Published Se -Monthly

m EN CEN Vol. XVI—No, 205,

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\\ 4 Hy

 

 

THE ‘LOYAL SPECTER.
‘hie |

 

FRANK STARR & CO., 41 PLATT STREET, N, Y.
The American News Company, New York,

 

 

 

 

 
 
Vou. XVI.] SEPTEMBER 30, 1876. [No. 205.

THE LOYAL SPECTER:

 

OR,

 

THE TRUE HEARTS OF ATLANTA.

BY EDWARD WILLETT,

Author of the following Mammoth Star Novels:

 

152. Toe ArKAnsas RecuLarors. 199. Crazy Dan.
193. Bos Brant, Parrot anp Spy. 201. OLD Britt Woopworts.
196. Tum Busmwuacker’s DAuGurer, 2038. Tru BLuE.
|
°

: NEW YORK:
3 FRANK STARR & CO., PUBLISHERS,
: 41 Platt Street.

 

 
 

 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the

year 1865, by Srycuarr Tousey, Publishers’ Agent, in the Clerk’s Otuce Jf the District
Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

 
THE

LOYAL SPECTER.

 

”

CHAPTER I.
Yankee and Georgian.

Atv the close of a hot summer day, two }

young men sat by an open window, in the
parlor of a fine Southern mansion in Geor-
gia. : y

They were very different in appearance,
in character, in worldly position, in all out-
ward and visible things from which the
world forms its estimation of men.

The younger was named Arthur Arment.
He had nearly finished his twenty-first year
—was handsome, of a true Southern type,
with raven hair, brown eyes, regular fea-

_ tures, and a symmetrical form. His black
hair was abundant—a possession for which
he might well have been envied; his brown
eyes were large and expressive; his com-
plexion was clear and rather pale; his rich
lips were finely cut and arched; his sym-
metrical’ formwas inclined to be tall and
slim; his voice was musical, though some-
what languid ; his upper lip was ornament-
ed, not disfigured, by a delicate black mus-
tache; his dress was elegant and, tasteful,
though carelessly worn. :

Such was’ the external’ appearance of
Arthur Arment, a scion of one of the really
first—one of the best—families of Georgia.
His grandfather had been a noted man dur-
the Revolution. His father, Jefferson Ar-
ment, @ wealthy planter and proprietor, had
been prominent in the State and national
councils, and had gone to his grave in the
prime of life, and full of honors. Arthur
was proud of his ancestry, and justly so,
for neither public nor private history re-
corded any mean or dishonorable action

' performed by any of them. He had al-

ways resolved that, if he could not increase
the good: reputation of the family, he would
do nothing to sully it. As he had not, as

 

‘extensive and valuable estate.

 

yet, attempted any thing grand or heroic,
his virtues were principally of a negative
kind.

His mother having died while he was
quite young, Arthur found himself, at the
death of his father, the sole heir of his
large property in money, land and negroes.
There was, however, a condit annexed
to his heirship, that diminished its value for
the time. Jefferson Arment, by his will, had
made his brother, Madison Arment, sole
guardian of his son, and the trustee of his
property, until Arthur should reach the age
of twenty-four. He had wished that the
young man should be well educated, and
should fully arrive at “years of discretion,”
before entering upon the control of such an
The two
brothers, Jefferson and Madison, always had
loved each other with a true brotherly love.

'In addition to the well known integrity and

honor of Madison Arment, he was a rich
man, and could haye no interest in manag-
ing Arthur and his affairs contrary to the
will of the young man’s father.

Arthur never had entertained any objec-
tion to this arrangement, for he honored the
memory of his father, and respected his
uncle. Whatever was planned by the one
and carried out by the other could not but
seem right in his eyes. He had the use of
ag much money as he could wish; he was
not limited in going where he pleased, nor

in doing what he desired; his estate was -

well and prosperously managed, and he was
in no hurry to assume the labor and care
necessary to its possession. _

The young gentleman owned the bodies,
and partially controlled the spirits, of some
three hundred negroes. Three hundred

slaves, with a proportionate amount of pro- —

ductive land, formed a very valuable prop-—

erty at that time. The mansion in which ©
‘ :

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p
i

 

 

 

°

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ee THE LOYAL SPECTER.

he was seated was connected with the prin-
cipal plantation, situated on the Flint river,
afew miles from Fayetteville. It was a

-large. and roomy building, with elegant
_ grounds.

A furnished house in Atlanta
also belonged to the estate.

The other young man was seven or eight
years older than Arthur. He was a native
of New Hampshire, and was named Seth
Staples. Seth was light-haired and blue-
eyed, with ruddy cheeks and a sandy beard.
He was not handsome, but would haye been

called “fine looking,” for there was a no-

bility of expression in his features, and a
quickness of perception in his eyes, which
could not fail to attract attention, and to
command admiration. He seemed to pos-
sess considerable strength, with a nervous,
wiry organization, and always spoke with
promptness, clearness and decision.

Arthur Arment had made the acquaint-
ance of Stages, and had contracted a friend-
ship with him, at a New England college,
which the former had entered as a Fresh-
man, while the latter was a Senior. Soon
becoming disgusted with the routine and
discipline of college life, Arthur Arment
quitted it, just as Staples graduated, and
easily prevailed upon his friend, whose
worldly wealth amounted to little besides his
clothes and his books, to accompany him to
his home in the South, in the nominal ca-
pacity of tutor. The salary was liberal;
Arthur studied what he pleased and when
he pleased; he took his friend into the same
society which he frequented; the residence
was a splendid one; means were afforded
to Staples to make such experiments and
pursue such studies as he chose; he was
treated as a friend, more than as an in-
structor, and his position was, in every
sense, a pleasant one. .

There was only one person who objected
to Seth. Madison Arment, Arthur’s uncle
and guardian, did not like the young man,
although he was gentleman enough to con-
ceal his antipathy from its object. He had
nothing to < against Staples, but he
disliked Yankees; and the dislike so in-
creased, that it finally amounted to positive
hatred. The very name, Seth Staples, he

said, was suggestive’ of wooden nutmegs,.

clock-peddlers and abolitionists. But Seth
was the friend and tutor of Arthur, ‘and, as
the uncle made it a point not to attempt to
control the likes and dislikes of his ward,
he always treated the New Englander with
ceremonious politeness.

-

 

Seth Staples was a Yankee, but seemed
to have little of the Yankee desire for
wealth, and faculty of acquiring it, for his
abilities and opportunities were such that
he might have largely bettered his circum-
stances. After tha rebellion had broken
out, and had acquired formidable strength
and. consistency, he found himself in an
awkward position, and it was. upon that
subject that the two friends were convers-
ing, at the close of that hot summer day.

“Tam sorry, Seth,” said young Arment,
continuing the conversation. “It is useless
to tell you how sorry I am; but I see no
heip for it. It is a pity that the abolition-
ists could not have minded their own busi-
ness, and it is a pity that our people could
not have been satisfied to let well enough
alone; but the evil has been done, the sep-
aration has been made, and we are now at
war. It is not to be expected that you,
who are hostile to the Southern side, by
birth, by education, and by conscientious
belief, will be permitted to remain here,
even if you should wish to.”

“But you, also,” interrupted Staples;
“are you not hostile to the Southern idea
and action ?” :

“ Not a bit of it, my dear fellow. We
have talked it over often enough, and have
settled the matter, abstractly, morally, sci-
entifically, and politico-economically; but
words are cheap, and niggers are worth
money. Principle won’t feed and clothe
a man, while property will procure him
luxuries ‘as well as necessities. If I should
be hostile to the South, I would oppose my-
self and my property, my bread-and-butter
and my books, my cigars and my wine.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“That is easily answered. I propose to
do nothing. I shall maintain a masterly
inactivity. I shall plant myself on my re-
served rights, whatever they may be. I
look upon this war, and those who are
waging it, as a great game of children play-
ing with fire. It is very dangerous, and
some of them will get hurt; but the sport
does not tempt me to burn my fingers. I
hope to look at it, from this ‘loophole of
retreat,” as sadly as I must, and as philo-
sophically as I can.”

“Suppose you are not permitted to do
80, what will then be your course? Events
may carry you along with them, whether
you, wish it or not.”

“My dear fellow, you seem to have for-

J gotton your philosophy. The pupil has

 
-
r THE TWO

outstripped the tutor. When circumstances
change, my course may be determined by
them. In the mean time I shall wait.
Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. I
have no fear of events. Events are men in
disguise, and I recognize no power in any
man to change my feelings, my thoughts,
my will. I can not be forced to fight, and
am sure tlt I have no desire to. Besides,
until Iam twenty-four years of age, I am
not responsible for myself. My uncle Madi-
son is my guardian, and on his head be it,
if I fall into wrong. He has purchased
substitutes enough to keep me out of the
war, and I do not. intend to crawl into the
pit of my own accord.”

“Would you not fight for your negroes ?”

“To keep them, you mean? No, Seth;
I would do no such thing. IfI had a dog
that refused to stay with me, I would not
compel him to do so, unless I absolutely
needed him for a watch-dog, or unless I had
reason to fear that he would fall into worse
hands. I should not object to their having
their freedom, if it could be given to them
consistently with their interests, and with
the interests of all concerned. But I do not
object to owning them, mind you; and I
can not see how their condition could be
bettered, as affairs now stand.”

“T suppose that question is decided for
you, by the time this war is ended, if not
sooner.”

“T hope it may, for I confess myself in-
competent to its solution. Whatever may
be the issue of the war, or whatever may
happen during its progress, I foresee that I
shall be out of pocket. My southern friends
will look upon me with distrust, if not with
suspicion, and my northern friends will
capture my cotton and my negroes, if they
can, as if I was the hottest rebel breathing.
Well, I hope I shall not be childish enough
to weep over the loss) I had the misfor-
tune to be’born rich. I know that that
sounds strangely, but you have too much
sense to laugh at it. ‘There is that within
me, which if circumstances should concur
to draw it out, might make me do some-
thing great or heroic. I would ’be childish
to object to any circumstances that would
make aman of me. If I thought I was
dependent on a certain amount of land, or
a certain number of negroes, I should have
a much ne opinion of myself than I
now have.”

“ Perhaps, Arthur, you may grow more
worldly-minded as you become older.” *

 

FRIENDS. 9

“T hope not, for I think I am sufficiently
worldly—that I am practical to a fault.
But, this’ is idle talk. The mournful fact
is before us, that you must leave, and that
is trouble enough. Uncle Madison has pro-
cured a pass for you, which will take you

to the Yankee lines, wherever they may be.

He was very kind to do so, considering
that he really dislikes you, and can’t help
it. We will drive up to Atlanta to-morrow,
and I will draw some money, and get gold
if it is possible. You must take all I choose
to give you, for I know that you would do
the = by me, if our per: were re-
versed.’

“J shall be very sorry to go, Arthur.
But perhaps it is for the best. I have been
living here with you, lapped in luxury, and
dreaming away life, until I had really for-
gotten what I was made for. Perhaps I
may turn out to be something after all.
Who can say that I was notmade for a
modern Napoleon? Like the man who
had never played the fiddle, I can’t tell un-
tilI try. I shall be sorry to give up our
old ways, our old books, our old studies,
our old experiments.. When we were suc-
ceeding so well with our investigations of’
spiritualism and clairvoyance, or whatever
the misty, moonshiny “science may be
named, it seems a pity to break them off.”

“Yes, it is indeed a pity. We were get-
ting along so finely, and had our table
trained until it was as sensible as a circus-
mule. I suppose the thunders .of war will
kill the rappings, and the smell of, burning
sulphur will drive away the spirits. But
we must continue to experiment, Seth, and
if we can establish a mental telegraph, across
the lines of the contending armies, who
knows how it may affect the price of cotton ?
But I fear that I shall care for no more of
such things. I have only two wishes at
present, that you may remain with me, and
that I might see my cousin, Carrie Chap-
pelle.”

“ Has she not returned from the North ?”

“Yes. She has contrived to enter the
mystic circle of those unpleasant and in-
convenient lines, but I don’t know where
she is. Uncle’Madigon is her guardian, for
she is an orphan, as well as myself, and he
must be presumed to know something about
her, but he chooses to preserve a yery mys-
terious silence on the subject, and does not ~
youchsafe any information. I will compel
him to*break his silence before Jong, or will |

| penetrate the mystery myself, for I am not

‘
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Sa eee

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. of a letter.

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ee es

10 ‘ THE LOYAL SPECTER.

a child, although I am,a ward. I wonder
whether I shall admire her as well as I
once thought TI should.”

“Tt is useless to wonder, Arthur, and it

is contrary to your philosophy. ‘When

your fate comes to you, you will know it.”

“My philosophy does not prevent me
from being impatient. As for you, you go
away from your fate, and you know it.

' What shall I say to Laura Clymer ?”

“Say nothing to her, Arthur,” retorted
the Northener. “ Say nothing tome. The
heart’ knoweth its own bitterness. I have
a letter to write, and must pack up for my
journey.” é

“Ah! Speaking of Laura reminds you
Very well. You may trust me
to deliver it.. Don’t forget your money-
belt, Seth, for you may need it. When you
reach the North, perhaps I will send you a
cargo of cotton through the blockade as
far as Havana, and that will make you a
rich man among the Yankees.”

“I want nothing contraband, Arthur.
Good-night.” :

- “Good-night. We. will drive up to
Atlanta, directly after breakfast, and there
you will take the cars for the North.”

The two friends then separated for the
night, and the next morning, as had been
arranged, they drove to Atlanta, where
they bid each other a long farewell.

 

CHAPTER IL
Not one of them!

Ir was more than. two years since the.

separation mentioned in the last chapter,
when Arthur Arment was again seated at
the open window of his elegant plantation
mansion. There was scarcely any change
about the house or the grounds attached to
it. There was nothing to indicate that the
land had. been desolated* by three years of
bloody war. All was peaceful, serene and
smiling. The earth had not failed to yield
her increase, the rain had fallen upon the
just and the unjust, and the harvests had
been as abundant as when the same flag
quietly and grandly ruled the whole country.

In the owner of that fine house and those
fertile acres, there was little change to note.
The delicate black mustache had become

‘longer and heavier, the form had grown

fuller and more manly, but that was all—if
we may except a shade of care, a suspicion

s

>

 

of suffering, that seemed to have added to
the years of the young man. It was not a
gloomy shadow that occasionally crossed
his face—it was a sad one, as if his cause
for sorrow was continual, not transient.
There was nothing fretful or impatient about
his demeanor, but he sat and puffed his
cigar with an abstracted and thoughtful air,
while the same shade of sadness stole over
his fine countenance at intervals.

As he was thus engaged, a gentleman
entered the room, unannounced. The new-
comer was a fine-looking, elderly person,
tall, rather than stout, with iron-gray hair,
and dark, expressive eyes. His counte-
nance spoke of great strength of will and
tenacity of purpose, of sternness tempered
by benevolence. He was plainly, but neatly
dressed, and carried his hat and cane in his
hand as he entered the room.

“ Good-evening, uncle Madison,” said
Arthur, as he rose and extended his hand.

“ Good-evening, Arthur,’ answered his
uncle, with a pleasant smile. “TI find you
communing with your cigar, as usual. . You
seem to be as lonely and listless as ever.”

“Yes,” sighed the young man, as he
seated himself ‘“ I suppose you would call
me lonely and listless, but I know that I am
weary.”

“Weary! Of what, in the name of com-
mon sense, can you be weary, unless of your
own life of inaction and utter idleness ?
You have nothing to do, and you never
trouble yourself to seek any thing to oc-
cupy your mind or your body.”

“ As for my mind, it is busy enough, too
busy to please me. I have sufficient exer-
cise for my body, and was never in better
health, It is true that I have nothing to
do, for you have kindly relieved me of all
business cares.”

“ You know that that is no fault.of mine,
Arthur. Ihave not desired the management
of the estate, and what I have done has
been in accordance with the express direo-
tions of your father, contained in his will.”

“My dear uncle, I was not complaining.
I have never questioned the justice. or pro-
priety of my father’s will, and have never
objected to your management of the estate.
On the contrary, the arrangement is an ad-
mirable one, and fully proves my father’s
wisdom and ‘foresight. The estate, as far

as I am able to judge, could not have been .

better managed, and I. must confess that I
am glad that the responsibility of its con-
trol is not on my shoulders, particularly
+

GUARDIAN AND WARD. 11

during the existing unpleasant state of
affairs.”

“What, then, is there to weary you? I
wish that you had some of my responsibil-
ity to bear, so that you might be wearied
to some purpose.”

“Don’t be so cruel, uncle. I hardly
think that you would really wish me to
have the management of the estate, for you
know that I would not manage it, if I
could help myself, to suit your patron
saint, Jefferson Davis. Iam weary in my
mind, uncle, and weary at heart, weary
with wishing that there might be an end to
this fruitless, destructive struggle.”

“Tt will be ended, Arthur, whén we
achieve our independence.”

“Tf that is to be the only end, it will be
endless. Fer my part, I was weary of it-at
the beginning, and my weariness increases
with its continuance. I know—at least, I
feel—how vain, how suicidal it is, and it
pains me to see such a splendid people
throwing away their lives and fortunes so
uselessly.” ‘

“Do you never feel a desire to mingle in
the glorious strife, to share the undying
honor of the heroes who are fighting for
liberty, for the inviolability of their homes,
for all they hold dear ?”

“Where did you learn that parrot-talk,
uncle? I don’t mean to be disrespectful,
but you speak that speech as mechanically
as a parrot repeats the words that have
been taught to it.”

“Tt comes from the heart, Arthur, and I
am surprised that it falls so coldly upon
your ears. I am surprised that you can
speak and act as you do, when you re-
member the glories of your ancestors, who
always were the first to array themselves
on the side of liberty and country. It
hardly seems possible that the blood of
the Arments runs in your veins. ‘Your

grandfather would have acted differ-
ently.”

“Have you had any communication’

from the.spirit of my grandfather ?” retorted
the young man. “I can not think that
you are authorized to speak for him, or to
pronounce so positively on the course he
would have taken. The blood of the Ar-
ments does run in my veins, uncle Madison.
There never was an Arment of them all
who loved liberty more than I do, or who
would dare and bear more than I would
for the cause of liberty, and I can assure

you that my blood often boils when I

‘afflict me.

 

think of the tyranny under which the
people are laboring.”

“ What tyranny do you mean, Arthur ?”

“The tyranny of Jefferson Davis and
his coadjutors in this attempt to build up
an empire for themselves upon the ruins of
our glorious old Union.”

“Do you know that your talk is treason-
able, Arthur? It is rank, bitter, malignant
treason, and it is my duty, as your uncle
and your guardian, to warn you that you
must put a bridle on your tongue, that you
must be more careful’ how you speak, if
you value your own safety. You are
known, already, as an enemy of the goy-
ernment. Your actions and your speech
have -been severely commented upon in
high places, and. your arrest has been
seriously spoken of. My influence has
hitherto been sufficient to prevent such
action; but, I warn you, that, unless you
change your course, the time may come
when forbearance will cease to be a virtue
with the authorities, and you will be no
longer able to escape the consequences of
your treasonable conduct.”

“T accept the consequences, uncle, what-
ever they may be,” answered the young
man, as he threw his extinguished cigar
out of the window. “TI care no more for
them than I do for that wasted cigar end.
Imprisonment and confiscation,\I suppose,
are the worst evils that would be likely to
My liberty is worth nothing to
me, unless I can use it as I please; and
property, without liberty, would be only an
eye-sore and an aggravation.” .

“You talk wildly, Arthur,” said Madison
Arment, with a troubled look af his nephew,
“and I earnestly hope that you will not
express such sentiments to any one except
myself, Iam sorry to find you in such a
mood, particularly when I came to speak .
to you concerning yourself and your affairs,
in connection with the present condition
of the country.”

“What would you haye now, uncle?
What new sacrifice can I make—or, rather,
what new sacrifice can be made for me by
you—to further the ambitious schemes of
Jefferson Davis and his friends.”

“YT do not speak in behalf of President
Davis, who is only the chosen ruler of our
people, to whom we have delegated certain
limited powers. I speak in behalf of your
bleeding and suffering country, that needs
your aid in this hour of her trial. You
know that the hordes of Yankee mercena-
==

    
 

 

 

 

 

 

' supposing it to be a catastrophe ?

