Joy came in the morning when the raven alighted. The "two-faced Janus"
was wreathed in smiles, bent double with chuckles, and tears of delight
sparkled in his eyes.
"How dee is growed!" he whispered cautiously. "Mannish now, fur true.
Gawd! de han'somest one ob de fam'ly!" For, with the refreshment of
sleep and the substance, not merely the similitude, of fried chicken,
waffles, and coffee, Julius, in the gray uniform of a first lieutenant,
made a very gallant show despite the incongruities of the piled-up
lumber of the old garret. He had a keen, high, alert profile, his nose a
trifle aquiline; his complexion was fair and florid; his eyes were a
fiery brown, his hair, of the same rich tint, was now and again tossed
impatiently backward, the style of the day being an inconvenient length,
for it was worn to hang about the collar. He had a breezy, offhand,
impetuous manner, evidently only bridled in by rigorous training to
decorous forms, and he stood six feet one inch in his stockings, taller
now by one inch more in his boots, which the old servant had helped him
to draw on. "Lawd-a-massy! dis de baby?" cried the old negro,
admiringly, still on his knees, contemplating the young officer as he
took a turn through the apartment with his straight-brimmed cap on his
head and his hand on his sword. "'Fore Gawd, whut sorter baby is dis
yere--over six feet high?"
"Wish I was a baby for about two hours, Uncle Ephraim! You could carry
me 'pickaback' through the Yankee lines!"
"Hue-come ye run dem lines, Marse Julius? I reckon, dough, you hatter
see Miss Leonora," said the discerning old darkey. "'Fore de Lawd, she
hed better be wearin' dem widder's weeds fur de good match she flung
away in you 'stead o' fur dat ar broken-necked man whut's daid, praise
de Lamb!"
If Julius joined in this pious thanksgiving, he made no outward sign. He
only flushed slightly as he asked constrainedly, "Is she wearing
mourning yet?"
"Yes, sah, to be shore. Dis yere Yankee man, whut ole Marster an' de
'ladies' an' all invited to stay yere, he is gwine round Miss Leonora
mighty smilin' an' perlite an' humble. Dat man behaves lak he is mos'
too modes' ter say his prayers! 'Anything ye got lef' over, good Lawd,
will do Baynell, especially a lef'-over widder 'oman!' Dat's his
petition ter de throne ob grace!"
Oh, double-faced Janus!--now partisan of the Rebel, erstwhile so
friendly with "de Yankee man."
"Ef 'twarn't fur him, yer Pa could come up yere an' smoke a _see_gar an'
talk, an' Miss Leonora an' de ladies mought play kyerds wid dee wunst in
a while, wid dem blinds kept closed."
"He isn't such an awful Tartar, is he, Uncle Ephraim?" said Julius,
plaintively, allured by this picture. "Wouldn't he wink at it, if he
missed them or heard voices, or caught a suspicion of my being here?
They have been so good to him--and I am doing nothing aggressive--only
visiting the family."
"_Lawsy--Lawsy--Lawsy-massy, no! No!_" cried Uncle Ephraim, in extreme
agitation and with the utmost emphasis of negation. "Dat man is
afflicted wid a powerful oneasy conscience, Marse Julius!"
And he detailed with the most convincing and graphic diction the
disaster that had befallen the too-confiding Acrobat.
Julius was very definitely impressed with the imminence of his peril.
"The son of Belial!" he exclaimed in dismay.
"Naw sah,--_dat_ ain't his daddy's Christian name," said Uncle Ephraim,
ingenuously. "'Tain't Benial!--dough it's mighty nigh ez comical. Hit's
'_Fluellen_'--same ez dis man's. I hearn ole Marster call it--but what
you laffin' at? Dee bed better come out'n dat duck-fit! Folks can hear
ye giggling plumb down ter de Big Gate!"
