AN ELUSIVE FACE
Walking abroad at noontime next day, Prescott saw Helen Harley coming
toward Capitol Square, stepping lightly through the snow, a type of
youthful freshness and vigour. The red hood was again over her head, and
a long dark cloak, the hem of it almost touching the snow fallen the
night before, enclosed her figure.
"Good-morning, Mr. Soldier," she said cheerily; "I hope that your
dissipations at the Mosaic Club have not retarded the recovery of your
injured shoulder."
Prescott smiled.
"I think not," he replied. "In fact, I've almost forgotten that I have a
shoulder."
"Now, I can guess where you are going," she said.
"Try and see."
"You are on your way to the Capitol to hear Mr. Redfield reply to that
attack of Mr. Winthrop's, and I'm going there, too."
So they walked together up the hill, pausing a moment by the great
Washington monument and its surrounding groups of statuary where Mr.
Davis had taken the oath of office two years before, and Mr. Sefton, who
saw them from an upper window of that building, smiled sourly.
The doors of the Capitol were wide open, as they always stood during the
sessions of Congress, and Robert and Helen passed into the rotunda,
pausing a moment by the Houdon Washington, and then went up the steps to
the second floor, where they entered the Senate Chamber, now used by the
Confederate House of Representatives. The tones of a loud and tireless
voice reached them; Mr. Redfield was already on his feet.
The honourable member from the Gulf Coast had risen on a question of
personal privilege. Then he required the clerk of the House to read the
offending editorial from Winthrop's newspaper, during which he stood
haughtily erect, his feet rather wide apart, his arms folded indignantly
across his breast, and a look of righteous wrath on his face. When the
clerk finished, he spat plentifully in a spittoon at his feet, cleared
his throat, and let loose the flood of rhetoric which was threatening
already to burst over the dam.
The blow aimed by that villainous writer, the honourable gentleman said,
was struck at him. He was a member of the Committee on Military Affairs,
and he must reply ere the foul stain was permitted to tarnish his name.
He came from a sunny land where all the women were beautiful and all the
men brave, and he would rather die a thousand deaths than permit any
obscure ink-slinger to impeach his fair fame. He carried the honour of
his country in his heart; he would sooner die a thousand deaths than to
permit--to permit---
He paused, and waved his hand as he sought for a metaphor sufficiently
strong-winged.
"Wait a minute, Mr. Redfield, and I'll help you down," dryly said a
thin-faced member from the Valley of Virginia.
The sound of subdued laughter arose and the Speaker rapped for order.
Mr. Redfield glared at the irreverent member from the Valley of
Virginia, then resumed his interrupted flight. Unfortunately for him the
spell was broken. Some of the members began to talk in low whispers and
others to read documents. Besides the murmur of voices there was a sound
of scraping feet. But the honourable member from the sunny shores of the
Gulf helped himself down, though somewhat angrily, and choosing a tamer
course began to come nearer to the point. He called for the suppression
of the offending newspaper and the expulsion of its editor from the
city. He spoke of Winthrop by name and denounced him. Robert saw Mr.
Sefton appear upon the floor and once nod his head approvingly as Mr.
Redfield spoke.
The House now paid more heed, but the dry member from the Valley of
Virginia, in reply to Mr. Redfield, called the attention of the members
to the fact that they could not suppress the newspapers. They might deny
its representatives the privileges of the House, but they could go no
further. He was opposed to spreading the thing to so great an extent, as
it would be sure to reach the North and would be a standing
advertisement to the Yankees that the South was divided against itself.
Then a motion was made to deny the privileges of the House to Winthrop,
or any representative of his paper, but it was defeated by a narrow
margin.
"That, I think," said Robert, "will be the end of this affair."
"I am glad of it," responded Helen, "because I like Mr. Winthrop."
"And, therefore, you believe everything he says is correct?"
"Yes; why not?"
"Women have more personal loyalty than men," said Robert, not replying
directly. "Shall we go now?" he asked a moment later; "I think we have
heard all of interest."
"No, I must stay a little," she replied with some embarrassment. "The
fact is--I am--waiting to see Mr. Sefton."
"To see Mr. Sefton!" Prescott could not refrain from exclaiming in his
surprise.
She looked at him with an air half defiance, half appeal.
