As Monroe entered the hall Judithe came down the stairs, a dainty
vision in palest rose. She wore armlets and girdle of silver filagree,
a silver comb in the dark tresses, and large filagree loops in her
ears gave the beautiful face a half-oriental character.
Admire her though he must, he felt an impatience with her, a wonder
that so beautiful a being, one so blest with all the material things
of life, should forsake harmony, home, and her own land, for the rude
contests where men fought, and plotted, and died--died ingloriously
sometimes, for the plots and intrigues through which she claimed to
find the only escape from ennui.
She saw him, hesitated an instant, and then came towards him, with a
suggestion of daring in her eyes.
"I might as well hear the worst, first as last," she said, taking his
arm. "Is not the veranda more cool than in here? Come, we shall see. I
prefer to be out of hearing of the people while you lecture me for
today's mishap."
She glanced up at him with a pretense of dread such as a child might
show; she was pleased to be alluringly gracious, but he could feel
that she was more nervous than she had ever shown herself before--the
strain was telling on her. Her beautiful eyes were not so slumbrous as
usual; they were brilliant as from some inward fever, and, though she
smiled and met his sombre gaze with a challenge, she smothered a sigh
under her light words.
"I shan't lecture you, Madame Caron; I have no right to interfere with
what you call your--amusements," and he glanced down at her, grimly;
"but I leave in the morning because by remaining longer I might gain
knowledge which, in honor, I should feel bound to report."
"To Colonel--or, shall we say, General--McVeigh?"
He bent his head, and answered: "I have given you warning. He is my
friend."
"And I?" she asked, glancing at him with a certain archness. He looked
down at her, but did not speak.
"And I?" she repeated.
"No," he said, after a pause. "You, Madame, would have to be something
more, or something less. The fates have decreed that it be less--so,"
he made a little gesture dismissing the subject. "Pardon me, but I did
not mean to attack you in that fashion. I came to look for you to ask
you a question relating to the very pretty, very clever, maid you had
in New Orleans, and whom, I hear, you brought with you on your visit
here."
"Oh! You are curious as to her--and you wish me to answer questions?"
"If you please, though it really does not matter to me. Are you aware
that the woman was a runaway slave, and liable to recapture in this
particular vicinity?"
"In this particular vicinity?" she repeated, questioningly.
"Yes, if Matthew Loring should once get suspicion of the fact that
your maid was really his girl Rosa--no, Rhoda--it would be an awkward
fact allied to the episode here today," and he made a gesture towards
the library window they were just passing.
"Come, we will go down the steps," she suggested. They did so, and
were promenading under the trees, lantern lit, on the lawn, when
Colonel McVeigh came out on the veranda and felt a momentary envy of
Monroe, who was free from a host's duties. They were clear of the
steps and of probable listeners before Judithe asked:
"Where did you get this information?"
"From a slave who wanted you warned that you without knowing it, are
probably harboring the spy whom Captain Masterson spoke of today."
"Ah, a slave?" she remarked, thoughtfully; and the curious, intense
gaze of Margeret was recalled to her, only to be followed by the
memory of Pluto's anxiety that Louise should leave before the arrival
of the Lorings; it was, then, without doubt, Pluto who gave the
warning; but she remembered Zekal, and felt she had little to be
anxious over.
"You probably are not aware," he continued, "what a very serious
affair it is considered here to assist in hiding a slave of that sort
under assumed names or occupations. But if it is discovered it would
prove ruinous to you just now."
"In three days I shall be out of the country," she answered, briefly.
"I go down to Savannah, secure Louise from this blunder--for there
is really nothing to be proven against her as a spy--and then,
farewell, or ill, to Carolina. I do not expect to enter it again. My
arrangements are all made. Nothing has been forgotten. As to my
good Louise, your informer has not been made acquainted with all the
facts. It is true she was a Georgian slave, but is so no longer.
For over a year she has been in possession of the papers establishing
her freedom. Her own money, and a clever lawyer, arranged all that
without any trouble whatever. What Monsieur Loring would do if he knew
I had a maid whose name was assumed, I neither know nor care. He
could not identify her as the girl Rhoda Larue, even if he saw her.
His sight has failed until he could not distinguish you from
Colonel McVeigh if across the room. I learned that fact through
Madame McVeigh before leaving Mobile, so, you perceive, I have not
risked so much in making the journey with my pretty maid; and I shall
risk no more when I make my adieus the day after tomorrow."
