One evening Griffith sat by the library table reading, and Katherine was
moving about the room restlessly. For several days no news had come
from the front--no home news, no letters from the absent sons. The door
leading to the porch was open and suddenly there stood before them a
messenger with a telegram. Katherine grew weak and sick. Griffith tore
the envelope open and read. She watched his face. Every vestige of blood
had left it, and his head sank on his arms crossed on the table before
him. The telegram was crushed in one hand. A groan escaped him, and then
a sob shook his frame.
"Which one is it? Which one of my boys is killed? Which--which one?"
cried Katherine. She tried to loosen the hand that clasped the message,
but he held it crashed, and when he lifted his head tears were streaming
down his cheeks. He tried to reassure her. "It is not _that,_" he
said hoarsely. "They--the boys are all right, but they have ordered
me------." He relaxed his grasp, and his head sank again on his arms.
She took the message and read:
"Washington, D. C.
"Report here immediately.
"A. Lincoln."
For a moment Katherine seemed stunned. She did not comprehend. Then she
seemed to rise far above her normal stature.
"_You shall not go!_" she said. Her eyes blazed. Her hands hung by her
sides, but they were clenched until the nails sank into the flesh. The
tigress in her was at last aroused. "You shall _not_ go! How dare he?
With three of my boys in the army now! With us reduced to _this!_" She
had never complained of the change in her style of living, but she flung
out the contemptuous fire within her as she stretched out her arms to
indicate the simplicity of her surroundings. "With _this_ in exchange
for what we had! With every tie broken! With every luxury and comfort
gone! Separated from even the negroes that loved us and begged to come
with us! How _dare_ they ask for further sacrifice from us! How dare
he!"
Griffith's head lifted slowly. He looked at her in dismay. Was this the
patient, compliant wife who had willingly given up her fortune and
her home to satisfy _his_ conscience? Was this the silent, demure,
self-controlled Katherine--this very tall, angry woman? She looked like
a fury unchained. She took a step nearer to him.
"You shall _not_ go!" she repeated, and the astonished messenger-boy
fled in affright, as she suddenly threw both arms about Griffith and
began to sob convulsively.
Griffith held her to his breast, which heaved and choked him. It seemed
to him that he could not speak. At last he whispered softly: "I must
go, Katherine. It is an order from the President. I will have to go to
Washington." He had not finished speaking until he felt her form begin
to shrink and collapse in his grasp.
Her eyes half closed, half opened again, then closed and a ghastly
pallor spread itself over her face. For the first time in her life
Katherine had fainted. His first thought was that she was dead. A great
wave of fear and then of self-reproach swept over him. He sat staring in
the ghastly face.
"I have sacrificed her very life to my conscience," he moaned aloud. "I
had no right to do that! God help me! God forgive me! What _is_ it right
to do? Can we _never_ know what is right?" He was holding her in his
arms, with his own face upturned and staring eyes. "God help me! God
help me! What _is_ it right to do?" he moaned again.
"'Fo' de good Lawd on high, Mos' Grif, what de matter wif Mis' Kate?
What de mattah wif all two, bofe of yoh?" exclaimed Aunt Judy. "I done
see dat little rapscallion what brung de telegraf letter run fo' deah
life, an' he yell back dat Mis' Kate done gone crazy, an'--"
Judy had hobbled to his side, and her old eyes were growing used to the
changed light. She saw his tear-stained face and Katherine's lifeless
form in his arms.
"Is Mis' Kate daid, Mos' Grif?" she asked, in an awed voice.
"I have killed her," he said, like one in a dream, looking at the
old woman as to one who could be relied on to understand. Katherine's
eyelids began to move. They slowly lifted and closed again. The old
woman saw it first.
"Mos' Grif, wat fo' yoh tell me dat kine er talk? Mis' Kate, she ain't
daid. She's des foolin'. Toh ain't hu'tted, is yoh, honey?" she cooed,
stroking Katherine's hair. "Nobody ain't hu'tted yoh, is dey, Mis' Kate?
Nobody--"
"Get some water--quick, quick!" said Griffith, and struggled to the
couch with his burden. He knelt beside her and stroked her forehead
and chafed her hands. He could not speak, but he tried to control
his distorted features, that she might not understand--might not
remember--when she should open her eyes.
"Heah some wattah, honey. Des yoh take a big sup. Hit gwine ter do yoh
good. Dar, now, I gwine ter lif yoah haid. Now, den, yoh des lay des dat
away, an' Aunt Judy gwine ter run an' git dat rabbit foot t Dat gwine
ter cuah yoh right off. It is dat. Dey ain't no doctah in dis roun'
worl' kin cuah yoh like wat dat kin--let erlone one er dees heah Yankee
doctahs! Hit fotch me to you alls dat time wat yoh ranned away, an' hit
fetch dem roses back to yoah cheeks, too. Dat hit kin!"
She hobbled off to her loft to find her precious and Griffith softly
closed and locked the door behind her. Katherine lay so still he thought
she had fallen asleep. He could see her breathing. He went to his seat
beside the couch and gently fanned her pale face. The color had come
again in the lips. Presently he went softly across the room and took up
the crumpled message from the floor, where she had dropped it.
"Report here immediately.
"A. Lincoln."
There could be no mistake about that. It was a command from the
President, imperative, urgent. He sank into the chair again, and his
head fell on his folded arms on the table. His lips were moving, but
there was no sound. At last he was conscious of a light tapping on the
window. He was surprised to find that it was dark. He crossed the room
to find Rosanna outside with a tray.
"Shure, an' Oi troied both dures, an' not a sound did Oi git.'Tis long
phast yer tay toime, an' not a pick have ye et--nayther wan av yez. The
ould nayger's done fed the baby an' put her t' bed. Shure, an' she's
a-galavantin' 'round here thryin' the dures an' windeys, flourishin' the
fut ay a bunnie, be jabbers! She says 'tis what yez wants fer yer health;
but, sez Oi, _viddles_ is what they wants, sez Oi--an' here they be."
Griffith opened the door.
"Is it wan av the young maisthers kilt, shure?" she whispered, as she
put the tray down.
Griffith shook his head.
"Well, thanks be t' Almoighty God an' all the blished saints! Oi feared
me it was the young maisther--an' shure an' ye'd go fur and not foind
the loikes ay _him_ agin. He looked just simply ghrand in his ossifer's
uni_forum_. Yez moight say ghrand! Shure an' nobody else could match up
wid 'im! He looked that rehspectable! An' the schape av 'im!" She threw
up her hands and admired the absent Beverly. "The schape av 'im! Yez
moight say! He shurely do become them soger close! Now, can't yez
ate the rear av thim berries? dear? They're simply ghrand, they're
shplendid!"
Katherine seemed to be sleeping, and Griffith soon pushed the tray
aside. Rosanna took it up. Then she leaned forward.
"Shure, an' that ould nayger's awful rehspectable; ye can see that by
the lukes ay her; but she's thet foolish with her ould ded bunnie fut
thet she makes me craipy in me shpine."
She glanced about her before venturing out, and then made a sudden dash
for the kitchen.