"Yes," she said, "and my business is of considerable importance to me.
You don't think that a mere woman can have any business of weight with
so influential a personage as Mr. Sefton. You Southern men, with all
your courtesy and chivalry, really undervalue us, and therefore you are
not gallant at all."
Her defiant look and manner told Prescott that she did not wish him to
know the nature of her business, so he made a light answer, asking her
if she were about to undertake the affairs of the Government. He had no
doubt some would be glad to get rid of them.
He excused himself presently and strolled into the rotunda, where he
gazed absently at the Washington statue and the Lafayette bust, although
he saw neither. Conscious of a feeling of jealousy, he began to wish ill
to the clever Secretary. "What business can she have with a man like
Sefton?" he said to himself.
Passing out of the rotunda, he walked slowly down the steps, and looking
back saw Helen and Mr. Sefton in close and earnest conversation. Then he
went on faster with increased ill temper.
"I have a piece of news for you," said Mrs. Prescott the next morning to
her son at the breakfast table.
He looked at her with inquiring interest.
"Helen Harley has gone to work," she said.
"Gone to work! Mother, what do you mean?"
"The heiress of seven generations must work like a common Northern
mill-hand to support that pompous old father of hers, the heir of six
Virginia generations, who certainly would not work under any
circumstances to support his daughter."
"Won't you explain yourself more clearly, mother?"
"It's this. The Harleys are ruined by the war. The Colonel is absorbed
in his career and spends all his salary on himself. The old gentleman
doesn't know anything about his financial affairs and doesn't want to;
it's beneath his dignity. Helen, who does know about them, is now
earning the bread for her father and herself. Think of a Southern girl
of the oldest blood doing such a thing! It is very low and degrading,
isn't it?"
She looked at him covertly. A sudden thought occurred to him.
"No, mother," he replied. "It is not low and degrading. You think just
the contrary, and so do I. Where has Helen gone to work?"
"In the Treasury Department, under Mr. Sefton. She is copying documents
there."
Robert felt a sudden relief and then alarm that she should owe so much
to Sefton.
"I understand that Harley senior stormed and threatened for awhile,"
continued his mother. "He said no female member of his family had ever
worked before, and he might have added, few male members either. He said
his family would be disgraced forever by the introduction of such a low
Yankee innovation; but Helen stood firm, and, moreover, she was urged by
the hand of necessity. I understand that she has quite a good place and
her salary is to be paid in gold. She will pass here every day at noon,
coming home for her luncheon."
Prescott spent most of the morning at home, the remainder with his new
friends, wandering about the city; but just before noon he was in front
of the Custom House, waiting by the door through which Helen must come.
She appeared promptly at the stroke of twelve and seemed surprised to
see him there.
"I came merely to tell you how much I admire your resolution," he said.
"I think you are doing a noble thing."
The colour in her cheeks deepened a little. He knew he had pleased her.
"It required no great amount of courage," she replied, "for the work is
not hard and Mr. Sefton is very kind. And, aside from the money I am
happier here. Did you never think how hard it was for women to sit with
their hands folded, waiting for this war to end?"
"I have thought of it more than once," he replied.
"Now I feel that I am a part of the nation," she continued, "not a mere
woman who does not count. I am working with the others for our success."
Her eyes sparkled like the eyes of one who has taken a tonic, and she
looked about her defiantly as if she would be ready with a fitting reply
to any who might dare to criticize her.
Prescott liked best in her this quality of independence and
self-reliance, and perhaps her possession of it imparted to her that
slight foreign air which he so often noticed. He thought the
civilization of the South somewhat debilitating, so far as women were
concerned. It wished to divide the population into just two
classes--women of beautiful meekness and men of heroic courage.
Helen had broken down an old convention, having made an attempt that few
women of her class and period would have dared, and at a time, too, when
she might have been fearful of the results. She was joyous as if a
burden had been lifted. Prescott rarely had seen her in such spirits.
She, who was usually calm and grave, seemed to have forgotten the war.
She laughed and jested and saw good humour in everything.
Prescott could not avoid catching the infection from the woman whom he
most admired. The atmosphere--the very air--took on an unusual
brilliancy. The brick walls and the shingled roofs glittered in the
crisp, wintry sunshine; the schoolboys, caps over their ears and mittens
on their fingers, played and shouted in the streets just as if peace
reigned and the cannon were not rumbling onward over there beyond the
trees.