He was constrained to take himself downstairs presently, lest he be
missed, although longing to continue his discourse. His caution in his
departure, his crafty listening for sounds from below before he would
trust his foot to the stair, his swift, gliding transit to the more
accustomed region of the second story, the art he expended in concealing
in a dust cloth the bowl in which he had conveyed "the forage," as
Julius called it--all were eminently reassuring to the man who stood in
such imminent peril for a casual whim as he gazed after "the raven's"
flight.
Solitary, silent, isolated, the day became intolerably dull to the young
soldier as it wore on. He dared not absorb himself in a book, although
there were many old magazines in a case which stood near the stairs, for
thus he might fail to note an approach. Once he heard the treble babble
of two of the "ladies" and the strange, infrequent harsh tone of the
deaf-mute, and he paused to murmur, "Bless their dear little souls!"
with a tender smile on his face. And suddenly, his attention still bent
upon the region below stairs, so unconscious of his presence above,
there came to him the full, mellow sound of a stranger's voice, a
well-bred, decorous voice with a conventional but pleasant laugh; and
then, both in the hallway now, Leonora's drawling contralto, with its
cantabile effects, her speech seeming more beautiful than the singing of
other women. The front door closed with a bang, and Julius realized
that they had gone forth together. He stood in vague wonderment and
displeasure. Was it possible, he asked himself, that she really received
this man's attentions, appeared publicly in his company, accepted his
escort? Then, to assure himself, he sprang to the window and looked out
upon the grove.
There was the graceful figure of his dreams in her plain black bombazine
dress worn without the slightest challenge to favor, the black crape
veil floating backward from the ethereally fair face, the glittering
gold-flecked brown hair beneath the white ruche, called the "widow's
cap," in the edge of her bonnet. Her fine gray eyes were cast toward the
house with a languid smile as the "ladies" tapped on the pane of the
library window and signed farewell. Beside her Julius scanned a tall,
well-set-up man in a blue uniform and the insignia of a captain of
artillery, with blond hair and beard, a grave, handsome face, a
dignified manner, a presence implying many worldly and social values.
This walk was an occasion of moment to Baynell. The opportunity had
arisen in the simplest manner.
There was to be the funeral of a friend of Judge Roscoe's in the
neighborhood, and at the table he had been arranging how "the family
should be represented," to use his formal phrase, for business
necessitated his absence.
"But I will walk over with _you_, Leonora, although I cannot stay for
the services. I will call by for you later."
It was natural, both in the interests of civility and his own pleasure,
that Baynell should offer to take the old gentleman's place, urging that
an officer was the most efficient escort in the unsettled state of the
country; and, indeed, how could they refuse? He, however, thought only
of her acceptability to him. Apart from her beauty he had never known a
woman who so conformed to his ideals of the appropriate, despite the
grotesque folly of her blighted romance. It was only her nobility of
nature, he argued, that had compassed her unhappiness in that instance.
The graces of her magnanimity would not have been wasted on him, he
protested inwardly. He appreciated that they were fine and high
qualities thus cast before swine and ruthlessly trampled underfoot. She
herself had lacked in naught--but the unworthy subject of the largess of
her heart.
It was Baynell who talked as they took their way through the grove and
down the hill. Now and again she lifted her eyes, murmured assent,
seemed to listen, always subacutely following the trend of her own
reflections.
He would not intrude into the house of affliction, being a stranger, he
said, and therefore he strolled about outside during the melancholy
obsequies, patiently waiting till she came out again and joined him. She
seemed cast down, agitated; he thought her of a delicately sensitive
organization.
"How familiar death is becoming in these war times!" she said drearily,
when they were out of the crowd once more and fairly homeward bound.
"There was not one woman of the hundred in that house who is not wearing
mourning."
