Later in the night, after the ladies had retired, Harrod and I once more
walked down to the square to see how things were going on. All was very
quiet. A battalion of regular infantry had stacked its arms in the
middle of the street in front of the dismantled station-house; the men
were seated along the curbstone; some in their weariness were lying
asleep upon the stone pavement; the officers, grouped under the archways
of the old police court on the other side of the street, were puffing
their cigarettes and sleepily discussing the situation. Major Williams
and his command were not there; the battalion on duty was one which had
been for some time past stationed at Jackson Barracks below the city. A
little farther down we came upon Amory and his troop making a night of
it in front of the Cathedral. The horses were still saddled, though with
loosened girths, but had been unbitted, and were busily munching at the
hay spread before them on the pavement. Mars himself was seated on the
curbstone with a grain-sack in his lap, petting his horse's head as that
quadruped blissfully devoured the oats with which his thoughtful master
had heaped the sack. Harrod hailed him gleefully.
"That takes a fellow back to old times, lad, only oats were scarcer than
horses."
Mars held out his unoccupied hand, looking up with rather a tired smile
on his face.
"How's Vinton?" he asked.
"Very much better, we think," said Harrod, "though he is very weak, and
has had an ugly siege. I think he will be housed some time yet."
"Did you see--did you happen to hear of any letter for me at Sandbrook
before you came away? I told them to forward everything, but nothing has
come."
"No," replied Harrod. "Had there been anything I think they would have
told us, though it may be that letters were simply re-directed and
dropped in the Corinth mail."
There was so much anxiety in Amory's face that it suddenly occurred to
me to ask, "Your mother is not ill, I hope? You have heard from her?"
"Mother is quite well, thanks. I had telegraphed her of our move, and a
letter reached me yesterday. This was--I rather expected another
letter." And even in the pale moonlight it was plain that Mr. Amory was
blushing vividly. Instantly I was reminded of the letter he had received
at camp, and received with such evident excitement. Was it from that
source he now looked for another? If so, what did it mean? Mars was
getting to be a mystery.
"When are you coming to see us?" asked the colonel.
"I don't know. I'd like to come at once, but you see how I'm fixed,--the
only officer with the troop."
"Well, if all should be quiet to-morrow, come and dine with us at
Moreau's at six, will you?" persisted Harrod. "There will be no one but
ourselves and the ladies, you know; and if you are pressed for time just
meet us there. We'll expect you."
"I would be delighted to," answered the young fellow, though in a
strangely embarrassed and hesitating way, "but I really cannot promise.
You see how it is, don't you?" he continued, looking almost appealingly
at me; but I chose not to "see how it was," and only insisted on
seconding Harrod's invitation. All the old Adam in me was wild with
curiosity to see him with Kitty once more, and his reluctance or
hesitancy was something that only served to make me more persistent.
Have you never noticed that amiable trait in many a man or woman who,
having passed the meridian of life him- or herself, seems bent on
directing in the most trivial matters the plans and movements of younger
persons? It was no earthly business of mine, and yet I was determined
to have Mars come and see Kitty whether he wanted to or not. Harrod, of
course, was actuated by no such motives.
Early on the following day, on going to my office, the few letters
deposited on the desk were naturally the first things to be disposed of.
Almost wearily I glanced at the superscriptions, for nobody in New
Orleans felt particularly business-like that morning. Some were from
correspondents up the railway; others from "down the coast." I simply
glanced at their envelopes, and had just about completed the list, when
suddenly hand and eye rested upon a dainty little missive, an envelope
of creamy white, and addressed to me--to _me_ in the very handwriting
that had so attracted my attention and curiosity in Amory's tent at
Sandbrook. Here was the same exquisite chirography. I knew I had seen it
before. I knew now why it seemed so familiar then. For six years or
thereabouts it had not fallen under my gaze; and when it did, six years
before, it was only that a proud papa might exhibit to me the beautiful
writing of his daughter, then in her last year at school in New York
City, the youngest child of a sister long since dead. It was the
handwriting of my pretty niece, Bella Grayson,--Bella, whom I had not
seen since her girlhood, and all at once it flashed across my perturbed
brain that Frank Amory's mysterious correspondent was this self-same
Bella. Here was a revelation indeed!