12

ries, led by the unscrupulous Sherman,
have pressed down through the State, al-
though slaughtered at every step by our

_ heroic defenders, until they are now almost

at the gates of Atlanta, and the city is vir-
tually besieged. The. question is, shall
Atlanta be given up to the rapacious. in-
vader, and be trampled under the feet of
the Vandals of the North ?”

“Really, uncle, I hardly know how to
answer that long speech. As to whether
Atlanta shall be evacuated or not, that is a
question for Mr. Davis and his Generals,
and I have no doubt that they will decide
it in the affirmative before long.”

“But you, Arthur—are you not willing
to lift a finger to prevent such a catas-
trophe ?”

‘What can I do- to prevent it, uncle,
Shall I
shoulder a musket and run away with the
rest, when Sherman flanks us ?”

“Tdo not ask you to carry a musket,
although there are many as good men as
you, if not better, who are now marching
in the ranks.”

“Running, you mean,” interrupted Ar-
thur.

“ Retreating only to lure the enemy on
to certain destruction. But, I do not ask
you to imitate their example, or to peril
your life in any way, though you might
have had ‘an important and honorable
position, if you had desired it, and might
have upheld the ancient glory of the Ar-
ments on many a victorious field.”

‘“ Uncle, you are growing eloquent. You
make me feel already as zs a bullet was in
me. ”

“ But I do ask you,” eaneksied Madison
Arment, not noticing the interruption, “ to
throw the weight of your position and in-

* fluence on the side of your country at this

crisis. Iknow that your example, no les
than your words and actions, have had a
very pernicious effect thus far, leading
some of our young men to draw back from
entering the service, leading others to be
lukewarm in our defense, and luring some
even into open disloyalty. They feel and
say, that, if Arthur Arment can persist in a
treasonable course with impunity, they see
no reason why they should not be allowed
to imitate his example. It is my duty to
tell you that this can go no farther. It must
be stopped, or there will be an example
made of some one. Is it not better for you
to aid your country in the hour of her

 

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

peril, and thus gain the gratitude and re
spect of all true patriots, than to see the
arm of offended authority uplifted to pun-
ish you for your contumacy ?”

“Uncle,”” answered Arthur Arment,
leaning back with a settled expression upon
his features, and fixing his dark eyes upon
the earnest countenance of his relative,
“this matter may as well be understood
once for all. I hoped that you had under-
stood me already. I now say that I” have
had, and can haye, but one opinion con-
cerning this war that is being waged to
break up the Union, and that opinion can
be expressed in two words—it is unneces-
sary and suicidal. Being such, I haye no
part nor lot in the matter, unless to oppose
it. Ihave not endeavored to oppose it, but
have suffered you, without remonstrance, to
use my property for the benefit of the usurp-
ers in Richmond, as seemed best to you. I
shall continue that course, and shall not
object to your actions; but, I will go no
further. I am neither to be frightened nor
coaxed, but shall utterly refuse to do what
I believe to be wrong. You are responsible
for my’ property, and I am responsible for
myself. I freely accept my share of the
responsibility, and am ready to take the
consequences of my own action or inaction.”

“ Do I understand you, then, as endeayor-
ing to assume a position of neutrality ?”

“Neutrality !” proudly exclaimed the
young man, as the blood mounted to his
cheeks. “By no means! You may un-
derstand me as taking a position of inde-
pendence. You say that the South is fight-
ing for her independence. You will see
that I can fight for mine, if it i is necessary.”

“Then, Aythtr—”

“Pardon me, uncle. That question is
settled, and I have nothing more to say on
that unpleasant subject. As you haye spoken
plainly to me, I now wish to speak plainly
to you. Where have you hid my cousin,
Carrie Chappelle ?”

“Sheis not hid. She is in Atlanta.”

“Yet, through your machinations and
maneuvers, I haye not been able even to see
her. ‘When I have asked you about her,
she has been here, she has been there; she
has been occupied with this thing, she has
been busily engaged with that; any thing,
so that I might not see her. Now, uncle

Madison, that also, has gone far enough, I °

am not a child, although I am a ward, nor
is Carrie a child. For my part, lam nearly
twenty-four years old, and have a will of my

 

 
- ored by the presence of General Brag:

'

“said.

BRUNETTE AND BLONDE. \

own. Iwish to see my cousin Carrie, and
if I can not see her with your consent, I will
use my own means of effecting my object.”

Madison Arment was silent for a few mo-
ments, holding his head down, as if lost in
thought. Then he looked up, and there
was a frown upon his face as he addressed
his nephew.

“Your wish shall be complied with,” he
“You shall see your cousin, if you
will accompany me to Atlanta to-morrow.”

“Thank you, uncle. I will do so with
pleasure. Shall I direct your room to be
made ready for you ?”

“You may.”

After some unimportant conversation, the
relatives separated until supper time, and
the subjects that were respectively nearest to
their hearts—Southern independence and
Carrie Chappelle, were not again mentioned.

 

CHAPTER TIL
Met at Last.

Tue next day Arthur Arment drove his
uncle, behind a pair of fine horses, to At-
lanta, the “Gate City” of the South. It
was late in the afternoon when they reached
their destination, and they proceeded directly
to the furnished house in the city, heretofore
mentioned as belonging to the Arment
estate.

The house was a plain brick building, un-
pretending in appearance, but roomy and
substantial, and was surrounded by pleasant
grounds. A wooden addition was attached
to the house, and several large outbuildings
were in the rear. It was situated in the
southern outskirt of the city, near the fair
ground, but not in proximity to any of the
lines of intrenchment, which were not then
extended so far in that direction. Arthur
expressed his wonder as he noticed that the
grounds had been so well.cared for, and
that a negro seryant was ready to receive
them when they drove up to the door.

“The house hag not been unoccupied,”
answered his uncle. “I have kept the place
in good order and repair, at my own ex-
pense. That house, Arthur, has been hon-
Or
General Johnston, of General Hood, and of
President Dayis himself

“ Were they all flanked out of it, uncle »

“ At present,” continued Madison Arment,
“ it is occupied by your cousin, Carrie Chap-

 

eee Be

ts 13

pelle, and a friend of hers, named Laura
Clymer.”

“ Ah! that is, indeed, an honor, and I
feel interested. I hope the house has been
properly fumigated since the ambitious Mis-
sissippian left it. If the stable is in order,
please tell the boy to take care of my team,
and let us enter, for Iam impatient to see
my cousin.”

“You will find, Arthur, that she entirely
disagrees with you in politics, and you will

‘need to change your course if you desire

her to sympathize with you. Carrie’s heart,
as well as her blood, is Southern, and she is
true to the cause of Southern independence.”

“So you told me, last evening, and I can
believe your word without any repetition.
But I do not expect to interfere with her
political opinions, and have no fear of quar-
reling with her on that score.”

The two Arments were ushered through a
broad hall into a large and finely-furnished
parldr, where the younger negligently seated
himself on a sofa, while the elder nervously
and anxiously paced the room.

“This place ‘seems very solitary, uncle,”
said Arthur. “Ihave not yet heard or seen
any one except the servant who admitted us.
Where are its fair occupants ?”

“ They are up stairs, I suppose, and have
not heard of our arrival. Excuse me fora
few moments, and I will see that they are
notified: You had better be careful not to
express your treasonable sentiments before
your cousin, for you will find her a true
Southerner.”

So saying, Madison Arment bowed him-
self out of the room, with the same frown
on his face that it had worn the evening be-
fore. i

“ Uncle Madison seems very particular i in
informing me about Carrie’s politics” mut-
tered Arthur. “I suppose he is afraid that
I will try to make a convert of her.”

Giving the subject no more thought, the
young gentleman rose from his sedt, and —
amused himself with examining the pictures
on the walls, and the various articles about
the room. It was a long time since he had
been inside of that house, and nearly every
thing seemed new to him.

While he was thus engaged, the door of
the parlor opened, and his uncle appeared,
followed by two ladies. The first who en-
tered was a beautiful blonde, rather slight in
figure, and seeming almost to float in the
atmosphere of the room, so lightly and airily
she moyed. Her hair was a rich brown,
 

 

 

 

 

ee

 

 

 

5 ea

 
    

14

neatly braided; her eyes were large and
blue, shaded by long lashes, and her cheeks
were smooth as alabaster, and of so pure a
complexion as to seem almost transparent.
The other was a brunette, not beautiful, but
with something strangely attractive in her
face and expression, She was taller and
stronger than the blonde, and there was an
appearance of resolution in her figure and
her movements, as well as in her earnest
eyes and firmly-cut lips. Both were richly
and tastefully dressed. j

“ Your cousin Arthur, Carrie,” said Madi-
son Arment, as they entered the room. “ My
nephew, Miss Clymer, Arthur Arment.”

The brunette slightly inclined her head to
the young man; but the sylphb-like blonde
advanced and extended her hand to him,
with that rich, winning, glowing, unspeak-
able smile which he so well remembered,
and which sent the warm blood gushing to
his cheeks and brow. ;

“T am heartily glad, cousin Arthur;’ she
said, “to meet you again, at last. We have
been separated for a long time, and I have
wished to see you, but something has al-
ways seemed to interpose to prévent a meet-
ing. ”

“Tt was no fault of mine, I assure ae
answered Arthur; “for I have sought you
eagerly and vainly. When you have seemed
the nearest to me, you have been the furthest
off, for something, as you say, has always
interposed to prevent me from seeing you.”

“ Perhaps, it was_fate.”

“T suppose it was,” replied Arthur, with. a
meaning glance at his uncle. “It is said
that fate. generally acts through human
agencies.”

“We must try to forget that, and must
let bygones be bygones. It is a satisfaction
to know that we haye really met at last. I
wish you to know my friend, Laura Cly-
mer,”

“T have had the pleasure of meeting Mr.
Arment before,” said the brunette.

“ Ag Miss Clymer is kind enough to re-
member me,” said Arthur, “I may say that
Thave passed many pleasant hours in her
society, and in that of a friend who left us
about tw6 years ago.”

A deep blush mantled the dark cheeks of
Laura Clymer, and she glanced from under
her eyelashes at Madison Arment.

That gentleman, who had been sitting un-
easily in his chair, anxiously watching the
interview between the cousins, and nervous-
ly fidgeting with his gloves and handker-

 

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

chief, now seemed. to think that it was time
for him to take part in the conversation.

“ Carrie,” he commenced, “I have told
Arthur that if he expected to find in you a
sympathizer with his treasonable and anti-
Southern opinions, he was greatly mistaken ;
that you are true to your country, and al-
ways ready to devote yourself to the good
cause,”

“reasonable opinions!” exclaimed Car-
rie. “TI really hope that Arthur is not tinc-
tured with treason. Ishould be very sorry
to disagree with him, especially upon that
subject. I hope, Arthur, that you do not
coyet the unenyviable distinction of being
known asa traitor to your country.”

“ Not I,” answered the young man, “and
therefore I abjure Jefferson Davis and all his
works. But I have not come here to talk
politics, and the subject is always distasteful
to me. My opinions, whatever they may
be, are of no consequence, and could have
no more influence in this struggle than the
winking of my eye would pare in ve
mining the course of the sun.”

“ As you are disinclined to converse upon
the subject, I can only hope for the best.
For my part, I can assure you, as uncle
Madison has said, that I am true to my
country, that Iam always ready to devote
myself to the good cause, and to die for it,
if necessary.” nt

“JT admire your spirit, Carrie. The Ar-
ment blood can never be lacking in that,
whether it takes a right direction or a wrong
one.” :

Madison Arment rose from his seat, and
after a few words of farewell, left the house.
Ashe did so, it might have been noticed that
the anxious frown had left his countenance,
that his troubled, nervous manner had dis-
appeared, and that he again wore: his usual
mild, courtly, quiet, stately demeanor.

“Of course, cousin Arthur,” said Carrie,
when her uncle had gone, “ you will accept
our hospitality to-night. The house is your
own, but we are the present proprietors, and
the dispensers of such cheer as it affords.”

“T shall accept your hospitality with ,
pleasure, cousin. If you had not offered it,
I should have concluded to drive back to
Oak Grove to-night, for no hotel in Atlanta
could hold me.”

Laura’ Clymer, who had taken no part in
the conversation, left the room, for the pur-
pose, as she said, of giving directions to the

seryants, and Arthur Arment found himself /

alone with his fair cousin. He then felt that

 

j
.
 

CHANGED. a

she was very beautiful, and wondered whe-
ther her heart was as clear and pure as her
face was bright and fair. He wondered
whether she was as rank a rebel as his uncle
had represented. He could not help think-
ing that, in any event, he was fated to love
her. He was half afraid to ask her, fearing
that difference. of: political opinion might
create a gulf between them, but he thought
the truth must be known some day, and the
sooner the better.

“Ts it true, cousin Carrie,” he asked,
“that uncle Madison has correctly repre-
sented your opinions concerning this terri-
ble civil war, concerning this attempt to di-
vide and destroy our glorious Union?”

“What do you mean, cousin? I do not
know what uncle Madison has told you con-
cerning me and my opinions.”

“ Are your opinions the same as those of
uncle Madison? Are youa follower of Jeff
Davis and his disciples? Do you believe
in the disruption. of the Union, and in
waging a bloody and destructive war for
the sake of a shadowy phantom misnamed
Southern Rights ?”

“You are begging the question, Arthur,
and that is not fair. You do not give me a
chance to answer you, yes or no. I can
tell you that I am a Southerner, by birth

- and inclination—that I believe the South

should have its rights and should fight for
them if necessary—that I'am true to my
country, as a Southern girl ought to be, and
that I am ready to devote my life, and all
that I have, to the good cause.”

“ You are a secessionist, then. Well, iet
it pass, cousin. But your ideas were differ-
ent when you used to write to. me, after my
return from college.
then, and we both believed that the old flag
ought never to be lowered.”

“T was younger then than I am now,

Arthur, and less experienced. Besides, af-
fairs had not reached. the crisis, and we
were speaking of abstractions, not of reali-
ties. Every thing has changed since that
time.”

. Every thing, cousin Carrie ?” ejaculated
Arthur, in a mournful tone. “Has every
thing changed ?”

4 ‘Much has changed, cousin.”

As the young man cast a sorrowful glance
atthe fair face of his companion, he per-
ceived an expression of severe pain resting
upon her lips and ¢louding her eyes, but he
could not interpret it, and felt that he had
‘no right to ask what it meant. He bowed

You agreed with me,

'
his head in his hands, and remained silent
for a few moments, while the hard and
painful expression’ of his cousin changed,
as she watched him, to one of pity, that
might easily soften into love.

“But your friend,” he resumed—* Miss
Clymer—does she share your opinions?
Does she, also, believe in the righteousness
of this rebellion ?”

“Laura believes as I do,” was the calm
jreply. “We have no occasion of disagree-

ment.” 1

“And she has changed, as well as the
rest. I suppose she has forgotten the man
who won her love two years ago—my
friend, Seth Staples. Absence and separa-.
tion must have done their work with regard,
to him.”

“T can assure you that his absence does
not grieve her.”

“ Such is life,” sighed Arthur, “and such,
I suppose, it always must be. I feel more
than. ever alone in the world. My life
seems still more desolate. A man might as
well be dead, as have nothing to live for.
I see nothing left for me, except to cast my-
self into this vortex, and be swept-away to
nonentity with the rest of the brainless
strugglers, who court riot and disorder, and
call it glory.”

Arthur spoke musingly and meditatively,
as if communing with himself; but, if he
had looked at her, he might have seen that
Carrie Chappelle was touched by his words.
She seemed about to speak, when the door
opened, and Laura Clymer entered, to an-
nounce that supper was ready.

After supper, Arthur and the two ladies
remained in the parlor, and occupied them-
selves with general conyersation and music.
There was a fine piano in the room, upon
which Carrie and Laura accompanied their
voices, while Arthur sat buried in a chair,
silent, and seemingly lost in thought. He
noticed that Carrie’s voice was clear and
sweet, while that of Laura was rich and
powerful. He also noticed that they sung
nothing that might possibly be considered
as having a political bearing, and he thought
that they were fearful of wounding his feel-
ings, for which kind consideration he was
duly grateful.

When bedtime arrived, the ladies bade
Arthur good-night, and sought their rooms.
He was conducted to his apartment by a
negro servant.

 
 

   
 

CHAPTER IV.
The Apparition.

THE room into which Arthur was usher-
ed, was a large bedchamber, with a high
ceiling. It contained only a few articles of
furniture, but those were of very rich qual-

4 ~ ity. The principal object was a large can-
opied bed. The carpet was’ of velvet pile,
‘very heavy, and noiseless to the tread. The
walls were papered, and adorned with a
large mirror, and several pictures. There

was one door in the room, and two win-
dows, reaching to the floor, that opened up-

on a balcony, overlooking the garden. Ar-

y thur noticed that a window, which had

t| formerly opened out at the rear of the

house, had been blocked up, by the build-
| ing of the wooden addition, and that its

i place was supplied with paneling.

iI In all this there was nothing strange,

Hi and Arthur, after a glance at the room and

i its contents, and a mournful glance at his

}
H

 

i pale and anxious face in the mirror, un-
} ' dressed, extinguished his light, and laid
I down to rest.
* Sleep was slow to visit his eyelids, for
i° his mind was perturbed, and his thoughts
f were haunted by remembrances of what had
| been, by dark forebodings of the future, and
| by vain dreams of what might never be.
| He had seen his cousin, and had found her
{ as beautiful as a poet’s dream. The love
that had been half-born within his breast a
few years ago, had suddenly sprung into
life, full-grown and full-formed, and armed
with all its powers to bless or torture, as
Minerva sprung from the brain of Joye.
But it seemed destined to be a vain, useless,
-heart-wearying love, for it could not be pos-
sible that he and his cousin, holding such
opposite opinions upon such a vital ques-
tion, ever could be joined by a closer tie
than that of relationship. This, then, was
‘ the reason why his uncle had never brought
* them together; he had feared that Arthur’s
t peace of mind might be destroyed, and had
! mercifully preserved him from temptation.
Arthur appreciated the supposed kindness
of his uncle, and was duly thankful for it;
but he felt that he must have met his fate
* sooner or later, and was not inclined to
shirk the issue. For his own part, he was
certain that nothing, not even love itself,
could change his convictions, and he felt
that he was as far from Carrie Chappelle as
if they were separated by thousands of
miles of ocean.

 

|
it
;

i

 

 

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

Thus musing, he fell into a doze, from:
which he was presently awakened by the
sound of music. It seemed afar off, and
fell faintly upon his dull ear, lulling him to
sleep again.

“Some military band,” he thought, “or
a party of midnight serenaders,” and again
closed his eyes to slumber.

But he was not to be permitted to sleep,
for the sound of music arose, seeming to
grow nearer and louder, and the strains
were so sweet and ravishing, that he invol-
untarily reclined his head upon his hand to
listen. '

Soon he was able td distinguish the in-
struments—a violin, a flute, and a guitar. .
He heard, also, the sound of vocal music—
two female voices, as he thought, but so
perfectly blended that they seemed like one,
and, at least, one rich and sonorors manly
voice.

“Some serenaders in the strect,” thought
Arthur; and yet, it seemed strange that
there should be ladies among them. He
could only consider it a new development
of the customs of Atlanta.

The music at first appeared to be a gen-
tle, softly-modulated symphony, with no
particular meaning or purpose; but, after a
while, it changed, and the dear old melody
of “Sweet Home” saluted the charmed
ears of the half-awake young man—the
clear notes of the violin, the melodious
tinkling of the guitar, the rich, swelling
tones of the flute, the sweet voices of the
female singers, and the deeper intonations
of the males, all chiming in so harmoni-
ously, that every thing in the room seemed
to respond to their delicious vibrations, and
Arthur felt himself lapped in Elysium.

“ This is strange,” dimly mused the young
man. “These are surely the sweetest ser-
enaders I ever heard. The ladies will soon
answer them, I suppose.”

But there was no opening of windows,
nor any other response to the music. As
the last strains of “Sweet Home” died
away, they melted imperceptibly into ano-
ther symphony, soft and delicate, like the
first, but decidedly martial in its character.
Then arose, from violin, guitar, flute, and
melodious voices, the music and words of
Captain Cutter’s beautiful song, now seldom
heard, known as “ Many in One”:

“0,1 many and bright are the stars that appear,
In the flag of our glory unfurled ;

And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there,
Like a rainbow adorning the world!”

