While Brown was at work in the North collecting money, arms and
ammunition, Cook was quietly completing his work at the Ferry. He
fought the temptation to take Virginia with him on his trips and then
succumbed.
The thing that decided it was the fact that she knew Colonel Louis
Washington and had been to Bellair. She promised to introduce him.
To make sure of Brown's quixotic instructions about the sword and
pistols he must make the trip. The drive in the snug little buggy along
the river bank was a red letter experience in the young Westerner's
life.
Seated beside the modest slip of a Southern girl chatting with vivacity
and a happiness she couldn't conceal, the man forgot that he was a
conspirator in a plot to deluge a nation in blood. He forgot the long
nights of hiding in woods and ravines. He forgot dark deeds of sacking
and robbery. He was just a boy again. The sun was shining in the glory
of a sweet spring morning in the mountains. The flowers were blooming in
the hedges. He smelled the wild cherry, blackberry and dewberry bushes.
Birds were singing. The new green of the leaves was dazzling in its
splendor. The air was pure and sweet and sent the blood bounding to the
tips of his fingers.
He glanced at the soft red cheeks of the girl beside him and a great
yearning for a home and babies and peace overwhelmed him. His lips
trembled and his eyes filled with tears. He rebelled against the task to
which he had put his hand.
"Why so pensive?" she asked with a laugh.
"Am I?"
"You haven't spoken for a mile."
"I'm just so happy, I reckon," he answered seriously.
He remembered his grim task and threw off the spell. He must keep a
cool head and a strong hand. He remembered the strange old man to whose
"Constitution" he had sworn allegiance in Canada and began to talk in
commonplaces.
To the girl's romantic ears they had meaning. Every tone of his voice
fascinated her. The mystery about him held her imagination. She was sure
it was full of thrilling adventure. He would tell her some day. She
wondered why he had waited so long. He had been on the point of telling
his love again and again and always stopped with an ugly frown. She
wondered sometimes if his life had been spoiled by some tragedy. A
thousand times she asked herself the question whether he might be
married and separated from a wife. He had lived in the North. He had
told her many places he had seen. People were divorced sometimes in the
North. She dismissed the thought as absurd and resigned herself again to
the charms of his companionship.
Colonel Washington was delighted to see again the daughter of an old
friend. Her father had been his companion on many a hunting and fishing
trip.
Virginia introduced her companion.
"My friend, Mr. John Cook, Colonel Washington."
The colonel extended his hand cordially.
"Glad to meet you, young man. A friend of Virginia's is a friend of
mine, sir."
"Thank you."
"Walk right in, children, sit down and make yourselves at home. I'll
find that damned old lazy butler of mine and get you some refreshments."
"Let's sit outside," Virginia whispered.
"No," Cook protested. "I want to see the inside of a Washington home."
The Colonel waved his arm toward the house.
"With you in a minute, children. Walk right in."
"Of course, if you wish it," the girl said softly.
They entered the fine old house, and sat down in the hall. Cook smiled
at the easy fulfillment of his task. Directly in front of the door, set
in a deep panel, was the portrait of the first President. On the right
in a smaller panel hung the sword which Frederick the Great had given
him. On the other side, the pistols from the hands of Lafayette. A tiny,
gold plate, delicately engraved, marked each treasure.
Virginia showed him these souvenirs of her country's history. She spoke
of them with breathless awe. She laughed with girlish pride.
"Aren't they just grand?"
Cook nodded.
He felt guilty of treachery. A betrayal of Southern hospitality in
this sweet girl's presence! He ground his teeth at the thought of his
weakness the next moment.
Colonel Washington appeared through the door from the dining room. He
was followed by his ancient butler, bearing a tray filled with drinks.
The Colonel served them with his own hand. The negro grinned his welcome
to the guests. At the sight of a slave, Cook was himself again. His jaw
closed and his eye flashed. He was once more the disciple of the Man of
the Blood-Feud.
Washington handed a tall glass to Virginia.
"Your lemonade, young lady. I know your taste and approve."
He bowed low and gave her the drink.
He took two glasses of mint juleps, one in each hand.
"Mr. Cook, the favorite drink of these mountains, sir, as pure as its
dews, as refreshing as its air--the favorite drink of old Virginia. To
your good health, sir!"
