IN THE HANDS OF THEIR FRIENDS.
It was not sunset when Col. Montjoy left home. Mary went to her room and
threw herself upon her bed, sick at heart and anxious beyond the power
of weeping. Unadvised, ignorant of the full significance of the
information that had been conveyed to them, she conjured up a world of
danger for her father and for Edward. Tragedy was in the air she
breathed. At supper she was laboring under ill-concealed excitement.
Fortunately for her, the little mother was not present. Sitting in her
room, with the green glasses to which she had been reduced by the
progress of her disease, she did not notice the expression of the
daughter's face when she came as usual to look after the final
arrangement of her mother's comfort.
By 8 o'clock the house was quiet. Throwing a light wrap over her
shoulders and concealing in its folds her father's army pistol, Mary
slipped into the outer darkness and whistled softly. A great shaggy dog
came bounding around from the rear and leaped upon her. She rested her
hand on his collar, and together they passed into the avenue. Old Isam
stood there and by him the pony phaeton and mare.
"Stay up until I return, please, Uncle Isam, and be sure to meet me
here!" The old man bowed.
"I'll be hyar, missy," he said. "Don't you want me to go, too?"
"No, thank you; I am going to Gen. Evan's and you must stay and look
after things. Nero will go with me." The dog had already leaped into the
vehicle. She sprang in also, and almost noiselessly they rolled away
over the pine straw.
The old man listened; first he heard the dogs bark at Rich's then at
Manuel's and then at black Henry's, nearly a mile away. He shook his
head.
"Missy got somep'n on her mind! She don't make no hoss move in de night
dat way for nothin'! Too fast! Too fast!"
He went off to his cabin and sat outside to smoke. And in the night the
little mare sped away. On the public roads the gait was comparatively
safe, and she responded to every call nobly. The unbroken shadows of the
roadside glided like walls of gloom! The little vehicle rocked and
swayed, and, underneath, the wheels sang a monotonous warning rhyme.
Now and then the little vehicle fairly leaped from the ground, for when
Norton, a year previous, had bid in that animal at a blooded-stock sale
in Kentucky, she was in her third summer and carried the blood of Wilkes
and Rysdyk's Hambletonian, and was proud of it, as her every motion
showed.
The little mare had the long route that night, but at last she stood
before the doorway of the Cedars. The general was descending the steps
as Mary gave Nero the lines.
"What! Mary--"
He feared to ask the question on his lips. She was full of excitement,
and her first effort to speak was a dismal failure.
"Come! Come! Come!" he said, in that descending scale of voice which
seems to have been made for sympathy and encouragment. "Calm yourself
first and talk later." He had his arms around her now and was ascending
the steps. "Sit right down here in this big chair; there you are!"
"You have not heard, then?" she said, controlling herself with supreme
effort.
"About your father's defeat? Oh, yes. But what of that? There are
defeats more glorious than victories, my child. You will find that your
father was taken advantage of." She buried her face in her hands.
"It is not about that, sir--the means they used!" And then, between
sobs, she told him the whole story. He made no reply, no comment, but
reaching over to the rail secured his corn-cob pipe and filled it. As he
struck a match above the tobacco, she saw that his face was as calm as
the candid skies of June. The sight gave her courage.
"Do you not think it awful?" she ventured.
"Awful? Yes! A man to descend to such depths of meanness must have
suffered a great deal on the way. I am sorry for Royson--sorry, indeed!"
"But Mr. Morgan!" she exclaimed, excitedly.
"That must be attended to," he said, very gravely. "Mr. Morgan has
placed us all under heavy obligations, and we must see him through."
"You must, General; you must, and right away! They have sent for poor
papa, and he has gone to town, and I--I--just could not sleep, so I came
to you." He laughed heartily.
"And in a hurry! Whew! I heard the mare's feet as she crossed the bridge
a mile away. You did just right. And of course the old general is
expected to go to town and pull papa and Mr. Morgan out of the mud, and
straighten out things. John!"
"Put the saddle on my horse at once. And now, how is the little mamma?"
he asked, gently.
He held her on this subject until the horse was brought, and then they
rode off down the avenue, the general following and rallying the girl
upon her driving.
"Don't expect me to hold to that pace," he said. "I once crossed a
bridge as fast, and faster, up in Virginia, but I was trying to beat the
bluecoats. Too old now, too old."