Arthur listened, as if spell-bound, while

 

 
tad

_enaders.

A PHANTOM. ae

the song proceeded, the music growing

‘yicher and more glorious as it interpreted

the swelling sentences, and when the grand
climax was reached, he had become so ex-
cited and enthusiastic, that he could hardly
restrain himself from leaping out of his bed
and going in search of those wonderful ser-
But he feared that he might break
the charm, and resolved to remain quiet.

“This is the strangest thing. of all,” he
mused. “I wonder whether I am really
awake. itherI am dreaming, or this is
some strange hallucination of my waking
senses. It can not be possible that such a
song should be sung in this city, and at this
house, tight in the hearing of such rank
rebels as my cousin Carrie and Laura Cly-
mer. If that music was real music, they
could not help hearing it, and would soon
put a stop to the singing of a Union song
like that. I surely can’t be awake, but it
is a very pleasant dream, and I have no
wish for it to end. If I had any matches,
I would strike,a light, and investigate the
mystery, but the room is so confoundedly
dark, that I would only get myself into
trouble.”

The young gentleman sat up in his bed,
laid down again, pulled his hair, pinched
his cheeks, bit his lips, and tried. other
methods to determine whether he was awake
or asleep, but with no satisfactory result.
The evidence of his senses told him that he

was awake, but his reason told him that he’

must certainly be dreaming. He gazed
around the room, to endeavor to discern the
objects which he had noticed on retiring,
but the darkness of the night was increased
by the heavy curtains that shrouded the
windows, and he could distinguish nothing
but vague outlines.

As he gazed, a faint, yellowish light be-
gan to pervade the room, seeming to insin-
uate itself through the walls and ceiling.
Dim and indistinct at first, it grew more
vivid and powerful, until Arthur could
plainly perceive the large mirror and the
pictures on the walls. Then the. light
changed to a purplish hue, and a strange,
suffocating, but pleasant odor filled the
chamber, gradually dulling the senses of
the young man, and substituting a fecling
of listlessness and languor for the previous
excited condition of his nerves, .

Satisfied, now, that he must ‘be dreaming,
he leaned upon his arm, and freely gave
himself up to the ecstatic feeling of the
illusion. As he continued to gaze, with

 

i

half-shut eyes, the large mirror upon the
opposite wall gradually lowered, until it
touched and rested on the floor, and in its
place appeared an American flag, with all
the glorious stars and stripes emblazoned
upon it, and with its folds falling over the
mirror beneath it. ;

At the same moment, the flute, the gui-
tar, and the violin, which had been again
playing a soft and pleasing symphony,
blended their tones in the opening to our
national anthem, the “Star Spangled Ban-
ner,” and’ immediately the sweet’ female
voices, and the rich tones of the males,
joined in singing the stirring words of the
song. The folds of the banner Seemed to
wave responsive to the stirring chords,
and the young man felt himself moved
by ‘an enthusiasm which he was power-
less to express. He yielded himself up to
the influences of the illusion, and closed his
eyes.

But a greater astonishment awaited him ;
for, when he opened his eyes again, he saw
a figure standing before him on. the floor,
in front of the banner. It was robed en-
tirely in white, and, in form and feature,
was the exact likeness of his cousin Carrie.
The resemblance was so perfect, and struck
him so suddenly, that he shuddered, fear-
ing that it might be a reality, but not
daring to hope so. Its delicate drapery
rested upon the floor, but its feet seemed
scarcely to touch the soft texture of the
carpet.

The music, which had melted to a slow
and solemn symphony, now swelled into .
greater power and richness, as the figure
slowly raised its arm, pointed toward the
banner, with its’ brilliant eyes fixed upon
Arthur, and spoke as follows: » —

“ Arthur Arment, be true to the flag of
your country! You believe in the Union;
prove your faith by your works !”

That clear, musical, silvery voice was none
other—could be none other—than that of
Carrie Chappelle. The illusion was perfect.
Arthur felt irresistibly impelled to rise and
pursue this beautiful phantom, but he was
powerless to move. He could only gaze in
wonder, while his eyes dilated, as if they
would burst out of his head. -

Again he heard the musical voice:

“ Arthur Arment, be true to your coun-
try and. flag. Let nothing lead you astray,
but persevere, and true happiness awaits
you. Look! its glory is even now over
your head !” ,

 
 

 

SS
ae

 

 

 

 

 

Swe

 

er ee ee

  

‘18

 

The young man involuntarily raised his
eyes. As he did so, the light disappeared,
and, when he again looked around, the

figure of Carrie Chappelle had vanished,

and he. could distinguish nothing in the
darkness.

“ Now,” he thought, “I know that I have
been dreaming, and hayejust awakened. It
needed only that apparition to fully con-
vince me, for it is not possible that Carrie
Chappelle would have exhorted me to stand
by the Union and the old flag. It was a

' glorious dream, and I wish it. might have

«

been true, but like all pleasant dreams: from
which one wakes to a sad reality, it leaves
an impression of pain.”

Having thus settled the matter to his sat-
isfaction, Arthur Arment again laid his head
on the pillow, and was soon, aided by the
aromatie odor that pervaded the room, lost
in a dreamless sleep.

It was quite late in the morning when
he was aroused by a negro servant, who
knocked at the door, and told him that it
was time to dress for breakfast. He im-
mediately rose, astonished ‘and vexed at
haying slept so late. .

While he was dressing, he carefully ex-
amined the room and its furniture, and
found, as he had expected, that every thing
was as he had noticed it on retiring. No

. article of furniture had been moved, and

even the mirror, which had been so mys-
teriously lowered to the floor, hung quietly
in its accustomed place. The pungent,
suffocating odor, that seemed to have saluted
his senses during the night, was not. per-
ceptible. Nothing had changed, except his
own countenance, which looked pale and
careworn, as if he had passéd a restless and
painful night.

The young gentleman smiled sadly as he
surveyed himself in the glass. ,

“Tt is wonderful,’ he said, “ how strong-

ly a delusion can take hold upon a healthy |

and balanced mind. I really thought, du-
ring that strange vision of last night, that I
was wide awake, and that it was not possi-
ble that the evidence of my eyes and ears
could deceive me. Still, my reason told me
that it could not be real, and I know that
I must be dreaming, as well as I know that
I am now awake.” : *

His feeling of certainty was destined to
be short-lived, and his philosophy was soon
upset; for, on taking up his coat, he dis-
covered a small American flag pinned upon

_ the lappel!

 

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

His surpise was so great, that he dropped
the coat, and nearly fell upon the floor.
When he again took up the garment, and
unpinned the badge, he was trembling as if
With an ague.

“Am I sure that I am awake now ?” he
muttered. “ Was I dreaming last night, or
am I dreaming this morning? If I
awake now, this is certainly real, for I can
hold it in my hands, I can feel it, and the
pin will prick me. There is nothing unsub-
stantial about this little flag.” :

After some more perplexing thought, he _
came to the conclusion that the mystery
was beyond his penetration, and must be
left to time and circumstances to unravel.
Accordingly, when his nerves had become
quiet, he composed his features as well as
he could, and went down stairs, resolved to
spend the coming night in that room.

At the breakfast-table he was kindly
greeted by the ladies, in. whose demeanor
and appearance he noticed nothing unusual.
Carrie Chappelle asked him how he had
rested, and he replied that he had seldom
passed a night so greatly to his satisfaction,
having been favored with a dream that had
given him a great deal-of comfort. He
could not help feeling, at times, in his vest
pocket, to see if the little flag was still there,
and was a real, palpable piece of paper.

His desire to pass another night in the
room which had furnished his strange ex-
perience, was frustrated by the arrival of
his uncle, who informed him that it was
necessary to proceed immediately to Oak
Grove, on important business. Arthur en-
deayored to evade compliance with this re-
quest, but his uncle was- urgent, declaring
that the business would admit of no delay,
and the young man reluctantly said good--
by to his cousin and her friend, and drove
his uncle, sullenly and, silently, toward his
own house.

 

CHAPTER V.
Long Looked for, Come at Last.

Arrour ArMENT did not reach Oak -
Grove until evening. He was very, moody
and uncommunicative during the ride, and,
as his uncle seemed quite anxious and medi-
tative, few. words passed between them.
Arthur kept revolving in his mind the mys-
terious occurrence of the night before, and
often put his hand in his pocket, to see
whether the little flag that he had so

 

 
ronan

THE ARREST.

strangely received, was still there, or had
melted away like fairy gold. He was satis-
fied that that part of his vision, at least,
was real.

It turned out, greatly to the chagrin of
the young man, that the business for which
his uncle had hurried him back from At-
lanta, was only the arrangement of some
trifling matters of detail, connected with the
management of the estate. To be sure, he
was required to give his decision upon some
unimportant questions about which he cared
nothing, and to sign a few papers, which,
he thought, might as well have been signed
at any other time. He could come to no
other conclusion, than that his astute‘uncle
wished to shut him out, as much as possi-
ble, from the society of his cousin Carrie,
and had brought him back from Atlanta
because he seemed entirely: too willing to re-
main there. Arthur respected his uncle too
highly to complain openly of this conduct,
but he sought to penetrate his motives by
some quiet questioning.

“T believe,” he said, in the course of a
desultory conversation, “that Carrie Chap-
pelle’s property is very valuable.”

“Tt is a large property,” answered his
uncle; “not as large as yours, Arthur, but
a large one—2 very good property.”

“Was there not a condition in her
father’s will, that if she should marry before
the age of twenty-one, your guardianship
should cease, and that she should have en-
tire control of her property ?”

“ Yes; there is such a condition, provid-
ed she marries with my consent.”

“Tf she was not such a stanch advocate
of the Confederacy, or if she should marry

a man who is opposed to it, it is possible’

that her property might not benefit Jeffer-
son Davis and his friends as much as it
otherwise would.”

“T hardly know what you mean, Arthur,”
nervously answered the old gentleman.
“The case that you present is not a sup-
posable one. Carrie is true to the South,
and she would never think of marrying a
man who was hostile to the cause of his
country, even if I would ever give my con-
sent to such an unnatural alliance. You
need not attempt to convert her, for she
is proof against treason.”

“Tt is not my business to make prose-
lytes, uncle. I was only asking for infor-
mation. As she is one of the few relatives

that I have, I am naturally interested in
her??...2 :

¢

 

19

Arthur was sure that he had divined the
motive of his uncle in separating him from
Carrie. Madison Arment evidently feared
that his handsome nephew might win the
love of his niece, and that the joint impor-
tunities of the two might prevail upon him
to give his consent to their marriage, so
that the property-influence of at least one
fine estate would probably be lost to the
Confederacy.

In the morning, Arthur drove his uncle
to the station at which he was’to take the
cars for Atlanta, and returned to his solitary.
home. He was at first inclined to start im-
mediately for the city, and seek an interview
with his cousin; but, on second thoughts,
he concluded that such a course would be-
tray too much eagerness and impatience,

‘and he determined to wait awhile.

He passed a long and dreary day. He
could not remember when the hours had
seemed to creep so slowly. He endeavored
to read, but threw book after book aside in
disgust. He played with his dog, but soon
tired of that sport. Hé ordered his horse
to be saddled and brought to the door for a
ride, but immediately changed his mind,
and sent it back. He smoked cigars, until
he was sick of the scent of tobacco. Do
what he could, turn where he would, he
could not shut out the thought of his fair
cousin Carrie and’ the mysterious occur-
rences in his sleeping room. He could not
doubt that he had been dreaming, or labor-
ing under a strange optical delusion, but he
wished that it might visit him again. He
took the miniature flag from his pocket,
and pinned it-upon the lappel of his coat,
as he had found it. He went to the mirror,
and thought that it looked well. That part
of his experience, at least, was real, tangible,
indubitable. ‘Not satisfied with this  evi-
dence, he called in his body-servant, and
gave him some trifling directions. The
black boy noticed the flag on his master’s
coat, and started.

“Qh, mass’r Arthur!” he exclaimed,
“whar'd you git dat ?” ‘

“J found it, Henry. Are you afraid of it ?”

“No, sah; not much, I s’pect.”

The flag was real, then, for other eyes be-
sides his own had seen it, and he had evi-
dence on which he could rely with certainty.
He. could only conjecture that the ladies
had wished to taunt him with his Unionism,
and had fastened the flag,to his coat as a
freak. That could have had nothing to do
with his remarkable vision.
 

 

==

 

 

 

 

 

20 , THE LOYAL SPECTER.

Toward evening, the young gentleman:

was again seated by his parlor window,
smoking a cigar, and communing with his
discontented thoughts, when he perceived
four Confederate horsemen, with an officer
at their head, riding down the road that led
by the house, from the direction of At-
lanta. He watched them, and saw them
stop in front of the house. ‘The officer and
two of the men dismounted, and walked
up to the front door, while the others held
their horses. f

> The bell rung, and in a few minutes a
seryant entered the room, and informed his
master that a gentleman wished to see him.

“Show him in,” said Arthur, and the
Confederate officer made his appearance,
while the two soldiers stood at the door of
the parlor.

“T have an unpleasant duty to perform,
Mr. Arment,” said the officer, quite politely.
“T have an order for your arrest, signed by
the Provost-Marshal-General of the Army
of Tennessee.”

“You surprise me,” said Arthur, calmly
puffing his cigar. “There must be some
mistake about the matter, for I don’t know
what authority the State of Tennessee has
to order the arrest of a citizen of Georgia.”

“ You misapprehend me, sir—willfully, I
suppose. I did not speak of the State of
Tennessee, but of the Confederate Army of
Tennessee, which is now in the vicinity of
Atlanta.”

“ Ah! pardon me, for the mistake was a
natural one. What is the Army of Ten-
nessee doing down here in Georgia ?”

“Tt has fallen back before the enemy, to
protect the city of Atlanta.”

“ Just as it protected Chattanooga, I sup-
pose. JI am glad to hear that it has suc-
cessfully fianked its way so far. I hope
the men are not wearied by their long
march. This order, you say, is signed by
an officer of the Confederate army. I do
not recognize any such authority.”

“Whether you recognize it or not, you
will have to submit to it,’ said the officer,
who was really provoked by the coolness
of the young gentleman.

“T suppose so,” answered Arthur, throw-
ing his cigar out of the window.

The threatened and long-expected arrest
had come at last. He had spoken and
thought of such a possibility very lightly,
but now it was a reality, and a very un-
welcome one, for it occurred just at a time
when he desired his liberty. It would be

 

very irksome, he thought, to be confined,
and restrained of his freedom of action,
when he was so anxious to see his cousin
again, and to sleep once more in the room
where he had passed the previous night.
He mentally consigned the officer and his
order to a better place than Atlanta.

“Tf you will excuse me for a moment,”
he said, “I will step up to my room and
get a few articles that I need, and will be
ready in a few minutes.”

“ Certainly, Mr. Arment, if you will give
me your word that you will come down
here again.” ‘

“T will return directly, upon my honor.”

The young gentleman rose, and left the

parlor. He had two loaded revolvers in
his room, and it was his intention to bring
down those weapons, refuse to submit to
the arrest, and sell his life as dearly as pos-
sible, if he could not beat off the oflicer
and his men. There was a strong proba-
bility that the rich carpets of the Arment
mansion would be stained by Southern
blood. ;
AS he passed out of the room, his hand
was touched by a soldier who stood at the
door—a heavily-bearded man with a stolid
countenance—and he felt a paper thrust
into it. His hand mechanically closed up-
on the scrap, and he passed on, and walked
up-stairs, as if there had been no interrup-
tion. ; ;

When. he reached his room, he opened
the paper, and, to his surprise, read as fol-
lows: bs

“Submit quietly to the arrest. The
flag that was pinned upon your coat will
protect you. Be true to the Union, and
fear nothing. “A Frrmnp.”

Here was a new development. The
soldier who had handed him the paper
must be a friend, whether in disguise or
not. But how could he know any thing
of the flag that Arthur had found pinned
upon his coat? After he had shown it to
Henry, he had replaced it within his yest
pocket, and no eyes but his own had seen
it. This circumstance increased the mys-
tery, and gave it a new character. The
young man grew more anxious to pene-
trate it, and resolved that he would follow
his fate, in whatever direction it might lead
him. Got

‘He took out his pistols, examined them,
and then, with a shake of his head, put
them back in their drawer. He changed
some of his clothes, brushed his hair, and

]

 

 
cca

iii sein

THE RESCUE. 21

walked down to the parlor. Thus it hap-
pened that the Arment carpets were not
stained.

“T am ready, captain,” said Arthur, with
a pleasant smile. “As soon as my horse
is brought up, we will start, if you wish.”

He ordered some refreshments for the
soldiers, and entered into a good-humored
conyersation with the officer, until his horse
was brought to the door. The Confeder-
ate was agreeably surprised at the change
in the demeanor of his prisoner, and con-
gratulated himself that his unpleasant duty
was likely to be so pleasantly performed.

“T suppose we will ride to Atlanta,”
suggested Arthur.

“Yes, sir. It is a long ride, but we will
have a moon, and I trust that-you will not
be inconvenienced by the journey.”

“Not at all. It is a pleasant ride, and
I need exercise. I wss intending to go to
the city to-morrow. I suppose there is a
little attempt at strategy, in conveying me
through the country by night, but I assure
you that it is entirely unnecessary.”

“Y know nothing about the strategy,”
replied the officer. “I hope, however,
that your restraint will be a brief one, for
T have been agreeably surprised in you. I
was given to understand that I should find
you an obstinate man, and, probably, a
desperate one.”

“J have been belied,’ laughed Arthur.
“T assure you that I am a very mild-man-
nered and peaceable person, if I am’ not
pushed too hard.”

When Arthur’s horse was brought to
the door, he mounted, in company with the
officer and his men, and they trotted up
the road together, in the direction of At-
lanta.

 

CHAPTER VI..
Who were They ?

As the party started off, young Arment
was. by the side of the officer, with two
soldiers riding in front, and two in their
tear. Arthur had looked closely at the
man who had handed him the note, before
leaving the house, and he turned in’ his
saddle and glanced back at him several

‘times as he rode.. The soldier, however,

gave not the slightest sign of recognition,

nor was there the least change in his

heavily-bearded, stolid, inexpressive counte-

nance, Arthur began to wonder whether
21 2

 

he had actually received the note, and
whether that circumstance was not as un-
real as his vision.

It was after sunset when they com-
menced their journey; but, the moon soon
rose, and its rays, struggling through the
scattered clouds, enabled them to see quite
distinctly. When they had trayeled about
ten miles, they reached a dry and sandy
upland, where the road ran through a
thick grove of pines, mingled with a stunt-
ed undergrowth. ‘

They had come to the densest part of
the grove, where the road made a sharp
turn to the right, when there was a sudden
rush from among the pines, and a num-
ber of armed men, some of whom were
mounted, sprung out upon the party. A
few shots were fired, and there was a brief
struggle, accompanied by oaths and cries,
at the conclusion of which the Confederate
officer and his escort were all driven off, or
secured as prisoners. The onset was so
sudden, and the attacking force was so
overwhelming, that little resistance was
made.

Arthur Arment did not see the conclu-
sion of the little conflict. His horse,
frightened by the flash and report of a pis-
tol fired near its head, suddenly reared up,
throwing its rider to the ground, and fall-
ing upon him. Arthur felt a stunning
shock, and all consciousness left him.

When he came to his senses, he was ly-
ing on a soft bed, in a darkened room. He
tried to raise himself, to look around and
ascertain where he was, but found himself
so weak and sore in body, that he was
obliged to desist from the attempt, and to
be content with surveying the situation
from the position in which he found him-
self.

The room was a small one, furnished
neatly and comfortably, but not in a costly
manner. There was but one window,
which was darkened by heavy curtains,
admitting only a few faint rays of sunshine.
A chair and a small table were near the
bed, and on the latter were a few bottles, a
cup and saucer, and a Bible. The bed was
overhung by dark curtains, shutting out his
view, except at one side. There was a
peculiar air of neatness about the room and
its. appurtenances, and the arrangement of
every thing spoke to Arthur's fastidious
eyes of the delicate and tasteful hand of
woman.

