An hour later, both Harrod Summers and myself were curiously inspecting
a pair of inebriated bipeds at the police station. Both were stolidly
drunk, and were plunged in the heavy sleep that resulted from their
excessive potations. One, the younger, was a tolerably well-dressed
youth not absolutely unlike Peyton; but all the same a total stranger.
Neither of us had ever seen him before. But his companion--was Hank
Smith.
The two had been guilty of some drunken turbulence in a down-town
saloon, said one of the police-officers, and had attracted the attention
of the "force." In the course of a wordy altercation between them a
detective had dropped in, and, after a few moments' apparently
indifferent lounging and listening, had suddenly gone in search of a
comrade, meantime bidding the officer keep his eye on them. They were
still drinking and squabbling when the detective returned. Smith was
demanding payment of money which the other protested he had never
received, and it was not long before the lie was given and a scuffle
ensued. This was sufficient to enable the officers to arrest them as
drunk and disorderly, and then to notify us. That Peyton was in some way
connected with the sudden appearance of Hank Smith in the Crescent City
neither of us could doubt for a minute, as Peyton's name, with many
blasphemous qualifications, had been frequently mentioned in their
altercation. It would be some hours before they could be in condition to
account for themselves and their motives; meantime the colonel and I
were devoured with impatience and curiosity. The police supposed that
they had the big ruffian of our night adventure in the person of Smith,
but he was not the man. His presence only added to the mystery. For
several weeks after his trial at Jackson he had disappeared from our
view and we had heard nothing of his movements. Now, what could have
brought him here, and what connection had his wanderings with Peyton's?
I vainly puzzled over this problem while studying the flushed and sodden
features of this arch-reprobate. Harrod went down home again to tell
Vinton of the important capture. I had to go to the office at noon, but
late in the day we were again at the station, and now, still bewildered
and surly, but somewhat freshened by liberal applications of cold water
from the pump, the ex-leader of the Tishomingo Ku-Klux was sitting up
and chewing the cud of melancholy retrospect in place of the accustomed
solace of "navy plug." Very ugly and ill at ease looked Hank as the
colonel quietly accosted him. He knew us both at once and seemed not at
all surprised at our presence.
Our only object in intruding upon his valuable time and his placid
meditations being to find out what had become of Peyton, the question
arose beforehand, who should question him? Supposing that he would be
disposed to conceal everything he might know, we had been planning what
course to pursue; but his first remark put an end to our uncertainty.
"I'm as well as a man can be who's just over a drunk and can't get a
cocktail," he growled. "Have you come to pay me that money for Cap.
Peyton?" And his bloodshot eyes gleamed fiercely up at Harrod's calm
features.
"How much do you claim, Smith?" was the evasive query.
"He knows d--d well. It's a round five hundred dollars, and I'll foller
him to Mexico but that I'll get it out of him, if you don't pay it."
"Why did you not make him pay you yesterday?"
"Yesterday?" said Hank, starting to his feet. "He ain't got back, has
he? If he's lied to me again, I'll----Say, _is_ he back?" he asked,
eagerly.
"I have not seen him yet," answered Harrod, "and I do not wish to see
him. I want you to warn him never to show his face among us again. Now,
supposing you are released to-night, how soon can you find him?"
"_Find_ him? The young whelp! He's tricked me. He's gone to Mexico, d--n
him! I came here two days ago to meet him as agreed. He was to pay me
the money then, and said you was here to get it for him; and then, when
I got here, he left word that he was in a scrape, and had to light out
for Texas right away, and never said another word about the money,
except that I might apply to him there for it ('him there' being the
bedraggled-looking youth sitting up now on his wooden bench and staring
stupidly about him), and--and this is what came of it, by God! The
money's mine, colonel, and I earned it fairly that last scrape he was
in. He swore he'd pay me if we'd help him out. They'd have jailed him
sure at Holly Springs if we hadn't stood by him. It took some of the
hardest swearing you ever listened to to turn that marshal off his
track." And Hank's face was woe-begone as this touching reminiscence
occurred to him.
"And that was the service your people rendered him, was it? You could
have rendered his people a much better one by telling the truth and
'jailing him,' as you say. What had he been doing to set the marshal on
his track?"
Hank looked suspiciously at me a moment. He was apparently ready to
make a clean breast of matters to Harrod, but I was one of a class he
regarded with distrust. Seeing this, Harrod glanced significantly at me,
and I withdrew, leaving them to work out their own conclusions.
Strolling up to headquarters and thence over to Amory's, I found him
sleeping quietly and Parker reading the newspapers at his bedside. An
enlivening conversation was not to be looked for in that quarter
therefore, and on my speaking to Parker about a room for Mrs. Amory, who
was to arrive on the following day, he replied that he had already
secured one close at hand. This again left me with nothing especial to
do, and in my loneliness and lack of occupation I went down to Royal
Street, and came luckily upon a cheerful gathering at Newhall's, as we
had learned to speak of the house wherein our Sandbrook party were
quartered.
