Leila Grey never forgot the month which followed. Penhallow was
mercifully spared the sight of the drama of hysteria, and when not at
the mills went about the house and farm like a lost dog; or, if Leila
was busy, took refuge with Rivers. Even the war maps claimed no present
interest until a letter came from John after the capture of Port
Donaldson. At evening they found the place on the map.
"Well, now let's hear it. Ann is better, McGregor says," He was as
readily elated as depressed. "Does she ask for me?"
"No," said Leila, "at first she did, but not now."
"Read the letter, my dear."
"DEAR LEILA: I wrote to Aunt Ann and Uncle Jim a fortnight ago--"
"Never came," said Penhallow.
"I am called an engineer, but there is no engineering required, so I am
any General's nigger. I have been frozen and thawed over and over. No
camp fires allowed, and our frozen 15,000 besieged 21,000 men. General
S.T. Smith picked me up as an aide, and on the 15th personally led a
charge on the Rebel lines, walking quietly in front of our men to keep
them from firing. It did not prevent the Rebs from abusing our
neutrality. It was not very agreeable, but we stormed their lines and I
got off with a bit out of my left shoulder--nothing of moment. Now we
have them. If this war goes on, Grant will be the man who will end it. I
am too cold to write more. Love to all.
"General Smith desires to be remembered to Uncle Jim, and told me he was
more than satisfied with
"Yours,
"JOHN PENHALLOW."
"Isn't that delightful, Uncle Jim? But every night I think of it--this
facing of death. I see battles and storming parties. Don't you see things
before you fall asleep? I can see whatever I want to see--or don't want
to."
"Never saw anything of the kind--I just go to sleep."
"I thought everybody could see things as I do."
"See John too, Leila? Wish I could."
"Yes," she said, "sometimes." In fact, she could see at will the man who
was so near and so dear and a friend to-day--and in that very lonely time
when the house was still and the mind going off guard, the something
indefinitely more.
The Squire, who had been studying the map, was now standing before the
fire looking up where hung over the mantel his sword and the heavy army
pistols. He turned away as he said, "Life is pretty hard, Leila. I ought
to be here--here making guns. I want to be where my class-mates are in
the field. I can't see my way, Leila. When I see a duty clearly, I can do
it. Now here I have to decide what is my duty. There is no devil like
indecision. What would you do?"
"It is a question as to what you will do, not I--and--oh, dear Uncle Jim,
it is, you know, what we call in that horrid algebra the X of the
equation."
"I must see your Aunt Ann. Is she"--and he hesitated--"is she
herself?"--he would not say, quite, sane.
"She is not at all times."
"How far must I consider her, or be guided by the effect my decision will
have on her? There are my partners to consider. The money does not
influence me--it is Ann--Ann." Then she knew that he would make any
sacrifice necessary to set Ann Penhallow at ease. "I think," she said as
she rose, "that we had better go to bed."
"I suppose so," he said. "Wait a moment. Your aunt told me that I had
better go where there was war--she could not have guessed that I have
lived for months with that temptation. I shall end by accepting a
command. Now since her reproach I shall feel that war offers the bribe of
ease and relief from care."
"I know, the call of duty--you will have to go. But, oh, my God! it is
very terrible."
"The fact is, this sudden good fortune for a time so set me at ease that
I lost sight of my honest craving for action. Now I ought to thank Ann
for making me see what I ought to do--must do. But how--how? It will
clear up somehow. Goodnight."
It was the end of March before McGregor told Penhallow that Mrs.
Penhallow insisted on seeing him. "Now, Squire," he said, "you will be
shocked at her appearance, but she is really well in body, and this thing
has got to be set at rest. She talks of it incessantly."
Penhallow entered the dimly lighted room and passed his old nurse, Mrs.
Lamb, as she whispered, "Don't stay long, sir." He was shocked as he won
clearer vision in the dim light.
"Oh, James!" she said, "they wouldn't let me see you. Open the shutters."
He obeyed, and kneeling kissed the wasted face he loved so well. The
commonplaces of life came to his aid as he kissed her again, and she
said, "Dear me, James, you haven't shaved to-day."
"No, I am going to stop at the barber's--but I miss Josiah."
She smiled. "Yes, poor Josiah."
Then he took courage, fearfully timid as men are when they confront the
illness of women. "I want to say to you, Ann, that having your power of
attorney I have withdrawn your fifty thousand dollars you had lent to the
mills. My partners were glad to take it." He said nothing of their
surprise at the offer.
