"Mammy--come here!"
The old slave held up her hand cautiously.
"Wait--I sees er kerridge."
Natalia laughed happily.
"How foolish I've been! I was actually getting nervous!"
"Dey is drivin' mighty slow--sh-h--dar's er man lyin' 'cross de back
seat--sumthin's done happen."
Natalia rushed toward the window and threw the shutters wide apart. In
the glow of the illuminations she saw the occupants of the carriage
distinctly. Judge Houston and another man sat on the front seat; on the
back seat, lying outstretched, was a limp figure, the face covered with
a handkerchief.
She rushed to the door and out into the hall, pausing half-way down the
steps when she saw the men carrying the helpless form into the parlour.
She stood there, as if frozen lifeless, the crowded hall unseen, the
curious glances of the guests unnoticed. Then, when the muffled
stillness was broken by a shriek, she moved one step further. It was
Mrs. Jervais' voice that had resounded through the crowded house.
It was then that Judge Houston came out of the parlour and closed the
door after him. Signalling the crowd to fall back, he went towards the
steps. Natalia had reached him now, her hands clinging to him in sudden
trembling.
"Is it Morgan--in there?"
The old gentleman shook his head, and looking down into Natalia's
pallid, quivering face framed by the wedding veil, he drew her close to
him.
"No--it is Lemuel Jervais."
"And Morgan--where is he?"
Judge Houston did not reply at once. Putting his arm about Natalia, and
motioning away the staring crowd, he led her down the hall to a deserted
place on the back veranda, where the wedding supper was already on the
table and the candles blazing.
"They had a difficulty over cards--Morgan and Jervais," the old
gentleman spoke in a low voice. "When I got there Lemuel was--dead. If
I could only have gotten there sooner!" he ended, his whole figure
shaking with emotion.
Natalia leaned heavily against the wall.
"Where is Morgan?" she finally asked.
"There was only one place for him to go to--the jail. It seems to have
been a very bitter fight,--the slavery question was at the back of
it,--you know the type of Jervais' followers. I knew the jail was the
only safe place for him--I was powerless to stem the crowd."
"Is he safe--now?"
"Yes."
Suddenly Natalia tore the veil from her head and threw it away from her.
"Will you take me to him, Uncle Felix--now--at once?"
The old gentleman drew back, startled by her vehemence.
"Not to-night, Natalia. It is no place for you."
For a second her eyes flashed into his.
"If he is in danger I want to face it with him! Will you go with me? Or
shall I go alone?"
*CHAPTER VIII*
*ORANGE BLOSSOMS AND PRISON BARS*
The fiddles were hushed. The sounds of gaiety and laughter died on the
lips of the merry throng. The guests rushed for their wraps; word was
sent to awaken the slaves and harness the horses for the hasty
departure; everywhere were the subdued murmurs and confusion of the
dismayed gathering.
Through it all Judge Houston and Natalia went calmly to the carriage,
the startled crowd falling back with averted faces, letting them pass in
silence.
Natalia sank into the carriage, exhausted and trembling. The strain of
the last hour, with its culmination, had brought to her a relinquishing
of all restraint. She found herself clinging to Judge Houston's arm as
if in some way the mere contact with another would bring back her usual
strength and composure. They had passed into the highway before either
of them spoke.
"Are you sure that he is safe--that I am not too late?" The words
trembled through her lips.
"I am positive of it," Judge Houston answered, forcing his words to
speak encouragement. "The jail was the best place possible to take him.
Indeed, it was the only safe place. You know the reputation of the
lower element of this town, and Lemuel always had a strong following
among them. He has often admitted they were his political backing. And
this trouble between him and Morgan was what made me fear some sort of
an outbreak. You see--at the bottom of it all, was some argument about
slavery." The old man drew down his brows thoughtfully. "It seems to
be developing into a curse upon our heads. God knows where it will lead
us! And Morgan was unwise--he spoke out his views too literally--his
statements aroused ill-feeling in others, so that his attitude now is
telling against him." He stopped abruptly and pressed Natalia's hand.
"I tell you all this," he continued more calmly, "to show you why I
thought the jail a safe place. If there should be an unusual
excitement, the restlessness of the mob would be quelled by the State's
protection. I would not leave him, even to come to you, until I knew he
was perfectly safe."
A light wind had risen with the night, and from the south there came a
sea of racing, mackerel clouds. The night was intensely dark. Except
for the flicker of the carriage lanterns and the few stars that shone
through the breaks in the clouds, their surroundings were
indistinguishable.
"I can't bear the thought of him there, surrounded by enemies, and I,
out here--safe and protected. Why didn't you come for me sooner, Uncle
Felix!" Natalia cried. "Drive faster, Zebby! Lash the horses!"
Though the carriage rocked from side to side, and the horses were
galloping at their utmost speed, urged on by the singing whip, it seemed
to Natalia they were dragging along inch by inch.
At last she loosened her hold of Judge Houston's arm and leaned back
against the cushions.
"My wedding night!" she murmured, covering her face with her hands. "My
wedding night!"
Finally the lights of the town twinkled down the road.
"Here is the town, Natalia," Judge Houston cried, putting his arm across
her shoulders and drawing her to him. "We shall be there in a few
minutes now and you will see that he is safe, as I told you."
Zebediah cracked his whip incessantly, and in a few minutes more the
suburbs had been passed and the street lights were about them. The town
seemed utterly deserted, a quiet gloom hovering over the darkened
houses, until they drew near the Mansion House Tavern. Here people were
standing in excited groups. A block beyond the street was a seething
mass of men. Standing on the fence of the courthouse yard, a rough,
savage faced man was inciting the crowd, gesticulating wildly to make
himself heard above the noise. There was a deep, vibrating murmur rising
from the crowd, filling the air with a foreboding sound. On all sides
one could read plainly indignation and violent antagonism.
Judge Houston's face grew pale and set as they drew nearer the jail.
One glance at the crowd had told him what it represented. Already the
mutterings of that great trouble which was a few years later to separate
a united country, had begun to spread; into the midst of these people
had come a man from the centre of the opposition country, who had
proclaimed his beliefs and fought for them, killing his opponent in the
difficulty. The feeling of the masses centred against this stranger.
The old gentleman who had weathered the years of pioneer life and had
seen the deep-rooted evil widening the breach, knew that Morgan Talbot's
life hung in the balance. The crowd about him bespoke its
ingredients--the lower elements of the town, inflamed by the followers
of Jervais into a recklessness that meant almost anything. He also
realized that the best element--the friends he could call upon to defend
Talbot--were all guests at the wedding and had not yet returned to the
town.
"I cyant go no fudder, Jedge."
Zebediah's whisper broke upon Judge Houston's great fear. He stood up
in the carriage and surveyed the crowd. It was dense up to the gate of
the jail yard. In that moment it rushed over him that the sight of
Natalia might have some effect upon the crowd. He glanced at her
quickly and saw that she was determined and self-controlled.
"We shall have to walk--take my arm--now."
Taking one of the lanterns that hung to the dashboard of the carriage,
and holding it in his hand so that the light fell full upon Natalia,
showing distinctly her white gown and jewels, Judge Houston half led,
half pushed her into the midst of the crowd.
The effect was as he had expected. The crowd turned and looked at them;
a whispered exclamation followed; then, during an ominous silence, a
pathway was made for them, through which they passed to the gate of the
jail yard.
There the keeper laid a detaining hand on Judge Houston's arm. "If it
comes to the worst--if they make a rush, we are powerless!"
"Keep them back until our friends return to town."
The old gentleman's voice rang with a new firmness. "They all know and
are coming to our assistance. I shall be back here in a minute and stand
by you."
"Is it as bad as that?" Natalia asked so quietly that Judge Houston
looked searchingly into her face. In her expression he saw the look that
always comes into the faces of the brave.
"No, I don't believe they will do anything--they wouldn't dare! They
are not so violent as they look."
At the end of the walk they stood at last before the jail door. When
they had passed within and Natalia heard the bolt shoot into place, and
knew that the threatening crowd without was separated from her by the
heavy iron door, she leaned against it for renewed strength. Then,
taking Judge Houston's outstretched hand, she followed him down the
dimly lit corridor, only vaguely aware that she would find Morgan in
such a place. Still gripping the outstretched hand she followed the old
man into the cell.
Morgan Talbot and Joel were outlined against the window. From without
came the subdued murmur of the multitude so that they did not hear the
door open. Suddenly Morgan turned and faced them. Starting back, he
looked from Natalia to Judge Houston, his eyes bloodshot and staring.
For a minute no one spoke.
"Why did you bring her?" Morgan's voice came harshly. "Don't you know
what that crowd out there means? You could have spared her this at
least!"
He motioned to the window where Joel still leaned against the bars,
listening intently. There was no look of affection as he glanced from
Natalia to the old man; it was hardly one of recognition.
Natalia moved quickly across the floor, putting both hands upon his
shoulders.
"He brought me because I would not stay away, Morgan. Do you think I
could have left you in this awful crowd?" Her voice broke and she began
to tremble violently. "Morgan--what did you do? How did it happen?"
"How did it happen!" He stared down into her face, his hands hanging
limp at his sides, his voice hard and grating. "How did it happen?
Don't you know? I am a murderer!"
With the words Natalia shuddered and withdrew her hands.
"No! No! don't say that! Don't use that word! it was an accident. I
know it was--tell me so!"
Talbot continued to stare at her strangely. When she drew away from
him, he laughed abruptly.
"I knew _that_ would make you feel differently," he said almost in a
whisper, as if to himself. "I knew it would kill your love for me," he
ended with a sob.
Natalia lifted her head proudly. Instantly her hands were clinging to
him again, and her voice as she spoke to him deepened vibrantly.
"_Nothing_ could alter my love, Morgan. I have come here to convince
you of that. Look at me! Can't you see?"
Judge Houston went quietly across the room and taking Joel by the arm,
led him to the door. They went out noiselessly, unnoticed by the
others. "Look here, Joel," said the Judge as they stood in the
corridor, "I want you to realize with me that public feeling will
probably affect the verdict of the coroner's jury. We have a big battle
ahead of us." The young fellow shook his head sadly.
"Don't you see, Morgan?" Natalia within was saying to Morgan, her voice
rising as she strove to force some response into his eyes. "Don't you
see I am in my wedding dress? I came as soon as Uncle Felix told me."
He stared at her a long time, the wild, hunted look gradually dying out,
leaving only an expression of dumb misery.
"Natalia! Natalia!" he murmured at last, as if realizing for the first
time that it was she. "Natalia--that is your wedding dress! Oh, my
God!" he cried out, turning away from her and leaning against the wall.
"It can never be now--never--never!" Then came the dry, hard sobs of a
man who sees nothing but despair before him.
Natalia did not attempt to stop him. When he sank on to the cot, his
face buried in his hands, she went and sat beside him, her eyes dry and
glowing. She knew a more soothing relief had come to him than any words
she might employ.
As they sat there, the folds of her wedding dress falling about them,
the candles burned low, until only a ghostly gleam sparkled upon her
necklace of pearls and sapphires.
Gradually the low murmuring without grew fainter and fainter, then died
away entirely. The silence about them deepened; yet neither of them
moved. The minutes raced along. Once, Natalia rose and lighted another
candle, the first one having burned into its socket.
At last, when Morgan lifted his face to hers, he found its beauty and
quiet encouragement a continuance of the peace her presence had brought
him.
"Natalia," he whispered, "you love me still? It has made no
difference?"
She smiled at him bravely.
"_Nothing_ could."
"Are you honest with me, Natalia--or is it only pity?"
For answer she leaned forward and kissed him.
"Then it is true," he said, drawing her hand into his, his face
brightening for a second. Then again, crept back the look of deep
misery. "I believe you still love me, Natalia, but we cannot be married
now. No, I wouldn't ask it of you. I love you too dearly to have your
life ruined by being tied to a _murderer_."
"Don't use that word, Morgan. Please don't use it. You are not a
murderer. It was all an accident. Am I not right? Tell me about it and
I can show you with your own words that I am right."
