ON THE SALKAHATCHIE.
Scarce a leaf quivered on the branches of the magnolias, or a tress of
gray-green moss on the cypress boughs. All the world of the
Salkahatchie was wrapped in siesta. The white clouds drifting on
palest turquoise were the only moving things except the water flowing
beneath, and its soft swish against the gunnels of the floating wharf
made the only sound.
The plantation home of Loringwood, facing the river, and reached
through the avenue of enormous live oaks, looked an enchanted palace
touched with the wand of silence.
From the wide stone steps to the wide galleries, with their fluted
pillars, not a murmur but the winged insects droning in the tangled
grasses, for the wild luxuriance of rose tree and japonica, of lawn
and crape myrtle, betrayed a lack of pruning knives in the immediate
season past; and to the south, where the rice fields had reached acre
beyond acre towards the swamps, there were now scattered patches of
feathering young pine, creeping everywhere not forbidden to it by the
hand of man.
Spring time and summer time, for almost a century, had been lived
through under its sloping, square, dormer-windowed roof. But all the
blue sky and brilliant sunshine above could not save it from a
suggestion of autumn, and the shadows lengthening along the river were
in perfect keeping with the entire picture--a picture of perpetual
afternoon.
"Row-lock," "Row-lock," sounded the dip and click of paddles, as a
boat swept close to the western bank, where the shadows fell. Two
Afro-Americans bent in rhythmic motion--bronze human machines, whose
bared arms showed nothing of effort as they sent the boat cutting
through the still water.
A middle-aged woman in a voluminous lavender lawn and carrying a
parasol of plaid silk-green, with faded pink bars, sat in the after
part of the boat, while a slight brown-haired girl just in front
amused herself by catching at branches of willows as they passed.
"Evilena, honey, you certainly are like to do yourself a hurt reaching
out like that, and if you _should_ go over!"
"But I shan't, Aunt Sajane. Do you reckon I'd risk appearing before
Gertrude Loring in a draggled gown just when she has returned from the
very heart of the civilized world? Goodness knows, we'll all look
dowdy enough to her."
Aunt Sajane (Mistress Sarah Jane Nesbitt) glanced down at her own
immaculate lawn, a little faded but daintily laundered, and at her own
trim congress-gaitered feet.
"Oh, I didn't mean you," added the girl, laughing softly. "Aunt
Sajane, I truly do believe that if you had nothing but gunny sacks for
dresses you'd contrive to look as if you'd just come out of a
bandbox."
"I'd wear gunny sacks fast enough if it was to help the cause," agreed
Aunt Sajane, with a kindly smile. "So would you, honey."
"Honey" trailed her fingers in the waters, amber-tinted from the roots
of the cypress trees.
"If a letter from mama comes today we will just miss it."
"Only by a day. Brother Gideon will send it."
"But suppose he's away somewhere on business, or up there at Columbia
on state councils or conventions, or whatever they are, as he is just
now?"
"Then Pluto will fetch it right over," and she glanced at one of the
black men, who showed his teeth for an instant and bent his head in
assent.
"Don't see why Judge Clarkson was _ever_ named Gideon," protested the
girl. "It's a hard, harsh sort of name, and he's as--as--"
"Soft?" queried the judge's sister, with an accompaniment of easy
laughter. The youngest of the two oarsmen grinned. Pluto maintained a
well-bred indifference.
"No!" and the girl flung a handful of willow leaves over the lavender
lawn. "He is--well--just about right, the judge is; so gentle, so
considerate, so altogether magnificent in his language. I've adored
him as far back as when he fought the duel with the Northern man who
reflected some way on our customs; that was starting a war for his
state all alone, before anyone else thought of it, I reckon. I must
have been very little then, for I just recollect how he used to let me
look in his pockets for candy, and I was awfully afraid of the pistols
I thought he must carry there to shoot people with," and she smiled at
the childish fancy. "I tell you, Aunt Sajane, if my papa had lived
there's just one man I'd like him to favor, and that's our judge. But
he didn't, did he?"
