"Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern rights Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the bonney blue flag,
That bears the single star!"
Evilena was singing this stirring ditty at the top of her voice, a
very sweet voice when not overtaxed, but Dilsey, the cook, put both
hands to her ears and vowed cooking school would close at once if that
"yapping" was not stopped; she could not for the life of her see why
Miss Lena would sing that special song so powerful loud.
"Why, Dilsey, it is my shout of defiance," explained the girl,
stirring vigorously at a mass in a wooden bowl which she fondly hoped
would develop into cookies for that evening's tea, when the party from
Loringwood were expected. "It does not reach very far, but I comfort
myself by saying it good and loud, anyway. That Yankee general who has
marched his followers into Orleans fines everybody--even if its a
lady--who sings that song. I can't make him hear me that far off, but
I do my best."
"Good Lawd knows you does," agreed Dilsey. "But when you want to sing
in this heah cookhouse I be 'bleeged if yo' fine some song what ain't
got no battles in it. Praise the Lawd, we fur 'nough away so that
Yankee can't trouble we all."
"Madam Caron saw him once," said the amateur cook, tasting a bit of
the sweetened dough with apparent pleasure, "but she left Orleans
quick, after the Yankees came. Of course it wouldn't be a place for a
lady, then. She shut her house up and went straight to Mobile, and I
just love her for it."
"Seems to me like she jest 'bout witched yo' all," remarked Dilsey;
"every blessed nigger in the house go fallen' ovah theyselves when her
bell rings, fo' feah they won't git thah fust; an' Pluto, he like to
be no use to any one till aftah her maid, Miss Louise, get away, he
jest waited on her, han' an' foot."
Dilsey had heretofore been the very head and front of importance in
the servants' quarters on that plantation, and it was apparent that
she resented the comparative grandeur of the Marquise's maid, and
especially resented it because her fellow servants bowed down and paid
enthusiastic tribute to the new divinity.
"Well, Dilsey, I'm sure she needed waiting on hand and foot while she
was so crippled. I know mama was mighty well pleased he was so
attentive; reckon maybe that's why she let him go riding with Madame
Caron this morning."
"Pluto, he think plenty o' hisself 'thout so much pamperen," grumbled
Dilsey. "Seem like he counted the whole 'pendence o' the family since
Mahs Ken gone."
Evilena prudently refrained from expressing an opinion on the subject,
though she clearly perceived that Dilsey was possessed of a fit of
jealousy; so she proceeded to flatter the old soul into a more sunny
humor lest dinner should go awry in some way, more particularly as
regarded the special dishes to which her own little hands had added
interest.
She was yet in the cookhouse when the guests arrived, and doffing the
huge apron in which she was enveloped, skurried into the house,
carrying with her the fragrance of cinnamon and sweet spices, while a
dust of flower on curls and chin gave her a novel appearance, and the
confession that she had been cooking was not received with the
acclamation she had expected, though there was considerable laughter
about it. No one appeared to take the statement seriously except
Matthew Loring, who took it seriously enough to warn Margeret he would
expect her to supervise all dishes _he_ was to partake of. His meals
were affairs not to be trifled with.
Margeret and Ben had accompanied the party. Others of the more
reliable house servants of Loringwood, were to commence at once work
at the Pines, and Gertrude was almost enthusiastic over the change.
"You folks really _live_ over here," she declared to Mrs. McVeigh,
"while at Loringwood--well, they tell me life used to be very gay
there--but I can't remember the time. It seems to me that since the
day they carried papa in from his last hunting field the place has
been under a cloud. Nothing prospers there, nobody laughs or sings; I
can't be fond of it, and I am so glad to get away from it again."
"Still, it is a magnificent estate," said Mrs. McVeigh, thoughtfully;
"the associations of the past--the history of your family--is so
intimately connected with it, I should think you would be sorry to
part with it."
"I should not!" said Gertrude, promptly, "the money just now would do
me a great deal more good than family records of extravagance which
all the Lorings but Uncle Matthew seem to have been addicted to; and
he is the exact opposite, you know."
