What embraces, ejaculations and caresses, when Evilena, accompanied by
Pluto and the delighted Raquel, arrived at the Terrace next morning!
Judithe, who saw from the veranda the rapturous meeting of mother and
daughter, sighed, a quick, impatient catching of the breath, and
turned to enter the library through the open French windows.
Reconsidering her intention, she halted, and waited at the head of the
broad steps where Kenneth's sister saw her for the first time and came
to her with a pleased, half shy greeting, and where Kenneth's mother
slipped one arm around each as they entered the house, and between the
two she felt welcomed into the very heart of the McVeigh family
feminine.
"Oh, and mama!"--thus exclaimed Evilena as she was comfortably
ensconced in the same chair with that lady--"there is so much news to
tell you I don't know where to begin. But Gertrude sends love--please
don't go, Madame Caron--I am only going to talk about the neighbors.
And they are all coming over very soon, and the best of all is,
Gertrude has at last coaxed Uncle Matthew (a roguish grimace at the
title) to give up Loringwood entirely and come to the Pines. And Dr.
Delaven--he's delightful, mama, when he isn't teasing folks--he
strongly advises them to make the change soon; and, oh, won't you ask
them all over for a few weeks until the Pines is ready? And did you
hear about two of their field hands running off? Well, they did. Scip
and Aleck; isn't it too bad? and Mr. Loring doesn't know it yet, no
one dares tell him; and Masterson's Cynthia had a boy run off, too,
and went to the Yankees, they suppose. And old Nelse he got scared
sick at a ghost last night while they were 'possum hunting. And, oh,
mama, have you heard from Ken?--not a word has come here, and he never
even saw Gertrude over there. He must be powerful busy if he could not
stop long enough to hunt friends up and say 'howdy.'"
"Lena, Lena, child!" and the mother sank back in her chair, laughing.
"Have they enforced some silent system of existence on you since I
have been down at Mobile? I declare, you fairly make my head swim with
your torrent of news and questions. Judithe, does not this young lady
fulfill the foreign idea of the American girl--a combination of the
exclamation and interrogation point?"
Evilena stopped further criticism by kisses.
"I will be good as goodness rather than have Madame Caron make up her
mind I am silly the very first day," she promised, "but, oh, mama, it
_is_ so good to have you to talk to, and so delightful of Madame to
come with you"--this with a swift, admiring side glance at their
visitor--"and, altogether, I'm just in love with the world today."
Later she informed them that Judge Clarkson would probably drive over
that evening, as he was going to Columbia or Savannah--she had
forgotten which--and had to go home first. He would have come with her
but for a business talk he wanted to have, if Mr. Loring was able,
this morning.
"Gertrude coaxed him to stop over and settle something about selling
Loringwood. She's just grieving over the wreck and ruin there, and Mr.
Loring never will be able to manage it again. They've been offered a
lot of money for it by some Orleans people, and Gertrude wants it
settled. Aunt Sajane is going to stay until they all come to the
Pines."
"If Judge Clarkson should be going to Savannah you could send your
maid in his charge, since she is determined to leave us," suggested
Mrs. McVeigh.
"She would, no doubt, be delighted to go under such escort," said
Judithe, "but her arrangements are made to start early in the morning;
it is not likely your friend would be leaving so soon. Then,
mademoiselle has said she is not sure but that it is to some other
place he goes."
"Columbia?--yes; and more than likely it _is_ Columbia," assented Mrs.
McVeigh. "He is there a great deal during these troublous times."
A slight sigh accompanied the words, and Judithe noticed, as she had
done often before, the lack of complaint or bewailings of the
disasters so appalling to the South, for even the victories were so
dearly bought. There was an intense eagerness for news from the front,
and when it was read, the tears were silent ones. The women smiled
bravely and were sure of victory in the end. Their faith in their men
was adorable.
Evilena undertook to show the Marquise around the Terrace, eagerly
anxious to become better acquainted with the stranger whose beauty had
won her quite as quickly as it had won her brother. Looking at her,
and listening to the soft tones with the delicious accent of France,
she wondered if Ken had ever really dared to fall in love with this
star from a foreign sky, or if Dr. Delaven had only been teasing her.
Of course one could not help the loving; but brave as she believed Ken
to be, she wondered if he had ever dared even whisper of it to
Judithe, Marquise de Caron; for she refused to think of her as simply
Madame Caron even though she did have to say it. The courtesy shown to
her own democratic country by the disclaiming of titles was
altogether thrown away on Evilena, and she comforted herself by
whispering softly the given name _Zhu-dette--Zhudette_, delighted to
find that the French could make of the stately name a musical one as
well.
Raquel came breathlessly to them on the lawn with the information that
"Mistress McVeigh ast them to please come in de house right off case
that maid lady, Miss Weesa, she done slip on stairs an' hurt her foot
powerful."