She rarely introduced a topic, and, with more alacrity than the subject
might warrant, he spoke in responsive vein on the increased losses in
battle as arms are improved, presently drifting to the comparison of
statistics of the mortality in hospitals, the relative chances for life
under shell or musketry fire, the destructive efficacy of sabre cuts,
and the military value of cavalry charges. The cavalry fought much now
on foot, he said, using the carbine, but this reduced the efficiency of
the force one-fourth, the necessary discount for horse-holders; he
thought there was great value in the cavalry charge, with the unsheathed
sabre; it was like the rush of a cyclone; only few troops, well
disciplined, could hold their ground before it; thus he pursued the
subject of cognate interest to his profession. And meantime she was
thinking only of these women, mourning their dead and dear, while
she--the hypocrite--wore the garb of the bereaved to emphasize her
merciful and gracious release. She wondered how she had ever endured it,
she who hated deceit, a fanciful pose, and the empty conventions, she
who did not mourn save for her lost exaltations, her wasted affection,
the hopeless aspirations--all the dear, sweet illusions of life! Perhaps
she had owed some compliance with the customs of mere widowhood, the
outward respect to the status. Well, then, she had paid it; farther than
this she would not go.
The next morning as Captain Baynell took his seat at the breakfast-table
she was coming in through the glass door from the parterre at one side
of the dining room, arrayed in a mazarine blue mousseline-de-laine
flecked with pink, a trifle old-fashioned in make, with a bunch of pink
hyacinths in her hand, their delicate cold fragrance filling all the
room.
Even a man less desirous of being deceived than Baynell might well have
deduced a personal application. He was sufficiently conversant with the
conventions of feminine attire to be aware that this change was
something of the most sudden. His finical delicacy was pained to a
certain extent that the casting off her widow's weeds could be
interpreted as a challenge to a fresh romance. But he argued that if
this were for his encouragement, surely he should not cavil at her
candor, for it would require a bolder man than he to offer his heart and
hand under the shadow of that swaying crape veil. Nevertheless when his
added confidence showed in his elated eyes, his assured manner, she
stared at him for a moment with a surprise so obvious that it chilled
the hope ardently aglow in his consciousness. The next instant realizing
that all the eyes at the table were fixed on her blooming attire, noting
the change, she flushed in confusion and vexation. She had not counted
on being an object of attention and speculation.
Judge Roscoe's ready tact mitigated the stress of the situation.
"Leonora," he said, "you look like the spring! That combination of
sky-blue and peach-blow was always a favorite with your aunt,--French
taste, she called it. It seems to me that the dyes of dress goods were
more delicate then than now; that is not something new, is it?"
"Oh, no; a worn-out thing, as old as the hills!" she answered casually.
And so the subject dropped.
It was renewed in a different quarter.
Old Ephraim was sitting on the floor in the garret, while his young
master, adroitly balanced in a crazy arm-chair with three legs, was
scraping with a spoon the bottom of the bowl that had contained "the
forage."
Julius made these meals as long as he dared, so yearning he was for the
news of the dear home life below, so tantalized by its propinquity and
yet its remoteness. He was barred from it by his peril and the presence
of the Federal officer as if he were a thousand miles away. But old
Ephraim came freshly from its scenes; from the table that he served,
around which the familiar faces were grouped; from the fireside he
replenished, musical with the voices that Julius loved. He caught a
glimpse, he heard an echo, through the old gossip's talk, and thus the
symposium was prolonged. The old negro told the neighborhood news as
well; who was dead, and how and why they died; who was married, and how
and when this occurred; what ladies "received Yankee officers," for some
there were who put off and on their political prejudices as easily as an
old glove; what homes had been seized for military purposes or destroyed
by the operations of war.
"De Yankees built a fote on Marse Frank Devrett's hill," he remarked of
the home of a relative of the Roscoes.
"Which side," demanded the boy; "toward the river?"
"Todes de souf."
"Pshaw! Uncle Ephraim, it couldn't be the south; the crest of the hill
slopes that way," Julius contradicted, still actively plying the spoon.
"You don't know north from south; you don't know gee from haw!"
"'Twas de souf, now! 'Twas de souf!" protested the old servant.
