A FULL CONFESSION
There were two more dances scheduled on the program. The last of these
had begun before the infantry sergeant returned, and, apologizing for his
long absence, resumed his duties at the door. Across the room, Hamlin's
eyes met those of Miss McDonald, where she danced with an unknown
officer; then he turned and elbowed his way to the street. The hotel
opposite was all bustle and confusion, the bar-room crowded with the
thirsty emergency waiters who had rushed about the hall completing final
preparations. The Sergeant, intent on his purpose, and aware that the
band had ceased playing, dodged past these and entered the parlor. It
was already occupied by four men, who were playing cards at a small,
round table and smoking vigorously, entirely engrossed in their game.
None of them so much as glanced up, and the intruder hesitated an
instant, quickly determining his course of action. There was little
choice left. The girl would never make an appointment with him except
through necessity, and it was manifestly his duty to protect her from
observation. Two of the men sitting there were strangers; the others he
knew merely by sight, a tin-horn gambler called Charlie, and a sutler's
clerk. His decision was swift, and characteristic.
"Gents," he said, stepping up, and tapping the table sharply, "you 'll
have to vamoose from here."
"What the hell--" the gambler looked up into the gray eyes, and stopped.
"That's all right, Charlie," went on Hamlin coolly, one hand at his belt.
"Those are my orders, and they go. Hire a room upstairs if you want to
keep on with the game. Pick up the stuff, you fellows."
"But see here," the speaker was upon his feet protesting. "The old man
told us we could come in here."
"The old man's word don't go for this floor to-night, partner. It's
rented by the post officers. Now mosey right along, and don't come back
unless you are looking for trouble--you too, Fatty."
Right or wrong there was plainly no use continuing the argument, for
Hamlin's fingers were upon the butt of his revolver, and his eyes
hardened at the delay. The gambler's inclination was to oppose this
summary dismissal, but a glance at his crowd convinced him he would have
to play the hand alone, so he yielded reluctantly, swept the chips into
the side pocket of his coat and departed, leaving behind a trail of
profanity. The Sergeant smiled, but remained motionless until they
disappeared.
"The bluff works," he thought serenely, "unless they make a kick at the
office; some peeved, Charlie was."
He stepped over to the window, and held back the curtain. A burly figure
occupied the bench, with feet upon the rail. Even in that outside
dimness could be distinguished a black beard. The very man, and the
Sergeant chuckled grimly with a swiftly born hope that the fellow might
create a row. Nothing at that moment could have pleased him more. He
blew out the parlor light, partially closed the door, and stepped forth
on to the porch.
"Say, you," he said gruffly, dropping one hand heavily on the other's
shoulder. "Did you hear what I said to those fellows inside? Well, it
goes out here the same. Pack up, and clear the deck."
"Reb" dropped his feet to the floor and stood up, his bearded lips
growling profanity, but Hamlin gripped his wrist, and the man stopped,
with mouth still open, staring into the Sergeant's face. All bravado
seemed to desert him instantly.
"Who--who says so?" and he stepped back farther into the shadow.
"I do, if you need to know," pleasantly enough. "Sergeant Hamlin,
Seventh Cavalry."
"Oh!" the exclamation came from between clenched teeth. "Hell, man, you
startled me."
"So I see; nervous disposition, I reckon. Well, are you going quietly,
or shall I hoist you over the rail?"
"I had an appointment here."
"Can't help that, partner. This porch is going to be vacant inside of
one minute, or there is a declaration of war. Your easiest way out is
through that window, but you can go by rail if you prefer."
The black beard wasted half his allowed time in an effort at bluster;
then, to Hamlin's utter disgust, slunk through the open window and across
the darkened parlor.
"The pusillanimous cuss," the latter muttered, "he 's worse than a cur
dog. Blamed if he was n't actually afraid of me. A gun-fighter--pugh!"
