One bright, beautiful evening late in February, it was my good fortune
to find myself once more within "twenty minutes of Sandbrook"; this time
on no hurried visit, but with the deliberate intention of accepting the
cordial invitation of the judge and Harrod to spend a month with them. I
was to make their home my headquarters while attending to the limited
amount of law business that called me to that vicinity. I had heard
several times from the plantation since Vinton's letter, and the very
last news I had received was penned by Miss Pauline's own fair hand,
telling me in a sweet, happy, womanly letter of what neither you, who
have had patience enough to read this, nor I could be in the least
degree surprised to learn,--her engagement to Major Vinton. The major
himself, she wrote, had been summoned as a witness before a
court-martial, and would be gone several days, but back in time to
welcome me. Then came a page about Amory: "He has entirely recovered;
that is to say, he is as strong and active as ever; but still--I don't
know how to express it exactly--he is not the same man he was before
that night. You know that the wound in his shoulder was a very slight
one, and that his injuries were mainly shocks and bruises received by
being thrown and dragged by his wounded horse. When he was well enough
to drive about, the major used to bring him here frequently; and I
really thought that he and Kitty were going to become great friends, for
they wore off much of the old embarrassment and seemed to be getting
along so nicely. Then he used to ride over and spend entire afternoons
with us; and then, all of a sudden, he stopped coming; only visits us
now when he _has_ to; and is so changed, so constrained and moody that I
don't know what to make of it. I really believe that Kitty was growing
to like him ever so much; and she wonders, I know, at this sudden
change. Even when he _does_ come he avoids and barely looks at her."
It was strange; and I puzzled over it for some time. Matchmaking was
hardly in my line of business, yet no spinster aunt could have taken
more interest in the affair than myself. I was really anxious to get
back to the plantation and see what could be made of it.
Harrod and the carriage were at the station to meet me, and a rapid
drive in the cool night air soon brought us to the dear old house again;
and there on the broad piazza, in the broad, cheerful stream of light
from the hall, stood the judge, Vinton, and Pauline; and in a moment I
had sprung from the carriage and was receiving their warm and charming
welcome. Vinton was as happy in his quiet, undemonstrative way as man
could be, and the fond, proud light in his dark eyes as he looked down
at the graceful form leaning so trustfully upon his arm, was a sight
that made me envious. Presently Kitty came down; but not the Kitty of
old. Ah! little girl, what is it that has made those soft eyes so heavy,
so sad? What has taken all the color from those round, velvety cheeks?
What has become of the ringing, light-hearted laugh that came bubbling
up from heart-springs that seemed inexhaustible in their freshness,
their gladness? It is of no use to smile and chatter and prate about
your pleasure at seeing this antiquarian again. It is of no use to toss
your little head and look at me with something of the old coquettish
light in your eyes. You can't deceive me, little Kit; you are changed,
sadly changed. I, who have been away so long a time, can see what others
only partially notice.
During the evening we all gathered in the parlor, talking over the
events of my previous visit. Kitty had early tired of any share in the
conversation, and sat silent and absent, taking little heed of what was
said, though once or twice, when we were not speaking of Amory, she
rallied for a moment and made an effort. She had taken a chair near the
window, and was more than half the time gazing dreamily out towards the
road. At last Vinton said he must get back to camp, bade us all
good-night; his orderly came round with the horses, and Pauline went out
to see him off, everybody else just at that particular moment finding
something of extreme interest which detained him or her in the parlor.
It is odd how long it takes to say good-night under those circumstances.
Fully fifteen minutes elapsed before the spurred boot-heels were heard
going down the steps; then there was another slight detention,--cause,
unknown; time, three minutes and a half,--and finally the clatter of
hoofs as they rode off, twenty-seven minutes by the clock after the time
when the major had announced that he must be off at once,--couldn't stay
another minute.
When the hoof-beats had died away, Pauline came back to us radiant,
lovely; and even that tease Harrod could not find it in his heart to say
one word on the subject of the major's unaccountable display of
unmilitary tardiness, though he looked vastly as though he would like
to. Good-nights were exchanged, and soon after I found myself cosily
ensconced in my old quarters in the wing.
About noon on the following day Mars trotted up the road, and, throwing
his horse's rein over the gate-post, came "clinking" up the walk. His
heels were decorated with a pair of huge Mexican spurs, with little
pendants of steel attached to the rowels in such a way as to cause a
jingling with every movement. I had gone out on the piazza to meet him,
and he quickened his pace and waved his cap with a cheery "How are you,
Mr. Brandon?" the moment he caught sight of me. As he sprang up the
steps I saw that he had at least lost none of his old activity; and
though thinner and a trifle paler than when I first met him, it was not
at first glance noticeable.