Morgan stretched his hands out on the cot, his fingers moving nervously
in an incessant thumping.
"We spoke of it that morning--_this_ morning," he added. "It seems a
thousand years ago now! I was telling you about our game of poker at
the tavern, don't you remember? To-day it was the same all over again.
He had not raised the money,--he had only brought the slaves themselves
to pay his gambling debts. One he pointed out, as worthy to pay any
man's debts--a mulatto girl, a pitiful, beautiful little creature that
wept as she was brought before us. I told Jervais that I played cards
with gentlemen for pleasure and not for traffic in human souls! I told
him he was insulting me." He stopped a moment and shuddered. "It all
happened very quickly. He struck me a blow--I returned it. Then I saw
him draw his pistol and spring on me. His hands were about my neck when
I had gotten the pistol out of his grasp. As they tightened I knew I was
going to kill him. I can feel his hands loosening now, after the
report. Great God! I can feel him slipping down, and down, until he lay
dead on the floor before me!" He rose suddenly from the cot and
stretched out both arms helplessly before him.
Natalia listened intently. Not an inflection of his voice escaped her.
When he finished she met his eyes resolutely.
"It was not your fault. You did not do it intentionally. It was self
defence."
"But I knew I was going to kill him. I knew it all the time."
"Yes, but you had to! No one could blame you! You are as innocent as I!
The law will protect you."
Morgan gazed at her a long time in silence.
"Natalia,--help me to do what is right. It rests with you to make it
easier for me. Don't come back here any more after to-night. Don't let
me see you again. This must be the last time, dear."
He went to the cot where she still sat and looked down into her eyes.
"I am going away if I am liberated, and I am never going to see you
again. It is the only way I can prove my love to you,--the only thing
that would be just to you."
Natalia's eyes wavered from his burning glance. Suddenly she rose and
went to the door, her face illumined by a wonderful smile.
"Where are you going, Natalia," Morgan exclaimed.
She did not answer. Knocking on the door until it was opened, she faced
Judge Houston and Joel calmly.
"Uncle Felix, I wish our marriage to be performed to-night. Will you
send for a minister?"
Judge Houston looked at her, startled, then his eyes sought Talbot's for
an explanation. Coming back again to Natalia's, he saw the decision was
hers.
"Would it not be better to wait until to-morrow?" he suggested, quickly
aware of incongruity in such a marriage.
"No, it is not a time for waiting. I must prove to Morgan that this has
made no difference in my love for him."
Finally the old gentleman turned away from her, reading the force in her
face that brooked no interference. When he was at the door he heard
Morgan speaking.
"Stop!" he commanded. "I refuse to be married to-night. Natalia does
not know what she is doing."
"You both see I am perfectly calm," she said, turning to Joel and Judge
Houston. "I desire above everything that we shall be married to-night.
I beg of you--Morgan--"
Morgan shook his head with a determination that was greater than hers.
With the decision his face gained some of its lost brilliancy. He
became once more the handsome, virile man of that morning.
"When I am a free man, Natalia--when I am cleared--if you still wish it
then--not before. I am determined."
The four of them were silent for a few moments. So much was at stake at
that moment that each one felt the trembling of the future within his
hands. At last Judge Houston stepped forward and wrung Morgan's hand.
"You are right, Morgan," he said, with his eyes bent admiringly upon the
young man. "You are a brave fellow." Then he turned to Natalia.
"Everything outside is quiet. The danger has subsided and I think it is
time we were going back home."
"Must I go?" Natalia started, and turned swiftly back to Morgan. "Had
we not better stay longer? I don't want to leave you, Morgan."
Judge Houston went towards the door. Holding his watch in his hand, he
looked at it intently for several minutes.
"It is after two o'clock." He finally turned to Natalia and drew her
away with him. "It will be better for Morgan to rest, and you, too. We
should only excite him by staying longer. Take my advice, Natalia."
"Yes, go," Morgan urged, smiling bravely as she drew back at the door
and looked appealingly to him. "I am all right now. See how quiet I am!
It was brave of you to come, Natalia. God bless you both!" he ended
with a break in his voice.
"We shall come back in the morning," Judge Houston said, attempting a
cheerful tone. "Try to get a little sleep, and don't think too much
about it. Joel--you make him rest. Everything will come out all right
in the end--take my word for it."
Natalia broke from his hold, and ran back to Morgan, clinging to him as
if it were their last parting.
"I shall not sleep," she whispered, her head buried on his shoulder. "I
shall be thinking of you all the time--thinking of you and praying for
you. And early in the morning I am coming back."
A moment more and the iron door had been slammed and bolted between
them.
Outside the night had grown cool. Gusts of wind blew through the trees,
ominously; across the sky the clouds drifted in restless, ever-changing
forms.
Natalia was silent as she went out to the carriage, raising her eyes
only once to glance furtively at the deserted street. Everything was
strangely still now. No one was in sight, where a short while before was
a murmuring throng.
The old man sitting beside her in the carriage could find no words to
break the silence of the long drive home. Only by the affectionate
pressure of his hand did Natalia know that his thoughts were continually
of her.
A single light was burning in the hall when the carriage stopped before
the house. The veranda and grove were deserted, the illuminations of
the garden had been extinguished, and just beginning to show in the
fitful light of the late moon were the ghostly blossoms of the
magnolias.
Mrs. Houston and Millicent came to the door at the sound of the
carriage, meeting them before they had entered the house.
"Is he safe?" Millicent cried.
"Yes, he is safe," Natalia answered, dully. Then turning to Mrs.
Houston, she asked, "Where is she?"
The old lady looked towards the door.
"She is in there," nodding in the direction of the parlour. "She has
not left his side since they placed him there. She would let no one
stay with her."
Natalia hesitated, as she entered the hall, and stood irresolutely
before the closed door.
"I must say something to her. It is only right. Yet--" she clasped her
hands helplessly, searching the faces before her as if for some
assistance. "Yet--_what_ can I say?"
Standing there helplessly, she did not hear the parlour door open, nor
see Mrs. Jervais motionlessly looking at her. Her face was not
tear-stained. Only in her eyes did the others read a grief which had
already crystallized into a brilliant hardness, emanating from her like
the diamond cross that sparkled on her breast. She did not move from her
position in the doorway, all the time gazing at Natalia with a
concentrated expression that gathered intensity as she waited.
Suddenly Natalia turned and saw her. Holding out her arms impetuously
she made a step towards her--then stopped. The other woman's face
repelled her.
"What can I say--what can I tell you?" Natalia murmured. "You must know
how I feel for you--how I suffer with you."
Mrs. Jervais' eyes seemed to be burning into the girl before her.
"Suffer! What do you know of that? Why should you suffer? You have
not lost the one you love--yet." She stopped abruptly, lending a sharp
accent to the last word.
Natalia drew back. The implied suggestion seemed to scream at her from
the woman's blazing eyes.
"If it were not for you he would still be here." Mrs. Jervais made a
step nearer. "You asked me to come here and do this for you. I did,
and what has it brought me--death! It is accursed--this place of your
ancestors. So were they--_all_ of them! When they lived here it brought
them nothing but death. It drove your mother to madness. And now--"
her voice in its calmness grew even more sinister, "it will bring its
curse upon _you_. Do you think a _murderer_ could bring you any
happiness?"
Natalia shrank back from her, reaching out for the steadying hand of
Judge Houston.
"Mrs. Jervais," he expostulated gently, "Natalia is suffering, too. You
forget that in your own grief. Have you no kind words for her?"
"It is no time for kind words, Felix Houston. It is only bitterness and
hatred that I have now! Why should I feel kindly towards a woman who
has brought a man here that he might kill my husband? When she has lost
as I have, then I shall be kind, perhaps! And it will not be long that
she will wait! I shall not leave a stone unturned to punish with death
the one who caused it."
She turned abruptly back into the room and closed the door. In the
intense stillness of the house the key grated harshly in the lock, as
she turned it. Without a word Mrs. Houston put her arm around Natalia
and led her toward the stairs. When she stood on the steps Natalia
turned and faced them.
"Don't any of you come with me," she said faintly. "I must be alone.
No, Millicent, not to-night. I only want to be alone now." And turning
from them, she walked slowly up the stairs, clinging to the rail to
steady herself while the others stood silently watching her.
Opening the door, the flickering light of a candle burned far into its
socket greeted her. At first she stopped in the centre of the room, her
hands clasped vise-like, while the excitement and strain gradually
dropped away from her, leaving only a wave of utter weariness. She sank
into a chair near the massive, four-post bed, gazing listlessly at her
wedding veil and bouquet of gardenias which lay carelessly upon the
sheets where they had been thrown. Vaguely she felt their significance;
in a way they represented her wedding day--the day that had dawned so
brilliantly, and was now only a crumpled, withered memory.
A rasping pain shot through her, and leaning forward she pressed both
hands to her temples. Was this the real side of life that had come to
her at last? Was this what she had so yearned for--a grappling with
things that counted? Ah, no, it could not be that, for this was only
despair and horror. Suddenly she shivered violently with the thought
that perhaps she was no better fitted to combat it than her mother had
been.
A weird, ghostly light on her bride's veil drew her back once more to
her surroundings. Looking up she saw the pale outline of the window
against the dark room. With the realization that another day was
dawning, there rushed over her for the first time, in its full meaning,
the horrifying thought that her lover had killed a man. Hitherto the
excitement had kept her from any analysis of her own
emotions--everything had been swept aside in the thought of Morgan. But
now, facing her pitilessly, was the awful necessity of introspection, of
seeing the situation from her viewpoint, of being honest with herself.
_Would_ it make any difference to her? A feeling of self-hate swept
over her that she should consider herself in the least. Yet, fight
against it as she would, the question insistently remained. But there
would be time enough for all such thoughts after the trial. The trial!
Mrs. Jervais' words rang in her ears again. She started at the thought.
Would Morgan be cleared? Was there any doubt? The horror of her
fancies choked her and she rose from her chair as if seeking something
that moment, that would aid her.
As she turned towards the window, her eyes fell upon Dicey, sitting
upright in a chair against the wall, her hands clasped in her lap, her
eyes staring straight into her own. The old slave had kept the vigil
with her mistress.
Dicey rose and made towards her.
"Will yer go ter bed, now, honey?" Her voice was very low, caressing
and gentle. "Hit'll soon be day and yer ought ter tak er lil res'."
"Rest! I can't, Mammy. I must do something to help him. He is to be
tried for murder! He must be saved. Oh, Mammy," her voice broke with a
sob. "What can I do?"
She went to the window and raised it, letting the chill breeze of the
daybreak blow upon her face and neck. All the world in its dreary
greyness spoke to her only of despair and death. Finally she felt
Dicey's arm about her, gently drawing her back from the window. The
strange look of visions was alive in the old slave's eyes once more,
more burning and intense than ever.
"Yer kin sabe him, honey-chile, easy 'nuff," she whispered. "All yer
got ter do is ter sen' word to Marse Sargent ter cum an' 'fend him."
A weary smile flitted across Natalia's lips as she thought of the old
woman's love for her master. Then her face grew serious again.
"I'll do _anything_, Mammy. But he is not here. Where can I find him?"
"Yer jes' write de letter an' I'll make Jonas--dat's his
body-servant--fetch hit ter him. I knows whar his wharbouts is. I'se
been er keepin' up wid him for fo' days. Yer writes de letter an' he'll
git hit ter him."
Natalia stared at her a moment, then going quickly to her desk, pulled
out her portfolio. When the paper was spread before her she paused,
thoughtfully.
"How strange," she said half aloud. "I remember it so distinctly now.
He told me if I ever needed him--" her lips curved into the smile of the
little girl, and the tears fell fast upon the sheet of paper.
Before the address was dry, Dicey was flying with it towards the town.
