Miss Emma had been out walking with her brother Lew, and had just returned and entered the room. For a few moments all took part in a running conversation, but being about time to retire, Mrs. E. and Lew withdrew from the room, thereby breaking up the congregation, and leaving the Lieutenant and Miss Emma, each to enjoy company. "Two are company, and three are a congregation," says Emerson.
We will say in brief, he proposed and she accepted, but on condition that she might remain with Mrs. E. during the exile.
"Certainly, Miss Emma, you shall remain. I would not have you leave her, and am glad to see this evidence of your friendship and faithful devotion. And now, Miss Emma, as I have never been an advocate of long courtships, but deprecate them after the parties engaged are sufficiently acquainted, I would respectfully suggest, that without ceremonious preparation or invitations, which we could not have here, among strangers, and in a strange land--and without waiting till we can have them--we have the nuptials solemnized to-morrow evening, in this room, at eight o'clock, in the presence of Mrs. E. and your brother. I will remain with you a few days, and then return with my squad, and report to headquarters, and by some honorable means get back to you here at an early day."
At this interesting stage of proceedings, the retired portion of the congregation was called from their slumbers to hear and sanction the matrimonial terms, which, being duly done, the ladies disappeared for the night, and Lieutenant H. went to repose with Lew, who in twenty-four hours more would be his new brother.
They were married, and in ten days duty called the bridegroom to interior Texas, where he was held four months before he could come back to his bride. Three months more, and the war had closed with victory for the "Stars and Stripes." Mrs. E. and her friends were relieved from exile, and all returned home to the blessings of peace and joys of domestic life. Lieutenant H. had proved a heaven-sent blessing to them all.
In the summer of 1863, we were coming up the Texas Central Railroad, from Houston to Hempstead, a distance of fifty miles. On reaching the latter place we had stepped from the cars to the depot platform, and in a minute heard a pistol-shot on the opposite side of the train. Thought nothing strange of it till in a moment more some one remarked: "A man is shot." And even then thought nothing unusual of it. The feeling of terror was only a uniform matter of course. But stepping across the way we observed a crowd gathering at an unoccupied store building, went in and there saw a man on the counter, stretched at full length on his back, struggling in his blood, and breathing heavily, with a bullet-hole through his head and brains protruding. Near by him stood his murderer, Dr. O----r, with _nonchalance_ and a smile of fiendish satisfaction.