On the walls I saw
still the large collection of books in every language--the hunting and
battle pictures which I had before so greatly admired--the strange
array of outlandish arms--and over the mantel-piece still hung the
portrait of Violet Grafton.
Seated in front of a cheerful blaze, we smoked and talked--Mordaunt,
Mohun, Landon, and myself--until the shades of evening drew on.
Landon told me of his life at "Bizarre," near the little village of
Millwood, through which we had marched that night to bury his dead at
the old chapel, and where he had surrendered in April, 1865. Arden and
Annie lived near him, and were happy: and if I would come to "Bizarre,"
he would show me the young lady whom I had carried off, that night,
from the chapel graveyard, on the croup of my saddle!
Landon laughed. His face was charming; it was easy to see that he was
happy. To understand how that expression contrasted with his former
appearance, the worthy reader must peruse my episodical memoir, _Hilt
to Hilt_.
Mohun's face was no less smiling. He had lost every trace of gloom.
He gave me intelligence of all my old friends. General Davenant and
Judge Conway had become close friends again. Will and Virginia were
married. Charley was cultivating a mustache and speculating upon a new
revolution.
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