THE OLD STORY EVER NEW.
Jaqueline Carrington's heart ached the first time she was taken out
to drive, when destruction met her on every side. There was another
sorrowful aspect. Men were getting about on crutches, sitting on the
Capitol steps sunning themselves. There was an empty coat-sleeve,
some scarred faces, others pale and wan. Yes, they had all escaped
marvelously.
She thought herself the happiest woman in the world. No one, she was
quite sure, had such a tender and devoted husband or splendid baby.
Mother Carrington found her affections quite divided, and the days when
Jaqueline came over to Georgetown were gala days.
True, Preston Floyd had been already talked of as a member of the
House of Representatives. Roger Carrington had been appointed to an
excellent position in the Treasury Department, though he was still a
great favorite with Mr. Monroe, and Jaqueline was not jealous. Arthur
Jettson had come to be consulting architect, and had still greater
plans for the new city. Annis had resumed her school, but she was quite
an important little body, and sometimes her mother felt almost as if
she had lost her.
Lieutenant Ralston found himself an admired hero. He had been cool
and level-headed through those days of the panic; and it was admitted
that many of his plans for the defense of the City would have been
excellent. A new commission was made out, bearing the name of Captain
Ralston; and a position was ready for him, when he could fill it, where
his genius would have full scope.
There were many anxious days over his leg. One of the doctors said the
wound would never heal, and that presently it would be amputation or
his life, and considered the delay a great risk.
"Oh, Collaston," he begged, "don't have me going around on a wooden
stump! If I was an admiral, now, I shouldn't mind it, as it would add
to the glory. But a poor fellow who can't retire on his fortune----"
"We'll fight to the very last, Phil. If you could have been found
sooner!"
"And some poor fellows were found altogether too late. Well, the
country has learned a lesson, and perhaps with Paul Jones we have
taught other nations a lesson, not to tread on us! Do your very best."
The doctor did it in fear and trembling. For if he cost his patient his
life, he knew it would be a great blow to his reputation.
As for the young lad, he soon began to improve. He seemed quite
stranded, for his cousin's regiment had re-embarked and was coasting
southward. No inquiries had been made about him--indeed, he knew
afterward that the cousin had written home that he had been killed at
the Battle of Bladensburg and buried on the field. He was a stranger in
a strange land.
Ralston had grown very fond of him, and he proved himself an excellent
companion. He was one of quite a large household, and his father was a
baronet, Sir Morton Stafford. One brother was in the army at home, one
in the Church, two sisters were married, and there were four younger
than himself to provide for. As soon as he could use his arm he wrote
to his father, and Dr. Collaston said cordially, "Consider my house
your home until you hear."
"You are very good to take in a stranger this way," he returned with
emotion.
Marian remained with Jaqueline when Mrs. Mason went home.
"I have been such a gadabout of late years," Mrs. Mason said, "that
father hardly knows whether he has a wife and a home. I must think a
little of him."
"I wish you _could_ stay, mamma!" pleaded Annis. "Why can't you move up
to Washington? I like it ever so much better. There is so much to see
and to do, and we are all together here."
"There is Charles. And Varina."
"But Patty and Jaqueline and the babies seem like a great many more.
And the rides and drives----"
"But you have your pony. And papa would take you any time with him."
"I like the crowds of people, and the pretty ladies in their carriages,
and the foreign ministers are so fine, and to hear the men when they
talk in the House, and the girls give little parties. Oh, mamma, I love
you, and I want you here, but----"
Her mother smiled. Yes, life on the plantation was dull. And the
jealous little girl was being weaned away.
"We are losing our children fast," she said to her husband.
Marian and Jaqueline by slow degrees slipped into the interchange of
thought that real friendship uses. It had not the girlish giddiness of
youth; both had learned more of the realities of life.
"But did you ever love Mr. Greaves, Marian?" Jaqueline ventured one
afternoon, as she sat with her baby on her lap. He was so lovely that
she envied the cradle when she put him in it, and liked to feel his
soft warm body on her knees.
"I didn't at first. Oh, Jaqueline, brother Randolph is so different
from father! We never begged or teased or coaxed things out of him
as you children used to. And mother expected us to obey the instant
we were spoken to. Then--I did not know that Lieutenant Ralston had
been up until some time afterward. Dolly found out that he had been
insultingly dismissed. Papa questioned me about the acquaintance and my
visit to brother's, and was awfully angry. Jack, _did_ you plan it?"
