A FRIEND IN NEED
Dorothea had no definite plan in her mind when she went out on the long
dark gallery. Her only desire was to be alone for a while to try to
think of some way to aid the poor prisoner upstairs. But it required no
reflection to show her that she was quite powerless. The case, as she
saw it, was hopeless. The man was, in all probability a prisoner already
and would be justified in thinking that she herself had taken a hand in
his recapture.
She could see only one possibility of his escaping. If he was wakened in
time he might be able to get out on the roof again and continue in
hiding. She halted suddenly, an impulse coming to her to run upstairs
and try to warn him, but she shook her head. Common sense told her it
was too late to do anything.
She turned a corner of the house and looked out upon the lawn. There,
dim shadows in the darkness, she could see the forms of several horses,
and walking slowly up and down, with his gaze fixed upon the piazza
roof, was a soldierly figure, intently watching. She stopped, half
hidden by the turn in the house, and waited.
In a moment or two she heard a window raised in one of the rooms above.
“Are you down there, Mason?” It was Hal’s voice, pitched low.
“Yes, sir,” came the answer from the man pacing slowly across the lawn.
“Keep your eye open,” Hal called down. “I’m going to take a look along
the roof here.”
Dorothea heard her cousin clamber out of the window and, a moment later,
the creaking of the tin as he tiptoed over her head. She held her hand
to her heart, tense with excitement, and dreading the outcome. From this
move on Hal’s part she argued that the Confederate officers had not yet
found their man. Perhaps he had gotten away, after all.
Her rising hope that this was true was confirmed by her cousin who
called softly that there was no one on the roof. The girl’s spirits rose
with a bound. The man was gone and she was more glad than she would have
thought possible. He was an enemy of those with whom her sympathy lay.
She still believed in the cause the South was fighting for. Yet for all
that she could not help rejoicing that this man had escaped; indeed she
felt like dancing. The music in the parlors called her and she turned to
go back.
“It’s because they send hounds after them,” she thought to herself,
trying to explain her perplexing state of mind. She would have denied
with perfect sincerity that she wished the North to win the war, but she
could not hide from herself the fact that she had seen things that had
dulled the keen edge of her enthusiasm for the Confederate Cause.
As she was about to step through the doorway into the house she ran
sharply into April coming out hurriedly. Both girls drew back and for an
instant eyed each other in silence.
“I am sorry if you are not having a good time,” April said at length,
with a touch of asperity in her tone. “I missed you and was wondering
where you were.”
“Oh, but I was enjoying myself,” Dorothea strove to put enthusiasm in
her words. “I just came out for a little air.”
April turned to go back into the parlor.
“You seem fond of the porch in the evenings,” she remarked over her
shoulder, but there was no accompanying smile and Dorothea felt that a
barrier of some sort had sprung up between them. For all that she was
not convinced that her cousin’s errand was to seek her. She wondered at
once if April knew what was going on upstairs. Perhaps, after all, this
beautiful cousin had had a hand in the prisoner’s escape and was coming
out to see if all were well. She could not be sure and again felt
herself to be in the midst of affairs which she could not explain.
Then, as she was about to make her way into the parlors her heart gave a
great thump with a realization of the possibility that the Union soldier
might still be in her room. In that case he must be warned before a
search of the whole house was made.
With this in mind she hurried up the stairs, crossed the hall, and
closed her door softly behind her. She heard the murmur of men’s voices
coming from Hal’s quarters, but knew no one had seen her.
Inside, the window was open, a dull fire still burned in the hearth, but
she noted that the sandwiches and wine remained as she had left them,
untouched. Evidently, she thought, the man had not had time to eat
before he was forced to leave. She crossed the room, intending to shut
the window but, ere she reached it, her eyes fell upon a dark heap on
the floor beside her bed. She halted, looking down with a sudden fear in
her heart and then breathed a sigh of relief.
“He took a disguise and left his clothes here,” she half murmured to
herself. But, when she stooped down to examine the meager bundle more
closely, she saw that there was a man still in the shabby uniform, a man
so thin and wasted as to be little more than a skeleton.
She thought at first that he was dead, but, snatching her hand-glass,
she held it in front of his parched lips and found it clouded. The man
was alive, how long he could remain so she dared not think. In the half
light from the fire, to her inexperienced eyes, he looked as if each
succeeding minute might easily be his last.