She laughed, and looked up in his face. He looked down in her's, but
he did not laugh.
"And the estate you have just purchased in order to enjoy this
Eden-like plantation life?"
"The purpose for which it was purchased will be carried out quite as
well without my presence," she said, quietly. "I never meant to live
there."
"Well, that beats me!" he said, halting, and looking squarely down at
her. "You spend thousands to establish yourself in the heart of a
seceding country, and gain the confidence of the natives, and then
toss it all aside as though it were only a trifle! You must have spent
fortunes from your own pocket to help the Federals!"
"So your President was good enough to say in the letter I tried to
show you--and did not," she replied, and then smiled, as she added,
"but you are mistaken, Captain Monroe; it was only one fortune spent,
and I will be recompensed."
"When?"
"When that long-talked-of emancipation is announced."
The bright music of a mazurka stole out of the open windows, and
across the level could be seen a blaze of fat pine torches tied
to poles and shedding lustre and black pitch over the negro
quarters--they also were celebrating "Mahs Ken's" return. Above
the dreamy system of the parlor dances they could hear at times
the exuberant calls and shouts of laughter where the dark people
made merry. Judge Clarkson, who was descending the steps, halted
to listen, and drew Monroe's attention to it.
"Happy as children they are, over there tonight," he remarked. "Most
contented people on earth, I do believe." He addressed some gallant
words to Judithe, and then turned to Monroe.
"Mr. Loring has been inquiring for you, Captain Monroe. You
understand, of course, that you are somewhat of a lion and one we
cannot afford to have hidden. He is waiting to introduce you to some
of our Carolina friends, who appreciate you, sir, for the protection
shown a daughter of the South, and from your magnanimous care of a
Carolina boy this past month--oh, your fame has preceded you, and I
assure you, sir, you have earned for yourself a hearty welcome."
Evilena joined them, followed by Delaven, who asked for a dance and
was flouted because he did not wear a uniform. She did present him
with a scarlet flower from her boquet, with the remark that if decked
with something bright he might be a little less suggestive of
funerals, and, attaching herself to Monroe, she left to look up
Matthew Loring.
Delaven looked ruefully at the scarlet flower.
"It's a poor substitute for herself," he decided, "but, tell me now,
Marquise, if you were fathoms deep in love, as I am this minute, and
had so much of encouragement as a flower flung at you, what would you
advise as the next move in Cupid's game?"
She assumed a droll air of serious contemplation for an instant, and
then replied, in one word:
"Propose."
"I'll do it," he decided; "ah, you are a jewel of a woman to give a
man courage! I'll lay siege to her before I'm an hour older. Judge,
isn't it you would lend a boy a hand in a love affair? I'm bewitched
by one of the fair daughters of the South you are so proud of; I find
I am madly jealous of every other lad who leads her onto the dancing
floor this night, but every one of them has dollars where I have
dimes," and he sighed like a furnace and glanced from one to the other
with a comical look of distress; "so is it any wonder I need all the
bracing up my friends can give me?"
"My dear sir," said the Judge, genially, "our girls are not mercenary.
You are a gentleman, so need fear comparison with none! You have an
active brain, a high degree of intelligence, a profession through
which you may win both wealth and honors for the lady in question--so
why procrastinate?"
"Judge, you are a trump! With you to back me up with that list of
advantages, I'll dare the fates."
"I am your obedient servant, sir. I like your enthusiasm--your
determination to put the question to the test. I approve of early
marriages, myself; procrastination and long engagements are a mistake,
sir--a mistake!"
"They are," agreed Delaven, with a decision suggestive of long
experience in such matters. "Faith, you two are life preservers to me.
I feel light as a cork with one of you on each side--though it was
doleful enough I was ten minutes ago! You see, Judge, the lady who is
to decide my fate has valued your friendship and advice so long that I
count on you--I really do, now, and if you'd just say a good word to
her--"
"A word! My dear sir, my entire vocabulary is at your service in an
affair of the heart." The Judge beamed on Delaven and bowed to Madame
Caron as though including her in the circle where Love's sceptre is
ever potent.
"Faith, when America becomes a monarchy, I'll vote for you to be
king," and Delaven grasped the hand of the Judge and shook it
heartily; "and if you can only convince Mrs. McVeigh that I am all
your fancy has pictured me, I'll be the happiest man in Carolina
tonight."
