DESTINY
On Sunday, having risen early--though not so early as the post relief,
whose day begins as soon as a sentry can see clearly for a thousand
yards--I dressed me by the rosy light of the rising sun, and, before I
breakfasted, wrote a long letter to my parents, who, as I have said,
were now residing near Paris, where my great-grandfather's estate lay.
When I had finished my letter, sanded and sealed it, I went out to
leave it with the packages of post matter collected from the French
regiments across the Hudson, and destined for France by an early
packet, which was to sail as soon as the long-expected French fleet
arrived from the West Indies.
I delivered my letter to the staff-officer detailed for that duty, and
then, hearing military music, went back to the Blue Fox in time to see
a funeral of an officer slowly passing eastward, gun-carriage, horses,
men, in strange silhouette against the level and dazzling white disk of
the rising sun. Truly, the slow cortege seemed moving straight into the
flaming gates of heaven, the while their solemn music throbbed and
throbbed with the double drum-beat at the finish of each line. The tune
was called "Funeral Thoughts." They changed to "Roslyn Castle" as they
crossed the bridge; yet an hour had scarce passed when I heard their
volley-firing not very far away, and back they came, the Fife-Major
leading, drums, fifes, and light-infantry horns gaily sounding "The
Pioneer," and the men swinging back briskly to fall in with the Church
details, now marching in from every direction to the admonitory timing
of a single drum-beat.
The music had awakened Elsin, and presently she came a-tapping at my
door, barefoot, her cardinal tightly wrapped around her, hair tumbled,
drowsily rubbing her heavy lids.
"Good morning, Carus," she said sleepily. "I should dearly like to hear
a good, strong sermon on damnation to-day--being sensible of my present
state of sin, and of yours. Do they preach hell-fire in Rebeldom?"
"The landlord says that Hazen's mixed brigade and other troops go to
service in the hay-field above the bridge," I answered, laughing.
"Shall we ride thither?"
She nodded, yawning, then pulling her foot-mantle closer about her
shoulders, pattered back into her chamber, and I went below and ordered
our horses saddled, and breakfast to be served us as soon as might be.
And so it happened that, ere the robins had done caroling their morning
songs, and the far, sweet anthems of the hermit-birds still rang in
dewy woodlands, Elsin and I dismounted in Granger's hay-field just as
the troops marched up in a long, dense column, the massed music of many
regiments ahead, but only a single drum timing the steady tread.
All was done in perfect decorum and order. A hay-wagon was the pulpit;
around it the drummers piled their drums, tier rising on tier; the
ensigns draped the national colors over the humble platform, setting
regimental and state standards at the corners; and I noted there some
curious flags, one borne by a Massachusetts battalion, white, with a
green tree on it; another, a yellow naval flag with a coiled
rattlesnake; another, carried by a company of riflemen, on which was
this design:
1776.
XI VIRGINIA REG'T,
and I knew that I was looking upon the famous regimental standard of
Morgan's Rifles.
Without confusion, with only a low-spoken command here and there,
battalion after battalion marched up, stacked arms, forming three sides
of a hollow square, the pulpit, with its flags and tiers of drums,
making the fourth side. The men stood at ease, hands loosely clasped
and hanging in front of them. The brigade chaplain quietly crossed the
square to his rude pulpit, mounted it, and, as he bowed his head in
prayer, every cocked hat came off, every head was lowered.
Country-folk, yokels, farmers, had gathered from all directions;
invalids from the camp hospitals were there, too, faces clay-color,
heads and limbs heavily bandaged. One of these, a sergeant of the New
York line, who wore a crimson heart sewed on his breast, was led to his
place between two comrades, he having both eyes shot out; and the
chaplain looked at him hard for a moment, then gave out the hymn,
leading the singing in a deep, full voice:
"Through darkest night
I know that Thou canst see.
Night blinds my sight,
Yet my small voice shall praise Thee constantly.
