Suddenly he springs to his feet, and his voice is almost a shriek.
"Sentinel, call the corporal." In a moment, Valois, with quivering
lip, says, "Corporal, ask Major Peyton to be kind enough to join
me for a few moments."
When his field-officer approaches, anticipating some important
charge of duty, sword and revolver in hand, the ghastly face of
Valois alarms him.
"Colonel!" he cries. Valois motions him to be seated.
"Peyton," begins Valois, brokenly, "I am struck to the heart."
He is ashy pale. His head falls on his friend's bosom.
"My wife!" He needs not finish. The open letters tell the story.
It is death news.
The major clasps his friend's thin hands.
"Colonel, you must bear up. We are fallen on sad, sad days." His
voice fails him. "Remember to-morrow; we must stand for the South."
The chivalric Virginian's voice sounds hollow and strange. He sought
the regiment, won over by Valois' lofty courage and stern military
pride. To-morrow the army is to grapple and crush bold Sherman.
It will be a death struggle.
Yes, out of these walls, a thunderbolt, the heavy column, already
warned, was to seek the Union left, and strike a Stonewall Jackson
blow. Its march will be covered by the friendly woods.
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