He lifted his voice, as "Reb" paused in the light of the hall beyond and
glanced back, a fist doubled and uplifted. "Oh, go on! Sure, you 'll
get me? You are the brave boy, now," and Hamlin strode toward the door
threateningly. "Lope along, son, and don't turn around again until you
face the bar."
He drew the door partially to again, and sat down facing the opening,
where a stray beam of light fell across the floor. Thus far the
adventure had scarcely proven interesting. The last encounter had been a
distinct disappointment. The dispersal of the card-players was, as
anticipated, easily managed, but the reputation of "Reb" as killer and
bad man had given him hope of resistance. But instead he had proven a
perfect lamb. Hamlin crossed his legs and waited, his mind divided in
wonder between what Miss McDonald might want, and the cowardice of the
fellow just driven out. The man was actually afraid--afraid to start a
row. Yet he had got to his feet with that intention; it was only after
he had looked into Hamlin's face and asked his name, that he began to
hedge and draw back. Could he have recognized him? Could Mrs. Dupont
have warned him of danger in his direction? That would seem impossible,
for the woman had not been with him for even a minute since their
conversation. She had given him a swift signal at the door of the dance
hall, but that could scarcely account for his present desire to avoid
trouble. An engagement? Probably with Mrs. Dupont. But what was the
use of speculating? Perhaps when the girl came she would have some light
to throw on these matters. Surely her sudden determination to see him
privately must have connection with this affair.
These thoughts came swiftly, for his period of waiting proved to be but a
short one. He heard the laughter and talk as the merry-makers came into
the hotel from the dance hall, crowding the passage, and thronging in to
where the tables were set. Then a rattle of dishes, and the steady
shuffling of waiters rushing back and forth. Occasionally he could
distinguish a shadow out in the hall, but never changed his motionless
posture, or removed his eyes from the aperture, until she slipped
noiselessly through and stood there panting slightly, her hand clasping
the knob of the door. Apparently in the semi-darkness of the room she
was uncertain of his presence, while her white dress touched by the
outside reflection made her clearly visible.
"It is all right, Miss McDonald," he murmured hastily, arising. "There
is nothing to fear."
"You are here--alone?"
"Yes," smiling in memory. "There were occupants when I first arrived,
but they were persuaded to depart. I had a suspicion you might prefer it
that way."
"Yes," puzzled by his manner, yet softly pushing the door back so as to
exclude the light. "I can see better now. Are--are you sure no one can
overhear? I have something to tell you--something important."
"There is no one else here, yet some one might stumble into this room.
It is not private, you know. We shall be safer on the porch outside.
Will you take my hand, and let me guide you?"
She did so unhesitatingly, but her fingers were cold, and he could feel
the twitching of her nerves.
"You are frightened--not of me, surely?"
"Oh, no!" a slight catch in her voice, "but I am running such a risk
venturing here. I--I had to pretend a sick-headache to get away. You
must not condemn me until you hear why I came."
"I condemn? Hardly, Miss McDonald. I am merely a soldier receiving
orders; 'mine not to question why.' Here is the window; now sit down on
this bench. I 'll keep guard, and listen." His voice sank lower, a
little touch of tenderness in it impossible to disguise. "Are you in
trouble? Is it something I can aid you to overcome?"
She did not answer at once but rested her chin in one hand, and turned
her eyes away. Her breath came swiftly, as though she had not yet
recovered from fright, and her face in the dim light looked white and
drawn.
"Yes, you can," she began slowly, "I am sure you can. I--I came to you
because there was no one else in whom I felt the same confidence. I know
that sounds strange, but I cannot explain--only it seems natural to trust
some people even when you do not know them very well. I do not suppose I
know you very well; just those few hours we were together, but--somehow I
think you are true."
"I certainly hope so," he put in earnestly. "I couldn't very well help
being--with you."
"I believe that," and she lifted her eyes to his face.
"Yet I do not wish you to think me bold, or--or indiscreet. You do not
think so, do you?"
"That idea has never once occurred to me, Miss McDonald. I am only too
glad to be of service."
"It is good of you to say that; you see, there was no one else."
