A lovely morning it was that beamed on Sibley and the broad and
beautiful valley of the Cloudwater when once the sun got fairly above
the moist horizon. Mist and vapor and heavy cloud all seemed swallowed
up in the gathering, glowing warmth, as though the King of Day had
risen athirst and drained the welcoming cup of nature. It must have
rained at least a little during the darkness of the night, for dew there
could have been none with skies so heavily overcast, and yet the short
smooth turf on the parade, the leaves upon the little shade-trees around
the quadrangle, and all the beautiful vines here on the trellis-work of
the colonel's veranda, shone and sparkled in the radiant light. The
roses in the little garden, and the old-fashioned morning-glory vines
over at the east side, were all a-glitter in the flooding sunshine when
the bugler came out from a glance at the clock in the adjutant's office
and sounded "sick-call" to the indifferent ear of the garrison. Once
each day, at 7.30 a.m., the doctor trudged across to the
hospital and looked over the half-dozen "hopelessly healthy" but
would-be invalids who wanted to get off guard duty or a morning at the
range. Thanks to the searching examination to which every soldier must
be subjected before he can enter the service of Uncle Sam, and to the
disciplined order of the lives of the men at Sibley, maladies of any
serious nature were almost unknown. It was a gloriously healthy post, as
everybody admitted, and, to judge from the specimen of young-womanhood
that came singing, "blithe and low," out among the roses this same
joyous morning, exuberant physical well-being was not restricted to the
men.
A fairer picture never did dark beauty present than Alice Renwick, as
she bent among the bushes or reached high among the vines in search of
her favorite flowers. Tall, slender, willowy, yet with
exquisitely-rounded form; slim, dainty little hands and feet; graceful
arms and wrists all revealed in the flowing sleeves of her snowy,
web-like gown, fitting her and displaying her sinuous grace of form as
gowns so seldom do to-day. And then her face!--a glorious picture of
rich, ripe, tropical beauty, with its great, soulful, sunlit eyes,
heavily shaded though they were with those wondrous lashes; beautiful,
too, in contour as was the lithe body, and beautiful in every feature,
even to the rare and dewy curve of her red lips, half opened as she
sang. She was smiling to herself, as she crooned her soft, murmuring
melody, and every little while the great dark eyes glanced over towards
the shaded doors of Bachelors' Row. There was no one up to watch and
tell: why should she not look thither, and even stand one moment peering
under the veranda at a darkened window half-way down the row, as though
impatient at the non-appearance of some familiar signal? How came the
laggard late? How slept the knight while here his lady stood impatient?
She twined the leaves and roses in a fragrant knot, ran lightly within
and laid them on the snowy cloth beside the colonel's seat at table,
came forth and plucked some more and fastened them, blushing, blissful,
in the lace-fringed opening of her gown, through which, soft and creamy,
shone the perfect neck.
"Daisy, tell my fortune, pray:
He loves me not,--he loves me,"
she blithely sang, then, hurrying to the gate, shaded her eyes with the
shapely hand and gazed intently. 'Twas nearing eight,--nearing
breakfast-time. But some one was coming. Horrid! Captain Chester, of all
men! Coming, of course, to see papa, and papa not yet down, and mamma
had a headache and had decided not to come down at all, she would
breakfast in her room. What girl on earth when looking and longing and
waiting for the coming of a graceful youth of twenty-six would be
anything but dismayed at the substitution therefor of a bulky,
heavy-hearted captain of forty-six, no matter if he were still
unmarried? And yet her smile was sweet and cordial.
"Why, good-morning, Captain Chester. I'm so glad to see you this bright
day. Do come in and let me give you a rose. Papa will soon be down." And
she opened the gate and held forth one long, slim hand. He took it
slowly, as though in a dream, raising his forage-cap at the same time,
yet making no reply. He was looking at her far more closely than he
imagined. How fresh, how radiant, how fair and gracious and winning!
Every item of her attire was so pure and white and spotless; every fold
and curve of her gown seemed charged with subtile, delicate fragrance,
as faint and sweet as the shy and modest wood-violet's. She noted his
silence and his haggard eyes. She noted the intent gaze, and the color
mounted straightway to her forehead.
