Miss Loring glanced about in surprise when she found no one in the
room but her uncle and Madame Caron.
"Oh, I did not know you had left your room," she remarked, going
towards him; "do you think it quite wise? And the storm; isn't it
dreadful?"
"I have endeavored to make him forget it," remarked Judithe, "and
trust I have not been entirely a failure."
She was idly fingering the volumes in the book-case, and glanced over
her shoulder as she spoke. Her hands trembled, but her teeth were set
under the smiling lips--she was waiting for his accusation.
"I have no doubt my uncle appreciates your endeavors," returned
Gertrude, with civil uncordiality, as she halted back of his chair,
"but he is not equal to gayeties today; last night's excitement was
quite a shock to him, as it was to all of us."
"Yes," agreed Judithe; "we were just speaking of it."
"Phil Masterson tells me the men will be here some time today for
Captain Monroe," continued Gertrude, still speaking from the back of
his chair, over which she was leaning. "Phil's orderly just returned
from following the spy last night. Caroline made us think at first it
was the guard already from the fort, but that was a mistake; she could
not see clearly because of the storm. And, uncle, he came back without
ever getting in sight of the man, though he rode until morning before
he turned back; isn't it too bad for--"
Something in that strange silence of the man in the chair suddenly
checked the speech on her lips, and with a quick movement she was in
front of him, looking in his face, into the eyes which turned towards
her with a strange, horrible expression in them, and the lips vainly
trying to speak, to give her warning. But the blow of paralysis had
fallen again. He was speechless, helpless. Her piercing scream brought
the others from the sitting room; the stricken man was carried to his
own apartment by order of Dr. Delaven, who could give them little hope
of recovery; his speech might, of course, return as it had done a year
before, after the other paralytic stroke, but--
Mrs. McVeigh put her arm protectingly around the weeping girl,
comprehending that even though he might recover his speech, any
improvement must now be but a temporary respite.
At the door Gertrude halted and turned to the still figure at the book
case.
"Madame Caron, you--you were talking to him," she said, appealingly,
"you did not suspect, either?"
"I did not suspect," answered Judithe, quietly, and then they went
out, leaving her alone, staring after them and then at the chair,
where but a few minutes ago he had been seated, full of a life as
vindictive as her own, if not so strong; and now--had she murdered
him? She glanced at the mirror back of the writing desk, and saw that
she was white and strange looking; she rubbed her hands together
because they were so suddenly cold. She heard some one halt at the
door, and she turned again to the book-case lest whoever entered
should be shocked at her face.
It was Evilena who peered in wistfully in search of some one not
oppressed by woe.
"Kenneth's last day home," she lamented, "and such a celebration of
it; isn't it perfectly awful? Just as if Captain Monroe and the storm
had not brought us distress enough! Of course," she added, contritely,
"it's unfeeling of me to take that view of it, and I don't expect you
to sympathize with me." There was a pause in which she felt herself
condemned. "And the house all lit up as for a party; oh, dear; it will
all be solemn as a grave now in spite of the lights, and our pretty
dresses; well, I think I'll take a book into the sitting room. I could
not possibly read in here," and she cast a shrinking glance towards
the big chair. "Is that not Romeo and Juliet under your hand? That
will do, please."
Judithe took down the volume, turned the leaves rapidly, and smiled.
"You will find the balcony scene on the tenth page," she remarked.
And then they both laughed, and Evilena beat a retreat lest some of
the others should enter and catch her laughing when the rest of the
household were doleful, and she simply could not be doleful over
Matthew Loring; she was only sorry Kenneth's day was spoiled.
The little episode, slight as it was, broke in on the unpleasant
fancies of Judithe, and substituted a new element. She closed the
glass doors and turned towards the window, quite herself again.
She stepped between the curtains and looked out on the driving storm,
trying to peer through the grey sheets of falling rain. The guard,
then, according to Miss Loring, had not yet arrived, after all, and
the others, the Federals, had a chance of being first on the field;
oh, why--why did they not hurry?
