within three feet of Pirate's flowing tail. Warburton fairly lifted
Dick along with his knees. I only wish I could describe the race as my
jehu told it to me. The description held me by the throat. I could see
the flashing by of trees and houses and fields; the scampering of
piccaninnies across the road; the horses from the meadows dashing up to
the fences and whinnying; the fine stone and dust which Pirate's
rattling heels threw into my jehu's face and eyes; the old pain
throbbing anew in his leg. And when he finally drew alongside the black
brute and saw the white, set face of the girl he loved, I can imagine
no greater moment but one in his life. There was no fear on her face,
but there was appeal in her eyes as she half turned her head. He leaned
across the intervening space and slid his arm around her waist. The two
horses came together and twisted his leg cruelly. His jaws snapped.
"Let the stirrup go!" he cried. "Let go, quick!" She heard him. "Your
knee from the horn! I can't keep them together any longer. Now!"
Brave and plucky and cool she was. She obeyed him instantly. There was
a mighty heave, a terrible straining of the back and the knees, and
Pirate was freed of his precious burden. The hardest part of it came
now. Dick could not be made to slow down abruptly. He wanted to keep
right on after his rival. So, between holding the girl with his right
arm and pulling the horse with his left, Warburton saw that he could
keep up this terrible effort but a very short time. Her arms were
convulsively wound around his neck, and this added to the strain. Not a
word did she say; her eyes were closed, as if she expected any moment
to be dashed to the earth.
But Dick was only a mortal horse. The fierce run and the double burden
began to tell, and shortly his head came up. Warburton stopped him. The
girl slid to the ground, and in a moment he was at her side. And just
in time. The reaction was too much for her. Dazedly she brushed her
hair from her eyes, stared wildly at Warburton, and fainted. He did not
catch her with that graceful precision which on the stage is so
familiar to us. No. He was lucky to snatch one of her arms, thus
preventing her head from striking the road. He dragged her to the side
of the highway and rested her head on his shaking knees. Things grew
dark for a time. To tell the truth, he himself was very close to that
feminine weakness which the old fellows, in their rough and ready
plays, used to call "vapours". But he forced his heart to steady itself.
And what do you suppose the rascal did--with nobody but Dick to watch
him? Why, he did what any healthy young man in love would have done:
pressed his lips to the girl's hair, his eyes filling and half a sob in
his parched throat. He dolefully pictured himself a modern Antiochus,
dying of love and never confessing it. Then he kissed her hair again;
only her hair, for somehow he felt that her lips and cheeks were as yet
inviolable to his touch. I should have liked to see the picture they
made: the panting horse a dozen rods away, looking at them inquiringly;
the girl in her dust-covered habit, her hair spreading out like seaweed
on a wave, her white face, her figure showing its graceful lines; my
jehu, his hair matted to his brow, the streaks of dust and perspiration
on his face, the fear and love and longing in his dark eyes. I
recollect a picture called _Love and Honor,_ or something like that. It
never appealed to me. It lacked action. It simply represented a fellow
urging a girl to elope with him. Both of them were immaculately
dressed. But here, on this old highway leading into Maryland, was
something real. A battle had been fought and won.
Fainting is but transitory; by and by she opened her eyes, and stared
vaguely into the face above her. I do not know what she saw there;
whatever it was it caused her to struggle to her feet. There was color
enough in her cheeks now; and there was a question, too, in her eyes.
Of Warburton it asked, "What did you do when I lay there unconscious?"
I'm afraid there was color in his face, too. Her gaze immediately roved
up the road. There was no Pirate, only a haze of dust. Doubtless he was
still going it, delighted over the trouble he had managed to bring
about. Warburton knelt at the girl's side and brushed the dust from her
skirt. She eyed him curiously. I shan't say that she smiled; I don't
know, for I wasn't there.
Meanwhile she made several futile attempts to put up her hair, and as a
finality she braided it and let it hang down her back. Suddenly and
unaccountably she grew angry--angry at herself, at James, at the
rascally horse that had brought her to this pass. Warburton saw
something of this emotion in her eyes, and to avoid the storm he walked
over to Dick, picked up the reins, and led him back.
"If you will mount Dick, Miss," he said, "I will lead him home. It's
about five miles, I should say."
The futility and absurdity of her anger aroused her sense of the
ridiculous; and a smile, warm and merry, flashed over her stained face.
It surprised her groom.