It was a still, balmy evening, and Vinton's sofa had been trundled into
the sitting-room. He lay there looking rather gaunt and white, but
unutterably happy, for in a low chair by his side Miss Summers was
seated, and she had evidently been reading aloud before my entrance, for
a little blue-and-gold volume of Tennyson lay in her lap. Harrod and
Kitty were seated at the centre-table near them, and rose to greet me as
I entered, but the moment she had given me her little hand, with a
rather embarrassed greeting, and I went forward to Vinton's sofa, Miss
Kitty dropped back to the dim light of a distant corner. I had barely
time to congratulate the major on his convalescence when he inquired
eagerly for Amory.
"I have just come from him," I answered. "He was sleeping quietly, and
Mr. Parker was there with him. He will be all right now in a day or two.
Mrs. Amory will be here to-morrow, as you doubtless know, and Parker has
taken a room for her at Madame R----'s, close to headquarters."
For some moments we four sat there talking quietly about her coming and
its probable benefit to Amory's health, which certainly had been
suffering of late. Kitty still sat in her corner, apparently occupied
with a magazine, though it was too dark to read at that distance from
the lamp. Vinton, of course, was eager to hear all the particulars of
the recent excitements, however, and after a few moments he asked to be
fully informed.
"Yes, Brandon, tell him the whole thing. Do not spare Peyton. Do not
imagine that it will shock Pauline, for I have told her all about it.
Indeed, I may as well take the lead," said Harrod, "and give you briefly
what Smith confessed to me to-day. It was Peyton who planned and led
that ambuscade on Amory's command. He ordered his party to try and pick
off Amory himself, and but for the darkness they probably would have
killed him. The fellow is a scoundrel throughout, and I'm almost sorry
he has escaped now. Smith says he has undoubtedly gone to Mexico, and
most of the money with him. Now, Brandon, tell us your story."
There was a rustle of skirts at the other end of the room. Pauline
glanced wistfully over to Kitty's corner, and I could not help looking
thither myself. Without a word the little lady had risen and left the
room.
Pauline rose hurriedly. "I must go to Kitty," she said. "She has been
very much distressed about all this trouble of late, and she will worry
herself to death." With that she, too, was gone; and Mr. Brandon, bereft
of his feminine audience, told his story with far less interest and
enjoyment than he would otherwise have felt. Vinton was deeply
interested, however, and greatly concerned over Amory's adventure. It
was some time before Miss Summers' return, and then she brought Kitty's
excuses. The latter had been persuaded finally to go to bed, for she was
shocked inexpressibly at hearing that Peyton had really had the
hardihood to carry out the threat of that memorable day at Sandbrook.
"And more than that, she is convinced that Peyton has been striving to
harm Mr. Amory here in New Orleans, and I _had_ to promise that she
should know the whole truth. Is it so, Mr. Brandon?"
And once more Mr. Brandon had the gratification of relating that
episode, and before another day poor Kitty was in possession of all the
facts.
And yet when I met her the following afternoon her eyes were bright; her
color heightened; her manner animated and almost gay. "So glad uncle was
coming," was her explanation, and yet--she did not care to go to the
station with Harrod, Pauline, and myself to meet uncle. This struck me
as strange, and I ventured to urge her to accompany us.
"Oh, no! the carriage only holds four," was her reply.
"But you will make the fourth, and you know I'm not coming back. I'm
going to drive Mrs. Amory up to see her boy at once. He's sitting up in
state ready to welcome her, and we had some difficulty in persuading him
that he must not attempt to leave the house. You see there is abundant
room, little lady, so why not come?"
"Thanks, I think not; I'm not ready to drive," was her confused answer;
and yet I saw that she had been out. Her hat and gloves lay there upon
the table. Her costume was perfect--and so was her determination.
The carriage came and we drove off, leaving her smiling and kissing her
hand gayly from the balcony above our heads. Pauline glanced back
lovingly at her as we turned the corner.
"Isn't she exquisite?" she said to Harrod, whose eyes, too, were fixed
upon the fairy-like little figure until 'twas hidden from our sight.
"Yes, and utterly incomprehensible. Last night she was in the depths of
misery when she heard about Peyton's connection with that rascally
business last December. Long after the rest of us had gone to bed,
Pauline went in and told her the whole story of your night adventure and
Peyton's further rascality, and, by Jove! it acted like a
counter-irritant. She has been in a whirl of spirits all morning; but,
Paulie, she should not rush out on the streets by herself. She was out
nearly half an hour awhile ago."
"Not out of sight, Harrod. I had her in view from the balcony."