"Your father?" he suggested.
"But that is the very trouble," she insisted, rejoicing that he had thus
unconsciously opened the way to her confession. "It is because my father
is involved, is completely in her toils, that I am compelled to appeal to
you. He will not listen to a word against her."
"Her? You refer to Mrs. Dupont?"
"Of course; why, I hadn't mentioned her name! How did you guess?"
"Because I am not entirely ignorant of conditions," he answered soberly.
"Although I have only been at the post a short time, I have managed to
see and hear a good deal. You know I chanced to become involved in the
shooting of Lieutenant Gaskins, and then I saw you riding with Mrs.
Dupont, and recognized her."
"Recognized?" in surprise. "Do you actually mean you knew her before?"
"Not as Mrs. Dupont, but as Vera Carson, years ago. She knew me at once,
and sent your driver over to the barracks with a note."
"Why, how strange. She asked me so many questions, I wondered at the
interest shown. Do you mind telling me what the note was about?"
"Not in the least. She referred to the past, and asked me to meet her."
"Were you--very intimate? Great friends?"
"We were engaged to be married," he acknowledged frankly, his eyes upon
her face. "That was at the breaking out of the war, and I was in my
senior college year. We met at school, and I was supposed to be the heir
to a large property. She is a beautiful woman now, and she was a
beautiful girl then. I thought her as good and true as she was charming.
Since then I have learned her selfishness and deceit, that it was my
money which attracted her, and that she really loved another man, a
classmate."
She glanced up at him as he paused, but he resumed the story without
being interrupted.
"The war came, and I enlisted at once, and received a commission. Almost
our entire class went, and the man she really loved was next below me in
rank."
"Eugene Le Fevre?"
"Yes; how did you know? Oh, I told you of him out there in the
sand-hills. Well, I urged her to marry me before I went to the front,
but she made excuses. Later, I understood the reason--she was uncertain
as to my inheriting the property of an uncle. We were ordered to the
Army of Northern Virginia. Once I went home on furlough, severely
wounded. We were to be married then, but I had not sufficiently
recovered when I was suddenly ordered back to the front. I did suspect
then, for the first time, that she was glad of the respite. I afterwards
discovered that during all this time she was in correspondence with Le
Fevre, who had been detailed on Early's staff. It was his influence
which brought about my sudden, unexpected recall to duty. A few months
later I was promoted major, and, at Fisher's Hill, found myself
commanding the regiment. Early in the action Le Fevre brought me an
order; it was delivered verbally, the only other party present a corporal
named Shultz, a German knowing little English. Early's exact words were:
'Advance at once across the creek, and engage the enemy fiercely; a
supporting column will move immediately.' Desperate as the duty involved
appeared, there was nothing in the order as given to arouse suspicion.
In obedience I flung my command forward, leading them on foot. We
charged into a trap, and were nearly annihilated, and Shultz was either
killed, or made prisoner. Two days later I was arrested under charges,
was tried by court-martial, and dismissed from the service in disgrace.
Early produced a copy of his written order; it read 'cautiously feel the
enemy's position,' and Le Fevre went on the stand, and swore the original
had been delivered to me. I had no witnesses."
She watched him with wide-open eyes, her lips parted.
"And she--this Vera Carson?"
The man laughed bitterly.
"Wrote him a letter, which the man actually had the nerve to show me when
I was helpless, proving her falsity. I would not believe, and went back
seeking her. But she had departed--no one knew where--but had first
convinced herself that my name had been erased from my uncle's will. Two
months later I heard that she married Le Fevre in Richmond."
"And she--that woman--actually asked you to meet her again to-night?"
"Yes."
"Did you?"
"I must plead guilty."
"Where?"
"Here; just where we are now; we were together half an hour."
She half arose to her feet, her hand grasping the rail.
"But I cannot understand. Why should you? Do you--"
"No; wait," he interrupted, venturing to touch her arm. "I came, not
because of any interest in her, Miss Molly--but for you."