"Thanks, yes; I will come at once," said Miss Weesa's mistress in so
clear and even a tone that Evilena, who was startled at the news, was
oppressed by a sudden fear that all the warmth in the nature of her
fascinating Marquise was centered in the luminous golden brown eyes.
As Judithe followed the servant into the house there came a swift
remembrance of those lamentable presentiments. Was there, after all,
something in the blood akin to the prescience through which birds and
wild things scent the coming storms?--some atavism outgrown by the
people of intellectual advancement, but yet a power to the children of
the near sun?
Miss Louisa's foot certainly was hurt; it had been twisted by a fall
on the stairs, and the ankle refused to bear the weight; the attempt
to step on it caused her such agony that she had called for help, and
the entire household had responded.
It was Pluto who reached her first, lifting her in his arms and
carrying her to a bed. She had almost fainted from pain or fright, and
when she opened her eyes again it was to meet those of her mistress in
one wild appeal. Pluto had not moved after placing her on the bed,
though the other darkies had retired into the hall, and Judithe's
first impression of the scene was the huge black eyes fairly
devouring the girl's face with his curious gaze. He stepped back as
Mrs. McVeigh entered with camphor and bandages, but he saw that
pleading, frightened glance.
"Never mind, Louise, it will all be well," said her mistress,
soothingly; "this has happened before," she added, turning to Mrs.
McVeigh. "It needs stout bandages and perfect rest; in a week it will
be forgotten."
"A week!"--moaned the girl with pale lips, "but tomorrow--I _must_ go
tomorrow!"
"Patience, patience! You shall so soon as you are able, Louise, and
the less you fret the sooner that may be."
Judithe herself knelt by the bed and removed tenderly the coquettish
shoe of soft kid, and, to the horror of the assembled maids at the
door, deliberately cut off the silk stocking, over which their wonder
had been aroused when the short skirts of Louise had made visible
those superfine articles. The pieces of stocking, needless to say,
were captured as souvenirs and for many a day shown to the scoffers of
neighboring plantations, who doubted the wild tales of luxury ascribed
to the foreign magnate whose servants were even dressed like sure
enough ladies.
"We must bandage it to keep down the swelling," said Judithe, working
deftly as she spoke; "it happened once in New Orleans--this, and
though painful, is not really serious, but she is so eager to commence
the refurnishing of the yacht that she laments even a day's delay."
Louise did not speak again--only showed by a look her comprehension of
the statement, and bore patiently the binding of the ankle.
It was three days before she could move about the room with help of a
cane, and during those days of feverish anxiety her mistress had an
opportunity to observe the very pointed and musical interest Pluto
showed in the invalid whose language he could not speak. He was
seldom out of hearing or her call and was plainly disturbed when word
came from Loringwood that the folks would all be over in a few days.
He even ventured to ask Evilena if Mr. Loring's eyesight hadn't failed
some since his long sickness, and was well satisfied, apparently, by
an affirmative reply. He even went so far as to give Louise a slight
warning, which she repeated to her mistress one day after the Judge
and Delaven had called, and Louise had promptly gone to bed and to
sleep, professing herself too well now for a doctor's attention.
"Pluto is either trying to lay a trap for me to see if I do know
English, or else he is better informed than we guess--which it is, I
cannot say, Marquise," she confided, nervously. "When he heard his
mistress say I was to start Thursday, he watched his chance and
whispered: 'Go Wednesday--don't wait till visitors come, go
Wednesday.'"
"Visitors?--then he means the Lorings, they are to be here Thursday,"
and Judithe closed the book she had been reading, and looked
thoughtfully out of the window. Louise was moving about the room with
the aid of a cane, glancing at her mistress now and then and waiting
to hear her opinion.
"I believe I would take his advice, Louise," she said at last. "I have
not noticed the man much beyond the fact that he has been wonderfully
attentive to your wants. What do you think of him--or of his
motives?"
"I believe they are good," said the girl, promptly. "He is dissatisfied; I
can see that--one of the insurrection sort who are always restless. He's
entirely bound up in the issue of the war, as regards his own people. He
suspects me and because he suspects me tries to warn me--to be my
friend. When I am gone you may need some one here, and of all I see he
is the one to be most trusted, though, perhaps, Dr. Delaven--"
"Is out of the question," and Judithe's decision was emphatic. "These
people are his friends."
"They are yours, too, Marquise," said the girl, smiling a little; but
no smile answered her, a slight shade of annoyance--a tiny frown--bent
the dark brows.
"Yes, I remember that sometimes, but I possess an antidote," she
replied, lightly. "You know--or perhaps you do not know--that it is
counted a virtue in a Gypsy to deceive a Georgio--well, I am fancying
myself a Gypsy. In the Mohammedan it is a virtue to deceive the
Christian, and I am a Mohammedan for the moment. In the Christian it
was counted for centuries a mark of special grace if he despoil the
Jew, until generations of oppression showed the wanderer the real God
held sacred by his foes--money, my child, which he proceeded to garner
that he might purchase the privileges of other races. So, with my
Jewish name as a foundation, I have created an imaginary Jewish
ancestor whose wrongs I take up against the people of a Christian
land; I add all this debt to the debt Africa owes this enlightened
nation, and I shall help to pay it."
