ARTHUR AND MAUDE.
Tom Carleton was able to start on his journey westward. Twice he had
left his room and joined the family below, making himself so agreeable,
and adapting himself so nicely to all the Judge’s crotchets that the old
man confessed to a genuine liking for the _Yankee rascal_, and expressed
himself as unwilling to part with him. He had inquired into his family
history, and, to his infinite delight, found that the elder Carleton,
Tom’s father, was the very lawyer whose speech years ago, had been
instrumental in sending back to bondage the Judge’s runaway negro,
Hetty’s husband, whose grave was out by the garden wall, and whose wife
and sons had rendered so different a service to the lawyer’s son.
Tom’s face was scarlet when he thought of the difference, and remembered
how his father had worked to prove that the master was entitled to his
property wherever it was found. The Judge suspected the nature of his
thoughts, and with a forced laugh, said, goodhumoredly:
“You are more of an abolitionist than your father was, I see. Well,
well, young man, times change, and we change with them. Old man Carleton
did me a good turn, for Seth was worth two thousand dollars. I never
abused him, nor gave him a blow when I got him back. I only asked him
how he liked freedom as far as he had gone, and he didn’t answer. He
seemed broke down like, and in less than a year he died. He was the best
hand I ever had, more’n half white. I cried when he died. I’ll be hanged
if I didn’t. I told him to live and I’d set him free, and when I see how
his eyes lighted up I made out his papers on the spot, and brought ’em
to him, and he died with ’em in his hand, held so tight we could
scarcely get ’em out, and I had ’em buried with him in his coffin.
“‘Thank you, mars’r, God bless you for letting me die free, but it’s
come too late. I would worked for you, mars’r, all the same, if you’d
done this before. I wanted to be a _man_, and not a _thing_, a brute.
You have been kind to me mars’r; thank you, thank you for liberty.’
“These are Seth’s very words. I got ’em by heart, and I said them so
much that I began to wonder if freedom wasn’t better than slavery. But,
bless you, my niggers was about all I had. I couldn’t give ’em up,
though I used to go out to Seth’s grave and think how he hugged the
papers to the last, and wonder if the clause ‘all men are born free and
equal,’ didn’t mean the blacks. But the pesky war broke out, and drove
all this from my head. I hate the Yankees,—I hate Lincoln. I hate the
whole Union army, though I’ll be blamed if I can hate _you_. Got a wife,
hey?”
He turned abruptly to his guest, who had listened with so breathless
interest to the story of poor Seth, that he did not see Maude De Vere,
her eyes shining, and her cheeks flushed, as if she were under some
strong excitement.
Between herself and Arthur there had been a long conversation concerning
Captain Tom Carleton, and other matters of greater interest to Maude.
The “John Camp” ruse had succeeded well, and Maude had a fancy for
making it do still more, by taking her patient in safety as far as her
Uncle Haverill’s. She had received several letters from her uncle,
urging her to come home, and in a week at most she was going. As one who
had been expressly sent as her escort, Mr. Carleton would of course go
with her, and in order to make the journey with perfect safety she would
have Arthur go too, and it was of this that she had spoken to him that
morning when she found him in a little summer-house at the rear of the
long garden. There was a dark shadow on Arthur’s face, as he listened to
Maude’s proposition, and when she had finished speaking, he replied:
“I intend to go with you, provided I am not ordered back to the army,
but, Maude, I will not have that Yankee soldier hanging on to us. We
have done that for him which imperils our lives, and now that he is able
to go on, let him take his chance alone. If he is one half as keen as
Yankees think themselves to be, he will get through unharmed. No, I
won’t have him in our way.”
“But think of the dangers to be encountered, the hordes of guerrillas
which infest the mountains,” Maude pleaded, and in her earnestness she
laid both her hands on Arthur’s shoulder, and stood leaning over him.
“Maude De Vere,” and Arthur spoke very decidedly, “_why_ are you so much
interested in this man? Tell me, and tell me truly, too,—have you
learned to care for _him_ more than you would for a _common soldier_,
had such a one come to you as a runaway Yankee? If you have, Maude,” and
Arthur’s face was white with determination, “if you have, by the heavens
above us, I’ll put a bullet through him myself, or worse than that, send
him back to where he came from.”
“That would be an act worthy of a Tunbridge and a Southern gentleman,”
Maude said, bitterly, and something in her tone warned Arthur that he
had gone too far, so changing his tactics, he said more gently:
“Sit here beside me, Maude, and listen to what I have to say. You know
that I have loved you ever since I knew the meaning of the word, and it
is not in my nature to give up what my heart is set upon. You have
refused me, but that does not matter. I want you for my wife; I must
have you for my wife. I know you are my superior, and I am willing it
should be so. You can fashion me into anything you like. I have
screened, and hidden, and _lied_ for that Yankee Carleton, just to
gratify you. And when I first consented to act the traitor’s part, I
supposed he was most likely some coarse, ignorant boor, but he is not.