"Thank you," she returned feebly. "And you are going on with the
business?" her voice rising as she spoke.
"We will talk of that later, Ann. I was told not to let you talk long.
I shall endeavour to invest your money so as to give you a reasonable
return--it will take time."
He did not succeed in diverting her attention. She put out a thin hand
and caught his sleeve. "Do you think me unreasonable, James?"
"Yes," he said, and it needed courage.
"I was sure you would say so." The great blue eyes, larger for the wasted
setting of nature's wonderful jewels, looked up at him in dumb appeal.
"Won't you think a little of how I feel--and--and shall feel?"
"Think a little--a little?" he returned; "I have done nothing else but
think."
"You don't answer me, James." There was the old quiet, persistent way
he had known in many happy days, reinforced by hysteric incapacity to
comprehend the maze of difficulties in which he was caught.
"It is a pity I did not die," she said, "that would have saved you all
this trouble."
He felt the cruelty of her words as he broke away and left the room.
McGregor had waited, and hearing his story said, "It will pass. You must
not mind it--she is hardly sane."
James Penhallow mounted and rode to the village, was duly shaved, and
went on to the post-office. Mrs. Crocker rotund and rosy came out and
handed him as he sat in the saddle a sheaf of letters. "Yes, Mrs.
Penhallow is better, thank you." As he rode away the reins on Dixy's
neck, he read his letters and stuffed them in his pocket until he came
to one, over which he lingered long. It ran thus:
"MY DEAR SIR: Will you not reconsider the offer of the colonelcy of a
regiment? It will not require your presence until July. There is no need
to reply at once. There is no one else so entirely fit for such a charge,
and the Attorney-General, your friend Meredith, unites with me in my
appeal to you. The State and the country need you.
"Yours truly,
"ANDREW CURTIN."
He reached but one conclusion as he turned the tempting offer over in
his mind, and acting on it wrote the Governor from his office that his
wife was at present too ill for him to consider the offer of a command.
As day by day he sat with Ann, to his relief she ceased to dwell on the
matter which had so disturbed her, and rapidly regaining health, flesh
and strength, began to ask about the house and the village people. It was
a happy day when in May he carried her down to a hammock on the porch. A
week later she spoke again, "What conclusion have you reached?" she said.
"About the mills?"
"Yes."
"Ask me in a week, Ann. Do you want to read John's letters? There are
several--one about a battle at Pittsburgh Landing in Tennessee."
"I want to hear nothing of the war. Is he well?"
"Yes, thank God." The news of McClellan's army was anything but
satisfactory, and more and more the soldier longed to be in the field.
Early in June, Penhallow on his way to meet his partners paused at
McGregor's house to ask his opinion of his wife. "How do I find her?
Better every day--more herself. But what of you?"
"Of me? I can stand it no longer, Doctor. I cannot see this war
in Virginia go on to the end without taking part in it. I must--do
anything--anything--make any sacrifice."
"But your wife--the mills--"
"I have but one answer--my country! I told you I had refused Governor
Curtin's offer--what to do about our contract I do not yet know. They
are reorganizing the artillery service."
"And you would like that best?"
"Yes. What amuses you?"
The doctor smiled often, but as Mrs. Crocker said, when he did laugh it
was as good as a Fourth of July celebration and the house shook. As the
Squire watched him, the smile broadened out in circles from the mouth
like the ripples cast by a stone on still water; then the eyes grew
merrily busy and the big frame shook with laughter.
"Well, now, Squire! To give up making guns and go in for using
them--well--well!"
"Don't chaff me, McGregor; I mean to be in it, cost what it may. I am to
meet my partners--good-bye."
The doctor wondered what Ann Penhallow would do or say. It was past
guessing but he saw clearly that Penhallow was glad of any excuse to get
into the field.
"Glad to see you, Ainseley," said Penhallow. "Good morning, Sibley. You
will find things moving. Many casting moulds will be ready by this day
week."
"Last night," said Sibley, the richer member of the firm, "I had a
telegram from Austin, the iron-man. He asks what we would take to
transfer our contract. I replied that we did not deal that way with
Government contracts. To-day I got this other--read it."
"On what terms will you take me in? My ore, as you know, is not hematite
and is better than yours."
Penhallow sat still reading the telegram again and again. Here was an
unlooked-for way out of his troubles. At last he looked up, and to their
surprise said, "My capital in the business is one hundred and fifty
thousand dollars, and you--the firm--pay me a rental of ten thousand."