The pelting of the rain on the window prevented her from hearing the
entrance of Colonel McVeigh and the Judge, while the curtain hid her
effectually; it was not until she turned to cross the room into the
hall that she was aware of the two men beside the table, each with
documents and papers of various sorts, which they were arranging. The
Judge held one over which he hesitated; looking at the younger man
thoughtfully, and finally he said:
"The rest are all right, Kenneth; it was not for those I wanted to see
you alone, but for this. I could not have it come under your mother's
notice, and the settlement has already been delayed too long, but your
absence, first abroad, then direct to the frontier, and then our own
war, and Mr. Loring's illness--"
He was rambling along inconsequently; McVeigh glanced at him,
questioningly; it was so rare a thing to see the Judge ill at ease
over any legal transaction, but he plainly was, now; and when his
client reached over and took the paper from his hand he surrendered it
and broke off abruptly his rambling explanation.
McVeigh unfolded the paper and glanced at it with an incredulous
frown.
"What is the meaning of this agreement to purchase a girl of color,
aged twelve, named Rhoda Larue? We have bought no colored people from
the Lorings, nor from any one else."
"The girl was contracted for without your knowledge, my boy, before
your majority, in fact; though she is mentioned there as a girl of
color she was to all appearances perfectly white, the daughter of an
octaroon, and also the daughter of Tom Loring."
The woman back of the curtain was listening now with every sense
alert, never for one instant had it occurred to her that Kenneth
McVeigh did not know! How she listened for his next words!
"And why should a white girl like that be bought for the McVeigh
plantation?"
There was a pause; then Clarkson laid down the other papers, and faced
him, frankly:
"Kenneth, my boy, she was never intended for the McVeigh plantation,
but was contracted for, educated, given certain accomplishments that
she might be a desirable personal property of yours when you were
twenty."
McVeigh was on his feet in an instant, his blue eyes flaming.
"And who arranged this affair?--not--my father?"
"No."
"Thank God for that! Go on, who was accountable?"
"Your guardian, Matthew Loring. He explains that he made the
arrangement, having in mind the social entanglement of boys within our
own knowledge, who have rushed into unequal marriages, or--or
associations equally deplorable with scheming women who are alert
where moneyed youth is concerned. Mr. Loring, as your guardian,
determined to forestall such complications in your case. From a
business point of view he did not think it a bad investment, since, if
you for any reason, objected to this arrangement, a girl so well
educated, even accomplished, could be disposed of at a profit."
McVeigh was walking up and down the room.
"So!" he said, bitterly, "that was Matthew Loring's amiable little
arrangement. That girl, then, belonged not to his estate, but to
Gertrude's. He was her guardian as well as mine; he would have given
me the elder sister as a wife, and the younger one as a slave. What a
curse the man is! It is for such hellish deeds that every Southerner
outside of his own lands is forced to defend slavery against heavy
odds. The outsiders never stop to consider that there is not one man
out of a thousand among us who would use his power as this man has
used it in this case; the many are condemned for the sins of the few!
Go on; what became of the girl?"
"She was, in accordance with this agreement, sent to a first-class
school, from which she disappeared--escaped, and never was found
again. The money advanced from your estate for her education is,
therefore, to be repaid you, with the interest to date; you, of
course, must not lose the money, since Loring has failed to keep his
part of the contract."
"Good God!" muttered McVeigh, continuing his restless walk; "it seems
incredible, damnable! Think of it!--a girl with the blood, the brain,
the education of a white woman, and bought in my name! I will have
nothing--nothing to do with such cursed traffic!"
Neither of them heard the smothered sobs of the woman kneeling there
back of that curtain; all the world had been changed for her by his
words.
She did not hear the finale of their conversation, only the confused
murmur of their voices came to her; then, after a little, there was
the closing of a door, and Colonel McVeigh was alone.
He was seated in the big chair where Matthew Loring had received the
stroke which meant death. The hammock was still beside it, and she
knelt there, touching his arm, timidly.
He had not heard her approach, but at her touch he turned from the
papers.
"Well, my sweetheart, what is it?" he said, and with averted face she
whispered:
"Only that--I love you!--no," as he bent towards her, "don't kiss me!
I never knew--I never guessed."
"Never guessed that you loved me?" he asked, regarding her with a
quizzical smile. "Now, I guessed it all the time, even though you did
run away from me."
"No, no, it is not that!" and she moved away, out of the reach of his
caressing hands. "But I was there, by the window; I heard all that
story. I had heard it long ago, and I thought you were to blame. I
judged you--condemned you! Now I see how wrong I was--wrong in every
way--in every way. I have wronged you--_you_! Oh, how I have wronged
you!" she whispered, under her breath, as she remembered the men she
looked for, had sent for--the men who were to take him away a
prisoner!