"I put things in train, simply. I did not know how they would come out."
"Papa accepted Mr. Greaves for me. I meant to tell him the story and
decline his hand. But it was quite impossible. I could never talk
freely to him. He did not ask me if I loved him. He had certain ideas
about wives. But he was gentlemanly and kind, and I had no liberty at
home. I began to think it would be nice to be free, to go out without
watching, to write a letter, to have some time of my very own. I had
said to papa that I would never marry him, and he replied that I should
never marry anybody, then. Suddenly I gave in. I begged papa's pardon
for all the dreadful things I had said, and accepted Mr. Greaves as my
future husband. But I felt as if I had been turned into stone, as if
it was not really my own self. That self seemed dead. I went round as
usual, and tried to take an interest in everything, but nothing really
mattered. Did you think me queer and strange that Christmas?"
"You certainly were cold, apathetical."
"That is just the word. Papa was formal and dogmatic and
arbitrary,--poor papa! it is unfilial to say these things about
him,--but mamma always seemed to get along. Mr. Greaves was more
gentle, and used to ask what I would like; and I do believe he loved
me; pitied me; and I couldn't help feeling grateful. Then when he
had the first stroke papa said it would be dishonorable to withdraw,
and he should be very angry if I contemplated such a thing. Dolly's
marriage was on the carpet. She seemed so young, so--yes, silly," and
Marian half hid her blushing face. "Could I ever have been so silly,
Jaqueline?"
"We all go through the rose-path of sweetness when we are in love,"
returned Jaqueline. "I'm silly myself at times. Marian, did you know
that Mr. Ralston wrote again?"
"Wrote again--then he did not forget?" She raised her soft eyes,
suffused with exquisite surprise.
"He wrote when he thought you were free again. I always felt sure you
did not get the letter. He took some precautions, and was confident you
must have had it, though grandpa returned it without a word!"
"I never heard from him. Jane said when your engagement was broken----"
Marian paused and flushed.
"That he would marry _me_."
Marian nodded. It had given her a heartache, she remembered. So long as
he married no one he did not seem so completely cut off that she must
cast him utterly out of her life.
"Well, you see he did not. I think now I could not have married anyone
but Roger, if I had waited ten years."
"Then, you know, came Mr. Greaves' death and father's, and mother's
failing health. I feel quite like an old woman."
"At five-and-twenty! Nonsense! See how young mamma is!"
"She is lovely, Jaqueline!" with enthusiasm.
"I don't know what papa would do without her."
What a beautiful thing it was to be so dear to anyone that he or she
could not do without you!
"You saw Ralston that dreadful morning?"
"Yes." Marian buried her face in her hands. Some feeling of unknown
power connected with her youth shook her, thrilled her; yet she strove
to put it aside. "I prayed I might not go back to that time," and her
voice was tremulous; "then when we all thought him dead I--I let myself
go. It is shameful for a woman when a man has forgotten her."
"He has made tremendous efforts to forget--I know that," and the sound
like a smile in her voice made Marian's face crimson again. "But I am
sure he has not succeeded any better than Roger did. And if he should
be unfortunate for life----"
"Then I should want to go to him. No one has any right to order my life
now. Would it be very unwomanly?"
"No. And you must go to Patty's. She thinks it so queer, but I said
you hated to leave me. Marian, if it comes a second time you will not
refuse?"
"I think I hadn't the courage to really refuse the first time," and she
smiled.
Jaqueline had more delicacy than to repeat what Annis had said, and
had forbidden her to carry anything like gossip, "for a little girl who
gossips will surely be an old maid. And you will want a nice husband,
I am certain."
"Oh, yes!" cried Annis. "And a lot of pretty babies."
"Then never carry tales."
"But he is always asking me about Marian, and why she doesn't come?"
So they sent word they might be expected on a certain day, and baby and
nurse and Annis, as soon as school closed.
How many times, lying here, Philip Ralston had lived over that sweet,
foolish, incomprehensible love episode--the obstinate regard, the
indignation that had followed it, the hard thrusts with which he had
pushed her out of his memory. She had gone only momentarily. Her sweet
youth had been spent in devotion to her self-indulgent, inexorable
father,--he knew how acrimonious Mr. Floyd could be,--and, then, her
stern, rigid mother. Had they taken all her sweetness? He had half
looked for some sign when she had finished all her duties. Mrs. Jettson
had outlived the romance of it, and lost patience with Marian. Besides,
she was absorbed with her own family. There were so many pretty girls,
and Marian was getting to be quite an old maid, in the days when girls
married so young.
