The sun was just peeping, fiery red and threatening, above the bank of
clouds to the east when Delaven was roused from sweet sleep by the
apparition of Colonel McVeigh, booted, spurred and ready for the
saddle.
"I want you to come riding with me, and to come quick," he said, with
a face singularly bright and happy, considering the episode of the
night before, and the fact that his former friend was now a prisoner
in a cottage back of the dwelling house, guarded by the orderlies.
He had dispatched a courier for a detachment of men from one of the
fortifications along the river. He would send Monroe in their charge
to Charleston with a full statement of the case before he left to join
his brigade--and ere that time:--
Close to his heart lay the little note Pluto had brought him less than
an hour before, the second written word he had ever received from
Judithe. The first had sent him away from her--but this!
So Delaven dressed himself quickly, ate the impromptu breakfast
arranged by the Colonel's order, and joined Judithe at the steps as
the horses were brought around.
She was gracious and gay as usual, and replied to his gallant remarks
with her usual self-possession, yet he fancied her a trifle nervous,
as was to be expected, and that she avoided his gaze, looking over
him, past him, every place but in his eyes, at which he did not
wonder especially. Of all the women he had known she was the last to
associate with a hurried clandestine marriage. Of course it was all
explained by the troublous war times, and the few brief hours, and
above all by the love he had always fancied those two felt for each
other.
They had a five mile ride to the country home of a disabled chaplain
who had belonged to McVeigh's regiment--had known him from boyhood,
and was home now nursing a shattered arm, and was too well used to
these hurried unions of war times to wonder much at the Colonel's
request, and only slightly puzzled at the added one of secrecy.
At the Terrace no one was surprised at the early ride of the three,
even though the morning was not a bright one. Madame Caron had made
them accustomed to those jaunts in the dawn, and Mrs. McVeigh was
relieved to learn that Kenneth had accompanied her. Shocked as she was
to hear of Monroe's arrest, and the cause of it, she was comforted
somewhat that Kenneth did not find the affair serious enough to
interfere with a trifle of attention to her guest.
In fact the Colonel had not, in the note hastily scribbled to his
mother, given her anything like a serious account of the case. Captain
Monroe had for certain military reasons been placed under guard until
an escort could arrive and accompany him to Charleston for some
special investigations. She was not to be disturbed or alarmed because
of it; only, no one was to be allowed to see or speak with him without
a special permit. He would explain more fully on his return, and only
left the note to explain why Captain Monroe would breakfast alone.
Matthew Loring also breakfasted alone. He was in a most excitable
state over the occurrence of the night before, which Judge Clarkson
was called on to relate, and concerning which he made all the
reservations possible, all of them entirely acceptable to his
listeners with the exception of Miss Loring, who heard, and then sent
for Phil Masterson.
She was talking with him on the lawn when the three riders returned,
and when Kenneth McVeigh bent above Judithe with some laughing words
as he led her up the steps, the heart of his girl-playmate grew sick
within her. She had feared and dreaded this foreign exquisite from the
first; now, she knew why.
Evilena was also watching for their return and gave Delaven a cool
little nod in contrast to the warm greeting given her brother and
Madame Caron. But instead of being chilled he only watched his
opportunity to whisper:
"I wore the uniform!"
She tossed her head and found something interesting in the view on the
opposite side of the lawn. He waited meekly, plucked some roses, which
he presented in silence and she regarded with scorn. But as she did
not move away more than two feet he took heart of grace and repeated:
"I wore the uniform!"
"Yes," she said, with fine scorn, "wore it in our garden, where you
were safe!"
"Arrah! Was I now?" he asked in his best brogue. "Well, it's myself
thought I was anything but safe for a few minutes. But I saved the
papers, and your brother was good enough to say I'd saved his honor."
"You!"
"Just me, and no other," he affirmed. "Didn't I hold on to those
instructions while that Yankee spy was trying to send me to--heaven?
And if that was not helping the cause and risking my life, well now,
what would you call it?"
"Oh!" gasped Evilena, delightedly, "I never thought of that. Why, you
were a real hero after all. I'm so glad, I--"
Then realizing that her exuberance was little short of caressing, and
that she actually had both hands on his arm, she drew back and added
demurely that she would always keep those roses, and she would like to
keep the guitar, too, just as it was, for her mama agreed that it was
a real romance of a serenade--the serenade that was not sung.
After which, he assured her, the serenades under her window should not
always be silent ones, and they went in search of the broken guitar.