"Now look here," argued Julius, beginning to draw with the spoon upon
the broad, dusty top of a cedar chest close by. "Here is the Dripping
Spring road, and here runs the turnpike. Now here is the rise of the
hill, and--"
"Dar is Gen'al Belden's cavalry brigade camped at de foot," put in Uncle
Ephraim, rising on his knees, taking a casual interest in cartography.
"And here is the bend of the river,"--the bowl of the spoon made a great
swirl to imply the broad sweep of the noble Tennessee.
"Dat's whar dey got some infantry, four reg'ments."
"I see," with several dabs to mark the spot, "convenient for
embarkation."
"An' dar," said the old man, unaware of any significance in the
disclosure, "is one o' dem big siege batteries hid ahint de bresh--"
"Masked, hey? to protect launching and prevent approach by water; they
_are_ fixed up mighty nice! And here goes the slope of the hill to the
fort."
"No, dat's de ravelin, de covered way, an' de par'pet."
"As far down as this, Uncle Ephraim? surely not!"
"Now, ye ain't so much ez chipped de shell ob dis soldierin' business,
ye nuffin' but a onhatched deedie! An' yere I been takin' ye fur a
perfessed soldier-man! You lissen! _yere_ is de covered way ob de
ravelin, outside ob a redoubt, whar dey got a big traverse wid a
powder-magazine built into it. I been up dar when dis artillery captain
sent his wagons arter his ammunition."
"About where is the magazine located?" demanded Julius, gravely intent.
"Jes' dar--dar--"
"No, no!" cried the Confederate officer, in a loud, elated voice.
The old servant caught him by the sleeve, trembling and with a warning
finger lifted. Then they were both silent, intently listening.
The sunlight across the garret floor lay still, save for the bright bar
of glittering, dancing motes. The tall aspen tree by the window made no
sound as it touched the pane with its white velvet buds. A wasp
noiselessly flickered up and down the glass. Absolute quietude, save for
a gentle, continuous murmur of voices in conversation in the library
below.
"I'se gwine ter take myse'f away from yere," said old Janus, loweringly,
his eyes full of reproach, his nerves shaken by the sudden fright. "Ye
ain't fitten fur dis yere soldierin' business; jes' pipped de shell. You
gwine ter git yerself cotched by dat ar Yankee man whut we-all done
loaded ourself up wid, an' _den_ whar will ye be? He done got well
enough ter knock down a muel, an' I dunno _why_ he don't go on back ter
his camp. Done wore out his welcome yere, good-fashion!"
But Julius had entirely recovered from the _contretemps_. He was gazing
in fixed intentness at the map drawn in the dust on the smooth, polished
top of the cedar chest.
"Uncle Ephraim," he said in an impressive whisper, "this powder-magazine
is built right over a cave! I _know_, because there is a hole, a sort of
grotto down in the grove, where you can go in; and in half a mile you
come right up against the wall of my cousin Frank Devrett's cellar. We
played off ghost tricks there one Christmas, the Devrett boys and me,
singing and howling in the cave, and it made a great mystery in the
house, frightening my Cousin Alice; but Cousin Frank was in the secret."
"Gimme--gimme dat spoon! I don't keer if de Yankees built deir magazine
in de _well_ instead ob de cellar. I'm gwine away 'fore dat widder 'oman
begins arter me 'bout dat spoon an' bowl! Gimme de bowl, sah, it's de
salad bowl!"
"Oh, I see," still pondering on the map; "they utilized part of the
cellar, the wine vault, blown out of the solid rock, for the bottom of
the powder-magazine to save work, and then covered it over with the
traverse, and--"
"Gimme dat bowl, Marse Julius, dat widder 'oman will be on our track
direc'ly. She keeps up wid every silver spoon as if she expected ter own
'em one day! But shucks! _you_ gwine ter miss her again, wid all dis
foolishness ob playin' Rebel soldier. Dat ar widder 'oman is all dressed
out in blue an' pink ter-day, an' dat Yankee man smile same ez a
possum!"