"Isn't this world beautiful at times?" said Helen.
"It is," replied Robert, "and it seems all the more strange to me that
we should profane it by war. But here comes Mrs. Markham. Let us see how
she will greet you."
Mrs. Markham was in a sort of basket cart drawn by an Accomack pony, one
of those ugly but stout little horses which do much service in Virginia
and she was her own driver, her firm white wrists showing above her
gloves as she held the reins. She checked her speed at sight of Robert
and Helen and stopped abreast of them.
"I was not deceiving you the other night, Captain Prescott," she said,
after a cheerful good-afternoon "when I told you that all my carriage
horses had been confiscated. Ben Butler, here--I call him Ben Butler
because he is low-born and has no manners--arrived only last night,
bought for me by my husband with a whole wheelbarrowful of Confederate
bills: is it not curious how we, who have such confidence in our
Government, will not trust its money."
She flicked Ben Butler with her whip, and the pony reared and tried to
bolt, but presently she reduced him to subjection.
"Did I not tell you that he had no manners," she said. "Oh, how I wish I
had the real Ben Butler under my hand, too! I've heard what you've done,
Helen. But, tell me, is it really true? Have you actually gone to
work--as a clerk in an office, like a low-born Northern woman?"
The colour in Helen's cheeks deepened and Robert saw the faintest quiver
of her lower lip.
"It is true," she replied. "I am a secretary in Mr. Sefton's office and
I get fifteen dollars a week."
"Confederate money?"
"No, in gold."
"What do you do it for?"
"For the money. I need it."
Mrs. Markham flicked the pony's mane again and once more he reared, but,
as before, the strong hand restrained him.
"What you are doing is right, Helen," she said. "Though a Southern
woman, I find our Southern conventions weigh heavily upon me: but," she
added quizzically, "of course, you understand that we can't know you
socially now."
"I understand," said Helen, "and I don't ask it."
Her lips were pressed together with an air of defiance and there was a
sparkle in her eyes.
Mrs. Markham laughed long and joyously.
"Why, you little goose," she said, "I believe you actually thought I was
in earnest. Don't you know that we of the Mosaic Club and its circle
represent the more advanced and liberal spirit of Richmond--if I do say
it myself--and we shall stand by you to the utmost. I suspect that if
you were barred, others would choose the same bars for themselves. Would
they not, Captain Prescott?"
"I certainly should consider myself included in the list," replied the
young man sturdily.
"And doubtless you would have much company," resumed she. "And now I
must be going. Ben Butler is growing impatient. He is not accustomed to
good society, and I must humour him or he will make a scene."
She spoke to the horse and they dashed down the street.
"A remarkable woman," said Prescott.
"Yes; and just now I feel very grateful to her," said Helen.
They met others, but not all were so frank and cordial as Mrs. Markham.
There was a distinct chilliness in the manners of one, while a second
had a patronizing air which was equally offensive. Helen's high spirits
were dashed a little, but Robert strove to raise them again. He saw only
the humourous features of such a course on the part of those whom they
had encountered, and he exerted himself to ridicule it with such good
effect that she laughed again, and her happy mood was fully restored
when she reached her own gate.
The next was a festal day in Richmond, which, though always threatened
by fire and steel, was not without its times of joyousness. The famous
Kentucky raider, Gen. John H. Morgan, had come to town, and all that was
best in the capital, both military and civil, would give him welcome and
do him honour.
The hum and bustle of a crowd rose early in the streets, and Prescott,
with all the spirits of youth, eager to see and hear everything of
moment, was already with his friends, Talbot, Raymond and Winthrop.
"Richmond knows how to sing and dance even if the Yankee army is drawing
near. Who's afraid!" said Winthrop.
"I have declined an honour," said Raymond. "I might have gone in one of
the carriages in the procession, but I would rather be here on the
sidewalk with you. A man can never see much of a show if he is part of
it."