Under Thy wing,
Whose shadow blinds mine eyes,
Fearless I sing
Thy sweetness and Thy mercy to the skies!"
The swelling voices of the soldiers died away. Standing there between
our horses, Elsin's young voice still echoing in my ears, I looked up
at the placid face of the preacher, saw his quiet glance sweep the
congregation, saw something glimmer in his eyes, and his lips tighten
as he laid open his Bible, and, extending his right arm, turn to the
south, menacing the distant city with his awful text:
"The horseman lifteth up the bright sword and the glittering spear!
"Woe to the bloody city! The chariots shall rage in the streets, they
shall jostle one against another in the _broad ways_! They shall seem
like torches, they shall run like the lightnings. They shall make haste
to the wall; the defense shall be prepared.
"For that day is a day of wrath, a day of trouble and distress, a day
of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness.
"A day of the trumpet and alarm against _fenced cities_, and against
high towers.
"For the horseman lifteth up the bright sword.... Woe to the bloody
city!"
Out over the sunlit fields rang the words of Zephaniah and of Nahum. I
saw the motionless ranks suddenly straighten; a thousand sunburned
faces were upturned, a thousand pairs of eyes fastened themselves upon
the steady eyes of the preacher.
For an hour he spoke to them, beginning with his Excellency's
ever-to-be-remembered admonition: "To the character of a patriot it
should be our highest glory to add the more distinguished character of
a Christian"; then continued upon that theme nearest the hearts of all,
the assault upon New York, which everybody now deemed imminent,
thrilling the congregation with hope, inspiring them with high
endeavor. I remember that he deprecated revenge, although the score was
heavy enough! I remember he preached dignity and composure in
adversity, mercy in victory, and at the word his voice rang with
prophecy, and the long ranks stirred as dry leaves stir in a sudden
wind.
When at last he asked the blessing, and the ranks had knelt in the
stubble, Elsin and I on our knees breathed the Amen, lifted our
sun-dazzled eyes, and rose together to mount and ride back through the
dust to the Blue Fox, where we were to confer concerning the
long-delayed letter which decency required us to write to Sir Peter and
Lady Coleville, and also take counsel in other matters touching the
future, which seemed as obscure as ever.
Since that first visit from Colonel Hamilton I had received orders from
headquarters to be ready to leave for the north at an hour's notice,
and that suitable quarters would be ready at West Point for my wife.
There were a dozen officers lodged at the tavern, but my acquaintance
with them advanced nothing beyond a civil greeting, for I cared not to
join them in the coffee-room, where sooner or later some question
concerning Elsin must annoy me. It was sufficient that they knew my
name and nothing more either of my business or myself or Elsin. No
doubt some quiet intimation from headquarters had spared us visits from
quartermasters and provost marshals, for nobody interfered with us,
and, when at the week's end I called for our reckoning--my habits of
method ever uppermost in my mind--the landlord refused to listen,
saying that our expenses were paid as long as we remained at the Blue
Fox, and that if we lacked for anything I was to write to Colonel
Hamilton.
This I had done, being sadly in need of fresh linen, and none to be had
in the shops opposite. Also I enclosed a list of apparel urgently
desired by Elsin, she having writ the copy, which was as long as I am
tall; but I sent it, nevertheless, and we expected to hear from Colonel
Hamilton before evening. For all we had was the clothing we wore on our
backs, and though for myself I asked nothing but linen, I should have
been glad of a change of outer garments, too.
We dined together at our little table by the window, decorously
discussing damnation, predestination, and other matters fitting that
sunny Sabbath noontide. And at moments, very, very far away, I heard
the faint sound of church-bells, perhaps near North Castle, perhaps at
Dobbs Ferry, so sweet, so peaceful, that it was hard to believe in
eternal punishment and in a God of wrath; hard, too, to realize that
war ruled half a continent, and that the very dogs of war, unchained,
prowled all around us, fangs bared, watching the sad city at the
river's ends.
