THE GRAVE IN THE PAST.
When Col. Montjoy rode over to Gen. Evan's, a few mornings after the
operation upon his wife's eyes, it was with but ill-defined notions of
what he would say or what would be the result of the interview.
Circumstances had placed him in a strange and unpleasant position.
Col. Montjoy felt that the Paris trip could not be well avoided. He
realized that the chances of accomplishing any real good for his wife
were very small, but Dr. Campbell had distinctly favored it, and the
hesitancy had evidently only been on account of the cost.
But could he accept the generous offer made by Morgan? That was the
embarrassing question. He was not mentally blind; he felt assured that
the real question for him to decide then was what he should answer when
a demand for the hand of his daughter was made. For in accepting the
loan and escort of Edward Morgan, he accepted him. Could he do this?
So far as the rumors about the young man were concerned, he never
entertained them seriously. He regarded them only as a desperate
political move, and so did the public generally. But a shadow ought not
to hang over the life of his daughter.
The old general was at home and partially read his visitor's predicament
in his face as he approached the veranda.
"Come in, Norton," he said without moving from his great rocker; "what
is troubling you?" And he laughed maliciously. "But by the way," he
added, "how is the madam to-day? Mary told me yesterday she was getting
along finely."
"Well, we can't tell, Evan," said his visitor, drawing his chair next to
the rail; "we can't tell. In fact, nothing will be known until the
bandages are removed. I came off without my tobacco--" He was holding
his pipe. The general passed him his box.
"Oh, well, she will come through all right; Campbell is never mistaken."
"That is true, and that is what troubles me. Campbell predicts a return
of the trouble and thinks in the near future her only chance for vision
will lie in the eye which has been blind for several years. He is
willing to admit that Moreau in Paris is better authority and would be
glad for Caroline to see him and have his opinion."
"Ah, indeed!" It was expressive. The colonel knew that Evan comprehended
the situation, if not the whole of it. If there had been any doubt, it
would have been dispelled by the next words:
"A great expense, Norton, in these days, but it must be attended to."
Col. Montjoy ran his hand through his hair and passed it over his brow
nervously.
"The trouble is, Evan, the matter has been attended to, and too easily.
Edward Morgan was present during the operation and has offered to lend
me all the money necessary for the trip with or without security and
with or without interest." The general shook with silent laughter and
succeeded in getting enough smoke down his throat to induce a disguising
cough.
"That is a trouble, Norton, that hasn't afflicted us old fellows much of
late--extra ease in money matters. Edward is rich and will not be in any
way embarrassed by a matter like this. I think you will do well to make
it a business transaction and accept."
"You do not understand. I have noticed marked attentions to Mary on the
part of the young man, and Mary," he said, sadly, "is, I am afraid,
interested in him."
"That is different. Before you decide on accepting this offer, you feel
that you must decide on the young man himself, I see. What do you
think?"
"I haven't been able to think intelligently, I am afraid, upon that
point. What do you think, Evan? Mary is about as much your property as
mine."
"I think," said the general, throwing off his disguise, "that in Edward
Morgan she will get the only man I ever saw to whom I would be willing
to give her up. He is as straight and as brave as any man that ever
followed me into battle." Montjoy was silent awhile.
"You know," he said, presently, "I value your opinion more than any
man's and I do not wish to express or to intimate a doubt of Mr. Morgan,
who, I see, has impressed you. I believe the letter of Royson's was
infamous and untrue in every respect, but it has been published--and she
is my daughter. Why in the name of common sense hasn't he come to me and
given me something to go upon?"
"It has occurred to me," said the general, dryly, "that he will do so
when he comes for Mary. In the meantime, a man isn't called upon to
travel with a family tree under his arm and show it to every one who
questions him. Morgan is a gentleman, _sans peur et sans reproche_. If
he is not, I do not know the breed.
"So far as the charge of Royson is concerned," continued the general,
"let me calm your mind on that point. I have never entered upon this
matter with you because the mistakes of a man's kindred are things he
has no right to gossip about, even among friends. The woman, Rita
Morgan, has always been free; she was given her freedom in infancy by
John Morgan's father. Her mother's history is an unfortunate one. It is
enough to say that she was sent out from Virginia with John Morgan's
mother, who was, as you know, a blood relative of mine; and I know that
this woman was sent away with an object. She looked confoundedly like
some of the family. Well, John Morgan's father was wild; you can guess
the result.