Judge Clarkson was pacing the veranda with well concealed impatience.
Colonel McVeigh's ride had interfered with the business talk he had
planned. Matthew Loring was decidedly irritable over it, and he,
Clarkson, was the one who, with Gertrude, had to hear the complaints.
But looking in Kenneth's happy face he could not begrudge him those
brief morning hours at Beauty's side, and only asked his consideration
for the papers at the earliest convenient moment, and at the same time
asked if the cottage was really a safe place for so important a
prisoner as Monroe.
"Perfectly safe," decided McVeigh, "so safe that there is no danger of
escape; and as I think over the whole affair I doubt if on trial
anything in this world can save him."
"Well, I should hate to take his chances in the next," declared the
Judge; "it seems so incredible that a man possessed of the courage,
the admirable attributes you have always ascribed to him, should prove
so unworthy--a broken parole. Why, sir, it is--is damnable, sir,
damnable!"
Colonel McVeigh agreed, and Clarkson left the room without perceiving
that Madame Caron had been a listener, but she came in, removing her
gloves and looking at the tiny band of gold on her third finger.
"The Judge referred to Captain Monroe, did he not?" she asked,
glancing up at him. "Kenneth"--and her manner was delightfully
appealing as she spoke his name in a shy little whisper, "Kenneth,
there may be some horrible mistake. Your friend--that was--may be
innocent."
"Scarcely a chance of it, sweetheart," and he removed her other glove
and kissed her fingers, glancing around first, to see that no one was
in sight.
She laughed at his little picture of nervousness, but returned to the
subject.
"But if it were so?" she persisted; "surely you will not counsel haste
in deciding so serious a matter?"
"At any rate, I mean to put aside so serious a subject of conversation
on our wedding morning," he answered, and she smiled back at him as
she said:
"On our wedding morning, sir, you should be mercifully disposed
towards all men."
"We never class traitors as men," and his fine face grew stern for an
instant, "they are vampires, birds of prey. A detail has been sent for
to take him to court-martial; there is little doubt what the result
will be, and--"
"Suppose," and she glanced up at him with a pretty appeal in her eyes,
"that your wife, sir, should ask as a first favor on her wedding day
that you be merciful, as the rules of war allow you to be, to this
poor fellow who danced with us last night? Even supposing he is most
horribly wicked, yet he really did dance with us--danced very well,
and was very amusing. So, why not grant him another day of grace? No?"
as he shook his head. "Well, Monsieur, I have a fancy ill luck must
come if you celebrate our wedding day by hastening a man to meet his
death. Let him remain here under guard until tomorrow?"
He shook his head, smilingly.
"No, Judithe."
"Not even for me?"
"Anything else, sweetheart, but not that. It is really out of my power
to delay, now, even if I wished. The guard will come for him some time
this evening. I, myself, shall leave at dawn tomorrow; so, you
see!--"
She glanced at him in playful reproach, a gay irresponsible specimen
of femininity, who would ignore a man's treason because he chanced to
be a charming partner in the dance.
"My very first request! So, Monsieur, this is how you mean to love,
honor and obey me?"
He laughed and caught the uplifted forefinger with which she
admonished him.
"I shall be madly jealous in another minute," he declared, with mock
ferocity; "you have been my wife two full hours and half of that
precious time you have wasted pleading the cause of a possible rival,
for he actually did look at you with more than a passing admiration,
Judithe, it was a case of witchery at first sight; but for all that I
refuse to allow him to be a skeleton at our feast this morning. There
comes Phil Masterson for me, I must go; but remember, this is not a
day for considerations of wars and retribution; it is a day for
love."
"I shall remember," she said, quietly, and walked to the window
looking out on the swaying limbs of the great trees; they were being
swept by gusts of wind, driving threatening clouds from which the trio
had ridden in haste lest a rain storm be back of their shadows. The
storm Monroe had prophesied the night before had delayed and grumbled
on the way, but it was coming for all that, and she welcomed the
coming. A storm would probably delay that guard for which McVeigh had
sent, and even the delay of a few hours might mean safety for Captain
Monroe; otherwise, she--
She had learned all about the adventures of the papers, and had made
her plans. Some time during that day or evening there would be a raid
made on the Terrace by Federals in Confederate uniform. They would
probably be thought by the inmates a party of daring foragers, and
would visit the smoke houses, and confiscate the contents of the
pantry. Incidentally they would carry Colonel McVeigh and Captain
Masterson back to the coast as prisoners, if the required papers were
not found, otherwise nothing of person or property would be molested
by them; and they would, of course, free Captain Monroe, but force
him, also, to go with them until within Federal lines and safety.
