The O'Delaven, as he called himself when he was in an especially Irish
mood, was Mistress McVeigh's most devoted servant and helper in the
preparations for the party. In fact, when Judge Clarkson rode over to
pay his respects, a puzzled little frown persistently crept between
his brows at the gallantry and assiduity displayed by this exile of
Erin in carrying out the charming lady's orders, to say nothing of the
gayety, the almost presumption, with which he managed affairs to suit
his own fancy when his hostess was not there to give personal
attention; and the child Evilena was very nearly, if not quite
ignored, or at any rate, was treated in a condescending manner almost
parental in its character, and which he perceived was as little
relished by the girl as by himself.
He was most delighted, of course, to learn who was the purchaser of
Loringwood--it was such an admirable transaction he felt everybody
concerned was to be congratulated; even war news was forgotten for a
space.
All the day passed and no Kenneth! His mother decided he would be
there the following morning, and, with flags draped over walls, and
all the preparations complete for his reception, she retired, weary
and happy from the day's labors.
Judithe eyed those flags with the same inscrutable smile sometimes
given to Matthew Loring's compliments. She pointed to them next
morning, when Delaven and herself stood in the hall waiting for their
horses. She had accepted him as cavalier for the time, and they were
going for a ride in the cool of the morning before the others were
stirring.
Margeret was in sight, however--Judithe wondered if she _ever_
slept--and she came to them with delicious coffee and crisp toast, and
watched them as they rode away.
It was while sipping the steaming coffee the flags were noticed, and
Judithe remarked: "Those emblems mean so much down here, yet I never
hear you discuss them, or what they stand for. Your nation is one
always in rebellion against its unsympathetic governess. I should
think you would naturally tend towards the seceders here."
"I do--towards several, individually," and he looked at her over the
rim of the cup with quizzical blue eyes. "But I find three factions
here instead of two, and my people have been too long under the
oppressor for me not to appreciate what freedom would mean to these
serfs in the South, and how wildly they long for it. No; I like the
Southerners better than the Northerners, because I know them better;
but in the matter of sympathy, faith! I forget both the warring
factions and only think of Sambo and Sambo's wife and children."
Judithe raised her finger, as Margeret entered with the toast and
quietly vanished.
"I was afraid she would hear you. I fancy they must feel sensitive
over the situation; speak French, please. What was it the Judge was
saying about emancipation last evening? I noticed the conversation was
changed as Mr. Loring grew--well, excited."
"Oh, the old story; rumors again that the Federal government mean to
proclaim freedom for the blacks. But when it was done in two states by
the local authorities, it was vetoed at Washington; so it is doubtful
after all if it is true, there are so many rumors afloat. But if it is
done there will be nothing vague about it. I fancy it will be said so
good and loud that there will be a panic from ocean to ocean."
"Insurrection?"
"No; the Judge is right; there is a peculiar condition of affairs here
precluding the possibility of that unless in isolated instances, a
certain personal sympathy between master and slave which a foreigner
finds difficult of comprehension."
"What about the runaways?" she asked, with a little air of check,
"several of them have escaped the sympathetic bonds in that way; in
fact, they tell me Mr. Loring, or his niece, has lately lost some very
valuable live stock through that tendency."
"Whisper now!--though I believe it is a very open secret in the
community, the gentleman in question, my dear Marquise, is one of the
isolated instances. If you are studying social institutions in this
country you must make a note of that, and underline it with red ink.
He is by no means the typical Southerner. He is, however, a proof of
the fact that it is a dangerous law which allows every one possessing
wealth an almost unlimited power over scores of human beings. To be
sure, he is mild as skim-milk these days of convalescence, but there
are stories told of the use he made of power when he dared, that would
warrant the whole pack taking to their heels if they had the courage.
They are not stories for ladies' ears, however, and I doubt if Miss
Loring herself is aware of them. But in studying the country here,
don't forget that my patient is one in a thousand--better luck to the
rest."
"So!" and she arose, drawing on her glove slowly, and regarding him
with a queer little smile; "you _have_ been giving thought to
something besides the love songs of this new country? Your ideas are
very interesting. I shall remember them, even without the red ink."
Then they mounted the impatient horses and rode out in the pink flush
of the morning--the only hours cool enough for the foreigners to
exercise at that season. They were going no place in particular, but
when the cross-country road was reached leading to Loringwood, she
suddenly turned to him and proposed that he conduct her to her new
purchase--introduce her to Loringwood.