"Nonsense, dear!" and he clasped her hands and smiled at her
reassuringly. "You are over-wrought by all the excitement here since
yesterday; you are nervous and remorseful over a trifle; you could not
wrong me in any way; if you did, I forgive you."
"No," she said, shaking her head and gazing at him with eyes more sad
than he had ever seen them; "no, you would not forgive me if you knew;
you never will forgive me when you do know. And--I must tell you--tell
you everything--tell you now--"
"No, not now, Judithe," he said, as he heard Masterson's voice in the
hall. "We can't be alone now. Later you shall tell me all your sins
against me." He was walking with her to the door and looking down at
her with all his heart in his eyes; his tenderness made her sorrows
all the more terrible, and as he bent to kiss her she shrunk from
him.
"No, not until I tell you all," she said again, then as his hands
touched hers she suddenly pressed them to her lips, her eyes, her
cheek; "and whatever you think of me then, when you do hear all, I
want you to know that I love you, I love you, I _love_ you!"
Then the door closed behind her and he was standing there with a
puzzled frown between his eyes when Masterson entered. Her intense
agitation, the passion in her words and her eyes!--He felt inclined to
follow and end the mystery of it at once, but Masterson's voice
stopped him.
"I've been trying all morning to have a talk, Colonel," he said,
carefully closing the door and glancing about. "There have been some
new developments in Monroe's case, in fact there have been so many
that I have put in the time while waiting for you, by writing down
every particle of new testimony in the affair." He took from his
pocket some written pages and laid them on the table, and beside them
a small oval frame. "They are for your inspection, Colonel. I have no
opinion I care to express on the matter. I have only written down Miss
Loring's statements, and the picture speaks for itself."
McVeigh stared at him.
"What do you mean by Miss Loring's statement?--and what is this?"
He had lifted the little frame, and looked at Masterson, who had
resolutely closed his lips and shook his head. He meant that McVeigh
should see for himself.
The cover flew back as he touched the spring, and a girl's face, dark,
bright, looked out at him. It was delicately tinted and the work was
well done. He had a curious shock as the eye met his. There was
something so familiar in the poise of the head and the faint smile
lurking at the corner of the mouth.
There was no mistaking the likeness; it looked as Judithe might
possibly have looked at seventeen. He had never seen her with that
childish, care-free light of happiness in her eyes; she had always
been thoughtful beyond her years, but in this picture--
"Where did you get this?" he asked, and his face grew stern for an
instant, as Masterson replied:
"In Captain Monroe's pocket."
He opened his lips to speak, but Masterson pointed to the paper.
"It is all written there, Colonel; I really prefer you should read
that report first, and then question me if you care to. I have written
each thing as it occurred. You will see Miss Loring has also signed
her name to it, preferring you would accept that rather than be called
upon for a personal account. Your mother is, of course, ignorant of
all this--"
McVeigh seemed scarcely to hear his words. _Her_ voice was yet
sounding in his ears; her remorseful repetition, "You will never
forgive me when you do know!"--was this what she meant?
He laid down the picture and picked up the papers. Masterson seated
himself at the other side of the room with his back to him, and
waited.
There was the rustle of paper as McVeigh laid one page after another
on the table. After a little the rustle ceased. Masterson looked
around. The Colonel had finished with the report and was again
studying the picture.
"Well?" said Masterson.
"I cannot think this evidence at all conclusive." There was a pause
and then he added, "but the situation is such that every unusual thing
relating to this matter must, of course, be investigated. I should
like to see Margeret and Captain Monroe here; later I may question
Madame Caron."
His voice was very quiet and steady, but he scarcely lifted his eyes
from the picture; something about it puzzled him; the longer he looked
at it the less striking was the likeness--the character of Judithe's
face, now, was so different.
He was still holding it at arm's length on the table when Margeret
noiselessly entered the room. She came back of him and halted beside
the table; her eyes were also on the picture, and a smothered
exclamation made him aware of her presence. He closed the frame and
picked up the report Masterson had given him.
"Margeret," he said, looking at her, curiously, "have you seen Madame
Caron today?"
"Yes, Colonel McVeigh;" she showed no surprise at the question, only
looked straight ahead of her, with those solemn, dark eyes. He
remembered the story of her madness years ago, and supposed that was
accountable for the strange, colorless, passive manner.
"Did she speak to you?"
"No, sir."
