"They will not let me alone," he muttered, "and yet I am here fighting
for my country. But I defy them to take my good name away from me,
Surry!"
And he rose to his feet.
"General Lee knows me! Jackson knew me! I have the regard of the one,
and I had the love of the other. What do I care? If my children only
will not hear these ignoble charges! _One_ can never hear them, Surry--
my beloved little Flora! She died while I was fighting near Middleburg
in the fall of '62--that nearly broke me down--"
And Stuart paused and covered his eyes with his hand. Between the
fingers I saw a tear.
For a moment his breast heaved--something like a sob issued from the
brave lip, whereon the heavy mustache trembled.
"I think of her often--I shall never get over her death, Surry!"[1] he
murmured. "They think me hard and cold, and bad perhaps--it is nothing.
Since she died I care less for men's opinion, and only try to do my
duty, till the ball comes that will end me."
[Footnote 1: His words.]
And dashing a tear from his eyes, Stuart walked to the door of his
tent, from which he gazed forth upon the stars.
Five minutes passed thus, and I did not speak. Then all at once I heard
Stuart call out: "Orderly!"
"Yes, sir," came from the man on post near the tent.
"Tell Sweeney to come and bring his banjo!"
And walking fifty steps, Stuart caressed the glossy neck of his mare
"Lady Margaret," who was tethered to a bough, and looked around
affectionately at her master.
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