"With all the pleasure in life," he assented gaily, somewhat curious
to see how she would like the "pig in a poke," as he designated her
business transaction.
When they reached the gate she dismounted and insisted on walking
through the long avenue she had admired. He was going to lead the
horses, but she said, "No, tie them to the posts there, they were both
well behaved, tractable animals;" she could speak for her mount at any
rate. Pluto had told her it was Col. McVeigh's favorite, trained by
himself.
She wore a thin silken veil of palest grey circling her hat, covering
her face, and the end fastened in fluffy loops on her bosom. Her habit
was of cadet grey, with a military dash of braid on epaulettes and
cuff; the entire costume was perfect in its harmonious lines, and
admirably adapted to the girlish yet stately figure. Delaven, looking
at her, thought that in all the glories of the Parisian days he had
never seen la belle Marquise more delightful to the eye than on that
oft-to-be-remembered September morning.
She was unusually silent as they walked along the avenue, but her eyes
were busy and apparently pleased at the prospect before her, and when
they reached the front of the house she halted, surveyed the whole
place critically, from the lazy wash of the river landing to the great
pillars of the veranda, and drew a little breath of content.
"Just what I expected," she remarked, in reply to his question. "I
hope the river is not too shallow. Can we go in? I should like to, but
not as the owner, please. They need not know of the sale until the
Lorings choose to tell them."
Little Raquel had opened the door, very much pleased at their arrival.
She informed them "Aunt Chloe laid up with some sort of misery, and
Betsey, who was in the cook-house, she see them comen' an' she have
some coffee for them right off," and she was proceeding with other
affairs of entertainment when Judithe interrupted:
"No coffee, nothing for me. Now, Doctor, if you want to show me the
library; you know we must not linger, this is to be a busy day at the
Terrace."
They had gone through the lower rooms, of which she had little to say.
He had shown her the dashing portrait of Marmeduke Loring and given
her a suggestion of the character as heard from Nelse. He had shown
her the pretty, seraphic portrait of Gertrude as a little child, and
the fair, handsome face of Tom Loring, as it looked down from the
canvas with a smile for all the world in his genial eyes.
They had made no further progress when Raquel appeared upon the scene
again with a request from Aunt Chloe, "Would Mahs Doctor come roun'
an' tell her jest what ailed her most, she got so many cu'eous
compercations."
He followed to see what the complications were, and thus it happened
that Judithe was left alone to look around her new possessions.
But she did not look far. After a brief glance about she returned to
the last portrait, studying the frank, handsome face critically.
"And thou wert the man," she murmured. "Why don't such men bear faces
to suit their deeds, that all people may avoid the evil of them? Fair,
strong, and appealing!" she continued, enumerating the points of the
picture, "and a frank, honest gaze, too; but the painter had probably
been false in that, and idealized the face. Yet I have seen eyes that
were as honest looking, cover a vile soul, so why not this one?"
The eyes that were as honest looking were the deep sea-blue eyes she
had described once to Dumaresque, confessing with light mockery their
witchcraft over her; she thanked God those days were over. She had now
something more to dream over than sentimental fancies.
She heard the quick beat of horse hoofs coming up the avenue and
stopping at the door; then, a man's voice:
"Good morning, Jeff--any of our folks over from the Terrace?"
"Yes, sah; good mawn, sah; leastwise I jest saw Miss Gertrude go in;
they all stayen' ovah at Terrace; I reckon she rode back for
something. I reckon you find her in library; window's open thah."
The man's voice replied from the hall, "All right," and he opened the
door.
"Good morning, little woman," he said, cheerily, boyishly. "When I saw
Hector at the gate with the side saddle I thought--"
What he thought was left unfinished. The slender figure in grey turned
from the window, and throwing back the veil with one hand extended the
other to him, with an amused smile at his mistake.
"_Judithe_!" He had crossed the room; he held her hand in both of his;
he could not otherwise believe in the reality of her presence. In
dreams he had seen her so often thus, with the smile and the light as
of golden stars deep in the brown eyes.
"Welcome to Loringwood, Col. McVeigh," she said, softly.
"Your welcome could make it the most delightful homecoming of my
life," he said, looking down at her, "if I dared be sure I was quite
welcome to your presence."
