Dick, lying between the two blankets which he always carried in a
roll tied to his saddle, was very comfortable now, with his head on his
knapsack. The night had turned cooler, and, save when faint and far
lightning quivered, it was heavy and dark with clouds. But the young
lieutenants, hardened by two years of war and life in the open, felt snug
and cosy on the broad, sheltered piazza. It was not often they found
such good quarters, and Dick, like Colonel Winchester, was truly thankful
that they had reached Bellevue before the coming storm.
It was evident now that the night was going to be wild. The lightning
grew brighter and came nearer, cutting fiercely across the southern sky.
The ominous rumble of thunder, which reminded Dick so much of the mutter
of distant battle, came from the horizon on which the lightning was
flashing.
Colonel Winchester, Pennington and Warner had gone to sleep, but Dick was
wakeful. He had again that feeling of pity for the people who had been
compelled to flee from such a house, and who might lose it forever.
It seemed to him that all the men, save himself and the sentinels,
were asleep, sleeping with the soundness and indifference to surroundings
shown by men who took their sleep when they could.
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