When the servants had removed the cloth, and had fetched the materials
for writing which I had ordered, we drew our chairs up side by side,
and leaned upon the table to confer in regard to a situation which
could not, of course, continue much longer.
"The first thing to consider," said I, "is the flag to take you north."
And I looked curiously at Elsin.
"How can we decide that yet?" she asked, aggrieved. "I shall not
require a flag if we--fall in love."
"We've had a week to try," I argued, smiling.
"Yes, but we have not tried; we have been too happy to try. Still,
Carus, we promised one another to attempt it."
"Well, shall we attempt it at once?"
"Goodness, I'm too lazy, too contented, too happy, to worry over such
sad matters as love!"
"Well, then, I had better write to Hamilton asking a flag----"
"I tell you not to hasten!" she retorted pettishly. "Moonlight changes
one's ideas. My noonday sentiments never correspond to my evening state
of mind."
"But," I persisted, "if we only cherish certain sentiments when the
moon shines----"
"Starlight, too, silly! Besides, whenever I take time to think of your
late peril, I straightway experience a tender sentiment for you. I tell
you be not too hasty to ask a flag for me. Come, let us now consider
and be wise. Once in Canada all is ended, for Sir Frederick Haldimand
would sooner see me fall from Cape Eternity to the Saguenay than hear
of me in love with you. Therefore I say, let us remember, consider, and
await wisdom."
"But," I argued, "something must be settled before fresh orders from
headquarters send me north and you to West Point."
"Oh, I shall go north, too," she observed calmly.
"Into battle, for example?" I asked, amused.
"I shall certainly not let you go into battle all alone! You are a mere
child when it comes to taking precaution in danger."
"You mean you would actually gallop into battle to see I came to no
mischief?" I demanded, laughing.
"Aye, clip my hair and dress the trooper, jack-boots and all, if you
drive me to it!" she exclaimed, irritated. "You may as well know it,
Carus; you shall not go floundering about alone, and that's flat! See
what a mess of it you were like to make in New York!"
"Then," said I, still laughing, yet touched to the heart, "I shall
instruct you in the duties and amenities of wedded life, and we may as
well marry and be done with it. Once married, I, of course, shall do as
I please in the matter of battles----"
"No, you shall not! You shall consider me! Do you think to go roaming
about, nose in the air, and leaving me to sit quaking at home, crying
my eyes out over your foolishness? Do I not already know the terror of
it with you in New York there, and only ten minutes to save your neck
from Cunningham? Thank you, I am already instructed in the amenities of
wedded life--if they be like the pleasures of betrothal--though I cared
not a whit what happened to Walter Butler, it is true, yet fell sick o'
worry when you and Rosamund Barry went a-sailing--not that I feared
you'd drown, either. O Carus, Carus, you distract me, you worry me; you
tell me nothing, nothing, and I never knew what you were about there in
New York when you were not with me!--doubtless a-courting every
petticoat on Hanover Square, for all I know!"
"Well," said I, amazed and perplexed, "if you think, under the
circumstances, there is any prospect of our falling in love after
marriage, and so continuing, I will wed you--now----"
"No!" she interrupted angrily; "I shall not marry you, nor even betroth
myself. It may be that I can see you leave me and bid you a fair
journey, unmoved. I would to God I could! I feel that way now, and may
continue, if I do not fall a-pondering, and live over certain hours
with you that plague me at times into a very passion. But at moments
like this I weary of you, so that all you say and do displeases, and
I'm sick of the world and I know not what! O Carus, I am sick of
life--and I dare not tell you why!"
She rested her head on her hands, staring down at her blurred image,
reflected in the polished table-top.
"I have sometimes thought," she mused, "that the fault lay with
you--somewhat."
"With me!"
