CHAPTER VIII
Baynell, himself, reached the same conclusion the next evening, but byan altogether different process of reasoning.
He had noticed the unusual stir among the "ladies" early in theafternoon and a sort of festival aspect that the old house was takingon. The parlors were opened and a glow of sunshine illumined the windowsand showed the grove from a new aspect--the choicer view where the slopewas steep. The river rounded the point of woods, and there was a greatstretch of cliffs opposite; beyond were woods again, reaching to thefoot-hills that clustered about the base of the distant mountainsbounding the prospect. The glimpse seen through the rooms was like agreat painting in intense, clear, fine colors, and he paused for amoment to glance at it as he passed down the hall, for all the doorswere standing broadly aflare and all the windows were open to thesummer-like zephyr that played through the house.
"Oh, Captain Baynell!" cried Adelaide, catching sight of him and gaspingin the sheer joy of the anticipation of a great occasion. "TheSewing-Society is going to meet here, and you can come in, too! Mayn'the come in, Cousin Leonora?"
Mrs. Gwynn was filling a large bowl on a centre-table with a gorgeouscluster of deep red tulips, and Baynell noticed that she had thrust twoor three into the dense knot of fair hair at the nape of her neck. Asshe turned around one of the swaying bells was still visible, giving itsnote of fervid brilliancy to her face. Her dress was a white mull, ofsimple make--old, even with a delicate darn on one of its floating opensleeves, but to one familiar with her appearance in the sombre garb ofwidowhood she seemed radiant in a sort of splendor. What was then calleda "Spanish waist," a deeply pointed girdle of black velvet, flecked withtiny red tufts, made the sylphlike grace of her figure more pronounced,and at her throat was a collarette of the same material. Her cheeks wereflushed. It had been a busy day--with the morning lessons, with thearrangement of the parlors, the array of materials, the setting of thesewing-machines in order, including two or three of the earlierhand-power contrivances, sent in expressly from the neighbors, thebaskets for lint,--one could hear even now the whirring of thegrindstone as old Ephraim put a keener edge on the scissors. Last butnot least Leonora had accomplished the bedizenment of the "ladies."
Adelaide was not born to blush unseen. She realized the solecism thather vanity lured her to commit, yet she said hardily, "Look at _me_,Captain--I'm got me a magenta sash!"
"And it's beautiful!" cried Baynell, responsively. "And so are you!"
Mrs. Gwynn glanced down at her reprovingly and was out of countenancefor a moment.
"How odious it is to give to colors the names of battles," shesaid,--"Magenta and Solferino!"
"This is a beautiful color, though," said Baynell.
"But the name gives such an ensanguined suggestion," she objected.
Her eye critically scanned the three "ladies" in their short white mulldresses and magenta sashes, each with a bow of black velvet in her hair,as they led Captain Baynell into the room, and it did not occur to hertill too late to canvass the acceptability of the presence of the Yankeeofficer to the ladies of the vicinity, assembling in this choicesymposium, who had some of them the cruel associations of death itselfwith the very sight of the uniform.
Whether it were good breeding, or the magnanimity that exempts the unitfrom the responsibility of the multitude, or a realization that JudgeRoscoe's guest, be he whom he might, was entitled to the considerationof all in the Roscoe house, there was no demonstration of even theslightest antagonism. The usual civility of salutation in acknowledgingthe introduction served to withhold from Captain Baynell himself thefact that he could hardly hope to be _persona grata_; and ensconced inan arm-chair at the window overlooking the lovely landscape, he found acertain amusement and entertainment in watching the zealous industry ofthe little Roscoe "ladies," who were very competent lint-pickers andboasted some prodigies of performance. A large old linen crumb-cloth,laundered for the occasion, had been spread in the corner between therear and side windows of the back parlor, so that the flying lint shouldnot bespeck the velvet carpet, or an overturned basket work injury, andhere in their three little chairs they sat and competed with each other,appealing to Captain Baynell to time them by his watch.
Now and then their comments, after the manner of their age, were keenlymalapropos and occasioned a sense of embarrassment.
"Don't you reckon Ac'obat is homesick by this time, Captain?" demandedAdelaide.
