MR. DAVIS MAKES A SPEECH
Hal’s announcement came like a bursting bombshell to April and Val
Tracy. The latter half turned away.
“I’m an idiot!” he exclaimed to no one in particular.
“There is no need for anybody to apologize,” Dorothea protested
earnestly. “I’ve understood it all along. Of course you thought I was
giving information to Mr. Hendon. I should have thought the same; but I
hoped it would all be explained as soon as Hal was well. I didn’t want
to bother him about it at first, and I wasn’t sure he wanted me to talk
about it. That’s why I didn’t tell you in the beginning.”
Hal told the story of how Hendon had brought him back and in a little
while every one was apparently satisfied. April said she was sorry, and
Dorothea forgave her promptly; but there was still a hint of reservation
in April’s manner. There were other things that were not clear to her.
She was by no means satisfied that Dorothea was free from all the blame.
There were still matters that required clearing up, but she was not the
sort of a girl to defend herself by stating vague suspicions and, though
there was no very great warmth in her words to Dorothea, they were a
confession of her fault and were as gracious as she could make them.
And Dorothea had no wish to appear triumphant. The only grievance she
had was that it had been taken for granted that no excuse was possible
and that appearances should determine the matter so completely. But this
she was willing to forget. She was glad that the misunderstanding was
ended, and although she realized that April had yet to be won
completely, she hoped in time to accomplish that also.
After supper that night Val Tracy sought her out, and for a few moments
they were alone on the lawn.
“I don’t deserve to have you speak to me,” he told her. “And I’m not one
to make excuses, but, faith! I was a bit upset.”
“Of course you were,” she answered readily with a smile. “It was very
upsetting all ’round. I was so surprised when you came rushing up that I
couldn’t say a word.”
“And I had to let the fellow off, knowing all the time what was
depending upon it,” he answered. “I’ll be glad when this pesky war is
over—and it won’t be very long now or I’m greatly mistaken.”
“And the South will lose?” Dorothea half questioned.
Tracy shook his head affirmatively.
“It has lost!” he admitted. “Not that I would say that to any one but
you.”
“I’m glad,” Dorothea said, impulsively. “And I shouldn’t say that to any
one but you!” she added with a low laugh.
He smiled in answer, but his face went grave in a moment.
“So you’re against us, after all,” he remarked.
“No, that isn’t quite it, either,” Dorothea tried to explain. “I’m not
against anybody. At least not as I see it now. Mr. Lincoln, you know,
started me thinking long ago. But, since I’ve been here, it seems as if
it was only the South that was against things—and they don’t understand.
It is when the war is over that they will see how mistaken they have
been. Then they’ll find that Mr. Lincoln is their best friend. You know,
Captain Tracy,” she went on, lowering her voice a little, “Mr. Lincoln
would be a friend to anybody who gave him a chance.”
“You seem a great admirer of his,” Tracy said shortly.
“And so would you be, if you knew him,” she replied promptly.
“Maybe,” he replied, “and, sure, you’d be the one to convince me. But
I’m not hiding the fact that I don’t like to be fighting on the losing
side. If it hadn’t been for Hendon we might have pulled through after
all.”
“Do you mean you think he gave the information to the Yankees about your
plan?” she asked.
“Of course I do,” he replied. “Who else was there?”
“Well, it wasn’t Mr. Hendon,” Dorothea returned positively. “He didn’t
know about it. How could he have known if I didn’t tell him? And I
didn’t.”
“Faith, that’s the truth,” Tracy admitted with a shake of his head. “I
had it so firmly in my mind that he was a traitor that I forgot to put
two and two together. Are you sure, though?”
“Of course I can’t be absolutely positive,” Dorothea explained. “But I
can assure you he didn’t learn of it from me, and—” she hesitated a
moment, “and I have seen a man who did know of it.”
He looked at her a moment closely, then shook his head slowly.
“It’s not for me to doubt what you say or to ask questions,” he began;
but she interrupted.
“One thing I should like you to understand,” she said. “I had no hand in
it, either directly or indirectly. It was all an accident, my finding
out. Please believe that I wouldn’t stay here in this house and abuse
its hospitality.”
