EXPLANATIONS
Without another word April quitted the place and Dorothea stood alone in
the woods, stunned by the sudden turn of events. Lee Hendon had accused
her of betraying him; Val Tracy, for whose opinion she cared more than
for all the rest, had taken for granted that she had been acting
dishonorably; and April had openly said she was a Red String. She
realized fully that, in the circumstances, all of their suspicions
seemed fully justified. So far as Val was concerned this was the second
time he had found her in communication with one of his enemies.
“But he might have asked me for an explanation,” she murmured half
aloud. That was the thought that hurt her most. All three had condemned
her without giving her an opportunity to defend herself. What Lee Hendon
might think she did not care in the slightest. So far as he was
concerned, her task had been performed for Hal’s sake alone and there
her interest in the matter ceased. April she could forgive,
understanding how her cousin, drawn between her love for her country and
the affection for the man who wore the uniform of its enemies, had been
so distraught that she scarcely knew what she was saying. But none of
these excuses would serve to justify Val Tracy’s attitude toward her.
She was angry with him, feeling that he had not been fair, that he had
been too ready to jump to conclusions and condemn her without a word.
Slowly she made her way to the May home, pondering in her mind what was
ahead of her. It seemed no longer endurable for her to remain with her
aunt, while the increased difficulties of travel made it well-nigh
impossible to go North. And even there she would not find a home. Her
father was in England and her last letter from him gave no hint that he
could come to America again in the immediate future. It would take a
long time to communicate with him, and she felt it would be intolerable
to stay in Washington while her cousin looked upon her as an enemy.
Then she remembered Miss Imogene with a feeling of relief. That dainty
little lady would find some solution of her difficulties, she felt sure,
and would, if necessary, go away with her until her father made
arrangements for her to join him.
As she walked up the drive to the house Harriot came running down to
meet her.
“Where have you been?” was the first question, and then without pausing
for a reply, “Val Tracy has gone! Went off and hardly said good-by—and
April’s up in her room with the door locked. What do you think is the
matter?”
Evidently Harriot had seen enough to excite her curiosity, but as yet
she did not connect Dorothea with the disturbance in any way.
“I suppose Captain Tracy has had orders,” Dorothea answered evasively.
“I don’t think so,” Harriot confided in an undertone. “I think he and
April have had a tiff; and that’s funny, too; because of course I
believed she was in love with Lee Hendon. Didn’t you?”
“Yes, indeed,” Dorothea replied enthusiastically, glad of one question
she need not evade.
“Well, you can’t tell,” Harriot went on judicially. “When they get in
love there’s no counting on what they’ll do, no matter who it is they’re
in love with.”
She chattered on, enlarging on her views of that fatal malady, love,
quite unmindful of the fact that Dorothea added little to the
conversation. She was aware of a certain satisfaction in the fact that
Harriot was wrong in her surmises. She knew that April was not in love
with Val Tracy, but this did not by any means insure that Val was as
indifferent to April.
She managed to escape after a time and went directly to her room. She
wanted to think before she talked to Miss Imogene about the afternoon’s
adventure. There were many things to consider, and not the least of
these was how far she might go in discussing April’s affairs. It gave
her no right, as Dorothea saw it, to betray a confidence simply because
her cousin had put a wrong interpretation upon her actions. She had done
her best to keep the knowledge that Lee Hendon wore a blue uniform to
herself. That had plainly been Hal’s wish, and now that two others knew
of it she saw no very good reason why she should tell a third. But, on
the other hand, how could she explain her position without recounting
the facts of the case? She wanted advice, for she felt the time had come
when she could no longer stay at her aunt’s, yet she doubted her right
to openly explain the matter upon which she sought guidance.
Why Tracy had gone away she could not guess, unless it was that he did
not wish to be near April now that he was assured of her love for Lee
Hendon. That must have been quite plain to him, for the agony in April’s
voice when she shouted to Hendon to run, left no doubt about the state
of her feelings toward him. Dorothea concluded that here was the most
reasonable explanation for Val’s sudden departure, and she sighed.
On top of this conclusion, she realized suddenly that unless some better
excuse than she could then think of for going away was forthcoming she
would be obliged to make an explanation to her Aunt Parthenia. It was
impossible for her to say, indifferently, that she had decided to go
back to England. Mrs. May would never be satisfied with that, and would
doubtless forbid her to stir until she had heard directly from her
father. But the same scruples that kept her from talking to Miss Imogene
were equally effective with her aunt. The matter so closely concerned
April that the more Dorothea thought of it the less she felt inclined to
discuss it.
“I must wait,” she concluded finally, “and if I have a chance I shall
speak to April.”
This definite decision taken, she was forced to act as if nothing had
happened, but determined, at the first opportunity that presented
itself, to talk openly to her cousin and so put an end to a situation
she felt to be intolerable.
But this opportunity failed to come at once. That night at supper April
appeared as usual, indeed Dorothea could note no change in her manner;
all traces of tears were gone and she seemed her bright vivacious self.