*CHAPTER IX*
*THE HONOURABLE SARGENT EVERETT*
In a little village, far off in the eastern part of the State, a great
crowd was assembling. The planters and their wives and children, every
one from the adjoining counties, were going into the village that
morning. Some rode horses; others mules; some were in crude wagons
without springs; others in old coaches no longer fit for regular
service; and many on foot--all of them followed by their favourite
slaves. It was to be a great day in the lives of these simple country
folk. Tidings had gone forth that the great lawyer was to speak to them
that day, telling them all about their rights; explaining to them the
mysteries of their great Constitution, and the importance of proper
representation. Every man felt it his special duty to hear what was
going to be said, and although this celebrated lawyer was not of their
political beliefs, being a Whig while the county was Democratic, they
were glad of the opportunity to hear a man speak, whose name was
becoming a byword throughout the State. Though un-lettered, hard-fisted
woodland patriots caring little for the outside world except in what
would bring them absolute freedom, they were still keenly alive to the
needs and laws that would open their great forests to the civilized
world.
And while the sun rose higher and the brilliance of the June morning
deepened, and the crowd grew larger and more impatient, the man who had
caused all this interest sat in the cool shade of a veranda, looking
steadily out before him through deeply brooding eyes.
It was a beautiful scene of wide, luxuriant cotton fields, stretching
out before him. Nearby, a garden of luxuriant flowers, guarded by
smoothly clipped box hedges, filled the air with a delicious fragrance.
Beside him on the veranda, comfortably lounging in a spacious rocking
chair, sat his host, Colonel Pickram; a portly old gentleman, bluff and
hearty, and red of face. Beyond, through the open window, came the
laughter and gay chatter of the two daughters of the house, healthy,
comely girls who moved about the room, giving directions for what was to
be a sumptuous dinner.
Colonel Pickram gazed at his guest under questioning brows. The great
lawyer was not to-day as he had known him before. The virility and life
seemed to have lessened in him since the last visit; he was no longer
the sparkling conversationalist he had known before; the winning humour
that had drawn every one to him was gone. As he sat there silent, his
hands clasped en his knees, his eyes full of a sad expression of
yearning, even the dull perception of the self-satisfied farmer was
aware that he was not himself.
"Mr. Everett," Colonel Pickram broke the long silence, "you've been
working too hard on the campaign. It's telling on you. I reckon you're
mighty glad to-morrow's the last day."
Everett looked up abstractedly.
"Yes--I'm glad to-morrow sees the end of this trip--and yet," he drew
himself together responsively, "it has been a wonderful experience.
Whenever I get nearer to the people and begin to like them all the more
after I know them, and find them liking me--I feel that I have
accomplished so much more than merely winning their votes. That is what
I love in this work--the winning of friends. And then, Colonel," he
glanced almost affectionately at his surroundings, "being in a home like
this always gives me such pleasant memories to carry away with me.
Still, it makes me very homesick at times." His voice lowered again and
the sadness crept back into his eyes. "It takes me back to my old home
days. I'd give almost anything to be back there to-day. But this
ambition!" He sighed, a half humourous, half sorrowful expression
twisting his lips. "It is wonderful what it will make us give up."
The Colonel crossed one leg deliberately over the other, blowing a long
line of smoke between them.
"Well, sir, I've often wondered if the game of politics was worth the
candle. Here I am, with my two fine lassies, as good girls as you'll
ever find in any country, and a plain home, but it's comfortable enough,
and plenty of slaves and mules to make a crop and pay my bills. It's
all I want and I'm right happy--just as contented as if I owned the
world. But then--I'm old and you're young. I look back and you look
forward. That's what makes the difference, I reckon."
"But you are right, Colonel, and I am wrong. All a fellow works for in
this life is a happy home; and it seems I'm never going to have that--at
least the kind I mean, the complete one. It gets further and further
away as I get older. I used to say that when I was thirty I would have
all those I loved about me. Look at me now!" He spread out his hands
futilely. "I'm nearly thirty, living alone, a bachelor, and many times,
for all my gay spirits and friends, terribly lonely."
"You ought to get married. Why don't you? There are plenty of nice
girls everywhere."
Everett winced and turned abruptly away. When he spoke again his face
was towards the cotton fields. "But they don't want a cripple for a
husband," he answered the old man's remark. "They want a man of fine
proportions, who will do them credit when they are seen together. They
want one who--" he narrowed his eyes a moment, and in them came the
tenderness of bygone days, "--who will go to church with them, and send
them beautiful nosegays and take them to dances." He ended, smiling
upon the Colonel's surprised countenance. "I once heard a woman say,
Colonel," he began again, more seriously, "that she chose her husband
because he looked well in a ball-room. And I don't blame
her--perfection and beauty are the greatest factors in our lives."
The old Colonel smiled over his pipe.
"I'm afraid, Mr. Everett, that you are a much better lawyer than a judge
of the ladies. I have a higher opinion of them than you have. They are
not half so silly as you paint them."
"You misunderstand me, Colonel," Everett answered hurriedly. "I revere
them more than any man. But they love the beautiful in life, and they
are beautiful themselves. My bitterness comes only from my inability to
give them what they demand."
Colonel Pickram grunted sarcastically.
"You can give them a good deal, I think. I'd like to see the woman who
wouldn't be satisfied to be a Congressman's wife and spend her winters
in Washington. The trouble with you, Mr. Everett, and you'll pardon me
for saying it, is that you've never been in love."
Sargent rose from his chair almost abruptly. Walking to the end of the
veranda and back again, he faced Colonel Pickram, smiling down into the
rough old fellow's face as if he were much his elder.
"Perhaps you are right, Colonel," he said, taking out his watch.
"Time's up, however, so we had better drop dreaming and be on our way to
grapple with politics."
Squaring his shoulders and throwing back his head, a gesture of his
earlier days that clung to him still, Sargent threw off the melancholy
of the past day, and became once more the man who charmed people by the
thousands. Colonel Pickram noticed the quick change and pondered over
it. "Big men were curious creatures," he reflected. "They could jump
from one mood into another just as easily as a travelling magician he
saw last week, could change a rabbit into a pocket handkerchief."
As they passed across the meadow, towards the village, the signal of
their approach was given. The multitude left their lunches, and hurried
towards the platform from which the speech was to be made.
Every one's neck was craned to catch the first glimpse of the two men as
they approached. One they knew well, though in his linen waistcoat and
Sunday stock--which had already wellnigh brought on an attack of
apoplexy--Colonel Pickram did not look familiar. They noticed the slow
and pompous dignity with which he moved beside the stranger, and felt
instinctively that he considered this the proudest day of his life. The
man beside him walked with the aid of a cane and dragged one foot
slightly after him. The crowd stared. Was it possible that this
unobtrusive young man, in a black coat and chimney-pot hat, could be the
one they had heard so much about? They looked at him curiously, drawn
unconsciously by his kindly dark eyes, and the winning smile upon his
handsome face. But he did not represent to them a political champion.
Some mistake had been made. They were evidently the dupes of some jest
that had been played upon them.
While they speculated over the matter, Colonel Pickram led the young man
to a place before the platform where the crowd pressed closest. Here a
few introductions were made, after which the word went over the
gathering, that the small, limping man was really Sargent Everett.
As they waited, he climbed the steps of the platform and looked down
into the crowd of faces. With the removal of his hat, his aspect
changed suddenly. He looked taller, the high polished forehead lent a
dignity and breadth to his whole physique. The enthusiasm and intellect
that always glowed in his eyes when he faced an audience gave out sparks
of magnetism that quieted the waiting throng into an inspiring audience.
During the ensuing moments of waiting it seemed to them that the warmth
and friendliness of his glance was shed upon each one of them
individually. When his lips parted and his opening words came forth--
"FELLOW CITIZENS! By the Father of Waters I have used this greeting; on
the banks of the great Ohio I have spoken it; here I say it again, and
many hundreds of miles east of us, west of us, north of us, I can still
employ these words and thrill with the knowledge that before me are--'My
fellow citizens.'"
--the crowd fell under the spell of the man's electrifying talent and
listened with bated breath.
Seeing him then one would have said that he was the same as when he had
made that wonderful speech that convicted the highwayman; the one who
had led so forcibly in the Legislature when the State's new Constitution
was formulated; who had thrilled many audiences in New Orleans; who had
made his name sound far into the North when he had conducted a famous
trial in Kentucky. And he had been the same, years making no change
except to deepen and intensify his genius, until a few months before,
when, almost indescribably, yet vividly discernible to his intimates, a
difference had come. The world did not know; he was still lighthearted
and buoyant to it; but to those who loved him best when alone with him,
there was a strange loss of youth in his countenance, an abstraction,
almost a lessening of that spontaneous sympathy which was such a potent
ingredient of his charm. But in his public life there was no
difference. Standing before a crowd, and meeting its warm, inspiring
glances, any thought of personal effort was lost. He became a wonderful
machine which throbbed and pulsated with the dynamic force of a great
mind.
So it was that day before the gathering in the little village. Though
before his speech he had sunk deep into a valley of shadows and knew
well it would be the same again when the excitement had died out, now
that he was facing them, he was only aware of the powerful influence
that always made him charm his audience.
He made only a few gestures as he spoke, and even then, the expression
of his face and the movement of his hands were perfectly attuned to the
subject. There was nothing theatrical; one saw and understood the
general effect only. There was no time for any criticism or thought.
The words came in a constant flowing sound and through them the
magnetism of the man glowed, reaching each listener with an irresistible
force that drew him with a surrendering of beliefs, of convictions, of
desires, often even against his personal wish. His face, illumined by
the inward fire of his imagination, grew steadily in beauty and
nobility, until it became fascinating with the brilliance of the
thoughts reflected through it. His well moulded features, showing
clear-cut and perfect in the ivory whiteness which had recently come to
them, drew even those who did not understand the wonderful flow of
words; indeed, in all his speeches this look of idealism was ever
uppermost--an expression which none of the portrait painters of his day
were able to reproduce. When he realized that the attention of the
audience was his, he paused. Then, with renewed energy, he plunged
deeper into his subject, and was reaching the height to which his
forensic talent swept him, when an incident on the outskirts of the
crowd caught his attention. Some one had just ridden up on a horse and
was trying to force his way through the crowd. Evidently there was
resistance on the part of the listeners and voices were raised in
protest against the newcomer's insistence. Then, several men pushed
aside and made a path for the man, and Sargent saw a negro making his
way slowly through the crowd towards him. As he drew nearer he
recognized Jonas. Climbing up the ladder to the platform the negro did
not hesitate one moment until he had thrust a letter into-Sargent's
hand.
Sargent stopped in the midst of the speech and looked at Jonas, half
frowning, half smiling at the negro's temerity in reaching him through
the crowd.
"Marse Sargent, please sah, read dat lettah--right now, sah! Hit's a
mattah ob life an' death, sah!"
Sargent turned back to his audience, smiling. "One moment, please," he
said, laughing down into the sea of upturned expectant faces, "I think
my opponents have put up some joke on me. I want to read it to you and
then we can laugh over it together." Then he tore open the letter
indifferently.
"Lawdy, I sho wuz glad ter heah yer voice, Marse Sargent. I'se been er
gwine ober dis heah kentry fer three days er sarchin' fer yer. Ole
Dicey tole me fer ter git out on de road an' fin' yer an' ter gib yer
dis heah lettah. She done said hit wuz a mattah ob life an' death,"
Jonas ended panting, looking around on the crowd and grinning with the
success of his quest.
Sargent did not hear his words. At the first glance at the handwriting
he had started. While he read the crowd waited breathlessly. When he
had finished he turned to Colonel Pickram, his face flushed deeply, his
words coming with a rush.
"Colonel Pickram, I want your fastest horse. I must be in Natchez by
Sunday."
"Of course you can have anything I've got. Has anything happened?"
"Yes--a great deal--for me."
Colonel Pickram noted the strangely flushed face and was more deeply
puzzled than ever.
"You forget to-morrow at Canton. You are going to meet your opponent
there. It is the deciding day. You can't afford to miss that! It's
your big chance!"
Everett shook his head smiling. When he answered his eyes were full of
the expression of a man who is drunk with joy.