"But you will get there in time?" she asked, anxiously.
"Oh, yes; they will be consulting and sending notes and raising points
all night. I will get in somewhere along the line. When a man starts out
to hunt up trouble he is rarely ever too late to find it." He saw her
safely to where Isam was waiting, and then rode on to the city. He
realized the complication, and now his whole thought was to keep his
neighbor from doing anything rash. It did occur to him that there might
be a street tragedy, but he shook his head over this when he remembered
Royson. "He is too much of a schemer for that," he said. "He will get
the matter into the hands of a board of honor." The old gentleman
laughed softly to himself and touched up his horse.
In the meantime affairs were drawing to a focus in the city. After the
abrupt departure of Gerald, Royson stood alone, holding the demand and
thinking. An anxious expression had settled upon his face. He read and
reread the curt note, but could find no flaw in it. He was to be held
responsible for the publication; that was the injury. He was forced to
confess that the idea was sound. There was now no way to involve the
Montjoys and let them hush it up. He had expected to be forced to
withdraw the card and apologize, but not until the whole city was
informed that he did it to save a woman, and he would have been placed
then in the position of one sacrificing himself. Now that such refuge
was impossible he could not even escape by giving the name of his
informant. He could not have given it had there been a demand.
He read between the lines that his authority was known; that he was
dealing with some master mind and that he had been out-generaled
somewhere. To whom had he talked? To no one except Barksdale. He gave
vent to a profane estimate of himself and left the office. There was no
danger now of a street assault.
Amos Royson threw himself into a carriage and went to the residence of
Marsden Thomas, dismissing the vehicle. The family of Marsden Thomas was
an old one, and by reason of its early reputation in politics and at the
bar had a sound and honorable footing. Marsden was himself a member of
the legislature, a born politician, capable of anything that would
advance his fortune, the limit only being the dead-line of disgrace.
He had tied to Royson, who was slightly his elder, because of his
experience and influence.
He was noted for his scrupulous regard for the code as a basis of
settlement between honorable men, and was generally consulted upon
points of honor.
Secure in Thomas' room, Royson went over the events of the day,
including Montjoy's and Gerald's visits, and then produced the demand
that had been served upon him.
Thomas had heard him through without interruption. When Royson described
the entrance of Gerald, with the unlooked-for note, a slight smile drew
his lips; he put aside the note, and said:
"You are in a very serious scrape, Amos; I do not see how you can avoid
a fight." His visitor studied him intently.
"You must help me out! I do not propose to fight." Thomas gravely
studied the note again.
"Of course, you know the object of the publication," continued Royson;
"it was political. Without it we would have been beaten. It was a
desperate move; I had the information and used it."
"You had information, then? I thought the whole thing was hatched up.
Who gave you the information?" Royson frowned.
"My cousin, Mrs. Montjoy; you see the complication now. I supposed that
no one but the Montjoys knew this man intimately, and that their hands
would be tied!"
"Ah!" The exclamation was eloquent. "And the young man had another
friend, the morphine-eater; you had forgotten him!" Thomas could not
restrain a laugh. Royson was furious. He seized his hat and made a feint
to depart. Thomas kindly asked him to remain. It would have been cruel
had he failed, for he knew that Royson had not the slightest intention
of leaving.
"Come back and sit down, Amos. You do us all an injustice. You played
for the credit of this victory, contrary to our advice, and now you have
the hot end of the iron."
"Tell me," said Royson, reverting to the note, "is there anything in
that communication that we can take advantage of?"
"Nothing! Morgan might have asked in one note if you were the author of
the published letter and then in another have demanded a retraction. His
joining the two is not material; you do not deny the authorship."
After a few moments of silence he continued: "There is one point I am
not satisfied upon. I am not sure but that you can refuse upon the
ground you alleged--in brief, because he is not a gentleman. Whether or
not the burden of proof would be upon you is an open question; I am
inclined to think it would be; a man is not called upon in the south to
prove his title to gentility. All southerners with whom we associate are
supposed to be gentlemen," and then he added, lazily smiling, "except
the ladies; and it is a pity they are exempt. Mrs. Montjoy would
otherwise be obliged to hold her tongue!"