"Look out of the window, Captain--you can see the grating to thewine-cellar where he could put his nose out to take the air," saidGeraldine.
"An' he thought the lightning could come in there to takehim--kee--kee--" giggled Adelaide.
"Oh, _wasn't_ he a foolish horse!" commented Geraldine, regretfully.
"Uncle Ephraim said Ac'obat had no religion else he'd have stayed wherehe was put like a Christian," Adelaide observed.
"Oh, but he was _just_ a horse--poor Ac'obat!"
At this moment emulation seized Geraldine. "Oh, my--just look howLucille is double-quickin' about that lint pickin'!"
And a busy silence ensued.
The large rooms were half full of members of the society. In those daysthe infinite resources of the "ready-made" had not penetrated to theseregions, and doubtless the work of such eager and industrious coteriescarried comfort and help farther than one can readily imagine, and theorganized aid of woman's needle was an appreciable blessing. Two orthree matrons, with that wise, capable look of the able house-sovereign,when scissors, or a dish, or a vial of medicine is in hand, sat withbroad "lapboards" across their knees, and cut and cut the coarsegarments with the skill of experts, till great piles were lying on thefloor, caught up with a stitch to hold component parts together andpassed on to the younger ladies at the sewing-machines that whirred andwhirred like the droning bees forever at the jessamine blooming aboutthe windows. Nothing could be more unbeautiful or uninviting than theaspect of these stout garments, unless it were to the half-clad soldierin the trenches to whom they came like an embodied benediction. Thethought of him--that unknown, unnamed beneficiary, for whose grislyneeds they wrought--was often, perhaps, in the mind of each.
"And oh!" cried Adelaide, "while I'm pickin' lint for this hospital, Idust know some little girl away out yonder in the Confederacy ispickin' lint too--an' if my papa was to get wounded, they'd haveplenty."
"Pickin' fast, she is, like us!" cried the hastening Geraldine.
The deft-fingered mute, discerning their meaning by the motion of theirlips, redoubled her speed.
Others were sewing by hand, and one very old lady had knitted somelamb's wool socks, which were passed about and greatly admired; she wascomplacent, almost coquettish, so bland was her smile under thesecompliments.
And into this scene of placid and almost pious labor came Miss MildredFisher presently, leading her "dancing bear."
If there were any question of the acceptability of the enforced presenceof a Yankee officer, either in the mind of the Sewing-Circle orLieutenant Seymour, it was not allowed to smoulder in discomfort, butset ablaze to burn itself out.
"I know you are all just perfectly amazed at our assurance in bringing aYankee officer here,--_don't_ be mortified, Lieutenant Seymour,--butmamma wouldn't hear of coming without a valiant man-at-arms as anescort, so I begged and prayed him to come, and now I want you all tobeg and pray him to stay!"
Then she introduced him to several ladies, while Mrs. Fisher, always themainspring of the executive committee, a keen, thin, birdlike woman,swift of motion and of a graceful presence, but prone to settle mootpoints with a decisive and not altogether amiable peck, gave him noattention, but darting from group to group devoted herself wholly to thebusiness in hand. She seemed altogether oblivious, too, of Mildred'swhims, which were to her an old story. Seldom, indeed, had MildredFisher looked more audaciously sparkling. Her fairness was enhanced bythe black velvet facing of her white Leghorn turban, encircled with oneof those beautiful long white ostrich plumes then so much affected that,a
fter passing around the crown, fell in graceful undulations over theequivocal locks and almost to the shoulder of her black-and-whitechecked walking suit of "summer silk," trimmed with a narrowblack-and-white fringe.
"Grandma sent these socks and shirts--" she said officiously, taking abundle from a neat colored maid who had followed her--"and I brought mythimble--here it is--golden gold--and a large brass thimble for Mr.Seymour. You wouldn't think he has so much affinity for brass--to lookat him now! I intend to make him sew, too. Mrs. Clinton, I know youthink I am just _awful_," turning apologetically upon the very old ladyher sweet confiding eyes. "But--oh, Mrs. Warren--before I forget it, Iwant to let you know that your son was _not_ wounded in that Bear-grassCreek skirmish at all. I have a letter from one of my brothers--brothernumber four--and he says it is a mistake; your son was not hurt, butdistinguished himself greatly. Here's the letter. I can't tell you _how_it came through the lines, for Lieutenant Seymour might _repeat_ it; hehas the l-o-n-g-e-s-t tongue, though you wouldn't think it, to see himnow, speechless as he is."
