The drive by which Dr. Green took Tryon to his own house led up Front
Street about a mile, to the most aristocratic portion of the town,
situated on the hill known as Haymount, or, more briefly, "The Hill."
The Hill had lost some of its former glory, however, for the blight of
a four years' war was everywhere. After reaching the top of this
wooded eminence, the road skirted for some little distance the brow of
the hill. Below them lay the picturesque old town, a mass of vivid
green, dotted here and there with gray roofs that rose above the
tree-tops. Two long ribbons of streets stretched away from the Hill to
the faint red line that marked the high bluff beyond the river at the
farther side of the town. The market-house tower and the slender
spires of half a dozen churches were sharply outlined against the green
background. The face of the clock was visible, but the hours could
have been read only by eyes of phenomenal sharpness. Around them
stretched ruined walls, dismantled towers, and crumbling
earthworks--footprints of the god of war, one of whose temples had
crowned this height. For many years before the rebellion a Federal
arsenal had been located at Patesville. Seized by the state troops upon
the secession of North Carolina, it had been held by the Confederates
until the approach of Sherman's victorious army, whereupon it was
evacuated and partially destroyed. The work of destruction begun by
the retreating garrison was completed by the conquerors, and now only
ruined walls and broken cannon remained of what had once been the chief
ornament and pride of Patesville.
The front of Dr. Green's spacious brick house, which occupied an
ideally picturesque site, was overgrown by a network of clinging vines,
contrasting most agreeably with the mellow red background. A low brick
wall, also overrun with creepers, separated the premises from the
street and shut in a well-kept flower garden, in which Tryon, who knew
something of plants, noticed many rare and beautiful specimens.
Mrs. Green greeted Tryon cordially. He did not have the doctor's
memory with which to fill out the lady's cheeks or restore the lustre
of her hair or the sparkle of her eyes, and thereby justify her
husband's claim to be a judge of beauty; but her kind-hearted
hospitality was obvious, and might have made even a plain woman seem
handsome. She and her two fair daughters, to whom Tryon was duly
presented, looked with much favor upon their handsome young kinsman;
for among the people of Patesville, perhaps by virtue of the prevalence
of Scottish blood, the ties of blood were cherished as things of value,
and never forgotten except in case of the unworthy--an exception, by
the way, which one need hardly go so far to seek.
The Patesville people were not exceptional in the weaknesses and
meannesses which are common to all mankind, but for some of the finer
social qualities they were conspicuously above the average. Kindness,
hospitality, loyalty, a chivalrous deference to women,--all these
things might be found in large measure by those who saw Patesville with
the eyes of its best citizens, and accepted their standards of
politics, religion, manners, and morals.
The doctor, after the introductions, excused himself for a moment.
Mrs. Green soon left Tryon with the young ladies and went to look after
luncheon. Her first errand, however, was to find the doctor.
"Is he well off, Ed?" she asked her husband.
"Lots of land, and plenty of money, if he is ever able to collect it.
He has inherited two estates."
"He's a good-looking fellow," she mused. "Is he married?"
"There you go again," replied her husband, shaking his forefinger at
her in mock reproach. "To a woman with marriageable daughters all roads
lead to matrimony, the centre of a woman's universe. All men must be
sized up by their matrimonial availability. No, he isn't married."
"That's nice," she rejoined reflectively. "I think we ought to ask him
to stay with us while he is in town, don't you?"
"He's not married," rejoined the doctor slyly, "but the next best
thing--he's engaged."
"Come to think of it," said the lady, "I'm afraid we wouldn't have the
room to spare, and the girls would hardly have time to entertain him.
But we'll have him up several times. I like his looks. I wish you had
sent me word he was coming; I'd have had a better luncheon."
"Make him a salad," rejoined the doctor, "and get out a bottle of the
best claret. Thank God, the Yankees didn't get into my wine cellar!
The young man must be treated with genuine Southern hospitality,--even
if he were a Mormon and married ten times over."
"Indeed, he would not, Ed,--the idea! I'm ashamed of you. Hurry back
to the parlor and talk to him. The girls may want to primp a little
before luncheon; we don't have a young man every day."
"Beauty unadorned," replied the doctor, "is adorned the most. My
profession qualifies me to speak upon the subject. They are the two
handsomest young women in Patesville, and the daughters of the most
beautiful"--
"Don't you dare to say the word," interrupted Mrs. Green, with placid
good nature. "I shall never grow old while I am living with a big boy
like you. But I must go and make the salad."
At dinner the conversation ran on the family connections and their
varying fortunes in the late war. Some had died upon the battlefield,
and slept in unknown graves; some had been financially ruined by their
faith in the "lost cause," having invested their all in the securities
of the Confederate Government. Few had anything left but land, and
land without slaves to work it was a drug in the market.
"I was offered a thousand acres, the other day, at twenty-five cents an
acre," remarked the doctor. "The owner is so land-poor that he can't
pay the taxes. They have taken our negroes and our liberties. It may
be better for our grandchildren that the negroes are free, but it's
confoundedly hard on us to take them without paying for them. They may
exalt our slaves over us temporarily, but they have not broken our
spirit, and cannot take away our superiority of blood and breeding. In
time we shall regain control. The negro is an inferior creature; God
has marked him with the badge of servitude, and has adjusted his
intellect to a servile condition. We will not long submit to his
domination. I give you a toast, sir: The Anglo-Saxon race: may it
remain forever, as now, the head and front of creation, never yielding
its rights, and ready always to die, if need be, in defense of its
liberties!"