"Rita lived in her own house, and when her husband died John took her to
his home. He told me once in so many words that his father left
instructions outside his will to that effect, and that Rita's claims
upon the old man, as far as blood was concerned, were about the same as
his. You see from this that the Royson story is an absurdity. I knew it
when I went in and vouched for our young friend, and I would have proved
it to Thomas the night he called, but Rita dropped dead that day."
Montjoy drew a long breath.
"You astonish me," he said, "and relieve me greatly. I had never heard
this. I did not really doubt, but you have cleared up all possibility of
error."
"Nor has any other man heard the story. My conversation with John Morgan
grew out of his offer to buy of me Alec, a very handsome mulatto man I
owned, to whom Rita had taken a fancy. He wanted to buy him and free
him, but I had never bought or sold a slave, and could not bring myself
to accept money for Alec. I freed him myself. John was not willing for
her to marry a slave. They were married and he died in less than a year.
That is Rita's history. When Alec died Rita went to John Morgan and kept
house for him.
"When it was that Gerald came in I do not know," pursued the general
musingly. "The boy was nearly grown before I heard of him. He and Edward
are children of distant relatives, I am told. John never saw the latter
at all, probably, but educated him and, finding Gerald incapacitated,
very wisely left his property to the other, with Gerald in his charge.
"No, I have taken the greatest fancy to these two young fellows,
although I only have known one a few weeks and the other by sight and
reputation." He paused a moment, as though his careless tone had
desecrated a sacred scene; the face of the sleeper rose to his mind.
"But they are game and thoroughbreds. Accept the proposition and shut
your eyes to the future. It will all work out rightly." Montjoy shook
his head sadly.
"I will accept it," he said, "but only because it means a chance for
Caroline which otherwise she would not have. Of course you know Mary is
going with her, and Morgan is to be their escort?"
The general uttered a prolonged whistle and then laughed. "Well,
confound the little darling, to think she should come over here and tell
me all the arrangements and leave herself out; Montjoy, that is the only
one of your family born without grit; tell her so. She is afraid of one
old man's tongue."
"Here she comes, with Morgan," said Montjoy, smiling. "Tell her
yourself."
Edward's buggy was approaching rapidly and the flushed and happy face of
the girl could be seen within.
"Plotting against me," she called out, as she descended, "and I dare you
to own it." The general said:
"On the contrary, I was about telling your father what a brave little
woman you are. Come in, Mr. Morgan," he added, seeing from her blushes
that she understood him.
"Mr. Morgan was coming over to see the general," said Mary, "and I came
with him to ride back with papa." And, despite the protests of all the
others, he presently got Mary into the buggy and carried her off. "You
will stop, as you come by, Mr. Morgan," he called out. "I will be glad
to see you on a matter of business."
The buggy was yet in sight when Edward turned to his old friend and
said:
"Gen. Evan, I have come to make a statement to you, based upon long
reflection and a sense of justice. I am about to leave the state for
France, and may never return. There are matters connected with my family
which I feel you should know, and I prefer to speak rather than write
them." He paused to collect his thoughts, the general looking straight
ahead and recalling the conversation just had with Col. Montjoy. "If I
seem to trespass on forbidden grounds or stir unpleasant memories, I
trust you will hear me through before condemning me. Many years ago you
lost a daughter----"
"Go on," said the general as Edward paused and looked doubtfully toward
him.
"She was to have married my uncle, I am informed, but she did not. On
the contrary, she married a foreigner--her music teacher. Is this not
true?"
"Go on."
"She went abroad, but unknown to you she came back and her child was
born."
"Ah." The sound that came from the old man's lips was almost a gasp. For
the first time since the recital was begun he turned his eyes upon his
companion.
"At this birth, which took place probably at Ilexhurst, possibly in the
house of Rita Morgan, whose death you know of, occurred the birth of
Rita's child also. Your daughter disappeared. Rita was delirious, and
when she recovered could not be convinced that this child was not her
own; and she thought him her son until the day of her death."