Lieutenant Seymour rallied sufficiently to protest he couldn't get in aword edgewise, and Mrs. Gwynn, with her official sense of hospitalityand a real pity for anything that Millie Fisher had undertaken totorment on whatever score, adopted the tone of the conversation, andsaid with a smile that he might consider himself "begged and prayed" toremain.
Lieutenant Seymour was instantly placed at ease by this episode, butMrs. Gwynn experienced a vague disquietude because of the genuinesurprise that expressed itself in Mildred Fisher's face as thatcomprehensive feminine glance of instantaneous appraisement of attiretook account of her whole costume. Leonora had not reckoned on thisdevelopment when, in that sudden revulsion of feeling, she had discardedthe fictitious semblance of mourning for the villain who had been thecurse of her life. The momentary glance passed as if it had not been,but she could not at once rid herself of a sense of disadvantage. Sheknew that to others as well the change must seem strange--yet, whyshould it? All knew that her widow's weeds had been but an emptyform--what significance could the fact possess that they were worn for atime as a concession to convention, then laid aside? She could not longlend herself, however, to the absorption of reflection. The present wasstrenuous.
Miss Fisher was bent on investing Lieutenant Seymour with the thimbleand requiring him to thread a needle for himself, while she soberly andwith despatch basted a towel which she destined him to hem. The comedyrelief that these arrangements afforded to the serious business of theday was very indulgently regarded, and her bursts of silvery laughterand the young officer's frantic pleas for mercy--utterly futile, as allwho knew Millie Fisher foresaw they must be--brought a smile to gravefaces and relaxed the tension of the situation, placing the unwelcomepresence of the unasked visitor in the category of one of MillieFisher's many freaks.
Seymour had a very limited sense of humor and could not endure to bemade ridiculous, even to gladden so merry a lady-love; but when shedeclared that she would transfer the whole paraphernalia--thimble,needle, towel, and all--to Captain Baynell, and let him do the hemming,Seymour, all unaware of the secret amusement his sudden consent affordedthe company, showed that he preferred that she should make him ludicrousrather than compliment another man by her mirthful ridicule.
"Now, there you go! Hurrah! Make haste! Not such a big stitch! Now, Mr.Seymour, let me tell you, Hercules with the distaff was not acircumstance to you!"
And the Sewing-Circle could but laugh.
Upstairs in the quiet old attic these evidences of hilarity rose with anintimation of poignant contrast. The dreary entourage of brokenfurniture and dusty trunks and chests, the silence and loneliness,--nomotion but the vague shifting of the motes in the slant of the sun, nosound but the unshared mirth below, in his own home,--this seemed a moreremote exile. Julius felt actually further from the ancestral roof thanwhen he lay many miles away in the trenches in the cold spring rains,with never a canopy but the storm, nor a candle but the flash of thelightning. He sat quite still in the great arm-chair that his weightdeftly balanced on its three legs, his head bent to a pose of attention,his cap slightly on one side of his long auburn locks, his eyes full ofa sort of listening interest, divining even more than he heard. He wasyoung enough, mercurial enough, to yearn wistfully after the fun,--therefined "home-folks fun" of the domestic circle, the family and theirfriends,--to which he had been so long a stranger; not the riotousdissipation of the wilder phases of army life nor the animal spirits,the "horse-play," of camp comrades. Sometimes at a sudden outburst oflaughter, dominated by Millie Fisher's silvery trills of mirth, his ownlips would curve in sympathy, albeit this was but the shell of thejoke, its zest unimagined, and light would spring into his clear darkeyes responsive to the sound. Now and again he frowned as he noted men'svoices, not his father's nor well-remembered tones of old friends. Theyhad been less frequent than the women's voices, but now they came atcloser intervals, with an unfamiliar accent, with a different pitch, andhe began to realize that here were the Yankee officers.
