between them; they met in this lonely place by appointment. There could be no doubt as to that, for I had caught the swift sign of warning passing between them caused by my presence; and had felt the desire for my early retirement, so they might converse freely. Could it be possible some misunderstanding had arisen which had led to this tragedy? One fact alone combatted this thought—the stolen revolver; the evident purpose of the murderer to cast the burden of the crime on an innocent man. That was no impulse of the moment, no sudden inspiration. Taylor had prepared himself for this emergency, had deliberately taken the weapon for that very purpose. Where had the fellow gone? In which direction had he fled? A knowledge of this might help to clear up the mystery, might reveal, at least, whether he sought refuge with the Union or Confederate forces. And what had become of the negro?
All these questions flashed through my mind as I stood there, lamp in one hand and revolver in the other, staring down at the dead face. The first feeling of dazed bewilderment changed into anger, and a desire to revenge the death of this man who had once been my father's friend. I cared nothing at that moment for the uniform the Major had worn, that we were opposed to each other in arms; I