"No, he didn't," said Aunt Sajane. "The McVeigh men were all dark,
down to Kenneth, and he gets his fairness from your ma." Then she
added, kindly, "the judge will be very proud of your admiration."
"Hope he'll care enough about it to hurry right along after us. He
does put in a powerful lot of his time in Charleston and Columbia
lately," and the tone was one of childish complaint.
"Why, honey, how you suppose our soldier boys would be provided for
unless some of the representative men devote their time to the work?
It's a consolation to me that Gideon is needed for civil service just
now, for if he wasn't he wouldn't be so near home as he is; he'd be
somewhere North with a regiment, and I reckon that wouldn't suit you
any better."
"No, it wouldn't," agreed the girl, "though I do like a man who will
fight, of course. _Any_ girl does."
"Oh, Honey!"
"Yes they do, too. But just now I don't want him either fighting or in
legislature. I want him right along with us at Loringwood. If he isn't
there to talk to Mr. Loring it won't be possible to have a word alone
with Gertrude all the time we stay. How he _does_ depend on her, and
what an awful time she must have had all alone with him in Paris while
he was at that hospital, or whatever it was."
"Not many girls so faithful as Gertrude Loring," agreed Aunt Sajane.
"Not that he has ever shown much affection for her, either,
considering she is his own brother's child. But she certainly has
shown a Christian sense of duty towards him. Well, you see, they are
the only ones left of the family. It's natural, I suppose."
"_I_ would think it natural to run away and leave him, like Aleck and
Scip did."
Aunt Sajane cast a warning glance towards the two oarsmen.
"Well, I would," insisted the girl. "I wonder no more of them ran away
when they thought he was coming home. How he must have raved! _I_
shouldn't wonder if it prostrated him again. You know old Doctor
Allison said it was just a fit of temper caused--"
"Yes, yes, honey; but you know we are to sleep under his roof
tonight."
"I'll sleep under Gertrude's half of it," laughed the girl. "It's no
use reminding me of my bad manners, Aunt Sajane. But as long as I can
remember anyone, I've had two men in my mind. One always grunted at me
and told me to take my doll somewhere else or be quiet. That was
Kenneth's guardian, Matthew Loring. The other man always had sugar
kisses in his pocket for me and gave me my first dog and my only pony.
That was Judge Clarkson. You see if my judge had not been so lovely
the other would not have seemed so forbidding. It was the contrast did
it. I wonder--I wonder if he ever had a sweetheart?"
"Gideon Clarkson? Lots of them," said his sister, promptly.
"I meant Mr. Loring."
"Nonsense, honey, nonsense."
"And nonsense means no," decided the girl. "I thought it would be
curious if he had," then an interval of silence, broken only by the
dip of the oars. "Gertrude's note said a Paris doctor is with them, a
friend of Kenneth and mama. Well, I only hope _he_ isn't a crusty old
sweetheartless man. But of course he is if Mr. Loring chose him. I'm
wild to know how they got through the blockade. Oh, dear, how I wish
it was Ken!"
"I don't suppose you wish it any more than the boy himself," said Aunt
Sajane, with a sigh. "There's a good many boys scattered from home,
these days, who would be glad to be home again."
"But not unless they gain what they went for," declared the girl in
patriotic protest.
The older woman sighed, and said nothing. Her enthusiasms of a year
ago had been shrouded by the crape of a mourning land; the glory of
conquest would be compensation, perhaps, and would be gained, no
doubt. But the price to be paid chilled her and left her without words
when Evilena revelled in the glories of the future.
"Loringwood line," said Pluto, motioning towards a great ditch leading
straight back from the river.
Evilena shrugged her shoulders with a little pretense of chill, and
laughed.
"That is only a reminder of what I used to feel when Gertrude's uncle
came to our house. I wonder if this long dress will prevent him from
grunting at me or ordering me out of the room if I talk too much."