She had planned it all out, and knew it would not be difficult. The
coast was not far away, a group of men in Confederate uniform could
ride across the country to the Salkahatchie, at that point,
unobserved. The fortifications on the river had men coming and going,
though not thoroughly manned, and just now the upper one had no men
stationed there, which accounted for the fact that Colonel McVeigh had
to send farther for extra men. He could not spare his own orderlies,
and Masterson's had not yet returned from following Pierson. Unless
the raiders should meet with a detachment of bona-fide Confederates
there was not one chance in fifty of them being suspected if they came
by the back roads she had mapped out and suggested; and if they
reached the Terrace before the Confederate guard, Monroe would be
freed.
She had not known there was that hope when she wrote the note
consenting to the marriage. She heard they had sent down to the fort
for some men and supposed it was the first fort on the river--merely
an hour's ride away. It was not until they were in the saddle that she
learned it would be an all day's journey to the fort and back, and
that the colored carrier had just started.
She knew that if it were a possible thing some message would be sent
to her by the Federals as to the hour she might expect them, but if it
were not possible--well--
She chafed under the uncertainty, and watched the storm approaching
over the far level lands of the east. Blue black clouds rolled now
where the sun had shot brief red glances on rising. Somewhere there
under those heavy shadows the men she waited for were riding to her
through the pine woods and over the swamp lands; if she had been a
praying woman she would have prayed that they ride faster--no music so
longed for as the jingle of their accoutrements!
She avoided the rest and retired to her own room on the plea of
fatigue. Colonel McVeigh was engaged with his mother and Judge
Clarkson on some affairs of the plantation, so very much had to be
crowded into his few hours at home. Money had to be raised, property
had to be sold, and the salable properties were growing so few in
those days.
Masterson was waiting impatiently for the Colonel, whom he had only
seen for the most brief exchange of words that morning. It was now
noon. He had important news to communicate before that guard arrived
for Monroe; it might entail surprising disclosures, and the minutes
seemed like hours to him, while Judge Clarkson leisurely presented one
paper after another for Kenneth's perusal and signature, and Mrs.
McVeigh listened and asked advice.
Judithe descended the stairs, radiant in a gown of fluffy yellow
stuff, with girdle of old topaz and a fillet of the same in quaint
dull settings. The storm had grown terrific--the heavy clouds trailing
to the earth and the lightning flashes lit up dusky corners. Evilena
had proposed darkening the windows entirely, lighting the lamps to
dispel the gloom, and dressing in their prettiest to drive away
forgetfulness of the tragedy of the elements; it was Kenneth's last
day at home; they must be gay though the heavens fell.
Thus it was that the sitting room and dining room presented the
unusual mid-day spectacle of jewels glittering in the lamplight, for
Gertrude also humored Evilena's whim to the extent of a dainty dress
of softest sky blue silk, half covered with the finest work of
delicate lace; she wore a pretty brooch and bracelet of turquoise, and
was a charming picture of blonde beauty, a veritable white lily of a
woman. Dr. Delaven, noting the well-bred grace, the gentle, unassuming
air so truly refined and patrician, figuratively took off his hat to
the Colonel, who, between two such alluring examples of femininity,
two women of such widely different types as the Parisian and the
Carolinian, had even been able to make a choice. For he could see what
every one but Kenneth could see plainly, that while Miss Loring was
gracious and interested in her other men friends, he remained, as
ever, her one hero, apart from, and above all others, and if Judithe
de Caron had not appeared upon the scene--
Gertrude looked even lovelier than she had the night before at the
party. Her cheeks had a color unusual, and her eyes were bright with
hope, expectation, or some unspoken cause for happiness; it sounded in
the tones of her voice and shone in the happy curves of her lips as
she smiled.
"Look at yourself in the glass, Gertrude," said Evilena, dragging her
to the long mirror in the sitting room, "you are always lovely, dear,
but today you are entrancingly beautiful."
"Today I am entrancingly happy," returned Miss Loring, looking in the
mirror, but seeing in it not herself, but Judithe, who was crossing
the hall, and who looked like a Spanish picture in her gleam of yellow
tissues and topazes.
"Wasn't it clever of me to think of lighting the lamps?" asked Evilena
in frank self-laudation, "just listen how that rain beats; and did you
see the hail? Well, it fell, lots of it, while we were dressing;
that's what makes the air so cool. I hope it will storm all the rain
down at once and then give us a clear day tomorrow, when Kenneth has
to go away."