"What on earth could she find to do down on Royal Street for nearly half
an hour without going out of sight?"
Pauline smiled demurely. "Merely making some purchases at the corner, I
fancy."
"At the corner? Why, it's a cigar store."
"I did not say _in_ the corner, _M. le colonel_. Kitty is fond of
oranges."
"Then it took half an hour to buy half a dozen oranges of that old Dago
at the fruit-stand, did it? Still, that does not account for her blithe
spirits. One would think that having sent one adorer away heart-broken;
and another having vanished in disgrace (though that _was_ but a boy and
girl affair), and a third laid up as the result of the second's
rascality; a girl might be expected to suffer some pangs of remorse. I
declare I believe some women have no more conscience than kittens, and
our Kitty is one of them," said Harrod, half wrathfully.
A moment's silence, then,--
"Well, _why_ should she not want to come and meet the judge?" I asked,
with blundering persistency.
"And _why_ should she be bright as a button this afternoon?" demanded
Harrod.
Pauline smiled with conscious superiority. "I can understand it readily,
and am really surprised that you two profound thinkers should be so
utterly in the dark. I'm not going to betray her, however; you ought to
be able to see through it yourselves." And that silenced me completely.
I record it with absolute humility that not until days afterwards was it
made clear to me that when Pauline told Kitty the story of Amory's
night-ride, the latter was able to account for the first time for his
extraordinary conduct at Moreau's and the theatre; more than that, the
child then knew what it was that had brought him in the dead of night to
take one look at her window before going out to meet Peyton. As for her
refusal to go to the depot, she simply felt unable to meet in that way
Frank Amory's mother.
The train came in on time. Harrod sprang aboard, and in another moment
emerged from the Pullman escorting his gray-haired father, and with them
appeared the pale, placid face I had so admired in the picture at
Amory's tent. Dressed in black, though not in deep mourning, the gentle
lady stepped from the car, and Miss Summers, who had extended her right
hand, gave one swift glance in the peaceful eyes, then suddenly,
impulsively, threw forward both; and Harrod and I had abundant time to
welcome the judge before either lady had a word for us. When I turned
again to look at them Mrs. Amory and Pauline were still standing hand in
hand, and the latter's lovely face, flushed with happiness, and with
eyes that glistened through the starting tears, was hardly more
beautiful than the sweet, sorrow-worn features of her who had found
"that peace which the world cannot give," and in the sanctity of her
bereaved life had learned the lesson of resignation,--the blessed hope
of a blessed future. We would not interrupt them as they stood gazing
into each other's eyes--the mother and her boy's devoted friend. It
seemed best that from Pauline she should hear of Frank's improvement; of
his captain's convalescence; and that the bonds of sympathy that drew
them in such close alliance should there be riveted without my
customary interference; but neither lady was forgetful of us, and
turning to me, Mrs. Amory, in that soft, sweet voice men love to
hear,--all the more winning for its Southern accent,--asked,--
"And is not this Mr. Brandon, my boy's friend?" And then Mr. Brandon had
the happiness of clasping her hand, and presently of leading her to her
carriage. She was impatient to get to her son, and it was soon arranged
that Pauline should drive up to see her later in the evening, and then
we separated. Ten minutes more and the orderly opened the door, and,
obedient to my beckoning finger, stepped out as the lady was ushered in.
We only heard the glad ring in Frank's brave young voice; one cry of
"Mother!" and then we closed the door and left them together.
An hour afterwards, Mr. Parker and I walked over from headquarters to
pay our respects to Mrs. Amory and escort her to her lodgings, where
hospitable Madame R---- was waiting to welcome her and refresh her with
tea. We found the doctor there in blithe chat with his patient and that
now happy mother. Very sweet and gentle was her greeting for us. She
seemed to know just what to say to each and every one, and charmed
Parker at once, as she had me, by her lovely manner and voice. Almost
the first question was, "Can we not move Frank over with me?"
But Mars protested. Here he was right near his troop; could hear the
trumpet-calls and the voices of the men at times; and so felt _with_
them. The doctor would not let him go to duty for forty-eight hours at
the least,--perhaps not then,--and he wanted to remain where he was.
Parker laughingly offered to come and occupy the room if he really
thought an officer must be with the troop, and then the doctor said his
say. A carriage could be there in ten minutes; he was all dressed; he
might just as well move over to Madame's, a square away; be in
comfortable quarters, and have his mother in the adjoining room. The
project was decided on in spite of him. Parker scurried over to Camp
Street, and came back with information that just such rooms as were
needed were there in readiness, and when the carriage came, our boy was
half lifted, half led, down the stairs, and correspondingly transferred
to new and cosey quarters nearly opposite headquarters. Some of the men
brought over the trunk and his few belongings, but when it came time to
start, Mars himself had stretched forth his hand and gathered in a
beautiful bunch of sweet wild violets whose fragrance had filled the
little room. I had noticed them on the table by his side the moment we
entered, and now conceived it time to inquire whence they came.
