FLIGHT OF THE SOUTHERN SPY.
Swiftly the weeks sped onward, laden with the events of the nation's
disasters. Battles in the far west were being fought, and mourning and
bereavements swept as a terrible wave over the land, lighted up here and
there with the exultations of victory; but beneath all the waters lay
deep and turbid. Mrs. Southey remained secluded for some days after her
return from Alexandria. She had no doubt but her daughter had recognized
her, notwithstanding her disguise, and in all probability would endeavor
to hunt her out. "Would she expose me?" There was madness in the very
thought, but the question would often present itself. "Yet what else
could she do? Understanding, as she does, my Confederate sentiments, she
cannot be at a loss in regard to my mission here," was her daily
conclusion, and strongly was she tempted to fly from the city. But where
could she go? To Philadelphia? She had been criticised severely from
that source in regard to her treatment of that very one from whom she
was now contemplating hiding herself. It would not be pleasant going
there, and no other northern home was, to her knowledge, open to her.
After thinking it over, she calmly informed her hostess that she
proposed to remain where she was, for the present at least, and trust
the pride and natural kindness of her daughter, who she must confess had
a goodly share of both these commodities.
"She would not willingly disgrace herself, nor," and she added with some
hesitancy, "bring misery, perhaps death, upon her mother: at least I
must rely upon all this as the lesser of the two evils."
"Then she is not wholly depraved, as you have been so willing I should
believe," remarked her companion. "I thought I could not be mistaken in
that face. What if you should go and throw yourself on her mercy? I can
but feel sure that you would receive it."
"No, I cannot do that. And then you thought it impossible that she
should recognize me. It may be so. There certainly would be a want of
discretion should I wantonly expose myself without a surety of
protection. The only way I can discover is to trust in Providence and
wait results."
"Providence!" sneered her companion. "Meager claims have we on its
friendly protection I imagine. The fact is, Mrs. Southey, we must figure
this whole matter for ourselves. There seems to be considerable spunk in
the plethoric old gentleman this war is stirring up, and I doubt if he
would treat such as we with a great amount of gallantry if introduced to
him, and, therefore, let us figure closely, and not trust to vagaries of
which we know so little. It may do for a _Christian like yourself_, but
you know that I am an outsider." This last remark was a little too
cynical, and the lady to whom it was addressed arose to her feet with
flashing eyes. Her companion only smiled, however, as she motioned her
to be reseated.
"I beg your pardon, _mon amie_, I did not really think you would resent
the first compliment I ever gave you," she laughed, then continued. "I
have been hindering you all the time. Where were you going? Out for a
walk?"
No sisters ever understood each other better than did these two women,
and seldom was it that two ever despised each other more. They had met
but seldom before "Mrs. Southey" came to Washington as a southern spy,
but well she knew that in the home she sought she would find
co-operation. In this she had not been mistaken. Her mission was
carefully guarded, but her everyday life underwent careful scrutiny. Her
dignity as the 'Mistress of Rosedale' was continually pierced and
wounded without mercy, while she remained powerless in the hands of her
tormentor. The morning scene we are chronicling was not an exceptional
one; still it left the lady in a burning rage. At dinner, however, the
hostess met her with many bland excuses for neglecting her so long, thus
pressing the thorns deeper that were sorely goading her victim all
unconsciously to other eyes. How true that the spirit of evil despises
and seeks to lacerate itself when its reflection is seen in the bosom of
another!
"I have an invitation for you to take an airing in the elegant turn-out
of our pet senator, by the side of his queenly wife, this p. m., at
four." The bustling housekeeper said this amid the superintending of the
dinner arrangements. "You will go, of course, and so I told the servant
who brought in the card. You are looking so pale and thin that I am sure
the ride will do you good."
At the hour appointed the carriage stood before the door, and the
senator's wife called out pleasantly, as the two ladies appeared in
sight, "the air is delicious, Mrs. Southey, and I can fully recommend
its sanitary powers, having been cured of an oppressive headache
already. You are not looking as well as usual," she continued, as the
lady addressed tripped down the stone steps where the footman was
waiting to hand her into the carriage.
"Will it reach the heart and conscience and drive out its ailments?"
queried the hostess.
The thin lips of Mrs. Southey parted slightly as she threw back a keen
glance at the speaker in the doorway. Without apparently noticing it she
continued, "If I thought it would I would order a carriage and perform
some long-neglected duties."
It was a lovely afternoon, as the senator's wife had reported, and as
Mrs. Southey reclined dreamily in one corner of the luxurious barouche,
a sensation, almost peaceful, came stealing over her while she listened
to the agreeable words of her companion, and felt the cool soft breezes
playing about her. For a while, at least, she forgot herself with all
the attending perplexities of her situation, in the musical clatter of
the horses' hoofs on the hard road. At last she was waked from her
reveries as from a dream, by observing the carriage stop in the street
and hearing her companion accost some one outside.
"I am happy to meet you," she said; "I have been so anxious about your
patient. How is he getting along?"