Julius Roscoe's absorption dropped in an instant. "You are an egregious
old fraud!" he cried impetuously. "I saw her myself, yesterday, dressed
in deep mourning."
"Thankee, sah!" hoarsely whispered the infuriated old negro. "Ye'se
powerful perlite ter pore ole Ephraim, whut's worked faithful fur you
Roscoes all de days ob his life. I reckon I'se toted ye a thousand miles
on dis ole back! An' I larned _ye_ how ter feesh an' ter dig in the
gyarden,--dough ye is a mighty pore hand wid a hoe,--an' ter set traps
fur squir'ls, an' how ter find de wild bee tree. An' dem fine house
sarvants never keered half so much fur ye ez de ole cawnfield hand; an'
now dey hes all lef', an' de plantation gangs have all gone, too, an' ye
would lack yer vittles ef 'twarn't fur de ole cawnfield hand! I'll fetch
ye yer breakfus', sah, in de mornin', fur all ye are so perlite.
Thankee, kindly, sah, callin' _me_ names!"
And he took his way down the stair. Albeit in danger of capture and
death, Julius flew across the floor to the head of the flight,
beguilingly beckoning the old negro to return, for the ministering raven
had cast up reproachful eyes as he faced about on the first landing.
Although obviously relenting, and placated by the tacit apology, the old
servant obdurately shook his head surlily. Julius jocosely menaced him
with his fists; then, as the gray head finally disappeared, the young
man with a sudden change of sentiment strode restlessly up and down the
clear space of the garret, feeling more cast down and ill at ease than
ever before.
"Oh, why did I come home!" Julius said over and again, reflecting on his
heady venture and its scanty joy. It seemed that the great unhappiness
of his life was about to be repeated under his eyes; once before he had
witnessed the woman he loved won by another man. Then, however, he was
scarcely more than a mere boy; now he was older, and the defeat would go
more harshly with him. But was he not even to enter the lists, to break
a lance for her favor? Although he had controverted the idea of her
doffing her weeds in this connection, he now nothing doubted the fact.
Her choice was made, the die was cast. And he stood here a fugitive in
his father's house, in peril of capture--nay, it might be even his neck,
the shameful death of a spy--that he might once more look upon her face!
He could not be calm, he could no longer be still; and ceaselessly
treading to and fro after the house had long grown quiet, and the
brilliant radiance of the moon was everywhere falling through the broad,
tall windows, his restless spirit was tempted beyond the bounds of the
shadowy staircase that he might at least, wandering like some unhappy
ghost, see again the old familiar haunts. He passed through the halls,
silent, slow, unafraid, as if invested with invisibility. He was grave,
heavy-hearted, as aloof from all it once meant as if he were indeed
some sad spirit revisiting the glimpses of the moon. Now and again he
paused to gaze on some arrangement of sofas or chairs familiar to his
earlier youth. By this big window always lay the backgammon-board. There
was the old guitar, with memory, moonlight, romantic dreams, all
entangled in the strings! It had been a famous joke to drag that light
card-table before the pier glass, which reflected the hand of the unwary
gamester. He sank down in a great fauteuil in the library, and through
the long window on the opposite side of the room he could see the sheen
of the moonlight lying as of old amidst the familiar grove.
The sentry, with his cap and light blue overcoat, its cape fluttering in
the breeze, ever and anon marched past, his musket shouldered, all
unaware of the eyes that watched him; the budding trees cast scant
shadows, spare and linear, on the dewy turf; the flowers bloomed all
ghostly white in the parterre at one side. So might he indeed revisit
the scene were he dead, Julius thought; so might he silently,
listlessly, gaze upon it, his share annulled, his hope bereft.