Returning health shows him to be a well-bred gentleman, and decidedly
good-looking, so much so that I have been jealous of him, Maude, not
knowing to what your strange opinions might lead you.”
“You know of course he has a wife,” dropped scornfully from Maude’s
lips, and Arthur started quickly.
“No, Maude, I did not know it. How came you by the knowledge? Did he
tell you so?”
“Not directly, but when he was out of his head, or asleep, he talked of
Rose, and Annie, and Mary, and he called the latter his wife. That is
the way I know,” Maude said, and Arthur’s face cleared at once.
“Forgive me, Maude. I was a fool to be jealous of him. And now let us
come to a final understanding. You have laughed at, and browbeaten, and
queened it over me for years, but I have never despaired of winning you
at the last. Once for all, then, will you be my wife? I must have you. I
cannot be denied.”
Arthur was in earnest now, and his pleadings were eloquent with the love
he felt for the girl, who listened in silence, and then said to him:
“Arthur, it cannot be. I should make you very unhappy. We do not agree
in any one point.”
“But we will agree. I promise to conform to your opinions in everything.
I’ll guide this man to Tennessee, and give myself in future to the work
of saving and helping the entire Yankee army. I’ll be a second _Dan
Ellis_ if you like. I’ll do anything but take the oath to the Union.
I’ve sworn to stand by the other side. I cannot break my word even for
you, Maude.”
Maude did not like him less for that last. There was Southern fire in
her heart as well as his, and Southern blood in her veins, and though
she clung to the old flag, there were moments when she felt a flush of
pride in her misguided brothers, who fought so like heroes and believed
so heartily in their cause.
“Say, Maude,” Arthur continued, “will you be my wife if I will do all
this. Think how many lives I might save, and how much suffering relieve;
there are so many chances where I could do good, for no one would
suspect _me_. Give me some hope, Maude. Speak to me.”
She was sitting with her face buried in her hands, as many another
maiden has sat, “counting the cost.” All her life long, Arthur Tunbridge
had followed her with his love, till she was tired of the contest.
Nothing she had ever said disheartened him. No rebuff, however severe,
had availed to keep him quiet. She knew he loved her, and perhaps she
might in time love him. It would make the old Judge and his wife so
happy, while Charlie liked Arthur so much. Other people liked him, too.
He was very popular, and she well knew that she was envied by many a
proud maiden for the attentions of the agreeable Lieut. Tunbridge.
Besides, if Arthur pledged himself to help the escape of prisoners, he
would keep his word, and so through her much good might be done, and
hearts made happy perhaps. Others had willingly sacrificed their lives
for their country, and why should she shrink from sacrificing her
happiness, if by it so many lives could be saved? Was it not her duty to
cast self aside and think only of the suffering she could relieve with
Arthur as her ally. Maude was selling herself for her country, and with
one great throb of bitter pain, she said at last:
“I will deal frankly with you, Arthur, as I always have. You are not
disagreeable to me. I like you very much as a friend. I miss you when
you are away, and am glad when you come back; still, you are not just
what I have imagined my future husband to be. I like you for the good I
know there is in you, and I may learn to love you. I shall lead you a
horrid life if I do not, for it is not in my nature to affect what I do
not feel. If I cannot love you, I shall learn to hate you, and that will
be terrible.”
She was looking at him now, and though he winced a little beneath the
blazing eyes, she looked so grand, so beautiful, that, foolish youth as
he was, he fancied her hate would be preferable to losing her, and so he
said:
“Go on, Maude, I am not afraid of the hatred if you always look as you
do now.”
Something like contempt leaped to her eyes then, but she put it aside,
and continued:
“I will promise only on conditions. You shall see this Mr. Carleton
safely to my Uncle Paul’s. You shall befriend and help every runaway you
chance to find. You shall relieve every suffering Union soldier when an
opportunity occurs. You shall use your influence for the prisoners, and
seek to ameliorate their wretched condition. If you do this, Arthur, and
do it faithfully, when the war is over I will try to answer yes. Are you
satisfied?”
It was a very one-sided affair, and Arthur knew it; but love for Maude
De Vere was the strongest passion of which he was capable, and he
answered:
“I am satisfied,” and kissed the cold hand which Maude placed in his,
and thought what a regal creature he had won, and thought, too, how
implicitly he would keep the contract, even if it involved a giving up
of Jefferson Davis himself into the enemy’s hands.