Mrs. McVeigh did know. She remembered hearing of him as a one-time
gamester long ago in New Orleans, a man without the conviviality of
his father or his brother Tom; a man who spent money in dissipations
purely selfish, carrying the spirit of a speculator even into his
pursuit of social enjoyment. Then, all at once, he came back to
Loringwood, settled down and became a model in deportment and
plantation management, so close a calculator of dimes as well as
dollars that it was difficult to believe he ever had squandered a
penny, and a great many people refused to credit those ancient Orleans
stories at all. Kenneth's father was one of them.
"I don't believe I am very much of a Loring, anyway," continued
Gertrude with a little sigh. "They were a wild, reckless lot so far
back as I can learn, and I--well, you couldn't call me wild and
reckless, could you?"
Mrs. McVeigh smiled at the query and shook her head. "Not the least
little bit, and we are glad of it." She walked over to the window
looking across the far fields where the road showed a glimpse of
itself as it wound by the river. "I thought I saw some one on
horseback over there, and every horseman coming our way is of special
interest just now. I look for word from Kenneth daily--if not from the
boy himself; he has had time to be home now. His stay has already been
longer than he expected."
Gertrude joined her and gave her attention to the head of the road.
"It may be your visitor from France, Evilena said she had gone riding.
Of course you know we are all eager to meet her. Dr. Delaven sings her
praises to us until it has become tantalizing."
"We should have driven over to see you but for that accident to her
maid--the poor thing, except a few words, could only speak her own
language, and we could not leave her entirely to the servants. Madame
Caron seemed quite impressed with the brief glance she got of
Loringwood, and when she heard it was likely to be sold she asked a
great many interested questions concerning it. She is wealthy enough
to humor her fancies, and her latest one is a Carolina plantation near
enough to water for her yacht, which Mobile folks say is the most
beautiful thing--and the Combahee would always be navigable for so
small a craft, and the Salkahatchie for most of the year."
"She certainly must be able to humor any sort of fancy if she keeps a
yacht of her own; that will be a new departure for a woman in
Carolina. It sounds very magnificent."
"It is; and it suits her. That is one reason why I thought she might
be the very best possible purchaser for Loringwood. She would
resurrect all its former glories, and establish new ones."
Matthew Loring entered the sitting room, moving somewhat haltingly
with the help of a cane. Gertrude arranged a chair near the window, in
which he seated himself slowly.
"Do you feel tired after the ride, Uncle?"
"No," he said, fidgetting with the cushion back of his head, and
failing to adjust it to suit him, either let it fall or threw it on
the floor. Gertrude replaced it without a word, and Mrs. McVeigh
smiled quietly, and pretended not to see.
"I think I can promise you a pleasant visitor, Mr. Loring," she
remarked, turning from the window. "A gentleman just turned in at our
gate, and he does look like Judge Clarkson."
Gertrude left the room to join the others who were talking and
laughing in the arbor, a few steps across the lawn. Mrs. McVeigh
busied herself cutting some yellowing leaves from the plants on the
stand by the window. Loring watched her with a peculiar peering gaze.
His failing sight caused him to pucker his brows in a frown when he
desired to inspect anything intently, and it was that regard he was
now directing toward Mrs. McVeigh, who certainly was worth looking at
by any man.
The dainty lace cap she wore had tiny bows of violet showing among the
lace, and it someway had the effect of making her appear more youthful
instead of adding matronliness. The lawn she wore had violet lines
through it, and the flowing sleeves had undersleeves of sheer white
gathered at the wrist. The wide lace collar circled a throat scarcely
less white, and altogether made a picture worth study, though Matthew
Loring's view of it was rather blurred because of the failure of
vision which he denied whenever opportunity offered; next to paralysis
there was nothing he dreaded so much as blindness, and even to Delaven
he denied--uselessly--any tendency in that direction.
"Hum!" he grunted, at last, with a cynical smile; "if Gid Clarkson
keeps up his habit of visiting you regularly, as he has done for the
past ten years, you ought to know him a mile away by this time."
