It was not a difficult matter to persuade the men to stay to supper. Old
Uncle Lias kept piling up the fire, and the scene was so homelike—and
then it was Christmas night!
“You thought you were going to frighten us with your armed force,” said
Dorothy to the Sergeant, who managed to keep near her, “but I know you
have only four men outside, and it’s a shame to keep them on their
horses on such a bitter night.” She walked over to the window and looked
out. “It is snowing furiously! Why don’t you let them come in and have
some supper? I should hate to have any of our men outside of warmth and
shelter to-night,” she added, wondering miserably where Bobbie then
was. “Ask the Lieutenant to let them come in.” The Sergeant looked at
her curiously; surely she could not be scheming. He walked over to
the Lieutenant and repeated Dorothy’s request. They talked it over for
awhile, and then the Lieutenant accepted the invitation with thanks. The
men outside were men of his own class, and at least would appreciate the
courtesy of being asked in, and the superior officer had made up his mind
to stay and see something more of that ghost, if possible.
Women are nearly always good actors, and even the prim Misses Rutherfoord
and the proper Miss Trent nervously tried to appear in sympathy with the
reckless gayety of Dorothy and Anne, who, when the other four young men
came in, received them as they would have done the acquaintances of old
friends, and the dining-room became a scene of genuine Christmas cheer.
Dorothy’s hands shook as she handed first one and then another dainty
cup to their very much mixed-up guests; and if at times her laughter was
a little unusually gay for her, it was the only way she could keep back
the tears which treacherously hung under her lashes. This was to have
been her wedding night, she thought bitterly, between the sharp, witty
sayings which kept them all convulsively laughing, and under the table
she would press her hands together in an agony of terror, as the thought
of what might possibly have happened came over her. She was doing all
this to save him. Peter Black she knew was hidden down in the woods by
the road Bobbie must pass. They were to go to Sallie Tom’s cabin and stay
there until they heard from her. That was the message she had sent, and
now every moment was precious, yet she could not hurry lest suspicions
be aroused. Sallie Tom was still snorting over the fright of the ghost,
nevertheless her supper was in no wise injured, and when she finally
brought in a huge punch bowl filled to the brim with luscious, foaming
eggnog, she was greeted by a clapping of hands.
[Illustration: “Now confess you were frightened.”]
“Dis heah is suppin’ what you ain’t seen of en, I reckon,” she said to
one of the soldiers, as she put it down on the table with an air of
supreme satisfaction, “dis heah am de genuine artickle itsef, ain’t no
mek-believe ’bout dis,” she continued, stirring the contents with a
handsome old silver ladle. “Dis am de stuff what de quality folks all
drink in de Souf at Christmus times, and de missus she low’d we mus’ all
hav some to-night, even if all de men folks am away,” She added the last
mournfully, and as Dorothy took the ladle out of her hands, she pressed
Sallie Tom’s fingers in such a way that the latter understood, and
shortly afterwards left the room.
If the Yankee soldiers had never tried it before, they made up for lost
opportunities, and though the reverend parson walked restlessly up and
down the room, holding his only partly touched glass in his hand, he
dared not utter the protest that his conscience told him under other
circumstances he should, and Dorothy and Anne, with a silent prayer for
forgiveness, filled again and again the glasses of the men with the
foamy seductive stuff, and good cheer was being widely disseminated when
Sallie Tom entered again. She touched Dorothy’s dress in passing, and
began to break some more eggs to show the strangers how it was made, but
Anne had them now at the piano, and song after song she struck up and
led. Her clear soprano voice was joined in hilariously by every soldier
in the room, and even timidly by the Misses Rutherfoord and the Miles
children. Presently Uncle Lias, sent by Sallie Tom, came in with his old
banjo and began a jig, and such an uproariously gay time they were having
that they did not hear the soft click of the door or notice that Dorothy
was back in the room, her face flushed and lips quivering, or that Mrs.