Tracy could have no doubt of Dorothea’s sincerity, so earnestly did she
speak. “I wish I’d known that a bit sooner,” he remarked soberly.
“Would it have made any difference?” Dorothea questioned.
“It may make a difference to Hendon,” Tracy replied. “To tell you the
truth,” he went on, “for another reason we suspected Hendon hadn’t
brought the news to the Yanks. We didn’t see how he could have gotten
through to them.”
“What do you mean by that?” Dorothea asked.
“When I left here after that little play we had in the woods yonder,”
Tracy explained, “I went out to alarm the country. It was too serious a
matter, you understand, to let the whims of a girl thwart us. I couldn’t
fight with April over taking the man then and there; but—well, at any
rate, in an hour there was a party looking for Hendon and I went on to
give the warning as wide a range as I could. I guessed Hendon knew from
you. April overheard you talking to Miss Imogene. I was sure what he was
after and I cut off his road to the Yankees.”
“Then he was captured?” Dorothea demanded.
“Not that I’ve heard of,” Val acknowledged. “I’ve even been thinking he
might have gotten through, seeing that the Yanks were warned; but now—”
He whistled softly to himself. “They may get him yet—and if they do—”
“What will they do?” Dorothea’s tone was anxious.
Tracy shrugged his shoulders.
“The man is a Southerner turned Yankee. You can guess the rest,” he
answered shortly.
“But they can’t do anything more than take him prisoner!” Dorothea
exclaimed. She had no special interest in Lee Hendon save for April’s
sake, but Tracy’s tone was suggestive of something serious.
“I wish I could be sure of that,” Tracy replied gravely. “You see, they
are an irregular band of militia and will have small regard for the law
in such cases. They will consider him not only a spy but a traitor.” He
shook his head dubiously. “We mustn’t speak of this to April.”
“But we must do something,” Dorothea insisted.
“Yes, but I don’t know what has become of him,” Tracy explained. “He may
be all right, after all, you know. At any rate I shall make it my
business to find out. But, under any circumstances, April must not
know.”
Secrecy, they agreed, was necessary, and that same evening Tracy went
off again to try to find some trace of Hendon.
The next day the news reached little Washington that President Lincoln
had been assassinated. There were few details and for some little time
no one knew positively who the murderer was, and there were many
fantastic rumors flying about.
Upon Dorothea the sad event made a deep impression, deeper than even she
realized at the time. Once more she brought back to her mind the scene
in which the great and kindly man had shown her his heart for a moment,
and his death seemed a personal loss to her.
But out of the sadness came a crystallizing of all the vague feelings
that had struggled for expression almost from the very day she had
arrived in the South. She felt now that her real sympathy had always
been for the North and that she was glad that they had won. Not that she
lacked sympathy and understanding for her rebel relatives. She had no
preconceived prejudices to warp her judgment, but great principles had
been involved in this war that was now practically ended, and Dorothea
knew that they had been upheld by the North under the leadership of Mr.
Lincoln.
Indeed there was no rejoicing in the May household over the fact that
the man who had beaten the Confederacy was dead. Mrs. May said openly
and with truth that the South had lost her best friend. Even April
expressed her indignation.
“We are not murderers!” she exclaimed, and Dorothea was glad that her
cousins, with all their strong Southern loyalty, had no excuses for so
cowardly a deed.
The days that followed brought a realizing sense to even the most
hopeful Confederate that the war was over and that the South had lost;
but Jefferson Davis still clung to the shadow of his position, and,
though he was in flight from Virginia, there was talk of a new
government being instituted in Texas, to which state he was then trying
to make his way.
During these days Dorothea waited anxiously for the return of Val Tracy.
Lee Hendon’s actions were not quite clear to her and although she was
glad the Union had won she could not hide from herself that this young
man’s course did not always stir her admiration. Nevertheless she
realized that he was in a perilous position and would have been glad to
know he was safe.
And then, in an unusual flutter even for them, Mrs. Stewart and Corinne
arrived one Sunday with a momentous announcement.
“Our dear President Davis is in Washington!” the elder lady cried as she
met each of the family in turn. “He has honored our town as it has never
been honored before in all history, except when Washington, the first
Rebel president, visited it.”