"I'm not quite sure," said Amory, with something vastly like a blush.
"They were left here an hour or so before mother came, and I think Miss
Summers must have sent them."
And yet that evening, when Pauline and Colonel Summers came to see Mrs.
Amory for a few moments, I was still there. The violets were by Amory's
bedside up-stairs; Mrs. Amory made no allusion to them, but I did,
unblushingly; and neither affirming nor denying that she had sent them,
Miss Summers silenced me by saying that she was glad they gave Mr. Amory
pleasure, and instantly changed the subject and addressed her talk to
her lady friend. Driving home, however, she was at my mercy and I again
pressed the matter. A keen suspicion was actually beginning to glimmer
in my brain.
"_You_ sent those violets of course, Miss Summers?"
"If so, why ask me, Mr. Brandon?"
"Well! _Didn't_ you, then?"
"No, sir; I never even knew of their being sent." And Miss Summers was
plainly and mischievously enjoying my perplexity.
Leaving me at my rooms, the brother and sister continued on their
homeward way and their enthusiastic chat about Mrs. Amory, which my
unfeeling curiosity had broken in upon. It was quite late and my letters
had been brought up from the office. First on the package was the one
for which I was eagerly waiting,--the answer to my diplomatic missive to
Bella Grayson. Ignoring all others I plunged instanter into that, and
was rewarded--as I deserved.
"DEAR UNCLE GEORGE," she wrote.--"It was such a treat and so rare
an honor to receive a letter from your august hand, that for some
time I could not believe it was intended for me at all. Indeed, to
be _very_ frank, the closing page rather confirmed me in that
impression. You men always taunt us by saying that the gist of a
woman's letter lies in the postscript (one cynical acquaintance of
mine went so far as to say that it lies all the way through), and
yet not until that last page was reached did I discover the object
of yours. Now, Uncle Georgy, isn't that circumlocution itself?
Confess.
"But you really _do_ seem 'interested in young Amory,' as you call
him; and his 'evident admiration for a fair young friend of
yours--an heiress--commands your entire sympathy.' What a
cold-blooded, mercenary avowal, _M. mon oncle_! or, do you--is it
possible that you mean--you too are interested in her? No! That is
hardly tenable as a supposition. There is something so disingenuous
about the rest of the letter that your interest is evidently on his
account. Thank you ever so much for 'having half a mind to take me
into your confidence.' And now, how can I dispel your perplexity?
With the best intentions in the world, how powerless I am!
"You believe he has some lady correspondent up North. Well, that
strikes me as quite a reasonable supposition. Indeed, I have heard
that most of them have; but what--what did I _ever_ say to lead to
such a remark as this: 'Knowing what susceptible fellows cadets are
(from your own statements)'? What could I ever have said to give
you such an impression? Why, Uncle George, _how_ should I know
whether they are susceptible or not? and how could you be so cruel
as to allude to the dismal fact that I had been up there every
summer for six or eight years, and am still Bella Grayson? Does
_that_ look as though I thought them susceptible?
"But seriously; you say that Mr. Amory has become involved in 'some
entanglement there from which he would now gladly escape,' and you
fancy that Mr. Amory has done me the honor to make me his
confidante; but herein you are mistaken. Certainly I have never
heard a word from him of an 'entanglement,' nor do I remember his
being devoted to any young girl in particular. Indeed, he struck me
as being rather general in his attentions, what little I saw of
him. It would be a great pleasure, no doubt, 'to help him out of
his boyish folly and into something worth having,' to use your own
words, but indeed, Uncle George, you overrate my influence
entirely.
"Nevertheless, I always liked Mr. Amory very much, and am greatly
interested in his romance. Perhaps if you were to tell me what he
_said_ to make you think he wanted to escape from his Northern
entanglement, I might be able to recall some one of his flames to
whom the remarks would be applicable. Tell me what you _know_ and
then my 'thinking-cap' may be put on to some advantage. Just now
I'm much in the dark, and, except very casually indeed, have not
heard from Mr. Amory for quite a while (How definite!--G. S. B.),
and as he never mentioned this new charmer to his 'confidante,' I
am most curious to hear of her. Do tell me who she is, what she is
like. Is she pretty? of course that is the first question; is
she--anything, everything, in fact? Do be a good Uncle Georgy and
write. We were all so glad to hear from you, but as I answered, I
shall expect an answer equally prompt. So write speedily to
"Your loving niece,
"BELLA."
When Mr. Brandon finally sought his bachelor pillow that night, it is
regretfully recorded that he, like Dogberry, remembered that he was writ
an ass.