"That you could force me to love you, if you dared. The rest would not
matter, then. Misery me! I wish that we had never met! And yet I can
not let you go, because you do not know how to care for yourself. If
you will sail to France on the next packet, and remain with your
mother, I'll say nothing. I'll go with a flag I care not where--only to
know you are safe. Will you? O Carus, I would my life were done and all
ended!"
She was silent for a while, leaning on the table, tracing with her
finger the outline of her dull reflection in the shining surface.
Presently she looked up gaily, a smile breaking in her eyes.
"All that I said is false. I desire to live, Carus. I am not unhappy.
Pray you, begin your writing!"
I drew the paper to me, dipped a quill full of ink from the musty horn,
rested my elbow, pen lifted, and began, dating the letter from the Blue
Fox, and addressing it most respectfully to Sir Peter and Lady
Coleville.
First I spoke of the horses we had taken, and would have promised
payment by draft enclosed, but that Elsin, looking over my shoulder,
stayed my pen.
"Did you not see me leave a pile of guineas?" she demanded. "That was
to pay for our stable theft!"
"But not for the horse I took?"
"Certainly, for your horse, too."
"But you could not know that I was to ride saddle to the Coq d'Or!" I
insisted.
"No, but I saddled _two_ horses," she replied, delighted at my wonder,
"two horses, monsieur, one of which stood ready in the stalls of the Coq
d'Or! So when you came a-horseback, it was not necessary to use the
spare mount I had led there at a gallop. _Now_ do you see, Mr. Renault?
All this I did for you, inspired by--foresight, which you lack!"
"I see that you are as wise and witty as you are beautiful!" I
exclaimed warmly, and caught her fingers to kiss them, but she would
have none of my caress, urging me to write further, and make suitable
excuse for what had happened.
"It is not best to confess that we are still unwedded," I said,
perplexed.
"No. They suppose we are; let be as it is," she answered. "And you
shall not say that you were a spy, either, for that must only pain Sir
Peter and his lady. They will never believe Walter Butler, for they
think I fled with you because I could not endure him. And--perhaps I
did," she added; and that strange smile colored her eyes to deepest
azure.
"Then what remains to say?" I asked, regarding her thoughtfully.
"Say we are happy, Carus."
"Are you?"
"Truly I am, spite of all I complain of. Write it!"
I wrote that we were happy; and, as I traced the words, a curious
thrill set my pen shaking.
"And that we love--them."
I wrote it slowly, half-minded to write "one another" instead of
"them." Never had I been so near to love.
"And--and--let me see," she mused, finger on lip--"I think it not too
impudent to ask their blessing. It _may_ happen, you know, though
Destiny fight against it; and if it does, why there we have their
blessing all ready!"
I thought for a long while, then wrote, asking their blessing upon our
wedded union.
"_That_ word 'wedded,'" observed Elsin, "commits us. Scratch it out. I
have changed my mind. Destiny may accept the challenge, and smite me
where I sit."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I mean--nothing. Yet that word 'wedded' must not stand. It is an
affront to--to Destiny!"
"I fear nothing from Destiny--with you, Elsin."
"If you write that word, then, I tell you we must betroth ourselves
this instant!--and fight Fate to its knees. Dare you?"
"I am ready," said I coolly.
She looked at me sidewise in quick surprise, chin resting in her
clasped hands. Then she turned, facing me, dropping her elbows on the
polished table.
"You would wed me, Carus?" she said slowly.
"Yes."
"Because--because--you--love me?"
"Yes."
A curious tremor possessed my body; it was not as though I spoke;
something within me had stirred and awakened and was twitching at my
lips. I stared at her through eyes not my own--eyes that seemed to open
on her for the first time. And, as I stared, her face whitened, her
eyes closed, and she bowed her head to her hands.
"Keep pity for others," she said wearily; "keep your charity for some
happier maid who may accept it, Carus. I would if I dared. I have no
pride left. But I dare not. This is the end of all, I think. I shall
never ask alms of Love again."