The young gentleman was bewildered.
 

 

 

 

He wondered where he was, and his anx-
iety to know made him nervous.
again essayed to rise, and, in making the
effort, reached out his hand and knocked
over the chair by the bedside, which fell
on the floor with something of a crash.

Directly he heard the patter of gaitered
feet on a stairs, and a rustling of muslin at
the door, which opened, and admitted a
fresh-faced, cheery, matronly-like woman,
who immediately closed the door behind
her. She was neatly dressed, wore a wid-
ow’s cap, and had.a pleasant smile, which
went right to Arthur’s heart, and made him
feel at home. 4

“So, you are awake, sir,” she said,in a
clear and chirping voice, as she tripped to
the bedside. ‘Have you been trying to
get up? You shouldn't exert yourself,
sir, for you are very weak. Well, I de-
clare! if you hayen’t turned over a chair !
That is what made the racket. It is
lucky that you didn’t upset the table, for
you would have spilt all those excellent
medicines that you don’t need at all.”

“Will you have the kindness to
take a seat, madam, and teil me where
I am?”

“You are in my house, to be -sure,”
answered the little woman. as she’ seated
herself and smiled sunnily at the inva-
lid. ;

“And who, are you, if it is not: too
rude a question ?”

“J am Mrs. Bennett, and your nurse
at present.”

“ Flow long have I been here ?”

“Only since last night. You were
brought here by some men, who said they
were your friends, and that you had been
injured by a fall from your horse. You
were insensible when you were brought in,
and the doctor said that he feared you had
suffered a concussion of the brain. When
you awoke, you were slightly delirious, talk-
ing about flags and dreams, and such non-
sense, and he gaye you, as he said, a power-
ful opiate. You went to sleep, and have
just woke up, I suppose.”

“Am I in Atlanta?”

“No, indeed, sir. Your friends who
brought you here would not have taken you
to Atlanta.”

“Who were they, and where are they
how ?” ‘

“ They are strangers to me, sir, and I have
not seen them since. But you are talking

too much, The doctor said that if you }

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

He.

 

=

were kept quict you would soon be
well.”

“ Am I badly hurt’?” i

“No, sir. At least you are in no danger.

-You haye received a severe shock, and have

been bruised, but you will soon be well, if
you will be content’ to keep quiet. You
must reconcile yourself to lying still, and I
will go and bring your breakfast—or dinner,
for it is past noon.”

So saying, the good little lady bustled out
of the room, and soon returned with some
tempting and substantial food, of which the
young gentleman ate heartily. She then
brought hima book to read, placed a belt
on the table, that he might ring if he wished
any thing, cautioned him not to knock over
any more of her chairs, and ‘went to attend
to her household duties.

Arthur did not read much. He had the
book open, and his eyes mechanically fol-
lowed the words through the pages, but the
sense of sight conveyed nothing to his brain,
and when he had finished a chapter, he
could not have told what he had been read-
ing about. The most thrilling romance; the

: aie sq
most important and exciting news, would ‘ —

have had no interest for him, for his
mind was entirely engrossed by one sub-
ject.

Who were those mysterious friends who
had aided him, and had rescued him from
his captors? Why had they done so, and
why had they not revealed themselves to
him? The soldier who had given him the
note njust have been in league with them,
for his promise had been fulfilled, and the
little flag had proved a protection from Con-
federate capture, at least. Arthur bitterly
deplored the accident which had deprived
him of consciousness at the time of the at-
tack. If that had not happened, he might
have known who and what they were, and
might have gained a clue to the mysterious
circumstances that had lately surrounded
him. But the opportunity had been lost,
and he could only wonder and wait. He
resolved that he would go to Atlanta as soon
as he was able to rise from his bed, in spite
of the danger of arrest, and would pass an-
other night in the chamber in which he had
had the strange vision, for he saw no other
chance of learning any thing about the mys-
tery of the flag.

The time passed in these fruitless mus-
ings, while the cheery, brisk little Mrs. Ben-
nett brought his dinner, or rather supper,

!

f

and sat down by the bedside with her sewing. |

Wa

   

)

:

 

 
rarcirtiimasimits

A VISION.

An atmosphere of warmth and bright-
ness seemed to enter the room with her,

which soon drove away the clouds that had
gathered about his brain, and caused him to
forget his perplexities. Her kind, merry and
witty conversation was very entertaining to
him, but she professed inability to enlighten
him upon his situation, or to describe, with
any degree of accuracy, the persons who
had brought him to the house. She sat
with him until after nine o’clock, when she

‘bade him good-night, wishing him pleasant

\

 

dreams.

When she had gone, Arthur again fell
into a fit of musing, in the course of which
he took his little flag from the pocket of his
vest, that was laid in a chair near the bed,
examined it carefully, handled it, and laid
it on the table by his side. There was no-
thing unusual about it, nor any thing extra-
ordinary. There was but one question—
how did it happen to be pinned on his coat,
and what did that Confederate soldier know
about it. The wonder was:

“Not that ‘twas any thing rich or rare,
But how the mischief it got there.”

Mrs. Bennett had given him a composing
draught before she left him, under the in-
fluence of which he soon became drowsy.
Perceiving that he would not be able to
keep awake much longer, he extinguished
his light, and laid his head on the sft pil-
low, to let sleep come when it chose.

He knew not how long he had slept when
he was awakened by a strain of music. Ar-
thur had not'an educated ear for music, but
it seemed to him that he heard the same
low and gentle symphony that had first,
greeted his ears at the house in Atlanta.
Theré was a change, however, in the instru-
ments; there was a violin and a guitar, but
no flute. The music was at first soft and
distant, but gradually grew nearer and louder,
until it seemed to be“beneath his window,
in an adjoining room, over his head, and all
around him. His senses, partially deadened
by the opiate that he had taken, were un-
able to locate it.

As the symphony ended, it melted into
the opening toa ballad, as at the Atlanta
house, and this time he was favored with the
sweet and touching song of “ Annie Laurie.”
There was a difference in the voices, as well
as in the instruments, for he could distinguish
only two voices, one clear and ‘silvery, the
other rich and deep.

“There can be no doubt, now,” thought
the young gentleman, “ that I am dreaming,

experience in dreams.

 

28

and that I was dreaming at Atlanta. Those
mysterious serenaders would not have fal-
lowed me here, and if they had, I should
soon hear Mrs. Bennett bustling about. But
all in the house is as still as death, and Tam
surely asleep. Yet the flag was not ia 4
or uncertain.”

At the close of the ballad, which seemed
to faint and die away like the expiring
breath of an evening breeze, the music sud-
denly changed to the stirring air, “ Colum-
bia, the Gem of the Ocean.” Nearer and
clearer seemed the tones of the instruments,
and louder and fuller the sweet and rich
notes of the singers. Arthur was entranced
while he listened, for it had been a long time
since he had heard the dear old song, and
now it was sung by voices which appeared
to thrill with the patriotic sentiments it in-
voked, which interpreted the music “ with
the spirit and the understanding, also.”

“ Really,” he thought, “I have a, strange
If the country was
at peace, and there was any literature at the
South, I would write an account of my vi-
sions for some periodical. I have no doubt
that it would. create quite a sensation. I
suppose it is natural to conclude that I have
been so excited by the dream I had at At-
lanta, and my mind has been so constantly
occupied by it, that a similar vision has vis-
ited me to-night. Yet, it is strange that I
can reason about it, and decide upon my
condition so calmly, My. brain must be
more impressionable than I had supposed
it to be. I wonder what is to come
next.” :

His mental question was soon answered.
There was a rustling at his right hand, the
curtain of his bed was slowly raised, and a
brilliant flash of light fell upon the wall, as
if thrown from the other side of the room,

‘revealing an American flag, such as he had

seen at Atlanta! It was almost within
reach, and he stretched out his arm to touch
it, when the curtain feil, and the light van-
ished, leaving only a dim and mellow luster,

‘| which enabled him.to see, though indistinctly,

the various objects within range of his vi-
sion.

As he looked around, he perceived, stand-
ing near the foot of;the bed, a female figure,
precisely like that which had appeared to
him in his vision at Atlanta. It had the
form and countenance of his cousin, Carrie,
etherealized, and dimly visible in the uncer-
tain light. It raised its arms, pointing up-
ward, while a soft strain of music came

 
 

 

 

 

24.

from the violin, and spoke in alow, clear,
silvery voice as follows :

“Arthur Arment, you believe in the
Union; prove your faith by your works.
Have no fear, but do what you know to be
your duty, and happiness awaits you !”

As the figure ceased speaking, it moved
noiselessly to the table, took up the little flag
that lay by the extinguished lamp, kissed it,
and replaced it on the table.

Just then a rustling of the curtain again
attracted Arthur’s attention, and he hastily
turned his eyes in that direction. When he
once more looked around, the phantom had
disappeared, and the room was dark.

“ Very fine!” thought the young gentle-
man, as he closed hiseyes. “ This is simply
a repetition of my previous dream, with
some slight variations. = I wish I had
not awakened quite so soon.”

Being too drowsy to reason any 1 more
upon the matter, he fell asleep, and did not
awake again until the sun was shining in
between the curtains of his window.

 

CHAPTER VII.
A Ring of the True Metal.

Mrs. BENNETT soon made her appear-
ance, with her usual bright smile and cheer-
ful voice, and ‘asked her patient how he
felt. 5

“Much better,” was the answer. “ You
wished. me pleasant dreams, and I have had

_ them. They have done me much good.”

. good,” said the merry little woman.

“A warm breakfast will do you more
“ a
will bring it in to you in a few moments.”

She drew aside one of the window cur-
tains, and raised the window, letting in the
fresh morning ait and the sweet breath of
flowers that were clustered about the blind,
and then smiled her way-out of the room,
leaving a double dose of sunshine behind
her.

When she had gone, Arthur bethought
himself of the diminutive flag that he had
left on the table before extinguishing the
light, the flag that the phantom had kissed
in his dreams. He was,sure that-Mrs. Ben-
nett had not noticed it, or she would have
spoken about it. He did not wish her to
see it, for it seemed, somehow, sacred to him,
and he thought that even her pure and mild
eyes would profane it.

He reached out his hand to get the flag

 

THE LOYAL SPECTER,

a

and replace it in his vest-pocket, when he
was astonished to feel and see a ring resting
upon it. First putting the flag carefully
away, he took the ring and examined it.

Tt was a plain, gold ring, set with a tur-
quoise, on which some characters were en-
graved. He held it to the light, and endea-
vored to decipher them, but was unable to
do so. There was a newspaper lying on the
table, from which he tore a strip of the
white margin, folded it in several thicknesses,
placed it upon the Bible, and pressed the
ring against it until he obtained an impres-
sion. The inscription, in delicate Roman
text, was simply the word :

“Union.”

Hearing Mrs. Bennett at the door, he
hastily slipped the ring on his finger, throw-
ing the paper on the floor.

As she brought in his breakfast; and
placed it on the table, the little woman
noticed that he appeared abstracted and
troubled, and kindly asked him what was
the matter.

“Nothing,” answered Arthur. “I was
only thinking about a singular dream that
I had last night. Mrs. Bennett, have you
lost a ring ?”

“No, sir. I have only my wedding-ring,
which is still on my hand.”

“Have you not left a ring in this room
by mistake—a plain gold ring, with a tur-
quoise set?”

“No, Mr. Arment.
a ring.”

“ Are there any other ladies residing in
the house 2” :

“ No, sir; there isno one here but: my-
self and two negro servants. Why do you
ask ?”

“T thought that I might possibly explain
the dream that I had last night. Dreams
sometimes prove true, you know. I dream-
ed that I had found such a ring on this
table.”

“Law, Mr. Arment, the shock that your

head .received must have troubled your
brain. ' I haye no doubt that you have
dreamed all sorts of queer things. You
must eat your breakfast, and then you will
fell better, and forget these fancies.”
The young gentleman did not neglect
this advice, but made a hearty meal, which
seemed to brace him up. He was silent
and meditative, however, so much so that
Mrs. Bennett was quite anxious about him.
When he had finished, he sat up in the bed,
and addressed her, abruptly :

I have not seen such

 

 
|
|
4

 

I LOVE YOU. » 25

“Mrs, Bennett, was my horse brought
here with me ?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was he hurt by the fall 2”

“He was lamed a little, but Jonas says
that he doesn’t feel it now.”

“Tf you will have the kindness to tell
Jonas to saddle him, I will get up, for I
must go to Atlanta to-day.”

“Oh, Mr. Arment, you must not think
of such a thing! You are too weak to
ride, and, besides, your friends would be
greatly troubled if you should go to At-
lanta, for they said that danger awaited you
there.”

“How do I know. that they were my
friends? I do not eyen know who they
were.” t

“Tf they had not been your friends, they
would not have brought you here.”

“That is true, Mrs. Bennett. They must
have been friends, indeed, to take me to
such a pleasant place. How far is it to
Atlanta ?”

“ About twelve miles.”

_ “T can easily ride that distance. I as-
sure you that I feel quite well and strong.
It is useless to oppose me, for I am deter-
mined ‘to go.”

As Arthur insisted upon getting up, Mrs.
Bennett at last consented that he should do
so, but prevailed upon him not to mount
his horse until he had had his dinner. . Af-
ter he had dressed, she arranged his room,
brought in her sewirg, and did not let him
get’ out of her sight until they were called
to dinner.

As soon as the young gentleman had
finished his dinner, he had his horse brought
to the door, mounted, bade Mrs. Bennett
good-by, with many thanks for her kind-
ness, and rode off down the lane, toward
the Atlanta road.

When ‘he was out of sight of the house,
he took the little flag from his pocket, ex-
amined it, kissed it, and replaced it. He
took the turquoise ring from his finger, held
it up to the light, kissed it, and replaced
that also. He now felt himeelf doubly
bound to the Union, for he carried its flag,
and wore its ring.

Notwithstanding his assurance to Mrs.
Bennett, he was still quite weak and sore
when he left her house, and was unable to
ride fast. Accordingly, he allowed his horse
to walk the greater part of the distance, and
it was near the close of the afternoon when
he arrived at the outskirts of Atlanta.

 

He rode directly to the house that was
occupied by his cousin, called a negro ser-
vant to take charge of his horse, and en-
tered the door without ringing.

He found his cousin Carrie sitting alone
in the parlor. She appeared greatly sur-
prised to see him, for she dropped the book
that she had been reading, and roge in con-
fusion, a deep blush changing the ivory of
her complexion to ruby.

“T hope I hayen’t frightened you, cousin,”
said Arthur. “ You seem to be startled.”

“Not at all,’ answered Carrie, as she
regained her composure. “ You came so
unexpectedly, and you looked so pale and
worn, that I feared you were sick.”

“TJ have had a fall from my horse, and
the shock made me very weak,” answered
Arthur, as he seated himself in an easy-
chair.

“ How did it happen ?”

“Nero was frightened, and he reared up
and fell over with me. But I am nearly
well now, and if you will allow me to rest
here to-night, I will be myself again in the
morning.”

“ Certainly, Arthur, a we will do all
we can for you.”

“ Where is your friend, Mise Clymer? re

“Shehas gone to make a visit.. I am
not sure whether she will return to-night,
or not.”

“Have you seen uncle Madison, lately ?” *

“He was here this morning, in company
with some officers.”

“ H-m-m, it has been a fine day.”

“Very pleasant.”

Arthur Arment had exhausted his battery
of small-talk, or it had been silenced by the
bright eyes of Carrie Chappelle. He looked
at her, and thought that she was won-
drously beautiful, so like the ethereal vision
that had twice visited him in his dreams!
All the love that he had been striving so
hard to repress, and that he had succeeded
so poorly in repressing, gushed up in his
heart at once. He leaned forward, gazed
earnestly at her, as if he would send hig
whole soul out through his eyes, and spoke
in deep and ardent tones:

“ Cousin Carrie, I have something to tell
you ; something that concerns me very near-
ly; something upon which, as it seems to me,
the happiness of my life rests; and yet, I
am afraid to tell it, for I feel certain that it
will not be received as I wish it might, and

that my hopes, if I really have any, will

be dashed to the ground.”

 
 

 

26

. He had bowed his head as he spoke, and
did not perceive the deep blush that suffused
his cousin’s cheeks as she answered:
“What is it, Arthur? I am ready to
listen to any thing you have to say.”
“Carrie,” he said, looking up quickly,
“T love you. I have always loved you. I
loved you when you were a child, and now,
when you are grown up, and have become
a woman, I love you with all the warmth
and strength of my man’s heart. I have
always felt nearer to you than to any other
earthly being, and have believed that you
were and must be my fate. I have always
hoped that you might return my love, and
have thought so—until now—until I saw
you, a few days ago. Carrie, could you
give me any love in return for mine ?”
She had picked up the book she had

dropped, and her head was bent over it, and’

he could not see her eyes, they were so
shaded by the long lashes.

“ Per-haps—I might,” she answered, in a
low and hesitating voice.

“You might! ‘I thank you for the pos-
sibility. It is worth a world to me. What
can I do, Carrie, to gain your love, or,
rather, to. regain it, for I know that it was
once mine? Tell me. I lay myself and
all that I have at your feet. You have only
to command me, to mold me as you please,
to tell me what I shall do, what I shall be.”

“Uncle Madison tells me that you are a
traitor to the South; that you uphold the
Yankee Government; that you are indis-
posed to fight or do any thing to. preserve
the rights of the South. You have your-
self admitted that this is so, and you can
not fail to perceive that there is a barrier
between us. I confess that I might have
loved you; but such feelings must be
crushed, and I will crush them, for I will
not love a man who is false to his country.”

“ What would you have me do, Carrie?
Would you have me act and live a lie?
Would you have me labor for a cause, or
die for a cause, in which my heart could
not be? Would you have me recreant to
my sense of duty and of honor? Would
you have me do what I believe to be wrong,
and’ say what I feel to be untrue ?”

“No, Arthur; I would have) you do
nothing of the kind. I know that it is not
easy for an Arment to lie, and I would not
ask of you an untruth, either spoken or
acted. If your convictions are such as
uncle Madison has said, I suppose you can
not do otherwise than cling to them; but

4

 

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

you must not blame me if I say that they
put a barrier between us; that I can have
no loye—that I must have none—for a man
who is a traitor to his country.”

Arthur Arment bowed his head in his
hands, and was silent. There was a sor-
rowful, compassionate look on the fair coun-
tenance of Carrie Chappelle, and tears stole
out from under her eyelids, but she quickly
wiped them away. ‘ j

“And then, Arthur,”. she continued, in
feeble, timid tones, ‘‘ see what a half-hearted,
useless life you lead. When I embrace a
cause, I do it with my whole soul, and
would die for it; but you would do nothing.
If I believed as you do, I would prove my
faith by my works.” ;

“Just what you said last night!” ex-
claimed the young man, so startled that he
did not know what he was saying..

Carrie rose from her seat,.with an indig-
nant flush upon her cheek, and a haughty
glance at her cousin.

“Arthur Arment! what do you mean?
Have you come here to insult me ?”

“ Pardon me, Carrie, and be seated. I
was speaking of a wonderful dream that
came tome. ‘There is another Carrie Chiap-
pelle, your spirit, your shadow, or your
double—with all the beauty of your face,
with your wondrous eyes, with your grace-
ful figure, with your airy lightness of tread,
with your sweet and musical voice. She
comes to me in my dreams, and blesses me
in my sleep. She appeared to me a few
nights ago, when I slept in this house.
Then she told me to be true to the Union,
and to prove my faith by my works, and
she left me this miniature representation of
our glorious old flag”—taking the cherished
little emblem from his pocket, and holding
it up before her eyes.

“Fam surprised at you, Arthur,” mourn-
fully answered his cousin. “I am sorry
for you. The fall from your horse must:
haye injured your brain, or you have been
pondering this unpleasant subject until you
have become a little delirious.”

“Perhaps I am, Carrie. Perhaps I am.
But that flag is real, thank God! Last night
she appeared to me again, when I was-help-
less by reason of my injury. She. came
with heavenly music, and in a heavenly
light, and again she bade me be true to the
Union, and to prove my faith by my works,
and she left me this ring.”

He held the ring up to the light, and
placed it in her hand.

 

 
» had.

LOVE AGAINST DUTY.