"With all my heart, sir," replied Tryon, who felt in this company a
thrill of that pleasure which accompanies conscious superiority,--"with
all my heart, sir, if the ladies will permit me."
"We will join you," they replied. The toast was drunk with great
enthusiasm.
"And now, my dear George," exclaimed the doctor, "to change one good
subject for another, tell us who is the favored lady?"
"A Miss Rowena Warwick, sir," replied Tryon, vividly conscious of four
pairs of eyes fixed upon him, but, apart from the momentary
embarrassment, welcoming the subject as the one he would most like to
speak upon.
"A good, strong old English name," observed the doctor.
"The heroine of 'Ivanhoe'!" exclaimed Miss Harriet.
"Warwick the Kingmaker!" said Miss Mary. "Is she tall and fair, and
dignified and stately?"
"She is tall, dark rather than fair, and full of tender grace and sweet
humility."
"She should have been named Rebecca instead of Rowena," rejoined Miss
Mary, who was well up in her Scott.
"Tell us something about her people," asked Mrs. Green,--to which
inquiry the young ladies looked assent.
In this meeting of the elect of his own class and kin Warwick felt a
certain strong illumination upon the value of birth and blood. Finding
Rena among people of the best social standing, the subsequent
intimation that she was a girl of no family had seemed a small matter
to one so much in love. Nevertheless, in his present company he felt a
decided satisfaction in being able to present for his future wife a
clean bill of social health.
"Her brother is the most prominent lawyer of Clarence. They live in a
fine old family mansion, and are among the best people of the town."
"Quite right, my boy," assented the doctor. "None but the best are good
enough for the best. You must bring her to Patesville some day. But
bless my life!" he exclaimed, looking at his watch, "I must be going.
Will you stay with the ladies awhile, or go back down town with me?"
"I think I had better go with you, sir. I shall have to see Judge
Straight."
"Very well. But you must come back to supper, and we'll have a few
friends in to meet you. You must see some of the best people."
The doctor's buggy was waiting at the gate. As they were passing the
hotel on their drive down town, the clerk came out to the curbstone and
called to the doctor.
"There's a man here, doctor, who's been taken suddenly ill. Can you
come in a minute?"
"I suppose I'll have to. Will you wait for me here, George, or will
you drive down to the office? I can walk the rest of the way."
"I think I'll wait here, doctor," answered Tryon. "I'll step up to my
room a moment. I'll be back by the time you're ready."
It was while they were standing before the hotel, before alighting from
the buggy, that Frank Fowler, passing on his cart, saw Tryon and set
out as fast as he could to warn Mis' Molly and her daughter of his
presence in the town.
Tryon went up to his room, returned after a while, and resumed his seat
in the buggy, where he waited fifteen minutes longer before the doctor
was ready. When they drew up in front of the office, the doctor's man
Dave was standing in the doorway, looking up the street with an anxious
expression, as though struggling hard to keep something upon his mind.
"Anything wanted, Dave?" asked the doctor.
"Dat young 'oman's be'n heah ag'in, suh, an' wants ter see you bad.
She's in de drugstore dere now, suh. Bless Gawd!" he added to himself
fervently, "I 'membered dat. Dis yer recommemb'ance er mine is gwine
ter git me inter trouble ef I don' look out, an' dat's a fac', sho'."
The doctor sprang from the buggy with an agility remarkable in a man of
sixty. "Just keep your seat, George," he said to Tryon, "until I have
spoken to the young woman, and then we'll go across to Straight's. Or,
if you'll drive along a little farther, you can see the girl through
the window. She's worth the trouble, if you like a pretty face."
Tryon liked one pretty face; moreover, tinted beauty had never appealed
to him. More to show a proper regard for what interested the doctor
than from any curiosity of his own, he drove forward a few feet, until
the side of the buggy was opposite the drugstore window, and then
looked in.
Between the colored glass bottles in the window he could see a young
woman, a tall and slender girl, like a lily on its stem. She stood
talking with the doctor, who held his hat in his hand with as much
deference as though she were the proudest dame in town. Her face was
partly turned away from the window, but as Tryon's eye fell upon her,
he gave a great start. Surely, no two women could be so much alike.
The height, the graceful droop of the shoulders, the swan-like poise of
the head, the well-turned little ear,--surely, no two women could have
them all identical! But, pshaw! the notion was absurd, it was merely
the reflex influence of his morning's dream.
She moved slightly; it was Rena's movement. Surely he knew the gown,
and the style of hair-dressing! She rested her hand lightly on the
back of a chair. The ring that glittered on her finger could be none
other than his own.
The doctor bowed. The girl nodded in response, and, turning, left the
store. Tryon leaned forward from the buggy-seat and kept his eye fixed
on the figure that moved across the floor of the drugstore. As she came
out, she turned her face casually toward the buggy, and there could no
longer be any doubt as to her identity.
When Rena's eyes fell upon the young man in the buggy, she saw a face
as pale as death, with starting eyes, in which love, which once had
reigned there, had now given place to astonishment and horror. She
stood a moment as if turned to stone. One appealing glance she
gave,--a look that might have softened adamant. When she saw that it
brought no answering sign of love or sorrow or regret, the color faded
from her cheek, the light from her eye, and she fell fainting to the
ground.