Two days elapsed and Frank Amory failed to get better with the rapidity
so slight an attack of fever should have permitted; and when it is
considered that my language had been, or ought to have been, very
reassuring as regarded his other troubles, there seemed to me small
warrant for the doctor's ascribing his slow rally to mental
perturbations. It was beginning to dawn upon me that the doctor looked
upon me as something of a sick-room nuisance ever since my interview
with his patient about Peyton, and that only his politeness prevented
his saying that that interview had been a decided set-back. At all
events, two days passed without my again seeing Mars. He was sleeping
when I called, or had had a restless night, and was not to be disturbed.
Yet Parker saw him twice, and brought favorable accounts; he seemed to
have the luck of getting around at times when Amory was awake, and,
being a cavalryman himself, the aide-de-camp had taken charge of the
troop and was able to bear Amory daily bulletins of its well-doing.
Vinton was rapidly improving and able to sit up a few moments each day.
Pauline was radiant with hope and love; and Kitty--whom I had not seen
for nearly two days, when we met again at Moreau's--Kitty once more
looked pale, anxious, and wistful; I saw it the instant her eyes met
mine.
Harrod told me that he had seen fit to say nothing to her of Peyton's
latest escapade. It would not help matters at all and could only cause
her distress. Pauline had been told in confidence, and he himself had
written full particulars to the judge. The police had made no arrests or
discoveries; but twice I had received visits from members of the
detective force asking for further description of the burly man who was
with Peyton the night of the chase. The younger man, they seemed to
think, had got away to Texas, but for some reason they seemed hopeful of
catching the other party, who was apparently "wanted" for something for
which he could properly be held.
It was two nights after the theatre party, and once again we were dining
at Moreau's; this time reinforced by Pauline and by Major Williams. It
was a lovely evening in the early spring. Already the breezes from the
South were freighted with the faint, sweet fragrance of the
orange-blossoms; windows were thrown open, and four of us at least were
placidly enjoying the spirited scene on the street below. Pauline and
the major were in the midst of a pleasant chat; Harrod and I dreamily
puffing at our cigars; and over on the sofa Kitty and her now absolutely
enslaved Turpin were oblivious to all other objects. He, poor fellow,
was bending towards her, his whole soul in his eyes, his whole heart on
his lips; speaking in low tones, eagerly, impetuously. She, with
feverish flush on her soft cheeks, her eyes veiled by their white lids
and fringed with their sweeping lashes, was nervously toying with her
gloves, yet listening, painfully listening. Harrod studied them an
instant, then looked significantly at me.
"It is too bad," he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I suppose you
see poor Turpin's woe?"
I nodded. It was hard for the boy, and Kitty was by no means blameless,
but just now her conduct was the source of absolute comfort to me. In my
fondness for Amory I was glad to see that now that it came to actual
love-making,--now that Turpin was undoubtedly enmeshed and fluttering in
her toils, the little coquette was distressed by his vehemence. She was
thinking of another, and my hopes for my own young knight were high.
There could be no doubt of the situation, for had we not gathered in
honor of the major and his gallant young adjutant? Were we not there to
break bread once more before parting,--to wish them _bon voyage_ with
our stirrup-cups? Their orders had come. Quiet restored to the Crescent
City, Major Williams's little battalion was to return forthwith to their
station in Kentucky. They were to start that night, and Turpin was
facing his fate.
It was soon time to walk down "homeward," as we had learned to think of
Newhall's rooms on Royal Street. Harrod and I led the way. Major
Williams followed, escorting Pauline. Kitty and Turpin silently took
their places in the rear, and before we had gone three squares they were
out of sight behind. At the steps the major said his farewells, with
many a hope that we might all meet again in our wanderings. "Say good-by
to Miss Carrington for me," he added, with a smile half sad, half
mischievous. "I fear poor Turpin leaves his heart here. Tell him for me
to take his time; he won't be needed for an hour yet." And with a wave
of his hand the soldierly fellow strode down the street.