"And have you no word of greeting for me?" she blithely laughed,
striving to break through the awkwardness of his reserve, "or are you
worn out with your night watch as officer of the day?"
He fairly started. Had she seen him, then? Did she know it was he who
stood beneath her window, he who leaped in chase of that scoundrel, he
who stole away with that heavy tell-tale ladder? and, knowing all this,
could she stand there smiling in his face, the incarnation of maiden
innocence and beauty? Impossible! Yet what could she mean?
"How did you know I had so long a vigil?" he asked, and the cold,
strained tone, the half-averted eyes, the pallor of his face, all struck
her at once. Instantly her manner changed:
"Oh, forgive me, captain. I see you are all worn out; and I'm keeping
you here at the gate. Come to the piazza and sit down. I'll tell papa
you are here, for I know you want to see him." And she tripped lightly
away before he could reply, and rustled up the stairs. He could hear her
light tap at the colonel's door, and her soft, clear, flute-like voice:
"Papa, Captain Chester is here to see you."
Papa indeed! She spoke to him and of him as though he were her own. He
treated her as though she were his flesh and blood,--as though he loved
her devotedly. Even before she came had not they been prepared for this?
Did not Mrs. Maynard tell them that Alice had become enthusiastically
devoted to her step-father and considered him the most knightly and
chivalric hero she had ever seen? He could hear the colonel's hearty and
loving tone in reply, and then she came fluttering down again:
"Papa will be with you in five minutes, captain. But won't you let me
give you some coffee? It's all ready, and you look so tired,--even ill."
"I have had a bad night," he answered, "but I'm growing old, and cannot
stand sleeplessness as you young people seem to."
Was she faltering? He watched her eagerly, narrowly, almost wonderingly.
Not a trace of confusion, not a sign of fear; and yet had he not _seen_
her, and that other figure?
"I wish you could sleep as I do," was the prompt reply. "I was in the
land of dreams ten minutes after my head touched the pillow, and mamma
made me come home early last night because of our journey to-day. You
know we are going down to visit Aunt Grace, Colonel Maynard's sister, at
Lake Sablon, and mamma wanted me to be looking my freshest and best,"
she said, "and I never heard a thing till reveille."
His eyes, sad, penetrating, doubting,--yet self-doubting, too,--searched
her very soul. Unflinchingly the dark orbs looked into his,--even
pityingly; for she quickly spoke again:
"Captain, _do_ come into the breakfast-room and have some coffee. You
have not breakfasted, I'm sure."
He raised his hand as though to repel her offer,--even to put her aside.
He _must_ understand her. He _could_ not be hoodwinked in this way.
"Pardon me, Miss Renwick, but did you hear nothing strange last night
or early this morning? Were you not disturbed at all?"
"I? No, indeed!" True, her face had changed now, but there was no fear
in her eyes. It was a look of apprehension, perhaps, of concern and
curiosity mingled, for his tone betrayed that something had happened
which caused him agitation.
"And you heard no shots fired?"
"Shots! No! Oh, Captain Chester! what does it mean? _Who_ was shot? Tell
me!"
And now, with paling face and wild apprehension in her eyes, she turned
and gazed beyond him, past the vines and the shady veranda, across the
sunshine of the parade and under the old piazza, searching that still
closed and darkened window.
"Who?" she implored, her hands clasping nervously, her eyes returning
eagerly to his face.
"It was not Mr. Jerrold," he answered, coldly. "He is unhurt, so far as
shot is concerned."
"Then how is he hurt? Is he hurt at all?" she persisted; and then as she
met his gaze her eyes fell, and the burning blush of maiden shame surged
up to her forehead. She sank upon a seat and covered her face with her
hands.
"I thought of Mr. Jerrold, naturally. He said he would be over early
this morning," was all she could find to say.
"I have seen him, and presume he will come. To all appearances, he is
the last man to suffer from last night's affair," he went on,
relentlessly,--almost brutally,--but she never winced. "It is odd you
did not hear the shots. I thought yours was the northwest room,--this
one?" he indicated, pointing overhead.
"So it is, and I slept there all last night and heard nothing,--not a
thing. _Do_ tell me what the trouble was."
