"Mohun! It is impossible! He drove the enemy, and was unhurt. I would
not swap him for a hundred, nor a thousand of the enemy!"

"Thank you, general!" said a sonorous voice behind us.

And Mohun entered, making the military salute as he did so.

In his bearing I could discern the same cool pride, mingled with
satire. There was only one change in him. He was paler than ever, and I
could see that his right shoulder was bloody.

As he entered, Miss Georgia Conway, who was bending over a wounded
soldier, raised her head and looked at him. Mohun's eye met her own,
and he bowed ceremoniously, taking no further notice of her.

At this exhibition of careless indifference I could see Miss Conway's
face flush. An expression of freezing hauteur came to the beautiful
lips; and the disdainful glance indicated that her _amour propre_ was
deeply wounded.

She turned her back upon him abruptly--but as Mohun had already turned
his, the movement failed in its object. The officer was looking at
Stuart, who had grasped his hand. He winced as the general pressed it,
and turned paler, but said nothing.

"Then you are not dead, Mohun!" exclaimed Stuart, laughing.

"Not in the least, general, I am happy to inform you," replied Mohun.

"I am truly glad to hear it! What news?"