"Oh!"--Mrs. McVeigh was refastening her brooch before the mirror, "not
ten years, quite."
"Well, long enough to be refused three times to my certain knowledge;
why, he doesn't deny it--proud to let the country know his devotion to
the most charming of her sex," and he gave an ironical little nod for
which she exchanged one of her sweetest smiles.
"Glad you looked at me when you said that," she remarked, lightly;
"and we do depend on Judge Clarkson so much these days I don't know
what I ever would do if his devotion dwindled in the least. But I
fancy his visit this morning is on your account instead of mine."
At that moment the white hat of Clarkson could be seen above the
veranda railing, and Mrs. McVeigh threw open the glass doors as he
appeared at the top of the steps with an immense boquet held with
especial care--the Judge's one hobby in the realm of earth-grown
things was flowers.
He bowed when he caught sight of the mistress of the Terrace, who
bestowed on him a quaint courtesy such as the good nuns of Orleans
taught their pupils thirty years before, she also extended her
hand, which he kissed--an addition to fine manners the nuns had
omitted--probably they knew how superfluous such training would be,
all Southern girls being possessed of that knowledge by right of
birth.
"Good morning, Judge."
"Mistress McVeigh!" Loring uttered an inarticulate exclamation
which was first cousin to a grunt, as the Judge's tone reached his
ear, and the profound bow was robbed of its full value by the
Judge straightening, and glancing sideways.
"My delight, Madame, at being invited over this morning is only to be
expressed in the silent language of the blossoms I bring. You will
honor me by accepting them?"
"With very great pleasure, Judge; here is Mr. Loring."
"Heartily pleased to see you have arrived," and the Judge moved over
and shook hands. "I came within bowing distance of Miss Gertrude as I
entered, so I presume she has induced you to come over to the Pines
for good. Your position, Mr. Loring, is one to be envied in that
respect. Your hours are never lonely for lack of womanly grace and
beauty in your household;" he glanced at Mrs. McVeigh, who was
arranging the flowers in a vase, "I envy you, sir, I envy you."
"Oh, Gertrude is well enough, though we don't unite to spoil each
other with flattering demonstrations," and he smiled cynically at the
other two, and peered quizzically at Mrs. McVeigh, who presented him
with a crimson beauty of a rose, for which he returned a very
gracious, "Thank you," and continued: "Yes, Gertrude's a very good
girl, though it's a pity it wasn't a boy, instead, who came into the
Loring family that day to keep up the old name. And what about that
boy of yours, Mistress McVeigh? When do you expect him home?"
"Very soon, now. His last message said they hoped to reach Charleston
by the twentieth--so you see the time is short. I am naturally
intensely anxious--the dread of that blockade oppresses me."
"No need, no need," and Loring's tone was decided and reassuring. "We
got out through it, and back through it, and never a Yankee in sight;
and those men on a special commission will be given double care, you
may be sure."
"Certainly; the run from Nassau has kept the mail service open almost
without a break," assented Clarkson, "and we have little reason for
anxiety now that the more doubtful part of the undertaking has been
successfully arranged."
"Most successfully; he writes that the English treat our people with
extreme consideration, and heartily approve our seceding."
"Of course they do, and why shouldn't they?" demanded Loring. "I tell
you, they would do much more than give silent sympathy to our cause if
it were not that Russia has chosen to send her warships into Yankee
harbors just now on guard against the interference of any of our
friends, especially against Great Britain's interference, which would
be most certain and most valuable."
"Quite true, quite true," assented the Judge, with a soothing tone,
calculated to allay any combative or excited mood concerning that or
any other subject; "but even their moral support has been a wonderful
help, my dear sir, and the securing of an important addition to our
navy from them just now means a very great deal I assure you; once let
us gain a foothold in the North--get into Washington--and she will be
the first to acknowledge us as a power--a sovereign power, sir!"
"I don't understand the political reasons of things," confessed their
hostess, "but I fear Kenneth has imbibed the skepticism of the age
since these years of military associations; he suggests that England's
motive is really not for our advantage so much as her own. I dislike
to have my illusions dispelled in that respect; yet I wonder if it is
all commercialism on their part."
