Two months had passed since Colonel Falconer had taken Pansy away from
Richmond. They were summering quietly at a little mountain retreat
in the Adirondacks, but his mail was sent to Cape May, and, by an
arrangement with the postmaster there, was forwarded to him.
He had done this to conceal the place of his residence from Juliette
and others, not wishing that any prying eyes should intrude upon their
seclusion, for Pansy was still weak and delicate, and her nerves had
been sadly shattered by the trying scenes she had gone through.
They had taken a little cottage in the mountains, and, with Phebe and
a few servants, were keeping house in a simple, quiet way, waiting
for the roses to come back to Pansy’s cheeks, that the colonel might
leave her long enough to return to Virginia and settle up his business,
preparatory to taking up his future residence in Europe.
“You will not take Juliette with us? She hates me, and every word and
glance has a sting for me. She suspects my identity, in spite of all my
denials,” pleaded Pansy.
“She shall not go with us,” he said; then a thoughtful frown came
between his dark eyebrows. “But what under heaven shall I do with her?”
he asked.
“Let her stay in the house on Franklin Street with a chaperon,”
answered Pansy readily.
“That will do very well, I suppose; but I wish she would get married. I
should feel better satisfied over her then,” said the colonel, and they
both thought at once of Norman Wylde.
The color rose to her delicate pearl-fair face in a warm tide of
crimson, and Colonel Falconer grew pale, and smothered an oath between
his lips.
“Pansy, I feel like I ought to kill that fellow for his villainy to
you,” he said abruptly.
“Let him alone. Heaven will punish him for my wrongs,” she answered,
and then, clasping her beautiful hands imploringly, she wailed: “But,
oh, my poor, deserted little child, my heart aches when I think of him!
If I only had him with me I could be content.”
“Do not grow impatient, darling. I have promised to try to get the
child for you, but it must be done very quietly, for no one must
suspect that we had anything to do with abducting him. He must be
abducted, you understand that, do you not, Pansy?”
“Yes, for I know well that no amount of bribery would induce Mrs. Meade
to give him up, and I dare not assert my legal claim to him,” sighed
poor, unhappy Pansy.
He tried to comfort her, as if she had been a little child, and at last
she sobbed herself to sleep in his arms, and he held her thus for more
than an hour, gazing on the sweet, sad little face with eyes full of
love and pity.
“Poor little darling, how bitterly and undeservedly you have suffered,”
he thought, adding bitterly: “Curses on the false-hearted villain that
betrayed her innocent youth! I hope I may never meet him again, for if
I did I fear I should take vengeance into my own hands.”
The next morning, when the colonel’s valet brought in the mail,
it consisted of nothing but the New York papers. He had finished
breakfast, and took them out on the porch to read. Pansy followed
him, and sat down in her little rocking-chair to enjoy the beautiful
mountain scenery that lay outspread like a succession of pictures
before her eyes.
Colonel Falconer selected his favorite paper, lighted his morning
cigar, and disposed himself comfortably to read.
And none seeing the quiet, homelike picture, the handsome man, and the
lovely woman, seeming so calmly happy in their domestic life, would
have dreamed that a heavy storm cloud surcharged with woe was about to
burst in fury upon their heads.