Then a strange thing happened, quick as a thrust; and my very soul
leaped, quivering, smitten through and through with love of her. In the
overwhelming shock I stretched out my hand like a man dazed, touching
her fingers, and the thrill of it seemed to stun me.
Never, never could I endure to have her look at another as she looked
at me when our hands touched, but I could not utter a word; and I saw
her lip quiver, and the hopeless look deaden her eyes again.
I rose blindly to my feet, speechless, heart hammering at my throat,
and made to speak, but could not.
She, too, had risen, gazing steadily at me; and still I could not utter
a word, the blood surging through me and my senses swimming. Love! It
blinded me with its clamor; it frightened me with its rushing tide; it
dinned in my ears, it ran riot, sweeping every vein, choking speech,
while it surged on, wave on wave mounting in flame.
She stood there, pallidly uncertain, looking on the conflagration love
had wrought. Then something of its purport seemed to frighten her, and
she shrank away step by step, passing the portal of her chamber,
retreating, yet facing me still, fascinated eyes on mine.
I heard a voice unlike my own, saying: "I love you, Elsin. Why do you
repulse me?"
And as she answered nothing, I went to her and took her hand. But the
dismayed eyes only widened, the color faded from her parted lips.
"Can you not see," I whispered, "can you not see I love you?"
"You--_love_--me!"
I caught her in my arms. A bright blush stained neck and face, and she
threw back her head, avoiding my lips.
[Illustration: She threw back her head, avoiding my lips.]
"Elsin, I beg you--I beg you to love me! Can you not see what you have
done to me?--how I am awakened?"
"Wait," she pleaded, resisting me, "wait, Carus. I--I am afraid----"
"Of love, sweetheart?"
"Wait," she panted--"give me time--till morning--then if I change
not--if my heart stirs again so loudly when you hold me--thus--and--and
crush me so close to you--so close--and promise to love me----"
"Elsin, Elsin, I love you!"
"Wait--wait, Carus!--my darling. Oh, you must not--kiss me--until you
know--what I am----"
Her face burned against mine; her eyes closed. Through the throbbing
silence her head drooped, lower, lower, yielding her mouth to mine;
then, with a cry she turned in my arms, twisting to her knees, and
dropped her head forward on the bed. And, as I bent beside her, she
gasped: "No--no--wait, Carus! I know myself! I know myself! Take your
lips from my hands--do not touch me! My brain has gone blind, I tell
you! Leave me to think--if I can----"
"I will not leave you here in tears. Elsin, Elsin, look at me!"
"The tears help me--help us both," she sobbed. "I know what I know.
Leave me--lest the very sky fall to crush us in our madness----"
I bent beside her, a new, fierce tenderness choking me; and at my touch
she straightened up, tear-stained face lifted, and flung both arms
around my neck.
"I love you, Carus! I love you!" she stammered. "I care for that,
only--only for that! If it be for a week, if it be for a day, an hour,
an instant, it is what I was made for, it is what I was fashioned
for--to love you, Carus! There is nothing else--nothing else in all the
world! Love me, take me, do with me what you will! I yield all you ask,
all you beg, all you desire--all save wedlock!"
She swayed in my arms. A deadly pallor whitened her; then her knees
trembled and she gave way, sinking to the floor, her head buried in the
flowering curtains of the bed; and I to drop on my knees beside her,
seeking to lift her face while the sobs shook her slender body, and she
wept convulsively, head prostrate in her arms.
"I--I am wicked!" she wailed. "Oh, I have done that which has damned me
forever, Carus!--forever and ever. I can not wed you--I love you
so!--yet I can not wed you! What wild folly drove me to go with you?
What devil has dragged me here to tempt you--whom I love so truly? Oh,
God pity us both--God pity us!"
"Elsin," I said hoarsely, "you are mad to say it! Is there anything on
earth to bar us from wedlock?"
"Yes, Carus, yes!" she cried. "It is--it is too late!"
"Too late!" I repeated, stunned.