"No," he said, "my chance lies in Natchez next week--the great chance of
my life!"
Colonel Pickram looked at him amazed. Had the man lost his mind!
"But the people here! Your speech! They are waiting for you to finish
it!"
Sargent had already picked up his hat and cane.
"Tell them I am ill--that I cannot go on. Tell them anything, Colonel,
I don't care what. I can't say anything more. I haven't a moment to
lose. Good-bye to all of you!"
*CHAPTER X*
*THE LEAD OF HONOUR*
On and on through the country Sargent urged his horse, followed closely
by the faithful Jonas. They had stopped only for a change of horses and
for food, taking no rest until at the end of the second day he realized
that his wild impatience must be curbed or the end of the journey would
find him exhausted.
But the night's rest had brought him no peace; the physical relaxation
seemed to intensify the mental excitement. The few moments of sleep
were but agitated lurid dreams. He would awaken from them startled,
with cold sweat upon his face and hands and the two words ringing in his
ears that had come to him with Natalia's letter--"My chance! My
chance!"
Early the next morning he resumed the journey no calmer in the knowledge
that before sunset he would reach his destination.
The forest rang with the two words all through the hot day; in the early
morning the mists hovering over the cotton fields whispered them to him;
the gallop of his horse beat then, into a rhythmic insistence. It was a
throbbing, joyful sound, singing in his ears, glowing in his face,
crystallizing in his eyes. It was the intervention of Fate, smiling upon
him, and telling him that his opportunity had come at last; that it was
the moment when the dreams and inspiration of his youth would become a
reality. The last months of hopelessness, when he had felt that the
loss of his ideal, the goal of all his plans, had slipped from him, were
forgotten in the thrilling thought that all hope was not gone. One more
chance was left; already he felt it to be the forerunner of happiness.
Always a man who lost himself in the grip of one idea, he could see
nothing else but that Natalia was not yet married. The fact that the
marriage was postponed because her lover, his old schoolmate, had killed
Lemuel Jervais, was all a vague background to the other great certainty.
The outcome did not intrude itself upon the theme that sounded so
steadily in his ears. Nothing else counted until he could reach her
side and pour out all the pent-up yearnings of the years and years that
he had planned and builded and waited for her.
When Natalia had gone away a little girl, leaving behind her the
fragrance of her charm, the lingering notes of her sweet dependence,
Sargent had treasured her memory within his heart, keeping it alive and
more vividly before him by its very secrecy. Only two knew that beneath
the success of the young lawyer there was a strong, true hope that was
leading him on towards a future his dreams made perfect. What
difference did it make to him when her letters dwindled and finally
ceased? That was only natural in a girl developing into womanhood. Of
course she would forget for a while; that in itself would make the
memories and devotions of her childhood all the stronger when she came
back to them. When the letters to him had stopped coming and only
occasionally Mrs. Houston had received one, it was always a great day to
them. The old lady would send for Sargent, and reading aloud to him
what Natalia had written, they would end by planning for the wonderful
time when she would be coming back to them. Then, at last had come the
letter concerning her marriage. Mrs. Houston had not hesitated when she
realized the duty that lay before her, but in the choosing of time and
place, there was a subtle sympathy and gentleness that expressed her
nature completely. She had driven to Sargent's home in the late
afternoon and sending word for him to drive with her, had gradually
broached the subject, ending by reading the letter. They had driven
home in silence amid the gathering shadows, her hand on his, neither
meeting the other's saddened eyes. Afterwards had come the work of the
campaign, into which Sargent threw himself as never before, seeking
vainly, through physical and mental fatigue, forgetfulness. Then, when
his intelligence, his humour, and his bitter disappointment were
struggling in a great fight to build up his life as it had been before,
Natalia's message came to him. Beside her, he could tell her of what
the years without her, yet so completely filled with her, had meant to
him. She would listen, he kept repeating over and over to himself; he
would make her listen, she would be powerless to combat his great love;
it was of such force that obstacles would be swept before it as by a
storm. In the delirious happiness of this obsession there was left no
room for sane thoughts.
Towards evening he rode into the town. The church bells were ringing
their call to the evening services, for it was Sunday. The air was
filled with the last glow of liquid, golden sunlight; over all Nature
was spread the luxurious, lazy warmth of summer.
Sargent did not spare his weary horse as he entered the town; even then
his impatience seemed to become greater with his destination reached.
Riding directly to Judge Houston's house, for he was not certain but
that he might find her with them, he threw his reins to Jonas and
dismounted. Walking toward the house, his habitual halting step grown
more perceptible in his exhaustion, he suddenly realized the strain he
had forced himself to undergo. Yet, in his face still glowed the beauty
of his hope. Fatigue and utter weariness were powerless to affect its
potency.
The servant told him that Judge Houston was just preparing to drive back
to the country; that he had been in town all day. Sargent found him in
the garden back of the house, his head bent forward in deep thought.
With the quick straightening of his body and the bright light in his
eyes when he looked up, Sargent knew that his coming had brought a great
relief.
"I am glad they found you, Sargent," he exclaimed. "Natalia told me she
had written you. We need you, boy--we need all the help we can get."
Sargent held the old man's hand while he searched his eyes.
"Where is she now?" he almost whispered.
"Natalia? At her home. Maria and I are staying out there with her."
Judge Houston drew his hand away slowly, his brows wrinkling into an
expression of bewilderment as he noted more closely the flushed face
before him. Suddenly he put out his hand and motioned Sargent to sit on
the bench beside him. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke.
"Do you know what has happened?"
"Yes--she wrote me--and asked me to come and save Morgan!"
"Do you know what she meant?"
Sargent glanced up. The old man's hand was shaking as it rested on his
shoulder, and in his eyes there had come quickly an expression of sharp
pain.
"Do you know what she meant?" he repeated, almost harshly.
"Yes, of course--but why--"
Sargent's voice failed him. His old friend had read his hope and in his
face now was speaking the suffering that he knew was coming. In the
moment of silence Sargent faced the old man squarely.
"You mean--" he said, his voice cold and hard. Already his happiness of
the past two days was stealing away from him.
"She loves Morgan Talbot with her whole intense nature. If he is not
saved I fear almost anything. You know her mother's end? It is your
chance, Sargent--"
"My chance!" Sargent stood up, repeating the words that had rung in his
ears for so many hours, though now the accent spoke of dead hope. Still
saying them over to himself as if seeking for some hidden meaning in the
mere sound of the words, he left Judge Houston and walked to the far end
of the garden.
The old gentleman followed him, finally standing beside him when he
leaned on the fence.
After a long silence, his glance still riveted on the ground before him,
Sargent spoke:
"Are you quite sure?" he murmured. "There might be some mistake--yet."
Judge Houston moved nearer him, his whole face showing his surprise. It
was a phase of Sargent's character that he had not seen before.
"I was not certain until I carried her to the jail to see Morgan," he
said slowly. "That night I knew he meant everything to her. It was a
silly dream of ours ever to hope for anything else. As well as we knew
her, we should have been sure of her love for the man she would marry.
Why did you, of all of us, hope for any change?"
Sargent lifted his face with a quivering flash of anger.
"Why did I hope? Why did I think my chance had come?" he burst out with
vehemence. "Are you so old that the meaning of love and all its joy
have been forgotten? Do you think that because I have sunk all desires
and cravings into my ambition, that covered up in my heart was no
passion? I am only a human being--with all the pent-up yearnings for
what I see others possessing. Why should I not use my opportunity now
that it has come to me? I will, Great God, I will! Don't stop me! I'm
going to her to plead my cause, to lay my love before her. She will not
refuse it--she _shall_ not. There is a time in every man's life when he
must forget everything but himself! I am going to do that now!"
Judge Houston did not interrupt him. When the wild flow of words had
ceased he remained quietly beside Sargent, giving no sign that he had
heard what was said.
"You think I am insane, I suppose," Sargent rushed on, even more
intensely than before. "You think because I speak out the great desire
of my heart--because at last the blood is boiling in my veins, making me
like other people, like all the creatures God has made to claim their
rights--you think because of all this," his voice broke shrilly, "that I
am not the man you thought I was. Is it not so?" He turned and faced
Judge Houston, grasping both his arms. "You are disappointed,
distressed, terribly shaken in me--answer me? I want to hear you
speak?"
The old gentleman's eyes beamed into Sargent's.
"My faith in you is shaken--not one jot!" His words came crisp and full
of a deep significance. "I know you too well. I love you as I would
have loved my son. My confidence in you is without limit. I know what
you will do as surely as if I were going to do it myself!"
Their eyes burned into each other: then over them, enveloping them, came
the silence of a miracle. Sargent's hands fell to his side. His body
shook for a second like a man who was in the grip of a chill; then, as
he gradually grew steady, a great calmness swept over him; his face grew
white and set, and from his eyes shone out the look that the wise old
man beside him knew would come--the expression of one who has been
tempted, and is feeling at last the infinite glory of renunciation.
"How did you know?" Sargent asked at last with a broken sob.
The old gentleman shook his head sadly.
"The other side was not you, Sargent. It was a dream--a horrible
dream."
Sargent put his hands to his forehead, pushing back his hair and showing
the ivory whiteness of his brow. His face, illumined by the miraculous
thought that had come in one minute, grew steadily in beauty until it
became almost glorified in its brilliance.
In that instant the meaning of his whole life came to him. His early
training, the teachings of his mother, and later his first great
experience in his chosen profession, when it seemed that all sides were
narrowing about him in his great failure and despair. In Phelps he
realized the beacon light that started him towards the goal. It was
through him that the conviction had come to him to make his life-work a
defence of men who had taken the wrong road. Now, with a thrilling
sense of seeing deep into the mystery of life, he realized that every
little detail had been a preparation for what was coming. Even his
recent temptation was a strengthening of his forces. And from it all he
lifted his head with the transcendence of the knowledge was to come the
flowering of his life.
He stretched out both hands to Judge Houston.
"Thank God!" he murmured, "my dear, dear friend. It was left to you to
stand by me and show me the way." He wrung the old gentleman's hands,
then turned resolutely, with the upward lift of his head that was more
eloquent than ever before. "Now let us go to Morgan. My work begins
there first."
Judge Houston slipped his arm through Sargent's as they strolled back to
the house.
"And afterwards--to Natalia. She needs you, too."
"No--not yet," Sargent answered, the glow of the great thought burning
deeply in his eyes. "Later--when I have shown her what my love can do;
then--perhaps--but not before!"
*CHAPTER XI*
*A ROAD TO HAPPINESS*
The Judge's surmise as to the verdict of the coroner's jury had proved
to be true. It had seemed wise, therefore, to proceed quickly with the
trial in order to avoid inflaming the already excited sentiment of
Jervais' adherents. Now the first day of the trial was ending. Natalia
stood on the veranda waiting for Judge Houston; he was to take her to
see Morgan.
The approaching evening brought to her strange, restless thoughts; an
overwhelming rush of emotions which had so filled her for the last four
days. She felt, as she stood alone, with all the old, familiar
surroundings about her, that she was being pushed relentlessly on
towards a situation which, for some unknown reason, she dreaded. A
change had come over her; already she felt the great influence of the
tragedy upon her life. It had opened the more serious side of her
nature, unchaining characteristics which had been felt only vaguely
heretofore. The very depths of sympathy seemed to have stirred within
her; a closer relationship to those about her made her realize that
before she had viewed the world through the eyes of a happy egoism. Now
she was an integral part of life, bearing her burden as the endless
thousands had done before her. With this realization had come a feeling
of strength, of capacity, of endurance; and a determination to make the
ties which had bound her and Morgan more full of meaning and purpose.
