They had all passed, except an officer who brought up the rear, and who had
perhaps been attracted by some slight motion that Septimius made,--some
rustle in the thicket; for he stopped, fixed his eyes piercingly towards
the spot where he stood, and levelled a light fusil which he carried.
"Stand out, or I shoot," said he.

Not to avoid the shot, but because his manhood felt a call upon it not to
skulk in obscurity from an open enemy, Septimius at once stood forth, and
confronted the same handsome young officer with whom those fierce words
had passed on account of his rudeness to Rose Garfield. Septimius's fierce
Indian blood stirred in him, and gave a murderous excitement.

"Ah, it is you!" said the young officer, with a haughty smile. "You meant,
then, to take up with my hint of shooting at me from behind a hedge? This
is better. Come, we have in the first place the great quarrel between me a
king's soldier, and you a rebel; next our private affair, on account of
yonder pretty girl. Come, let us take a shot on either score!"

The young officer was so handsome, so beautiful, in budding youth; there
was such a free, gay petulance in his manner; there seemed so little of
real evil in him; he put himself on equal ground with the rustic Septimius
so generously, that the latter, often so morbid and sullen, never felt a
greater kindness for fellow-man than at this moment for this youth.

"I have no enmity towards you," said he; "go in peace."

"No enmity!" replied the officer. "Then why were you here with your gun
amongst the shrubbery? But I have a mind to do my first deed of arms on
you; so give up your weapon, and come with me as prisoner."