Dorothea was surprised to find that even April greeted this news with
little enthusiasm. She had had hints from time to time that her
relations were not always in sympathy with Mr. Davis and upon one
occasion she had overheard Hal say, rather bitterly, “Our President is
nothing but a politician!” But she was rather surprised at their
indifference to his arrival in Washington.
She, on the other hand, had a distinct curiosity to see this man who had
been so prominent a figure during the four terrible years through which
the United States had just passed, and when she learned from Mrs.
Stewart that a reception was to be held in Mr. Davis’s honor that
afternoon she did not conceal her desire to go.
“I’ll go with you,” Harriot announced. “They always have something to
eat at receptions.” But none of the others in the family gave any
indication that they were even mildly interested and shortly Mrs.
Stewart went away, expressing pointedly her opinion that the whole May
family were half Yankees, after all.
Harriot and Dorothea went to the reception and found the place crowded
with fulsome admirers of Mr. Davis, prominent among whom was Mrs.
Stewart, who seemed to hang upon the great man’s words as if an oracle
spoke. The two girls viewed this from a distance, and it was not until
Mr. Davis consented to make a little speech and stood upon a chair that
Dorothea really had a good view of him.
He was a tall, aristocratic-looking man with blue eyes, but with the
refinement of feature there was also a hint of vanity and weakness. Yet
to Dorothea there was something that suggested that real President she
had seen in the other Washington. What it was she could not have said,
but there was a resemblance that brought a pang to her heart and a
wonder that these two antagonists in so great a struggle should resemble
each other even in the slightest degree. In character they were as wide
apart as the poles.
Dorothea listened to the speech Mr. Davis made with only half an ear,
until suddenly she became aware that he was saying something that
interested her vitally.
“Our Sacred Cause is not dead,” Mr. Davis insisted, with the round,
ringing tones of the political orator. “Our beloved South has sent her
sons from every corner of its fertile lands. Even here in little
Washington I could tell you a tale of bravery unsurpassed in the annals
of history. The young man of whom I speak has asked that his secret be
kept, but I cannot resist the temptation to tell you. This native son,
this youth who has grown up among you, was forced by circumstances to
stay at home during the early years of the war; but there came a time
when he was free, and he journeyed to us, begging for the most dangerous
mission upon which he could embark. From the beginning his heart was in
our great Cause and because he could not do his utmost at the start he
wished a doubly hazardous part to play. I tell you, ladies and gentlemen
of Washington, that this gentleman donned the uniform of a Union officer
and went into our implacable enemies’ lines and from there sent us
information of inestimable value. Every moment he was risking his
life—at any hour he might have paid the penalty for his bravery by a
disgraceful death. Indeed I do not know to-day whether he is alive or
dead. He may have found a martyr’s grave for the sake of our dear
Confederacy, and that is one reason why I am telling you, his friends,
this story. Have you not guessed of whom I speak? It is of Lee Hendon,
whose name, bequeathed to him by honored—”
At this point Dorothea lost track of what Mr. Davis was saying. In a
flash everything was clear to her and a great impulse to run to April
with this news brought her to her feet and, without a thought of
Harriot, she left the building and started for home, half running.
In her thoughts was but one object: to tell April that her lover was an
honorable man; there was no room in her mind for anything else as she
hurried to the house.
At the front door she met Merry.
“Where is Miss April?” she demanded.
“Land sakes, Miss Dee!” exclaimed Merry, her eyes opening wide with
surprise. “You sure is in a hurry. Lil’ Miss, she’s upstaihs in her
room, I reckon.”
Dorothea did not wait to explain, but climbing the stairs, two steps at
a time, she went directly to April’s room and, without the formality of
knocking, burst open the door and rushed in.
April, sitting by her desk, glanced up, a look of annoyance coming into
her face; but this changed on the instant at her cousin’s words.
“Oh, April!” cried Dorothea, with a sob in her voice, “he isn’t a
traitor after all. He’s been a Confederate spy all the time, and—”
“Who are you talking about?” demanded April, now on her feet, a bright
light of happiness coming into her eyes as she guessed at the meaning of
this abrupt announcement. “Who is it, Dorothea?”
“Why, Lee Hendon, of course!” came the happy answer.