There was some talk of Tracy’s sudden departure, but April gave no hint
that she was aware of any reason for it, and to those who knew nothing
of the afternoon’s occurrences it was easy to account for it as due to
the exigencies of the war. Toward Dorothea she showed no change, so far
as the girl could see, and this confirmed her conclusion that April
wished the matter kept secret. Otherwise she would have spoken out, at
least to her mother, and Dorothea was sure that her Aunt Parthenia would
not be one to let her rest under any suspicion without giving her a
chance to explain the circumstances.
There was just one person who could set the matter straight in the main,
at least; and he was lying in bed sorely wounded. Dorothea could not
take her grievances to him while he was in this condition, but when Hal
had sufficiently recovered to be down on the gallery in the sun Dorothea
made up her mind that she would speak to him some day when they were
alone together and see that he informed April of the exact circumstances
of her meeting with Lee Hendon.
Strangely enough April had come to the same conclusion from an entirely
different standpoint. She thoroughly believed in Dorothea’s guilt. There
was no doubt in her mind that her accusation had been just and that her
cousin was a Red String. To her thinking, the English girl had taken
advantage of her relationship with them to come South and spy upon the
Confederacy. She was not quite logical even with herself; but although
suspicion had more than once entered her mind, it was only when she
believed herself thoroughly justified that she permitted these vague
doubts to take a definite form. Now that she had seen Dorothea in
communication with Lee Hendon she had found the necessary proof for her
intuitive distrust, and there was nothing she could not have believed
Dorothea capable of to further the cause of the Yankees. She thought it
entirely possible that the girl had been in constant communication with
Hendon, supplying him with information she had picked up from Hal and
Val Tracy or the many officers who had stayed with them from time to
time.
Her first intention was to go to her mother and tell her flatly that
Dorothea could no longer stay there. But, upon thinking it over, she saw
the weakness of her position with Mrs. May. If the spy had been any one
but Lee Hendon there would have been no hesitation; but here was the man
she loved deeply involved—and she had saved him from capture! That act
she excused to herself, and perhaps here lay an added reason for her
bitterness toward Dorothea. Also her mother, frankly lukewarm toward the
Southern cause, would be ready enough to defend Dorothea to the last;
but the argument that had most weight in her thoughts was that here was
a matter that concerned primarily the head of the house. Her father
should be the one to determine what should be done in such a case; for,
in a measure, she conceived the honor of family to be at stake; but
Colonel May was quite inaccessible, so naturally she concluded that Hal
must take their father’s place.
But, like Dorothea, she had no wish to burden Hal until he was
convalescent. She counted upon the fact that Dorothea would do nothing
until she was forced to, attributing the most obvious motives to her,
convinced that she would remain in Washington as long as she could in
the hope of gaining further information that would be useful to the
Northern armies. But she felt herself a match for her cousin, who, she
had the satisfaction of knowing, never left the place unobserved.
At last April determined that Hal was well enough to hear her story and,
with a sense of fairness, she determined that Dorothea should be
present. With that in view she ascertained that, save for Big Jim, Hal
was alone on the piazza and went upstairs to fetch Dorothea. On her way
up, however, she met her cousin coming down.
“I was just coming up for you,” April remarked. “I want you to come out
and see Hal.”
“I was just going to see him,” Dorothea replied calmly, and together the
two went out on the porch.
“I’m in luck to-day,” Hal cried as the two sat down, one on either side
of him. “Two such lovely females all to myself is an unexpected
pleasure,” and he smiled at Dorothea; but, receiving no answering smile,
he looked from one to the other, sensing a seriousness in their visit
that puzzled him.
“Big Jim,” April said to the boy, “you may go to the Quarters till
you’re sent for.” And with a grin the colored lad went off.
“What’s up?” asked Hal. “You look as if there was more bad news.”
“No, Hal, it isn’t that,” April responded quickly, “but it isn’t
cheerful news, either. I have a very disagreeable task to perform, but
it must be done. Our cousin Dorothea is one of this band of Red
Strings!”
She made the announcement as calmly as she could, but there was the
light of excited indignation in her eyes and she could not keep a trace
of scorn out of her tone.
Hal turned toward Dorothea with a questioning glance. Certain things had
happened that had led him to the suspicion that there might be some one
about the place who was not entirely loyal, but he had never seen
anything to make him positive of it. Instantly all these past suspicions
flashed over him.
“It can’t be _you_, Dorothea!” he exclaimed incredulously.
“Did you think there was a spy about here, Hal?” April cried, seizing
upon the implication his question suggested.
“Yes,” Hal answered, with growing resentment. “Ever since that night
they came looking for that escaped prisoner from Andersonville. I was
never satisfied about that. The men were certain the dogs tracked him to
this house. It was here the trail stopped.”
“And Dorothea was out alone on the porch that night,” April cut in.
“Isn’t that true?” she demanded, turning to the girl.
“Yes, it is,” Dorothea answered. “But so were you, for that matter. That
doesn’t prove I’m a Red String, any more than that you are. You don’t
have to go back that far, April. Tell Hal what happened lately. That’s
what I was going to tell him.” Of the three Dorothea was now the
calmest.
Hal turned an inquiring glance toward his sister.
“What happened?” he questioned.