And when he had met her that eventful morning he had probable death
before him, and was tongue-tied. Did she think he had forgotten all?
They trooped in together, Patty leading the procession; Jaqueline,
still a little pale, but lovelier than ever, with her boy in her arms,
and Marian with the lost youth back of her. She was too sincere to
affect astonishment; and he had improved--was neither so gaunt nor
so ghastly as when he first came. She took his hand--did she make a
confession in the pressure? He felt suddenly self-condemned, as if
he had misjudged her some way, and humble, as if he had nothing good
enough to offer her. But he glanced up in the soft eyes--her life had
not been very joyous, she was by no means a rich woman, and if she
cared most for home and happiness----
She did not hear what they were saying at first. There was a sound as
of rushing water in her ears.
"Oh, yes!" he answered, with an hysterical laugh, "I am to keep my own
two legs to go upon. I owe it all to Collaston, who stood between me
and surgeons' knives, and brandished his war club until they retreated.
I shall lie here in supreme content until he bids me arise and walk."
What was it went over Marian's face. Not disappointment, but an
inexplicable tenderness, as if she could have taken up the burden
cheerfully, as if she were almost casting about for some other burden.
"Poor girl!" he said to himself; "she has devoted her sweetest years to
others, and someone ought to pay her back in love's own coin."
Stafford had improved greatly and gained flesh. He had a fair, rather
ruddy English complexion and light hair, with the unusual accompaniment
of dark-brown eyes; and, though rather unformed, had a fine physique,
which was as yet largely in the bone, but would some day have muscle
and flesh.
The loss and ruin of Washington had been news to Ralston, though he
had known the march of the vandals was inevitable. Annis interested
and amused him in her talk. She was a very pronounced patriot in these
days.
Eustace Stafford seemed quite bewitched with her. He came over every
afternoon to bring word of Ralston, and perhaps to have an encounter of
words with Annis. This day, while there were so many to entertain his
friend, he stole off to school to walk home with her, though there was
not a cloud in the sky that could give him a shadow of excuse.
She was going to walk some distance with one of her mates. "Perhaps it
would tire you," she said mischievously.
"I have been in the house all the morning," was the reply.
"Did they bring the baby? It's the most beautiful baby in the world,
isn't it?"
"I haven't seen all the babies in the world----" a little awkwardly.
"But he ought to be able to tell whether one is pretty or not, oughtn't
he, Eliza?"
Eliza, thus appealed to, hung her head and said, "Perhaps----"
frightened and yet delighted to comment on a young man's taste.
"Perhaps British babies are different," was Annis' rather teasing
comment.
"I think babies are a good deal alike----"
"No, they are not," and she put on a pretty show of indignation. "I
think you are not capable of judging."
"I am sure I am not," he said with alacrity. "They're kept in a nursery
at home, you know, and have a playground out of the way somewheres."
"I am very glad I am not an English child, aren't you, Eliza? Poor
things! to be stuck out in a back yard!"
"My aunt and cousin are going to England as soon as traveling is
safe," said Eliza, with a benevolent intention of pouring oil upon the
troubled waters. "He is going to some college."
"There are fine colleges in England. There are very few here."
"We haven't so many people. Charles--that's my brother--went through
Harvard, which is splendid, when he was spending some time in Boston.
And he may go to Columbia. That's in New York, where he is at school."
"New York is a large city. The English held it in the Revolutionary
War."
"But they had to march out of it," said the patriot. "And they had to
march away from Baltimore. And now they will have to march away from
the whole United States, after they have done all the harm they could
and killed off the people and almost murdered poor Lieutenant Ralston."
"But that is war. I'm sorry there should ever be war. I wouldn't have
it if I was a king. But your people declared war," remembering that.
"How could we help it, when our poor sailors were snatched from their
own vessels and made to fight against us or be beaten to death? Do you
suppose we can stand _everything_? We were altogether in the right,
weren't we, Eliza?"
Eliza glanced furtively at the very good-looking face, scarlet with
anger and mortification, and wondered how Annis could get in such a
temper with him.