"Upon my word, they seem to be having a fine time," he saidsarcastically.
In the next acclaim he could distinguish, besides the tones of theinvaders and the ringing vibration from Millie Fisher that led everylaugh, Leonora's drawling contralto accents, now and again punctuatedwith a suggestion of mirth, and high above all the callow chirp of thetwin "ladies." He lifted his head and looked at the wasps, buildingtheir cells on the window lintel, the broad, dreary spaces of the attic;and he beheld, as it were, in contrast, his own expectation, thewelcome, the cherished guest, the guarded secret, the open-hearted talkswith his father, with the "ladies," with her whom, since widowed, hemight call to himself, without derogation to his affection or disrespectto her, his "best beloved." The hardship it was that for the bleakactuality he should have risked his capture, his life,--yes, even hisneck! His hand trembled upon the map, wrought out to every detail ofhis discoveries, that he kept now in his breast, and now shifted to thesole of his boot, and now slid in the lining of his coat-pocket, alwaysseeking the safest hiding-place,--forever seeking, forever doubting thewisdom of his selection.
But the map--that was something! He had gained this precious knowledge.Only to get away with it, unharmed, unchallenged, unmolested! This wasthe problem. This was worth coming for.
"I'll give you some more active entertainment before long, my finesquires of dames," he apostrophized the strangers triumphantly. Then heexperienced a species of rage that they should be so merry--and he, hemust not see Leonora's face, must not touch her hand, must not tell herall he felt; this would have been dear to him even if she had not caredto listen. It would have been like the votive offering at a shrine, likea prayer from out the fulness of the heart.
There was presently the tinkle of glasses and spoons, intimating theserving of refreshments. "I'd like to see old Uncle Ephraim playingbutler. He must step about as gingerly as a gobbler on hot tin," Juliussaid to himself with a smile. "I'll bet a million of dollars he hassaved me my share--on a high shelf in the pantry it is right now, in acovered dish; and if Leonora should come across it, she would think theold man was thieving on his own account. Such are the insincerities ofcircumstantial evidence!"
The genial hubbub in the parlors below was resumed after the decorousservice of salad and sherbet, and became even more animated when ColonelAshley chanced to call to see Baynell on a matter affecting theirrespective commands. He had of course no idea that he would find Baynellengaged with the Sewing-Society, but he met Miss Fisher on her ownground, as it were, and there ensued an encounter of wits, a gay joust,neither being more sincere than the other, nor with any _arriere pensee_of irritable feeling to treat a feint as a threat or to cause a thrustto rankle.
Seymour did not welcome him. The prig, Baynell, as he regarded thecaptain, was so null, so stiffly inexpressive, that his presence hadsunk out of account, and the young lieutenant felt that he could rely toa degree on the quiet kindness of the mature dames at work. They did notl
augh at his sewing over much, although they noted with secret amusementthat, being of the ambitious temper which cannot endure to be foundlacking, he had bent his whole energies to the endeavor, and had sewed,indeed, as well as it was possible for a lieutenant of infantry to do ona first lesson. He had a sort of pride in his performance as he handedit up to Miss Fisher, and she showed it to Ashley with an air ofpronounced amaze.
"A well-conducted Rebel," she said at last, solemnly, "grounded in theproper conviction as to the ordinance of secession and the doctrine ofStates' Rights, would go into strong convulsions if he should have tobathe with that towel in a hospital. That wavering hem is an epitome ofall the Yankee crooks, and quirks, and skips, and evasions, andconcealments of the straight path that typifies right and justice, andMason and Dixon's line! Therefore out it comes!"
As Ashley's joyous laughter rang out with its crisp, genial intonations,the listening exile in the attic again involuntarily smiled in sympathy,albeit the next moment he was frowning in jealous discomfort, with apoignant sense of supersedure. Here, under his own roof-tree--hisfather's home!
