But when everything was ready and the final adieus must be spoken, the
mother embraced them with tears and sobs, and even Enna's voice faltered
and her eyes grew moist.
Mounting, they rode rapidly down the avenue, each followed by his own
servant--and out at the great gate. Walter wheeled his horse. "One last
look at the old home, Art," he said; "we may never see it again."
"Always sentimental, Wal," laughed Arthur, somewhat scornfully; "but have
your way." And he, too, wheeled about for a last farewell look.
The moon had just risen, and by her silvery light the lordly mansion--with
its clustering vines, the gardens, the lawn, the shrubbery, and the grand
old trees--was distinctly visible. Never had the place looked more lovely.
The evening breeze brought to their nostrils the delicious scent of roses
in full bloom, and a nightingale poured forth a song of ravishing
sweetness from a thicket hard by.
Somehow her song seemed to go to Walter's very heart and a sad foreboding
oppressed him as they gazed and listened for several moments, then turned
their horses' heads and galloped down the road.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH.
"Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?
He's dead alone who lacks her light."
--CAMPBELL.
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