"Where is this child? Why was I not informed?" The old general's voice
was hoarse and his words scarcely audible. Edward, looking him full in
the face, replied:
"At Ilexhurst! His name, as we know it, is Gerald Morgan."
Evan, who had half arisen, sank back in his chair.
"And this is your belief, Mr. Morgan?"
"That is the fact, as the weight of evidence declares. The woman in
health did not claim Gerald for her son. In the moment of her death she
cried out: 'They lied!' This is what you heard in the yard and I
repeated it at that time. I was, as you know, laboring under great
excitement. There is a picture of your daughter at Ilexhurst and the
resemblance it strong. You yourself were struck with the family
resemblance.
"I felt it my duty to speak, even at the risk of appearing to trespass
upon your best feelings. You were my friend when I needed friends, and
had I concealed this I would have been ungrateful." Edward rose, but the
general, without looking up, laid his hand upon his arm.
"Sit down, Mr. Morgan. I thank you. You could not have done less. But
give me time to realize what this means. If you are correct, I have a
grandson at Ilexhurst"--Edward bowed slightly--"whom my daughter
abandoned to the care of a servant." Again Morgan bowed, but by the
faintest motion of his head.
"I did not say abandoned," he corrected.
"It cannot be true," said the old man; "it cannot be true. She was a
good girl and even infatuation would not have changed her character. She
would have come back to me."
"If she could," said Edward. He told him the story of the unfinished
manuscript and the picture drawn by Gerald. He was determined to tell
him all, except as related to himself. That was his own and Virdow's
secret. "If that story is true, she may not have been able to get to
you; and then the war came on; you must know all before you can judge."
The old soldier was silent.
He got up with apparent difficulty and said formally: "Mr. Morgan, I
will be glad to have you join me in a glass of wine. I am not as
vigorous as I may appear, and this is my time o' day. Come in." Edward
noticed that, as he followed, the general's form had lost something of
its martial air.
No words were exchanged over the little southern ceremony. The general
merely lifted his glass slightly and bowed.
The room was cool and dark. He motioned Edward to a rocker and sank into
his leather-covered easy-chair. There was a minute's silence broken by
the elder man.
"What is your belief, Mr. Morgan, as to Gerald?"
"The facts as stated are all----"
"Nevertheless, as man to man--your belief."
"Then, in my opinion, the evidence points to Gerald as the child of this
woman Rita. I am sure also that it is his own belief. The only
disturbing evidence is the likeness, but Virdow says that the children
of servants very frequently bear likeness to a mistress. It is a
delicate question, but all of our ancestors were not immaculate. Is
there anything in the ancestry of Rita Morgan--is there any reason why
her child should bear a likeness to--to----"
The general lifted his hand in warning. But he said: "What became of the
other child?" The question did not disturb or surprise the young man. He
expected that it would be asked. It was natural. Yet, prepared as he
was, his voice was unsteady when he replied:
"That I do not know."
"You do not know!" The general's tone of voice was peculiar. Did he
doubt?
"I had two objects in view when I brought up this subject," said Edward,
when the silence grew embarrassing; "one was to acquaint you with the
possibilities out at Ilexhurst, and to ask your good offices for Gerald
in the event my absence is prolonged or any necessity for assistance
should arise. The other is to find the second child if it is living and
determine Gerald's status; and, with this as my main object, I venture
to ask you if, since her disappearance, you have ever heard of Marion
Evan?"
"God help me," said Evan, brokenly; "yes. But it was too soon; too soon;
I could not forgive her."
"And since then?" The old man moved his hand slowly and let it fall.
"Silence--oblivion."
"Can you give me the name of her husband?" Without reply the veteran
went to the secretary and took from a pigeonhole a well-worn letter.
"No eye but mine has ever read these lines," he said, simply. "I do not
fear to trust them to you! Read! I cannot now!"
Edward's hand trembled as he received the papers. If Rita Morgan spoke
the truth he was about to look upon lines traced by his mother's hand.
It was like a message from the dead.