Lieutenant Seymour protested with ardor, and in truth he was aghast atthe prospect. He had taken so much pains. He had wrought with his wholesoul. He had imagined that he had hemmed so well. Although he had lostall thought of Baynell in his interest in the exercises of theafternoon, now that Ashley was at hand to witness his discomfiture hebecame resentfully conscious of the presence of the other officer. Hewas suddenly mindful that he could not appear to distinguished advantageas the butt of a joke, however mirthful and merry, and this pointed thefact that he was not gracing the introduction here which he had earliersought through Baynell's kind offices, and had been, as he thought,most impertinently refused. He forgot the grounds of the declination andtook no heed of the circumstance that they included Ashley's request aswell as his own. He did not realize that had it fallen to Ashley's lotto hem the towel and thread the needle and wear the brass thimble in agenuine sewing-circle, his genial gay adaptability would have accordedso well with the humor of the company that the jest itself would havebeen blunted. Its edge was whetted by Lieutenant Seymour's seriousdisfavor, the red embarrassment of his countenance, even the stiff lockof hair, at the apex of the back of the skull, that stood out andquivered with his eager insistence, as he rose erect and held on to thetowel and looked both angrily and pleadingly at Miss Fisher.
"I hope you will not be mutinous and disobedient," she said gravely. "Ishould be sorry to discipline you with the weapons of the society."
She threatened to pierce his fingers with a very sharp needle, and as hehastily withdrew one hand, shifting the towel to the other, she opened avery keen pair of shears; as he evaded this she brought up the needle,enfilading his retreat.
As he stood among a crowd of ladies, insisting that his work should bespared with a vehemence which most of them thought was only a humorousaffectation and a part of the fun, he noted that Baynell was laughingtoo, slightly, languidly. Baynell was standing beside the low, marblemantelpiece, with one elbow upon it, the light from the flaming westfull on his trim blond beard and hair, his handsome, distinguished face,the manly grace of the attitude. Seymour resented with an infiniterancor at that moment the contrast with his own flushed, fatigued,tousled, agitated, persistent, querulous personality. He could not havegiven up to save his life, and yet he could but despise himself forholding on.
"You had better stop pushing me to the wall," he said, and this wasliteral, for he gave back step by step at each feint of the needle; "youhad better be looking out for Captain Baynell. He might have an attackof conscience at any moment, and have all the fruits of your industryseized and confiscated as contraband of war. You must remember he hadMrs. Gwynn's horse impressed."
Baynell was rigid with an intense displeasure. Twice he was about tospeak--twice, mindful of the presence of ladies, he hesitated. Then hesaid, quite casually, though visibly with a heedful self-control:--
"That was because of an order, calling for all citizens' horses in thisdistrict for cavalry."
"With which _you_ had as much to do as last year's snow. Just see, MissFisher,"--Seymour waved his hand toward the piles of clothing,--"'allthe coats and garments that Dorcas made'; for Captain Baynell mightreport that they are intended to give aid and comfort to the enemy!--tobe smuggled out of the lines! He has a dangerous conscience!"
There was a sudden agitated flutter in the coterie. The beautiful agedcountenance of Mrs. Clinton was overcast with a sort of tremor offright. A sense of discovery, as of a moral paralysis, pervaded theatmosphere. A long significant pause ensued. Then with the intimationsof a stanch reserve of resolution,--a sort of "die in the last ditch"spirit,--those more efficient members of the association, middle-aged,competent, experienced matrons, recovered their dignified equanimity andwent on with the examining and counting of the results of the day's workand the contributions from without,--Mrs. Fisher, the acting secretary,receiving the reports of the conferring squads and jotting theenumeration down during the sorting and folding of the completedproduct.
Baynell, apparently losing self-control, had started angrily forward.Ashley, grave, perturbed, had changed color--even he was at a loss. Onemight not say what a moment so charged with angry potentialities mightbring forth. But nothing, no collocation of invented circumstancesseemed capable of baffling Miss Fisher. She was equal to any emergency.She had snatched the towel from the lieutenant's hand, and, flying tomeet Baynell, her smiling face incongruous with a serious, steady lightin her eyes, she stopped him midway the room.
"Now do me the favor to look at that," she cried gayly, presenting thehem for inspection; "wouldn't you despise an enemy who could take aidand comfort from such a hem as that?"
"A good soldier should never despise the enemy," replied Baynell,seeking to adopt her mood and repeating the truism with an air ofbanter.
