"If you wait till you do you may tell it; that will suit me well
enough."
"I will always suit you the best I can."
"I don't know why you should," she said.
"You risked your life to save mine; and you risked it when I did not
deserve so much as your respect."
"Oh!--we must never talk about that again, Richard; you saw me in the
evilest guise I ever wore, and that is saying much."
"But," I responded, "you put it on for a better reason than you could
tell me then or can tell me now, though now I know your story."
"Please don't forget," she murmured, "that you know too much." "No, no!
I don't know half enough; I know only what Miss Camilla
and--and--Gholson could tell me," was my tricky reply, and I tried to
look straight into her eyes, but they took that faint introspective
contraction of which I have spoken, and gazed through me like sunlight
through glass. Then again she bent her glance upon her steps, saying--
"Ah, Richard, you have found out all you could, and I am glad of it,
except of what I, myself, have had to betray to you; for _that_ was more
than one would want to tell her twin brother. But I had to create you
_my_ scout, and I had only two or three hours for my whole work of
creation."
"Well, you completed it." We went on some steps, and then she said--
"You tell me I risked my life to save yours; I risked more than life,
and I risked it for more than to save yours. Yet I did not save your
life; you saved it, yourself, and--" here her low tone thrilled like a
harp-string--"you risked it--frightfully--at that bridge--merely to save
the promise you made me that you need not have made at all--oh, you
needn't shake your head; I _know_."
"Ah, how you gild my base metal!"
"No, no, I have the story exactly, and from one who has no mind to
praise you."
"From Gholson?"
"Gholson! no! I have it from Lucius Oliver, who had it from his son. He
told me carefully, quietly and entirely, in pure spleen, so that I might
know that they know--think they know, that is,--why you and--he in front
of us yonder--would not shoot his son when--"
"When as soldiers it was our simple du'--"
"Yes; and also that I may understand that he--the son--has sworn by that
right hand you mutilated that the 'pair of you' shall die before
he does."
"I ought not to have shown him that envelope addressed to you."
"Ah, but if it saved your life!"
"And this is what you don't want me to tell? Ah, I see; for me to know
it is enough; I can put it to him as a theory. I can say Oliver is not a
man to be put upon the defensive, and that he is more than likely to be
hunting 'the pair of us'--" All at once I thought of something.
"What made you give that sudden start?" she asked as we faced about in
the driveway to make our walk a moment longer; "that's a bad habit
you've got; why do you do it?"
I fancied the thrilling freshness of the question I was about to put
would be explanation enough. "Do you believe Jewett has gone back into
his own lines?"
"I don't know; hasn't he?"
"Oh, I don't _know_, either, but--well, I don't believe there's a braver
man in Grant's army than that one a-straddle of my horse to-day! Why,
just the way he got him, night before last,--you've heard that, have
you not?"
"Yes, I've heard it; he is a very daring man; what of it?"
"Why, I can't help thinking he's out here to make a new record for
himself, at whatever cost!"
A note of distress hung on my hearer's stifled voice; her head went
lower and she laid her fingers pensively to her lips. "It would be like
him," I heard her murmur, and when I asked if she meant Jewett she
shook her head.
"No," I said, "you mean it would be like Oliver to join him," and with
that the sudden start was hers. "He wouldn't have to touch Ned Ferry or
me," I went on, heartlessly, "nor to come near us, to make us rue the
hour we let ourselves forget this wasn't our private war."
She whispered something to herself in horrified dismay; but then she
looked at me with her eyes very blue and said "You'll see him about it,
won't you? You must help unravel this tangle, Richard; and if you do
I'll--I'll dance at your wedding; yours and--somebody's we know!" Her
eyes began forewith.
A light footfall sounded behind us, and Camille gave both her hands to
my companion. "I was in the hall," she said, "telling Cécile she was
like a white star that had come out by day, when I saw you here looking
like a great red one; and you're still more like a red, red rose, and
I've come to get some of your fragrance."
"I'd exchange for yours any day, and thank you, dear," responded
Charlotte; "you're a bunch of sweet-peas. Isn't she, Mr. Smith?"
The bunch beamed an ecstatic bliss. What was the explanation; had her
father arrived, or--or somebody else? The question went through me like
an arrow. Was the cause of this heavenly radiance somebody else?--that
was the barb; or was it I?--that was the soothing feather.
In gratitude for Charlotte's word she sank backward in a long obeisance.
"May it please your ladyship, dinner is served. Oh, Mr. Smith, I've been
listening to Mr. Gholson talking with aunt Martha and Estelle; I don't
wonder you and he are friends; I think his ideas of religion are
perfectly beautiful!"
At our two-o'clock dinner I found that our company had been reinforced.
On one side of Camille sat I; but on the other side sat "Harry."