The eyes of Louise widened at this fantastical reason. She was often
puzzled to determine whether the Marquise was entirely serious, or
only amusing herself with wild fancies when she touched on pondrous
questions with gay mockery.
Just now she laughed as she read dismay in the maid's face.
"Oh, it is quite true, Louise, it _is_ a Christian land--and more, it
is the most Christian portion of a Christian land, because the South
is entirely orthodox; only in the North will you find a majority of
skeptics, atheists, and agnostics. Though they may be scarcely
conscious of it themselves, it is because of their independent
heterodox tendencies that they are marching today by thousands to war
against a slavery not their own--the most righteous motive for a war
in the world's history; but it cannot be denied that they are making
war against an eminently Christian institution." And she smiled across
at Louise, whose philosophy did not extend to the intricacies of such
questions.
"I don't understand even half the reasons back of the war," she
confessed, "but the thing I do understand is that the black man is
likely to have a chance for freedom if the North wins, and that's the
one question to me. Miss Evilena said yesterday it was all a turmoil
got up by Yankee politicians who will fill their pockets by it."
"Oh, that was after Judge Clarkson's call; she only quoted him in
that, and he is right in a way," she added; "there is a great deal of
political jugglery there without a vestige of patriotism in it, but
they do not in the least represent the great heart of the people of
the North; _they_ are essentially humanitarians. So you see I weigh
all this, with my head, not my heart," she added, quizzically, "and
having done so--having chosen my part--I can't turn back in the face
of the enemy, even when met by smiles, though I confess they are hard
weapons to face. It is a battle where the end to be gained justifies
the methods used."
"_Ma belle_, Marquise," murmured the girl, in the untranslatable
caress of voice and eyes. "Sometimes I grow afraid, and you scatter
the fear by your own fearlessness. Sometimes I grow weak, and you
strengthen me with reasons, reasons, reasons!"
"That is because the heart is not allowed to hamper the head."
"Oh, you tease me. You speak to me like a guardian angel of my people;
your voice is like a trumpet, it stirs echoes in my heart, and the
next minute you laugh as though it were all a play, and I were a child
to be amused."
"'And each man in his time plays many parts,'" quoted Judithe,
thoughtfully, then with a mocking glance she added: "But not so many
as women do."
"There--that is what I mean. One moment you are all seriousness and
the next--"
"But, my child, it is criminal to be serious all the time; it kills
the real life and leads to melancholia. You would grow morbid through
your fears if I did not laugh at them sometimes, and it would
never--never do for me to approve them."
She touched the girl's hand softly with her own and looked at her with
a certain affectionate chiding.
"You are going away from me, Louise, and you must not go in dread or
despondency. It may not be for long, perhaps, but even if it should
be, you must remember that I love you--I trust you. I pity you for the
childhood and youth whose fate was no choice of yours. Never forget my
trust in you; when we are apart it may comfort you to remember it."
The girl looked at her with wide black eyes, into which the tears
crept.
"Marquise," she whispered, "you talk as if you might be sending me
away for always. Oh, Marquise--"
Judithe raised her hand warningly.
"Be a soldier, child," she said, softly, "each time we separate for
even a day--you and I--we do not know that we will ever meet again.
These are war times, you know."
"I know--but I never dreaded a separation so much; I wish you were not
to remain. Perhaps that Pluto's words made me more nervous--it is so
hard to tell how much he guesses, and those people--the Lorings--"
"I think I shall be able to manage the Lorings," said her mistress,
with a reassuring smile, "even the redoubtable Matthew--the tyrannical
terror of the county; so cheer up, Louise. Even the longest parting
need only be a lifetime, and I should find you at the end of it."
"And find me still your slave," said the girl, looking at her
affectionately. "That's a sort of comfort to think, Marquise; I'm glad
you said it. I'll think of it until me meet again."
She repeated it Wednesday morning when she entered the boat for the
first stage of her journey to Savannah, and the Marquise nodded her
comprehension, murmured kindly words of adieu, and watched the little
vessel until a bend in the river hid it from view, when she walked
slowly back to the house. Since her arrival in America this was the
first time she had been separated from the devoted girl for more than
a day, and she realized the great loss it would be to her, though she
knew it to be an absolutely necessary one.
As for Louise, she watched to the last the slight elevation of the
Terrace grounds rising like an island of green from the level lands by
the river. When it finally disappeared--barred out by the nearer green
of drooping branches, she wept silently, and with a heavy heart went
downward to Pocotaligo, oppressed by the seemingly groundless fear
that some unknown evil threatened herself or the Marquise--the dread
lest they never meet again.