"Most assuredly," said the Judge. "England's policy has always been
one of selfishness where our country was concerned. We must not forget
she was the bitterest foe of our fathers. She has been sent home from
our shores badly whipped too often to feel much of the brotherly love
she effects just now for her own purposes. We must not expect anything
else. She is of help to us now for purposes of revenue, only, and we
will have to pay heavy interest for all favors. The only thought of
comfort to us in the matter is that our cause is worth paying that
interest for."
Loring acknowledged the truth of the statements, and Mrs. McVeigh
sighed to think of the duplicity of the nation she had fancied
single-hearted. And to a woman of her trustful nature it was a shock
to learn that the British policy contained really none of the sweetly
domestic and fraternal spirit so persistently advertised.
To change the conversation the Judge produced a letter just
received--a proposal for Loringwood at Mr. Loring's own price.
"Already?" asked Mrs. McVeigh; and Loring, who realized that his own
price was a remarkably high one, showed surprise at the ready
acceptance of it.
"The offer is made by a law firm in New Orleans, Hart & Logan,"
continued Clarkson. "But the real purchaser is evidently some client
of theirs."
"Well, I certainly hope the client will prove a pleasant personage if
he is to locate at Loringwood," remarked Mrs. McVeigh. "Some one in
New Orleans? Possibly we know them."
"I am led to believe that the property is desired for some educational
institution," said Clarkson, handing the letter to Loring, who could
not decipher two lines of the fine script, but refrained from
acknowledging it.
"I must say the offer pleases me greatly." He nodded his head and
uttered a sigh of satisfaction; "a school or seminary, no doubt, I
like that; so will Gertrude. Speak to her, and then write or telegraph
the acceptance, as they prefer. This is remarkably quick work; I
feared it would be a long while before a purchaser could be found.
This is most fortunate."
"Then I congratulate you, Mr. Loring," said Mrs. McVeigh, who was
grateful to the Judge for bringing news likely to make the entertainment
of the invalid an easier affair. "But your fortunate offer from New
Orleans dispels a hope I had that my friend, Madame Caron, might buy
it. She seemed quite impressed with it. I was just saying so to
Gertrude."
"Yes, we've all been hearing considerable about this charming
foreigner of yours, who is daring enough to cross to a war-ridden
country to pay visits."
"She owns a fine property in New Orleans, but left there in disgust
when the Yankees took possession. I was delighted to find her in
Mobile, and persuaded her to come along and see plantation life in our
country. We met her first in Paris--Kenneth and I. He will be
delightfully surprised to find her here."
"No doubt, no doubt," but Loring's assent was not very hearty; he
remembered those first comments on her at Loringwood. "Dr. Delaven,
also, was among her Parisian acquaintances, so you will have quite a
foreign colony at the Terrace."
"I was much pleased with that fine young fellow, Dr. Delaven,"
remarked the Judge, "and really consider you most fortunate to secure
his services--a very superior young man, and possessed, I should say,
of very remarkable talent, and of too gay a heart to be weighed down
with the importance of such special knowledge, as is too often the
case in young professional men--yes, sir; a very bright young man."
Mrs. McVeigh, hearing laughter, had stepped out on the veranda, and
smiled in sympathy with the couple who appeared on the step. The very
talented young man just mentioned was wreathed in blossoms and wild
vines; he carried Aunt Sajane's parasol, and was guided by reins
formed of slender vines held in Miss Evilena's hands; the hat he wore
was literally heaped with flowers, and he certainly did not appear to
be weighed by the importance of any special knowledge at that moment.
At sight of the Judge, Evilena dropped her improvised lines and ran to
him.
"Oh, Judge, it is right kind of you to come over early today. Aunt
Sajane is coming, she was down to the river with us; she laughed too
much to walk fast. We were getting wild flowers for decorating--and
here is Dr. Delaven."
"Yes, I'm one of the things she's been decorating," and he entered
from the veranda, shook hands with Clarkson, and stood for inspection.