For some minutes I was too much confounded to open the letter. Then I
proceeded to read it. A very bright, graceful, well-expressed note it
proved to be. Uncle George was appropriately reminded that it was more
than two years since he had written to papa. Papa did not propose to
write again until his letters were answered; but, feeling a trifle
uneasy while reading the accounts of the stormy times in New Orleans,
and having seen occasional mention of Uncle George in connection with
Ku-Klux excitements, she had been commissioned to make inquiries as to
Uncle George's health and fortunes, to express the hope that Uncle
George would no longer neglect them as he had, and to subscribe herself
very affectionately, Uncle George's niece, Bella.
So far so good. Uncle George had very vivid recollections of Miss Bella
in her graduating years, and had been vastly impressed by the vivacity,
wit, and sparkle of the bright little lady who made his last visit to
her father's home so pleasant a thing to look back upon. From that time
to this he had never seen her, but never had she been entirely dropped
from his remembrance. For four years or so he had occasionally occupied
himself in the metaphorical selection of an appropriate wedding-present,
as home letters gave indications that Miss Bella was contemplating
matrimony; but it never seemed to pass the point of contemplation. Twice
at least, on authoritative announcements, Miss Bella had been "engaged."
A dozen times at least, if reports were to be relied upon, Miss Bella
was on the verge of that social entanglement. It was in the winter of
'65 that she had first begun to exercise that involuntary gift of
fascination over Uncle George which seemed to involve him, as it did all
masculines who came within the sphere of her movements. I say
involuntary, because then and ever afterwards, Miss Bella was wont to
protest that she was no more conscious of any effort or desire to
attract than she was of breathing when asleep. She had spent some months
of the preceding summer and autumn at West Point. She was _petite_,
graceful, not absolutely a beauty, yet there was something about those
large, clear, heavily-lashed gray eyes of hers that had all the effect
and power of beauty; and even when only eighteen, as she was then, Miss
Bella had learned their influence, and, involuntarily of course, how to
use them. I had not been a witness of the campaign itself, but I could
not live in their cosey home in the city for a week without becoming
measurably aware of its results. The postman's visits to the Grayson
residence were as regular as his rounds, and it often happened that
letters deposited on the hall-table were left there some hours,
awaiting Miss Bella's return from calls or drives or strolls with her
society friends of both sexes, and that I, in search of my own mail,
should look over the pile on the marble slab. There was always one
postmarked West Point; there was sometimes more; and there were no less
than three separate and distinct handwritings thus making frequent calls
at our house. In my avuncular capacity I had ventured to say something
intended to be arch with regard to those letters. It was at the
breakfast-table. Miss Bella was pouring coffee, and doing it with a deft
and graceful turn of the wrist that showed her slender white hand to
vast advantage. For all answer she had given me one of those searching
glances from under the deep lids; looked me squarely in the face, though
a merry smile was hovering about the corners of her rosy mouth; and,
neither admitting nor denying the correspondence, had disarmed me by a
prompt inquiry as to whether I really thought it improper for her to
hear from her cadet friends.
No one could ever call it a correspondence, for no one ever saw Miss
Bella writing, or heard of her mailing letters to West Point or anywhere
else. Between her and her devoted papa the closest sympathy and alliance
existed. He seemed to take a jovial delight in Bella's fascinations. She
ruled him with a winning and imperious sway that was delicious to see,
and Uncle George speedily fell into the same groove, with this
difference: she may have told her father who her correspondents were;
she never did tell Uncle George. What was more, Uncle George never could
find out. Despite several efforts to win the young lady's confidence in
his somewhat bulky and blundering way, Uncle George had had to give it
up. She was impenetrable as a sphinx.
And now, six years afterwards, here she reappeared in his life; and, if
Uncle George was not very much mistaken, Miss Bella was the
correspondent whose letter had caused Frank Amory so much excitement and
emotion that last day in camp at Sandbrook. It was her letter he was so
eagerly awaiting now. And all this time----
Well. To the neglect of other letters I sat at the desk pondering over
this maidenly missive; then with an effort refolded and was about to
close it, when my eyes were attracted by some lines on the outer page.
Who was it who first said that the gist of a woman's letter would always
be found in the postscript? There, on page four of the tiny note-sheet,
were the words:
"P. S.--So you have met Mr. Amory of the cavalry, and you had quite
an exciting adventure, too. Should you see him again pray remember
me to him, though it is quite possible he has forgotten me. We were
good friends during his 'first class camp.'"