‘

“Tt is a pretty ring,” said Carrie. “ What
is this inscription ?” :

“The word is Union—the Union to which
she téld me to be true. I can love fer,
cousin Carrie. I can love that angel of my
dreams, and‘ can feel that she loves me,
though you may: be cold and distant. I
will be true to her, to the old flag that’ she
loves, to the Union that she venerates ; and,
* God helping me, I will prove my faith by
works. From this hour—”

“ Hark !” interrupted Carrie. “You must
excuse me, Arthur, I hear Laura at the
door.”

CHAPTER VIIL
A Hard Question Decided.

Artuur ARMENT picked up the ring that
his cousin had dropped,-and replaced it’ on
his finger. His impetuosity had subsided,
and he felt sorry that he had spoken as he
He was sorry that he had told Car-
rie of his dreams, of his flag, ‘and of his
ring. Yet he had felt every word that he
had said, and thought that she might as well
knows that he had some cons6' ation besides
mortal love. He endeavored to compose
his countenance, and to put on his holiday
smile ; for, although he was certain that
Carrie would repeat to her friend every
word he had said, yet, the conventionalities
of life demanded that’ the undercurrent of
passion should not appear upon the sur-
face.

As Carrie Chappelle opened the front
door, he heard Laura Clymer’s voice, and
also heard the deep, rich voice of a man,
which so startled him that he nearly
jumped: out of his seat. He did not hear
it again, however, and calmed his. agita-
tion, so that he greeted Laura Clymer with
every politeness when she entered the
room. She was alone, and he asked her
where she had left his cousin.

“She has gone to her room,” was the
reply. “She said that she was not well,
and sent me here to entertain you.”

“Tam very grateful for her kindness I
don’t wish to be inquisitive, Miss Clymer,
but did not a gentleman enter the house
with you ?”

“Yes, sir, A friend accompanied me to
the door, and left me there. He is a rela-
tion.” . 5

“T mentioned the circumstance because
I heard his voice, and it sounded wonder-

| him during the night.

 

27
fully like that of an old friend of mine, so
much so that I was startled. It sounded
like the voice of Seth Staples.”

A slight blush tinged the checks of the
brunette, but she did not show any other
sign of emotion.

“ You have strange fancies, Mr. Arment,
she said. ‘“ Carrie told me that you were
in a very imaginative mood this evening.”

“Perhaps I am; but it seems a strange
coincidence to me, like some others that I
have noticed lately.”

Laura Clymer found it a difficult task to
entertain her visitor, who was very taci-
turn and abstracted, and it was not long
pefore both relapsed into silence, and re-
mained speechless, until the supper-bell
reminded them that their mouths were
made for something else besides talking.

Arthur Arment did not again see his
cousin alone that night, and the presence
of Laura Clymer operated as a bar to any
thing like serious conversation between
them. As they were about retiring, how-
ever, Carrie gave him her hand, and said to
him: : fe

“ Arthur, if you can change your course,
and be as I am, you may tell me so in the
morning. If not, I trust that you will not
again mention the subject which you intro-
duced this evening.”

Arthur bowed in silence. He hoped to
receive a visit that’ night from thé Carrie
Chappelle of his dreams.

He was shown to the same chamber
which he had occupied on the previous
night. He examined it before he laid
ddwn, more carefully than he had on the
former occasion, but he perceived nothing
unusual, nothing suspicious about the walls
or the furniture. He drew a small table
to the bedside, on which he placed his little
flag and some matches. He kissed his;
ring, and Jaid his head on the pillow.

Although his heart was troubled, he had
not long to wait for sleep, for he still was
weak, sore, and very weary. He awoke
at the first dawn of daybreak, with a feel-
ing of bitter disappointment, for his sleep
had been, as far as he. knew, entirely
dreamless. His guardian angel had forgot-
ten or neglected him. She had not visited
He had gained no
clue to the solution of the mystery of the
flag and the ring, and he felt really for-
lorn. /

Then he sighed and trembled as he
thought of the responsibility that rested
  
 

f

 
 
   
  
 

 

‘ fate as regarded his love.
-that Carrie had loved him once, and he be-

   
   
  
   
   
  
   
   
   
 
    
  
   
    
   
  
 
    
  
 
   
   
  
 
 
    
 
   
 

28

upon him that morning, of the necessity of
making a decision that must control his
He was certain

lieved that she loved him still; but he felt
sure that she would, as she had said she
would do, crush out all love fora man who
differed from her on the vital questions of
the rebellion.

His choice was narrowed down, so that
the decision of the question was a simple
one; he was to decide for treason, love, and
Carrie Chappelle, or for loyalty, persecution,
and loneliness. The material and personal
advantages were all on one side, as it
seemed, and it must be confessed that
Arthur Arment hesitated. It was not to be
wondered at, that the young gentleman,
who had been reared in luxury and in the
gratification of every desire, should, hesi-
tate, before throwing away his loye and his
liberty, for an unsubstantial idea of loyalty.
If his vision had again visited him, if the
sweet voice of the Carrie of his dreams had
again counseled and admonished him, he
would have been strengthened to do what
he believed to be his duty ; but he felt very
weak and lonely that morning.

Ashe groaned and writhed in the agony
of his doubt, his eyes fell on the little flag
that lay on his table, and he thought of the
words of the vision: “ Do what you know
to be your duty, and happiness. awaits
you.” He pressed the emblem to his
heart; he kissed the blue stone of his ring ;
he prayed, for a few moments, as he had
not prayed for years; and then he rose
from his bed, with a lighter heart and a re-
newed resolution.

When he went down into the parlor,
Carrie Chappelle was standing by the win-

‘dow. She turned, and advanced to meet

him, as if expecting him to speak. His
heart almost failed him, as he gazed upon
her beauty, and thought how vainly he was
throwing away such a treasure; but he
smiled sadly as he spoke :

“T have decided, cousin, to do what I
know to be my duty. I believe. in the
Union, and hope to prove my faith by my
works.”

“You know the consequence,” was the
calm reply.

“T do, to my, sorrow, and I shall en-
deavor to be obedient to your wishes.”

Arthur thought that he perceived a smile
of triumph in the countenance of the fair
girl, as she turned and looked out of the

 

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

window again. If there was such a smile,
it passed away as rapidly as the shadow
cast by a flying cloud, and she said noth-
ing. :

It was a dull day for Arthur. Nothing
more was said about love, and political
questions were interdicted by common con-
sent, It was a grieyous thing, to be near
the object of his love, to drink in her
beauty with thirsty eyes, to listen to the
music of her voice, and yet be. unable to
say a word to her of the passion that was
burning his heart; but he felt of his flag,
he looked at his ring, he thought of his
bright visions of the night, and he tried to
bear it manfully. s

As the shadows of evening closed in, he
grew weary of his task. The restraint had
become intolerable to him, and he deter-
mined to take a walk, hoping to drive away
his oppressive melancholy. Accordingly,
he took his hat, and sallied out into the
street, saying that he would soon return.

He did not wish to go into the thickly
inhabited or business part of town, fearing
that he might be recognized and arrested,
a contingency that would be, to say the
least, unplearant. Therefore, he walked
toward the Fair Ground, and then went in a
north-easterly direction, until he was near
one of the inner lines of intrenchment.
There were no soldiers on duty at that part
of the works, and he continued his course
in an easterly direction, intending: to visit
the country by moonlight, when’ he saw a
female figure walking in a cross street,
short distance ahead of him.

As he casually glanced at the figure, it
struck him that it was that of Carrie Chap-
pelle. He looked more closely, and be-
came satisfied. The form, the uir,: the
gait, were certainly those of his cousin; but
what, in the name of wonder and of maid-
enly delicacy, could she be doing in that
suburb, at that time of night ?

The young gentleman changed ~his
course, and followed her, «at a little dis-
tance. Soon she came to a neighborhood
where the houses were few and small, and
where the ground was rough and broken.
She stopped near a house, close to which
ran a line of intrenchments, and a mian
came out from the shadow of the wall,
with whom she entered into a conyersa-
tion.

Drawing his slouched hat over his face,
Arthur walked rapidly on, until he had
passed them, He could not distinguish

 

  
nent

©
? THE GUARD-HOUSE. «

the features of the man, but he was sure-

‘that the woman was his cousin Carrie.
As he passed them, he heard the words,
“love,” and “ our union.” ;

Arthur thought that he had gained a
new light. “It is no wonder,’ he mutter-
ed, that “she can cast me off so easily and

. $0 coolly, when she already has a lover,

and can go so far as to meet him at night,
and speak openly of their love and their
union. But I do not understand how it is
possible for a Chappelle, with the blood of
the Arments in her veins, to descend to
such a meeting as this, and in such a
neighborhood. I will watch to see where
she goes, and will follow her, to upbraid
her for such unmaidenly con@tuct.”

Carrie’s conversation was’ soon con-
cluded. The man disappeared behind the
house, and she turned, and walked rapidly
toward the settled part of the city. As
this was not the direction that Arthur had
expected her to take, he was obliged to
quicken his steps. He soon caught sight
of her, but only to lose it again, for she
vanished at the corner of a street. He
changed his pace to a run, and again had
a glimpse of her, after passing several
blocks, as she was crossing a street.

He was now more than ever anxious to
see and speak with her, and hastened his
steps, thinking that he would soon over-
take her. But, to his surprise and dismay,
his: path was blocked by a Confederate
soldier, who presented his bayonet, and de-
manded his pass.

“ What do you mean ?” angrily demand-
ed Arthur.

“Your pass—you must show me your.

pass.”

“T have nothing of the kind. Out.of
my way, for I am in a hurry.”

“Tf you have no pass, you must go with
me.”

“Out of my way, you scoundrel! I
will not be stopped !”

Suddenly rushing upon the soldier, the
young gentleman seized him by the collar,
and flung him, musket and all, into the
street. Then he ran on after the flitting
female figure.’

He had not gone far, when he was stop-
ped by two soldiers, who blocked his way

‘as the first had done, and demanded his

‘pass. Greatly to his disgust, he was obliged
to halt and parley with them, and while he
was thus detained, the soldier whom he
had discomfited came up and explained

 

29

the manner in which he had been treated,
and Arthur Arment was informed that he
was a prisoner.

Remonstrance was useless, resistance
would have been in vain, and the young
gentleman was reluctantly compelled to
march off with his captors to a guard-
house, where he was thrust into a cell, and
was told that his case would be attended to
in the morning. .

The cell was dirty and unpleasant, and
he was a prisoner, wlth the prospect, of a

‘long confinement when his name should

become known; but that was not what
troubled him. He was thinking of his
cousin. He was deeply pained to: know
that that pure and beautiful girl, as he had
always considered her, could descend so
low as to hold a clandestine meeting, at
night, in an unfrequented part of the town.
He thought’ that she must have an over-
powering love for the man she had met.
He was certain that she did léve him, for
he had heard them speak of their love and
their union. He regretted that he had been
apprehended, when he could have over-
taken her so soon after the occurrence, and
he registered a vow that he would go to her
as soon as he got out of prison (if he should
get out,) would tell her that he had witness-
ed her unladylike conduct, would bitterly
bid her farewell, and would then do some-
thing—he knew not what—for the cause
of the Union. If he should lose his useless
life, it would not matter.

Having formed this righteous resolve, he
laid down on the floor of his cell, and tried
to sleep.

CHAPTER IX.
Unseen Spirits.

Arriur. ARMENT, as may be supposed,
passed a very unpleasant night. He was
still quite sore, from the effects of his acci-
dent. And the pains were not at all di-
minished by the rough boards on which he
had been obliged to sleep. He rose from
his uneasy couch in the morning, feeling
very sulky and obstinate, a fit subject for
the tender mercies of a military despot.

He had been told that his case should be
attended to in the morning, and he paced
his cell impatiently, waiting for his time to
come. It was not until ten o’clock, how-
ever, that a guard arrived to carry him to
the office of the Proyost-Marshal. He had

,
  

30

no desire to appear before that official in
his unwashed -and unkempt condition, and
bribed the guard to allow him to stop at a
barber’s shop, and attend to his outward
appearance. When he came out of the
shop, he again looked and felt like a gen-
tleman, and was ready to meet a Provost-
Marshal or any other officer.

When he reached the office, his case was
immediately investigated. Charges were
preferred against him by the soldiers who
had arrested him, to the effect that he had
been found out at night without a pass,
and had forcibly resisted the guard who
attempted to stop him.

“ Have you-a pass?” asked the Marshal.

“T have not. - did not know that a
pass was necessary.”

“ What is your name, and where do you
live ?” ;

“ Arthur Arment, of Oak Grove, Fayette
county, Georgia.”

“Ah, Mr. Arment, I have heard of you,
and judge, from what I have heard, that
you are not a proper person to be roaming
the city at night without a pass.
for your arrest left this office ; you were ar-
rested under it; while you ‘were being
brought to the city, you were rescued from
your guard by a band of traitors. Isit not so?”

“You say that it is.”

The officer wrote.a few words on a scrap
of paper.

“Orderly, take this gentleman up-stairs
to Colonel Marbury, and give the colonel
this note.”

Arthur was accordingly conducted up-
stairs to a small room, where an officer in
the uniform of a colonel was seated at the
head of a long table, around which were
grouped several other men in uniforms.

Colonel Marbury read the scrap of paper,
and looked up at the prisoner with a strange
expression.

“Tam glad to see you, Mr. Arment,”
he said. “ Perhaps you will be able and
willing to explain some circumstances that
have puzzled me. Be seated, sir and tell
me what you were doing in Atlanta when
you were arrested.”

“By what right do you question me?”
was Arthur's calm reply, as he took a seat.

“By the authority of the Confederate
States of America. Do you not recognize
that authority ?”

“T recognize the right of force, when I
am unable’ to resist it. I suppose that is
sufficient.”

An order:

¢

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

The colonel whispered to an officer near
him, who rose and left the room, and then
heragain addressed the prisoner.

“Mr. Arment, after you had been arrest-
ed at your house, and while you were on
your way to Atlanta, you were rescued from
your guards. Who were the men who
effected that rescue ?”

“I know nothing about that. I suppose
there was a-rescue, as I saw nothing more
of'the guards, but, when you ask me how
it was done, or by whom, i must plead ig-
norance.”

“Why is that, sir ?”

“Simply because I was thrown from my
horse, and was so badly injured that I had
no consciousness of what happened.” a

“Have you recovered from your injuries?”

“T have not. <A night spent on the floor
of your guard-house is not a panacea for
bruised limbs.”

“You shall not be treated so again, Mr.
Arment. Where were you taken after your
accident?” __

“That is none of your business, sir.” “

“ You are hardly polite, Mr. Arment. -I
am afraid you have imbibed so many Yan-
kee ideas, that you have learned their man-
ners. You may be obstinate, sir, if you
choose, but it will avail nothing, for we are
on the track of those scoundrels, and I have
no doubt we will catch thein. It is beliey-
ed that they were led by a Yankee spy,
who has been in this neighborhood for a
long time, and vie we have vainly tried
to lay hands upon.”

“T know nothing of any such man,” said
Arthur.

“You have been represented as an
enemy to the Confederate government. Is
that charge true, Mr. Arment ?”

“ Thave never done anything to oppose it.”

“Are not your sentiments in hostility to
those of the Confederate government ?” .

“You have no concern with my Senti-
ments. You can not arrest an idea.”

“We can arrest the man, however, and
keep the ideas from spreading. I think we
understand each other, sir. What were
you doing in the city last night, when you
were arrested ?”

“That is none of your business, and I
refuse to answer.”

After some further questioning, which
elicited nothing more from Arthur, except
a.declaration of his Union sentiments, the
officer who had left the room returned, and
whispered to Colonel Marbury.

'

 

|

3

 

{

   
   
   
  
   
pins snes

RAP! RAP! RAP! 81

“We can not release you, Mr. Arment,”
said the colonel, “ until we get some more
light on this subject. I wish your ‘uncle,
Mr. Madison Arment, to be present at your

examination, but he is occupied, to-day,

with very important business. You will
be placed in confinement, and will be
brought here again to-morrow morning.”
Golonel Marbury handed a written order
to an officer, who requested Arthur to ac-
company him, and the young gentleman
was conducted down stairs and to prison,

under guards.

The prisoner was not taken’ to the local
guard-house, in which he had passed such
an unpleasant night, but to the city prison,
where he was assigned a cell that was spa-
cious, clean, and reasonably comfortable.
He was allowed to purchase such a dinner
as he could eat, and soon felt in a better
humor with himself and the rest of the
world. It was a source of satisfaction to
him to feel that he had once performed his
duty, and he resolved to do better there-
after, if the opportunity should be afforded
him. He even began to doubt whether he
should administer to his cousin the lecture
that he had promised her, when he could
regain his liberty, but he was inclined to
think that the reputation of the Arments
demanded that such an occurrence should
not pass without reproof.

He sent out for cigars and a paper. He
lit a cigar, and read in the paper that the
forces of the Union were gradually and
surely encircling Atlanta, hemming in the
army of Hood, and cutting off his communi-
cations; that the Federal right, under
Howard, rested on the Macon road, and
that their left occupied Decatur.

“They must soon evacuate, or fight,”
thought Arthur, as he puffed his cigar with
an air of satisfaction. “I wish I could get
out of this place before either event hap-
pens, for I have no inclination to be carried
about the country with a retreating army.”

When he had finished the paper, and
had grown tired of smoking, he began to
feel his restraint, to be restless and weary,
and to long for some occupation. He took
his little flag from his pocket, and regarded
it reverently. He touched his lips with the
blue stone of his ring, and wished that he
was free,

As he kissed the ring, he heard a rapping
as if in response to his wish. It was not
at the door, but sounded as if it came from
the wall ofhis room. It was alight, quick,

 

irregular tapping, like the clicking of a
telegraphic instrument, and reminded him
of the raps that he and Seth Staples had
heard, or had imagined they heard, when
they investigated the supposed science of
spiritualism.

“ What the deuce is that ?” he muttered,
as he threw away his cigar.

The raps continued, and grew louder
and faster. . \

“There is some jugglery about this,’ he
thought, “ or some friend is near, who takes
this way of making himself known. I will
try him, and learn whether there is any
meaning in the noises.”

There was a light tahle in the room,
which he drew near to that part of the wall
from which the sounds seemed to proceed,

sat-down by it, placed his hands on the top ~ »

of the table, and asked, with a half-smile:

“ Are there any spirits present 7.

An affirmative rap.

“Do they wish to communicate ?”

Rap.

“Shall I use the alphabet ?”

Rap.

Arthur commenced calling over the al-
phabet in a low tone, but was interrupted
by a number of quick, sharp, irregular raps.

“What does that mean?” he muttered.
“Perhaps I am not loud enough.”

He commenced to call over the alphabet
in a louder tone, but was again interrupted,
by quicker and sharper raps.

“Louder yet? Well, my friend shall be
satisfied, whether it is a spirit or a mortal.”

He drew his chair nearerto the wall, and
raised his voice as much as he dared to, as
he called over the alphabet. When he
reached the letter T, there was a rap from
the wall, and he wrote that letter on the
margin of his newspaper.

It was slow and tedious work, but his
curiosity excited him to persevere, and,
when the communication appeared to be
finished, he put the letters together, and
spelled out the following sentences:

“To-night, at seven, guards will change.
At eight, find your door unlocked. Take
leave of the prisoner as you walk out.”

“Really,” ejaculated the young gentle-
man, “this is important, if true, and I am
greatly obliged to my unseen friend, Will
you tell me who you are ?”

An affirmative rap.

Arthur called over the alphabet as before,

and the letters that were indicated, when
he put them together, read as follows:
 

 

 
 

“ A friend of the blue stone.”

“T am satisfied,” he mused, as he leaned
back and lighted a cigar. ‘That token is
sufficient. But how, in the name of won-
der, did my friend of the wall know any
thing about my mysterious ring and its
azure stone? He must certainly bea spirit,
and connected with the fair vision that has
visited me in my dreams. A friend of the
blue stone ought to have more than ordinary
means of knowledge, and I will do as he
directs. At all events, it is very easy to
make the experiment, and there can be no
harm in it.”

As there were no more raps, he tore off
the margin of the paper on which: he had
written, and destroyed it. He then placidly
puffed his cigar, and waited as patiently as
he could for the appointed time.