But what was she to do now? Whom could she trust? Certainly none of the
servants, who would probably scream in terror and alarm the entire
household at the first sight of the poor, huddled body. Her mind was
busy with this problem, but instinctively she had taken the glass of
wine and was trying to force a little of it through the pale lips, when
there came a knock at her door.
Instantly she was on her feet, her nerves taut; but by no means ready to
give up without a fight. So far her part had been passive, now that the
man could no longer help himself she meant to try her utmost to save
him. That it was Hal or Val Tracy coming on a search of the house, she
had no doubt. However they would not enter so long as she was there, and
she vowed to herself that she would remain in the room till Doomsday
rather than let either of them in.
“Who is it?” she asked, and expected to hear the deep voice of one of
the men, but greatly to her consternation the door was opened and in
walked Miss Imogene.
“It is I, honey,” said the dainty little lady, closing the door behind
her and advancing into the room. “What are you doing here in the dark?”
“I just came up for a moment,” Dorothea replied, without a tremor in her
voice. Here was a more dangerous situation even than she had anticipated
and her wits were working fast to meet it. “I will go down with you at
once.” She made a motion as if to start for the door, hoping that Miss
Ivory would take the hint and go out too; but the latter evidently had
no such intention for she stood before the fireplace, placing a dainty
foot upon the fender to warm it before the fitful blaze.
“Do put another log on the fire, child,” she requested. “My toes are icy
and—my dear, I want a little chat with you. I don’t think you can be
enjoying your party—hiding alone up here.”
“Oh, but really I have been—indeed I have been,” Dorothea protested. “I
just came up—”
“For the same reason you went out on the porch,” Miss Imogene
interrupted, with a swift upward glance. “Come, child, put on a fresh
log and let your old cousin have five minutes with you. The evening is
not half over.”
There was a new tone in the pretty voice that surprised Dorothea. She
had thought of Miss Imogene as a sweet and gentle spinster who spent
most of her life in social gayety or in doing some pleasant task out of
the hurry and bustle of the world. Now she felt that under the sweet
manner there was a will that might prove stubborn if the cause arose.
Moreover there was nothing to do but comply with the request unless she
chose to be deliberately rude. That she could not be, even though she
could find no excuse ready to her tongue.
Dorothea placed a fresh log on the fire and then stood beside her
visitor, the two looking down in silence as the wood caught and flamed
up in a cheerful blaze. Then, quite suddenly, so that Dorothea was
surprised, Miss Imogene turned and glanced about the room.
Dorothea’s heart sank. She saw no possibility of the shrunken figure on
the floor escaping Miss Imogene’s sharp eyes. Nor was she mistaken.
“It’s quite a pretty room by fire-light,” said the little lady and took
a step toward the bed. A moment later she was beside the prostrate man,
looking down at him.
“What’s this, child?” she asked in a whisper.
Dorothea hurried to her side.
“Oh, Cousin Imogene, it is a Union officer escaped from Andersonville,”
Dorothea whispered. “They are hunting for him now. They think he’s here,
and—”
“Why didn’t you tell one of the men, Hal or Val Tracy?” demanded the
elder woman with a trace of severity in her tone.
“Because I wouldn’t give him up,” Dorothea maintained stoutly. “I’m not
a real Rebel. I’m British; and though I do believe the South is right I
don’t think they should hunt men with dogs. And, Cousin Imogene, I mean
to do all I can to help him.”
“Do you know who he is?” was the next question. Dorothea’s plea did not
seem to have made any impression on the little lady, who suddenly had
grown rather imperious and whose gentleness had dropped from her like a
cloak.
“No, of course not,” Dorothea answered, surprised. “But he’s a Federal
officer and he’s been on the porch roof all night without anything to
eat and—”
“Light a candle and bring it here,” her cousin commanded, dropping to
her knees as Dorothea obeyed.
With a deft hand Miss Imogene turned the face of the shrunken figure to
the light. As she looked at it she gave a smothered cry.
“It’s Larry Stanchfield!” she exclaimed and at the name the man opened
his eyes and looked up at the two leaning over him.
For an instant there was silence, and then Miss Imogene spoke in a
strained voice.
“I’ll help you, Dorothea,” she said. “Go lock the door.”