"Thank you, James. You were right. I ought not to have ridden Pirate. I
am punished for my conceit. Five miles? It will be a long walk."
"I shan't mind it in the least," replied James, inordinately happy; and
he helped her to the saddle and adjusted the left stirrup.
So the journey home began. Strangely enough, neither seemed to care
particularly what had or might become of Pirate. He disappeared,
mentally and physically. One thing dampened the journey for Warburton.
His "game leg" ached cruelly, and after the second mile (which was
traversed without speech from either of them), he fell into a slight
limp. From her seat above and behind him, she saw this limp.
"You have hurt yourself?" she asked gently.
"Not to-day, Miss,"--briefly.
"When he ran away with you?"
"No. It's an old trouble."
"While you were a soldier?"
"Yes."
"How?"
He turned in surprise. All these questions were rather unusual.
Nevertheless he answered her, and truthfully.
"I was shot in the leg by a drunken Indian."
"While on duty?"
"Yes." Unconsciously he was forgetting to add "Miss", which was the
patent of his servility. And I do not think that just then she noticed
this subtraction from the respect due her.
It was eleven o'clock when they arrived at the gates. She dismounted
alone. Warburton was visibly done up.
"Any orders for this afternoon, Miss?"
"I shall want the victoria at three. I have some shopping to do and a
call to make. Send William after Pirate. I am very grateful for what
you have done."
He made no reply, for he saw her father coming down the steps.
"Betty," said the colonel, pale and worried, "have you been riding
Pirate? Where is he, and what in the world has happened?"--noting the
dust on her habit and her tangled hair.
She explained: she told the story rather coolly, Warburton thought, but
she left out no detail.
"You have James to thank for my safety, father. He was very calm and
clear-headed."
_Calm and clear-headed!_ thought Warburton.
The girl then entered the house, humming. Most women would have got out
the lavender salts and lain down the rest of the day, considering the
routine of a fashionable dinner, which was the chief duty of the
evening.
"I am grateful to you, James. My daughter is directly in your care when
she rides, and I give you full authority. Never permit her to mount any
horse but her own. She is all I have; and if anything should happen to
her--"
"Yes, sir; I understand."
The colonel followed his daughter; and Warburton led Dick to the
stables, gave his orders to William, and flung himself down on his cot.
He was dead tired. And the hour he had dreaded was come! He was to
drive her through the shopping district. Well, so be it. If any one
exposed him, very good. This groom business was decidedly like work.
And there was that confounded dinner-party, and he would have to limp
around a table and carry soup plates! And as likely as not he would run
into the very last person he expected to see.
Which he did.
XIV
AN ORDEAL OR TWO
Mr. Robert vows that he will never forgive me for the ten minutes'
agony which I gratuitously added to his measure. It came about in this
wise. I was on my way down Seventeenth Street that afternoon, and it
was in front of a fashionable apartment house that I met him. He was
seated on his box, the whip at the proper angle, and his eyes riveted
on his pair's ears. It was the first time I had seen him since the day
of the episode at the police-station. He was growing thin. He did not
see me, and he did not even notice me till I stopped and the sound of
my heels on the walk ceased. Arms akimbo, I surveyed him.
"Well?" I began. I admit that the smile I offered him was a deal like
that which a cat offers a cornered mouse.
He turned his head. I shall not repeat the word he muttered. It was
very improper, though they often refer to it in the Sabbath-schools,
always in a hushed breath, however, as though to full-voice it would
only fan the flames still higher.
"What have you to say for yourself?" I went on.
"Nothing for myself, but for you, move on and let me alone, or when I
get the opportunity, Chuck, I'll punch your head, glasses or no
glasses."
"Brother-in-law or no brother-in-law."
"Chuck, will you go on?"--hoarsely. "I mean it."
I saw that he did. "You don't look very happy for a man who has cracked
so tremendous a joke."
"Will you go along?"
"Not till I get good and ready, James. I've told too many lies on your
account already not to make myself a present of this joyful reunion.
Has Miss Annesley any idea of the imposture?"
He did not answer.
"How did you like waiting in Scott Circle the other night?"
Still no answer. I have half an idea that he was making ready to leap
from his box. He ran his fingers up and down the lines. I could see
that he was mad through and through; but I enjoyed the scene
nevertheless. He deserved a little roasting on the gridiron.
"I am given to understand," I continued, "that you act as butler,
besides, and pass the soup around the table."