"Not last year," said Ainseley; "we could not, as you know."
"Yes. Our partnership ends this July 1st. Wire Austin that I will sell
him my share and go out. You may ask him what bonus you please--I mean,
I will sell to you at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars--the rental
will go on, of course."
"My heavens!" cried Sibley, "what do you mean? It is throwing away a
fortune, man--a fortune."
Penhallow laughed. "And yet I mean to do it. The work is ready to go on.
You will have ordnance officers here--you won't miss me."
They argued with him in vain. Waldron not altogether dissatisfied sat
still, wondering how much bonus Austin would stand, while Ainseley and
Sibley troubled for their friend and not well pleased, fought his
decision. "Are you fully resolved on this, Penhallow?" said Sibley.
"I am. I cannot take out the small amount of money John Penhallow owns.
It must remain, at least for a time, and will be a convenience to you.
My wife's money is already out. It was only a loan."
"But why should not you sell out to Austin," said Sibley, "if you mean
to leave us, and get out of him a profit--and why after all this act of
supreme folly? Pardon me, it is that--really that"
Penhallow smiled. "I go out of this business because I simply cannot stay
out of the army. I could not be a soldier and accept continuous profits
from a Government contract. Imagine what would be said! For the same
reason I cannot sell to Austin at an advance. That is clear--is it not?"
"Yes," said Ainseley, "and I am sorry. Think it over."
"I have done my thinking. It will take the lawyers and you at least two
months to settle it and make out the papers. After July 1st I shall not
come to the mills. I mean to leave no occasion for unpleasant comment
when I re-enter the service. Of course, you will advertise your new
partnership and make plain my position. I am sorry to leave you, but
most glad to leave you prosperous. I will put it all on paper, with a
condition that at the close of the war--I give it three years--I shall be
free to replace Austin--that is, if the Rebs don't kill me."
As he mounted at evening to ride home, he was aware of Leila. "Halloa,
Uncle Jim! As Mr. Rivers was reading Dante to Aunt Ann, I begged off, and
so here I am--thought I would catch you. I haven't been on a horse for a
week. The mare knows it and enjoyed the holiday. She kicked Pole's bull
terrier into the middle of next week."
"A notable feat. I wish some one would kick me into the middle of
August."
"What's wrong, Uncle Jim? Aunt Ann is every day better; John is well; you
don't look unhappy. Oh, I know when anything really is the matter."
"No, I am happier than I have been for many a day. You know what Rivers
says, 'In the Inn of Decision there is rest,'--some oriental nonsense.
Well, I am a guest in the Inn of Decision, but I've got to pay the bill."
"Please not to talk riddles, uncle. I have gone through so much this
spring--what with aunt and this terrible war--and where John is we don't
know. I heard from Aunt Margaret. She says that we escape the endless
reminders of war--the extras called at night, heard in church, great
battle on the Potomac, lists of killed and wounded. It must be awful. You
buy a paper--and find there was no battle."
"Yes, we escape that at least. I have made arrangements to close my
partnership on July 1st."
"Oh, Uncle Jim!"
"The President, I hear, will call for three hundred thousand men--I can
stand it no longer--I am eating my heart out. I refused a regiment some
time ago; now I shall ask for one. I wrote at once to the Governor."
She leaned over, laid a hand on his arm and said, "Is not one dear life
enough?"
"My child, John had to go. I could, of course, find some excuse for not
going. I set myself free to-day. But now I am to settle with Ann. Except
for that I would be supremely contented. You would not keep me here if
you had the power, nor would you bring home John if you could, dear."
"No," she said faintly. Some quickly dismissed suspicion rose to
consciousness as he stole a glance at her face. "I understand," she
added, "it is a question of honour--you must go."
"It is a question of duty, dear; but what Ann will say I do not know--but
I shall go."
She turned. "Uncle Jim, if you did not go and the war went on to--God
alone knows what end--she would be sick with shame. I know. You see I am
a woman and I know. She will suffer, but she will not break down again
and she will not try to hold you back. But this house without you and
John will be rather lonely. How did you get out of the mills, uncle?"
He answered her at length as they rode homeward with more to think of
than was pleasant. At the avenue gate she said earnestly, "Don't wait
too long before telling Aunt Ann."
"Upon my word, I am sorry," returned the Squire, "for the unfortunate
man who may become your husband. If you undertake to offer advice at
your tender years, what will you do when you are older?"