"Well, then, to fit the phrase to your precision, such an enemy woulddeserve to be despised! What--going--Mrs. Clinton? It _is_ gettinglate."
It was not the usual hour of their separation, but to a very old womanthe turmoils of war were overwhelming. As long as the idea of conflictwas expressed in the satisfaction of being able to aid in her little waythe needy with the work of her own hands,--to knit as she sat by herdesolate fireside and wrought for the unknown comrades of her dead sons;to join friends in furnishing blankets and making stout clothes for thesoldiers; to bottle her famous blackberry cordial, and to pick lint forthe hospitals,--it seemed to have some gentle phase, to bear a humanheart. But when the heady tumult, the secret inquisitions, the bitterrancors, the cruelty of bloodshed, and the savagery of death thatconstitute the incorporate entity of the great monster, War, werereasserted with menace, her gentle, wrinkled hands fell, her hope fled.The grave was kind in those days to the aged.
Ashley had contrived to give Seymour a glance so significant that heheeded its meaning, though he was already repentant and cowed by thefear of Miss Fisher's displeasure. His heart beat fast as she turned herface all rippling with smiles toward him, albeit he told himself in thesame breath that she would have smiled exactly so sweetly had she beenas angry as he deserved. For Miss Fisher was not in the business ofphilanthropy. She had no call to play missionary to any petulant youngman's role of heathen.
"Are you going to take mamma and me home?" she asked, "or are you goingto leave us to be eaten up by the cows homeward bound?"
Now and again might be heard the fitful clanking of a bell as the cows,wending their way along the river bank, paused to graze and once moretook up their leisurely progress toward the town. The sunlight wasreddening through the rooms. It had painted on the walls arabesques ofthe lace curtains of the western windows; the glow touched with a sortof revivifying effect the family portraits. Groups of the members of thesociety having resumed their bonnets and swaying crape veils were goingfrom one to another and commenting on the likeness to the subject andthe resemblance to other members of the family, and one or two ofartistic bent discuss
ed the relative merits of the artists, for severalcanvases were painted by eminent brushes. All were going home, though inthe grove the mocking-birds were singing with might and main, but thereindeed in the moonlight they would sing the night through with aromantic jubilance impossible to describe.
Ashley, with the ready tact and good breeding which caused him so muchto be admired, and so much to admire himself, passed by the moreattractive of the younger members of the Circle, and did not even heedthe half-veiled challenge of Miss Fisher to join her party homeward, forshe had become exceedingly exasperated with Lieutenant Seymour, and hadColonel Ashley been attainable, she would have made the younger manrabid with jealousy on the walk to the town.
But no! He offered his services as escort to Mrs. Clinton, who lookedsuspiciously and helplessly at him like some tender old baby.
"There is no necessity, but I thank you very much," she said; "I camealone."
The engaging Ashley would not be denied. He had noticed, he said, thatto-day some droves of mules were being driven into town, and theheedless soldiers raced along perfectly regardless of what was in theroads before them. They should have some order taken with them, really.
"Oh, _don't_ report them," said the old lady. "The--the discipline ofthe army is so--so _painful_."
"But there are no painless methods yet discovered of making men obey,"said Ashley, laughing.
She still looked at him, doubtfully, as a mouse might contemplate thegraces of a very suave cat. But when Julius gazed out from the garretwindow at the departing group, he was duly impressed with the handsomecolonel of cavalry conducting the aged lady on one arm and bearing herdelicate little extra shawl on the other, while Mrs. Fisher with Mildredand her "dancing bear," who had taken some clumsy steps that day, madeoff toward Roanoke City, and the other ladies variously dispersed,Captain Baynell attending the party only to the end of the drive.
Ashley's graceful persistence was justified by the meeting of some ofthe reckless muleteers in full run down the road, with furious cries andsnapping whips and turbulent clatter of animals and men. As histremulous charge shrunk back aghast, he simply lifted his sword "like awand of authority," as she always described it, and the noisy rout wasturned aside, as if by magic, into a byway, leaving the whole stretch ofthe turnpike for the passage of the gallant cavalier and one aged lady.