Oh, Bella Grayson! "Pray remember me to him," indeed! "Quite possible he
has forgotten me." Upon my word, young lady, this is too much even for a
long-suffering uncle. Asking me to remember her to a young fellow with
whom she was actually in correspondence at the time! For a moment I was
fairly indignant; but something of the witchery of Bella's own caressing
voice and manner seemed to steal from the folds of the tiny note. A
dozen things that had been told me of her from time to time came
floating back to my brain, and--I couldn't help it--I began to laugh.
Once, just before his coming South, Miss Bella had appeared before Uncle
George in a state of indignation. A young man whom he rather liked had
been one of her devotees for a month or more, and then suddenly ceased
his attentions. Bella's eyes flashed as she half reluctantly related to
Uncle George (in response to his urgent request) the circumstances which
led to the sudden break. "He dared to say to me that, if no more
attractive subject happened to be available, it was his belief I would
flirt with a chimney-sweep!" and then, when Uncle George burst into a
fit of uncontrollable merriment, Miss Bella had first flushed with
indignation, then her irresistible sense of the humorous began to get
the better of her resolution to be deeply offended, and presently she
laughed too; laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks; laughed as only
Bella could laugh, the most musical, ringing, delightful laugh ever
heard; and then, suddenly recollecting herself, she had pronounced Uncle
George an unfeeling wretch, and flounced out of the room in high
dudgeon.
Now, it is contrary to all principles of story-telling to introduce an
utterly new character towards the fag end of a narrative, but Mr.
Brandon makes no pretensions to being a story-teller. He can only relate
things as they happened; and never, until this stage of the game, had
his fair niece Bella appeared as a factor in the plot so far as his
knowledge went. Nevertheless, it was vividly apparent to Mr. Brandon
that now at least she was destined to become a leading lady, a power
behind the throne, whether she appeared in person upon the boards or
not. He recalled the frequent allusions to her in the letters that used
to reach him from the North in the days when he found time to keep up
correspondence with the scattered family. There was a tone of almost
tragic despair in the letters of one of her aunts whenever Bella was the
subject under discussion. Wherever she went--and she went pretty much
everywhere--Miss Grayson was the centre of a knot of admirers. Her
summers were spent at West Point or on "the Sound;" her winters in New
York or Syracuse; and the oddest thing about it all was that, despite
her great attractiveness among the beaus of society, she retained an
absolute dominion over the hearts of a little coterie of schoolmates,--a
sextette of as bright and intelligent and attractive girls as Uncle
George had ever seen; two of them undoubted beauties; all of them
gracious and winning; yet, as though by common and tacit understanding,
when Bella appeared in their midst, and the men concentrated their
attentions upon her, the others contentedly, even approvingly, so it
seemed, fell into the background. They had their own personal
worshippers, to be sure, but they were paraded for Bella's inspection
and approval before being decided upon. Two of the sisterhood married
within a few years of their graduation after receiving Bella's sanction.
It had even been alleged that, involuntarily as usual, Bella had
diverted the growing admiration of one youth from a sister to herself;
but the unruffled sweetness of the sisterly relations seemed to give the
lie to that statement.
But Bella's fascinations were not so placidly accepted with the opposite
sex. It had been a pet theory of hers that cadets and officers were fair
game for flirtation _a l'outrance_. She had become involved in her very
first visit to the Academy in two very serious affairs; retaining
complete mastery over her own susceptibilities, while obtaining mastery
as complete over those of two cadet admirers who chanced to be rather
close friends. One of them, at least, had been desperately in earnest at
the outset; both of them were before they got through; and Bella was, or
professed to be, totally incapable of believing that they had intended
more than a mere flirtation. To her credit be it said, she was
grievously distressed when the actual truth came to light; but her
theories were in nowise shaken, for with the following year a still more
desperate victim was at her feet, while the singed moths of the previous
season looked gloomily and sardonically on the throes which they had so
recently suffered. It was an attribute of Bella's as marvellous as the
ascendency she maintained over her sisterhood, that even in jilting an
admirer she had so sweet, sympathetic, caressing, and self-reproachful a
manner as to make the poor devil feel that the whole thing was his own
fault, or that of his blindness; and to send him on his way comforted,
perhaps enslaved. She never could succeed in absolutely and definitely
disposing of a lover. New ones might come, and did come, every season of
the year. She had them wherever she moved; but Bella could no more let
one go than a cat could a captured mouse,--another statement at her
expense that first excited her wrath and afterwards nearly convulsed
her by its humorous accuracy. She would turn her back on him; lose sight
of him to all appearances; but let him but display a desire for freedom;
let him but make an effort to get away from the toils; and under the
_patte de velours_ was an inflexible grasp that once more stretched the
victim panting at her feet.