Silence. Then I heard a door close, and saw a look of despair grow on
his face. I turned and saw Miss Annesley and Mrs. Chadwick coming down
the steps.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Henderson? Mrs. Chadwick."
"I have already had the pleasure of meeting this famous young orator,"
purred Mrs. Chadwick, giving me her hand. She was a fashionable, not to
say brilliant, _intrigante_. I knew her to have been concerned
indirectly with half a dozen big lobby schemes. She was rather wealthy.
But she was seen everywhere, and everywhere was admired. She was as
completely at home abroad as here in Washington. She was a widow,
perhaps thirty-eight, handsome and fascinating, a delightful
_raconteur_, and had the remarkable reputation of never indulging in
scandal. She was the repository of more secrets than I should care to
discover.
I recall one night at a state function when she sat between the French
ambassador and that wily Chinaman, Li Hung Chang. She discoursed on
wines in French with the ambassador and immediately turned to the
Chinaman and recited Confucius in the original Chinese. Where she had
ever found time to study Chinese is a mystery to every one. The
incident made her quite famous that winter. Brains are always tolerated
in Washington, and if properly directed, push a person a good deal
further than wealth or pedigree. Washington forgives everything but
stupidity.
Not until recently did I learn that at one time Karloff had been very
attentive to her. His great knowledge of American politics doubtless
came to him through her.
"Where are you bound?" asked Miss Annesley.
"I am on the way to the War Department."
"Plenty of room; jump in and we shall drop you there. James, drive to
the War Department."
Ordinarily I should have declined, as I generally prefer to walk; but
in this instance it would be superfluous to say that I was delighted to
accept the invitation. I secretly hugged myself as I thought of the
driver.
"How is Miss Warburton?" asked Miss Annesley, as she settled back among
the cushions.
"Beautiful as ever," I replied, smiling happily,
"You must meet Miss Warburton, Grace,"--speaking to Mrs. Chadwick, who
looked at me with polite inquiry. "One of the most charming girls in
the land, and as good as she is beautiful. Mr. Henderson is the most
fortunate of young men."
"So I admit. She was greatly disappointed that you did not meet her
younger brother." First shot at the groom.
"I did expect to meet him, but I understand that he has gone on a
hunting expedition. Whom does he resemble?"
"Neither Nancy nor Jack," I said. "He's a good-looking beggar, though,
only you can't depend upon him for five minutes at a time. Hadn't seen
the family in more than two years. Spends one night at home, and is off
again, no one knows where. Some persons like him, but I like a man with
more stability. Not but what he has his good points; but he is a born
vagabond. His brother expects to get him a berth at Vienna and is
working rather successfully toward that end." I wondered how this bit
of news affected the groom.
"A diplomat?" said Mrs. Chadwick. "That is the life for a young man
with brains. Is he a good linguist?"
"Capital! Speaks French, German, and Spanish, besides I don't know how
many Indian sign-languages." Now I was patting the groom on the back. I
sat facing the ladies, so it was impossible to see the expression on
his face. I kept up this banter till we arrived at the Department. I
bade the ladies good day. I do not recollect when I enjoyed ten minutes
more thoroughly.
An hour in the shopping district, that is to say, up and down
Pennsylvania Avenue, where everybody who was anybody was similarly
occupied, shopping, nearly took the spine out of our jehu. Everywhere
he imagined he saw Nancy. And half a dozen times he saw persons whom he
knew, persons he had dined with in New York, persons he had met abroad.
But true to human nature, they were looking toward higher things than a
groom in livery. When there was no more room for bundles, the women
started for Mrs. Chadwick's apartments.
Said Mrs. Chadwick in French: "Where, in the name of uncommon things,
did you find such a handsome groom?"
"I _was_ rather lucky," replied Miss Annesley in the same tongue.
"Don't you see something familiar about him?"
Warburton shuddered.
"Familiar? What do you mean?"
"It is the groom who ran away with us."
"Heavens, no!" Mrs. Chadwick raised her lorgnette. "Whatever possessed
you?"
"Mischief, as much as anything."
"But the risk!"
"I am not afraid. There was something about him that appeared very much
like a mystery, and you know how I adore mysteries."
"And this is the fellow we saw in the police-court, sitting among those
light o' loves?" Mrs. Chadwick could not fully express her surprise.
"I can't analyze the impulse which prompted me to pay his fine and
engage him."
"And after that affair at the carriage-door! Where is your pride?"