When Baynell came back through the grove and into the house, the parlordoors still stood open. The western radiance was yet red on the walls,albeit the moon was in the sky. The crumb-cloth that had protected thecarpet from lint was gone, the sewing-machines had vanished, all tracesof the work were removed, and wonted order was restored among chairs andtables. The rear apartment was as he had seen it hitherto, save that thewindows on the western balcony were open, and Mrs. Gwynn, in her whitedress, was standing at the vanishing point of the perspective, glimpsedthrough the swaying curtains and a delicate climbing vine. He hardlyhesitated, but passed through the rooms and stepped out, meeting hersurprised eyes as she leaned one hand on the iron railing of thebalcony.
"I want to speak to you," he said. "I want to know if you think I shouldhave made it plain to those ladies this afternoon that they need fear nointerference from me?"
"Oh, I think they understood," she said listlessly, as if it was nogreat matter.
Her eyes were fixed on the purple western hills. The last vermilionsegment of the great solar sphere was slipping beyond them, the sunsetgun boomed from the fort, and the flag fluttered down the staff.
"I felt very keenly the position in which I was placed."
She merely glanced at him and then gazed at the outline of the fortagainst the red sky, all flecked and barred with dazzling flakes ofamber. The rampart remained massive and heavy, but the sentry-boxes,giving their queer little castellated effect, were growing indistinct inthe distance.
"I was tempted to express my resentment, but I was afraid of going toofar--of getting into a wrangle with that fellow--"
"Oh, _that_ would have been unpardonable; in the presence of Mrs.Clinton and the rest of the Circle!" she said definitely.
"I am _so_ glad you approve my course," he rejoined with an air ofrelief.
Once more she looked at him as he stood beside her. A white jessamineclambered up the stone pillar at the outer corner of the grille work.Its blossoms wavered about her; a hummingbird flickered in and out andwas still for a moment, the light showing the jewelled effect of theemblazonment of red and gold and green of his minute plumage, then wasdistinguishable only as a gauzy suggestion of wings. The moon was in herface, ethereal, delicate, seeming to him entrancingly beautiful. Hestipulated to himself that it was not this that swayed him. He loved herbeauty, but only because it was hers. He did not love her for herbeauty. They were close distinctions, but they made an appreciabledifference to him. She did not hold his conscience. She did not dictatehis sense of right. This was apart from her, a sanction too sacred forany woman, any human soul to control. Yet he sighed with relief to feelthe coincidence of his thought and hers.
"You know, about your horse--it was a matter of conscience with me--asense of duty--a matter of conformity to my oath as a soldier and myknowledge of the needs of the service. I would not for any considerationevade or fail to forward in letter and spirit any detail even of aspecial order that merely chanced to come to my notice, and with which Iwas not otherwise concerned. Not for your sake--not even to win yourapproval, precious as that must always be to me, nor to avoid yourdispleasure, and I believe that is the strongest coercion that could beexerted upon me. But the destination of the work done by theSewing-Circle--that is different. I have no information that it is otherthan is claimed. I am not bound to nourish suspicions, nor toinvestigate mysteries, nor to take action on details of circumstantialevidence."
He paused. There was something in her face that he did notunderstand;--something stunned, blankly silent, and inexpressive. Hewent on eagerly, the enforced repression of the afternoon finding outletin a flood of words.
"Lieutenant Seymour understands my position thoroughly well, as ColonelAshley does. They take a different view--their construction of theirduty is more lenient. I don't know why--perhaps because they arevolunteers, and the whole war to them is a temporary occupation. Butorders are to be obeyed else they would not be issued. If any exceptionswere intended, a permit would be granted."
He paused again, looking straight at her with such confident, lucid,trusting eyes,--and she felt that she must say something to divert theirgaze.
"Exceptions, such as Miss Fisher's favorite mount, Madcap? How prettyMildred was to-day! Really beautiful; don't you think so?"
"No." His expression was so tender, so wistful, yet so confident, that,amazed, embarrassed, she felt her color begin to flame in her cheeks."How could she seem beautiful where you are,--the loveliest woman in allthe world and the best beloved."