"It would be awful for any one to be out in a storm like this,"
remarked the other as the crash of thunder shook the house; "what
about Captain Monroe having to go through it?"
"Caroline said the guard has just got here, so I suppose he will have
to go no matter what the weather is. Well, I suppose he'd just as soon
be killed by the storm as to be shot for a spy. Only think of it--a
guest of ours to be taken away as a spy!"
"It is dreadful," assented Gertrude, and then looking at Judithe, she
added, "I hope you were not made nervous by the shot and excitement
last night; I assure you we do not usually have such finales to our
parties."
"I am not naturally timid, thank you," returned Judithe, with a
careless smile, all the more careless that she felt the blue eyes were
regarding her with unusual watchfulness; "one must expect all those
inconveniences in war times, especially when people are located on the
border land, and I hear it is really but a short ride to the coast,
where your enemies have their war vessels for blockade. Did I
understand you to say the military men have come for your friend, the
Federal Captain? What a pity! He danced so well!"
And with the careless smile still on her lips, she passed them and
crossed the hall to the library.
Evilena shook her head and sighed. "_I_ am just broken hearted over
his arrest," she acknowledged, "but it is because--well, it is _not_
merely because he was a good dancer! Gertrude, I--I did something
horrid this morning, I just _could_ not eat my breakfast without
showing my sympathy in some way. You know those last cookies I baked?
Well, I had some of those sent over with his breakfast."
"Poor fellow!" and Delaven shook his head sadly over the fate of
Monroe. Evilena eyed him suspiciously; but his face was all innocence
and sympathy.
"It is terrible," she assented; "poor mama just wept this morning when
we heard of it; of course, if he really proves to be a spy, we should
not care what happened to him; but mama thinks of his mother, and of
his dead brother, and--well, we both prayed for him this morning; it
was all we could do. Kenneth says no one must go near him, and of
course Kenneth knows what is best; but we are both hoping with all our
hearts that he had nothing to do with that spy; funny, isn't it, that
we are praying and crying on account of a man who, after all, is a
real Yankee?"
"Faith, I'd turn Yankee myself for the same sweet sympathy," declared
Delaven, and received only a reproachful glance for his frivolity.
Judithe crossed the hall to the library, the indifferent smile still
on her lips, her movements graceful and unhurried; under the curious
eyes of Gertrude Loring she would show no special interest in the man
under discussion, or the guard just arrived, but for all that the
arrival of the guard determined her course. All her courage was needed
to face the inevitable; the inevitable had arrived, and she was not a
coward.
She looked at the wedding ring on her finger; it had been the wedding
ring of the dowager long ago, and she had given it to Kenneth McVeigh
that morning for the ceremony.
"Maman would approve if she knew all," she assured herself, and now
she touched the ring to remind her of many things, and to blot out the
remembrance of others, for instance, the avowal of love under the
arbor in the dusk of the night before!
"But _that_ was last night," she thought, grimly; "the darkness made
me impressionable, the situation made of me a nervous fool, who said
the thing she felt and had no right to feel. It is no longer night,
and I am no longer a fool! Do not let me forget, little ring, why I
allowed you to be placed there. I am going to tell him now, and I
shall need you and--Maman."
So she passed into the library; there could be no further delay, since
the guard had arrived; Monroe should not be sacrificed.
She closed the door after her and looked around. A man was in the
large arm chair by the table, but it was not Colonel McVeigh. It was
Matthew Loring, whose man Ben was closing a refractory banging
shutter, and drawing curtains over the windows, while Pluto brought in
a lighted lamp for the table, and both of them listened stoically to
Loring's grumbling.
For a wonder he approved of the innovation of lamps and closed
shutters. He had, in fact, come from his own room because of the fury
of the storm. He growled that the noise of it annoyed him, but would
not have acknowledged the truth, that the force of it appalled him,
and that he shrank from being alone while the lightning threw threats
in every direction, and the crashes of thunder shook the house.
"No, Kenneth isn't here," he answered, grumpily. "They told me he was,
but the nigger lied."
"Mahsa Kenneth jest gone up to his own room, Madame Caron," said
Pluto, quietly. "Mist'ess, she went, too, an' Judge Clarkson."
