The auspicious announcement came first from the balcony. Then the cry “A
boat! A boat!” was taken up by the group on the portico, and echoed by
those within, pouring out in eager expectation through the vestibule or
the windows that opened to the floor. Floyd-Rosney experienced a moment
of self-gratulation on his prudential hesitation. He might have
otherwise been half a mile off, plunging through slough and switch-cane,
or the sharp serrated blades of the growths of saw-grass that edged the
lake, before he could gain the smooth ways of the turn-rows of the
cotton fields. All knew that considerable time must needs elapse from
the moment the boat was sighted, far up the river, before it could pass
this point. But shawls were strapped, gloves, wraps, hats, gathered
together, toilet articles tumbled hastily into Gladstone bags, trunks
and suitcases. Mrs. Floyd-Rosney, with incomparable quickness, had
shifted into a gown of taupe cloth, with a coat to match, and with a
large hat, trimmed with ostrich plumes of the same shade, on her golden
hair, in lieu of the rain-drenched traveling attire of yesterday.
After a few moments of this pandemonium of preparation all eyes were
turned toward the river. Vacant it was, sunlit, a certain play of the
swift current betokening the added impetus of the recent heavy rainfall
and the influx of its swollen tributaries from the region to the
northward. Not even a coil of smoke showed above the forest where the
river curved.
“The packet must be rounding the point,” said Floyd-Rosney hopefully.
“Did you see the smoke above the trees, darling?” Paula called out to
the eager little man, now racing joyfully about the balcony, now pausing
to point at an object in the offing with his tiny forefinger.
“No, mamma; the boat; the boat!”
Marjorie, leaning on the iron rail, was gazing with eager eyes in vain
search.
“It seems to me that we ought to be able to see the boat from the
portico as soon as he can from the balcony,” said the broker.
An adequate reason was presently presented for the advantage of the
balcony as an outlook, lifted so high above the portico.
The boat lay very flat on the surface,--a shanty-boat!
“Why, Eddie,” cried Marjorie, with an inflection of poignant
disappointment,--she, too, had been looking for the towering chimneys,
the coil of black smoke, backward blown in the smooth progress of a
packet, the white guards, the natty little pilot-house, and only
casually she had chanced to descry the tiny flat object drifting with
the current that carried it far in toward the point. “That is a
shanty-boat,--we don’t travel on that kind of boat.”
The child’s pink and white face was crestfallen in a moment. Language
seemed to fail him as he gazed disconsolate. Then he sought
reassurance. “Him _is_ a boat,” he declared with his pointing
forefinger, so small in contrast with the vast spaces he sought to
index. “Him _is_ a boat, _ain’t him_, mamma?”
“Him is, indeed, a boat,” cried out Paula. “Never mind,” for little
Ned’s head was drooping, “we shall get a bigger boat presently. And it
was you that saw the first one!”
“Get him down from there, Paula,” said Floyd-Rosney, greatly
discomposed. “Set him at some other mischief, for God’s sake,--anything
but this.”
“He is coming now,” she answered, glimpsing the rueful little face
through the balusters of the stairs within, and, presently, the whole
diminutive figure came into view as he descended, always the right foot
first, and only one step at a time, so high were the intervals for his
fat baby legs.
“The poor child,” Paula suddenly exclaimed, the tears springing. “There
just seems to be no place for him.”
Floyd-Rosney obviously felt the rebuke. He winced for a moment. Then he
justified himself.
“To have twenty people on the _qui vive_ for a boat and then disappoint
them with that silly prank,--it is out of the question.”
“It was no prank,--he meant no harm,” said Paula in abashed
discomfiture. “I had told him to watch for a boat merely to keep him out
of the way. I didn’t think to explain that it was to be a steamboat for
us to board.”
“Then you ought to have more consideration for other people,”
Floyd-Rosney fumed.
His strong point was scarcely altruism, but he probably felt the
misadventure even more sensibly than any of the others, for he was
accustomed to lording it in a fine style and in a fine sphere. There was
no lack of indicia of displeasure among the thwarted travelers as they
strolled in baffled irritation up and down the stone floor of the
portico, and gazed along the glittering river at the slow approach of
the shanty-boat, now drifting as noiselessly and apparently as aimlessly
on the lustrous surface as a sere leaf on a gust of wind, and now, with
its great sweeps, working to keep the current from carrying it in and
grounding it on the bank. The old lady who had entertained fears of the
insane man was both peevishly outspoken and addicted to covert innuendo.
“I declare it has given me a turn,--I am subject to palpitation.” She
put her hand with a gingerly gesture to the decorous passamenterie on
her chest that outlined her embroidered lawn guimpe. “Shocks are very
bad for any cardiacal affection. Oh, of course,” a wan and wintry smile
at once of acceptance and protest as Paula expressed her vicarious
contrition, “the child didn’t intend any harm, but it only shows the
truth of the old saw that children should be seen and not heard.” She
could not be placated, and she sighed plaintively as she once more sat
down on her suitcase on the steps of the portico.