"To tell the truth, I believe he did make a mistake. Maybe I hired him
because I liked his looks." Betty glanced amusedly at the groom, whose
neck and ears were red. She laughed.
"You always were an extraordinary child. I do not understand it in the
least. I am even worried. He may be a great criminal."
"No, not a great criminal," said Betty, recollecting the ride of that
morning; "but a first-class horseman, willing and obedient. I have been
forced to make James serve as butler. He has been under the hands of
our cook, and I have been watching them. How I have laughed! Of all
droll scenes!"
So she had laughed, eh? Warburton's jaws snapped. She had been
watching, too?
"I rode Pirate this morning--"
"You rode that horse?" interrupted Mrs. Chadwick.
"Yes, and he ran away with me in fine style. If it hadn't been for the
new groom, I shouldn't be here, and the dinner would be a dismal
failure, with me in bed with an arm or leg broken. Heavens! I never was
so frightened in all my life. We went so fast against the wind that I
could scarce breathe. And when it was all over, I fainted like a ninny."
"Fainted! I should have thought you would. _I_ should have fallen off
the animal and been killed. Betty, you certainly have neither
forethought nor discretion. The very idea of your attempting to ride
that animal!"
"Well, I am wiser, and none the worse for the scare.... James, stop,
stop!" Betty cried suddenly.
When this command struck his sense of hearing, James was pretty far
away in thought. He was wondering if all this were true. If it was, he
must make the best of it; but if it was a dream, he wanted to wake up
right away, because it was becoming nightmarish.
"James!" The end of a parasol tickled him in the ribs and he drew up
somewhat frightened. What was going to happen now? He was soon to find
out. For this was to be the real climax of the day; or at least, the
incident was pregnant with the possibilities of a climax.
"Colonel, surely you are not going to pass us by in this fashion?"
cried the girl. They were almost opposite the Army and Navy Club.
"Why, is that you, Miss Betty? Pass you by? Only when I grow blind!"
roared a lion-like voice. "Very glad to see you, Mrs. Chadwick."
That voice, of all the voices he had ever heard! A chill of
indescribable terror flew up and down my jehu's spine, and his pores
closed up. He looked around cautiously. It was he, he of all men: his
regimental colonel, who possessed the most remarkable memory of any
Army man west of the Mississippi, and who had often vowed that he knew
his subalterns so well that he could always successfully prescribe for
their livers!
"I was just about to turn into the club for my mail," declared the
colonel. "It was very good of you to stop me. I'll wager you've been
speculating in the shops,"--touching the bundles with his cane. "You
win," laughed Betty. "But I'll give you a hundred guesses in which to
find out what any of these packages contains."
"Guessing is a bad business. Whatever these things are, they can add
but little to the beauty of those who will wear them; for I presume
Mrs. Chadwick has some claim upon these bundles."
"Very adroitly worded," smiled Mrs. Chadwick, who loved a silken phrase.
"We shall see you at dinner to-night?"
"All the battalions of England could not keep me away from that festive
board," the colonel vowed. (Another spasm for the groom!) "And how is
that good father of yours?"
"As kind and loving as ever."
"I wish you could have seen him in the old days in Virginia," said the
colonel, who, like all old men, continually fell back upon the
reminiscent. "Handsomest man in the brigade, and a fight made him as
happy as a bull-pup. I was with him the day he first met your
mother,"--softly. "How she humiliated him because he wore the blue! She
was obliged to feed him--fortunes of war; but I could see that she
hoped each mouthful would choke him."
"What! My mother wished that?"
Mrs. Chadwick laughed. The groom's chin sank into his collar.
"Wait a moment! She wasn't in love with him then. We were camped on
that beautiful Virginian home of yours for nearly a month. You know how
courtly he always was and is. Well, to every rebuff he replied with a
smile and some trifling favor. She never had to lift her finger about
the house. But one thing he was firm in: she should sit at the same
table during the meals. And when Johnston came thundering down that
memorable day, and your father was shot in the lungs and fell with a
dozen saber cuts besides, you should have seen the change! He was the
prisoner now, she the jailer. In her own white bed she had him placed,
and for two months she nursed him. Ah, that was the prettiest love
affair the world ever saw."
"And why have you not followed his example?" asked Mrs. Chadwick.