Then, even as we stood there, Turpin and Kitty arrived. With her first
glance at them Pauline's sympathetic heart seemed to realize the
situation. She signalled to us to follow her, and entered at once.
Unaccustomed as ever to the interpretation of feminine signals, I
blunderingly stayed where I was, and Harrod hovered irresolutely in the
doorway.
"Won't you come in?" we heard her say timidly, almost pleadingly, as she
held out her little hand.
"No, thank you, not this time; I must catch Williams. Say good-by for
me, please." He grasped her hand, and seemed to wring it hard an
instant, then, pulling his cap down over his eyes, dashed away.
Kitty stood one moment looking sorrowfully after him, then slowly passed
us, and went in without a word. She did not appear again that evening so
long as I was there.
Early next morning a note reached me from Harrod. A telegram had just
reached him from Sandbrook. "Father says he will be here to-morrow. Mrs.
Amory--Frank's mother--coming on same train." And, leaving everything
undone that I ought to have done at the office, I hastened up to Amory's
lodgings to see what that might mean. He was sitting up, partially
dressed, and would be glad to see me, said the orderly; and, stumbling
up the stairs, I was shown to his room.
Very pale and rather thin looked our Mars, but his face was brighter and
his eyes far clearer. He was far from strong, however, and apologized
for not rising, as he held out his hand.
"Mother is coming," were almost his first words.
"So I heard. Judge Summers telegraphed Colonel Harrod that he would be
here to-morrow,--at noon, I suppose,--and that Mrs. Amory was on the
train. What a very pleasant surprise for all!"
"Yes. When she heard from me how ill Vinton was, and that I could not
get away, the little mother must have made up her mind to come to me. It
is a surprise, yet a very glad one. Where can we put her? This house is
no place, and yet, it may be two or three days before I can get out, and
I hate to have her alone at the St. Charles."
"Why not with the Summers' at Colonel Newhall's place? There are one or
two rooms vacant, and the landlady seems very pleasant."
Mars flushed to the temples.
"I think not," he said, hesitatingly. "It--it's too far away. She would
rather be up here with me, or near me. She wants so much to know Vinton,
too,--has such an admiration for him; but she could not see him just
now, I suppose. How is he to-day?"
"Very much better last night. So much so that Miss Summers went over and
dined with us at Moreau's,--a little dinner to Major Williams and
Turpin, you know," said I, soothingly, and with calm note of the twinge
which seemed to shoot over Amory's features at the mention of the party.
"They went back to Kentucky last night, I suppose you know," I added.
"They? No, I didn't!" said Mars, with sudden animation. "I wanted to see
Turpin, too. He was here twice, but they said I wasn't well enough, or
something, and he went away. Did he go back with the battalion?" he
inquired, eagerly.
"Certainly. He came around to say good-by last evening."
Mars settled back in his chair with an expression of absolute relief.
Now, thought I, is the time to have a few words about Bella Grayson. It
was just about time to look for the coming of her reply to my diplomatic
letter, and very positively did I want to know just how matters stood
between her and my cavalryman. Meddling old Polonius that I was, it
seemed to me perfectly right and natural that Mars should reciprocate my
warm interest in him, that he should want to tell me about Bella, and
that the fact of my relationship to her should give me an added lustre
in his eyes. This last, perhaps, was realized. He was more inclined to
be very courteous and semi-confidential in his tone, yet he was not at
ease.
It was at the tip of my tongue to make some genial, off-hand,
matter-of-fact inquiry, such as "Heard from Bella, lately?" by way of
putting him entirely out of all embarrassment, when, fortunately, the
orderly entered, saying a gentleman asked to speak a moment with Mr.
Brandon. Going out in some surprise to the landing, Mr. Brandon there
encountered one of the detectives whom he had recently learned to know.
"Can you come down to the office, sir? We have one of your birds, if not
both," was the extent of his communication. And dropping Amory;
forgetting Bella; I went.