“Dorothea met a Union officer in Coulter Woods!” April announced it with
an air of finality. She had no wish to volunteer information about who
that officer was, although she had no hope that her cousin would keep
the matter secret.
“Is that true, too?” asked Hal.
“Yes,” Dorothea nodded, and she could not help smiling a little.
“It is no matter to laugh about!” April burst out passionately. “Hal, we
have been betrayed. It is not only that she has met this man, but she
had information to put at naught plans we had for a fine stroke. Val
Tracy was there, too. He knows—and there’s no telling how much it might
have done for the Cause.”
She would have gone on but at the moment a clatter of horse’s hoofs
galloping up the drive drew the attention of all, and they saw Val Tracy
racing toward the house. A few minutes later he flung himself in a chair
beside them.
“Faith, this is a fine little gathering!” he exclaimed irritably. “We
have been betrayed, April. The enemy has been informed. I’ll leave you
to say for yourself whose fault it was.”
“How do you know?” April demanded.
“I have been after the man since last I saw you,” Val went on. “I’ve had
the whole countryside looking for him—but without result. And now I get
this.” He fumbled in his tunic and drew out a yellow dispatch, which he
proceeded to read: “‘Plans betrayed by Union officer traced from
Washington.’ There you are! Can anything be plainer?”
April turned white and wrung her hands.
“What’s this all about, Val?” demanded Hal. “We’re having all sorts of
accusations and what not, but I don’t know what you’re all driving at.”
“It’s quickly told,” Tracy answered. “We planned to recapture Savannah.
It was a secret. There weren’t half a dozen knew of it. Well, it seems
that in some way Dorothea learned it, and we saw her talking to a Union
officer in the woods. Our plans were betrayed. I’ll leave you to put two
and two together.”
There was a momentary hush and then Hal turned to Dorothea.
“Haven’t you anything to say in your own defense?” he asked.
“I have only been accused of meeting a Union officer in the woods,” she
replied gravely enough now. “I cannot deny that. I did meet him. Twice.”
[Illustration: “Dorothea met a Union officer in Coulter Woods.”]
“Did you tell him of these plans?” Hal asked. There was something about
Dorothea’s straightforward look that gave him confidence in her word.
“No,” Dorothea answered promptly.
“You must have!” April burst out. “Who else could have told him? You
don’t deny that you knew of them?”
For the first time Dorothea hesitated. She did know of them from Larry
Stanchfield; but she was reluctant to admit it, seeing the obvious
inference that would be drawn. On the other hand she was in no mood to
tell anything but the truth.
“Yes, I did know of them,” she replied.
“And you expect us to believe you did not tell this man you met in the
woods?” Hal said, sternly.
“Of course I expect you to believe me,” Dorothea answered, a blaze of
anger coming into her eyes. “That is exactly what I do expect you to
do.”
“But who else could have told the man?” Hal went on. “No one but you and
Val, apparently, knew of it and we have been betrayed. You can’t expect
me to think Val betrayed himself.”
“There was one other who knew,” Tracy cut in, sharply. “I told April,
like a fool!”
“Do you think I would have told?” April demanded with blazing eyes. “I
would have died first.”
“April is loyal to the core!” Hal defended his sister.
“I don’t think she would tell,” Tracy agreed, “but I don’t think
Dorothea would either.”
“Thank you, Val,” Dorothea said, softly. She did not care what the
others thought at that moment.
“But what other motive could she have had for meeting him?” April
persisted.
“To help the man, if she’s the Red String you say she is,” Hal put in
quickly. “Did you go to help him, Dorothea?” he questioned her directly.
“Yes, that’s just what I did,” she answered, “but I am not a Red String
any more than I am a traitor!”
April shrugged her shoulders. It was so entirely evident that she was,
or had been, in communication with their enemies that it seemed as if
Dorothea could not be telling the truth. She had admitted knowledge of
an undertaking so secret that but a few knew of it. And now it had
failed, and everything pointed to Dorothea as the one responsible for
the failure. As to Lee Hendon, he was, apparently, now an avowed enemy
and, as such, even she could not take exception to his action.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” Hal broke in upon April’s
thoughts. “How does it come that you and Tracy know all about this
meeting of Dorothea’s?”
“We saw them together,” April answered, not realizing where this was
leading.
“Then why did you let the man get away?” demanded Hal, turning to Val.
“You will have to ask your sister that,” Tracy replied.
Hal turned to April with an inquiring glance and the girl saw that she
must make some explanation.
“The man was Lee Hendon, Hal,” she replied in a low voice.
“Lee Hendon!” exclaimed Hal, suddenly enlightened. “Lee Hendon! And you
saw him?”
“Yes, I saw him with Dorothea,” April broke out. “I followed her, not
knowing who the man was she went to meet, and we have not yet had any
satisfactory answer as to why Dorothea did meet him. That we must have,
if she is to stay any longer in this house.”
“I can give you that, April,” Hal answered quietly. “Dorothea met Lee
Hendon at my request.”
“At your request!” April repeated in astonishment.
“Yes,” Hal went on. “Lee Hendon saved my life, no matter what uniform he
was wearing, and I was in his debt for that. Dorothea undertook to
discharge that debt. I think we all owe her an apology.”