"A first-rate musician, Deane,--and a lady. That's about the extent of
my information."
"A Rebel! and the wife of a Rebel!" was Deane's wrathful answer.
Hitherto, what had he not said or done in the way of supporting the
organist?
"A Rebel?" exclaimed the minister, thrown suddenly off his guard.
He might have heard calumny uttered against one under his tender care by
the way that single word burst from him.
"The wife of a Rebel general, and a spy!"
Deane's voice made one think of the Inquisition, and of inevitable
forfeitures, unfailing executions of unrelenting judgments.
"For a spy, she makes poor use of her advantages," said the minister.
"She's never anywhere, that I can learn, except in the church and her
own room."
"I dare say anybody will believe that whom she chooses to _have_ believe
it. How do you or I know what she is? or where? or what she does? We're
not the kind of men for her to take into confidence. She is evidently
shrewd enough to see that it wouldn't be safe to tamper with _us_! But
we must get rid of her, or we shall have the organ demolished and the
church about our ears. Let the mob once suspect that we employ a spy
here to do our music for us, and see what our chance would be! There's
no use asking for proof. There's a young man in my storehouse, a
contraband, who recognized her somewhere in the street this morning, and
_he_ says she is the wife of the Rebel General Edgar; and if it's true,
and there's no question about that, _I_ say she ought to be arrested."
"Pooh! pooh!"--the minister was thrown off his guard, and failed to
estimate aright the kind of patriotism he bluffed off with so little
ceremony;--"the negro"----
"Negro! face as white as mine, Sir! Well, yes, negro, I suppose,--slave,
any way,--do you want him summoned in here? Do you want to see him? He
gives his testimony intelligently enough. Or shall we send for Mrs.
Edgar? For it's high time _she_ were thrown on her own resources,
instead of being maintained at our expense for the benefit of the
enemy."
Precisely as he finished speaking sounded a peal from the great organ,
and Mr. Deane just half understood the look on the minister's face as he
turned from him to listen.
A better understanding would have kept him silent longer; but, unable to
control himself, he said,--
"We're buying that at too high a price. Better go back to drunken
Mallard,--a great sight better. McClellan would tell us so; so would
Jeff Davis."
"What can be done?" asked the minister.
Never had that good man looked and felt so helpless as at this moment.
His words, and still more his look, vexed and surprised the ever-ready
Deane.
"Exactly what would be done, if the woman played fifty times worse, and
looked like a beggar. A medium performer with an ugly visage would not
find us stumbling against duty. No respect should be shown to persons,
when such a charge is brought up. The facts must be tested, and Miss
Edgar--What's the reason she never owned she was a Mrs.?"
"Why, Deane, did you ever hear me address her or speak of her in any
other way? I knew she was a married woman."
"Did you know she had a husband living, too?"
"No."
Mr. Muir spoke as if it were beneath him to suppose that use was to be
made, to the damage of the woman, of such acknowledgment.
"It don't look well that people in general are ignorant of the fact. I
tell you it's suspicious. It strikes me I never heard _anybody_ call
her anything but Miss Edgar. Excuse me; of course you knew better."
"Yes, and some beside myself. She told me she was a married woman. But
really, Deane, we couldn't expect, especially of a woman who has been
living for months, as it seems to me, in absolute retirement, that she
should go about making explanations in regard to her private affairs. I
have inferred, I confess, that she had in some unfortunate manner
terminated her union with her husband; and I have always hoped that her
coming here might prove a providential, happy thing,--that somehow she
might find her way out of trouble, and resume, what has evidently been
broken off, a peaceful and happy life. She is familiar with happiness."
"Well, Sir!" Deane exploded on the preacher's mildness, of which he had
grown in the last few seconds terribly impatient, "I don't know how far
Christian charity may go,--a great way farther, it seems, than it need
to, if it will submit to the impertinence of a traitor's coming among us
and accepting our support, at the same time that she takes advantage of
her sex and position to betray us. For _that_ business stands just where
it did before. There isn't the slightest doubt that she will find
abettors enough who are as false and daring and impudent as herself.
Whether we shall suffer them is a question, it seems. Excuse my plain
speaking, but I am surprised all round."