"What!" Judge Clarkson dropped his hand as though it had burned him,
and fairly glared at the self-confessed lover.
"I would that!--the happiest man in Carolina, barring none," said the
reckless Irishman, so alive with his own hopes that he failed to
perceive the consternation in the face of the Judge; but Judithe saw
it, and, divining the cause, laughed softly, while Delaven continued:
"You see, Judge, Mrs. McVeigh will listen to you and--"
"Young man!" began Clarkson, austerely, but at that moment the lady in
question appeared on the veranda and waved her fan to Delaven.
"Doctor, as a dancing man your presence in the house would be most
welcome," she said, coming slowly down the steps towards them.
"Madame, both my feet and my heart are at your disposal," he said,
hastening to meet her, and passing on to find some unpartnered damsels
she suggested.
"What a charming young man he is," remarked their hostess, "and
exceedingly skillful in his profession for so young a physician. Don't
you consider him very bright, Judge?"
"I, Madame--I?" and Judithe retired, convulsed at the situation; "on
my word, I wouldn't trust him to doctor a sick cat!" Mrs. McVeigh
looked astonished at the intensity of his words and was fairly puzzled
to see Judithe laughing on the seat under the tree.
"Why, Judge! I'm actually surprised! He is most highly esteemed
professionally, and in Paris--"
"Pardon me, but I presume his hair was the same color in Paris that it
is here," said the Judge, coldly, "and I have never in my life known a
red-headed man who had any sense, or--"
"Oh!" Mrs. McVeigh glanced slowly from the Judge to Judithe and then
smiled; "I remember one exception, Judge, for before your hair became
white it was--well, auburn, at least."
The Judge ran his fingers through the bushy curls referred to. The man
usually so eloquent and ready of speech, was checkmated. He could only
stammer something about exceptions to rules, and finally said:
"You will probably remember, however, that my hair was very dark--a
dark red, in fact, a--a--brown red."
Judithe, to hide her amusement, had moved around to the other side of
the tree circled by the rustic seat. Her hostess turned one appealing
glance towards her, unseen by the Judge, who had forgotten all but the
one woman before him.
"No matter if he had hair all colors of the rainbow he is not worthy
of you, Madame," he blurted out, and Mrs. McVeigh took a step away
from him in dismay; in all her knowledge of Judge Clarkson, she had
never seen him show quite so intense a dislike for any one.
"Why, Judge! What is the matter tonight?" she asked, in despair. "You
mean Dr. Delaven; not worthy of me?"
"He aspires to your hand," blurted out the Judge, angrily. "Such an
ambition is a worthy one; it is one I myself have cherished for years,
but you must confess I had the courage to ask your hand in person."
"Yes, Judge; but--"
"This fellow, on the contrary, has had the affrontery to come to
me--to me! with the request that I use my influence in negotiating a
matrimonial alliance with you!"
Mrs. McVeigh stared at him a moment, and then frankly laughed; she
suspected it was some joke planned by Evilena. But the indignation of
the Judge was no joke.
"Well, Judge, when I contemplate a matrimonial alliance, I can assure
you that no one's influence would have quite so much weight as your
own;" she had ascended the steps and was laughing; at the top she
leaned over and added, "no matter who you employ your eloquence for,
Judge;" and with that parting shot she disappeared into the hall,
leaving him in puzzled doubt as to her meaning. But the question did
not require much consideration. The remembrance of the smile helped
clear it up wonderfully. He clasped his hands under his coat tails,
threw back his shoulders, walked the length of the veranda and back
with head very erect. He was a very fine figure of a man.
"The Irishman's case is quashed," he said, nodding emphatically and
confidentially to the oleander bush; "the fact that a woman, and that
woman a widow, remembers the color of the plaintiff's hair for twenty
years, should convince the said plaintiff if he is a man possessed of
a legal mind, that his case is still on the calendar. I'll go and ask
for the next dance."
He had scarcely reached the steps when Judithe saw a flutter of white
where the shadows were heaviest under the dense green shrubbery.
