MISS WELCH HEARS A PIECE OF NEWS
Ruth had heard of Captain Allen’s surrender the day after it took
place. Mrs. Stamper, passing through from the railway on her way home
from a visit to her husband in jail, had stopped and told her all about
it. Ruth almost fell to the ground during Mrs. Stamper’s narration. She
could scarcely stand up. When Mrs. Stamper had passed on, Ruth rushed
into the house and was on her way to her own room when she met her
mother.
“What on earth is it, Ruth?”
“Oh, mamma!” Ruth began, but was unable to proceed, and burst into
tears. Mrs. Welch also had heard the story; and she divined the cause
of her agitation, and drew her into her chamber, and there Ruth opened
her heart to her mother.
“I know I ought to hate him, mamma,” she wept, “but I do not. I have
tried to hate him, and prayed—yes, prayed to hate him; but I like him
better than any man I ever met or ever shall meet, and even when I cut
him on the road I liked him. I hate myself; I am humiliated to think
that I should care for a man who has never said he loved me.”
“But he has said so, Ruth,” declared Mrs. Welch.
“What?” Ruth’s eyes opened wide with a vague awaking something.
“He came to see your father, and asked his consent to pay you his
addresses.”
Ruth sprang to her feet as if electrified.
“Mamma!” The blood rushed to her face and back again. She seized her
mother, and poured out question after question. Her whole person seemed
to change. She looked like a different being. A radiance appeared to
have suddenly settled down upon her and enveloped her. Mrs. Welch
was carried away by her enthusiasm, and could not help enjoying her
joy. For once she let herself go, and gave herself up to the delight
of thorough and complete sympathy with her daughter. She told her
everything that had occurred, and Ruth in return told her mother all
that she knew and thought of Steve. Thus Mrs. Welch became Ruth’s
confidante, and, in her sympathy with Ruth’s happiness, committed
herself on Ruth’s side beyond hope of withdrawal.
Just then Major Welch opened the door. He stopped and looked in on the
scene in wonderment. Ruth rose and flung herself into his arms.
In the conference that ensued, Ruth, however, found ground for more
distress. Her father had heard the whole story of Captain Allen’s
surrender of himself. He had just got it from Thurston. He also knew of
the telegrams Thurston had received in response to his giving notice
of the surrender, and he was full of anxiety. He was by no means sure
that Captain Allen, however high his motive, had done a wise act in
giving himself up. He did not believe his action would be effectual to
obtain the release of his friends, and he had put himself in the power
of those who would move heaven and earth to secure his conviction. The
dispatches that had come from the city clearly indicated this.
Under the new revelation that Major Welch had received, his interest in
Captain Allen naturally increased beyond measure, and he showed it. His
only hope was that proof as to Captain Allen’s case might not be easy.
The new laws under which the prosecutions were being pressed aimed at
recent acts, and it might not be possible to prove Captain Allen’s
participation in these acts.
His carrying Leech off could, of course, be proved; but while Leech
would naturally push the prosecution for this, as Leech had returned,
the Government might not now take that so seriously. As her father
discussed Captain Allen’s chances earnestly, Ruth sat and listened with
bated breath, her eyes, wide with anxiety, fixed on his face, her hands
tightly clasped, her color coming and going as hope and fear alternated.
It was a few days after this, that she had her brief interview with
Leech.
The next day after that interview an official rode up to the door and
served a summons on Ruth to appear as a witness for the prosecution in
the case of the Government against Stevenson Allen. With this notice
he brought also a letter to Major Welch from Leech, who wrote Major
Welch that for reasons of importance to the Government he had found it
necessary to request his daughter’s attendance at the trial. The letter
was full of expressions of regret that he should have to cause Major
Welch’s daughter any inconvenience. She was the only one, he said, who
could prove certain facts material to the case for the Government.
As Major Welch read the letter his countenance fell. Ruth’s knowledge
of Captain Allen’s confession of his part in the Ku Klux organization
had filled out Leech’s case, and Captain Allen was in graver danger
than he had apprehended. The next day it was known in the County that
Ruth had been summoned by Leech, and that the object of the summons was
to have her prove Captain Allen’s confession to her of his part in the
acts of the Ku Klux. It was stated that Leech had written Major Welch
to obtain the information from him, and that Major Welch had replied
that his daughter would be on hand, dead or alive. The excitement in
the community was intense; and the feeling against the Welches flamed
forth stronger than it had ever been—stronger even than before the
trial of Jacquelin’s case. Intimations of this came to the Welches,
and they could not ride out without encountering the hostile looks
of their neighbors. It was asserted by some that Major Welch and his
daughter had trapped Steve, and were taking their revenge for his part
in Jacquelin’s suit. Major Welch received one or two anonymous letters
accusing him of this, and warning him to leave the country without
attempting to push his malice farther.
