In ten minutes I was again on the Brock road, riding on through
the darkness, between the impenetrable thickets.
XXVI.
STUART SINGS.
My reflections were by no means gay. The scenes at the lonely house had
not been cheerful and mirth-inspiring.
That grinning corpse, with the crust of bread in the bony fingers; that
stain of blood on the floor; the grave of Achmed; lastly, the
appointment of the mysterious Nighthawk with the Federal spy; all were
fantastic and lugubrious.
Who was Nighthawk, and what was his connection with Mohun? Who was
Mohun, and what had been his previous history? Who was this youth of
unbounded wealth, as Nighthawk had intimated, in whose life personages
supposed to be dead, but still alive, had figured?
"Decidedly, Mohun and Nighthawk are two enigmas!" I muttered, "and I
give the affair up."
With which words I spurred on, and soon debouched on the Orange plank
road, leading toward Mine Run.
As I entered it, I heard hoof-strokes on the resounding boards, and a
company of horsemen cantered toward me through the darkness. As they
came, I heard a gay voice singing the lines:--
"I wake up in the morning,
I wake up in the morning,
I wake up in the morning,
Before the break o' day!"
There was no mistaking that gay sound.
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