Breaking through this comforting purpose came, at moments, a strange
restlessness. It always forced itself upon her after her visits to
Morgan. After the first night in the jail, she had gone to him every
day, spending several hours in the little white-washed room where the
iron bars across the window kept their surroundings palpably before
them. She had hoped that after the first night of suffering and
despondency Morgan would gradually drift back into the buoyancy which
had seemed always such an integral part of his nature. She had expected
that to help him towards a more hopeful outlook. But it was quite the
other way. The weight of the crime had fallen with a crushing blow upon
the man who had known nothing but a care-free life during his thirty
years. The courage in his eyes had died out; there were deep circles
beneath them; even his brilliant colouring had faded into a lifeless
pallor. To one whose life had been so far removed from tragedy as
Morgan's, the blow brought a lessening of all energies. The full
realization that he had killed a man came to him with such a shock that
he shrank from it like a child, cowed and irremediably injured.
Natalia had at first felt her whole being go out to him in sympathy and
love; when she saw him each morning seeking her eyes so like some
pitiful, wounded animal, she began to wonder if he could be the same man
she had known before. Disappointment followed pity, and afterwards
self-hate that she should have expected him to be unchanged by this
experience. It was then that the full conception of the great moral
outcome of the tragedy came to her. She knew in a moment of flashing
intuition, that her happiness and Morgan's lay in her hands alone. All
the courts of the world, with their justice and gifts of liberty, could
not do for him what she must do. But could she do it? The question left
her cold and trembling.
All during the week she had gone bravely through the ordeal that
confronted her. Mrs. Jervais had left the morning after the day set for
the wedding, having refused to see Natalia, and leaving behind her a
request that they should not meet again. Then had come the greatest
trial of all, when, looking out of the window, Natalia saw the funeral
procession pass through the grove where still lingered some of the
decorations for her wedding.
Always beside her, through these dismal days, Dicey stood; encouraging
and comforting in her tenderness. Each evening the old slave would
leave Natalia for a little while, going through the big gate and out to
the highway, where she stood and watched for the long-expected
messenger. When at last Jonas had ridden out to impart to her his
successful mission, Dicey had spoken no word of approval, but turning
swiftly, had rushed back to the house and into Natalia's room with
wildly illumined face.
"He's cum, honey!" she cried. "He done cum at las'. Now hit's gwine be
all right. Eberything's done been sabed."
And later that evening Judge Houston sent word to them that Sargent had
come and that he would stay in town with him that night.
When Judge Houston came for her, Natalia took her place in the carriage
beside him, her lips silent, her eyes seeking his for some outcome of
the first day's trial. As they passed out of the gate into the deserted
road, the old gentleman put his arm about her and drew her head down on
his shoulder.
"We haven't long to wait now, little girl," he said, his words gaining a
benignity in their tenderness. "Everything is going as we wish it now.
Sargent is at the helm," he ended, his voice full of calm certainty.
"He came in answer to my letter?" Natalia murmured.
"Yes--he got it in the midst of one of his speeches."
"He left his campaign for me?"
The old gentleman nodded.
"For you--and for Morgan."
Natalia lifted her head, suddenly.
"Uncle Felix," she cried, "will it mean a loss to him? Did he let his
chance go for--for us?"
"I hope it will not be that way." Judge Houston looked away from her
questioning eyes. "There was only one more speech. It was the one in
which he was to meet his opponent. But that was nothing to him,
Natalia. If you knew him as I do, you would realize that nothing counts
with him when a friend calls for help."
Natalia clasped her hands, helplessly. When she spoke again her lips
were trembling.
"I know, Uncle Felix, I know that. But I have no right to call him back
from his work. If this should cause him to lose his election to
Congress, it would be upon my hands. I have no right to wreck people's
lives as I am doing. Already Mrs. Jervais' words are sinking heavily
upon me--I can't forget them. Uncle Felix, what does it mean? Why has
all this come to me? Is my race accursed--as she said?" She shrank
closer to him, her hands seeking his for comfort. "It seems to me that
I pray every moment. My lips are moving always in supplication. And
yet--" her expression changed to one of intense fear--"I wonder
sometimes if I know what I am praying for."
He looked down at her, puzzled at this sudden shrinking, his eyes
seeking hers in explanation.
"I know you don't understand," she began again, in answer to his look.
"I am not myself. Perhaps it has been too much for me to stand. But I
dread something, Uncle Felix, something that is coming. I don't seem to
have the strength for the duty that lies before me. It is not so much
the outcome of the trial," she continued, calmer, "as what will come
afterwards."
The old man pressed her hand sympathetically. "I know," he said
thoughtfully. "That is a question that had to come to one of your
nature. And the hardest part of it is that no one can help you; you
must work it out alone. Only one thing can bring you back your
happiness--Morgan and your love for him."
"You mean, Uncle Felix--"
"That your love for him will make you forget the deed."
She drew a long sigh, and clung closer to his side.
"It is not that," she answered slowly. "That has made no difference in
my love for him. It will make a difference in our happiness, I know;
but what I fear is the change in Morgan. There is something that he is
keeping from me. I have seen it every day that I was with him. Do you
know what it is, Uncle Felix?"
The old gentleman looked away, avoiding her question.
"Sargent went to him yesterday evening, as soon as he had come. I left
them together," he resumed after a short silence.
"Did you see him afterwards--when he had left Morgan?"
"No. I only saw him at breakfast this morning. But he could talk of
nothing but the details of the trial." Judge Houston was still looking
away from her. "Perhaps," he said with a start, "Sargent will do for
Morgan what no one else could do."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that when Morgan hears the speech for his defence, couched in
legal terms and showing in a convincing way that he is not guilty of--of
murder, it will bring to him a realization of his innocence. Sargent's
speech is going to be wonderful." The old man's eyes deepened with the
certainty of that knowledge. "I saw that yesterday when he came back,
worn out and exhausted from the long journey. Do you know, Natalia," he
looked at her searchingly, "I believe it would help you, too. Will you
go?"
They rode along in silence, while Natalia's hand trembled in his clasp.
"When will it be?"
"I hope to-morrow. If all the evidence is heard by noon, the speeches
will come in the afternoon."
"Do you think I could bear seeing Morgan in that room before a court of
judges?" she murmured, asking the question more of herself than of him.
"I am afraid, Uncle Felix. It would be indelibly stamped upon my
memory."
"But you would be hearing him defended against an accusation that was
unjust. You would see him in the light of justice and right. That
would be the lasting thought. Take my advice, Natalia," he urged.
"Perhaps your sensitiveness recoils from being seen there; but there are
some situations in life in which we must forget our preferences for
others."
"Your confidence helps me--but if the outcome should be otherwise?"
"It cannot be otherwise. If you knew Sargent as I do, you would know
that there could be no doubt."
Natalia sank back against the cushions. Every argument that she had
used lately seemed to lead directly to one answer--Sargent Everett. The
confidence he inspired in every one seemed without limit; even Judge
Houston, with an age and experience that were exceptional, was willing
to trust everything to him, gaining from that trust a happy confidence
where doubts were unknown. And deeper than this trust, was the love
that she had seen with her own eyes. Mrs. Houston showed it in the
brightness of her face when she discussed him, and Dicey seemed to be
under a spell which not even her love for Natalia could affect. Natalia
found herself wondering over Judge Houston's words when he had finished
talking, and in her thoughts had suddenly flashed a pang of resentment
that this man had grown deeper into the hearts of those she loved, than
herself. She was passing his house as this thought came into her mind,
and in the quiet dignity of the classic white columns against the red
brick, the clean swept lawn and carefully clipped box, she imagined she
saw a reflection of the man's purpose and strength.
Following the feeling of jealousy came the remembrance of what he was
doing for her. He had given up his campaign, unfinished, to save her
lover. And it was alone from the call for help that she had sent to
him. Suddenly every word that she had heard about him since her return
to the old home stood out distinctly, full of hidden meanings, full of
evasions, that she had only guessed at and pushed out of her thoughts as
unreasonable. Now she saw plainly. Every detail spoke a certainty. And
she, stumbling blindly through it all, had at the end demanded a
sacrifice that would ruin his career in the world.
They had reached the town and were passing along the streets at the hour
when people were coming from their supper tables to sit on the lawns.
Natalia loosened her veil and shrank further back into the carriage,
shuddering from the looks of sympathy cast towards her. When they had
reached the jail and gone up the walk together, she stopped a moment
before the door and laid her hand on Judge Houston's arm.
"Why did Sargent Everett not come to me instead of to Morgan? It was I
who sent for him." The overpowering discovery had pressed out all other
thoughts at that moment.
"Because Morgan needed him," came the answer, the old man's face
averted. "You did not."
Natalia withdrew her hand, a little bewildered. Perhaps, after all, her
inflamed imagination had carried her beyond the truth!
They entered the gloomy corridor together, and as the door to Morgan's
cell was unlocked, Judge Houston stepped back to let Natalia enter
alone. During her former visits she had found Joel always beside
Morgan, cheering him and talking about the trial in a lively manner that
was a feeble attempt to dispel the gloom which had settled over him.
This time Morgan was alone, standing at the window looking out at the
gorgeous sunset. When he turned at her entrance, she started back when
she had seen the expression of his face. The change was remarkable;
instead of the mute suffering which she had seen in his eyes during the
last few days, was now a semblance of his old self, the same brilliant
expression and colouring, only deepened and strengthened by experience.
And in his eyes, as they rested on her, she saw again the love which had
hitherto been veiled in the unwonted expression of his despair.
As he came toward her, a flood of doubts swept over her and she put out
her hands as if to ward off a blow.
"Something has happened, Morgan," she cried. "What is it?"
He gathered her hands into his strong clasp and led her to a chair,
looking down at her all the time, like one who had not seen her for a
long time. When she had sunk into the chair, still staring at him
anxiously, he pulled a stool up beside her, and took hold of her hands
again.
"It is nearly over, Natalia," he said with a happy ring in his voice.
"They tell me to-morrow will bring the end of the trial. Will you ever
forgive me, dear?"
"Forgive you! What?" she answered, still reading his face for some
explanation.
"For almost ruining your happiness and mine. I had felt all along that
your love for me would die after I had killed Jervais; that even if it
were in self-defence, you would not be able to forget the crime. But it
isn't true--you do not feel that way, do you?"
"Morgan--you have changed! Something has happened that I do not know
about! What is it?"
She put her hands on his shoulders and searched his face. A rush of
doubts was making her heart beat furiously.
"I am changed! I am an entirely different man," he answered, smiling
into her anxious eyes. "How could a man who was as wretched as I, and
who has suddenly been shown the way to happiness, be otherwise than
changed! The world has become a different place to me, Natalia; and
after the trial, when I am a free man and take up my life again, it will
mean so much more to me than ever before. Perhaps I shall be a little
older--but we aren't children any longer, either of us, and the serious
side of life had to come some day. I think what made it so hard on me
was that it came so suddenly." He stopped for a moment, pressing her
hands tight, then holding them to his lips. "There has been a change in
you, too, Natalia," he continued, his face glowing with the love he was
expressing. "I saw it keenly that night you came to me here. At first
I thought your love for me was gone,--not that you were not kind and
sympathetic and gentle--but in your eyes I fancied I saw more pity than
love."
Morgan rose from his seat and stood before her, as if shaking off the
remembrance of that hour. "It almost drove me mad that night when my
imagination was let loose, and in its reflected images I saw a future in
which you had forsaken me, and I was left to drift through life alone,
without hope, with only the horror of a crime for companionship. It was
always with me--that haunting fancy--until," his voice deepened
vibrantly, "until I was shown my mistake."
"Until you were shown," Natalia repeated mechanically.
"Yes, until I was shown my happiness--by Sargent Everett."
She pressed her hand quickly to her heart. Its quick throbbing had
frightened her. It was true now; she no longer felt any doubts. Her
happiness and Morgan's were being builded upon the sacrifice of another.
The exaltation of the thought swept through her with a great rush; a
lightness, almost a dizziness, made her breath come quickly. She found
herself trembling with vague, uncomprehending emotions. Then followed
the quick reversal; and the throbbing life ebbed away, leaving her cold
and numb.
"What did he tell you?" she heard herself asking.
Morgan looked down at her from the great height of his renewed
self-confidence.