He sent out for his supper at an early
hour, so that he might have good inward
preparation for an adventure, and then
smoked a cigar until seven o’clock. When
that hour arrived, he heard a tramping and
a talking below, from which he concluded
that the guards, in and around the prison,
were being changed. His rapping friend
had spoken the truth, thus far, and Arthur
felt that his communication could be relied
upon.

‘As soon as his watch told him that it
was cight o’clock, he stepped to the door,
tried, it, and perceived that it was not locked.
He stepped out into the hall, saw that no
one was in sight, and said, as if speaking to
some one Within the room:

“ Good-night, sir. I will come again in
the morning. I will call on your friends
to-night, and see if any thing can be done to
effect your release.”

He closed the door, and took the pre-
caution to lock it and put the key in his
pocket. The door of his cell was near the
head of the stairs, and the young gentleman
walked directly down, and out of the door,
humming a tune as he went.

“Been to see a prisoner, sir?” asked a
soldier who was on guard at the entrance
of the prison.

“Yes, Poor fellow, he takes it very
hard, but I think he will be released to-
morrow.”

So saying, the young gentleman stepped
into the street, humming a merry tune, and
rejoicing in his freedom. As he had nearly
a mile to go, to reach the house in which
his cousin was located, he turned into a
side street, to avoid observation, and walked

 

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

rapidly. ‘He was following his fate, as he
thought, and he did not consider it worth
while to attempt to escape from the city.

A brisk walk soon brought him to the
house, and he lightly mounted the steps,
with an unwonted feeling of freedom and
satisfaction. Fortunately for him, as he
thought, the door was not locked, and he
noiselessly entered the house. He was, in-
deed, following his fate, and he could know
nothing of the important experience that
awaited him within those walls.

 

°
CHAPTER X.
Why Tarriest Thou Here?

As soon as Arthur entered the house,
he closed the door behind him, and stepped
softly into the parlor. He had hoped to
surprise his cousin, but he surprised no one,
for the room was empty. He looked
around for a few moments, and was about
to call a servant, when he heard a voice
that made him pause and start. ,

Adjoining the parlor in which he then
was, was a room that had lately been used
by Mr. Madison Arment, as a sort of library
or reception room. It was known as his

private room, and, as such, was respected by

the household. A door opened into it from
the parlor and another from the main hall.
The door toward the parlor was always kept
locked, and Madison Arment carried the
key, a precaution that resulted in leaving
the keyhole open.

It was from the private. room that the
voice proceeded by which Arthur had been
startled. It was the voice of his uncle,
raised somewhat above its ordinary tones.
The young man heard such words as “Gen-
eral,” “dispatch from Richmond,” “ imme-* —
diate attack,” and these had strongly attract-
ed his attention, He had previously heard
his uncle say that the house had been hon-
ored'by the presence of prominent Southern
Generals, and he felt convinced. that some
important questions, connected with the
army of General Hood and the condition of
Atlanta, were then being. discussed in the
private room of Madison Arment. ;

Our hero immediately perfornied the un-
dignified and unheroic act of bending down
and looking in through the keyhole. He
saw his uncle seated at a table, with a rather
young-looking officer, whom he recognized,
from the descriptions that he had heard, and —

  

 
q

 

event, you wil

THE KEYHOLE.

from the wooden leg that he was caressing,
as General Hood. A map lay on the table
between them, on which the General was
pointing with a pencil.

As Arthur listened, he thought that he
was justified, as a Union man, in doing so,
for the conversation was highly important
and intensely interesting... The purport of
it was, that the General had received ex~
plicit orders from Richmond to attack the
Federals, and endeayor to beat them, before
giving up Atlanta. His plans had been laid
accordingly, and his troops were being mass-
ed against the Federal left, for the purpose
of making an attack in force, the next day,
or the day after the next. The number of
men that could be brought to bear upon a
given point, and the number of the enemy
that would probabiy be opposed to them,
were carefully estimated, and the chances
of success were fully discussed.

“Tf we should fail,” said the General,
pointing to the™map, “there is only this
route of retreat left us. If we should be

compelled to retreat, it will be your duty,

Mr. Arment, and that of other influential
men in the State, to ae the people, to
hurry forward recruits, to bring out the mi-
litia, and to aid us by procuring supplies and
transportation. You must feel that this is
the crisis in the fate of Georgia, for, if Sher-
man gets possession of Atlanta, he will only
use it as a new base of operations for a de-
yastating march through the State, or he
may cut loose ei it altogether. In either

beat his mercy, unless my
army is largely retnforced.”

“Tt hardly seems to me that failure can
be possible,” said Madison Arment. “The
enemy must have greatly weakened his line,
in lengthening it as he has lately done, and
there must be a weak place somewhere.
You may rely upon me, however, General,
to do all that I can, and to induce others to
follow my example. My own influence is
considerable, and I wield, through the man-
agement of the extensive estates of my
nephew and my niece, a large property in-
fluence, which will be used to the best of

my ability, for the benefit of the Confede-
racy.”

“Are your relatives true to the cause, or
are they indifferent ?”

“ Concerning my niece, I can . speak with
confidence. , She is a true Southerner, and
has often declared herself willitg to devote
her all, and her life, if necessary, to the
good cause, I can not say so much for my

 

83

nephew, for he is sadly tinctured with Union
ideas. He has never objected to my making
such use of his estate and servants as: I
thought proper, but I know that he is a
Union man at heart, and he is so obstinate
that he can neither be frightened nor coax-
ed. At present, however, he is under lock
and key, and is not in a position to do any
harm. If you should be compelled to re-
treat, General, I hope that you will take
him with you as a prisoner, for he has been
quite unruly of late, and I am afraid that he
might do us much damage.”

“ Thank you, uncle,” thought Arthur. “T
am now aware to whose kindness I was in-
debted for my arrest, and shall know how
to appreciate your solicitude for my interest.
General Hood need give himself no trouble
about me, for I do not. care. to make the
journey. I have no desire to be flanked
through the State of Georgia by General
Sherman.”

He had heard all that he wished to. He
had heard enough to excite him greatly, and
he left tlie keyhole. He thought that the
news he had heard would be of great value
in the Union army, if it could be received
there. “He thought that he had then a splen-
did opportunity to prove his faith by his
works, and carry the information to ‘the
Union lines, if he only knew how and
where to go. But he had so long been a
recluse, that he knew little of the situation
of affairs, and had none of the resources and
expedients that so quickly come to those
who are called upon to play parts in the
great drama of war. Besides, he was weary,
his sleep of the night before having tired
him more than it had rested him. After a
little perplexing thought, he concluded that
he would steal up-stairs and quietly go to
bed, refresh himself with a good sleep, and
consider, in the morning, what was best to
be done. :

He left the parlor, and found a negro ser-
vant in the hall, who brought him a lamp
and some matches, with which he went up
stairs. As he did so, he thought thdt he
saw the flutter of a muslin dress in the hall,
near the door of his uncle’s private room;
but he was not certain, and took no further
notice of it, especially as he did not then
wish to be observed. He directed the ser-

vant to say nothing to Mr. Arment about his
being in the house, and entered the cham-
ber in which he had first been favored with
his wonderful vision.

Before Arthur laid down, he again drew

 
   

 

the light table to his bedside, placed his lamp
upon it, and laid some matches and his little
flag by its side. He then undressed, ex-
tinguished his light, and committed himself
to asoft and pleasant bed. As he laid his
head on the pillow, his conscience reproach-
ed him with having neglected a golden op-
portunity of doing his duty and proving his
faith by his works. He felt that such an
opportunity might never occur again, and
that he would have reason to regret having
suffered the chance to pass unimproved ; but
he was weary and still sore, the downy bed
was very enticing, he was ignorant of the
best way to do that which he knew ought to
be done, and he hoped that new strength and
greater energy would come to him in the
morning. ‘Thus he silenced the voice of
conscience, and fell asleep.

It was not long before he was ‘awakened,
as he had been once before in that room, by
the sound of music; but this time it was onl
the soft tinkling of a guitar that saluted his
dreamy senses. He listened with pleasure,
as he lay there luif asleep, until the guitar
tinkled out a merrier and more martial mea-
sure, and two sweet voices sung the air of
“Red, White and Blue.” The singing was
soft and low, but the well-remembered strains
awoke the dormant patriotism in the heart
of Arthur Arment, ‘and made him keenly
sensitive of the duty that he had left unper-
formed. But he crushed down his feelings
of regret, and gave himself up entirely to the
delicious sensations awakened by the illu-
sion.

“IT was sure,” he thought, “that my bright
and gentle guardian would not desert me
forever.. She will visit me again to-night,
for tlie music heralds her approach. Thank
God that happiness can come to me in
dreams, though it is far from my waking
hours! I wonder what new development
there is to be—whether I'am to receive an-
other token, besides the flag and the ring.”

He was soon answered, for a soft, mellow
and misty light was diffused through the
room, enabling him to see, though indistinct-
ly, the outlines of a female form, robed in
white. It was the same that had already
visited him, twice, and he felt a thrill of un-
told happiness, as he gazed upon it, and re-
cognized the fair face, the braided “brown
hair, and the wondrous eyes of his cousin
Carrie. This was not the Carrie who had
forgotten the past, who had repelled his suit
because he could not become a convert to

the heresy of secession, and who met her,

lover in such an unmaidenly manner in the
night-time ; but it was the pure, gentle, lov-

ing and patriotic angel of his dreams, who |

rr ehgcgy appeared to counsel and bless
aa. 5

His thrill of happiness increased to an
ecstasy, as the figure raised its hand, and ad-
dressed him in those musical tones that he
had longed to hear:

“ Arthur Arment, you believe in the Union,
but you do not prove your faith by your
works. You are true to the old flag, but you
do nothing to show your deyotion. Your

 

THE LOYAL, SPECTER. : 5

conscience accuses you, and your heart can
not commend you.’ .

The words were reproachful, and the coun-
tenance of the figure seemed sorrowful.
Arthur felt the truth of the accusation, and
was pained by it.

“ It is true, beautiful vision,” he said, scarce-
ly able to raise his yoice above a whisper ;
“but what can I do to prove my faith and to
show my devotion? Tell me, and I will obey
your counsel, if it leads to death. I have
your tokens, the flag and ring, and cherish
them above all my possessions. Tell me how
I shall act, and nothing that you bid me do
shall be left undone.”

“You have learned,” answered the figure,
“that which would be of great value to the
cause you profess to love. Make known
what you have learned to the soldiers of the
Union. Carry to them the message that is
on your flag. Go to the small brown house
that stands alone by the fair ground, and you
will meet a man to whom your ring will be
atoken. He will direct you further.” ¢

The figure moved 1o'the table, as lightly
as if floating in air, took up the difinutive
flag, kissed it, and replaced it on the table.
As it did so, the light died away, the guitar
which had been playing a pleasant interlude
ceased its tinkling, and the figure vanished
as if: it had melted into the darkness,

“Tt is strange,” thought Arthur, “that I
always awake as soon as that figure disap-
pears and the dream is over. Perhaps,
though, I may have dreamed it hours ago ;
yet, it seems as clear and fresh to my memory
as if ithad beenactual. 1 believe I will light
my lamp, and try to discover whether I am
really awake now.”

Striking a match, he lighted the lamp, and,
as he turned up the wick, he perceived a pa-
per lying on hisflag. He hastily opened and
examined it. It was a small scrap of very
fine, light paper, almost like tissue paper, on
which were scrawled, as if by a very delicate
hand, and with a very delicate pen, some
cabalistic characters that he could not pre-
tend to understand. He held the “fairy
paper” in his hand, and gazed at it intently,
as if expecting it to melt away beneath his
touch. Then the words of his vision struck
him suddenly, thrilling him like an electric
shock.

“She told me,” he thought, “to carry to
the Union lines the message that was on my
flag. This is the message, and there must
be a meaning attached to it. She told ‘me
that I would meet aman who would give
me directions, at the little brown housé by
the fair ground. Ah!”

Arthur Arment had good reason to know
that little brown house, for it was there that
Carrie Chappelle had met the man the night
before, when he had followed her.

“There .must be reality in this!” he ex-
claimed. “I am surely awake now, and
this paper that I hold in my hand is a tangi-
ble and substantial thing. Perhaps. my
visions may have been something more than
dreams. At all events, there has always

been left with me some actual and abiding

 

 

 
 

CROSSING THE LINES. — 35,

token. But it is idle to reason about it now,
for I haye no time to lose. I have a duty to
erform, and must neglect it no longer.
ow, if ever, is the time to prove my faith
by my works, I will obey the directions. of

the vision, whatever may be the conse- |

quences. If this paper does not melt in my
hands, it shall be delivered at its destination.
Whether it is real or not, I will go, and will
be thankful that I have been aroused to a
sense of my duty.”

Without any more reflection, the young
gentleman rose, hastily dressed himself,
placed the little flag and the scarf of paper
in his vest pocket, quietly descended the

’ stairs, opened the front door, softly closed

the spring-lock behind him, and sallied out
into the darkness.

The resolution and energy that he had
hoped would come.to him in the morning,
now filled his ‘breast, and he felt as no one
can feel who is not inspired by a good and
holy purpose. «

CHAPTER XI.
Running the Gantlet.

Tub night was cloudy and quite dark,jand
the young gentleman had walked but a short
distance, when the rain commenced to pat-
ter among the leaves of the trees and on the
sandy path. The patter soon increased to a
pow, and Arthur Arment was then con-
vinced that he was awake, for the rain was
avery damp reality. Being thus satisfied
that he was in the full possession of his
senses, he felt in his pocket for his “fairy
paper ” It was still there, and he went

oldly on, unheeding the drenching rain, the
loud peals of thunder, and the vivid flashes
of lightning. He had a purpose in his heart;
he had a duty to perform; he was about to
prove his faith by his works; and he felt
that he deserved to undergo a penance for
his previous shortcomings.

Buttoning his coat, and shielding his face
from the driving rain with his. large
slouched hat, he walked on rapidly until he
reached the small brown house near the
fair ground. He was not mistaken — it
was the same house at which Carrie Chap-

elle had stopped, when he had followed
1er, the night before.

He looked around, but saw no one.
Then he gave a low whistle, and a man
stepped out from the shadow of the house,
and stood before him. The stranger “was
dressed in a gray uniform, over which: was

‘thrown a dark overcoat, and his face was

shaded by a slouched hat. Arthur thought
that he recognized the soldier with the
heavy beard, who had given him the note
when he was arrested at Oak Grove, but he
felt, that it was no time for questions and
explanations.

“Who are you?” asked the man.

Arthur thought of the words of the vision
—‘ You will meet a man toswhom your
ring will be a token,” and he held up the

 

foper that wore the precious circlet. Ashe
did so, the darkness was lighted up by an
unusually brilliant flash of lightning, and the
blue stone in the ring seemed to shine with
an unearthly luster.

“That is sufficient,” said the man. “ What
do you want ?” 4

“T wish to be directed to the Union
lines.”

“Come with me.”

Feeling again in his pocket, to be sure
that his piece of paper was safe,g\rthur fol-
lowed his guide silently, through the thick
darkness and the drenching rain, until they
reached “a line of rifle-pits, a rough breast-
work of earth, thrown up from the inside,
with a deep ditch on the outside. Here
they stopped, and the stranger pointed
through the: obscurity, across the broken
ground, at a little point of light that was
just visible in the distance.

“Do you see that camp-fire yonder?” he
said. ;

“T believe I do.”

“That speck of light, I mean. Keep your
eyes on it, and be careful not to lose sight of
it, for that is the Union picket line. Thereis
another Jine of rifle-pits between us and that
light, but I don’t know whether it is guarded
to-night or not. You must proceed carefully -
when you reach it, and you may have to take
your chance and trust to your legs. If you
reach the pickets, ask to be: taken to the Gen-
eralincommand. The word is love and union,
and that will carry you through. Good-night,
and good luck to you!” ;

So saying, the stranger started back, leaving
Arthur alone in the darkness. The young

entleman slipped over the breastwork, where

e waited until a flash of lightning gave him
a plain view of the ditch, and then floundered
through the mud to the other side. He
moved on as fast as he could, considering the
darkness and the rough ground; but he had
not gone far, before he was startled by a sharp
oy of “ Halt !”

nstead of halting, he fixed his eye on the
distant light, and ran toward it. Another
order to halt increased his speed, when. his
running was brought to a sudden termination
by a stumble and a fall, which precipitated
him into a shallow gully. It wasa fortunate
accident for our hero, for a volley was fired
from the Confederate lines as he fell, and he
heard the bullets whistle over his head.

Deeming an humble attitude the safest, he
crawled along the ground, sheltering himself
by its inequalities, until he reached the other
line of rifle-pits that his guide had mentioned.
The rebels had probably thought that their
volley had killed him, and had made no
pursuit,

As Arthur climbed over the breastwork,
his form was plainly revealed by a flash of
lightning, and he was saluted by several
dropping shots, He felt a sharp twinge in
his left arm, clapped his hand upon the spot,
withdrew it covered with warm blood, and
knew that he had been shot.

‘He slipped down under cover of the breast.
work, wrapped a handkerchief around his

a

a

Bekins o

i

 
  

~

|

 

F

 

  

» 36

arm, above the wound, and tied it as tightly
as he could with his left hand and his teeth.
Then he started ahead again, sg his way
over the broken ground, toward the light that
had been his beacon. He now thought him-
self nearly. out of range, he was partially pro-
tected by the embankment in his rear, the
Union fire loomed up larger and brighter,
and he felt secure.

* While “he had been working his way
through the darkness, and even while he was
running the gantlet of the rebel rifles, his
mind was busy, pondering and wondering
about his strange experiences. He wondered
whether there was not more reality than fancy
in his dream—whether his guide that night
was the same Confederate soldier who had
communicated with him at the time of his
first arrest—how he knew about the flag in
his pocket and the ring on his finger—what
motive Carrie Chappelle could have had in
meeting that man at night andin such a
lonely place, and how it happened that the
words of his dream, if'it was a dream, had so
strangely proved true to the letter.

The more he pondered and wondered, the
more he was puzzled, and the more inexpli-
cable the whole affair appeared. His reflec-
tions were suddenly terminated by a hail in
front, of “ Halt! ho goes there ?”

“ A friend.”

“ Advance friend and give the countersign.”

Arthur advanced, and as he had no coun-
tersign, he surrendered himself to the picket.
An officer was called, who inquired his
business.

“TJ wish to see the General in command.”

“Have you business with him ?”

“Yes, I have important information,
which J can give to no one but himself.”

“How shall I know that you are to be
trusted !” .

“The word is Love and Union.”

“That is sufficient. Follow me, and I will
take you to head-quarters immediately.”

The young gentleman followed his guide,
past rough lines of breastworks, through rows
of white tents, and among camp-fires that
were smoldering on the wet ground, until
they reached a tent in front of which a large
flag drooped from a pole. As they entered
this tent, he perceived a weather-beaten of-
ficer, with gray streaks in his hair, sleeping
on a pallet, an orderly standing by the open-
ing of the tent, and an aid writing on a
rough table. Arthur’s companion whispered
to the aid, who awoke the sleeping officer.

“A gentleman from Atlanta, General, who
has just entered our lines, with important
information.”

“Who ishe? What is it?”

Arthur answered by handing him his scrap
of “ fairy paper.”

“ Ffere, Captain Adams,” said the General,
when he had glanced at it, “‘ you have the

‘key to this cypher. Translate this document
for me.” %

The aid took the paper/pored over it a few
eee: referring to a memorandum, and
said ; . i

“Tt is from a trusty friend, and informs us

 

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

I

that the bearer is entirely reliable, and can ~
give us important information.”

“ Qlad to hear it,” said the General. “Be
seated, sir. It must, indeed, be important
information that could tempt you out, on such
a dangerous errand, in such a stormy night.
What is your name ?”

“ Arthur Arment.”

The aid looked up, rose from his chair, and
extended his hand to the young gentleman,

“ Arthur Arment! Tam ain to meet you.
I have not seen you for years. Have you
Ps me?”

rthur recognized, in the bronzed counte-
nance of the speaker, a former classmate at
college, and heartily grasped his hand.

“T have not forgotten you, Adams, and
am rejoiced to see you. We meet under
strange circumstances.” ,

“Isit possible that you, Arment, with your
large.estate and your numerous negroes, are
not upholding the rebellion?”

