FACE TO FACE
Meanwhile, Dorothea having returned from a successful trip to the bank
was making for her room when she encountered a disgruntled Harriot.
“Oh, Dee!” she cried, “that old governess has come back again and she
says I have to work harder than ever to make up what I’ve lost while she
was away. That means I shan’t have any fun this afternoon.”
“What were you going to do?” Dorothea asked, not having heard of any
particular plans.
“I don’t know,” Harriot confessed, “but it would have been something
very nice, I’m sure. We should have thought of it, but now I’ve just got
to study, and you’ll go off and have a lovely time by yourself.”
That is exactly what Dorothea planned to do the moment she learned she
would be free, but she did not tell Harriot so.
“It’s too bad,” she murmured sympathetically, “but there will be other
days, you know.”
“Yes, and they’ll be rainy!” Harriot replied complainingly and with
justification, for the weather had been anything but dry, though there
had been a bright sun for the last week.
“But really it’s very warm to-day,” Dorothea consoled her. “You’ll be
cooler in the house than outdoors. I’m so hot that I’m going upstairs to
put on a cooler dress.”
This was all true enough, and her walk to the village had brought a
bright flush to her cheeks, but she had another motive in going
upstairs. She found Lucy ready to help her and her first words to the
girl showed her intention.
“Pull down the curtain, Lucy,” she said, “there’s such a glare.”
The girl did as she was ordered, but not without a grumbling protest.
“Does you-all want all the shades down, Miss Dee?” she asked. “It’s
monstrous unlucky. Looks lak some one was dade.”
“No, just the end one will do,” Dorothea answered. “I’ve been walking in
the sun and I think a half-light will be pleasanter, don’t you?”
“Yes’m,” Lucy agreed, “but yoh ain’t got no call to be runnin’ out in
the sun that a-way. Little ladies like you is, should be takin’ their
ease and havin’ Lucy fannin’ ’em with a pa’m leaf when it’s so hot.
’Deed, it would sure be a good thing foh that imp Itty what takes care
o’ Miss Harry to have some wo’k. They says ole Satan always finds some
mischief foh idle hands, an’ I reckon it’s the same with tongues. That
Itty certainly done talk like she ain’t got nothin’ else to do, ’ceptin’
’t is slanderin’ folks.”
“What’s the matter with Itty?” asked Dorothea, knowing the question was
expected of her, though in reality her thoughts were on Lee Hendon and
she was wondering if he would be able to see her signal.
“She’s been braggin’ it over me ’cause she claims to be bohn a
house-servant,” Lucy went on as she busied herself with Dorothea’s
toilet. “An’ she say you-all ain’t real quality Confedrit like we-all
is, so that it ain’t nothin’ ’t all to take care o’ yoh.”
“Well, you just tell her,” Dorothea answered, laughing, “that my
father’s cousin is a real live lord in England and see what she says to
that.” She chuckled to herself as she thought how little Itty would be
impressed if she could see the red-faced, hard-riding old aristocrat in
his mud-stained pink. But she guessed that this would give Lucy the
weapon she needed to use among her fellow-workers in the quarter, and
Lucy’s delighted exclamations of wonder at the information confirmed
this view.
“Is he a sure enough, bang-up quality lord?” Lucy demanded a little
skeptically, as if the news was too good to be true.
“He is an earl,” Dorothea announced impressively.
“My, oh my!” Lucy exclaimed, staring down at her young mistress in
wonder. “Ah’ yoh ain’t never said nothin’ ’bout it till this minute.
Land sakes, but won’t I tell that Itty somefin’! A Nearl! I reckon
that’s ’most as fine as bein’ a President.”
Dorothea laughed gayly.
“I think that rather depends upon the President,” she answered. “But
it’s almost as good as a King.”
Dorothea’s toilet was completed in a blaze of glory, the only difficulty
being that the frocks that Lucy had formerly admired became, on a
sudden, scarcely magnificent enough for one who claimed so exalted a
relative.
After dinner Dorothea suddenly found herself alone. Miss Imogene slipped
upstairs to unpack and rest after her journey. Harriot went grumblingly
away with her governess. Mrs. May returned to her spinning-room and
April disappeared with Val Tracy.
“Now is my chance,” Dorothea said to herself, and ran to her room to put
on her hat.