It was a winter's day, but Richmond was gay, nevertheless. The heavens
opened in fold on fold of golden sunshine, and a bird of winter, rising
above the city, poured out a flood of song. The boys had a holiday and
they were shouting in the streets. Officers in their best uniforms rode
by, and women, bringing treasured dresses of silk or satin from old
chests, appeared now in gay and warm colours. The love of festivity,
which war itself could not crush, came forth, and these people, all of
whom knew one another, began to laugh and jest and to see the brighter
side of life.
"Come toward the hotel," said Talbot to his friends; "Morgan and some of
the great men of Kentucky who are with him have been there all night.
That's where the procession starts."
Nothing loath, they followed him, and stayed about the hotel, talking
with acquaintances and exchanging the news of the morning. Meanwhile the
brilliant day deepened and at noon the time for the festivities to begin
was at hand.
The redoubtable cavalry leader, whose fame was rivaling that of Stuart
and Wood, came forth from the hotel, his friends about him, and the
grand procession through the streets was formed. First went the Armory
Band, playing its most gallant tunes, and after that the city Battalion
in its brightest uniform. In the first carriage sat General Morgan and
Mayor Joseph Mayo of Richmond, side by side, and behind them in
carriages and on horseback rode a brilliant company; famous Confederate
Generals like J. E. B. Stuart, Edward Johnson, A. P. Hill and others,
Hawes, the so-called Confederate Governor of Kentucky, and many more.
Virginia was doing honour to Kentucky in the person of the latter's
gallant son, John H. Morgan, and the crowd flamed into enthusiasm.
Tumultuous applause arose. These were great men to the people. Their
names were known in every household, and they resounded now, shouted by
many voices in the crisp, wintry air. The carriages moved briskly along,
the horses reared with their riders in brilliant uniforms, and their
steel-shod hoofs struck sparks from the stones of the streets. Ahead of
all, the band played dance music, and the brass of horn and trumpet
flashed back the golden gleam of the sun. The great dark-haired and
dark-eyed cavalryman, the centre and object of so much applause and
enthusiasm, smiled with pleasure, and bowed to right and left like a
Roman Caesar at his triumph.
The joy and enthusiasm of the crowd increased and the applause swelled
into rumbling thunder. Richmond, so long depressed and gloomy, sprang up
with a bound. Why cry when it was so much better to laugh! The flash of
uniforms was in the eyes of all, and the note of triumphant music in
every ear. What were the Yankees, anyway, but a leaderless horde? They
could never triumph over such men as these, Morgan, Stuart, Wood,
Harley, Hill, not to mention the peerless chief of them all, Lee, out
there, always watching.
The low thunder of a cannon came faintly from the north, but there were
few who heard it.
The enthusiasm of the crowd for Morgan spread to everybody, and mighty
cheers were given in turn for all the Generals and the Mayor. The
rebound was complete. The whole people, for the time being, looked
forward to triumph, thorough and magnificent. The nearer the Yankees
came to Richmond the greater would be their defeat and rout. High
spirits were contagious and ran through the crowd like a fire in dry
grass.
"Hurrah!" cried Talbot, clapping his hand heavily upon Prescott's
shoulder. "This is the spirit that wins! We'll drive the Yankees into
the Potomac now!"
"I've never heard that battles were won by shouting and the music of
bands," replied Prescott dryly. "How many of these people who are making
so much noise have anything whatever to do with the war?"
"That's your Puritan mind, old Gloomy Face," replied Talbot. "Nothing
was ever won by being too solemn."
"And we mustn't hold too cheaply the enthusiasm of a crowd--even a crowd
that is influenced merely by the emotion of the moment," said Raymond.
"It is a force which, aimless in itself, may be controlled for good uses
by others. Ha, look at Harley, there! Well done!"
Helen's brother was riding an unusually spirited horse that reared and
curveted every time the band put forth an unusual effort. The Colonel
himself was in gorgeous attire, wearing a brand new uniform with much
gold lace, very large epaulets on his shoulders and a splendid silken
sash around his waist. A great cavalry saber hung at his side. He was a
resplendent figure and he drew much applause from the boys and the
younger women. His eyes shone with pleasure, and he allowed his horse to
curvet freely.
A little girl, perhaps pressed too much by the unconscious crowd or
perhaps driven on by her own enthusiasm, fell directly in front of the
rearing horse of Harley. It was too late for him to stop, and a cry of
alarm arose from the crowd, who expected to see the iron-shod hoofs beat
the child's body into the pavement, but Harley instantly struck his
horse a mighty blow and the animal sprang far over the child, leaving
her untouched.