“Tt is even so, Adams; but I am ashamed
to say that I have done nothing for the good
cause until to-night.”

“T hope you haye not come to ask protec-
tion for your slaves,” said the General. “We
do not interfere with the negroes, but it is
our policy to allow them to act as they please,
andrthe rule can not be departed from.”

“T have come for no such purpose, sir, but
to bring important information, and the
sooner you know it the better.”

“You are wounded, Mr. Arment. You seem
faint. Your wound must be attended to.”

“Yes, sir; I was struck in the arm while
passing over to your lines, but it is only a
flesh wound. Let me do my errand, and
then, if you please, I will have it dressed.” |

“‘T have some excellent brandy here. Drink
some, and it will revive you.”

Arthur tasted the brandy, which seemed
to give him strength, and proceeded to re-
late the substance of the conversation that
he had heard at the keyhole of Madison
Arment’s private room.

The stern features of the General relaxed
into a smile of satisfaction as he listened,
and he thanked the young gentleman very
cordially. ,

“This is really important and valuable
information,” he said “You have done
the cause of the Union a great’ service to-
night, sir. We have been expecting such
a movement, however, and they will find
us prepared. Captain Adams, you had
better take your friend to the surgeon and
have his arm dressed. He is wet through,
and the consequences may’ be unpleasant.
Try another glass of brandy, Mr. Arment.”

Arthur swallowed the prescription, and
left the tent with his uew-found friend. A
surgeon was soon found, who dressed the
wounded arm, and the young gentleman
accepted the hospitality of Captain Adams,
who provided him with dry clothing and a
comfortable bed.

In the morning, with his arm in a sling,
he walked around among the camps with
his friend, and was surprised to observe the
numbers, efficiency and spirit of the Union

 

 

 
 

 

 

SOLILOQUY. Sv

army. His eyes were gladdened by the
sight of the old flag, and his ears by the
well-remembered national airs that he had
not heard for years, except in his nightly
visions.

The expected attack was not made until
the next day, and resulted in a bloody re-
pulse: Arthur watched the rebel masses
dashed again and again. upon the steady
Union lines, with the courage of desperation,
only to be hurled back, shattered and bleed-
ing, At last Hood drew off his routed and
discomfited troops, with a heavy loss in
killed, wounded and prisoners, and the fate
of Atlanta was sealed.

Arthur remained within the Union lines,
for the purpose of having his wounded arm
properly attended to, until the rumors of the
evacuation of the city, which had been fre-
quently repeated, were confirmed. He then
felt a strong desire to visit Oak Grove,
and prevailed upon his friend, Captain
Adams, to accompany him thither. Adams
obtained permission to go, and leave to
take a small escort of cavalry, and they
set out, Arthur being provided with a horse
for his friend.

As they were obliged to make almost the
entire circuit of the city, to keep within the
Union lines, and as the condition of Arthur’s
arm would not permit him to ride fast, they
did not reach Oak Grove until about noon,
the day after they started.

As they rode up in front of the Arment
mansion, Arthur’s body servant, a fine young
negro, came out to meet him.

“Oh, Mars’r Arthur!” he exclaimed, “I’s
mighty glad to see you. Whar’ you been
gone dis long time, and what’s de matter
wid your arm ?”

“T have been absent on business, Henry,
and I hurt my arm a little. Is all well ?”

“Yes, sah; all is berry well. Your uncle
is in de house, Mars’r Arthur, rummagin’
about in your room.”

“Tn my room! What the deuce does that
mean? Some more of his kind intentions, I
suppose. Captain Adams, will you have the
kindness to remain here for a few moments,
with your men, while I go into the house?
I wish to meet my uncle alone.”

The captain promised to comply with his
request, and Arthur silently walked in at

the front door.
/

CHAPTER XII.
How he “ Flanked” his Uncle.

A PLEASANT morning, a few days after the
unsuccessful attempt of Hood to. break the
Union line, found. Madison Arment in the
parlor of his nephew’s mansion at Oak
Grove. Like the boy in Byron’s “ Dream,”
he was

* Alone, and pale, and pacing to and fro.”
His countenance wore a troubled look,
though there was a glance of triumph in his
eye. He seemed nervous and perplexed, as
if he was not more than half satisfied with

21 3

 

the results of his labors in behalf of his idol- +
ized Confederacy, and he appeared to be
debating the propriety of a step that he had
not quite made up his mind to take,

“T wonder,” he said,.‘‘ how Arthur fares
in his confinement. Of course, my direc-
tions have been obeyed, and he has been
made as comfortable as possible, but the
restraint must be very irksome to him. He
has been clamorous for an examination, I
suppose, and it can not be delayed much
longer, unless we are compelled to evacuate
Atlanta. In that case, he must be taken
with the army as a prisoner, or must be sent
to Richmond, and have no doubt that a
few weeks of imprisonment, with the pros-
pect of a still larger dose, will cure him of his
treasonable proclivities. It seems very hard
to treat him. so, but it is necessary, and is
really an act of kindness, It would be a
great loss to the Confederacy, if his property-
influence should be withdrawn from its sup-
port, and he would probably lose both his
property and his liberty, if not his life.
Therefore, a temporary imprisonment, such
as will bring him to his senses, is for his own
good and that of the cause. If I had not
been absent, endeavoring to arouse the peo-
ple to a sense of their duty at this crisis, I
believe I would have granted him a trial, as
a matter of form, and to give him a chance
to espouse the right cause; but, I must first
learn what is the prospect of holding At-
lanta. I must hasten to the city, when I
have finished my business. here, have a con-

versation with General Hood, and visit

Arthur in his prison. Perhaps he ma
have become reasonable, and may be will-
ing to submit to the constituted authorities.

“As for Carrie, I need give myself no
uneasiness about her. She is true to the
South, and will remain so, in spite of any
defeat or discouragement. She will not

remain in the city if the Yankees enter it,

but will go with. her friends, for she hates
the sight of a blue uniform. If Atlanta is
taken, it will enrage her still more, and
she will put no bounds to her detestation
of the enemy and her exertions in behalf of
the cause. She has repulsed her cousin’s
suit because of his treasonable sentiments,
and I can not conceive of any thing more
likely than that to bring him to terms. I
haye no doubt that she loves him, but it is
equally certain that she will refuse to marry
him, unless be changes his course. He
will have to ‘choose between liberty and her
love, and imprisonment without her. There
can hardly be any question of the decision
at which a young man like Arthur, of ardent
temperament, luxurious habits, and unen-
ergetic disposition, will ultimately arrive.
He will choose his liberty and his love. It
is only a question of time. ‘

“Tt is a great pity that Hood was repulsed
in his attack upon the Federal left. Who
would have supposed that he would find
such a force ready to meet him? There
must be treachery in our camp, for
the enemy seem to have information of all
our movements and designs. The future

 

i
ij

 

Sn
 

    
 

 

38

will tend to discourage the people still
more, although it was almost a bloodless
repulse, and our troops withdrew in safety
when they discoverdd that the attempt
could only be made successful by great
slaughter. I suppose we will be compelled
to evacuate, unless re-enforcements are
brought forward more rapidly. In that
event, I shall leave this place in charge of
the faithful overseer, and it will be sate, for
the Yankees will not be likely to come so
far down this way, and Arthur will not be at
hand to bring them here. If there is any
danger, I will send a force, and have the
niggers carried further South, for I don’t
doubt that I can use them to good advan-
tage.
“ Now for Arthur’s room. It really seems
a mean and ungentlemanly thing to overlook
his private papers, but all means are justifia-
ble that will advance a righteous cause. I
o good reason to suspect that he has been
in correspondence with the enemy, or with
some of their secret agents. If it were not
so, how could it have happened that he was
rescued from arrest, just at the nick of time,
by a band of Tories, who were led, as Lieu-
tenant Ashbrook said, by a noted spy?
There must have been collusion between
him and his rescuers. If I can obtain proof
of his treasonable correspondence, I can hold
it over him, and produce it when necessary,
for the purpose of continuing his imprison-
ment if he remains unruly. Perhaps I can
also discover some of the domestic traitors
who have been conspiring a the goy-
ernment in this neighborhood. Surely, any
means are justifiable for such an end.”
Madison Arment was not a bad man at
heart. He was a gentleman by birth and
education, kind, benevolent, and true. But
he was a believer in secession, an ardent
supporter of the rebellion. His belief had
been built up on ‘sophistry, and the same
sort of sophistical reasoning influenced all
his conduct. He thought that every thing—-

his time, his property, his life, his relatives,

his duty, even his honor—should be made
subservient to the cause that he advocated.
He thought that any act that could advance
the interests of his section, in what he called
its “ struggle for independence,” was the very
thing that ought to be done. There had been
a time when he had considered the surrepti-
tious inspection of private documents a piece
of meanness to which he could not possibly
descend, and he had no words of contempt
too strong for a person who would be guilty
of such a heinous offense. But, his feelings
had undergone a radical change in that re-
spect. The same reasoning on which he
founded his belief in the heresy of secession,
was sufficient to bear him out in the commis-
sion of the ‘despicable act he then contem-
plated. He argued that it was for the good
of the cause, and: that was.a complete answer
to all objections, even to those of his own
conscience. ;
He walked up to his nephew’s room, en-
tered it, and closed the door. A desk stood
in a corner, in the drawer ‘of which, as he

 

THE LOYAL SPECTER

knew, Arthur kept his —— papers. The
drawer was locked, and Arthur carried the
key, but Madison Arment was prepared to
overcome that slight obstacle. He took from
his pocket a small skeleton key, which he
inserted in the lock, and the bolt turned
readily.

Before opening the drawer, the astute
schemer hesitated for a moment, and a slight
flush overspread his face, as his consciemttce
touched him ina tener spot. But his emo-
tion was transient, and a slight movement of
his hand laid open the secret treasures of his
nephew.

adison Arment sat down in front of the
desk, and proceeded to examine the papers.
He took up a bundle, looked them over, read
one, and replaced them. —

“ Nothing but college nonsense,’ he mut-
tered. °

Another bundle seemed to interest him
for the papers had been neatly folded and
carefully preserved ; but, after a slight exam-
ination, he threw it down with an air of dis-

gust. :
“Poetry! It is really a pity that the
scone man has nothing to employ his time.
Writing such trash as this is a very poor oc-
cupation. ButI care nothing for his own
composition. I am seeking for letters. Ah!
here isa bundle. The handwriting is Carrie
Chappelle’s. There may be something of
importance in them, and it is worth while to
examine.” '
The self-appointed inspector opened a num-
ber of the letters, and hastily glanced over
their contents, replacing them when he had
finished. :

“ Nothing to be learned there,” he mutter-
ed, “except that Carrie seems to haye been
almost an abolitionist in those days. But
that was only boy and girl nonsense, and she
has got bravely over it. What is this ?”

He took from the drawer a scrap of paper,
on which some pencil writing was dimly
yisible. By holding it up to the light, he
was enabled to decipher the following sen-
tence:

“Submit quietly to the arrest. The. flag
that was pinned upon your coat will protect
you. Be true to the Union, and fear nothing,

“A FRIEND.”

“What, in the name of wonder, does this
mean?’ he exclaimed. “Ah! I think I
understand it now. It was received at the
time of his arrest, and.must have been writ-
ten by one of the band of Tories who rescued
him. Ithought he would not have submitted
so peaceably, unless he had been sure of a
rescue. I wonder what was meant by the
flag that was pinned upon his breast? He
will find that no flag can get him out of the
prison at Atlanta. Ihave found the proof,
now, Arthur Arment, and have you where 1
want you!”

As. he spoke these words in a triumphant
tone, the door of the room opened, and he
was confronted by Arthur Arment himself!

“T am glad to see you, uncle Madison,”
said the young gentleman, as he entered with
a pleasant smile. ‘When did you arrive ?

 

 

 
 

 

CRESTFALLEN. 80

But you seem to be busy, and I will not in-
terrupt you.”

Madison Arment did not faint, but his face
crimsoned up to the roots of his hair.

“You must not suppose, Arthur,” he said
with a strong effort to recover from his sur-
prise, ‘that I was examining your papers
for the purpose of gratifying an idle curios-
ity, or with any but a patriotic motive. The
safety of the country sometimes demands—”

“ Oh, never mind that, uncle,” interrupted
the young gentleman. “ It is not of the least
consequence, I assure you. Lam not disposed
to make any objections. Any thing for the
good of the cause. Were you surprised to
see me, uncle ?”

“Yes, Arthur, I confess that I was. I had
heard that you were under arrest at Atlanta.”

“Indeed! How did you get thenews? It
is true that I was under lock and key, and in
a position to do no harm; but I objected to
being flanked out of the city by that reckless
Sherman, and had no desire to be carried off
as a prisoner by General Hood, if he should
be forced to retreat, although I know that I
have been quite unruly of late, and that there
is reason to fear that I might do much dam-
age.

As Madison Arment heard his nephew re-
peat, almost word for word, the language
that he had used in his conversation with
General Hood, he was astounded; and the
crimson hue of his face changed to a deathly
white. He concluded that it was best to
change the subject.

_. “Tam glad to hear that you have been re-

leased,” said he, “and hope that you have
given satisfactory evidence of your loyal in-
tentions. I am afraid, however, that your
liberty would be but short-lived if the au-
thorities should see this paper that I have
found in your desk. Who is this person who
signs himself ‘ A Friend, and tells you to sub-
mit quietly to arrest, and fear nothing ?”

“T do not know, uncle. I wish you could
tell me.”

“What is meant by the flag that was pinned
to your coat ?”

“That isanother mystery that I would like
to have unraveled. But this is idle talk,
uncle. If you have finished ransacking my
desk, permit me to lock it again.”

“ Certainly, Arthur; I have found what I
was seeking. I am afraid that you have
escaped from your arrest again, or have bro-
ken your parole, and I feel it to be my duty
to order you to return to Atlanta, and deliver
yourself up to General Hood, until this mat-
ter can be investigated.” .

“T hardly think that I would find him |:

there, uncle. When I last heard of him, he
was getting away from that city as fast as he
could.”

“ Evacuating Atlanta! Is it possible? I
must hasten to join him, for I have import-
ant intelligence to give him. I command
you, Arthur, to accompany me immediately.”

“ Without intending any disrespect, uncle
Madison, I must positively refuse to do so.
As you are anxious to have my company,
your wish shall be gratified, for I am com-

pelled to request you to return with me to
the Union lines. It is for the good of the
cause, and I am sure that you will not object,
especially as I have a sufficient force to back
my request.”

The young gentleman opened a window,
and pointed to Captain Adams and his escort
of cavalry, who were drawn up in front uf
the house, at the same time inviting them to
enter.

“Arthur Arment,” said his uncle, “you
will repent of this outrageous conduct.”

“T hope not, sir. Itis for the good of
the cause, and will be only a temporary con-
finement. You have been quite unruly of
late, and I am afraid that you might do much
damage. Have the kindness to walk down
stairs.”

Fretting and fuming, and greatly chagrined
at the unpleasant manner in which the tables
had been turned upon him, Madison Arment
did as he was ordered, and found himself
surrounded by the blue uniforms of the
Union.

Arthur ordered some refreshments for his
friends, and after they had satisfied their ap-
petites, and had drained their glasses to the
success of the Union arms, greatly to the dis-
gust of Madison Arment, that gentleman’s
horse was brought out, and he was ee
requested to accompany his captors. e
complied, rather ungraciously, with the re-
quest, and the party started toward Atlanta.

It was dark when they reached the extreme
right of the Union lines, where they con-
cluded to spend the night, accommodating
Madison Arment with a tent and a guard.

 

_ | CHAPTER XII.
A “Ten Strike” of the Mysteries.

In the morning, Arthur and his friends,
with his uncle as a prisoner, continued their
journey along the Union lines, until they had
reached the center, near where the Northern
railroad enters the city. Captain Adams met
an officer of his acquaintance, whom he asked
what was the news concerning the evacuation
of Atlanta.

“Tt has already been evacuated,” was the
| answer, “and our troops have entered and
taken possession.” _~ ;

“Tf that is the case, Captain Adams,” said
Arthur, “we may as well enter and take pos-
session, also. I suppose my uncle will not
object to trying the accommodations that he
so kindly provided for me.”

Madison Arment, gloomy and_ silent,
thought it not worth while to offer any ob-
jection, and the party turned their horses’
heads toward the captured city.

When they entered the town, they saw the
flag of the Union floating.over the principal

many private houses. The blue-coated sol-
diers were gayly marching through the streets,
elated at having at last reached the goal
which they had labored so hard to gain. They
saw smoke arising from the ruins of build-

 

edifices, and waving from the windows of ©

lia teael ideal

oa
  

 

 

 

40

  

ings that had been fired by the retreating
foe, and saw files of rebel straaglers that were
being brought in under guard:

The prison in which Arthur had. been con-
fined was in the possession of the Union sol-

- diers, and he conducted his uncle thither,

Captain Adams detailing two of the cavalry-
men as a guard,

“T am sorry, uncle,” said the young gentle-
man, as he “did the honors” of the prison,
“that my circumstances are not such that I
can act under cover of some one else, as you
did when you caused my arrest. It would
have a much better appearance, and would
probably show more consideration for your
feelings, than appearing on the scene myself
as a prominent actor ; but it.can not be helped
at present, and I feel sure that you will ex-
cuse me, as it is all for your own good and
that of the cause. This is the room in which
I might have passed many weary days and
nights, if I had chosen to remain in it. Sup-
pose you try it for a while, uncle. If the
medicine was a good one for me, it can not
but prove beneficial to you, as yours is a
worse case of unruliness than mine was. If
you wish any thing from the outer world, the
guard will procure it for you. The same pri-
vilege was accorded to me. Let me advise
you, when you next have a private interview
with General Hood, to make sure that there
are no eavesdroppers about.”

“ Arthur Arment!’ exclaimed his uncle,
“JT would not have believed this of you,
though I might have known that a supporter
of the Yankee Government is capable of any
mean action.”

“Except examining private papers,” inter-
rupted the young man. “ Make yourself ‘as
comfortable as possible, uncle. will call
again soon. I trust that General Hood will
not miss your valuable services in arousing
the people and hurrying forward recruits,”

Captain Adams directed the guards to take
particular care of Madison Arment, as he
was a political prisoner, and the two friends
separated, the captain having business at the
head-quarters of his corps.

Arthur pinned his diminutive Union fla,
upon the lappel of his coat, where he had
first seen it, mounted his horse, and rode di-
rectly to the brick house near the fair ground,
where he hoped to see his cousin Carrie.
When he approached the house, he was sur-
prised to see a large Union flag waving from
one of the upper windows.

“Some officers have taken possession of
the premises,” he thought. “I am sorry that
I did not persuade Adams to come with me,
for Imay be refused admission to my own
house.”

As he drew nearer, he perceived that the
parlor windows were open, and ‘heard seve-
ral voices singing the “Star Spangled Ban-
ner,” to the accompaniment of the piano. He
distinguished sweet female voices, and the
manly tones of male singers.

“This is, indeed, a metamorphosis,” he
thought, “ or I am dreaming in the daylight.
I suppose Carrie has gone with her rebel
friends, and I have lost her.”

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

He dismounted, tied his horse, and hastily
ascended the steps. The door was partiall
open, and he entered without ceremony. His
left arm was still in a sling, but his usually
pale face was flushed by exertion and excite-
ment, He walkedinto the parlor, and sawa
sight which, as he afterward declared, he
could not forget while he lived.

At the piano sat Laura Clymer, with red,
white and blue colors in her hair. At her
right hand, with the same tri-colored head-
dress, and looking more radiantly beautiful
than ever, stood his cousin, Carrie Chappelle.
At the left was a fine-looking young gentle-
man, and another, whose face Arthur could
not discern, stood in the shadow of the win-
dow-curtain. They were singing the con-
cluding words of the “Star Spangled Ban-
ner,” but the song ceased, and he entered
the room.

“My dear cousin!’ exclaimed Carrie, ad-
yancing to meet him, with extended hand,
and with her face absolutely glowing with
smiles, “I am glad and proud to meet you,
especially on such an occasion as this. We
saw you coming, and tried to give you a glo-
rious Union welcome. Permit me to make
you acquainted with an old friend of yours
and a dear friend of mine.”