"I don't know about the causes of war," she said hesitatingly. "Some
people blame Mr. Madison----"
"There are Tories always. I've heard papa tell how many there were in
the Revolutionary War. But, you see, we wouldn't have won if we had not
had right on our side," she added triumphantly.
"But Napoleon won in a great many battles," Stafford ventured.
"Perhaps he was right _then_," with emphasis.
This casuistry nonplussed the English boy. If Annis wasn't so sweet and
pretty----
Eliza had to say good-by reluctantly.
"Let us go this way," proposed Annis.
"This way" brought them to the defaced and injured Capitol. Annis'
scarlet lip curled.
"It is a shame," he acknowledged. "And--if it will do you any good,
I'm awfully sorry that I came over to fight. But, you see, we don't
understand. So many people think that after all England did for the
Colonies, they had no right to rebel, and that she still has some
claims----"
"All she did!" exclaimed the fiery censor. "She persecuted the
Puritans, and they came over to a horrid wilderness. She took New
York away from the Dutch. And she sent shiploads of convicts over to
Virginia to be a great trouble to the nice people who had grants of
land. And she said we shouldn't trade anywhere----"
"If the heads of government could understand; or if the people could
see how fine and heroic and noble the Americans are, I think they would
refuse to come over and fight them. I am glad they are going away. And
when I get home I shall tell everybody how brave they are, and of the
splendid homes they have made. And perhaps if Captain Ralston hadn't
stopped to give me a drink and bandage my wound he might have found
a better place of refuge. I know _my_ father will be grateful, for I
think he saved my life, and came mighty near losing his own. I shall
always be glad I didn't really fight. I was struck before I fired my
musket. And Dr. Collaston is just like a brother. I like you all so. I
shall hate to go away." The words poured out with confused rapidity.
"I hope you will have the courage to tell the truth," she replied
severely. "I have heard that some of the English think we are black,
like the slaves they brought over to us. And, do you know, they have
been stealing them again and carrying them off to the Bermudas. Or they
believe we have turned into wild Indians."
"They don't know," he said again weakly.
"Wasn't Mr. Adams over there a long while--and the great Mr. Benjamin
Franklin, and Mr. Jay, and ever so many others? We send a minister to
them--not a real preacher," in a gracious, explanatory way that made
her more fascinating than ever, "but to discuss affairs; so they ought
to know whether we are black or white."
"Oh, they do at court! If I could make you understand----" his boyish
face full of perplexity.
"I think I _do_ understand when I see Washington in ruins. And I shall
be glad when every Englishman goes back. We don't go over to England
and burn and destroy."
He had a vague idea there was something to be said for his side, but
he did not just know what. It seemed rather ungrateful, too, as he was
a pensioner on the hospitality of her brother-in-law. It was extremely
mortifying, since his cousin had been intrusted with money for him. So
he was silent, but that did not suit the little lady, who enjoyed the
warfare like a born soldier.
She was always "saving up" disgraceful incidents she heard, to tell him.
"You are pretty hard on the young fellow," Roger said to her one day.
"We must forgive him a good deal for his devotion to Ralston."
"But think how you and doctor brother went out and gathered up the
wounded, and there were some British among them as well. _He_ ought to
be very grateful."
"I think he is. And he is a nice lad."
Their skirmishes were very amusing to the family. Patty really admired
the young fellow, he seemed such a big, innocent-hearted boy; but she
enjoyed posting Annis as to her side of the argument.
"Are you going?" Captain Ralston said to Marian as they were making
preparations for departure.
"You--you do not need me," she murmured as, holding her hand, he drew
her down nearer the pillow.
"I suppose everybody else does," he declared pettishly. "You never
considered me. You did not really care----"
There were tears in her eyes as she tried to turn away.
"Perhaps when the others are all dead and gone, and I am an old man,
you may remember what you confessed those two blessed days. Or you may
recall it over my grave."
"I deserve it all," she returned meekly. "I tried--oh, yes, I did; but
I _was_ weak----"
"Is it too late to go back?"
"Come, Polly!" cried Jaqueline. Sukey, the general factotum at the
Carringtons', called Marian "Miss Polly." "Can't be boddered wid no
sech outlandish name as Miss Ma'yan--dat kinks my tongue up like a bit
a 'yalum,'" she declared.
"Polly--you will come to-morrow?"
"Yes--yes," with a scarlet face. "If you want me."
"I want you. I have a great deal to say to you."