Cook's head barely moved and he drank in silence.
He held his mood of reserve on the drive home. In vain the girl smiled
and coaxed his dreary spirits. He refused to respond. They passed the
same wonderful views, the same birds were singing, the same waters
foaming and laughing over the rocks below. The man heard nothing, saw
nothing, save a vision inside his raging soul. He saw men riding through
the night to that house. He saw black hands grip iron pikes and knock at
the door of its great hall.
There was a far-away look in his keen eyes--eyes that could sight a
rifle with deadly aim.
The slender girl nestled closer in wonder at the veil that had suddenly
dropped between them. The fires of youth and passion responded for a
moment to this instinctive stir of his mate. Resistance was agony. His
arm moved to encircle her waist. He turned in an impulse to kiss her
lips and whisper the mad things his heart was saying.
He caught himself in time.
What had he to do with this eternal call of the human heart to love and
be loved? It meant home, it meant tenderness. It meant peace and good
will to every living thing. He had come to kill, not to love; to
destroy, not build homes.
Again he rebelled against his hideous task. And then he remembered John
Brown and all for which he stood. His oath crashed through his memory.
He resolved to put every thought of tenderness, beauty, and love under
his feet and trample them. It was the only way to save himself and this
girl.
It would be hard--but he would do it. For an entire week he did not
speak to her except in monosyllables. He made no effort to hide his
decision. He wanted her to see and know the firm purpose within his
heart.
Her eyes followed him with a look of dumb anguish. If she had spoken in
reproaches he would have fought and withstood her. Her silence was more
than he could bear.
On the sixth day of his resolution he saw that she had been crying. She
smiled and tried to hide it, but he knew. He would go for a walk to the
Heights and cheer her up a bit. It wasn't necessary to be brutal.
Her brown eyes began to smile again. They walked over the Heights and
down a steep pathway among the rocks to the river's edge and sat down on
a boulder worn smooth by the waters of the spring floods.
The ripple of the current made soft music. They were silent for a long
time and then she turned toward him a tender, questioning gaze. In spite
of her effort to be strong a tear stole down the firm young cheek.
"What have I done to make you angry?"
"Nothing," he answered in a whisper.
"What's the matter, then?"
He took her hand and held it in a cruel grip before he spoke. His words
came at last in passionate pleading.
"Oh, dear little girl, can't you see how I've been fighting this thing
for months--how I've tried to keep away from you and couldn't?"
"Why?"
She breathed the question leaning so close that her lips framed a kiss.
"I can't tell you," he said.
"But you must! You must!" she pleaded.
Tears were in his eyes now. He looked away.
"A gulf separates us, child."
"How can it?" she whispered tenderly.
"It's just there!"
"Can't you cross it?"
"No."
She drew her slender body erect with an effort. She tried to speak twice
before she succeeded.
"You--are--married--then?"
"Oh--no--no--not that--no!"
She bent close again, a sweet smile breaking through her tears.
"Then you can tell me what it is."
"I couldn't tell it, even to my wife."
Her brow contracted in a puzzled look.
"It's nothing low or dishonorable?"
"No. And it belongs to the big things of life-and death."
"And I cannot know this secret?"
"You cannot know. I have taken an oath."
"And it separates us?"
"Yes."
"But why--if--you--love--me--and I love--you--"
She paused and blushed scarlet. She had told a man her love before he
had spoken. But he _had_ spoken! His voice, his tears, his tones had
told her.
He looked at her a moment, trembling. He spoke one word at a time as if
he had no breath to finish the sentence.
"It's--sweet--to--hear--your--dear--lips--say--that--you--love--me--God
knows I love you--you-dear-little-angel-sent-from heaven! I'm not worthy
to touch your hand and yet I'm crushing it--I can't help it--I can't-I
can't."
She slipped into his arms and he crushed her to his heart.
"I love you," she whispered. "I can trust you. I'll never ask your
secret until you wish to tell me. Just love me, forever. That's all I
ask."
"I can do that, and I will!" he answered solemnly.
They were married the next night in the parsonage of the Methodist
Church of which she was a member. And the foundation was laid for a
tragedy involving more lives than one.