conscience, Marian retained, not only the friendship and respect of her lovers, but also her ennobling influence over them.  While they saw that Merwyn was supreme, they also learned that they would never be dismissed with indifference from her thoughts,—­that she would follow them through life with an affectionate interest and good-will scarcely less than she would bestow on brothers cradled in the same home with herself.  Lane, with his steadfast nature, would maintain this relation more closely than the others, but the reader has already guessed that he would seek to give and to find consolation elsewhere.  Suwanee Barkdale had awakened his strongest sympathy and respect, and the haunting thought that she, like himself, had given her love apparently where it could not be returned, made her seem akin to himself in the deepest and saddest experience.  Gradually and almost unconsciously he gave his thoughts to her, and began to wonder when and how they should meet again, if ever.  He wrote to her several times, but obtained no answer, no assurance that his letters were received.  When he was fit for duty again his regiment was in the West, and it remained there until the close of the war, he having eventually attained to its command.

As soon as he could control his own movements he resolved to settle one question before he resumed the quiet pursuit of his profession,—­he would learn the fate of “Missy S’wanee.”  Securing a strong, fleet horse, he left Washington, and rode rapidly through a region that had been trampled almost into a desert by the iron heel of war.  The May sun was low in the west when he turned from the road into the extended lawn which led up to the Barkdale mansion.  Little beyond unsightly stumps was left of the beautiful groves by which it had been bordered.

Vividly his memory reproduced the same hour, now years since, when he had ridden up that lawn at the head of his troopers, his sabre flashing in the last rays of the sun.  It seemed ages ago, so much had happened; but through all the changes and perils the low sob of the Southern girl when she opened the way for his escape had been vibrating in stronger and tenderer chords in the depths of his soul.  It had awakened dreams and imaginings which, if dissipated, would leave but a busy, practical life as devoid of romance as the law-tomes to which he would give his thoughts.  It was natural, therefore, that his heart should beat fast as he approached the solution of a question bearing so vitally on all his future.

He concealed himself and his horse behind some low, shrubby trees that had been too insignificant for the camp fires, long since burned out, and scanned the battered dwelling.  No sign of life was visible.  He was about to proceed and end his suspense at once, when a lady, clad in mourning, came out and sat down on the veranda.  He instantly recognized Suwanee.

For a few moments Lane could scarcely summon courage to approach.  The surrounding desolation, her badges of bereavement and sorrow, gave the young girl the dignity and sacredness of immeasurable misfortune.  She who had once so abounded in joyous, spirited life now seemed emblematical of her own war-wasted and unhappy land,—­one to whom the past and the dead were more than the future and the living.