"Captain Baynell!" she exclaimed, hardly believing that she heard himaright. "I do not understand the manner in which you have seen fit tospeak to me this evening." She paused abruptly, for he was looking ather with a palpable surprise.
"You must know--you must have seen--that I love you!" he said hastily."Almost from the moment that I first saw you I have loved you--but moreand more, hour by hour, and day by day, as I have learned to know you,to appreciate you--so perfect and so peerless!"
"You surprise me beyond measure. I must beg--I insist that you do notcontinue to speak to me in this strain."
"Do you mean to say that you did not know it--that you did not perceiveit?"
"I did not dream it for one moment," she replied.
It seemed as if he could not accept her meaning. He pondered on thewords as if they might develop some difference.
"You afflict me beyond expression!" he exclaimed with a sort ofdesperate breathlessness. "You destroy my dearest hopes. How could youfail--how could I fancy! I--I would not suggest the subject as long asyour mourning attire repelled it, but--but--since--since--I--I thoughtyou knew all my heart and I might s
peak!"
"You thought I laid aside a widow's weeds to challenge your avowal!"exclaimed Mrs. Gwynn, in her icy, curt, soft tones.
"Oh, Leonora--for God's sake--put on it no interpretation except that Ilove you--I adore you; and I thought such hearty, whole-souled affectionmust awaken some interest, some response. I could hardly be silentexcept I so feared precipitancy. I spoke as soon as I might without rankoffence."
Even then, in the presence of an agitation, a humiliation peculiarlykeen to a man of his type, he was not first in Mrs. Gwynn's thoughts.She was reviewing the day and wondering if this connection between thelack of the widow's weeds and the presence of the Yankee officer wassuggested to any of the sewing contingent. A vague gesture, a pause, aremembered facial expression, sudden, involuntary, at the sight of himand her,--all had a new interpretation in the sequence of thisdisclosure. They had thought it the equivalent of the acceptance of anew suitor, and the supposed favored lover had thought so himself!
The recollection of her woful married life, with its train ofbarbarities, and rancors, and terrors, both grotesque and horrible, thatstill tortured her present--the leisure moments of her laboriousdays--was bitterly brought to mind for a moment. That she, of all thewomen in the world--that _she_ should be contemplating matrimony anew!She gave a light laugh that had in it so little mirth, was so littleapposite to ridicule, that he did not feel it a fleer.
"You did not mean it, then?"
"Not for one moment."
"You did not have me in mind?"
"No--no--never at all!"
"Leonora--Mrs. Gwynn--this is like death to me--I--I--"
"I am very sorry--"
"I do not reproach you," he interrupted. "It is my own folly, my ownfault! But I have lived on this hope; it is all the life I have. You donot withdraw it utterly? May I not think that in time--"
"No--no--I have no intention of ever marrying again. I--I--wasnot--not--happy."
"But I am different--" he hesitated. He could not exactly find words toprotest his conviction of his superiority to her husband, a man she hadloved once. "I mean--we are congenial. I am very considerably older; Iam nearly thirty-one. My views in life are fixed, definite; myoccupation is settled. Might not--"
"I am sorry, Captain Baynell; I would not willingly add to theunhappiness, real or imaginary, of any one--but all this is worse thanuseless. I must ask you not to recur to the subject. And now I mustleave you, for the 'ladies' are going to bed, and I must hear them saytheir prayers."
He seemed about to detain her with further protestations, then desisted,evidently with a hopeless realization of futility.
"Ask them to remember me in their petitions," he only said with a drearysort of smile.
He had always seemed to love the "ladies" fraternally, with lenientadmiration, and she liked this tender little domestic trait in the midstof his unyielding gravity and inexorable stiffness. She hesitated in themoonlight with some stir of genuine sympathy, and held out her hand asshe passed. He caught it and covered it with kisses. She drew it hastilyfrom him, and Baynell was left alone on the balcony; the scene beforehim, the vernal glamours of the moon, the umbrageous trees, the sweetspring flowers, the sheen of the river, the bivouacs of the hills, thefort on the height,--these things seemed unrealities and mere shadows ashe faced the fragments of that nullity, his broken dream, the onlypositive actuality in all his life.