"He told me so much that I hardly know where to begin. In my utter
despair, last night, when it seemed to me that I should prefer this
trial to end in my death--I had reached that depth, Natalia--he came. It
was the moment when I needed help most, and when I saw him standing
there at the door, and looking for all the world as he used to when he
would come into my room at college--I knew that he had come to help me.
His whole aspect told me so, before he had said one word. It was a long
time before he would let me tell him about this awful week, but when he
did, it was wonderful to see how the friend disappeared in the lawyer.
He asked me question after question, relentlessly, sharply, insistently,
over and over again the same questions until I felt that he had
forgotten what he was doing. Finally he stopped; it was after midnight.
When he had risen to go, I asked him to stay longer so that I could tell
him of the plan I had been formulating. I did not speak of it to you
because I knew so well what your answer would be. I had decided to go
away after the trial--for a year or more. I was not going to write to
you nor ask you to write to me. I did not even want you to know where I
was, so that when the year had passed, you would know if you still loved
me--if this tragedy had made any difference in your love."
"You told him that?" she interrupted, wondering over the answer.
"Yes--just as I am telling you. He listened to me quietly,--strangely
quiet, I thought--until I looked up and saw him gazing down upon that
table as if he had not heard a single word. It was a long time before
he answered me, and when his eyes met mine again, they were full of
weariness, almost pitifully weary. I believe the fellow is killing
himself with work."
"What did he say?" Natalia's voice came low and halting.
"He said that if we should ever need each other, it would be now; that
when I went away I must take you with me; that if you were not with me
at such a time, our love would have lost its usefulness; that if it
meant anything to us, it must shine brighter in our time of trouble."
Natalia rose from the chair and went to the window. Resting her hands
against the bars, she peered out into the fast gathering dusk; her back
towards Morgan, giving her a certain sense of privacy which she craved
at that moment. As Morgan continued talking to her, she found herself
watching with a strange intentness, the objects disappearing from her
view as the night shadows crept nearer and nearer.
"I told him how I feared your love for me was gone," Morgan continued,
his words rolling out with increasing enthusiasm. "Of how I felt my
deed had made a great abyss between us. It was then that he said you
were not a woman who would forsake the man she loved when he needed her
most. He said it was the time in a woman's life when she became
divine--when the woman was like you; pure and true and noble."
"Pure and true and noble." Again the great thought of immolation surged
through Natalia. She gripped the bars before her, steadying herself
with the little strength that seemed left her. Pure and true and noble!
He had said that of her, he had thought that of her, and he had known
her only years ago. And yet she was causing him to give up everything in
his life, even his political career, to save her happiness!
The night was about her now. The square of window through which she
peered became a black splotch in which her thoughts burst into tongues
of far-reaching flames.
In the long silence she heard Morgan coming towards her. His arm
slipped around her waist, and as his words came, she felt his hot breath
against her cheek.
"He talked about you so beautifully, Natalia," he said, with a
half-humourous note in his voice, "that one would have thought it was he
who was in love with you instead of I. He said that I must fight for
your love now, more than I ever had before; that I must make you forget
everything that had happened, in the happiness I could bring you. And
then--in a moment--it came to me--the mistake I had made. I had been
looking for you to do everything; and I nothing for myself."
Suddenly a sob broke from her, and in that moment Morgan pressed her to
him in a close embrace and covered her face with kisses. All the
passion of the man had been called into life by the sob. He knew now
that she did love him. The tragedy and its days of misery were
forgotten in the future that stretched before them, as brilliant and as
beautiful as it had ever been.
Pure and true and noble! The words still rang in Natalia's
consciousness, blotting out even the thought that her lover had regained
his strength. With his arms about her, she still heard them; even with
Morgan's lips pressed upon hers, she seemed to gain a wider perception
of what had been done for her sake.
"My trial will end to-morrow, Sargent thinks," he went on, in a torrent
of words, still holding her tight in his arms. "Afterwards--when I am
free--for I shall be free, Natalia, I feel it can not be otherwise--we
shall go away, you and I; a long way off, where there will be nothing to
remind us of this awful week. We shall forget everything, even the old
house that you used to love so. But you don't now, do you? Why, you
are shivering, Natalia! Haven't you the confidence in my release that I
have? But you have not heard Sargent yet. Wait until you hear him
to-morrow, for you are going, aren't you? I want you to. There's an odd
power about him; I noticed it to-day when he questioned the witnesses.
He seems to get everything out of every one by his quiet, easy manner."
He stopped a moment and went back to the table. "Natalia, after the
trial, will you do something I wish very much? There is a boat
Wednesday; if everything is settled to-morrow, are you willing to leave
the next day? I somehow feel that we shall be happier the sooner all
this is behind us."
Natalia's eyes were closed tight, her lips pressed close together, while
she stood listening to Morgan's voice as if it came from a great
distance. Through the happiness of his words, through the happiness
they brought her, was blending a bitter suffering that kept back all
response to his joy. The power of the greater thought still throbbed in
her veins. Her own love and Morgan's had become a weak, puerile thing
by comparison.
At last she forced herself into a calm self-possession and turned
towards him.
"Of course I am going with you, Morgan," she said, laying her head on
his shoulder and forcing a smile to her lips, "and the sooner we go, as
you say, the happier we shall be."
The lantern on the gate post flashed into Natalia's face as they drove
into the grounds; and as Judge Houston assisted her from the carriage,
he extended his arm, for he had seen her pallor.
"You are very pale, Natalia," he said, bending over her. "Poor little
girl, it has been a bad, bad time for you; but 'twill be all right soon.
Let me carry you up-stairs."
"No, Uncle Felix," she put out her hand quickly. "You go in. I want to
stay out here a few minutes. Tell Millicent that Morgan is happy again."
The old gentleman stooped and kissed her very gently and went into the
house.
When she was alone, she walked along the stone slabs of the veranda to a
place where the columns cast a deep shadow. Kneeling upon the cold
stones, she lifted her clasped hands in prayer for the one who had saved
her happiness through his own renunciation.
*CHAPTER XII*
*THE MUSIC OF HIS VOICE*
In the early morning Dicey went into Natalia's room, and noiselessly
turning the slats in a shutter, crept toward the bed. She stood there
irresolutely for a few moments; then went softly around to the other
side of the bed where she could look into Natalia's face. She started
back when she saw the wide-open, sleepless eyes gazing at her.
Laying her hand soothingly on Natalia's feverish brow, she gently
smoothed back the long black hair.
"Honey-chile," she said, when the light began to stream through the
shutters, "I jes' knows yer ain' slep' er wink an' heah hit's de day
Marsa gwine speak. An' yer hain' tole yer ole Mammy whut fixins ter lay
out fer yer. Which is dey, honey? Yer jes' tell Mammy an' she'll fix
dem so's yer won' habe er speck ob worry 'bout dem."
Natalia looked at her yearningly.
"Dear old Mammy," she answered, "how you love me--how I love you."
"Sho I lubs yer, honey--bettah dan anybody else--eben bettah dan Marse
Sargent. But yer mus' look killin' ter-day, honey-chile," said Dicey,
returning to the subject of most importance in her eyes. "Whut
furbelows mus' I put out?"
Natalia stirred restlessly, finally taking hold of Dicey's coarsened
hand and holding it close to her face.
"Don't bother, Mammy--I am not going to hear him speak--I don't think I
could bear it."
"Yer not gwine heah de Marser speak?" Dicey stared at her, her
countenance eloquent of dismay. "Yer not gwine heah him!" she
reiterated, her voice rising to a higher pitch.
"No," Natalia answered, meeting the angry eyes sadly. "I can't do it,
Mammy."
"An' he cum all dis way jes' fer yer, and dat de way yer gwine treat
him! I calls hit er bu'nin' shame!"
The old slave's temper gained control of her, and in her impatience she
frowned darkly upon Natalia.
"He will never know, Mammy." She questioned the words as she spoke
them. "He would not see me if I were there."
"He'd see yer and he'd know ef yer wuzn' dar. Ef yer don' go, I'se
gwine back ter him."
"You can't go back to him, Mammy. You belong to me, now."
"Cose I does, honey." Dicey's voice softened as her anger ebbed.
"But I wants yer ter go. He wants yer ter go, too, I know he does."
"Mammy," Natalia said, lying perfectly still, her eyes staring into
Dicey's. "Do you know why he is doing all this for me?"
"Cose I does. Hit's 'cause he lubs yer."
"Yes, that's it, Mammy. But what have I done for him? What right have
I to demand all this from him? What have I done to deserve it? What
can I do now--"
She ended abruptly, turning away and burying her face in the pillows.
It was then that Dicey sat down on the bed and leaned close to her, her
eyes suddenly ablaze with a great hope.
"You'se gwine ter heah him, honey," she said, after a long pause, during
which she viewed the situation in her mind, seeking through channels of
thought to find the road that would lead towards the goal she had been
planning. "You'se gwine ter heah him, 'cause ef you'se gwine way
ter-morrow hit'll be de las' chance yer'll git ter heah him. Yer see,
don' yer, dat yer bettah see him dis one las' time--dis one las' time."
Natalia moved suddenly and sat up; resting her hands for a moment on the
side of the bed, as if still undecided, she finally put her feet to the
floor and faced Dicey.
"I believe you are right, Mammy," she said thoughtfully. "It is the
last time I shall ever hear him or see him. If I only had the
courage--"
Downstairs she found Mrs. Houston standing in the midst of boxes and
packing materials. Judge Houston had told her the night before of
Morgan's desire to leave on the first boat. Seeing the wisdom in such a
step he had advised his wife to go on with the preparations for
departure as if everything were already decided. So great was the
confidence of this old couple in Sargent's ability, that they could
conceive of no outcome of the trial other than they had planned.
When Natalia had gone out on the back veranda, she went directly up to
the old lady and kissed her. There were no words either of them could
find to say. Mrs. Houston went back to her work, wrapping each article
with the precise care of a vain housewife.
"I am nearly through," she said at last. "Almost all of the wedding
presents are packed--except the peacock." She attempted a smile, and
failed sadly. "Of course you do not want to take him with you."
Natalia turned away quickly.
"I don't want to take any of them, Aunt Maria," she said, tears coming
into her eyes. "I don't want to go away. It has all been
terrible--these last days--but I still love this old place better than
any in the world. But I must do it for Morgan's sake. He would be
miserable here."
The old lady put down her package carefully, then went to Natalia and
gathered her in her arms.
"You'll forget all about it after a while," she said gently. "And some
day you both will be coming back here, happier than ever. Now tell me,"
wiping her eyes and returning to matters of the moment, "when will you
be married--to-night or in the morning?"
"To-morrow morning," Natalia answered slowly.
Just then Dicey brought a tray on which a steaming cup of coffee and hot
rolls were displayed temptingly.
"Now, you'se got ter drink hit, honey," she insisted, making a great
fuss over placing it before Natalia. "'Cause we ain' gwine hab no
dinnah, fer de Jedge done jes' send word fer us ter be in town fo' two
o'clock."
The Court House yard was crowded. Along the fence and beneath the
protection of the trees was the gathering of carriages and wagons which
always told that something unusual was taking place within the old brick
building.
When the carriage containing Natalia, Millicent and Mrs. Houston had
stopped before the gate, Natalia looked silently at the building,
feeling almost as if she were viewing it through the eyes of another
person. That within it, her lover was being tried for his life, and
defended by the man who had given up everything for her, seemed to
enhance the feeling of aloofness and helplessness which had taken
possession of her since the day before. She felt that she no longer
lived in the same sphere with those about her; that she had reached a
vague, uninhabited world where her surroundings were only dreams and
weirdly haunting words and fiery tongues of conscience that moved in an
endless circle and crushed her with their fearful cries.
She had not heard the words addressed to her during the long drive; and
it was only when Judge Houston came towards the carriage and spoke to
them, that she awakened from the lethargy. Even then, as he told her
that it was time to go into the court room, she seemed to be only half
conscious of his words.