And yet she was so winning, so plaintive, so appealing with it all!
Volumes of pity and trust and sympathy beamed from Bella's clear gray
eyes. Volumes of half-playful reproach and condolence in the letters she
would write. "Even in bidding you go she implores you to stay," was once
said of her by an exasperated yet enthralled victim, and Uncle George
was quite ready to believe it.
And Bella was still unmarried; still careering over the old preserves;
still maintaining, apparently, her old theory that "men are deceivers
ever;" and still, to judge from recent developments, bringing down fresh
victims among the too inflammable youngsters of the battalion of cadets.
Now, was Frank Amory a victim in good earnest, or only a narrow escape
from being one? She wrote to him, but that proved nothing: she wrote to
a dozen, and all at the same time. Aunt Ethel declared of her that she
was writing to two classmates an entire winter, receiving almost daily
missives from both, and responding when she felt disposed; and that not
until they came to be stationed at the same post; to occupy the same
quarters; to make the simultaneous discovery that each had parted with
his class ring; and, one never-to-be-forgotten day, that each was
receiving letters from the same damsel; had either of the young fellows
the faintest idea that he was not the sole possessor of such attentions.
It was alleged of Bella that she could have worn a class ring on every
finger if she chose; but whatever may have been her object in accepting
them, it was not for purposes of self-glorification. Her most intimate
friend never knew whose rings she had; never knew how many; and Bella's
flirtations, whatever may have been the wide-spread destruction she
effected, were subjects that never could be spoken of in her presence. A
dozen men were believed to confide in her, and she held their confidence
inviolable. No one of them ever extracted from her the faintest
admission that she ever received a line or an attention from any one
else.
Now, what in the world was I to do? Here was a complication that baffled
me completely. If Mars were really smitten with my fascinating niece,
how far had it gone? That he had been I could readily believe; but,
whether she looked it or not, Bella must now be older than he, and
probably had only been--involuntarily, as usual--amusing herself with
his devotions. And now he was interested in Kitty,--of that I felt
certain,--and, by Jove! I had it. He felt himself still bound by the old
ties; still fettered by some real or imaginary allegiance to his West
Point affinity; still--"Why, the whole thing was plain as A, B, C,"
thought I, in my masculine profundity. "Bella would not accept, could
not discard him, and here she has kept him dangling at her beck and call
ever since." I decided to write to Bella,--oh, the bewildering idiocy of
some men!--and I wrote forthwith.
That evening a letter winding up as follows was on its way northward:
"Yes, I have met your friend, young Amory; have seen a good deal of him,
in fact, and am greatly interested in him. He strikes me as a gallant
young soldier and gentleman, and his evident admiration for a fair young
friend of mine--an heiress, by the way--commands my entire sympathy.
I've half a mind to take you into my confidence, Bella, for perhaps you
can dispel my perplexity. I _think_--mind you, I only say I
_think_--that the young people are quite ready to fall in love with one
another. They have been thrown together under most romantic
circumstances, but he has behaved very oddly of late, and I could not
but indulge in some theory as to the cause. I have learned that he has
some young lady correspondent up North, and, knowing what susceptible
fellows cadets are (from your own statements), it has occurred to me
that he may have gotten into some entanglement there from which he would
now gladly escape. Now, Bella, put on your thinking-cap. You have been
there every summer for six or eight years (oh!), and although much above
cadets now I fancy, you still retain your old ascendency over the sex.
You knew Amory well, probably, and possibly he has made you a confidante
of his affairs. What young girl was there to whom he was devoted?
Perhaps you and I can help him out of his boyish folly and into
something that is worth having."
Was there _ever_ such a colossal ass?