As she spoke, the man who stood in the
shadow of the curtain stepped forward, and
Arthur instantly recognized the well-remem- |
bered features of the friend who had sepa-
rated from him more than two years before
—of Seth Staples! He wore an undress
military uniform, and was smiling as if there
were no such words as trouble and sorrow in
his dictionary. Arthur was so astonished and
bewildered, that he hardly knew what to say.

“How is this, Seth?” he asked, as he rie-
chanicaily grasped the hand of his friend.
“What does it mean? How do you happen
to be here? Did you enter the city with the
Union forces?”

“Not a bit of it. Ihave been here a long
time. Let me make you acquainted witha
friend of ours, John Clymer.”

The other’ gentleman bowed, and smiled
| quizzically. :

“T have met Mr. Arment before,” he said.

“JT must have forgotten it,’ answered
Arthur, “for your face is not familiar to me.”

“But yours is perfectly familiar to me, and
it is not likely that I will ever forget it.”

“ Carrie, I must beg you to explain this to
me,” said Arthur, turning to the beaming
countenance of his cousin. “Tam bewilder-
ed. I am utterly at a loss to understand
it,. Your political opinions must have un-
dergone an entire revolution. I have never
seen such a great and sudden change.”

“There has been no revolution, Arthur.
I have not changed at all.”

“Not changed! You told me that what
uncle Madison had said was true—that you
were an advocate of the Southern cause—
that you would devote your all to it, and
would die for it, if necessary.”

“You are greatly mistaken. I said that I
was true to my country, and ready to devote
myself to the good cause, I do not recognize

 

 

 

 
 

ee
tg

THE MYSTERY UNRAVELED.

any cause as a good one that isnot the cause
of my country.

“You spoke in such a manner, that I was.

convinced you were a secessionist. How
did Seth Staples come here, and how long
has he been in this neighborhood ?””

“T have been in and about Atlanta for
nearly a year,” answered Seth. ‘“ After I en-
tered the Union army, I felt that my duty
called me in this direction, and was detailed
on special service. You can imagine what
sort of service it was, when I tell you that I
have made this house my head-quarters, and
have been in Atlanta during the entire siege,
and the greater part of the campaign, except
when I have been traveling to and from the
Union lines. Our rebel friends have been
watching and seeking for me, but have never
been able to lay their hands on me, and my
life has been spared to witness this glorious
consummation of the long and arduous
labors of our army.”

“T thought,” said Arthur, “that I heard
your voice one evening, when a gentleman
accompunied Miss Clymer to the door. Do
you remember the circumstance, Miss Cly-
mer ?”

“Certainly. It was Seth; and I. was
obliged to send him away in a hurry, for fear
that he would be discovered.”

“But you told me that it was a relation of
yours.”

“T told you the truth.
ried nearly six months |”

“Indeed !- Allow me to congratulate you
both; and may your union never be broken
by secession. But I am still in the dark.
Please inform me why I have not been per-
mitted to know any thing of this—why Seth
has not disclosed himself to me—why I have
been induced to believe that my cousin and
her friend were ultra secessionists—why I
have not been admitted to your confidence,
and allowed to aid you in your plans.”

“We were not sure of you, Arthur,” an-
swered Seth. “We feared that you were only
a half-way Union man, and that you were
too-careless and unconcerned to join in our
enterprise with such heartiness and good
will as we could have wished. Besides, it
was important that your uncle should not
have the slightest reason to suspect that Miss
Chappelle and Laura differed with him in
opinion. We feared that your known love
for your cousin, in connection with your
political bias, might have compromised us
with him, and we thought that the strongest

roof she could give to her uncle, of her
oyalty to the Confederacy, was to repulse

“T think yow were wrong, Seth. All’s
well that ends well, however. You ought to
haye known that I would have been glad to
join you, and would have aided you to the
extent of my ability.” :

“We know it now, Arthur, but we seri-
ously doubted it then, and thought it neces-
sary that you should be tried before you
were trusted. You were tried, and were not
found wanting in the hour of need. You

We have been mar-

- your suit because you were not a rebel.’

. have proved your faith by your works.”

 

44

“The trial might have been too severe,”
suggested Arthur, “At one time I was on
the verge of desperation.”

“We had a remedy to counteract the ill
effects of the experiment, and to prevent you
from doing any thing rash. Ygur dreams
seemed to afford you.a great deal of conso-
lation.”

“They were my only hope and comfort.
Were they produced by your influence ?”

“They were manufactured by us, as I may
say. We had prepared for them before you
first came to the house. ‘The music was pro-
duced in the addition adjoining your room.
My knowledge of chemistry enabled me to
make the light, which was introduced through
apertures in the wall. The paneling near
the mirror, and the windows that opened on
the balcony, were useful to me, as you may
suppose. The vision that appeared to you
was Miss Chappelle herself, and it must be
admitted that she played her part admirably.”

“Why did you tell him that?” exclaimed
Carrie, as blush after blush ran in waves
over her face. «“ Was it wrong, Arthur, or
unmaidenly ? I could not resist the desire
of speaking to you, as 1 could not speak at
any other time. As uncle Madison says: ‘It
was intended for the good of the cause.’ ”

“T can not call it wrong, cousin Carrie. It
was the most pleasant experience of my life,
and I would not have missed it for a great
deal. As explanations are in order, perhaps
you will not object to informing me who was
the man whom you met, at night, by the
little brown house, and for what purpose you
met him.” :

“Tt was only Seth,” answered Carrie, “A
new password had been agreed. upon, and it
was important that I should know it that
night. The word was Love and Union. I
was afraid that you would overtake me that
night, and compel me to explain, and the
consequences might have been unpleasant,
if not serious.”

“Ah! Itis strange how simple a mystery
is when you find it out. Isuppose it was
Seth, also, who gave me the note, assuring
me. of protection, when I was arrested at
Oak Grove.”

“You are mistaken there,” said Seth. “I
was at the head of the party that rescued
oy from Lieutenant Ashbrook and his men,

ut the Confederate soldier who gave you '
the note was John Clymer. He was con-
scripted several months ago, but managed to
get detailed for’ duty in Atlanta, and when
he was captured, on that occasion, the rebels
lost one unwilling soldier.”

“How did he know about the flag that
was pinned on my coat?”

“He ought to have known about it, as he
ut it there himself, while you were asleep.
t was John, also, who left a Union ring on
your flag, when you were at the house of
Irs. Bennett, Laura’s aunt. You may have

noticed that our band was not complete at
that time. There were only two performers,
Miss Chappelle and John, as I was absent
from the city, and Laura was obliged to re-
main in charge of this. house.”
 

———

ee

THE LOYAL SPECTER.

“Why was I not favored with a vision the
next night that I slept here ?”

“ Chiefly because your uncle Madison was
expected that night, and we did not dare to
disturb the quiet of the house.”

“Why was I selected to carry to the Union
lines the ififormation of Hood’s intended at-
tack? Why was not such an important
errand intrusted to a person who was more
experienced, and better acquainted on the
other side?”

“T can answer that,” said Carrie. ‘“ Seth
Staples and John Clymer were both absent,
and we had no other messenger. Besides,
no one but yourself had heard the conversa-
tion between uncle Madison and General
Hood. I was going to listen at the door of
the private room, as I had often done, but

ou were there, and'I could only get a vague
idea of what was said. It was necessary,
therefore, that you should be sent, and Laura
and I took the best measures that we could
contrive to induce you to go._ I was terribly
afraid, when you spoke, that I would be dis-
covered. It was an excellent opportunity,
also, to test your love for the cause, and en-
able sa to prove your faith by your works.
But | assure you that it was no part. of the
plan that you should get a bullet through
your arm.’

“Tt was only a flesh wound, and of no
consequence,”

“We will nurse you now, cousin Arthur,
and will not suffer you to run into danger
again.”

“ As the explanations appear to be satis-
factory,” said John Clymer, “suppose we
join our voices and instruments in a Union
song, to show Mr. Arment what we can do,
when we are under no restraint.”

The instruments were accordingly pro-
duced. Laura Clymer seated herself at the
piano, while John Clymer took the violin,
Seth Staples the flute, and Carrie Chappelle

the guitar, and all their voices, except that |

of Staples, blended with the instruments in
the glorious strains of the “Star Spangled
Banner.” Arthur, who sung a clear and
melodious tenor, threw his whole soul into
his voice as he joined in the chorus, and the
music soon collected quite a crowd of Union
soldiers in front of the house.

 

CHAPTER XIV.
Thats What's the Matter.

Axovr an hour after the impromptu con-
cert was ended, Arthur Arment, whose
wound had been dressed, and who had been
refreshed by a good dinner, found himself in
the garden with Carrie Chappelle.

They were alone, but the society of them-
selves seemed sufficient. They were talking
of Seth Staples—of his exploits and his es
ventures, and of his loving wife, who had
been known as Laura Clymer.

“T can now understand,’ said Arthur,
“what you meant, when you assured me that
aura was not grieved at the absence of Seth ?”

 

¢

“T spoke the truth at that time, for he was
seldom absent from her. We were obliged
to be very careful to prevent uncle Madison
from meeting him, but were successful in
that, as in the rest of our plans.”

“ He is a noble fellow, and I would always
have honored and respected him, even if we
had taken opposite sides in this struggle. I
forgot to ask who was my spirit-rappin
friend who directed me how to walk out o
prison.” :

“Tt was Seth, disguised. as a Confederate
soldier. He had no other means of commu-.
nicating with you at that time. He un-
locked the door of your room while the
guards were being changed, and thus opened
the way for your escape.”

“That proves that our investigations of
spiritualism were not in vain. I was almost
disappointed, Carrie, when [learned that my
spiritual visitations, in what I supposed to be
my dreams, were realities, for I presume
they will cease, as their object has been
gained.” :

“Do not speak of that, Arthur,” implored
Carrie. “Ican hardly think of it without
blushing, and I am afraid that I acted very
improperly. But you must pardon me, for
my intentions were good. It was all ‘for
the: advancement of the cause,’ as uncle
Madison says.”

“Indeed, Carrie, I had no thought of
blaming you, and can see nothing improper
in that loyal masquerade. On the contrary,
I thank you for the most blessed experience
that my life has yet known. But Ihave a
charge to bring against you, and am not quite
sure that Iam not cruel enough to accuse
you of willful deception. You persuaded me
to believe that you were a rebel, and there
was surely deception in that.” ‘

“ But it was all ‘for the good of the cause,’
Arthur.”

“Let it pass, then; but let me advise you
to be careful what you do ‘for the good of
the cause, or you may find yourself in as
bad a predicament as uncle Madison.”

“ How is that? what has happened to him?”

“Never mind. He is safe. But I have
not finished my charge. You told me that
you could not, or must not, love a man who
was a traitor to his country. Am I a traitor
to my country, Carrie ?”

“No, Arthur. I believe you are true to
the Union, and you have proved your faith
by your works. Your wounded arm speaks
for you.” :

» “Can you love me, then, Carrie? You
know how much [love you. Can you not
return my love ?” :

“T can, and Ido,” answered the girl, as
she turned away her head to hide her blushes.
“T have always loved you, Arthur.”

“T thought so,” murmured the young gen-
tleman, in a satisfied tone, as he kissed her
hand. ‘Is there any reason, then, why we
should not be married ?”

“You are very hasty, sir, in speaking of
marriage. Do you not know that a youn,
lady needs time to consider such a proposi-
tion ?

 

 

 
 

ALL FOR THE CAUSE.

*T must require you to answer it immedi-
ately, Carrie, and in the affirmative, ‘for the

ood of the cause’ requires that we should
be married.” ;

“Tf it 7s ‘for the good of the cause,’ I sup-
pose I must submit, and refer you to my—my
uncle.” :

“T suppose it would be proper to procure

uncle Madison’s consent. He will expect to
be consulted, at all events. He does not de-
serve any consideration in the matter, but I
will make it a point to see him immedi-
.
“You talk wildly, Arthur. You would
have to seek him in the army of General
Hood, and it would hardly be safe for you to
venture there.”

“T shall not go so far, and will engage to
procure his consent this evening. He had
me imprisoned, for the Sa of the cause,
and I have turned the tables on him, for the
good of the cause.”

Arthur then told his cousin how he had
found Madison Arment engaged in examin-
ing his private papers, at his Oak Grove
mansion, and how he had arrested him, had
brought him to Atlanta, and had placed him
in retirement in the same prison in which he
had himself been lodged by the order of
his uncle. Carrie was greatly amused, and
regarded it as an act of retributive justice to
which a man of Madison Arment’s principles
ought not to object. 7

“T must leave you now,” said Arthur,
snatching another kiss from her fair hand.
“T must visit our rebel uncle, and obtain his
consent to our marriage, and then——the
ee of the cause requires that there should

no delay, Carrie.”

The young gentleman hastened to the
prison, and was admitted by the guard to
the room in which he had left his uncle. He
found that well-meaning rebel seated on a
chair, and gloomily contemplating the small
extent of prospect that was visible through
his barred window.

“ Good-eyening, uncle,” said the youn
gentleman, as he took a seat. “TI entere
Without knocking, but that is the custom in
this hotel; atleast, I found it so when I was
lodged here. Have you nothing to occup

our mind, but thoughts of General Hood’s
ine of retreat? I was allowed the luxury of
a newspaper when I was here, but the Con-
federate journals have taken French leave,
and the Union paper is not yet out. If it was,
I suppose you would not care to see it.”

“ Arthur Arment,” said his uncle, with a
look that was intended to be very severe,
“have you come here for the purpose of in-
sulting me? I would not have thought that
your father’s son could be guilty of such an
action.”

“ By no means, uncle. I am here to con-
sole and comfort you. I know that I was
very lonely when I was confined in this
apartment, and I supposed that you might
feel the need of company. I am also here
for a special purpose, to ask you to give-your
consent tomy marriage with my cousin,
Carrie Chappelle.” ;

 

43°

“Ts she still in the city? Ifshe is, my con-
sent would be worth nothing to you, for she
will never marry you.”

“But she will. At least, she has promised
to.’

“She can not mean it. Is it possible that
she would consent to a marriage with you, a
friend of the Yankees, and an ally of the
abolitionists ?” .

“She held out as long as she could, uncle,
but I accomplished a flank movement, in
imitation of General Sherman, and she was
compelled to surrender. All that we want
now; is your consent to the marriage.”

“T will not give it, Arthur. I will not
sanction such an unnatural alliance.”

“T am sorry, for your consent would make
the affair much more pleasant to all concern-
ed. Ifyou are determined not to give it, we
must be content to do without it, and our
marriage will take place while you are shut
up in this unpleasant prison.”

“Am I to consider myself as the prisoner
of the Federal Government, or of my
nephew ?”

“You are my prisoner at present, uncle,
and it is fortunate for you that you are, as the
Government might not be disposed to be as
lenient as I am willing to be.”

“How long am I to be detained in this
place?”

“You can be released at any time, on tak-
ing the oath of allegiance to the United
States, and agreeing to remain within the
Union lines.”

“T will never take such an oath. I have
sworn to die in the last ditch, rather than
submit to.the Yankee despotism, and I will
keep my word.”

“Then you must admit that the good of
the cause requires you to be kept in confine-
ment.”

“T will demand a trial. Nothing but my
sentiments can be alleged against me.”

“You-had better not, uncle. If I should
tell all I know, those unscrupulous Yankees
would consider you too dangerous a person
to be at large, and would undoubtedly keep
on a prisoner until the close of the war.

ou had better accept my terms. I want
your consent to my marriage with Carrie,
not that it is necessary, but because it seems *
right and proper that we should have it. If
you will give that consent, I will guarantee
that you shall be released, with liberty to
follow General Hood as far as he chooses to
travel—even to the last ditch.”

“T will agree to that,” said Madison Ar-
ment, after a few moments’ reflection, “if I
can be released immediately. If Carrie has
made up her mind to the marriage, I suppose
it is useless to withhold my consent. You
may consider it given.”

“T would like to have it in writing, if you
please, uncle.”

“Very well.”

Arthur sent out for pen, ink and paper,
which were brought in, and the wished-for
consent was written out.

“T must now bid you good-evening,” said
Arthur; “but, as soon as I can see ‘the
THE LOYAL SPECTER.

officer in charge of the guard, you shall be
released, according to agreement.”

Putting the paper in his pocket, he left the
prison, and sought his friend, Captain
Adams. Having found that officer, he soon
persuaded him to put on his best uniform
coat, and accompany him, with an army
chaplain, to his house in Atlanta. Arrived
at the house, he introduced his friend as Cap-
tain Adams, and the chaplain as Captain
Kennaird. He then left Seth Staples and his
wife to entertain them, while he intimated to
Carrie that he desired a private inter-
view,

When they were alone, he took the paper
from his pocket, and informed her that
he had obtained the consent of their
uncle. :

“As you are satisfied on that point,” said
he, ‘we have nothing to do but to be mar-
ried.” 2

“ Yes—after a reasonable time.”

“There is no time like the present, my
dear, and no time is so reasonable as the
right-time, which is now. Events are very
uncertain, during such a war as this, and we
might be separated to-morrow. Besides, I
told you that the good of the cause admits
of no delay.” :

“ Youare too hasty, Arthur. There should
be some preparation.”

“No preparation is necessary. We have
no itten ie that we care about, except those
who are present. Perhaps uncle Madison
might revoke his consent.”

“But the churches are closed, and we could
not find a minister.”

“We need no church to sanctify the cere-
mony, and there is a minister in the house.
The gentleman whom I introduced to you
as Captain Kennaird is a chaplain in the
United States army, and he is waiting for

ou. ;

i As this flank movement completely de-
molished the strategy of Carrie, she was
again compelled to surrender. The two re-
turned to the parlor, and then, after the due
allowance of blushes, tears and hesitation,
Arthur Arment and Carrie Chappelle were
pronounced man and wife, and received the
congratulations of their friends then present,
who were few but true.

As soon as the ceremony was finished,
Arthur dispatched his friend, Captain
Adams, to. bring Madison Arment from the
prison, and that gentleman shortly made his
rane looking very sullen and dissatis-

ed.

As he entered the house, and walked into
the parlor, the group was clustered about the

°

* |

 

piano, singing “ Rally Round the Flag,” in
the most uproarious manner.

“What does this mean?” he indignantly *
demanded. “Is this parlor already turned in-
to an abolition concertroom ? hat do you
mean, Miss Chappelle, by wearing the colors
of the enemy in such a conspicuous manner ?
Do you submit so tamely to the invaders?”

“Tt means,” answered Carrie, “that I am
a friend to the Union, and always have been ;
that I never was a rebel, in icsigut or in
deed.”

“Ts this possible? Are you capable of
such deception ?” -

“Don’t forget your motto, uncle: every
thing forthe cause. Allow me to make, you
acquainted with Captain Seth Staples, and
Mrs, Staples.” ;

“That Yankee here? And the husband
of Laura Clymer? Jam astonished and dis-
gusted. Arthur, I revoke the consent that I
gave you.”

“Tt is too late, uncle, for we are already
married.”

“TI disown you both. I despise and detest
you, as traitors and deceivers. I hope that
I shall never see your faces or hear your
names again. I will leave this house and
this God-forsaken city immediately, and will

try to forget that I have such unworthy rela-

tives.”

“ You had: better stay with us until morn-
ing, uncle,” said Arthur. “You could not
leave the-city at night, and it will be néces-
sary to procure a pass for you.”

“T will do so. I wish to be shown to my
room immediately.” 5

“ Certainly,” answered Arthur, as he went
to call a servant. “ We will send your sup-
per to your room, as you do not fancy our
company.” :

The next morning, Madison Arment,
mounted on his horse, and provided with a
pass, shook the dust of Atlanta from his feet,
and went in search of the “ last ditch,’ which
was then supposed to be located in the neigh-
borhood of Macon.

Arthur Arment, after converting into
money and movables as much as possible
of his wife's property and his own, told his
negroes to look out for themselves (which
they did, as a general thing, by seeking pro-
tection in the army of General Sherman), and
carried his beautiful bride to the peaceful
North, being disinclined to “ prove his faith
by his works” before the honeymoon was
over. Laura Staples accompanied them, as
her husband had received a. staff’ appoint-
ment, and his duties would not permit him to”
leave the army.

 
 
 

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