As the Major treated these letters with the contempt they deserved, and
destroyed them without letting either Mrs. Welch or Ruth know anything
about them, they would have given him no further concern except for the
fact that he had made up his mind to go North just then on business.
The letters came near preventing his going; but as the matter was
urgent, he went, and the rumor got abroad that he had left on account
of the letters.
Ruth was in a state of great distress. She hoped she would die before
the day of the trial; and, indeed, to have seen her, one might have
thought it not unlikely. Dr. Cary was sent for. He prescribed change
of air and scene. Mrs. Welch shook her head sadly. That was impossible
just now. “You look as though you needed change yourself, Doctor,” she
said. And well she might say so. The Doctor had aged years in the last
weeks. His face had never lost the prison pallor.
“No madam—I think not,” he said, calmly, his hand resting against his
breast. Mrs. Welch did not know that he meant that he was past that now.
“Then you must take a rest,” urged Mrs. Welch.
“Yes, I think I shall take a rest before long,” said he.
Ruth was out riding one afternoon just after this when she met old
Waverley. She stopped to inquire after Miss Thomasia who she had
heard was ill. The old man was actually short to her. “I don’ think
she’ll last long now,” he said, so significantly that it pierced the
girl’s breast like a knife. Ruth had always felt that Miss Thomasia
and she had one thing in common, and Miss Thomasia had always been
sweet and gracious to her. Now the picture of the old lady at home,
lonely and ill from anxiety and distress, pursued her. She could not
get away from it. At length she turned her horse, and rode slowly
back to the little cottage amid the vines. An air of stillness that
was oppressive surrounded the place. For a few moments Ruth thought
of drawing back and going home. Then her courage returned. She sprang
from her horse, and, tying him, walked up to the door and knocked.
The knock was answered by old Peggy. The old woman’s eyes darted fire
at Ruth, as she answered her. She did not know whether Ruth could see
Miss Thomasia or not—she thought not. Miss Thomasia was asleep. Ruth,
however, persisted; she would wait until Miss Thomasia waked up. She
took her seat quietly on the little veranda. The old woman looked
puzzled and disappeared. Presently she returned, and said Miss Thomasia
would see Ruth. Ruth went in. Miss Thomasia was sitting up in a little
rocking-chair. Ruth was astounded to see the difference in her since
she saw her last. She looked years older. She received Ruth civilly,
but distantly, and let her do the talking. Ruth kept well away from the
one subject that was uppermost in both their minds. Presently, however,
in face of her impenetrable coldness, Ruth could stand it no longer.
She rose to go, and bade the old lady good-by.
“Good-by, my dear,” said Miss Thomasia. They were the words with which
she always said her adieus. Her voice was feeble, and she spoke very
low. There was something in her tone, something of resignation and
forgiveness, that went to Ruth’s heart, and as she turned away—a deep
sigh caught her ear. She turned back. Miss Thomasia’s thin hands were
tightly clasped, her eyes were shut, and her lips were trembling. The
next moment Ruth was down on her knees beside her, her head buried in
her lap, pouring out her story.
“I must tell you,” she sobbed. “I came to tell you, and I cannot go
away and not tell you. I know you love him, and I know you hate me. You
have a right to hate me; they all hate me, and think I am hard and
cruel. But I am not, and neither is my father.”
She went on, and, as she told her story, the other lady’s hands came
and rested on her head and lifted her up, and the two women wept
together.
A little later Blair came in, and stopped, surprised, on the threshold.
The next moment she and Ruth were in each other’s arms, weeping
together; while Miss Thomasia, with her face brighter than it had
been since the news reached her of Steve’s surrender, smiled on them.
Presently old Peggy opened the door, thinking perhaps Ruth had been
there long enough. She gazed on the scene in wonder for a moment, and
then closed the door. “Well, dee beats me,” she muttered. When Ruth
left, Miss Thomasia looked better than she had done in days, and Ruth’s
own heart was lighter. That night Blair asked old Mr. Bagby if there
was no way in which a woman could avoid giving evidence against a man,
if she were summoned and did not wish to testify.
“One,” said the old lawyer “—two: she can die.”