She glanced about her; no one was in hearing. The veranda, for
the instant, was deserted, and past the windows the dancers were
moving. The music of stringed instruments and of laughter floated out
to her. She saw Masterson in the hallway; he was watching Monroe. She
saw Kenneth McVeigh speaking to his mother and glancing around
inquiringly; was he looking for her? She realized that her moments
alone now would be brief, and she moved swiftly under the trees to
where the signal had been made. A man had been lying there flat to the
ground. He arose as she approached, and she saw he was dressed in
Confederate uniform, and that he wore no beard--it was Pierson.
"Why did you leave the place without seeing me again?" she demanded.
"This suspense seems to me entirely unnecessary."
"It was the best I could do, Madame," he answered, hurriedly.
"Masterson, unknown to the McVeighs, had spies within hearing of every
word between us, and to write was too great a risk. His man followed
me beyond the second fortification."
"And you eluded him?"
"No; I left him," answered Pierson, grimly. "I wore his uniform
back--he did not need it."
Judithe drew a deep, shuddering breath, but made no comment. "Give me
the contents of the destroyed despatch," was all she said.
"McVeigh received official notification of promotion today. Important
instructions were included as to the movements of his brigade. These
instructions must be received by us tonight in order to learn their
plans for this wing of the army."
"And you depend on me?"
"No other way to secure them quickly, but some of our men have been
landed north of Beaufort. They are under cover in the swamp and cane
brakes awaiting your commands--so if it can't be done quietly there is
another way--a raid for any purpose you may suggest, and incidentally
these instructions would be among the souvenirs from this especial
plantation."
"Colonel McVeigh only remains over tomorrow night. Suppose I succeed,
how shall I communicate with you or with the detachment of Federals?"
"I will return tonight after the house is quiet. I shall be in sight
of the balcony. You could drop them from there; or, if you have any
better plan of your own I will act on it."
She could see Kenneth on the veranda, and knew he was looking for her.
The moments were precious now; she had to think quick.
"It may not be possible to secure them tonight; the time is so short;
and if not I can only suggest that the commander of the landed troops
send a detachment tomorrow, capture Colonel McVeigh and Captain
Masterson, and get the papers at the same time. There are also
official documents in McVeigh's possession relating to the English
commissions for additions to the Confederate Navy. I must go; they are
looking for me. You can trust a black man here called Pluto--but do
not forget that a detachment of Confederates came today to the
fortifications below here, don't let our men clash with them; good
bye; make no mistake."
She moved away as she spoke, and the man dropped back unseen into the
shadows as she went smilingly forward to meet the lover, whose
downfall she was debating with such cool judgment.
And the lover came to meet her with ardent blue eyes aglow.
"Have you fled to the shadows to avoid us all?" he demanded, and then
as he slipped her hand through his arm and looked down in her face, he
asked, more tenderly, "or may I think you only left the crowd to think
over my audacity."
She gave him one fleeting, upward glance, half inviting, half
reproving--it would help concentrate his attention until the man in
the shadows was beyond all danger of discovery.
"You make use of every pretext to avoid me," he continued, "but it
won't serve you; no matter what cool things you say now, I can only
hear through your words the meaning of those Fontainbleau days, and
that one day in Paris when you loved me and dared to say it. Judithe,
give me my answer. I thought I could wait until tomorrow, but I can't;
you must tell me tonight; you must!"
"Must?" She drew away from him and leaned against a tall garden vase
overrun with clustering vines. They were in the full blaze of light
from the windows; she felt safer there where they were likely to be
interrupted every minute; the man surely dared not be wildly
sentimental in full view of the crowd--which conclusion showed that
she was not yet fully aware of what Kenneth McVeigh would dare do
where a woman--or the woman was in question.
"An hour ago you said: 'Will you?' Now it is: 'You must!'" she said,
with a fine little smile. "How quick you are to assume the tone of
master, Monsieur."
"If you said slave, the picture would have been more complete," he
answered. "I will obey you in all things except when you tell me to
leave you;" he had possessed himself of her hand, under cover of the
vines; "it's no use, Judithe, you belong to me. I can't let you go
from me again; I won't!"
All of pleading was in his voice and eyes. Moved by some sudden
impulse not entirely guileless, she looked full at him and let her
hand remain in his.
"Well, since you really cannot," she murmured.
"Judithe! You mean it?" and in an instant both his hands were clasping
hers. "You are not coquetting with me this time? Judithe!"
She attempted to draw her hand away, but he bent his head, and kissed
the warm palm. Margeret who was lighting an extinguished lantern, saw
the caress and heard the low, deep tones. She turned and retraced her
steps instead of passing them.
