THE AWAKENING
John Vaughan had secured a loose horse on emerging from his friendly
swamp. The shadows of night had given him the chance to escape. His
horse was fresh, the rain had begun to fall, the heat had abated and he
made good time.
He reached the office before midnight, took his seat at his desk, pale
and determined to tell the truth. He wrote an account of the battle and
the panic in which it had ended so vivid, so accurate, so terrible in
its confession of riot and dismay, the editor refused to print it.
"Why not?" John sternly demanded.
"It won't do."
"It's true!"
"Then the less said about it the better. Let's hush it up."
John smiled:
"I'm sorry. I would like to see that thing in type just as I saw and
felt and lived it. It's a good story and it's my last--it's a pity to
kill it----"
"Your last? What do you mean?" the chief broke in.
"That I'm going into the ranks, and see if I am a coward--" he paused
and scowled--"it looked like it yesterday for a while, and my
curiosity's aroused. Besides, the country happens to need me."
"Rubbish," the editor cried, "the country will get all the men it needs
without you. You're a trained newspaper man. We need you here."
"Thanks. My mind's made up. I'm going to Missouri and raise a company."
The chief laid a hand on John's shoulder. "Don't be a fool. Stand by the
ship. I'll put your damned story in just as you wrote it if that's what
hurts."
John flushed and shook his head:
"But it isn't. You may be right about the stuff. If I were editor I'd
kill it myself. No. My dander's up. I want a little taste of the real
thing. I saw enough yesterday to interest me. The country's calling and
I've got to go."
The boys crowded around him and shook hands. From the door he waved his
good-bye and they shouted in chorus:
"Good luck!"
Arrived at his room, he wrote a note to Betty Winter. He read it over
and it seemed foolishly cold and formal. He tore it up and wrote a
simpler one. It was flippant and a little presumptuous. He destroyed
that and decided on a single line:
"MY DEAR MISS BETTY:
"Can I see you a few minutes before leaving to-night?
"JOHN VAUGHAN."
He sent it and began hurriedly to dress, his mind in a whirl of nervous
excitement. His vanity had not even paused to ask whether her answer
would be yes. He was sure of it. The big exciting thing was that he had
made a thrilling discovery in the midst of that insane panic. He was in
love--for the first time in life foolishly and madly in love. Fighting
and elbowing his way through that throng of desperate terror-stricken
men and horses it had come to him in a flash that life was sweet and
precious because Betty Winter was in it. The more he thought of it the
more desperate became his determination not to be killed until he could
see and tell her. Through every moment of his wild scramble through
woods and fields and crowded road, up that tree and down again, his
heart was beating her name:
"_Betty--Betty--Betty!_"
What a blind fool he had been not to see it before! She, too, had been
blind. It was all clear now--this mysterious power that had called them
from the first, neither of them knowing or understanding.
When Betty took his note from the maid's hand her eyes could see nothing
for a moment. She turned away that Peggy should not catch her white
face. She knew instinctively the message was from John Vaughan. It may
have been written with his last breath and sent by a friend. She broke
the seal with slow, nervous dread, looked quickly, and laughed aloud
when she had read, a joyous, half hysterical little laugh.
"The man's waiting for an answer, Miss," the maid said.
Betty looked at her stupidly, and blushed:
"Why, of course, Peggy, in a moment tell him."
She wrote half a page in feverish haste, telling him how happy she was
to know that he had safely returned, read it over twice, flushed with
anger at her silly confusion and tore it into tiny bits. She tried
again, but afraid to trust herself, spread John's note out and used it
for a model,
"MY DEAR MR. VAUGHAN:
"Certainly, as soon as you can call.
"BETTY WINTER."
And then she sat down by her window and listened to the splash of the
rain against the glass, counting the minutes until he should ring her
door bell.
And when at last he came, she had to stand before her clock and count
the seconds off for five minutes lest she should disgrace herself by
rushing down stairs.
Their hands met in a moment of awkward silence. The play of mind on mind
had set each heart pounding. The man of easy speech found for the first
time that words were difficult.
"You've heard the black news, of course," he stammered.
"Yes----"
Her eyes caught the haggard drawn look of his face with a start.
"You saw it all?" she asked.