Tayloe was missing. Sallie Tom’s cordial had done its work well. The
men were gloriously happy and magnanimously inclined towards the whole
Southern army much more these charming Southern women, and the good old
parson with his two pair of twins. Anne caught Dorothy’s eye and banged
louder and louder, then some one proposed the Virginia Reel. Miss Trent
took Anne’s place at the piano, and though navigation was a treacherous
thing for some of the boys in blue, still they bravely stood up and went
through it heroically, making a terrible clatter with their feet and
hands to the music, and through all Anne and Dorothy were the wildest,
gayest in the crowd. Romping, noisy games followed each other in quick
succession, during which Dorothy managed repeatedly to slip by one of the
windows and stealthily look out. Finally she was satisfied, and then she
declared herself worn out, and the Rev. Doctor Miles, with whom every now
and then she had contrived to catch a few words, understood it was time
to go, and the soldiers immediately took the hint. They were gentlemen,
and by no means inclined to presume upon the privileges of war; and when
he asked them in his nervous, timid way if it would be safe for him to
venture home with so many ladies in charge, they gallantly offered their
services as escort, though assuring him the road was perfectly safe so
far as their men were concerned.
“There is not apt to be much prying around on such a night as this,” the
Lieutenant added, shivering a little as he went out in the hall, “but I
know it is one we shall never forget,” and he bowed low over the hand
Mrs. Tayloe held out to him. “We have all heard of Southern hospitality,
of course, but we hardly expected to enjoy it under the present condition
of things. I can only assure you, madam, you will never regret it.” He
looked at Anne as he spoke, and held out his hand to her. “When all this
is over,” he whispered, “this beastly war, I mean, will you scorn to know
a man who fought on the other side?”
“I never scorn an honest man,” she answered, “even if he is a Yankee
soldier,” she added, laughing. “Good-bye.” She touched his hand lightly,
and drew back into the room. The horses pawed the ground and turned
restlessly round and round. The Mileses and Rutherfoords and Trents
piled hastily in their sleighs, and only the Sergeant stood at the door,
telling Dorothy again and again good-bye. The eggnog had been too much
for him, and his tone took a sentimental air as he held her hand for a
second.
“I say,” he whispered, “don’t tell the Lieutenant, but I’m mighty glad we
didn’t catch that fellow, and if I ever run across him again I won’t know
him! Good-bye, good-bye, you little Southern witch, good-bye.”
At last they were gone. The muffled sound of their horses’ hoofs,
together with their laughter, could be heard for a few moments only, and
then came still, intense, impenetrable silence.
Dorothy was back in the library for one brief minute. “Keep the lights
up, and the house just as it is, until I get back,” she said, hurriedly,
“Thank God, they got out safely,” she added, turning to Mrs. Tayloe, and
giving her a swift, tender kiss. “Did anybody miss me? I was wild with
terror lest they would suspect something, but I knew their only chance
was to get out during the noise and romping. I shall tell them good-bye
for you all. No, no! No one must go.” She was hastily wrapping herself
up as she talked, and when Sallie Tom appeared at the door, heavily
muffled about the head and face, they crept out together into the bitter,
bitter night.
It was a good half-mile down to the quarters, but already they could see
through the darkness a tiny light, and they struggled on through the
snow, almost falling in a drift, then up and on again. Neither spoke. The
reaction was beginning to tell on Dorothy, and her strength was tested
to the utmost. Much was yet to be done, however, and she bit her lips
almost to the blood, lest she should give some sign of how she suffered.
The snow muffled the sound of their coming, and while Sallie Tom knocked
softly at the door, Dorothy leaned heavily against it. In a moment it
was opened, and the men sprang forward to catch her, as she almost fell
inside. “I’m all right,” she cried. “Shut the door quick. You have not a
moment to lose. Are the horses ready?”
Bobbie took her up in his arms, as if she were a little child, and put
her in front of the fire. “Where is Dr. Miles?” he asked, hoarsely.
“Didn’t you bring him? I have the license here in my pocket. We _must_
be married before I leave you. Don’t tell me!”—. The look on her face
stopped him; and the reckless young soldier, who had faced death a
hundred times without a quiver, turned away, lest she should see the
bitter pain of this defeat. The two older men stood aside; this was too
sacred even for them. Sallie Tom was outside, helping Peter Black with
the horses, and only the sputtering of the logs broke the sorrowful
stillness that fell upon them all. Presently Bobbie stooped over and
kissed her. “I know all about it. We have been outwitted to-night; but
I swear here, in the presence of you all, that, if it is not possible
before, then on next Christmas night nothing but Almighty God himself
shall keep me from claiming my wife! I shall keep this”—and he touched
the license in his pocket—“whenever I come, will you be ready?” She
nodded without speaking, and silently they each bent and kissed her
good-bye, and through the stillness she heard the muffled sounds of their
horses’ hoofs upon the snow, and upon her heart lay the despair of utter
desolation.