"My husband-that-is-to-be sends you his compliments," laughed Leila,
"and says--I don't know what he says, but it is exactly the right thing,
Captain Penhallow. But really, don't wait, uncle."
"You are quite right, my dear." Nevertheless he waited. Decisiveness
in affairs and in moments of peril he had, but where Ann was concerned
he became easily unsure, and as McGregor said, "wabbled awful." This
was to Leila. "What gets the matter with men? The finer they are, the
braver--the more can a woman bother their judgment. He wires for a
regimental command--gets it; and, by George, throws away a fortune to
get the privilege of firing a cannon at Mrs. Ann's beloved Rebels. He
mustn't make guns it seems--he tries not to believe her hysterics at
all affected by his tossing away this big contract."
"Now, Doctor, you are in one of your cynical moods. I hate you to talk
this way about the finest gentleman I ever knew, or ever shall know. You
delight to tease me."
"Yes--you are so real. No one could get hysterics out of you. Now why do
you suppose James Penhallow wants to plunge into this chaotic war?"
"Or your son, Tom? Why do you get up of a winter night to ride miles to
see some poor woman who will never pay you a penny?"
"Pure habit."
"Nonsense. You go--and Uncle Jim goes--because to go is duty."
"Then I think duty is a woman--that accounts for it, Leila. I retire
beaten."
"You are very bad to-day--but make Uncle Jim talk it all out to Aunt
Ann."
"He will, and soon. He has been routed by a dozen excuses. I told him at
last that the mill business has leaked out and the village is saying
things. I told him it must not come to her except through him, and that
he could not now use her health as an excuse for delay. It is strange a
man should be so timid."
And still Penhallow lingered, finding more or less of reason in the
delays created by the lawyers. Meanwhile he had accepted the command of
the 129th Pennsylvania infantry which was being drilled at Harrisburg, so
that he was told there was no occasion for haste in assuming charge. But
at last he felt that he must no longer delay.
The sun was setting on an afternoon in July when Penhallow, seeing as she
sat on the porch how the roses of the spring of health were blooming on
his wife's cheeks, said, "I want to talk to you alone, Ann. Can you walk
to the river?"
"Yes, I was there yesterday."
The cat-birds, most delightful of the love-poets of summer, were singing
in the hedges, and as they walked through the garden Penhallow said, "The
rose crop is promising, Ann."
"Yes." She was silent until they sat on the bank above the little river.
Then she said, "You are keeping something from me, James. No news can
trouble me as much as--as to be sure that I am kept in the dark about
your affairs."
"I meant to be frank, Ann, but I have felt so alarmed about your
health--"
"You need not be--I can bear anything but not to know--"
"That is why I brought you here, my dear. You are aware that I took out
of the business the money you loaned to us."
"Yes--yes--I know."
"I have given up my partnership and withdrawn my capital. The business
will go on without me."
"Was this because--I?--but no matter. Go on, please."
He was incapable of concealing the truth from her, however much he
might have disguised it from others. "You had your share in causing me
to give up, but for a year since this war has gone on from one disaster
to another, I have known that as a soldier I must be in it."
She was perfectly calm. "I have long known it would come, James. To have
you and John and my brother Henry--all in it, is a hard fate."
"My dear, Charles writes me that Henry has left the army and gone to
Europe on business for the Confederates."
"Indeed." Some feeling of annoyance troubled her. "Then he at least is in
no danger."
"None, my dear."
"When do you go?"
"I am to command the 129th Infantry, and I shall leave about August 1st."
"So soon!" She sat still, thinking over what Grey Pine would be without
him. He explained as she sat that all details of his affairs would be put
for her clearly on paper. He ended by saying, "Ask me any questions you
want answered."
"Then, James, there will be no income from the mills--from--from that
contract?"
"None, except my rental. With that you may do as you please. There
will be also, of course, at your disposal the income from my re-invested
capital."
"Thank you, James." She was by far the less moved of the two.
"Have I greatly troubled you?" he asked. He was distressed for her.
"No, James. I knew it would come." As the shadows darkened on the forest
floor and gathered overhead, she rose to her feet. "Whatever happens,
James--whoever wins--I am the loser. I want you to be sorry for me."
"And, my dear Ann, whichever way this contest ends, I too lose."
She returned with tender sadness, "Yes, I did not think of that. Give
me your arm, James--I am--tired."
He wondered that she had said nothing of the immense sacrifice few men
would have made; nor did she seem to have realized what urgency of added
motives she had contributed to bring about his decision.