You will do nothing of the kind. Having begun the task we will carry it through. Our cave home rambles. There is a little apartment belonging to Victor, in which you may put yourself in shape. I advise you to lie quiet here for a day or two, and then if I am still able to put my hand on you I may turn you over with full explanations to the authorities.”
Dick noted the significance of the words, “if I am still able to put my hand on you,” but he merely spoke of his gratitude and went with young Woodville into the little apartment. It was on the right side of the hall, and a round shutterless hole opened into the ravine, admitting light and air. The “window,” which was not more than a foot in diameter faced toward the east and gave a view of earthworks, and the region beyond, where the Union army stood.
The room itself contained but little, a cot, some blankets, clothing, and articles of the toilet.
“Mason,” said Woodville, “make yourself as comfortable as you can here. I did not know until I escaped from Jackson that it was you who ignored my presence there. You seem in some manner to have won the good opinion of my uncle, and, in any event, he could not bear to remain in debt to a Yankee. If you’re careful you’re safe here for the day, although you may be lonesome. I must go at once to our lines. Cousin Margaret will bring you something to eat.”
They shook hands again.
“I can’t do much fighting,” said Woodville, “owing to this wounded arm of mine, but I can carry messages, and the line is so long many are to be taken.”
He went out and Miss Woodville came soon with food on a tray. Dick suspected that they could ill spare it, but he must eat and he feared to offer pay. It embarrassed him, too, that she should wait upon him, but, in their situation, it was absolutely necessary that she do so, even were there a servant somewhere, which he doubted. But she left the tray, and when she returned for it an hour later she had only a few words to say.