The men had less to say, but were of an aspect little less morose. Even
the broker, whose heart had warmed to the sunshine, felt it a hardship
that he should not have the boon at least of knowing how the deal had
gone. A grim laugh, here and there, betokened no merriment and was of
sarcastic intimations that touched the verge of rudeness. The business
interests of more than one were liable to suffer by prolonged absence,
and the ruefulness of disappointment showed in several countenances
erstwhile resolutely cheerful.
Paula, to escape further disaffected comment, had turned within,
perceiving, at a distance, Hildegarde coming down the hall, gazing
intently on a little forked stick, carried stiffly before her in both
hands, the eyes of a group hard by fixed smilingly upon her mysterious
progress. Randal Ducie suddenly entered from one of the rooms on the
left, where he and his brother had been examining the rescued papers.
Was it because Paula was so accustomed to the vicarious preëminence
which her husband’s wealth and prominence had conferred upon her that
she should experience a sentiment of revolt upon discerning the surprise
and accession of interest in Randal Ducie’s face as his eyes passed from
her and fixed themselves on Hildegarde--or was it because she still
arrogated instinctively her quondam hold upon his heart? Had she never
consciously loosed it?--or, while he had escaped its coercions, were
they still potential with her? Why should she wince and redden as, with
his hat in his hand, he advanced instantly to meet Miss Dean, who seemed
not to see him and to cavalierly ignore his presence.
“Why, won’t you speak to me?” he demanded, smiling.
Her casual glance seemed to pass him over. She was intent upon the
little forked stick. “What do you want me to say to you?” she asked, not
lifting her radiant blue eyes, half glimpsed beneath her lowered black
lashes.
“Good morning, at least,” replied Randal.
“How many greetings do you require? Upon my word, the man has forgotten
that he has seen me earlier to-day. I wished you a ‘good morning’ at
that very delectable breakfast table.”
“Oh, that must have been my brother,” said Randal, enlightened. “This is
I, myself, Randal Ducie.”
“You had better beware how you try your fakes on me. You don’t know what
magic power I have in this little divining-rod. I will tell you
presently to go and look into your strong box and find all your jewels
and gold turned to pebbles, and your title-deeds cinders and blank
paper.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Floyd-Rosney unpleasantly. “The blind goddess will
undertake that little transformation.” His imperious temper could
scarcely brook the perception that the coterie regarded the Ducies as
restored to the ownership of their ancient estates, even while he stood
in the hall of the house he held by the decree of the courts.
But Hildegarde did not hear or heed. Bent on her frivolous fun, she
brushed past Ducie, holding her divining-rod stiffly in her dainty
fingers. Her eyes were alight with laughter as she exclaimed in a voice
agitated with affected excitement, “Oh, it’s turning! It’s turning! I
shall find silver in one more moment. Oh, Major, Major,” she brought the
twig up against the old soldier’s breast. “Here it is--silver--in the
Major’s waistcoat pocket!”
She fell back against the great newel of the staircase, laughing
ecstatically, while all the idle group looked on with amused sympathy,
save only the two Floyd-Rosneys. The wife’s face was disconcerted,
almost wry, with the affected smile she sought to maintain, as she
watched Ducie’s glowing expression of admiration, and the husband’s
gravity was of baleful significance as he watched her.
“I have found silver! I have found silver! Now, Major, stand and
deliver.” As the trembling fingers of the veteran obediently explored
the pocket and produced several bits of money, they were hailed with
acclamations by the discoverer, till she suddenly espied a coin with a
hole in it. “Oh, Major,” she cried, in genuine enthusiasm. “Give me this
dime!”
“Oh, Hildegarde,”--Mrs. Floyd-Rosney’s face assumed an expression of
reprehension, but Mrs. Dean only laughed at the childish freak.
“I will have it,--it won’t make or break the Major--I want it--to wear
as a bangle, to remind me of this lovely trip, and all that the Major
and I have plotted, and contrived, and conspired together. Eh, Major?
Oh,--thanks,--thanks,--muchly. You may have the rest, Major.” And she
tucked the remaining coins back into his pocket, smiling brightly the
while up into his sightless eyes.
Randal Ducie, with an air of sudden decision, turned about, seized his
brother by the arm and together they stood before the joyous young
beauty, who was obviously beginning to canvass mentally the next
possibility of amusement under these unpropitious circumstances.
“Now, Miss Dean, be pleased to cast your eyes over us. I am not going to
allow this fellow to deprive me of your valuable acquaintance.”
“Oh, pick me out, Miss Dean,” cried Adrian plaintively. “I am all mixed
up. I don’t know if I am myself or my brother.”
Miss Dean stared from one to the other, her brilliant eyes wide with
wonder.
“How perfectly amazing!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Mrs. Floyd-Rosney, how did
you distinguish and recognize one of them Thursday afternoon?”