Glancing out of the window, she saw April and Val Tracy strolling over
the lawn in deep conversation. Obviously their talk was of serious
interest to them both; but what Dorothea was most concerned with was the
fact that their presence there cut her off from going away without being
observed. She wished to slip off without the necessity of explanation as
to where she was going, and should either of them see her start it would
be entirely natural that they should enquire her errand. Nor was it at
all improbable that Val Tracy might feel called on to accompany her if
she told them she was off for a walk to Coulter Woods. She dared not run
any risks, and had no wish to excite suspicion by evasive answers. So
she decided to avoid questions.
“I must wait till they go away,” she said to herself, and sat down to
watch the two.
But it was perhaps a half hour before Val and April separated, Val going
off toward the stable and April coming into the house. Dorothea heard
her cousin enter her room, closing the door with almost a bang. She
waited a moment and then went quietly down the stairs and so out upon
her mission, satisfied in her own mind that her going had been
unobserved. She had failed to note that April’s door, although slammed
shut, had been opened again just the slightest crack and that some one
standing inside with an eye to the opening would have a complete view of
all that went on in the hall.
In the few minutes that April stood watching through the crack of the
door for Dorothea to leave her room, she thought over what she was about
to do. For the first time since this war had begun, an opportunity had
been offered her to do something for the cause. To make bandages, or
scrape lint; to patch worn clothes, to make shift with this or that; all
these things were nothing to one whose whole heart was set on the
winning of the Southern cause. She was sorry for the soldiers who had to
face the dangers of battle. She mourned their sufferings and grieved for
the blood that must be shed. But she would have gone to the battle-front
with a glad heart. She longed for an active part, and here, at last, was
an opportunity. To be sure the danger was slight; but capturing this
Northern spy would be no mean achievement, and would be something that
she could remember with pride to the end of her days. So, when Dorothea
was well on her way, April found Tracy and together they followed, just
out of sight.
“You’re sure you know where she’s going?” Val asked. He was not quite
himself. It wasn’t the sort of game he was in the habit of playing and
he was a little fearful of the outcome. Certainly if he seized
Dorothea’s lover he might expect little further consideration from her.
“There is no doubt where they will meet,” April answered with assurance.
“Have your pistol handy.”
Val nodded, but he hoped there would not be need of a pistol. It would
be useful, in overpowering his prisoner, but he hoped fervently he would
not have to shoot. It would be bad enough without that.
“If they are at the place I saw her last time, we can come up behind
them and they’ll never know till we appear,” April went on. “I nearly
ran them down yesterday.”
They went on, keeping just out of sight and taking the precaution to
reconnoiter when they turned corners. Once or twice they had a glimpse
of Dorothea, flitting steadily ahead with never a glance back of her. It
seemed as if she was perfectly certain that no one knew her errand, and
she walked quickly as if she longed to be at the rendezvous.
[Illustration: Young Stanchfield struggled to sit up.]
April and Tracy followed in silence. They did not have much to say, both
being busy with their own thoughts.
And at last they approached the spot where April had guessed the meeting
was to take place. There was a steep hill with a sharp turn at the top,
and they began the ascent as noiselessly as possible, stepping
cautiously from spot to spot and being careful not to disturb any loose
stones.
“I don’t want to have to shoot the fellow,” Val whispered in April’s
ear. “He may give us useful information and—and anyway, I’d rather not
have any bloodshed if we can help it.”
To this April made no reply, but after they had gone a few yards further
she laid a hand on his arm.
“Listen,” she said, under her breath.
They stopped and in a moment the sound of voices reached them. First a
man’s and then the low voice of a girl, which they guessed to be
Dorothea’s, although only a murmur was audible.
“They have met,” April whispered, her eyes ablaze with excitement. “Come
on.” She tugged at Val’s sleeve to urge him forward.
“Take your time,” he cautioned. “Faith, I’ve seen many a bird missed by
shooting too quick.”
Cautiously they went forward till they came to the corner of the path
and again paused. Once around the bend there would be no time for
reconsideration. The action would be immediate. Tracy’s heart grew
heavier as the moment approached when he would be forced to face
Dorothea in the guise of an enemy. The voices were now more audible and
he caught the words “good-by.”
There was no time to lose.