"Aye--for I am a wedded wife! Now you know! Oh, this is the end of
all!"
A while she lay there sobbing her heart out, I upright on my knees
beside her, staring at blank space, which reeled and reeled, so that
the room swam all awry, and I strove to steady it with fixed gaze, lest
the whole world come crashing upon us.
At last she spoke, lifting her tear-marred face from the floor to the
bed, forehead resting heavily in her hands:
"I ask your pardon--for the sin I have committed. Hear me out--that is
my penance; spurn me--that is my punishment!"
She pressed her wet eyes, shuddering. "Are you listening, Carus? The
night before I sailed from Canada--_he_ sought me----"
"Who?" My lips found the question, but no sound came.
"Walter Butler! O God! that I have done this thing!"
In the dreadful silence I heard her choking back the cry that strangled
her. And after a while she found her voice again: "I was a child--a
vain, silly thing of moods and romance, ignorant of men, innocent of
the world, flattered by the mystery with which he cloaked his passion,
awed, fascinated by this first melancholy lover who had wrung from me
through pity, through vanity, through a vague fear of him, perhaps, a
promise of secret betrothal."
She lifted her head and set her chin on one clinched hand, yet never
looked at me:
"Sir Frederick was abed; I all alone in the great arms-gallery, nose to
the diamond window-panes, and looking out at the moon--and waiting for
him. Suddenly I saw him there below.... Heaven is witness I meant no
harm nor dreamed of any. He was not alone. My heart and my affections
were stirred to warmth--I sailing from Canada and friends next day at
dawn--and I went down to the terrace and out among the trees where he
stood, his companion moving off among the trees. I had come only to bid
him the farewell I had promised, Carus--I never dreamed of what he
meant to do."
She cleared her hair from her brow.
"I--I swear to you, Carus, that never has Walter Butler so much as laid
the weight of his little finger on my person! Yet he swayed me
there--using that spell of melancholy, clothed in romance--and--I know
not how it was--or how I listened, or how consented--it is scarce more
than a dreadful dream--the trees in the moonlight, his voice so gentle,
so pitiful, trembling, beseeching--and he had brought a
clergyman"--again her hands covered her eyes--"and, ere I was aware of
it, frightened, stunned in the storm of his passion, he had his way with
me. The clergyman stood between us, saying words that bound me. I heard
them, I was mute, I shrank from the ring, yet suffered it--for even as
he ringed me he touched me not with his hand. Oh, if he had, I think the
spell had broken!"
Again her tears welled up, falling silently; and presently the strength
returned to her voice, and she went on:
"From the first moment that I saw you, Carus, I understood what love
might be. From the very first I closed my ears to the quick cry of
caution. I saw you meet coquetry unmoved, I knew the poison of my first
passion was in me, stealing through every vein; and every moment with
you was the more hopeless for me. I played a hundred roles--you smiled
indifference on all. A mad desire to please you grew with your amused
impatience of me. Curiosity turned to jealousy. I longed for your
affection as I never longed for anything on earth--or heaven. I had
never had a lover to love before. O Carus, I had never loved, and love
crazed me! Day after day I wondered if I had been fashioned to inspire
love in such a man as you. I was bewildered by my passion and your
coldness; yet had I not been utterly mad I must have known the awful
end of such a flame once kindled. But could I inspire love? Could you
love me? That was all in the world I cared about--thinking nothing of
the end, knowing all hope was dead for me, and nothing in life unless
you loved me. O Carus, if I have inspired one brief moment of
tenderness in you, deal mercifully with the sin! Guilty as I am, false
as I am, I can not add a lie and say that I am sorry that you love me,
that for one blessed moment you said you loved me. Now it is ended. I
can not be your wife. I am too mean, too poor a thing for hate. Deal
with me gently, Carus, lest your wrath strike me dead here at the altar
of outraged Love!"