"Don't I look like a lamb decked for the sacrifice? But faith it was
the heart of a lion I needed to go into the moccasin dens where she
sent me this day. The blossoms desired by your daughter were sure to
grow in the wildest swamps."
"I didn't suppose a bog-trotter would object to that," remarked the
girl, to Loring's decided amusement.
"Lena!" and at the look of horror on her mother's face she fled to the
veranda.
"Ah--Mrs. McVeigh, I'm not hurt at all, but if she had murthered me
entirely your smile would give me new life again; it's a guardian
angel you are to me."
"You do need assistance," she replied, endeavoring to untwine the
vines twisted about his shoulders, "now turn around."
He did, spinning in top fashion, with extended arms, while Evilena
smiled at the Judge from the window. His answering smile grew somewhat
constrained as his hostess deliberately put her pretty arm half way
around the young man's shoulder in her efforts to untangle him.
"I say, Judge, isn't it in fine luck I am?--the undoing of Delaven!"
But the Judge did not respond. He grew a trifle more ceremonious as he
turned from the window.
"Mistress McVeigh, I shall step out on the lawn to meet my sister and
Miss Loring, and when you have concluded your present task, would you
permit me to see the autumn roses you were cultivating? As a lover of
flowers I certainly have an interest in their progress."
"Autumn roses--humph!" and Loring smiled in a grim way only
discernible to Delaven, who had grown so accustomed to his sardonic
comments on things in general that they no longer caused surprise.
"Of course, Judge; I'll show them to you myself," and Mrs. McVeigh let
fall the last of the vines and joined him at the window--"so charming
of you to remember them at all."
"Don't you want to go along and study the progress of autumn roses?"
asked Evilena, peering around the window at Delaven, who laughed at
the pretended demureness and timidity with which she invested the
question.
"Not at this moment, my lady. Autumn roses, indeed!--while there's a
wild flower in sight--not for the O'Delavens!"
And the O'Delaven's bright Irish eyes had so quizzical a smile in them
the girl blushed and was covered with confusion as with a mantle, and
gathering the blossoms in her arms seated herself ostentatiously close
to Mr. Loring's chair while she arranged them, and Delaven might
content himself with a view of one pink ear and a delicious dimple in
one cheek, which he contemplated from the lounging chair back of her,
and added to his occupation by humming, very softly, a bit of the old
song:
"Ten years have gone by and I have not a dollar;
Evilena still lives in that green grassy hollow;
And though I am fated to marry her never,
I'm sure that I'll love her for ever and ever!"
"For ever and ever! I say, Miss Evilena, how do you suppose the fellow
in the song could be so dead sure of himself, for ever and ever?"
"Probably he wasn't an Irishman," suggested the girl, bending lower
over the blossoms that he might not see her smiling.
"Arrah, now, I had conjured up a finer reason than that entirely; it
had something to do with the charms of your namesake, but I'll not be
telling you of it while you carry a nettle on your tongue to sting
poor harmless wanderers with."
His pondrous sigh was broken in on by her laughter, and the beat of
hoofs on the drive. While they looked at each other questioningly the
voice of Judithe was heard speaking to Pluto, and then humming the
refrain of Evilena's favorite, "Bonnie Blue Flag," she ran up to the
veranda where Mrs. McVeigh met her.
"Oh, what a glorious gallop I had. Good morning, Judge Clarkson. How
glad I am that you came right over soon as you got home. You are to us
a recruit from the world whom we depend on to tell us all about doings
there, and it is so good of you."
"It argues no virtue in a man, Madame, that he comes where beauty
greets him," and the Judge's bow was a compliment in itself.
"Charming--is it not, Madame McVeigh? Truly your Southern men are the
most delightful in the world."
"Ah, Madame," and Delaven arose from his chair with a lugubrious
countenance, "for how am I to forgive you for adopting the fancy that
Ireland is out of the world entirely?"
Judithe laughed frankly and put out her hand; she was exceedingly gay
and gracious that morning; there was a delightful exhilaration in her
manner, and it was contagious. Matthew Loring half turned in his chair
and peered out at the speaker as she turned to Delaven.