"Slowly improving," came back the answer.
"_Good heavens! That voice!_" How the guilty woman trembled! It was that
of her only daughter--her Lillian! Did she long to clasp again that
form, once so beloved, in her maternal embrace? Why did her cheeks and
lips suddenly become chill and pallid? Why should every nerve quiver as
she sat there mute with a palsying fear? Ah, she well knew that a pair
of large dark eyes were fastened upon her, reading the emotions of her
very soul, avoid them as she would! In vain did she endeavor to adjust
her veil, which was thoughtlessly thrown back from her face in her dream
of peace; but it became entangled with the trimmings of her bonnet, and
it was impossible to disengage it. With a sensation of despair she
settled back as far as possible among the shadows and painfully waited
for the issue.
"Then you will come to-morrow?" she heard Lillian say. "I want much to
see you for more than one reason."
"I think I will not fail," was the cheerful answer.
"Then I will tell him. The prospect, I am sure, will speed his
convalescence."
The carriage moved on. The crouching figure straightened a little for a
freer breath.
"Did you see those beautiful eyes?" asked her companion turning towards
her. "I beg your pardon!" was the impulsive exclamation as she looked
into the face beside her. "I ought not to have kept you out so long. You
look as though you were chilled through; we will return immediately!"
"O, no! I am not cold! A sudden--dizziness I think--must have come over
me! Do not return; indeed--I am not cold--the ride is exceedingly
pleasant! Let us go on."
Her listener was surprised. Never had she seen the aristocratic Mrs.
Southey so beside herself. Her words and manner perplexed her, still she
made no reply.
"The young lady--who was she? Her eyes? O, yes! They were very fine! I
think I must have seen her before!"
"At the hospital then," was the reply; "for she seldom goes out. I must
tell you about her. She has been in Alexandria, doing good service I
believe, and has now come to the city to nurse her husband, who is badly
wounded and was brought thither for better accommodations, as he is an
officer in high rank and is much needed in the field."
"Her husband!" almost shrieked the miserable woman; "did you say her
_husband_?"
"Certainly! Why not? Do you know her? You astonish me by your looks and
appearance! Enlighten me, I beseech you, Mrs. Southey!" exclaimed the
lady.
The wretched woman tried to speak, but found not the power to do so.
At last she gasped, "I beg your pardon! I am strangely nervous to-day, I
confess. It is true, I thought at first that I had seen the lady some
years ago, but conclude I must have been mistaken or she would have
remembered me. The mother of the one she so much resembles is a very
dear friend of mine and her marriage was clandestine and seriously
against her parents' wishes. I knew that the news of their reunion would
greatly distress them, and so allowed my sympathies to run away with me
and frighten you. You will pardon me?" she interrogated, beseechingly,
as she laid her hand on her companion's arm.
[Illustration: "DID YOU SAY HER HUSBAND?"]
"Certainly. I do not wonder at your agitation! But really, I think your
friend ought not to distress herself about her daughter's choice were it
so. Colonel Hamilton is one of our noblest and most heroic officers, and
it is now being whispered in military circles that as soon as he is
recovered his promotion will be speedy to the rank of brigadier, whether
he is ever able to occupy it or not. I wish you would go with me
to-morrow and see him. He is certainly one of the finest looking men I
ever saw!"
Mrs. Southey, however, declined the honor. She was "too weak and
sensitive to endure excitement," as she had given abundant proof during
the last hour.
It was true, and the lady accepted the refusal gracefully. "Sometime you
must tell me more about this colonel's wife in whom we both are so much
interested, will you?" she asked, as they reached the street where was
Mrs. Southey's temporary home.
"I shall be happy to keep you informed as to his recovery, and will call
as soon as possible after my next visit to the hospital."
"Thank you!" and so they parted.
How little either knew of the emotions or convictions of the other! What
a long catalogue of ills were being chronicled in the inner chamber of
the guilty soul! It was a slight peep the penetrating eyes caught
through the partially opened door ere the power of self-control returned
to close it, but no sophistry could dispose of the horrors thus
revealed! When again in her room she dropped into an easy chair
evidently exhausted.
"Your ride must have been wearisome," suggested her hostess. "You do not
look as well as when you went out," she continued, carelessly, raising
her eyes from the paper she had in her hand.
"I am not well," was the prompt reply.
"Have you been driven under a halter? One would imagine that justice had
been close upon you"; and she turned the page with perfect _sang froid_.
"Be merciful, I beseech you!" was the plaintive wail of her companion.
"I will tell you all! I have not been chased by _justice_ as you
intimate, but what is worse--I have seen Lillian and she has seen me!
The carriage stopped while the two friends talked, and all the time her
eyes were fixed upon my uncovered face; and to-morrow they meet at the
hospital! I know my uncontrollable agitation has betrayed much, and
there is little doubt but she will finish what I have so ignobly begun.