Royson was white with rage, but he did not speak. Secretly he was afraid
of Thomas, and it had occurred to him that in the event of his
humiliation or death Thomas would take his place.
This unpleasant reflection was interrupted by the voice of his
companion.
"Suppose we call in some of our friends and settle this point." The
affair was getting in the shape desired by Royson, and he eagerly
consented. Notes were at once dispatched to several well-known
gentlemen, and a short time afterward they were assembled and in earnest
conversation. It was evident that they disagreed.
While this consultation was going on there was a knock at the door; a
servant brought a card. Gen. Evan had called to see Mr. Thomas, but
learning that he was engaged and how, had left the note.
Thomas read it silently, and then aloud:
"Marsden Thomas, Esq.--Dear Sir: I have read in to-day's paper
the painful announcement signed by Mr. Royson, and have come
into the city hoping that a serious difficulty might thereby be
averted. To assist in the settlement of this matter, I hereby
state over my own signature that the announcement concerning
Edward Morgan is erroneous, and I vouch for his right to the
title and privileges of a gentleman.
"Respectfully,
"Albert Evan."
The silence that followed this was broken by one of the older gentlemen
present.
"This simplifies matters very greatly," he said. "Without the clearest
and most positive proof, Mr. Royson must retract or fight."
They took their departure at length, leaving Royson alone to gaze upon
the open note. Thomas, returning, found him in the act of drawing on his
gloves.
"I am going," said Royson, "to send a message to Annie. She must, she
shall give me something to go on. I will not sit quietly by and be made
a sacrifice!"
"Write your note; I will send it."
"I prefer to attend to it myself!" Thomas shook his head.
"If you leave this room to-night it is with the understanding that I am
no longer your adviser. Arrest by the police must not, shall not--"
"Do you mean to insinuate--"
"Nothing! But I shall take no chances with the name of Thomas!" said the
other proudly. "You are excited; a word let fall--a suspicion--and we
would be disgraced! Write your note; I shall send it. We have no time to
lose!" Royson threw himself down in front of a desk and wrote hurriedly:
"Annie: I am cornered. For God's sake give me proofs of your
statements or tell me where to get them. It is life or death;
don't fail me.
"A. R."
He sealed and addressed this. Thomas rang the bell and to the boy he
said: "How far is it to Col. Montjoy's?"
"Seven miles, sah!"
"How quickly can you go there and back?"
"On Pet?"
"Yes."
"One hour an' a half, sah."
"Take this note, say you must see Mrs. Norton Montjoy, Jr., in person,
on important matters, and deliver it to her. Here is a $5 bill; if you
are back in two hours, you need not return it. Go!"
There was a gleam of ivory teeth and the boy hurried away. It was a
wretched wait, that hour and a half. The answer to the demand must go
into the paper that night!
One hour and thirty-two minutes passed. They heard the horse in the
street, then the boy upon the stairway. He dashed to the door.
"Miss Mary was up and at de gate when I got deir! Reck'n she hear Pet's
hoof hit de hard groun' an' hit skeered her. I tole her what you say,
and she sen' word dat Mrs. Montjoy done gone to sleep. I tell her you
all mighty anxious for to get dat note; dat Mr. Royson up here, waitin',
an' gentlemen been comin' an' goin' all night. She took de note in den
and putty soon she bring back the answer!"
He was searching his pockets as he rambled over his experience, and
presently the note was found. It was the same one that had been sent by
Royson, and across the back was written:
"Mr. Thomas: I think it best not to awaken Annie. Papa is in
town; if the matter is of great importance call upon him. I am
so certain this is the proper course that it will be useless to
write again or call in person to-night.
"Respectfully,
"M. M."
He passed the note to Royson in silence and saw the look of rage upon
his face as he tore it into a thousand pieces.
"Even your little Montjoy girl seems to be against you," he said.
"She is!" exclaimed Royson; "she knew that my note to Annie was not in
the interest of Edward Morgan, and she is fighting for him. She will
follow him to the altar or the grave!"
"Ah," said Thomas, aside, drawing a long breath; "'tis the old story,
and I thought I had found a new plot! Well," he continued aloud, "what
next?"
"It shall not be the altar! Conclude the arrangements; I am at your
service!"
"He will stick," said Thomas to himself; "love and jealousy are stronger
then fear and ambition!"