Then what was there for him to say? The colonel's footsteps were heard
upon the stair, and the colonel, with extended hand and beaming face and
cheery welcome, came forth from the open door-way:
"Welcome, Chester! I'm glad you've come just in time for breakfast. Mrs.
Maynard won't be down. She slept badly last night, and is sleeping now.
What was the firing last night? I did not hear it at the time, but the
orderly and old Maria the cook were discussing it as I was shaving."
"It is that I came to see you about, colonel. I am the man to hold
responsible."
"No prisoners got away, I hope?"
"No, sir. Nothing, I fear, that would seem to justify my action. I
ordered Number Five to fire."
"Why, what on earth could have happened around there,--almost back of
us?" said the colonel, in surprise.
"I do not know what had happened, or what was going to happen." And
Chester paused a moment, and glanced towards the door through which Miss
Renwick had retired as soon as the colonel arrived. The old soldier
seemed to understand the glance. "_She_ would not listen," he said,
proudly.
"I know," explained Chester. "I think it best that no one but you should
hear anything of the matter for the present until I have investigated
further. It was nearly half-past three this morning as I got around here
on Five's post, inspecting sentinels, and came suddenly in the darkness
upon a man carrying a ladder on his shoulder. I ordered him to halt. The
reply was a violent blow, and the ladder and I were dropped at the same
instant, while the man sprang into space and darted off in the direction
of Number Five. I followed quick as I could, heard the challenge and the
cries of halt, and shouted to Leary to fire. He did, but missed his aim
in the haste and darkness, and the man got safely away. Of course there
is much talk and speculation about it around the post this morning, for
several people heard the shots besides the guard, and, although I told
Leary and others to say nothing, I know it is already generally known."
"Oh, well, come in to breakfast," said the colonel. "We'll talk it over
there."
"Pardon me, sir, I cannot. I must get back home before guard-mount, and
Rollins is probably waiting to see me now. I--I could not discuss it at
the table, for there are some singular features about the matter."
"Why, in God's name, what?" asked the colonel, with sudden and deep
anxiety.
"Well, sir, an officer of the garrison is placed in a compromising
position by this affair, and cannot or will not explain."
"Who?"
"Mr. Jerrold, sir."
"Jerrold! Why, I got a note from him not ten minutes ago saying he had
an engagement in town and asking permission to go before guard-mounting,
if Mr. Hall was ready. Hall wanted to go with him, Jerrold wrote, but
Hall has not applied for permission to leave the post."
"It is Jerrold who is compromised, colonel. I may be all wrong in my
suspicions, all wrong in reporting the matter to you at all, but in my
perplexity and distress I see no other way. Frankly, sir, the moment I
caught sight of the man he looked like Jerrold; and two minutes after
the shots were fired I inspected Jerrold's quarters. He was not there,
though the lamps were burning very low in the bedroom, and his bed had
not been occupied at all. When you see Leary, sir, he will tell you that
he also thought it must be Mr. Jerrold."
"The young scapegrace!--been off to town, I suppose."
"Colonel," said Chester, quickly, "you--not I--must decide that. I went
to his quarters after reveille, and he was then there, and resented my
visit and questions, admitted that he had been out during the night, but
refused to make any statement to me."
"Well, Chester, I will haul him up after breakfast. Possibly he had been
up to the rifle-camp, or had driven to town after the doctor's party. Of
course _that_ must be stopped; but I'm glad you missed him. It, of
course, staggers a man's judgment to be knocked down, but if you had
killed him it might have been as serious for you as this knock-down blow
will be for him. That is the worst phase of the matter. What could he
have been thinking of? He must have been either drunk or mad; and he
rarely drank. Oh, dear, dear, dear, but that's very bad,--very
bad,--striking the officer of the day! Why, Chester, that's the worst
thing that's happened in the regiment since I took command of it. It's
about the worst thing that _could_ have happened to us. Of course he
must go in arrest. I'll see the adjutant right after breakfast. I'll be
over early, Chester." And with grave and worried face the colonel bade
him adieu.
As he turned away, Chester heard him saying again to himself, "About the
worst thing he could have done!--the worst thing he could have done!"
And the captain's heart sank within him. What would the colonel say when
he knew how far, far worse was the foul wrong Mr. Jerrold had done to
him and his?