"I am your mother's guest," and she met his gaze with cordial
frankness; "would that be so if--oh, yes, you may be very sure I am
pleased to see you home again, and especially pleased to see you
here."
"You are? Judithe, I beg pardon," as she raised her brows in slight
question. "I am not accountable this morning, Marquise; with a little
time to recover myself in, I may grow more rational. To find you here
is as much a surprise as though I had met you alone at sea in an open
boat."
"Alone--at sea--in an open boat," she repeated, with a curious
inflection; "but you perceive, Col. McVeigh, the situation is not at
all like that. I am under my own roof tree, and a very substantial one
it is," with a comprehensive glance about the imposing apartment; "and
you are the first guest I have welcomed here--I am much pleased that
it happened so." When he stared at this bit of information she
continued: "I have just made purchase of the estate from your friends,
the Lorings--this is my first visit to it, and you are my first
caller. You perceive I am really your neighbor, Monsieur."
His eyes were bent on her with mute question; it all seemed so
incredible that she should come there at all--to his country, to his
home. He had left France cursing her coquetry; he had, because of her,
gone straight to the frontier on his return to America, and lived the
life of camps ever since; he had fancied no woman would ever again
hold the sway over him she had held for that one brief season. Yet the
graciousness of her tone, the frank smile in her eyes, and the touch
of her hand--the beautiful hand!--
Delaven came in, and there were more explanations; then, to the regret
of Raquel and Betsey, they left for the Terrace without partaking of
the specially prepared coffee. Col. McVeigh had ridden from the coast
with a party of the state guard, who were going to the river
fortifications. Seeing his own saddle horse at the gate he had let
them go on to the Terrace without him, while he stopped, thinking to
find his mother or sister there.
The new mistress of Loringwood listened with an interested expression
to this little explanation, and no one would have thought there was
any special motive in leaving the horse tied there on the only road he
would be likely to come, or that his statement that he traveled with a
party of military friends conveyed a distinct message to her of work
to be done.
She did not fail to notice that Col. McVeigh was a much handsomer man
than the lieutenant had been. He appeared taller, heavier--a stalwart
soldier, who had lost none of his impetuousness, and had even gained
in self confidence, but for all that the light of boyhood was in his
eyes as he looked at her, and she, well satisfied that it was so, rode
happily to the Terrace beside him, only smiling when he pointed out a
clump of beeches and said he never passed without thinking of the
trees at Fontainbleau.
"And," with a little mocking glance, "do the violets and forget-me-nots
also grow among the bushes here?"
"Yes;" and he returned her mocking look with one so deliberate that
her eyes dropped, "the forget-me-not is hardy in my land, you know; it
lives always if encouraged."
"Heavens!--will the man propose to me again before we reach the house
or have breakfast?" she thought, and concluded it more wise to drop
such dangerous topics. Until her expected messenger came she could not
quite decide what was to be done or what methods employed.
"Forget-me-nots, is it?" queried Delaven, in strict confidence with
himself; "oh, but you've been clever, the pair of you, to get so far
as forget-me-nots, and no one the wiser;" then aloud he said, "I've an
idea that the best beloved man on the plantation this day will be the
one who announces your coming, Colonel; so if you'll look after Madame
la Marquise--"
And then he dashed ahead congratulating himself on the way he was
helping the Colonel.
"It's well to have a friend at court," he decided, "and it's myself
may need all I can get--for pill boxes are a bad balance for
plantations, Fitz; faith, they'll be flung to the moon at first
tilt."
The two left alone had three miles to go and seemed likely to make the
journey in silence. She was a trifle dismayed at Delaven's desertion,
and could find no more light words. She attempted some questions
concerning the blockade, but his replies showed his thoughts were
elsewhere.
"It is no use," he said, abruptly. "I have only forty-eight hours to
remain; I may not see you again for a year, perhaps, never, for I go
at once to the front. There is only one thought in my mind, and you
know what it is."
"To conquer the Yankees?" she hazarded.
"No, to conquer some pride or whim of the girl who confessed once that
she loved me."
"Take my advice, Monsieur," she said with a cool little smile. "No
doubt you have been fortunate enough to hear those words many
times--I should think it quite probable," and she let her eyes rest
approvingly for a moment on his face; "but it is well to consider
the girls who make those avowals before you place full credence on
the statement--not that they _always_ mean to deceive," she amended,
"but those three words have a most peculiar fascination for
girlhood--they like to use them even when they do not comprehend
the meaning."