After the excitement of our meeting was over, however, and we were
chatting over the Ku-Klux entertainments, I noticed how soon he became
just the restless, absent, constrained fellow that Pauline had
described. He changed color and started every time a footstep was heard
in the hall; greeted Pauline warmly when she came down, and seemed to be
more himself when talking with her, but even then his eyes wandered to
the doorway. Something was wanting; and at last he made a vigorous
effort and stammered an inquiry as to "Miss Carrington's" health.
"Kitty is pretty well, and will be down in a minute. She was writing to
Aunt Mary when you came. If I were Kitty _I_ wouldn't come down to see
you at all, Mr. Frank Amory, for you've not been near us for the last
ten days, and I presume we owe this call entirely to Mr. Brandon."
Poor fellow! he fidgets and looks woe-begone enough; tries hard to plead
constant duties, no lack of inclination, etc., and just in the midst of
it all, the rustle of skirts and the patter of quick, light footsteps is
heard in the hall, and Frank Amory starts up with the flush deepening on
his cheek and forehead, and stands facing the doorway as little Kit
comes in,--comes in with a face that flushes deeply as his own, with
eyes that are raised to his but for one brief second and then seek any
other object but the young soldier before her, with a nervous,
fluttering reply to his "Good-morning, Miss Carrington; I hope you're
well?" and finally, as she subsides into an arm-chair by the window,
with an air of mingled relief and apprehension that puzzles me
inexpressibly. Amory, meantime, has resumed his seat (on his forage-cap
this time), and plunged hastily into a description of a marvellous horse
they have just concluded to purchase for officers' use. He must be a
marvel; and it is astonishing what an amount of interest Frank takes in
telling Pauline all about his performances. Kitty sits by the window
listening, but saying not a word; and after this sort of thing has been
kept up some twenty minutes Pauline excuses herself.
"Now don't go till I come back, Frank; I'll only be gone a few minutes."
And with a glance at me that seems, as Mark Twain says, "perfectly
luminous with meaning" to her, but which in my masculine stupidity I
fail to comprehend until some minutes after, that young lady makes her
exit. Then Mars turns upon me, utterly absorbed in the same horse, and
with distracting volubility tells me the same rigmarole he told Pauline,
every word of which I had heard. Then he asks questions about Hank Smith
that he had asked three or four times already, and just as I'm beginning
to wonder whether his accident had not resulted in permanent injury to
his mental faculties a servant appears at the door.
"Miss Summers says will Mr. Brandon please come and help her a minute."
And as Mr. Brandon obligingly rises to comply with her request, Amory
springs up too, whips out his watch, and exclaims,--
"By Jove! how time flies! I told Vinton I'd be back for afternoon
stables,--_must_ be off! Good-by, Mr. Brandon; come over to camp and see
us. Good-by, Miss Carrington; sorry I have to hurry." And out he goes;
clatters down the steps and back to his horse; throws the reins over the
animal's head, and vaults into his saddle; and then, with one wave of
his hand, dashes off at a mad gallop.
I turned again into the house, and this is what I saw in the parlor.
Kitty Carrington, all alone, standing there at the window gazing after
Amory as he disappeared down the road; her tiny white hands tightly
clinching the window-sill; two great big tears just starting from each
eye and trickling slowly, heavily down her cheeks; her dainty form
quivering with emotion. Little by little I am beginning to suspect the
truth in the matter, and, as I turn softly away without attracting her
attention, mentally resolve to unearth the whole secret. Pretty business
for a man of my years, you will say, but "we lawyers are curious."
N.B.--Pauline didn't want me at all. It was a ruse to get me away.
For the next three days matters went on in pretty much the same groove.
Amory came over to dinner once and was utterly absurd,--handed Miss Kit
to her chair, took his allotted place beside her; and hardly addressed
one word to her through the entire repast, though he gabbled unceasingly
to every one else. Just as soon as we could finish our cigars after
dinner, and an adjournment was moved to the parlor, he declared he must
be off; said he had a whole heap of commissary returns to make up before
morning; and, with the briefest possible good-night to the ladies and
the judge, away he went.
Pauline looked puzzled, Vinton amused, and Kitty--out of the window.
That night Mr. G. S. Brandon, who has already played too inquisitive a
part in this little affair, resolved, before closing his eyes for a
good, old-fashioned sleep, that he might as well be hanged for a sheep
as a lamb, and pry still further; but he never dreamed how odd would be
the solution.