But it took many to-morrows to get it all said. There were rough places
and doubts, intensified by the experiences Ralston had gone through,
and the nervous strain of not only the long illness, but the almost
certainty there had been at one time of his losing his leg. That danger
was really over, but a great deal of carefulness had to be observed.
And few indeed can bring back the sparkle to the cup of youth, when the
freshness is no longer there.
Marian grew more girlish, as if the hands of time were running the
other way. The force that had impelled her to middle life was removed.
She had gained a certain experience, quite different from the man who
had been mixing with the world. But what mattered when they came back
to the level of love?
Congress held its session at Blodgett's Hotel. It is true there were
heated discussions on the terms of peace, contradictions, and dogmatic
assertions. Perhaps the meetings at the Octagon House, and the sweet,
affable mistress had much to do with softening asperities. Everybody,
it seemed, came, and it was conceded that we had gained a good deal in
the respect of foreign nations. Commerce took on a brisk aspect. War
vessels came into port, and though they did not lay aside all their
defenses,--for the high seas were still infested with privateers,--they
took on the cargoes of industry instead of munitions of war. It was
found now that we had made strides in manufacturing ordinary goods,
though women were delighted with the thought of once more procuring
silks, satins, velvets, and lace without extraordinary risks.
Eustace Stafford spent much of his time exploring Washington, taking
long walks and numerous drives with the doctor. The beautiful Potomac,
the towns along its edge, the falls that in a cold spell had just
enough ice to make them wonderful and fairy-like, Port Tobacco that
had once been a thriving place, the inlets and creeks and the fine
and varied Virginia shore, and the magnificent Chesapeake dotted with
islands. And there was Annapolis, destined to grow more famous as years
went on.
He had not half explored the country when word came from his father,
inclosing a draft to bring him home and reimburse the friends who had
sheltered him with such cordiality.
"I am sorry enough to leave you," he said with deep emotion. "I feel
like becoming an out-and-out American, but I shall never be a soldier."
"Not in case of necessity?" said Patty with charming archness.
"Of course if I had a home here I should defend it to the last drop of
blood in my veins--yes, even against my own kindred," and he blushed
with a feeling akin to ardent patriotism that surprised himself. "I
think we only need to understand each other's governments better to be
good friends. There is something grand here. It may be the largeness of
everything, and the aspirations, the sense of freedom, and--well, that
certain equality. You are not bound about by rigid limits."
Mr. Carrington said Stafford must go to one levee, though that there
were such throngs now that it was hardly comfortable. Ralston insisted
that he also must pay his respects to Mrs. Madison, for now he could
get about on crutches, but it was not considered safe to bear any great
weight upon his injured limb as yet.
It was quite a fine scene, Stafford admitted. There was a great variety
in dress, the older men keeping to the Continental style largely, with
flowing frills to their shirt fronts and lace ruffles at their wrists,
velvet smallclothes and silk stockings, and hair tied with a black
ribbon or fastened in a small silk bag.
Some of the younger men wore their hair curling over their shoulders.
There were gorgeous waistcoats, the upper part flowered satin, and
then a finishing of scarlet that came halfway to the knee, the coats
turned back and faced with bright colors. Mrs. Madison was resplendent
in her red turban, with nodding ostrich plumes, and the row of short
black curls across her white forehead, and her gown of cream satin, of
so deep a tint as to be almost yellow, with its abundant trimming of
scarlet velvet.
Ralston was quite a hero for his misfortunes and his counsels, which
had averted some disaster and would have saved much more if they had
been followed. Everybody could see the blunders and the supineness that
had really invited such a catastrophe. But peace had softened many of
the animadversions, and the charming sweetness of the first lady of
the land healed many differences. It was true that the two later years
of the administration went far toward redeeming the mistakes of the
earlier part.
Annis had plead hard to go, but Jaqueline had not thought it best.
"You and Mr. Stafford will be sure to get in a quarrel," she said
laughingly. "There will be plenty of levees for you to attend when you
are older. And the Octagon House has not the room of the poor burned
mansion. It is always crowded."
Then Eustace Stafford said good-by with great grief to the people he
had come to fight, and found among them the warmest of friends. He had
not been alone in his experience.
Before Congress adjourned a bomb was thrown into the camp. Since
Washington was a heap of ruins and would have to be rebuilt, why not
remove it to some more advantageous location?