"No more than I am, Mr. Deane. It is, as you say, our duty immediately
to examine into this business; but we cannot, look at it as you will, we
cannot do so with too much caution. It is a disagreeable errand for a
man to undertake. Let us at least defer judgment for the present. I will
speak to Mrs. Edgar about it myself, and communicate the result
immediately to you. Do you prefer to remain here till I return?"
He arose as he spoke, but Deane rose also. It had at last penetrated the
brain of this most shrewd, but also very dull man, that the business
might be conducted with courtesy, and that a little skill might manage
it as effectually as a good deal of courage.
"No, no," he said; "he could trust the business to the minister. Liked
to do so, of course. If there was any shame or remorse in the woman, Mr.
Muir was the proper person to deal with it."
And so Deane retired.
But when he was gone, the minister stood listening to his departing
steps as long as they could be heard; then he sat down in his
study-chair, and seemed in no haste to go about the business with which
he stood commissioned.
Still the organ-music wandered through the church. Prayer of Moses,
Miserere, De Profundis, the Voice of One crying in the Wilderness, a
Song in the Night, the darkness of desolation rifted only by the cry for
deliverance, tragic human experience, exhausted human hope, and dying
faith,--he seemed to interpret the sounds as they swept from the
organ-loft and wandered darkly down the nave among the great stone
pillars, till they stood, a dismal congregation, at the low door of the
vestry-room, pleading with him for her who sent them thither, and
astounding him by the hot calumniation that preceded them.
At last, for he was a man to _do_ his duty, in spite of whatsoever
shrinking,--and if this accusation were true, it would be indeed hard to
forgive, impossible to overlook the offence,--the minister walked out
from the vestry into the church.
The organist must have heard him coming, for she broke off suddenly, and
dismissed the boy who worked the bellows, at the same moment herself
rising to depart.
Just then the minister ascended the steps that led into the choir.
She had no purpose to remain a moment, and merely paused for civil
speech, choosing, however, that he should see she was detained.
He did not accept the signs, and, with his usual grave deference to the
will of others in things trivial, allow her to pass. He said,
instead,--
"Mrs. Edgar, I wish you might give me a moment, though I do not see how
what I have undertaken can be said in that length of time. I choose that
you should hear from one who wishes you nothing but good the strange
story that troubles me."
"I remain, Mr. Muir," was the answer; and she sat down.
The subject was too disagreeable for him to dally with it. If the charge
were a true one, no consideration was due; if untrue, the sooner that
was made apparent, the better.
"It is said that the organist of St. Peter's is not as loyal a citizen
of the United States as might be hoped by those who admire and trust her
most; and not only so, but that she is the wife of a Rebel leader, and
in communication with Rebels. It sounds harsh, but I speak as a friend.
I do not credit these things; but they're said, and I repeat them to
relieve others of what they might deem a duty."
Swiftly on his words came her answer.
"You have not believed it, Sir?"
Looking at her, it was the easiest thing for the minister to feel and
say,--and, oh, how he wished for Deane!--
"Not one word of it, Madam."
"That is sufficient,--sufficient, at least, for me. But do they, does
any one, desire that I should take the oath of fealty to the
Constitution and to the Government? I am ready to do either, or both. I
hardly reverence the Constitution more than I do the man who is at the
head of our affairs. To me he is the hero of this age."
The minister smiled,--a cordial smile, right trustful, cordial, glad.
"It may be well," said he. "These are strange days to live in, and we
all abhor suspicion of our loyalty. Besides, it may be necessary; for
suspicion of this character is an ungovernable passion now. For myself,
I should never have asked these questions; but it is merely right that
you should know the whole truth. A person who reports of himself that he
has escaped from Charleston avers that he has recognized in the organist
of St. Peter's the wife of General Edgar. I don't know the man's name.
But his statement has reached me directly. I give you information I
might have withheld, because I perfectly trust both the citizen and the
lady who has rendered us such noble service here."
"And such trust, I may say, is my right. I shall not forfeit it," said
the organist, rising. "I am ready, at any time, to take the oath, and to
bear my own responsibilities, Mr. Muir. I have neither fellowship nor
communication with Rebels, and I deem it a strange insult to be called a
spy. 'T is a great pity one should stay here to vex himself with puerile
gossip."
She pointed to the stained windows emblazoned with sacred symbols,
glorious now with sunlight, bowed, and was gone.