"Humph! Clarkson has got him pinned down at last, has he?" and there
was a note of satisfaction in his tone. "I was beginning to think that
between this fracas with the spy, and his galloping around the
country, he would have no time left for business. I should not think
you'd consider it worth while to go pleasure-riding such a morning as
this."
"Oh, yes; it was quite worth while," she answered, serenely; "the
storm did not break until our return. You are waiting for Colonel
McVeigh? So am I, and in the meantime I am at your service, willing to
be entertained."
"I am too much upset to entertain any one today," he declared,
fretfully; "that trouble last night spoiled my rest. I knew the woman
Margeret lied when she came back and said it was only an accident. I'm
nervous as a cat today. The doctors forbid me every form of
excitement, yet they quarter a Yankee spy in the room over mine, and
commence shooting affairs in the middle of the night. It's--it's
outrageous!"
He fell back in the chair, exhausted by his indignation. Judithe took
the fan from Pluto's hand and waved it gently above the dark,
vindictive face. His eyes were closed and as she surveyed the cynical
countenance a sudden determination came to her. If she _should_ leave
for Savannah in the morning, why not let Matthew Loring hear, first,
of the plans for Loringwood's future? She knew how to hurt Kenneth
McVeigh; she meant to see if there was any way of hurting this
trafficker in humanity, this aristocratic panderer to horrid vices.
"You may go, Pluto," she said, kindly. "I will ring if you are
needed."
Both the colored men went out, closing the door after them, and she
brought a hassock and placed it beside his chair, and seated herself,
after taking a book from the shelf and opening it without glancing at
the title or pages.
"Since you refuse to be entertainer, Monsieur Loring, you must submit
to being entertained," she said, pleasantly; "shall I sing to you,
read to you, or tell you a story?"
Her direct and persistent graciousness made him straighten up in his
chair and regard her, inquiringly; there was a curious mocking tone in
her voice as she spoke, but the voice itself was forgotten as he
looked in her face.
The light from the lamp was shining full on her face, and the face was
closer to him than it had ever been before. If she designed to dazzle
him by thus arranging a living picture for his benefit she certainly
succeeded. He had never really seen her until now, and he caught his
breath sharply and was conscious that one of the most beautiful women
he had ever seen in his life was looking at him with a strange smile
touching her perfect mouth, and a strange haunting resemblance to some
one once known, shining in her dark eyes.
"What sort of stories do you prefer--love stories?" she continued, as
he did not speak--only stared at her; "or, since we have had a real
adventure in the house last night, possibly you would be interested in
the intrigue back of that--would you?"
"Do you mean," he asked, eagerly, "that you could give me some new
facts concerning the spy--Monroe?"
"Yes, I really think I could," she said, amiably, "as there happen to
be several things you have not been well informed upon."
"I know it!" he said, tapping the arm of the chair, impatiently, "they
never tell me half what is going on, now!--as if I was a child! and
when I ask the cursed niggers, they lie so. Well, well, go on; tell me
the latest news about this Yankee--Monroe."
"The very latest?" and she smiled again in that strange mocking way.
"Well, the latest is that he is entirely innocent; had nothing
whatever to do with the taking of the papers."
"Madame Caron!"
"Yes, I am quite serious. I was just about to tell Colonel McVeigh,
but we can chat about it until he comes;" and she pretended not to
notice the wonder in his face, and went serenely on, "in fact, it was
not a man who took the papers at all, but a woman; yes, a woman," she
said, nodding her head, as a frown of quick suspicion touched his
forehead and his eyes gleamed darkly on her, "in fact a confidential
agent, whom Captain Masterson designated yesterday as most dangerous
to the Confederate cause. I am about to inform Colonel McVeigh of her
identity. But I do not fancy that will interest you nearly so much as
another story I have for you personally."
She paused and drew back a little, to better observe every expression
of his countenance. He was glaring at her and his breath was coming in
broken gasps.
"There are really two of those secret Federal agents in this especial
territory," she continued, "two women who have worked faithfully for
the Union. I fancied you might be especially interested in the story
of one of them, as she belongs to the Loring family."
"To our family? That is some cursed Yankee lie!" he burst out
fiercely, "every Loring is loyal to the South! To _our_ family? Let
them try to prove that statement! It can't be done!"
"You are quite right, Monsieur Loring," she agreed, quietly, "it
_would_ be difficult to prove, even if you wished to do it." He fairly
glared at the possibility that he should want to prove it. "But it may
have an interest to you for all that, since the girl in question was
your brother's daughter."