"Give me your hand, Natalia," the old gentleman said, standing beside
the carriage. Mrs. Houston and Millicent were already on the sidewalk.
Natalia looked at him a moment, then glanced beyond to the building
where people were banked in the windows. Within, she easily imagined
the sea of faces.
"Uncle Felix," she cried, shrinking back, and covering her face with her
hands. "I can't go. It would be fearful to see Morgan there, before
that crowd. I could not bear it! Let me stay here and wait, but tell
him I am here, near him!"
The old gentleman looked at the others, perplexed. Without a word, Mrs.
Houston stepped back into the carriage and took her seat beside Natalia.
"I shall stay with her," she said.. "You all go in. We will be waiting
for you over there--under that tree. Don't wait a minute to come to us,
when you know," she added with a quick anxious look towards her husband.
Zebediah drove a few yards away from the gate, where a great spreading
elm cast a protecting shade. They were closer to the building than
before, and from where they sat they could easily see into the court
room through a wide window. The sounds of the stirring crowd within
came to them quite distinctly, particularly as the grounds about the
building were deserted for the great interest within.
Mrs. Houston, alert and keen to see all that was taking place, sat bolt
upright, one hand on Natalia's, the other moving with nervous jerks as
she swayed a large palmetto fan. Natalia was in the same position as
when she had shrunk back from Judge Houston--both hands covering her
face while she huddled pitifully against the cushions.
A half hour passed, with the sound of monotonous voices floating out to
them. The murmur of some one reading seemed endless. Then came a long
pause. Mrs. Houston suddenly leaned forward and listened.
"Sargent is speaking--at last!" she whispered. "Listen! Listen!"
Natalia lowered her hands slowly from her face. At first she heard only
a slight rippling of the leaves of the tree above her, then, on the
stillness of the summer day, the sound of a voice drifted towards her--a
voice she had heard years and years ago. Her hand tightened on Mrs.
Houston's. Suddenly she stood up and stepped out of the carriage.
"Where are you going, Natalia?" Mrs. Houston cried after her.
Without answering she walked to the gate and went rapidly up the walk.
Reaching the steps to the main door, she seemed to change her mind
quickly and went along the side of the building until she was just
beneath an open window. Here she sank behind the protection of a shrub,
and sat perfectly still.
The voice that had drawn her was very near now. She could hear the words
distinctly; they came in a steady stream, mellow, soft, fluent.
At first she attempted to follow the words, vainly trying to force her
thoughts into a comprehension of the reasoning employed. She soon found
that useless; and with a long sigh in which a deep contentment enveloped
her, she abandoned herself to the luxury of listening only to the music
of the voice. It was sweet and clear like the ringing of silver bells
in the early morning; it was deep and modulated and resounding, like the
veiled diapason of a Cathedral organ; it was winning and gentle and
fresh, bringing to her in some indefinable way, the faint fragrance of
delicate flowers.
Suddenly the years dropped away. It was all a dream--her thinking she
was really grown. She was sitting on the terrace under the big magnolia
tree and the schoolmaster was reading to her. It was such a very sad
story he was reading; she could hardly keep back the tears, for it was
all about some poor lady who sewed all day on her dress and had to spend
the night ripping it. She had cried, she remembered now; and when he
had asked her why, she had been so ashamed and said it was because she
hated her frock so--a red and purple poplin that had come all the way
from Boston. And then they were sitting there again, one cold winter
afternoon, and were watching the sun sink behind the black, frosty
lowlands. She had asked him why the Indians had called it the Land of
the Setting Sun, and he had told her wonderful stories of a race that
had inhabited all this country and were forced, step by step, to go out
into that distant wilderness where the sun set every night. Trifling
incidents crowded one upon the other, accentuating the reality of the
vision, until she suffered as keenly, throbbed with as great a joy, as
she had in living those days.
A slight pause came.
Then the flowing words continued. But in that moment the dreams had
vanished. She knew now what the voice meant. It was fighting for her
lover's life, her happiness. Her whole future was dependent on its
continuance, its force, its compelling magnetism. She felt it now in
every fibre of her being. It filled her with an indefinable happiness.
She understood so well what it meant; it was the full glory of his love.
She was satisfied now that he had carried her to that dizzy height with
him. She would never forget; it would be with her for ever. In that
lay its transcendent beauty. Through its divinity it would become
eternal.
Suddenly the music ceased. She looked up. Mrs. Houston was leaning
over her and saying something. Finally she understood the words:
"His speech is over. Come back to the carriage with me."
She rose from the ground and walked unsteadily back to the carriage. In
a few minutes Judge Houston and Millicent had joined them.
"Would you prefer to wait at my house?" she heard him asking. "The
speech for the prosecution will last about an hour, I suppose. After
that we don't know how long the jury will take."
"Let us stay here," Natalia answered in a voice that did not seem her
own. "I shall be nearer Morgan. It would be deserting him to go away."
"Very well, my dear. I shall come to you as soon as I know the
verdict."
An hour more, with the sound of other voices. Endless arguments and set
phrases and instructions to twelve men who had already reached a
decision. Evening came on gradually, the trees grew dark and began their
twilight whispers; negroes began to harness their horses to the wagons,
coachmen straightened up and roused their teams; the air grew charged
with expectancy. There was a deathly, waiting stillness. The case was
before the jury. Natalia grasped Mr. Houston's hand.
"How much longer?" she asked. "How much longer, Aunt Maria?"
"The speeches are evidently finished, Natalia. We have not heard any
voices for a good while."
"Then the end is nearly here?"
The old lady smiled, reassuringly.
"I believe we shall all be happy in a very few minutes."
Suddenly Millicent stood up in the carriage.
"Here comes Judge Houston!" she cried, her voice shaking a little. "Oh!
he is smiling! I can see him from here. Look, Natalia! Don't you see?
Morgan is free! There he is--coming to us now!"
*CHAPTER XIII*
*THE GARDEN OF SHADOWS*
They drove home in the fast-gathering dusk. The sun was gone, but
through the breaks in the trees a gorgeous after-glow was illumining the
skies. Mountains of clouds were piled up, bank upon bank, until the
broad sweep of heavens was filled with pinnacles of deep rose, each
vying with the other in more majestic composition.
When they had reached the house the colour had faded; the bright light
from the windows streamed out across the doorway; the magnolia grove was
slumbering in the peaceful summer night.
Natalia stepped within the hall, where the candles were burning cheerily
and the savoury odours of supper came from the dining room, and smiled
wistfully upon them all.
"You go with them, Morgan," she said, a weary note in her voice as she
stood with his arm about her. "All of you have a good time at
supper--but let me go to my room. You will not mind, dear?" She looked
up at him yearningly. "I believe I would be a little happier alone--for
a while," she ended, turning away.
Judge Houston followed her to the steps, detaining her hand in his.
"Natalia," he said, in a lowered voice. "Everything is all right with
you? You are happy again?"
She smiled into his eyes a little sadly.
"Yes, I am very happy, Uncle Felix. Only--it is so different a
happiness from what I used to know. It seems a deeper, a more meaning
thing than I have ever felt before. That is why I want to be alone. You
understand, don't you?"
The old gentleman pressed her hand.
"Will you come down again?" he asked, after a moment's pause. "Sargent
is coming out here to-night. I should like for him to see you."
Natalia's eyes deepened and she came closer to him.
"I am glad, so--so glad, he is coming," she said thoughtfully. "Yes--I
shall come down again. Tell him I shall be waiting for him in the
garden--the garden of shadows--he will know."
She went slowly up the steps to her room. It was empty; even Dicey had
been attracted to the kitchen by reports of the wonderful supper that
was being prepared.
She stood looking about her for a long time. It was to be her last
night among the old surroundings she had loved so well. The old bed,
with its huge posts and carvings of fruit and flowers, seemed to respond
to her caressing glance; the marble mantel spoke to her of the many
winter evenings spent before its hospitable face; the wall paper and the
carpet, each repeating a design of baskets of roses, held stories of the
long ago; everything was overflowing with what had gone before--holding
their story of her mother's life, and now, her own.
She picked up a cashmere shawl she had found in an old cedar chest in
the attic and pulled it across her shoulders. That, too, was of that
elder day, and as she felt its folds about her, it seemed a link that
brought her in even closer contact with the past.
After a little while she went down the stairs again, avoiding the door
to the dining room, and slipping into the parlour unnoticed. Her
mother's portrait gazed down upon her, calm and peaceful, in the candle
light. Was it their last parting, she mused as she stood before it;
would they never look into each other's eyes again! She turned away
with dimmed eyes, and went noiselessly out into the night.
It was an evening in which the vibrant sounds of Nature became only a
distant throbbing, vague and indistinct. It was very still for moments,
almost breathless save for the occasional breeze with its burden of
rustling leaves.
Unconsciously Natalia went towards the bench under the magnolia, and
sitting down, looked out across the wide, shimmering river, towards the
far horizon. The minutes drifted along while the stars came out, and
the evening deepened in beauty. The breezes slept now; all the world
seemed to have sunk into a balmy somnolence.
As she sat there, lost to her surroundings yet vividly in sympathy with
them, the sound of a cane tapping lightly on the ground, broke the
silence. She lifted her head quickly, with the movement of one who is
startled by a memory; then, rising quickly, she looked through the grove
and saw some one coming towards her. The light was in her eyes so she
could see only indistinctly the silhouette of a figure coming directly
towards where she stood. Suddenly she smiled, made a quick step
forward, then drew back again.
"The schoolmaster!" she whispered to herself, smiling over the familiar
name. Then she called to him in a low voice with the words that brought
rushing back the night she had waited for him by the kitchen fire.
"It's you--you've come--I'm so--so glad!"
He was before her now, holding her hands in his and looking down into
her face with the kind, sweet expression she had forgotten for so long a
time.
"Natalia! Natalia!" he said as if a little dazed. "You have grown into
a woman, haven't you?"
Quite suddenly she drew her hands away from him and sank on the bench,
the tears streaming down her face.
"I am so, so glad you have come," she repeated between her sobs. "If
you only knew how I have suffered these last few days. I can't help
crying--forgive me. You seem to bring back the old, happy days to me
so. I know you will think I'm quite the little girl still."
Sargent sat down beside her, drawing her hand through his arm, and
holding it gently.
"They told me you were out here," he began, his voice trembling
slightly, "and I asked them to let me find you. I thought I knew where
you were. I did--you see."
Natalia did not attempt to answer him; drying her eyes with her free
hand, she began to look at him intently.
"When I got your message," he continued in the low, modulated voice that
rang in her ears searchingly, "I believe I expected to see you again
just as you had gone away. It brought back our days together, with such
a rush; it made me realize that _you_ had not forgotten, either. You
see, Natalia, even in politics, everything is not entirely blotted out."
She drew her hand slowly away from him, clasping them both tight in her
lap.
"And yet you threw away your chance, to come to me!"
"Don't you remember my promise to come to you? I said no matter where I
was, I would come to you when you needed me. Do you think I should have
deserved to win if I had done otherwise?"
"I had released you from that promise--by not keeping mine," she
answered with unsteady voice.
"You were only a little girl then, Natalia--of course you did not know
what you were promising. Besides, we were both children, and children
forget quickly."
She looked at him, curiously. Could it be true that she was mistaken?
"_You_ did not forget," she murmured.
"How could I forget what you had been to me! Those were long, long days
to me, Natalia, and without you, I don't know how I should have gotten
through them. You made them beautiful and happy for me, for in your
confidence and dependence, I was brought out of my brooding upon those I
had left behind me. You and Judge Houston were the only ones to whom I
could tell my real yearnings, and even as a child, I felt you understood
and sympathized. It was hard on me when you went away; only in endless
work did I find any consolation. Ah, how I did work, Natalia! People
say things come easy to me, but that is because when others begin to
study a case my nights of ceaseless labour have been finished. But in
the late afternoons, my thoughts always drifted back to you; and when
this dear old place was closed, and your little brothers and their
mother went away, I would come out here often and sit, right where you
are now, and wonder where you were and if you would ever come back to me
again."