The colonel gazed thoughtfully at his old comrade's daughter, and he
saw pity and unbounded respect in her eyes. "They say that for every
heart there is a mate, but I do not believe it. Sometimes there are two
hearts that seek the same mate. One or the other must win or lose. You
will play for me to-night?"
"As often and as long as you please,"--graciously. She was very fond of
this upright old soldier, whom she had known since babyhood.
It was now that the colonel casually turned his attention to the groom,
He observed him. First, his gray eyebrows arched abruptly in surprise,
then sank in puzzlement.
"What is it?" inquired Betty, noting these signs.
"Nothing; nothing of importance," answered the colonel, growing
violently red.
It would not be exaggerating to say that if the colonel turned red, his
one-time orderly grew purple, only this purple faded quickly into a
chalky pallor.
"Well, perhaps I am keeping you," remarked the colonel, soberly, "I
shall hold you to your promise about the music."
"We are to have plenty of music. There will foe a famous singer and a
fine pianist."
"You will play that what-d'-ye-call-it from Schumann I like so well. I
shall want you to play that I want something in the way of memory to
take back West with me. Good-by, then, till to-night."
"Good-by. All right, James; home," said the girl. James relievedly
touched his horses.
The colonel remained standing at the curb till the victoria
disappeared. Of what he was thinking I don't know; but he finally
muttered "James?" in an inquiring way, and made for the club, shaking
his head, as if suddenly confronted by a remarkably abstruse problem.
Further on I shall tell you how he solved it.
XV
RETROSPECTIVE
Show me those invisible, imperceptible steps by which a man's honor
first descends; show me the way back to the serene altitude of clean
conscience, and I will undertake to enlighten you upon the secret of
every great historical event, tragic or otherwise. If you will search
history carefully, you will note that the basic cause of all great
events, such as revolutions, civil strifes, political assassinations,
foreign wars, and race oppressions, lay not in men's honor so much as
in some one man's dishonor. A man, having committed a dishonorable act,
may reestablish himself in the eyes of his fellow-beings, but ever and
ever he silently mocks himself and dares not look into the mirror of
his conscience.
Honor is comparative, as every one will agree. It is only in the highly
developed mind that it reaches its superlative state. Either this man
becomes impregnable to the assaults of the angel of the pitch robes, or
he boldly plunges into the frightful blackness which surrounds her. The
great greed of power, the great greed of wealth, the great greed of
hate, the great greed of jealousy, and the great greed of love, only
these tempt him.
Now, of dishonors, which does man hold in the greatest abhorrence? This
question needs no pondering. It may be answered simply. The murderer,
the thief, and the rogue--we look upon these callously. But Judas!
Treachery to our country! This is the nadir of dishonor; nothing could
be blacker. We never stop to look into the causes, nor does history,
that most upright and impartial of judges; we brand instantly. Who can
tell the truth about Judas Iscariot, and Benedict Arnold, and the host
of others? I can almost tolerate a Judas who betrays for a great love.
There seems to be a stupendous elimination of self in the man who
betrays for those he loves, braving the consequences, the ignominy, the
dishonor, the wretchedness; otherwise I should not have undertaken to
write this bit of history.
To betray a friend, that is bad; to betray a woman, that is still
worse; but to betray one's country!-to commit an act which shall place
her at the mercy of her enemies! Ah, the ignoble deaths of the men who
were guilty of this crime! And if men have souls, as we are told they
have, how the souls of these men must writhe as they look into the
minds of living men and behold the horror and contempt in which each
traitor's name is held there!
Have you ever thought of the legion of men who have been thrust back
from the very foot of this precipice, either by circumstances or by the
revolt of conscience? These are the men who reestablish themselves in
the eyes of their fellow-beings, but who for ever silently mock
themselves and dare not look into the mirror of their consciences.
In this world motive is everything. A bad thing may be done for a good
purpose, or, the other way around. This is the story of a crime, the
motive of which was good.
Once upon a time there lived a soldier, a gentleman born, a courtier, a
man of fine senses, of high integrity, of tenderness, of courage; he
possessed a splendid physical beauty, besides estates, and a
comfortable revenue, or rather, he presided over one. Above all this,
he was the father of a girl who worshiped him, and not without reason.
What mysterious causes should set to work to ruin this man, to thrust
him from light into darkness? What step led him to attempt to betray
his country, even in times of peace, to dishonor his name, a name his
honesty had placed high on the rolls of glory? What defense can he
offer? Well, I shall undertake to defend him; let yours be the verdict.