Judithe opened the door and looked in; seeing that McVeigh was
apparently occupied, and not alone, she was about to retire when he
begged her to remain for a few minutes. He avoided her questioning
eyes, and offered her a chair, with that conventional courtesy
reserved for strangers. She noted the papers in his hand, and the odd
tones in which he spoke; she was, after all, debarred from confessing;
she was to be accused!
"A slight mystery is abroad here, and you appear to be the victim of
it, Madame," he said, without looking at her. "Margeret, last night
when Miss Loring sent you into the corridor just before the shot was
fired, did you see any of the ladies or servants of the house?"
"No, sir."
There was not the slightest hesitation in the reply, but Judithe
turned her eyes on the woman with unusual interest. Colonel McVeigh
consulted his notes.
"Miss Loring distinctively heard the rustle of a woman's dress as her
door opened; did you hear that?"
"No, sir."
"You saw no one and heard no one?"
"No one."
There was a pause, during which he regarded the woman very sharply.
Judithe arose.
"Only your sister or myself could have been in that corridor without
passing Miss Loring's door; is Miss Loring suspicious of us?--Miss
Loring!"--and her tone was beyond her control, indignant; of all
others, Miss Loring! "Margeret, whatever you saw, whatever you heard
in that corridor, you must tell Colonel McVeigh--tell him!"
Margeret turned a calm glance towards her for a moment, and quietly
said, "I have told him, Madame Caron; there was no one in the
corridor."
"Very well; that is all I wanted to know." His words were intended for
dismissal, but she only bent her head and walked back to the window,
as Masterson entered with Monroe. The latter bowed to Judithe with
more than usual ceremony, but did not speak. Then he turned a
nonchalant glance towards McVeigh, and waited. The Colonel looked
steadily at Judithe as he said:
"Captain Monroe, did you know Madame Caron before you met her in my
house? You do not answer! Madame Caron, may I ask you if you knew
Captain Monroe previous to yesterday?"
"Quite well," she replied, graciously; there was almost an air of
bravado in her glance. She had meant to tell him all; had begged him
to listen, but since he preferred to question her before these men,
and at the probable suggestion of Miss Loring--well!
Masterson drew a breath of relief as she spoke. His Colonel must now
exonerate him of any unfounded suspicions; but Monroe regarded her
with somber, disapproving eyes.
"Then," and his tone chilled her; it has in it such a suggestion of
what justice he would mete out to her when he knew all; "then I am,
under the circumstances, obliged to ask why you acknowledged the
introduction given by Miss Loring?"
"Oh, for the blunder of that I was accountable, Monsieur," and she
smiled at him, frankly, the combative spirit fully awake, now, since
he chose to question her--_her_!--before the others, "I should have
explained, perhaps--I believe I meant to, but there was conversation,
and I probably forgot."
"I see! You forgot to explain, and Captain Monroe forgot you were
acquainted when he was questioned, just now."
"Captain Monroe could not possibly forget the honor of such
acquaintance," retorted Monroe; "he only refused to answer."
The two men met each other's eyes for an instant--a glance like the
crossing of swords. Then McVeigh said:
"Where did you get the picture found on your person last night?"
"Stole it," said Monroe, calmly, and McVeigh flushed in quick anger
at the evident lie and the insolence of it; he was lying then to
shield this woman who stood between them--to shield her from her
husband.
"Madame Caron," and she had never before heard him speak in that tone;
"did you ever give Captain Monroe a picture of yourself?"
"Never!" she said, wonderingly. Margeret had taken a step forward and
stood irresolutely as though about to speak; she was very pale, and
Monroe knew in an instant who she was--not by the picture, but from
Pluto's story last night. The terror in her eyes touched him, and as
McVeigh lifted the picture from the table, he spoke.
"Colonel McVeigh, I will ask you to study that picture carefully
before you take for granted that it is the face of any one you know,"
he said, quietly; "that picture was made probably twenty years ago."
"And the woman?"
"The woman is dead--died long ago." Margeret's eyes closed for an
instant, but none of them noticed her. Judithe regarded Monroe,
questioningly, and then turned to McVeigh:
"May I not see this picture you speak of, since--"
But Monroe in two strides was beside the table where it lay.
"Colonel McVeigh, even a prisoner of war should be granted some
consideration, and all I ask of you is to show the article in question
to no one without first granting me a private interview."