I rose to my feet, feeling blindly for support, and rested against the
great carved columns of the bed. A cold rage froze me, searching every
vein with icy numbness that left me like a senseless thing. That
passed; I roused, breathing quietly and deeply, and looked about,
furtive, lest the familiar world around had changed to ashes, too.
Presently my dull senses were aware of what was at my feet, kneeling
there, face buried in clasped hands, too soft, too small, too frail to
hold a man's whole destiny. And, as I bent to kiss them, I scarce dared
clasp them, scarce dared lift her to my arms, scarce dared meet the
frightened wonder in her eyes, and the full sweetness of them, and the
love breaking through their azure, as I think day must dawn in
paradise!
"Now, in the name of God," I breathed, "we two, always forever one,
through life, through death, here upon earth, and afterward! I wed you
now with heart and soul, and ring your body with my arms! I stand your
champion, I kneel your lover, Elsin, till that day breaks on a red
reckoning with him who did this sin! Then I shall wed you. Will you
take me?"
She placed her hands on my shoulders, gazing at me from her very soul.
"You need not wed me--so that you love me, Carus."
Arms enlacing one another, we walked the floor in silence, slowly
passing from her chamber into mine, and back again, heads erect,
challenging that Destiny whose shadowy visage we could now gaze on
unafraid.
The dusk of day was dissolving to a silvery night, through which the
white-throat's song floated in distant, long-drawn sweetness. The
little stream's whisper grew louder, too; and I heard the trees
stirring in slumber, and the breeze in the river-reeds.
There, at the open window, standing, she lifted her sweet face, looking
into mine.
"What will you do with me? I am yours."
"Wait for you."
"You need not wait, if it be your will."
"It is not my will that we ever part. Nor shall we, wedded or not. Yet
we must wait our wedded happiness."
"You need not, Carus."
"I know it and I wait."
"So then--so then you hold me innocent--you raise me back to the high
place I fell from, blinded by love----"
"You never fell from your high place, Elsin."
"But my unpardonable sin----"
"What sin? The evil lies with him."
"Yet, wedded, I sought you--I loved you--I love you now--I offer my
amends to you--myself to do with as it pleases you."
"Sweetheart, you could not stir from the high place where you reign
enthroned though I and Satan leagued to pull you down. I, not you, owe
the amends; I, not you, await your pleasure. Yours to command, mine to
obey. Now, tell me, love, where my honor lies?"
"Linked with mine, Carus."
"And yours?"
"In the high places, where I sit unsullied, waiting for you."
For a long while we stood there together at the window. Candle-light
faded from the dim casements of the shops; the patrol passed, muskets
glittering in the starlight, and the tavern lamp went out.
And when the last tap-room loiterer had slunk away to camp or cabin,
and when the echo of the patrol's tread had died out in the fragrant
darkness, came one to the door below, hammering the knocker; and I saw
his spurs and scabbard shining in the luster of the stars, and in my
heart a still voice repeated, "This is Destiny came a-knocking, armed
with Fate. This is the place and the hour!"
And it was so, for presently the landlord came to the door, calling me
softly. "I come," I answered, and turned to Elsin. "Shall I to-morrow
find you the same sweet maid I have loved from the first all
blindly?--the same dear tyrant, plaguing me, coaxing me, blaming,
praising, unreasoning, inconstant--the same brave, impulsive, loyal
friend that one day, God willing, shall become my wife?"
"Yes, Carus."
We kissed one another; hands tightened, lingered, and fell apart. And
so I went away down the dim stairs, strangely aware that Destiny was
waiting there for me. And it was, shaped like Colonel Hamilton, who
rose to meet me, offering the hand of Fate; and I took it and held it,
looking him straight between the eyes.