Beside this my daughter has found her husband, who is none other than
the Colonel Hamilton of whom so much has been said of late! Of course he
will aid her in performing what she would never have the strength to
accomplish herself!" The head of the wretched mother sank upon her hand,
while her whole frame shook with emotion. Her companion had risen and
now stood before her.
"The time has come when you must leave!" she said with a tone as ringing
and metallic as the clinking of steel when rudely smiting its fellow. "I
have the arrangements all made, expecting it would come to this, for, as
you are well aware, it would not be very comfortable for the innocent
to be found in such bad company!" The tall figure became erect as her
keen eyes were fixed upon the face of the speaker, while she continued:
"Send your usual message and add in postscript a command to get that
horse ready as ordered and brought around at eleven to the spot
designated. I have a suit prepared, and at about ten miles there is a
friend who will grant you a retreat for the present. I can send you word
when you must fly farther. Now I will leave you, for it is nearly six
and the order must be written immediately!"
Alone! What dismal horrors haunt the guilty mind when let loose upon
itself! A spy! And in the enemy's country, hemmed in by the barriers of
war with no way of escape to a land of safety, if such a place could be
found! A rebel! And truth all ready to whisper in the ear of offended
justice "behold the traitor!"
"Where is my strength? My pride?" she murmured, as she arose and walked
across the room. "How I tremble! The gallows! What a reward for my
persevering and arduous labors! I understand it!"
Then her mind wandered to the story of a German monarch who caused the
executioner to blow his death-blast before the door of his brother's
palace. "Ah, you tremble," said the king, "when the prospect of temporal
death is so near; but look a little farther and behold the eternal pangs
of the soul! How now? Does the sight appall thee? Go to thy home, my
brother, the king desires not thy life; but remember the errors of a
temporal death and shun the horrors of the second!"
"If I had done this! O, Lillian, Lillian my child! You cannot see your
mother at this hour, and it is well! The first--yes the second death is
for such as I!"
"I shall do no such thing!" she exclaimed aloud at last as she reseated
herself by the window. "The horse perish with its rider! I want neither;
I swear it! This hateful business stops here! O wretched, wretched woman
that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body of this death? Was not
that in the Bible? Ah, I remember! The voice that has been silent for
many years once repeated those words in my hearing when his hour had
come. The Bible! I will go to Philadelphia. Mrs. Cheevers will not turn
me from her door for--for--she is a Christian! Pride? Away with it! O
the curse of a false ambition!"
The shadows of twilight fell noiselessly about her, spreading over the
bent figure a pall of tender sympathy. Then she arose, lighted the gas
and hurriedly threw into her trunks the plain, rich wardrobe of the
elegant "English lady," and locking them prepared to go out. She had
remembered that the northern train left the depot at eight, and she was
going upon it! She passed out without interruption, and in a half hour
the drayman was standing in the hall ready to be shown where the trunks
were waiting. "This way," called Mrs. Southey; "you will need help for
they are large."
"Where are you going?" asked the lady of the house with great
astonishment, opening the parlor door. "Surely you are not going to tear
yourself away so abruptly? How lonely I shall be without my aristocratic
English guest! But do tell me, where are you going?"
"Out of death unto life," was the quick reply. "This way! Do not mar the
railing"; and the two men passed on with the last trunk. "Forty minutes
before train time, I believe?" she interrogated as she stepped forward
to close the door. "Yes, madam"; and she turned to the bewildered woman
who was silently gazing at her.
"Well, I am going," she said calmly; "it matters not to you where, but
remember this! If there is a path for such as I back to womanhood I am
determined to find it!" A cynical laugh was her only response.
"Nevertheless, it is true! The miseries of the last few days have
completed the grave into which I have cast my pride and ambitions; would
that the bitter memories of the past could be buried with them! But I
must go. Farewell--do not wait to attempt your own rescue until the
quicksands have swallowed you up; again farewell!"
Her companion did not speak, but turned coldly away, while Mrs. Belmont,
with a heart lighter than it had been for many months, tripped down the
steps. New resolutions had taken possession of her soul, and with them
had entered a ray of cheering light. The door had been thrown ajar for
the spirit of penitence, but how dark the long closed chamber appeared,
how ghostly the spectral memories that crouched among its shadows! The
"broken and contrite heart" had not as yet opened the windows to the
glories of the noonday sun of righteousness; and the door was reclosed,
and upon the outside the new resolves were laid with trembling hands.
She was Mrs. Belmont again--the mistress of Rosedale, and nevermore
would she stoop to fraud or ignominy! Her daughter would come to her and
ask for the mother-love her disobedience had forfeited, and she would
humbly grant it! Colonel Hamilton was not one to be ashamed of; and
then the dark night at the seashore, the cry of the abducted Lily rolled
its burden of remorse close where the new resolutions were lying, and
she trembled as the engine whistled its frightful alarm--something was
on the track! "O God! What if Thy anger should fall upon me, where O
where shall the sinner appear?" burst from her lips as she covered her
face with her hands.
"There is no danger," shouted the brakeman at last; "the track is
clear." And with folded hands she rode on breathing freely once more.
[Illustration]