The applause was thunderous, and Harley bowed and bowed, lifting his
plumed hat again and again to the admiring multitude, while sitting his
still-rearing horse with an ease and grace that was beyond criticism.
"The man's whole character was expressed in that act," said Raymond with
conviction; "vain to the last degree, as fond of display and colours as
a child, unconsciously selfish, but in the presence of physical danger
quick, resourceful, and as brave as Alexander. What queer mixtures we
are!"
Mr. Harley was in one of the carriages of the procession and his eyes
glittered with pleasure and pride when he witnessed the act of his son.
Moreover, in his parental capacity he appropriated part of the credit
and also took off his hat and bowed.
The procession advanced along Main Street toward the south porch of the
City Hall, where General Morgan was to be presented formally to the
people, and the cheers never ceased for a moment. Talbot and the two
editors talked continually about the scene before them, even the minds
of the two professional critics becoming influenced by the unbounded
enthusiasm; but Prescott paid only a vague attention, his mind having
been drawn away by something else.
The young Captain saw in the throng a woman who seemed to him somewhat
different from those around her. She was not cheering nor clapping her
hands--merely floating with the stream. She was very tall and walked
with a strong and graceful step, but was wrapped to her cheeks in a long
brown cloak; only a pair of wonderfully keen eyes, which once met the
glance of his, rose above its folds. Her look rested on him a moment and
held him with a kind of secret power, then her eyes passed on; but it
seemed to him that under a show of indifference she was examining
everything with minute scrutiny.
It was the lady of the brown cloak, his silent companion of the train,
and Prescott burned with curiosity at this unexpected meeting. He
watched her for some time and he could make nothing of her. She spoke to
no one, but kept her place among the people, unnoticed but noticing. He
was recalled to himself presently by Talbot's demand to know why he
stared so much at the crowd and not at the show itself.
Then he turned his attention away from the woman to the procession, but
he resolved not to lose sight of her entirely.
At the south porch of the City Hall General Morgan was introduced with
great ceremony to the inhabitants of the Confederate capital, who had
long heard of his gallant deeds.
After the cheering subsided, the General, a handsome man of thirty-six
or seven, made a speech. The Southern people dearly love a speech, and
they gave him close attention, especially as he was sanguine, predicting
great victories. Little he dreamed that his career was then close to its
bloody end, and that the brilliant Stuart, standing so near, would be
claimed even sooner; that Hill, over there, and others beside him, would
never see the close of the war. There was no note of all this in the air
now, and no note of it in Morgan's speech. Young blood and lively hope
spoke in him, and the bubbling spirits of the crowd responded.
Prescott and his comrades stood beside the porch, listening to the
address and the cheers, and Prescott's attention was claimed again by
the strange woman in the throng. She was standing directly in front of
the speaker, though all but her face was hidden by those around her. He
saw the same keen eyes under long lashes studying the generals on the
porch. "I'm going to speak to that woman," resolved Prescott. "Boys," he
said to his comrades, "I've just caught the eye of an old friend whom I
haven't seen in a long time. Excuse me for a minute."
He edged his way cautiously through the throng until he stood beside the
strange woman. She did not notice his coming and presently he stumbled
slightly against her. He recovered himself instantly and was ready with
an apology.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "but we have met before. I seem to
remember you, Miss, Miss----"
The woman looked startled, then set her lips firmly.
"You are rude, sir," she said. "Is it the custom of Southern gentlemen
to accost ladies in this manner?"
She gave her shoulders a haughty shrug and turned her back upon him.
Prescott flushed, but held his ground, and he would have spoken to her
again had she given him the chance. But she began to move away and he
was afraid to follow deliberately lest he make a scene. Instead, he went
back to his friends.
The General's speech came to an end and was followed by a rolling
thunder of cheers. Then all the people of consequence were presented to
him, and forth from the Hustings court-room, where they had been biding
their time, walked twenty of the most beautiful young ladies of
Richmond, in holiday attire of pink, rose and lilac silk or satin,
puffed and flounced, their hair adorned with pink and red roses from
Richmond hothouses.