Paula’s mind was so engrossed that, quick as she was always to discern
the fluctuations of favor in her husband’s disposition toward her, she
had not observed his peculiar notice of the fact of her retentive memory
and keen perception in distinguishing the veiled identity of the man who
had once been dear to her,--once?
“Oh, I saw the difference instantly,” she declared, with what her
husband considered an undignified glibness, and an interest especially
unbecoming in a matter so personal, which should be barred to her by the
circumstances. “This is Randal, and this is Mr. Adrian Ducie.”
Indeed, they all noticed, with varying sentiments, the familiar use of
the Christian name, but only Adrian spoke in his debonair fashion.
“Right-o! I begin to breathe once more. I was afraid I was going to have
to be Randal.”
Miss Dean was still studying the aspect of the two brothers. “I believe
you are correct, Mrs. Floyd-Rosney,” she said slowly. “For this one, Mr.
Adrian Ducie, is just from France, and he has on Paris-made shoes,--I
know the last. It is the _dernier cri_.”
There was a general laugh.
“Blessed Saint Crispin! I’ll make a votive offering!” cried Adrian.
“Now, Randal, you stay away from me,” with a vigorous push of his
brother at arm’s length, “so that this mix-up can’t happen again.”
“I’ll borrow his shoes when he is asleep and he will never know himself
any more!” said Randal vindictively.
There was a sudden cheerful acclaim from the portico without. A boat had
been sighted, slowly rounding the point, a packet of the line this time,
and all was bustle preparatory to embarkation. Even now the whistle,
husky, loud, widely blaring, filled the air, signaling the approaching
landing, the Captain having received information when passing the
_Cherokee Rose_ of the plight of the refugees. The next moment they were
sheepishly laughing, for the steamer, the _Nixie_, was sending forth a
second blast, a prolonged whining shriek, the signal known on the river
as a “begging whistle” by which boats solicit patronage in passengers or
freight, and which is usually sounded only when there is a doubt whether
a stoppage is desired.
Humoring the joke at their expense, the refugees made a vigorous reply,
waving handkerchiefs, raising hats on umbrellas and canes, hallooing
lustily, as they wended their way down the pavement, over the ruined
embankment of the old levee, along the grass-grown road and to the brink
of the bank, seeming high and precipitous at this stage of the river.
They were well in advance of the stoppage of the steamer, although, as
she came sweeping down the current, the constantly quickening beat of
her paddles on the water could be heard at a considerable distance in
that acceleration of speed always preliminary to landing. They watched
all her motions with an eagerness to be off as if some chance could yet
snatch the opportunity from their reach,--the approach, the backing, the
turning, the renewed approach, all responsive to the pilot-bells
jangling keenly on the air. Then ensued the gradual cessation of the
pant of the engines, the almost imperceptible gliding to actual
stoppage, as the _Nixie_ lay in the deep trough of the channel of the
river, the slow swinging of the staging from the pulleys suspended above
the lower deck. The end of the frame had no sooner been laid on the
verge of the high bank than the refugees were trooping eagerly down its
steep, cleated incline to the lower deck as if the steamer would touch
but a moment and then forge away again.
The _Nixie_ was sheering off, thus little delayed, to resume her
downward journey and the passengers had begun to gather on the promenade
deck when Miss Dean encountered Adrian Ducie. She stopped short at the
sight of him. “Why, where is the other one of you?” she exclaimed.
“He remained at Duciehurst. I have pressing business in Vicksburg,--my
stoppage, as you know, was involuntary. I shall return later.”
“Oh, I don’t like to see you apart.”
“If you would take a little something now,” he said alluringly, “you
might see double. Then the freak brothers would be all right again.”
“But the parting must be very painful after such a long separation,” she
speculated.
“We shed a couple of tears,” and Adrian wagged his head in melancholy
wise.
“Oh, you turn everything into ridicule,--even your fraternal affection,”
she said reproachfully.
“Would you have me fall to weeping in sad earnest? Besides, the parting
is only for a day or so. I shall take the train at Vicksburg and rejoin
him.”
“And where is Mrs. Floyd-Rosney?” she asked, looking about.
“She, too, remained at Duciehurst,” said one of the sour old ladies.
Adrian rose precipitately. The boat, headed downstream, was now in the
middle of the channel, and he gazed at the rippling, shimmering expanse
as if he had it in mind to attempt its transit. Here, at all events, was
something which he did not turn into ridicule. The great house beyond
its ruinous levee rose majestically into the noontide sunlight, all its
disasters and indignities effaced by the distance. The imposing,
pillared portico, the massive main building with its heavy cornice, the
broad wings, the stone-coped terraces, all were distinct and
differentiated, amidst the glossy magnolias that, sempervirent, aided
its aspect of reviviscence, with a fain autumnal haze softening its
lines, and the brilliant corrugated surface of the river in the
foreground.
He stood gazing vainly upon it, as it seemed to recede into the
distance, till, presently, the boat rounded a point and it vanished like
an unsubstantial mirage, like a tenuous mist of the morning.