"I know why you have come," I said, smiling. "I am to journey north and
move heaven and earth to thwart this hell's menace flung at us by
Walter Butler. Ah, sir, I was certain of it--I knew it, Colonel
Hamilton. You make me very, very happy. Pray you, inform his Excellency
of my deep gratitude. He has chosen fire to fight fire, I think. Every
thought, every nerve in me is directed to the ruin of this man. Waking,
sleeping, in sickness, in health, in adversity, in prosperity, soul and
body and mind are bent on his undoing. I shall speak to the Oneidas
with clan authority; I shall speak to the Iroquois at Thendara; I shall
listen to the long roll of the dead; I shall read the record of ages
from the sacred belts. The eyes of the forest shall see for me; the
ears of the wilderness listen for me; every tree shall whisper for me,
every leaf spy for me; and the voices of a thousand streams shall guide
me, and the eight winds shall counsel me, and the stars stretch out
their beams for me, pointing the way, so that this man shall die and
his wickedness be ended forever."
I held out my hand and took the written order in silence, reading it at
a glance.
"It shall be done, Colonel Hamilton. When am I to leave?"
"Now. The schooner starts when you set foot aboard, Mr. Renault."
And, after a moment: "Madam goes with you?"
"To West Point."
"I trust that she finds some few comforts aboard the _Wind-Flower_. I
could not fill all the list, Mr. Renault; but a needle will do much, and
the French fabrics are pretty----"
He looked at me, smiling: "For you, sir, there are shirts and stockings
and a forest dress of deerskin."
"A rifle, too?"
"The best to be had, and approved by Jack Mount. Murphy himself has
sighted it. Have I done well?"
"Yes," said I grimly, and, opening the door of the kitchen, bade the
landlord have our horses saddled and brought around, and asked him to
send a servant to warn Elsin that we must leave within the quarter.
Presently I heard our horses at the block, stamping the sod, and a
moment later Elsin came, eager, radiant, sweetly receiving Colonel
Hamilton when I named him. He saluted her hand profoundly; then, as it
still rested lightly on his fingers, he turned to me, almost bluntly:
"Never, Mr. Renault, can we officers forgive you for denying us this
privilege. I have heard, sir, that Mrs. Renault was beautiful and
amiable; I never dreamed that such loveliness could be within our
lines. One day you shall make amends for this selfishness to every lady
and every officer on the Hudson."
At the word which named her as my wife her face crimsoned, but in her
eyes the heavenly sweetness dawned like a star, dazzling me.
"Colonel Hamilton," she said, "in quieter days--when this storm
passes--we hope to welcome you and those who care to wait upon a wife
whose life is but a quiet study for her husband's happiness. Those whom
he cares for I care for. We shall be glad to receive those he counts as
friends."
"May I be one, Renault?" he said impulsively, offering both hands.
"Yes," I said, returning his clasp.
We stood silent a moment, Elsin's gloved fingers resting on my sleeve;
then we moved to the door, and I lifted Elsin to the saddle and
mounted, Hamilton walking at my stirrup, and directing me in a low
voice how I must follow the road to the river, how find the wharf, what
word to give to the man I should find there waiting. And he cautioned
me to breathe no word of my errand; but when I asked him where my
reports to his Excellency were to be sent, he drew a sealed paper from
his coat and handed it to me, saying: "Open that on the first day of
September, and on your honor, not one hour before. Then you shall hear
of things undreamed of, and understand all that I may not tell you now.
Be cautious, be wise and deadly. We know you; our four years' trust in
you has proved your devotion. But his Excellency warns you against
rashness, for it was rashness that made you useless in New York. And I
now say to you most solemnly that I regard you as too unselfish, too
good a soldier, too honorable a gentleman to let aught of a personal
nature come between you and duty. And your duty is to hold the
Iroquois, warn the Oneidas, and so conduct that Butler and his demons
make no movement till you and Colonel Willett hold the checkmate in
your proper hands. Am I clear, Mr. Renault?"
"Perfectly," I said.
He stepped aside, raising his cocked-hat; we passed him at a canter
with precise salute, then spurred forward into the star-spangled night.