Were he really dead, he wondered, could he look calmly at Leonora's book
where she had laid it down? He knew its owner from her habit of marking
the place with a flower; it held a long blooming rod of the _Pyrus
Japonica_, the blossoms showing a scarlet glow even in the pallid
moonlight. One of the "ladies" had cast on the floor her "nun's
bonnet," a tube-like straw covering, fitted with lining and curtain of
blue barege and blue ribbons; that belonged to Adelaide, he was sure,
the careless one, for the bonnets of the other two "nuns" hung primly on
the rack in the side hall. His father's pen and open portfolio lay on
the desk, and there too was the pipe that had solaced some knotty
perplexity of his business affairs, growing complicated now in the
commercial earthquake that the war had superinduced.
Without doubt more troublous times yet were in store. Julius rose
suddenly. He must not add to these trials! He must exert every capacity
to compass his safe withdrawal from this heady venture, for his father's
sake as well as his own. With this monition of duty the poor ghost bade
farewell to the scene that so allured him, the old home atmosphere so
dear to his sense of exile, and took his way silently, softly, up the
stairs.
He met the dawn at the head of the flight, filtering down from a high
window. It fell quite distinct on the map of the town and its defences
that he had drawn, in the dust on the polished top of the cedar chest,
and suddenly a thought came to him altogether congruous with the garish
day.
"I know a chief of artillery who would like mightily to hear where that
masked battery is! I do believe he could reach it from Sugar Loaf
Pinnacle if he could get a few guns up there!"
Then he was reminded anew of the subterranean secret passage from the
grotto in the grove through the cave to the cellar of the old Devrett
place, where now there was a powder-magazine. "I'd like to get out of
the lines with that map set in my head precisely." He thought for a
minute with great concentration. "Better still, I'll draw it off on
paper."
He had half a mind to take Uncle Ephraim into his confidence to procure
pencils and paper, but a prudent monition swayed him. This was going
far, very far! He would possess himself of the map duly drawn, but he
would share this secret with no one. He resolved that when next the
family should be out of the house, for daily they and their invalid
guest strolled for exercise in the grove or wandered among the flowers
in the old-fashioned garden, he would then venture into the library
quietly and secure the materials.
The opportunity, however, did not occur till late in the afternoon. He
did not postpone the quest for a midnight hazard, for he daily hoped
that with the darkness might come news of the drawing in of the
picket-lines, affording him a better chance to make a run for escape.
Hence it so happened that when the elder members of the household came
in to tea, they found the "ladies" already at the table, the twins
gloomily whimpering, the dumb child with an elated yet scornful air, her
bright eyes dancing.
They had seen a ghost, the twins protested.
"Oh, fie! fie!" their grandfather uneasily rebuked them, and Captain
Baynell turned with the leniency of the happy and consequently the
easily pleased to inquire into this juvenile mystery.
Oh, yes, they _had_ seen a ghost! a truly true ghost! They mopped their
eyes with their diminutive handkerchiefs and wept in great depression of
spirit. It was in the library, they further detailed, just about dark.
And it had seen them! It scrabbled and scrunched along the wall! And
they both drew up their shoulders to their ears to imitate the shrinking
attitude of a ghost who would fain shun observation and get out of the
way.
Little Lucille laughed fleeringly, understanding from the motion of
their lips what they had said. She gazed around with lustrous, excited
eyes; then, she turned toward Baynell, and with infinite elan, she
smartly delivered the military salute.
"Why," cried Mrs. Gwynn, on the impulse of the moment, "Lucille says it
is Julius Roscoe; that is her sign for him. What is all this foolery,
Lucille?"
But just then Uncle Ephraim, in his functions as waiter, overturned the
large, massive coffee urn, holding much scalding fluid, upon the table,
causing the group to scatter to avoid contact with the turbulent flood.
The "widder 'oman" struggled valiantly to keep her temper, and said
only a little of what she thought. The rearrangement of the table, with
her awkward and untrained servant, for the service of the meal so
occupied her faculties that the matter passed from her mind.