It was really a wonderful bit of feminine colouring amid the crowd, and
the Southern people, ever proud of their women, cheered again. Helen
was there--it was a holiday--in a wonderful old dress of rose-coloured
satin, her cheeks glowing and her eyes shining, and as Prescott saw her
he forgot the strange woman who had rebuffed him.
"The most beautiful girl of this score of beautiful girls is to present
a wreath of roses to General Morgan. I wonder who it will be," said
Raymond.
He looked quizzically at Prescott.
"I wonder," repeated Prescott, but he felt no doubt whatever upon the
subject.
The cheering of the crowd ceased, and Helen, escorted by her brother,
stepped from the unserried ranks of beauty to a table where the chaplet
of roses lay. Then the General stood aside, and Helen, walking forward
alone, made a little speech to General Morgan, in which she complimented
him on his courage and brilliant achievements. She said that the sound
of his voice would always strike terror in the North and kindle hope
anew in the South. She was half afraid, half daring, but she spoke the
words clearly. The big, black-bearded General stood before her, hat in
hand and openly admiring. When she came to the end of her speech she
reached up, rested the wreath for a moment on his bushy black crown of
hair and then put it in his hands. Now the crowd gave its greatest burst
of applause. The two figures standing there, the tall, brown soldier and
the beautiful woman, appealed to all that was gallant in their nature.
"It does not look as if there would be any social ostracism of Miss
Harley because she has turned working woman," said Winthrop.
"Cold and selfish emotions don't count at a time like this," said
Raymond; "it's the silent pressure of time and circumstance that she'll
have to reckon with."
Helen, her great deed performed, walked back, blushing somewhat, and hid
herself among her companions. Then, the official ceremonies over, the
occasion became informal, and soon generals and young women alike were
surrounded by admirers, war and beauty having chances about equal in
the competition. The good spirits of the crowd, moved by triumphant
oratory, the beauty of the women and the blaze of uniforms, grew to such
a pitch that no discordant note marred the cheerfulness of those
gathered in the old Court House.
Prescott pressed into the crowd, but he found himself somewhat lost, or,
rather, dimmed, amid the brilliant uniforms of the generals, who were as
thick as corn in the field, and he despaired of securing more than a
small part of Helen's attention. He had admired her beauty more than
ever that day; her timid dignity when all critical eyes were upon her
impressed him, and yet he felt no jealousy now when he saw her
surrounded and so sincerely flattered by others. He was surprised at
himself, and a little angry, too, that it should be so, but search his
mind as he would he could not find the cause. At last he secured a word
or two with her and passed on toward the porch; but looking back saw the
great cavalry leader, Wood, the mountaineer, talking to her, his tall
figure towering a head over hers, his black eyes sparkling with a new
fire and lighting up his face like a blaze. His uniform was not too
bright and he was an imposing figure--lionlike was the simile that
occurred to Prescott.
But he felt no pang--again he was surprised at himself--and went on his
way to the parlour, where the decorations were yet untouched, and gazed
at the crowd, portions of which still lingered in the streets.
His eyes unconsciously sought one figure, a figure that was not there,
and he came to himself with a start when he realized the cause that had
drawn him to the place. Displeased with himself, he rejoined his friends
in the court-room.
"Let's go into the hall and see the ladies and the great men," said
Talbot, and his comrades willingly went with him. It was indeed an
animated scene in the building, the same high spirits and confident hope
for the future that had marked the crowd prevailing here.
Despite the winter without, it was warm in the rooms of the City Hall,
and Prescott, after awhile, went back to the porch from which General
Morgan had made his speech. Many of the enthusiastic throng of
spectators still lingered and small boys were sending off amateur
fireworks. Going outside, he became once more one of the throng, simply
because he had caught another glimpse of a face that interested and
mystified him.
It was the tall woman of the brown cloak, still watching everything with
eyes that missed no detail. She annoyed Prescott; she had become an
obsession like one of those little puzzles the solution of which is of
no importance except when one cannot obtain it. So he lingered in her
neighbourhood, taking care that she should not observe him, and he asked
two or three persons concerning her identity. Nobody knew her.