"I saw so much that I can never hope to forget it," he answered
bitterly.
He led her to a seat and she flushed with the sudden realization that he
had been holding her hand since the moment they met. She drew it away
with a quick, nervous movement, and sat down abruptly.
"Was it really as bad as it looks to-day?" she asked with an attempt at
conventional tones.
"Worse, Miss Betty. You can't imagine the sickening shame of it all. I
was never in a battle before. I wouldn't mind repeating that experience
at close quarters--but the panic----"
"The President is the coolest and most courageous man in the country
to-day," she put in eagerly. "It's inspiring to talk to him."
A bitter speech against a Commander-in-Chief who could allow himself to
be driven into a battle by the chatter of fools rose to his lips, but he
remembered her admiration and was silent. He fumbled at his watch chain
and pulled the corner of his black moustache with growing embarrassment.
The thing was more difficult than he had dreamed.
"I have resigned from the paper," he said at last.
"Resigned?" she repeated mechanically.
"Yes. I'm going back home to-night and help raise a company in answer to
the President's proclamation."
The room was very still. Betty turned her eyes toward the window and
listened to the splash of the wind driven rain.
"To your home town?" she faltered.
"Yes. To Palmyra."
"Where your brother went to raise a company to fight us--strange, isn't
it?" Her voice had a far-away sound as if she were talking to herself.
"Yes--to fight us," he repeated in low tones.
Again a silence fell between them. He looked steadily into her brown
eyes that were burning now with a strange intensity, tried to speak, and
failed. He caught the gasp of terror in the deep breath with which she
turned from his gaze.
"My chief was bitter against my going--I--I hope you approve--Miss
Betty?" He spoke with pauses which betrayed his excitement.
"Yes, I'm glad----"
She stopped short, turned pale and fumbled at the lace handkerchief she
carried.
"Every brave man who loves the Union must feel as you do to-day--and
go--no matter how hard it may be for those who--for those he leaves at
home----"
She paused in embarrassment at the break she had almost made, and
flushed scarlet.
He leaned close:
"I'm afraid I'm not brave, Miss Betty. I ran with the rest of them
yesterday, ran like a dog for my life"--he paused and caught his
breath--"but I'm not sorry for it now. In the madness of that scramble
to save my skin I had a sudden revelation of why life was sweet----"
He stopped and she scarcely breathed. Her heart seemed to cease beating.
Her dry lips refused to speak the question she would ask. The sweet
moment of pain and of glory had come. She felt his trembling hand seize
her ice-cold fingers as he went on impetuously:
"Life was sweet because--because--I love you, Betty."
She sprang to her feet trembling from head to foot. He followed,
whispering:
"My own, I love you--I love you----"
With sudden fierce strength he clasped her in his arms and covered her
lips with kisses.
She lifted her trembling hands:
"Please--please----"
Again he smothered her words and held her in mad close embrace.
"Let me go--let me go!" she cried with sudden fury, thrusting him from
her, breathless, her eyes blinded with tears.
"Tell me that you love me!" he cried with desperate pleading.
The splendid young figure faced him tense, quivering with rage.
"How dare you take me in your arms like that without a word?" Her eyes
were flashing, her breast rising and falling with quick furious
breathing.
He seized her hand and held it with cruel force. Her eyes blazed and he
dropped it. She was thinking of the scene with his slender chivalrous
brother. She could feel the soft kiss on the tips of her fingers and the
blood surged to her face at the thought of this man's lips pressed on
hers in mad, strangling passion without so much as by your leave! She
could tear his eyes out.
He looked at her now in a hopeless stupor of regret.
"Forgive me, Betty," he faltered. "I--I couldn't help it."
Her eyes held his in a cold stare:
"I suppose that's all any woman has ever meant to you, and you took me
for granted----"
He lifted his hand in protest.
"Please, please, Miss Betty," he groaned.
"You may go now," she said with slow emphasis.
He looked at her a moment dazed, and a wave of sullen anger slowly
mounted his face to the roots of his black tangled hair, which he
suddenly brushed from his forehead.
Without a word he walked out into the storm, his jaws set. The door had
scarcely closed, when the trembling figure crumpled on the lounge in a
flood of bitter tears.