"Do you realize that all who run may read the subject of your
discourse?" she asked, raising her brows and glancing after the
retreating woman.
"Let them, the sooner they hear it the better I shall be pleased;
come, let us tell my mother; I want to be sure of you this time, my
beautiful Judithe. What time more fitting than this for the
announcement--come!"
"What is it you would tell her?" she asked, looking straight ahead of
her into the shadows on the lawn. Her voice sounded less musical than
it had a moment before. Her eyes avoided his, and for one unguarded
instant the full sculpturesque lips were tense and rigid.
"What is it?" he repeated, "why, that I adore you! that you have been
the one woman in the world to me ever since I met you first; that I
want you for my wife, and that you--confess it again in words,
Judithe--that you love me."
She shook her head slowly, but accompanied that half denial with a
bewildering smile.
"Entirely too much to announce in one evening," she decided; "do you
forget they have had other plans for you? We must give your family
more time to grow accustomed to me and to--your wishes."
"_Our_ wishes," he said, correctively, and she dropped her eyes and
bent her head in assent. She was adorable in the final surrender. He
murmured endearing, caressing words to her, and the warm color merged
across her face, and receding, left her a trifle pale. All her
indifference had been a pretense--he knew it now, and it strengthened
his protests against delay. He drew her away from the steps as the
dance ended, and the people came chattering and laughing out from the
brilliantly lit rooms.
"You talk of haste, but forget that I have waited three years,
Judithe; remember that, won't you? Put that three years to my credit;
consider that I wooed you every day of every year, and I would if I
had been given the chance! You talk of time as if there were oceans of
it for us, and you forget that I have but one more day to be with
you--one day; and then separation, uncertainty. I can't leave you like
that, now that I know you care for me--I won't."
"Oh--h!" and she met his look with a little quizzical smile. "You mean
to resign your commission for the sake of my society? But I am not
sure I should admire you so much then. I am barbarian enough to like a
fighter."
"I should fight all the better for knowing it was a wife I was leaving
behind instead of a sweetheart, Judithe; marry me tomorrow!"
She made a little gesture of protest, but he clasped her hand in his
and held it close to prevent her from repeating it. "Why not?" he
continued. "No one need know unless you wish; it can be kept secret as
the engagement would be. Then, wherever the fortunes of war may send
me, I can carry with me the certainty of your love. Speak to me,
Judithe! Say yes. I have waited three years; I want my wife!"
"Your wife! _Your_--oh!"--and she flung out her hands as though
putting the thought away from her. A tear fell on his hand--she was
weeping.
"Judithe, sweetheart!" he murmured, remorsefully.
"Tomorrow--not tonight," she half whispered. "I must think, so much is
to be considered."
"No! Only one thing is to be considered;" he held her hands and looked
in her face, with eyes ardent, compelling; "Only one thing, Judithe,
and that is, do you love me--now?"
"Now, and from the first day we ever met," she answered, looking up at
him; her eyes were like stars glimmering through the mist of late
tears. There came to them both the remembrance of that other avowal,
behind those plunging horses in the Paris boulevard. They had
unconsciously repeated the words uttered then.
For an instant his arms were about her--such strong, masterful,
compelling arms. A wild temptation came to her to remain in that
shelter--to let all the world go by with its creeds, its plots, its
wars of right and wrong--to live for love, love only, love with him.
"My queen!" he whispered, as her head bent in half avoidance of his
caresses even while her hand clasped his closely, convulsively, "it
has all been of no use; those three years when you kept me away. It is
fate that we find each other again. I shall never let you go from
me--never! Do you hear me, Judithe? You are so silent; but words
matter little since you belong to me. Do you realize it?--that you
must belong to me always!"
The words over which he lingered, words holding all of hope and
happiness to him brought to her a swift revulsion of feeling. She
remembered those other human creatures who belonged to him--she
remembered--
A moment later and he stood alone in the sweet dusk of the night. She
had fairly run from him along the little arbor to the side door, where
she vanished unseen by the others. How she was for all her queenly
ways! What a creature of moods, and passions, and emotions! The hand
on which her tear had fallen he touched to his cheek. Why had she wept
at his confession of love for her? She had not wept when the same
words were spoken on that never-to-be-forgotten day in Paris!