"Remember, Evilena, he has been an invalid for four years, and is
excusable for almost any eccentricity."
"How did you all excuse his eccentricities before he got sick, Aunt
Sajane?"
Receiving no reply, the girl comforted herself with the appreciative
smile of the oarsmen, who were evidently of her mind as to the planter
under discussion, and a mile further they ran the boat through the
reeds and lily pads to the little dock at Loringwood.
Mrs. Nesbitt shook out the folds of her crisp lawn, adjusted her
bonnet and puffs and sighed, as they walked up the long avenue.
"I can remember when the lily pads never could get a chance to grow
there on account of the lot of company always coming in boats," she
said, regretfully, "and I've heard that the old Lorings lived like
kings here long ago; wild, reckless, magnificent men; not at all like
the Lorings now; and oh, my, how the place has been neglected of late.
Not a sign of life about the house. Now, in _Tom_ Loring's time--"
They had reached the foot of the steps when the great double doors
swung back and a woman appeared on the threshold and inclined her head
in greeting.
"Well, Margeret, I am glad to see some one alive," declared Mrs.
Nesbitt; "the place is so still."
"Yes; just look at Pluto and Bob," said Evilena, motioning towards the
boatmen. "One would think a ghost had met them at the landing, they
are so subdued."
The brown eyed, grey haired woman in the door glanced at the two
colored men who were following slowly along a path towards the back of
the house.
"Yes, Miss Lena, it is quiet," she agreed. "Please step in Mistress
Nesbitt. I'll have Raquel show you right up to your rooms, for Miss
Loring didn't think you could get here for an hour yet, and she felt
obliged to ride over to the north corner, but won't be gone long."
"And Mr. Loring--how is he?"
"Mr. Loring is very much worn out. He's gone asleep now. Doctor says
he's not to be seen just yet."
"Oh, yes; the doctor. I'll see him directly after I've rested a
little. He speaks English, I hope. Are you coming up, honey?"
"Not yet. I'll keep a lookout for Gertrude."
Margeret had touched a bell and in response a little black girl had
appeared, who smiled and ducked her head respectfully.
"Howdy, Miss Sajane? Howdy, Miss Lena?" she exclaimed, her black eyes
dancing. "I dunno how come it come, I nevah heerd you all, for I done
got--"
"Raquel, you show Mistress Nesbitt to the west room," said the quiet
tones of Margeret, and Raquel's animation subsided into wordless grins
as she gathered up the sunshade, reticule and other belongings, and
preceded Mistress Nesbitt up the stairs.
"If there's anything I can do for you just send Raquel for me."
"Thank you, Margeret. I'll remember."
Margeret crossed the hall to the parlor door and opened it.
"If you'd rather rest in here, Miss Lena--"
"No, no; I'll go look for Gertrude. Don't mind me. I remember all the
rooms well enough to make myself at home till she comes."
Margeret inclined her head slightly and moved along the hall to the
door of the dining room, which she entered.
Evilena looked after her with a dubious smile in the blue-gray eyes.
"I wonder if I could move as quietly as that even with my feet
_bare_," and she tried walking softly on the polished oak floor, but
the heels of her shoes would persist in giving out little clicking
sounds as Margeret's had not.
"It's no use. No living person with shoes on could walk silently as
that woman. She's just a ghost who--_a-gh-gh_!"
Her attempt at silent locomotion had brought her to the door of the
library, directly opposite the dining room. As she turned to retrace
her steps that door suddenly opened and a hand grasped her shoulder.
"Oh, ho! This time I've caught you, have I? you--oh, murder!"
Her half uttered scream had been checked by the sound of a voice which
memory told her was not that of her bugbear, the invalid master of the
house. It was, instead, a strange gentleman, who was young, and even
attractive; whose head was a mass of reddish curls, and whose austere
gaze changed quickly to an embarrassed stare as her hat slipped back
and he saw her face. The girl was the first to recover herself.