"Not out of the world of our hearts, Dr. Delaven, and for yourself,
you really should not have been born up where the snow falls. You
really belong to the South--we need you here."
"Faith, it was only a little encouragement I was needing, Marquise.
I'll ask the Judge to prepare my naturalization papers in the
morning."
"Other friends have arrived during your ride, Judithe," and her
hostess led her into the sitting room. "Allow me to present our
neighbor, Mr. Loring, of the Loringwood you admired so greatly."
"And with such good reason," said Judithe, with gracious bend of her
head, and a charming smile. "I have looked forward to meeting you for
some time, Mr. Loring, and your estate really appealed to me--it is
magnificent. After riding past it I was conscious of coveting my
neighbor's goods."
"It is our loss, Madame, that you did ride past," and Loring really
made an effort to be cordial and succeeded better than might have been
expected. He was peering at her from under the heavy brows very
intently, but she was outlined against the flood of light from the
window, and it blurred his vision, leaving distinct only the graceful,
erect form in its dark riding habit. "Had you entered the gates my
niece would have been delighted to entertain you."
"What a generous return for my envy," exclaimed Judithe. "The spirit
of hospitality seems ever abroad in your land, Mr. Loring."
He smiled, well pleased, for his pride in his own country, his own
state, was very decided. He lifted the forgotten rose from the arm of
his chair.
"I will have to depend on our friend, the Judge, to present you fine
phrases in return for that pretty speech, Madame; I can only offer a
substitute," and to Evilena's wide-eyed astonishment he actually
presented the rose to the Marquise.
"She simply has bewitched him," protested the girl to Delaven, later.
"I never knew him to do so gallant a thing before. I could not have
been more surprised if he had proposed marriage to her before us
all."
Delaven confessed he, too, was unprepared for so much amiability, but
then he admitted he had known men to do more astonishing things than
that, on short notice, for a smile from Madame Judithe.
She accepted the rose with a slight exclamation of pleasure.
"You good people will smother me with sweets and perfumes," she
protested, touching her cheek with the beautiful flower; then, as she
was about to smell it, they were astonished to see it flung from her
with a faint cry, followed by a little laugh at the consternation of
the party.
"How unpardonable that I discover a worm at the heart of your first
friendly offering to me, Mr. Loring;" and her tones were almost
caressing as she smiled at him; "the poor, pretty blossom, so lovely,
and so helpless in the grasp of its enemy, the worm."
Pluto had entered with a pitcher of water which he placed on the
stand. He had witnessed the episode of the rose, and picked it up from
where it had been tossed.
"Margeret told me to see if you wanted anything, Mr. Loring," he said,
gently, and Mr. Loring's answer was decided, brusque and natural.
"Yes, I do; I want to go to my room; get my stick. Mistress McVeigh,
if you have no objection to me breaking up your party, I would like to
have Judge Clarkson go along; we must settle these business matters
while I am able."
"At your service, sir, with your permission, Madame," and the Judge
glanced at Mrs. McVeigh, who telegraphed a most willing consent as she
passed out on the veranda after Evilena and Delaven. Judithe stood by
the little side table, slowly pulling off her gauntlets, when she was
aware that the colored man Pluto was regarding her curiously, and she
perceived the reason. He had looked into the heart of the rose, and on
the floor where it had fallen, and had found no living thing to cause
her dread of the blossom.
He dropped his eyes when she looked at him, and just then a bit of
conversation came to him as the Judge offered his arm to Loring and
assisted him to rise.
"I certainly am pleased that you feel like looking into the business
matters," Clarkson was saying, "and the Rhoda Larue settlement cannot
be postponed any longer; Colonel McVeigh may be back any time now, and
we must be ready to settle with him."
Loring made some grumbling remark in which "five thousand dollars" was
the only distinguishable thing, and then they passed out, and Pluto
followed, leaving the Marquise alone, staring out of the window with a
curious smile; she drew a deep breath of relief as the door closed.