"My brother's--!" He seemed choking, and he gazed at her with a
horrible expression. The door opened and Mrs. McVeigh entered rather
hastily, looking for something in the desk. Loring had sunk back in
the chair, and she did not see his face, but she could see Judithe's,
and it was uplifted and slightly smiling.
"Have you found something mutually interesting?" she asked, glancing
at the book open on Judithe's knee.
"Yes; a child's story," returned her guest, and then the door closed,
and the two were again alone.
"There is a woman to be loved and honored, if one could only forget
the sort of son she has trained," remarked Judithe, thoughtfully,
"with my heart I love her, but with my reason I condemn her. Can you
comprehend that, Monsieur Loring? I presume not, as you do not
interest yourself with hearts."
He was still staring at her like a man in a frightened dream; she
could see the perspiration standing on his forehead; his lips were
twitching horribly.
"You understand, of course," she said, continuing her former
discussion, "that the daughter in the story is not the lovely lady who
is your heiress, and who is called Miss Loring. It is a younger
daughter I refer to; she had no surname, because masters do not marry
slaves, and her mother was a half Greek octoroon from Florida; her
name was Retta Lacaris, and your brother promised her the freedom she
never received until death granted her what you could not keep from
her; do you remember that mother and child, Monsieur Loring?--the
mother who went mad and died, and the child whom you sold to Kenneth
McVeigh?--sold as a slave for his bachelor establishment; a slave who
would look like a white girl, whom you contracted should have the
accomplishments of a white girl, but without a white girl's
inconvenient independence, and the power of disposing of herself."
"You--you dare to tell me!--you--" He was choking with rage, but she
raised her hand for silence, and continued in the same quiet tone:
"I have discussed the same affair in the salons of Paris--why not to
you? It was in Paris your good friend, Monsieur Larue, placed the girl
for the education Kenneth McVeigh paid for. It was also your friend
who bribed her to industry by a suggestion that she might gain freedom
if her accomplishments warranted it. But you had forgotten, Matthew
Loring, that the child of your brother had generations of white
blood--of intellectual ancestry back of her. She had heard before
leaving your shores the sort of freedom she was intended for, and your
school was not a prison strong enough to hold her. She escaped, fled
into the country, hid like a criminal in the day, and walked alone at
night through an unknown county, a girl of seventeen! She found a
friend in an aged woman, to whom she told her story, every word of it,
Matthew Loring, and was received into the home as a daughter. That
home, all the wealth which made it magnificent, and the title which
had once belonged to her benefactress, became the property of your
brother's daughter before that daughter was twenty years old. Now, do
you comprehend why one woman has crossed the seas to help, if
possible, overthrow an institution championed by you? Now do you
comprehend my assurance that Captain Monroe is innocent? Now, dare you
contest my statement that one of the Loring family is a Federal
agent?"
"By God! I know you at last!" and he half arose from his chair as if
to strike her with both upraised shaking hands. "I--I'll have you tied
up and whipped until you shed blood for every word you've uttered
here! You wench! You black cattle! You--"
"Stop!" she said, stepping back and smiling at his impotent rage. "You
are in the house of Colonel McVeigh, and you are speaking to his
wife!"
He uttered a low cry of horror, and fell back in the chair, nerveless,
speechless.
"I thought you would be interested, if not pleased," she continued,
"and I wanted, moreover, to tell you that your sale of your brother's
child was one reason why your estate of Loringwood was selected in
preference to any other as a dowered home for free children--girl
children, of color! Your ancestral estate, Monsieur Loring, will be
used as an industrial home for such young girls. The story of your
human traffic shall be told, and the name of Matthew Loring execrated
in those walls long after the last of the Lorings shall be under the
sod. That is the monument I have designed for you, and the design will
be carried out whether I live or die."
He did not speak, only sat there with that horrible stare in his eyes,
and watched her.
"I shall probably not see you again," she continued, "as I leave for
Savannah in the morning, unless Colonel McVeigh holds his wife as a
spy, but I could not part without taking you into my confidence to a
certain extent, though I presume it is not necessary to tell you how
useless it would be for you to use this knowledge to my disadvantage
unless I myself should avow it. You know I have told you the truth,
but you could not prove it to any other, and--well, I think that is
all." She was replacing the book in the case when Gertrude entered
from the hall. Judithe only heard the rustle of a gown, and without
turning her head to see who it was, added, "Yes, that is all, except
to assure you our tete-a-tete has been exceedingly delightful to me; I
had actually forgotten that a storm was raging!"