"Yes, you certainly did catch me this time," she gasped.
"My dear young lady, I'm a blundering idiot. I beg your pardon most
humbly. I thought it was that Raquel, and I--"
"Oh, Raquel?" and she backed to the opposite wall, regarding him with
doubt and question in her eyes.
"Exactly. Allow me to explain. Raquel, in company with some other imps
of all shades, have developed an abnormal interest in the unpacking of
various boxes today, and especially a galvanic battery in here,
which--"
"Battery? In _there_?" and Evilena raised on her tip-toes to survey
the room over his shoulder. "I know some boys of Battery B, but I
never saw them without uniforms."
"Uniform, is it? Well, now, you see, I've only been a matter of hours
in the country, and small chance to look up a tailor. Are--are they a
necessity to the preservation of life here?"
He spoke with a doubtful pretense of timidity, and looked at her
quizzically. She smiled, but made a little grimace, a curve of the
lips and nod of the head conveying decision.
"You will learn it is the only dress for a man that makes life worth
living, for him, around here," she replied. "Every man who is not
superannuated or attached to the state government in some way has to
wear a uniform unless he wants his loyalty questioned."
The un-uniformed man smiled at her delightful patriotic frankness.
"Faith, now, I've no objection to the questions if you are appointed
questioner. But let me get you a chair. Even when on picket duty and
challenging each new comer, you are allowed a more restful attitude
than your present one, I hope. You startled me into forgetting--"
"_I_ startled _you_? Well!"
"Oh, yes. I was the one to do the bouncing out and nabbing you, wasn't
I? Well, now, I can't believe you were the more frightened of the two,
for all that. Have this chair, please; it is the most comfortable. You
see, I fancied Raquel had changed under my touch from dusky brown to
angelic white. The hat hid your face, you know, until you turned
around, and then--"
"Well?" At the first tone of compliment she had forgotten all the
strangeness of their meeting, and remembered only the coquetry so
naturally her own. With or without the uniform of her country, he was
at least a man, and there had been a dearth of men about their
plantation, "The Terrace," of late.
"Well," he repeated after her, "when you tipped the hat back I thought
in a wink of all the fairy stories of transformation I used to hear
told by the old folks in Ireland."
"Do you really mean that you believe fairy stories?" Her tone was
severe and her expression chiding.
"On my faith I believed them all that minute."
Her eyes dropped to the toe of her slipper. It was all very
delightful, this tete-a-tete with the complimentary unknown, and to be
thought a fairy! She wished she had gone up with Aunt Sajane and
brushed her hair. Still--
"I was sure it was Mr. Loring who had hold of me until I looked
around," she confessed, "and that frightened me just as much as the
wickedest fairy or goblin could ever do."
"Indeed, now, would it?"
She glanced around to see if her indiscreet speech had been overheard
and then nodded assent.
"Oh, you needn't smile," she protested; and his face at once became
comically grave. "_You_ didn't have him for a bug-a-boo when you were
little, as I did. That doctor of his gave orders that no one was to
see him just now, and I am glad Gertrude will be back before we are
admitted. With Gertrude to back me up I could be brave as--as--"
"A sheep," suggested the stranger.
"I was going to say a lion, but lions are big, and I'm not very."
"No, you are not," he agreed. "Sad, isn't it?"
Then they both laughed. She was elated, bubbling over with delight, at
meeting some one in Loringwood who actually laughed.
"Gertrude's note last night never told us she had company, and I had
gloomy forebodings of Uncle Matthew and Uncle Matthew's doctor, to
whom I would not dare speak a word, and the relief of finding real
people here is a treat, so please don't mind if I'm silly."
"I shan't--when you are," he agreed, magnanimously. "But pray
enlighten me as to why you will be unable to exchange words with the
medical stranger? He's no worse a fellow than myself."
