Raiding with Morgan

“Don’t, father, don’t, you only did what you thought was right.”

“But Pennington, Joyce – has he been true all these years?”

“I charged him not to see or write to me until I bade him, and that was to be when I had your free and full consent. Father, have I that consent now?”

“Yes, yes, tell him to come.”

With her feet winged with love Joyce flew to send the glad message. But that night Mr. Crawford became much worse. It was doubtful if he would live until Calhoun could arrive.

Once more the sun is sinking in the west; again is Calhoun galloping up the road which leads to the Crawford residence. But Joyce is not standing at the gate watching for him. The little cloud of dust grows larger and larger, but it is not noticed. In the house a life is ebbing away – going out with the sun. Calhoun is met by Abe, who takes his horse, and points to the house. “Massa Crawford dyin’,” is all he said.

He is met at the door by Joyce. “Come, father wants to see you,” she says, and leads him into the chamber where the dying man lies.

“Father, here is Calhoun,” she sobbed.

Mr. Crawford opened his eyes, stretched forth a trembling hand, and it was grasped by Calhoun. In that hour all animosity, all bitterness, was forgotten.

Joyce came and stood by the side of her lover. Her father took her hand and placed it in that of Calhoun. “God bless you both, my children,” he whispered. “Forgive!”

“There is nothing to forgive,” replied Calhoun, in a choking voice.

A look of great contentment came over the dying man’s face. “Sit by me, Joyce,” he whispered. “Let me hold your hand in mine.”

Joyce did so, her tears falling like rain. For some time she held her father’s hand, and then his mind began to wander. It was no longer Joyce’s hand he held, but the hand of her mother, who had lain in the grave for so many years. Once he opened his eyes, and seeing the face of Joyce bending over him, murmured, “Kiss me, Mary.”

Brushing aside her tears, Joyce kissed him, not once, but again and again.

He smiled, closed his eyes – and then fell asleep.

A year has passed since the death of Mr. Crawford. Calhoun has come to claim his beautiful bride. He is making his last raid; but this time no enemy glowers upon him. Instead, flowers are scattered in his path; glad bells are ringing a joyful welcome. He is fully aware that the war has left many bitter memories; yet when the words are spoken which link his life to Joyce’s forever and forever (for true love ends not in the grave), he clasps her to his heart, and thanks God that Morgan made his raid into Ohio.