As the crowd, by and by, began to diminish, the woman turned away. The
outlines of her figure were not disclosed, but her step was swinging and
free, as that of one who had an abundance of health and vigour. She
spoke to nobody, but seemed sure of her way.
She went up Main Street, and Prescott, his curiosity increasing,
followed at a distance. She did not look back, and he closed up
gradually the gap between them, in order that he might not lose sight of
her if she turned around a corner. This she did presently, but when he
hastened and passed the corner, too, he found himself face to face with
the woman in brown.
"Well, sir?" she said sharply.
"Ah, I---- Excuse me, I did not see you. I turned the corner with such
suddenness," he said awkwardly, having an uneasy sense that he had been
intrusive, yet anxious to solve the troublesome little mystery.
"You were following me--and for the second time to-day."
He was silent, but his flushed face confirmed the truth of her
accusation. For the moment that he stood near he examined her features.
He saw eyes so dark that he could not tell whether they were blue or
black, eyelashes of unusual length, and a pale face remarkable for its
strength. But it was youthful and finely cut, while a wisp of bronze
hair at the edge of the hood showed a gleam of gold as the sunshine fell
across it.
"I have heard that Southern gentlemen were always courteous, as I told
you once before," she said.
"I thought I knew you, but made a mistake," Prescott replied, it being
the first thing that came into his mind. "I fear that I have been rude
and I ask your pardon."
He lifted his hat and bowed humbly.
"You can show contrition by ceasing to follow me," she said, and the
sharp tone of her accusation was still in her voice.
Prescott bowed again and turned away. He fully meant to keep his implied
promise, but curiosity was too strong for him, and watching once more
from a distance, he saw her go up Shockoe Hill and into the Capitol
through the wide-open doors. When he found it convenient presently to
enter the Capitol in his turn, he saw no trace of her, and, disappointed
and annoyed with himself, he went back to the City Hall. Here Talbot was
the first whom he met.
"Where have you been?" asked his friend.
"Following a woman."
"Following a woman?"
Talbot looked at Prescott in surprise.
"I didn't know you were that kind of a man, Bob," he said; "but what
luck?"
"None at all. I failed even to learn her name, where she lived or
anything else about her. I'll tell you more this evening, because I want
your advice."
The reception ended presently, and the ladies, escorted by the young
men, went to their homes. Talbot, Winthrop and Raymond rejoined Prescott
soon afterward near Shockoe Hill.
"Now tell us of the woman you were following," said Talbot.
"I don't think I shall," replied Prescott. "I've changed my intention
about it--at least, for the present."
The affair had clung to his mind and the result of his second thought
was a resolution to keep it to himself a while longer. He had formed a
suspicion, but it might be wrong, and he would not willingly do
injustice to any one, least of all to a woman. Her face, when he saw her
close at hand, looked pure and good, and now that he recalled it he
could remember distinctly that there had been in it a touch of reproach
and the reproach was for him--she had seemed to ask why he annoyed her.
No, he would wait before speaking of her to his friends.
Talbot regarded Prescott for a moment with an inquiring gaze, but said
nothing more upon the subject.
Prescott left his friends at the Capitol and spent the remainder of the
day with his mother, who on the plea of age had avoided the reception
and the festivities, although she now had many questions to ask.
"I hear that great enthusiasm was shown and brilliant predictions were
made," she said.
"It is quite true," he replied. "The music, the speeches and the high
spirits, which you know are contagious in a crowd, have done good, I
think, to the Southern cause."
"Did Morgan bring any new recruits for General Lee's army?"
"Now, mother," replied Prescott, laughing a little, "don't let your
Northern blood carry you too far. I know, too, that wars are not won by
music and shouting, and days like to-day bring nothing
substantial--merely an increase of hope; but after all, that is what
produces substantial results."
She smiled and did not answer, but went on quietly with her sewing.
Prescott watched her for awhile and reflected what a beautiful woman his
mother must have been, and was yet, for that matter.
"Mother," he said presently, "you do not speak it aloud, but you cannot
disguise from me the fact that you think it would be better for the
North to win."
She hesitated, but at last she said:
"I cannot rejoice whichever way this war ends. Are you not on the side
of the South? All I can pray for is that it may end quickly."
"In your heart, mother, you have no doubt of the result."
She made no reply, and Prescott did not pursue the subject.