Again the eyes of the men met and the sincerity, the appeal of Monroe
impressed McVeigh; something might be gained by conceding the
request--something lost by refusing it, and he slipped the case into
his pocket without even looking at Judithe, or noticing her question.
But Monroe looked at her, and noted the quick resentment at his
speech.
"Pardon, Madame," he said, gently; "my only excuse is that there is a
lady in the question."
"A lady who is no longer living?" she asked, mockingly. She was
puzzled over the affair of the picture, puzzled at the effect it had
on McVeigh. In some way he was jealous concerning it--jealous, how
absurd, when she adored him!
Monroe only looked at her, but did not reply to the sceptical query.
Gertrude Loring came to the door just then and spoke to McVeigh, who
went to meet her. She wanted him to go at once to her uncle. He was
trying so hard to speak; they thought he was endeavoring to say
"Ken--Ken!" It was the only tangible thing they could distinguish, and
he watched the door continually as though for someone's entrance.
McVeigh assured her he would go directly, but she begged him to
postpone all the other business--anything! and to come with her at
once; he might be dying, he looked like it, and there certainly was
_some_ one whom he wanted; therefore--
He turned with a semi-apologetic manner to the others in the room.
"I shall return presently, and will then continue the investigation,"
he said, addressing Masterson; "pending such action Captain Monroe can
remain here."
Then he closed the door and followed Gertrude.
Judithe arose at that calm ignoring of herself and moved to the
table. She guessed what it was the dying man was trying to tell
Kenneth--well, she would tell him first!
Pen and paper were there and she commenced to write, interrupting
herself to turn to Masterson, who was looking out at the storm.
"Is there any objection to Captain Monroe holding converse with
other--guests in the house?" she asked, with a little ironical smile.
Masterson hesitated, and then said: "I do not think a private
interview could be allowed, but--"
"A private interview is not necessary," she said, coolly. "You can
remain where you are. Margeret, also, can remain." She wrote a line or
two, and then spoke without looking up, "Will you be so kind, Captain
Monroe, as to come over to the table?"
"At your service, my lady."
He did so, and remained standing there, with his hands clasped behind
him, a curious light of expectancy in his eyes.
"You have endured everything but death for me since last night," she
said, looking up at him. She spoke so low Masterson could not hear it
above the beat of the rain on the window. But he could see the slight
bend of Monroe's head and the smile with which he said:
"Well--since it was for you!"
"Oh, do not jest now, and do not think I shall allow it to go on," she
said, appealingly. "I have been waiting for help, but I shall wait no
longer;" she pointed to the paper on the table, "Colonel McVeigh will
have a written statement of who did the work just as soon as I can
write it, and you shall be freed."
"Take care!" he said, warningly; "an avowal now might only incriminate
you--not free me. There are complications you can't be told--"
"But I must be told!" she interrupted. "What is there concerning me
which you both conspire to hide? He shall free you, no matter what the
result is to me; did you fancy I should let you go away under
suspicion? But, that picture! You must make that clear to me. Listen,
I will confess to you, too! I have wronged him--Colonel McVeigh--it
has been all a mistake. I can never atone, but"--and her voice sank
lower, "it was something about that picture made him angry just now,
the thought I had given you some picture. I--I can't have him think
that--not that you are my lover."
"Suppose it were so--would that add to the wrongs you speak of?" His
voice was almost tender in its gentleness, and his face had a strange
expression, as she said: "Yes, it would, Captain Jack."
"You mean, then--to marry him?"
Something in the tenseness of his tones, the strange look of anxiety
in his eyes, decided her answer.
"I mean that I have married him."
She spoke so softly it was almost a whisper, but if it had been
trumpet-like he could not have looked more astonished. His face grew
white, and he took a step backward from her. Masterson, who noticed
the movement, walked down to the desk, where he could hear. Margeret
was nearer to them than he. All he heard was Madame Caron asking if
Captain Monroe would not now agree that she should see the picture
since it was necessary to defend herself.
But Monroe had gone back to his chair, where he sat looking at her
thoughtfully, and looking at Margeret, also, who had remained near the
door, and gave no sign of having heard their words--had she?
"No, Madame Caron," he said, quietly, "if there is any evidence in my
favor you can communicate to Colonel McVeigh, I shall be your debtor,
but the picture is altogether a personal affair of my own. I will, if
I can, prevent it from being used in this case at all, out of
consideration for the lady whom I mentioned before."