"Of _course_ not," she said, with so much fervor that her listener's
smile was clearly a compromise with laughter. "But a doctor from
Paris! Our old Doctor Allison is pompous and domineering enough, and
he never was out of the state, but this one from Europe, he is sure to
oppress me with his wonderful knowledge. Indeed, I don't know who he
will find to talk to here, now, except Judge Clarkson. The judge
_will_ be scholarly enough for him."
"And does he, also, oppress you with his professional knowledge?"
Evilena's laugh rang out clear as a bird's note.
"The Judge? Never! Why I just love him. He is the dearest, best--"
"I see. He's an angel entirely, and no mere mortal from Paris is to be
mentioned in the same breath."
"Well, he is everything charming," she insisted. "You would be sure to
like him."
"I wish I could be as sure you might change your mind and like the
new-comer from Paris."
"Do you? Oh, well, then, I'll certainly try. What is he like, nice?"
"I really can't remember ever having heard any one say so," confessed
the stranger, smiling at her.
"Well," and Evilena regarded him with wide, astonished eyes, "no one
else likes him, yet you hoped I would. Why, I don't see how--"
The soft quick beat of horse hoofs on the white shelled road
interrupted her, or gave opportunity for interrupting herself.
"I hope it's Gertrude. Oh, it _is_! You dear old darling."
She flounced down the steps, followed by the man, who was becoming a
puzzle. He gave his hand to Miss Loring, who accepted that assistance
from the horse block, and then he stepped aside that the embrace
feminine might have no obstacle in its path.
"My dear little girl," and the mistress of Loringwood kissed her guest
with decided fondness. "How good of you to come at once--and Mrs.
Nesbitt, too? I'm sorry you had to wait even a little while for a
welcome, but I just had to ride over to the quarters, and then to the
far fields. Thank you, doctor, for playing host."
"_Doctor_?" gasped Evilena, gripping Miss Loring's arm. There was a
moment of hesitation on the part of all three, when she said,
reproachfully, looking at the smiling stranger, "Then it was you all
the time?"
"Was there no one here to introduce you?" asked Miss Loring, looking
from one to the other. "This is Dr. Delavan, dear, and this, doctor,
is Kenneth's sister."
"Thanks. I recognized her at once, and I trust you will forgive me for
not introducing myself sooner, mademoiselle, but--well, we had so many
other more interesting things to speak of."
Evilena glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and with her arm
about Gertrude walked in silence up the steps. She wanted time to
think over what awful things she had said to him, not an easy thing to
do, for Evilena said too many things to remember them all.
Margeret was in the hall. Evilena wondered by what occult messages she
learned when any one ascended those front steps. She took Miss
Loring's riding hat and gloves.
"Mistress Nesbitt is just resting," she said, in those soft even
tones. "She left word to call her soon as you got back--she'd come
down."
"I'll go up and see her," decided Miss Loring. "Will you excuse us,
doctor? And Margeret, have Chloe get us a bit of lunch. We are all a
little tired, and it is a long time till supper."
"I have some all ready, Miss Gertrude. Was only waiting till you got
back."
"Oh, very well. In five minutes we will be down."
Then, with her arm about Evilena, Miss Loring ascended the wide
stairway, where several portraits of vanished Lorings hung, none of
them resembling her own face particularly.
She was what the Countess Biron had likened her to when the photograph
was shown--a white lily, slender, blonde, with the peculiar and
attractive combination of hazel eyes and hair of childish flaxen
color. Her features were well formed and a trifle small for her
height. She had the manner of a woman perfectly sure of herself, her
position and her own importance.
Her voice was very sweet. Sometimes there were high, clear tones in
it. Delaven had admired those bell-like intonations until now, when he
heard her exchange words with Margeret. All at once the mellow,
contralto tones of the serving woman made the voice of the lovely
mistress sound metallic--precious metal, to be sure, nothing less than
silver. But in contrast was the melody, entirely human, soft,
harmonious, alluring as a poet's dream of the tropics.