Beyond the grounds a close ring of sentinels watched, because Colonel
Winchester had no mind to be surprised again by Forrest or by Fighting
Joe Wheeler or anybody else.
The night was thick and dark and moist with clouds. Dick, despite the
peace that seemed to hang over everything, was oppressed. The desolate
house, even more than the sight of the field after the battle was over,
brought home to him the meaning of war. It was not alone the death
of men but the uprooting of a country for their children and their
children's children as well. Then his mind traveled back to his uncle,
Colonel Kenton, and suddenly he smote his knee.
"What is it, Dick," asked Colonel Winchester, who sat only two or three
yards away.
"Now I remember, sir. When I was only seven or eight years old I heard
my uncle tell of stopping, as I told you, at a great plantation in
Mississippi called Bellevue, but I couldn't recall the name of its owner.
I know him now."
"What is the name, Dick?"
"Woodville, John Woodville. He was a member of the Mississippi Senate,
and he was probably the richest man in the State.
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