He shook his head as he looked at her.
"It is no use, Madame la Marquise," he said, and the ardent eyes met
her own and made her conscious of a sudden fear. "You reason it out
very well--philosophy is one of your hobbies, isn't it? I always
detested women with hobbies--the strong-minded woman who reasons
instead of feeling; and now you are revenging the whole army of them
by making me feel beyond reason. But you shan't evade me by such
tactics. Do you remember what your last spoken words to me were, three
years ago?"
Her face paled a little, she lifted the bridle to urge her horse
onward, but he laid his hand on her wrist.
"No, pardon me, but I must speak to you--day and night I have thought
of them, and now that you are here--oh, I know you sent me away--that
is, you hid from me; and why, Judithe? I believe on my soul it was
because you meant those words when you said: '_I love you now, and
from the first moment you ever looked at me!_' I told myself at first,
when I left France, that it was all falsehood, coquetry--but I could
not keep that belief, for the words rang too true--you thought you
were going over that bank to death, and all your heart was in your
voice and your eyes. That moment has come back to me a thousand times
since; has been with me in the thick of battle, singing through my
ears as the bullets whistled past. '_I love you now, and from the
first moment you ever looked at me._' It is no use to pretend you did
not mean those words then. I know in my heart you did. You were bound
in some way, no doubt, and fancied you had no right to say them. The
announcement of your engagement suggested that. But you are free now,
or you would not be here, and I must be heard."
"Be satisfied then," she replied, indifferently, though her hand
trembled on the bridle, "you perceive you have, thanks to your
stronger arm, an audience of one."
"You are angry at my presumption--angry at the advantage I have taken
of the situation?" he asked. "I grant you are right; but remember, it
is now or perhaps never with me; and it is the presumption of love--a
woman should forgive that."
"They usually do, Monsieur," she replied, with a little shrug and
glance of amusement. For one bewildered instant she had lost control
of herself, and had only the desire to flee; but it was all over now,
she remembered another point to be made in the game--something to
postpone the finale until she had seen Pierson.
"It is not just to me," he said, meeting her mocking glance with one
that was steadfast and determined. "However your sentiments have
changed, I know you cared for me that day, as I have cared for you
ever since, and now that you have come here--to my own country, to my
mother's house, I surely may ask this one question: Why did you accept
the love I offered, and then toss it away almost in the same breath?"
"I may reply by another question," she said, coolly. "What right had
you to make any offers of love to me at any time? What right have you
now?"
"What right?"
"Yes; does your betrothed approve? Is that another of the free
institutions in your land of liberties?"
"What do you mean?--my betrothed?"
"Your betrothed," she said, and nodded her head with that same cool
little smile. "I heard her name that evening of the drive you remember
so well; our friend, the Countess Helene, mentioned it to me--possibly
for fear my very susceptible heart might be won by your protection of
us," and she glanced at him again, mockingly. "You had forgotten to
mention it to me, but it really does not matter, I have learned since
then that gentlemen absolutely cannot go around reciting the lists of
former conquests--it is too apt to prevent the acquisition of new
ones. I did not realize it then--there were so many things I could not
realize; and I felt piqued at your silence; but," with an expressive
little gesture and a bright smile, "I am no longer so. I come to your
home; I clasp hands with you; I meet your bride-elect, Miss
Loring--she is remarkably pretty, Monsieur, and I am quite prepared
to dance at your wedding; therefore--"
"Marquise, on my honor as a man," he did not see the scornful light in
her eyes as he spoke of his honor; "there has never been a word of
love between Gertrude Loring and myself; it is nothing but family
gossip dating from the time we were children, and encouraged by her
uncle for reasons entirely financial. We have both ignored it. We are
all fond of her, and I believe my mother at one time did hope it would
be so arranged, but I hope she wins a better fellow than myself; she
cares no more for me than I for her."
They had turned into the Terrace grounds. Evilena was running out to
meet them. She was so close now she could hear what he said if it were
not for her own swiftness.
"Judithe! One word, a look; you believe me?"
She said nothing, but she did flash one meaning glance at him, and
then his sister was at the stirrup and he swung out of the saddle to
kiss her.