Natalia leaned back on the bench with a gradual lessening of all forces.
Sargent's influence, the calm tones of his voice, the old charm of his
presence, crept over her with a quieting effect that left her wholly
contented. She had no other wish now than to hear him talking to her.
"And yet," he said wistfully, "there is so little that I know of you
during those years; there is so much for you to tell me."
"It seems nothing now," she answered, breaking the silence of a few
moments. "I do not seem to have really lived until the last few
days--the rest was only playing, and not worth recounting."
"Ah--but you are wrong. It is because it was your life that I want to
hear it."
Natalia looked at him quickly and saw only his kind, glowing eyes bent
on her.
"And since I have suffered," she continued slowly, "it seems to me those
years of my life taught me so little how to know life."
"They taught you to love," Sargent answered quietly. "Don't you count
that as a great deal?"
"Yes,--but I--" she stopped abruptly. It was on her lips to say she had
known that as a little girl, and in the knowledge that she could not say
it to him, came to her the first feeling of restraint.
"That is all one need learn to be happy," he continued, as if unaware of
the interruption. "It is the centre about which the world is
circling--at least the part of the world that is worthiest. Tell me
about yourself and Morgan, Natalia. Tell me as you used to, when we
would sit out here after school hours, I forgetting that I was a
teacher, and you, that you were a little girl. I wonder if you have
forgotten the lines about 'books in brooks.'"
As if in reply she leaned a little forward and looked up before her into
the starlit sky, quoting softly:
"And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything."
"Do you remember how you would explain to me over and over again, about
sermons being in stones? And how you laughed when I asked Mammy if she
understood. No, I don't believe I've forgotten anything," laughing
lightly, as the restraint slipped from her and the old feeling of
sympathy rushed back. "How your voice brings it all back to me! Have I
been asleep and dreaming all these years and just awakened? I can shut
my eyes and listen to you, and at once I am a little girl again. That
is what I am going to do now. Talk to me, as you say I used to talk to
you. Tell me of your great success."
Sargent gazed at her as she leaned back against the bench, one hand over
her eyes to shut out all sense of reality. He could see the gentle rise
and fall of her bosom beneath the thin frock; and the helpless, tired
look of her hand as it lay in her lap, struck him with a peculiar
tenderness. It made him forget for a moment. He leaned forward to kiss
it, then drew back slowly.
"I used to tell you fairy tales then," he began at last. "You see--I
can't now. You wouldn't believe them."
With her hand still before her eyes she answered him.
"Start at the time when I went away and tell me everything. I know it
will sound like a fairy tale--your rise to the heights."
"My rise," he said, questioningly. "I believe it has come."
Natalia turned towards him, her face brilliant.
"Then you were elected--you go to Washington--Uncle Felix said the news
would come to-night!"
Sargent turned away from the brilliance of her glance. It was almost
too much for him to bear that she should have thought that was what he
meant. Suddenly his lips tightened firmly. She should not know!
"You don't know what happiness it is to me to know it," Natalia
continued, her face glowing with a new happiness. "I thought I had
caused you to give up your election, to come to me. Now, it is all
different. Everything with you is successful--absolutely everything you
undertake."
Sargent winced at her words, thinking of a time, years gone by, when
Judge Houston had told him that success seen by the world, and felt by
the man, were widely separated. "Yes, even my old friend calls it
that--and yet," he leaned forward, letting his face sink into his hands,
"it is not what I want. I care not one jot for all the politics in the
world. What I love best is the work here in a restricted field where I
am so close to those I help. Can't you see it as I do, Natalia? I feel
that every man whose life I save and start on a new course of living in
which he realizes his sin, and through repentance gains the true
light--can't you see that such work is greater than all the arguments of
government, the discussions of tariff, the settling of bank questions,
all the impersonal work that goes to make up the life of a public man?"
Natalia had turned towards him as he talked on, watching the glow of
enthusiasm in his eyes, and gradually feeling the force of his magnetism
sweep over her. Unconsciously her lips parted in her intentness, while
she listened spellbound to the controlling influences of his life.
"You make me feel that religion and law are the same," she said, when he
paused for a moment's rest.
"They _are_ the same. All our laws have their foundation in the word of
God. No law without that basis is worthy of consideration. My first
case taught me that, when I convicted Jacob Phelps; and ever since, when
I see a man condemned to death, I feel all the suffering I endured the
day he was sent to jail. I always feel an irresistible desire to rise
up and cry out to leave vengeance to God. And now," his voice deepened
vibrantly, "when a man comes to me and asks me to defend him for some
crime, I feel a wonderful inspiration all through the work. The greater
the crime the greater seems my inspiration, for out of the depths of the
deed, I see the man's awakening, his regeneration, his approach towards
God for it is only through suffering that we attain the heights."
He stopped abruptly, carried further than he had realized, by his
enthusiasm. When he turned to Natalia, he found her hand on his arm,
her eyes glowing into his.
"Do you believe that? Are you sure? It only came to me to-day, that we
reached the heights through suffering." Her voice trembled as the words
rushed forth. "I had always thought before that suffering ruined
everything; that life should be made up entirely of joy and sunshine and
happiness--that suffering would rob it of its beauty. But in my love,"
she ended sadly, "I had hoped to escape it. I had wanted that
perfect--always."
"Perhaps this suffering has come to you, Natalia, to show you how deep
your love for Morgan was--how much he meant to you. Perhaps it came to
show you that--" Suddenly he stopped and turned away from her--changing
his words with a violent shifting of thought. "Love is the only
unselfish thing in the world," he continued, calm once more.
"Everything else is but a gratification of self, some suffering
undergone for an already estimated compensation. Even when we lead good
lives, refrain from sinning, form for ourselves strict codes of
honour--it is not because we wish to do all those things; it is the
eternal benefit which we believe will be the outcome of such a course.
The very motive of the world is selfishness, and that there should be in
it such a wonderful thing as love, is incomprehensible; for in love the
ego is lost; we feel only a desire to make the object of our love happy,
to grant every wish, to anticipate every desire; and in the
accomplishment of this, every part of selfishness is forgotten. We sink
our being into that other one. It is the most beautiful thing God has
given us, and it is the greatest sin of all; for in it we forget our
duty to our Creator--we go directly against his great command."
Natalia searched his face as she listened. When he had stopped and
turned towards her, his eyes bent upon her in the great love he had just
spoken, the blood rushed to her face, mounting higher and higher, until
it pounded in her temples. Still she could not turn from him. The love
in his eyes held her painfully. Words rushed to her lips. She strove to
hold them back. Why should she ask it of him? She knew now from his
own lips. He had told her everything. Again the words cried out to her
for utterance. Her will was as nothing, and she listened to her own
voice when she finally spoke, as if it came from a great distance.
"That is what love means to you?"
He bowed his head silently.
"And you find in it a great happiness?"
Her question died unanswered on the quiet evening. Far down the sloping
hill, on the glittering expanse of water, the vague form of a flat-boat
drifted by, a single light gleaming at the bow. At last Natalia
stirred. One hand was pressed against her bosom, as she stared straight
out before her.
"You make me feel unworthy all the love that has been given me," she
said. "It seems I have done nothing for any one--always nothing."
"Ah, but you have done a great deal, Natalia," Sargent answered quickly.
"Think what you were to Morgan in his hour of adversity. He told me
before the trial that without you his life would be wrecked. He says
you are the only reason for taking up his life again. Is that not a
great deal? And then," his voice lowered and grew very gentle, "you
have brought a great happiness into my life. Without the memories of
our happy days together, it would have been a very desolate old world to
me. I always knew you would not forget me entirely; a guiding star, no
matter how high it soars, never forgets its follower. If every man
could have a memory, as I have had, to guide him through the pitfalls
and temptations of his youth, when he is struggling on to the heights
where character is formed, this would be a far better world. My
greatest efforts could never be enough to show what I mean--Natalia."
He waited for her to speak, but no words came. She sat looking out into
the night, as if his voice had been unheard. Her shawl had fallen to
the ground and lay at her feet. Sargent stooped and, picking it up,
held it to his lips a moment.
"Our lives seem to have grown very far apart," he began once more,
attempting no longer to keep the caressing notes from showing, "but I
want you to remember that I shall never forget you. You believe that,
don't you? There is only one thing I am going to ask of you." He
paused and brushed his hand across his eyes. "When you and Morgan go
back home--when you go back to Boston to live, will you go some day to
see my mother? I should love for her to see you once. She knows all
about you. I hardly believe that you would have to tell her your name."
Suddenly, from a distance, the sound of music floated to them. Sargent
lifted his head and listened; then stood up. "They are coming for me,"
he said, a great weariness creeping into his voice. "I must go back to
the town and make my speech of thanks."
Natalia's hand touched his arm.
"Don't go--yet," she murmured. "I have something to tell you."
Sargent sat down beside her, her hand still resting on his arm. In the
dim light he could see her tears:
"I don't know how to tell you--you sent me Mammy Dicey--I can't thank
you--now you have saved Morgan--"
The music was coming nearer. The sound of drums and fife throbbed
loudly in the quiet night. Suddenly the flare of lights shot through the
grove. The torchlight procession had reached the gate, and now many
voices were calling loudly for their new representative.
Natalia stopped in the midst of her words. A streak of light from one
of the torches fell full upon Sargent's face, in which she saw with
pitiless detail the signs of his great renunciation. In the knowledge
her heart grew cold and still. She moved nearer him, and held out both
her hands. For a little while they stood thus, each meeting the other's
glance steadily. "When you were a little girl, Natalia," Sargent said
tentatively, his words a whisper, "I always kissed you when I went
away."
She leaned toward him, and in her uplifted face he read her answer.
Putting his hands gently on he hair and pressing back the heavy coils,
he kissed her on the brow.
Another loud cry from the impatient crowd, and the gates were thrown
open and the grounds brilliantly illuminated by the torches.
Natalia stood where he had left her, watching him walk towards the
crowd, his head held high, his figure outlined against the flaring
torches. For a few moments she stood motionless, then going swiftly
through the garden to the back veranda, she went up-stairs without
meeting any one.
When she had reached the upper hall, the hurrahs and loud cheering of
the crowd floated up to her through the open windows. Hesitating a
moment, she finally went to the door leading on the balcony, and stood
looking down upon the gathering.
Directly in front of the house the crowd was forming into a line. The
band was already at the gate, closely following came the torch bearers,
and last of all a carriage. She leaned forward, shading her eyes from
the flickering illumination. He was in the carriage now, on the back
seat, and beside him sat an old, grizzled-haired man, whose
weather-beaten, joyful countenance beamed upon Sargent in his hour of
triumph.
As she watched them the signal was given, the drums beat a resounding
tattoo, the fife took up the melody, and the parade began to move.
Through the gate they went and out into the road, where the sounds
gradually grew muffled and the flaring torches, gleaming through the
trees, became faint as fireflies. At last the drum sounded in a faint
echo; then the night grew once more dark and still.
A hand grasped Natalia's. Starting, she turned and found Morgan's arm
about her.
"We have been searching for you everywhere, dearest," he said, looking
down into her face, his smile suddenly fading when he saw the tears in
her eyes. "Sargent told me he had seen you."
In the silence that was deepening about them, Morgan gazed intently at
Natalia. Once he brushed his hands before his eyes as if clearing away
a mist; then his arms tightened about Natalia as she lowered her head on
his shoulder.
"I am beginning to understand, Natalia," he said, his voice breaking
with emotion. "It was all for _your_ sake--for _your_ happiness--what
he has done!"
"For _our_ happiness, Morgan," Natalia answered, the tears streaming
down her face. "He has brought you back to me--he has saved our love."
For a while they stood thus, looking out into the quiet night, her head
upon his shoulder, his arm about her. "And, oh, Morgan," Natalia
finally spoke, her eyes deepening with the glow of an inward light, "I
can hear it still--the music of his voice," her words sank to a whisper,
"it seems to me it will always be ringing in my ears--always--always."
THE END.
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