The South was marching
to meet them with eager pride, each man afraid the fight would be over
before he could reach the front to fire a single shot. And behind each
gay regiment of scornful men marched the white silent figure of Death.
CHAPTER XV
THE HOUSE ON CHURCH HILL
As Socola left his room at the Spotswood the following night, a stranger
met him at the turn of the dimly lighted corridor.
"Signor Socola, I believe?"
"At your service."
"I know some mutual friends in Washington connected with the Sardinian
Ministry--"
"I'm just starting for a stroll through the city," Socola interrupted.
"Will you join me?"
"With pleasure. As I am well acquainted with the streets of Richmond,
allow me to be your guide."
Socola followed with a nod of approval. Their walk led to the highest of
the city's seven hills. But few were stirring at this hour--half-past
seven. The people were busy at supper.
The two men paused at the gate of a stately, old-fashioned mansion in
the middle of a spacious lawn. The odor of sweet pinks filled the air.
The rose trellis and elaborate scheme of flower beds and the boxwood
hedges told the story of wealth and culture and high social position.
"I wish to introduce you to one of the most charming ladies of
Richmond," the stranger said in quick, business-like tones, opening the
gate as if he were used to the feel of the latch.
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