“Come on.” It was he who urged now, pulling his pistol from its holster,
and with a rush the two broke from their hiding-place into the open.
Facing them stood Dorothea, her eyes wide with apprehension and
surprise; but both Tracy and April were staring at the back of a man in
the hated Yankee uniform, and for an instant there was a complete
silence. Then Tracy, leveling his pistol at the man’s back, spoke
sternly.
“Throw up your hands! You are my prisoner, and if you move I’ll shoot
you without mercy.”
Dorothea, aghast, turned her eyes upon the man before her, and he,
startled out of all reason, did not see that she was as much amazed at
this development as he.
“So, you have betrayed me,” he whispered.
April, with a half smile of triumph on her lips, looked scornfully at
her silent cousin.
“We are sorry to disturb you, Dorothea,” she said, “but we shall have to
deprive you of your spy.”
At her words the man whirled and she confronted Lee Hendon, his face
pale and drawn with the anguish of this unexpected meeting.
At sight of him April’s eyes grew round, and for a moment there was no
sound as the two gazed at each other.
“Lee! It is Lee!” April murmured, scarcely knowing what she said, then
on a sudden she took a step forward and threw herself between the two
men.
“Run!” she cried, “Run!” and grasped Val Tracy by the arm that held the
pistol.
At this sudden change in the situation Val stood motionless, stunned for
the moment at so unexpected a turn of events.
“Let go my arm, April,” he cried. “I shan’t let him run away if I can
help it. Let go.”
But the girl held on, keeping herself between Tracy and her lover.
“Run, Lee, I beg you to run!” she cried again and again, and at length
Hendon, seeming to come to his senses, took a step toward her, then
changed his mind and plunged into the undergrowth at the side of the
path.
“Let me go, April,” cried Tracy, struggling. “He will ruin our plans. I
cannot let him off. Please, April.”
He struggled as well as he could without hurting her, but the girl, mad
with terror at the possible fate she had brought on Lee, clung tightly,
and in a little Tracy ceased to struggle and they stood thus till all
sound of Lee’s flight died away. Then April loosed her hold and,
dropping to a fallen log, hid her face in her hands and sobbed.
Tracy looked down at her for a moment, then turned his gaze upon
Dorothea. He saw a white countenance lifted to his, but he might have
read the truth in the clear eyes that met his frankly and fearlessly.
“Faith, and it takes a pair of women to make a fool of a man,” he
blurted out. “I wish you joy of your spies and traitors, Miss Dorothea
Drummond.” And with that he turned on his heel and quitted the place.
Dorothea flushed at Tracy’s words, but she had none with which to answer
him. From the moment she saw him and April come around the turn in the
path she was too amazed even to think. That they had been following her
and were aware of her errand was quite apparent, but how they had become
aware of it she could not guess.
Now her brain began to clear and she excused Hendon’s suspicion,
realizing how entirely possible it was for him to think she had betrayed
him. Yes, that was natural enough, and she was sorry. But what had Tracy
in his mind? She had done nothing that would give him an excuse for
saying that she was playing the part of spy or traitor. To be sure he
had seen her with Larry Stanchfield and now with Lee Hendon, both in
blue uniforms, but he was assuming too much without giving her a chance
to set herself right. As far as Hendon was concerned, she could explain
that to him when the opportunity arose. That is, if he asked her to.
Time would attend to that, and in the meanwhile there was April, sobbing
as if her heart would break.
And Dorothea was perplexed about this also. She had been so sure that
Lee was in touch with April and— It was perfectly plain that her cousin
had no idea who the man was she had brought Val Tracy to capture, for
the moment she saw it was Lee she straightway set about saving him.
But then, why should April be crying as if her heart would break?
“Perhaps I’m wrong after all,” Dorothea said to herself, but whatever
the reason she could not stand by and see her cousin breaking her heart
without a word of sympathy.
Quickly she went to April and put an arm about her. But April sprang to
her feet and turned an angry, tear-stained face.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried passionately. “Don’t touch me. You are an
ungrateful Yankee and you have been spying on us all the time you have
been here!”
“That is not true,” Dorothea began, but April cut her short.
“Don’t attempt to deny it,” she exclaimed, “when you wear the proof of
it!” and she pointed to the red velvet band on Dorothea’s wrist.