XXXII
_IN RIGHTEOUS WRATH_
The grounds about The Oaks mansion were much more extensive than wascustomary on Virginia plantations. The late owner, Agatha's father, hadcherished the forest growths jealously, permitting no tree to be cutthat could in any wise be preserved, and forbidding the encroachment ofthe lawns immediately about the house upon the wild woodland growthsthat bordered and surrounded them. It was Agatha's delight on windyautumn days to wander in these woodlands, and on this morning Samencountered her quite half a mile from the house. She was hatless, andthe wind was taking what liberties it pleased with her thick-growinghair, while she, having turned child again in her enjoyment of thebrilliant, gusty morning, was wading about in the depths of the fallenleaves, delighting her soul with their rustling.
Sam delivered his note and she read it. Instantly the child spirit inher took flight and she became the strong, resolute, self-containedyoung woman that she had learned to be during the storm and stressperiod of her recent life. Her sudden access of dignity did not spareeven Sam. Like an officer in battle issuing his orders, she turned tothe negro boy and said:
"Return to your master at once. Tell him you met me far from the house.Say to him that I am almost as well as ever, and that I will answer hisnote during the day. There. Go now, and deliver the message as I havegiven it to you. Do you hear?"
Sam's face grew long, as he turned about, and Agatha caught sight of it.She was in a mighty rage, but not with Sam. She bethought her that theboy had misunderstood, to the injury of his feelings, so she called tohim, and added:
"I did not mean to speak sharply to you, Sam. You don't deserve any butkindly words. I was thinking of something else. How are you since yougot back to Warlock, and tell me truly how your master is."
"Thank you, Mis' Agatha," answered the boy, his face all smiles again,"Mas' Baillie he's a-gittin' as lively as a spring chicken what don'tmean to be ketched. He rides every day now, an' don't he jes' eat! He'llbe all right in a week or two, yo' may be sure. As fer Sam, he ain'tnever nothin' else but well, specially now dat we done git away from demYankees an' back to Warlock ag'in!"
Nevertheless Sam grew distinctly melancholy as he rode homeward,repeating his message time and again in order that he might deliver itcorrectly. The message seemed to him unduly curt, and certainly the notehe had delivered seemed somehow to have angered Agatha. Sam wondered howand why, and he grieved over the circumstance, too, for Sam had takenthe liberty of making up his mind that Agatha would make an idealmistress at Warlock, and that the master of Warlock was planning somesuch destiny for her. Her message and her manner suggested that sheresented all this, and that his master's hopes, which he took forgranted, were likely to be disappointed.
Baillie Pegram's interpretation of the message when it was delivered tohim did not materially differ from that which Sam had put upon it.
"She resents the liberty I have taken," he thought, "in writing to herdirectly. She has forbidden her aunts to reply to my inquiries madethrough them. She has sought in that way to tell me, by indirection,that the old family war between herself and me still endures; that allher suffering and sacrifice in ministering to me was inspired solely bya sense of duty; that she wishes now to end our intimacy as she did twoyears ago. Clearly that is the state of the case, and she is naturallyangry now that I have forced an attention upon her which compels her totell me directly what she had meant me to infer. What an idiot I was todo that!"
In the meanwhile Agatha had walked rapidly to the house. At thebeginning of her journey she indulged her indignation freely. Sherehearsed all the bitingly sarcastic things she meant to say to heraunts, all the defiance she intended to hurl at their helpless heads.But as she spent her superfluous vitality in brisk walking, sherecovered her self-control.
"I will not scold," she resolved. "That would be undignified. I will becalm and courteous, saying as little as may be necessary to let them seemy displeasure. They have grievously compromised my dignity by what theyhave done. I must not sacrifice what remains of it by a petulantoutbreak. They have treated me like a child in pinafores, who must berestrained lest she misbehave. I must show them that I have outgrownpinafores. I must prove myself incapable of childish misbehaviour."
Firm in this determination, she entered the house with Baillie Pegram'snote in her hand, and upon joining her aunts before the library fire,she said quite calmly:
"I have a note from Captain Pegram, who has got a notion into his headthat I am seriously ill, and that you are concealing the fact from hisfriendly knowledge. He tells me he has twice asked you for news of me,and you have made no response. Of course you forgot to mention in yournotes that I am quite well again."
The ladies looked at each other with troubled eyes. Presently one ofthem spoke:
"No, dear, we did not forget. We have only been mindful of proprietieswhich Mr. Pegram seems strangely to forget or ignore. Under thecircumstances, and in view of the relations between the Ronalds and thePegrams, it seemed to us rather impertinent in him to send messages toyou, even through us. We intended to rebuke his presumption by ignoringthe messages. Why, he even went so far as to ask us to let you write tohim yourself."
Agatha received all this in silence, controlling herself withdifficulty. It was not until a full minute after her aunt had ceased tospeak that she said:
"Go on, please."
"There would seem to be no more to say; for surely it is needless tocomment upon Mr. Pegram's crowning impertinence in writing directly toyou."
"Go on, please. Tell me all about it. You see I don't at allunderstand."
By this time the good dames began to realise that Agatha was either veryangry or very deeply hurt, so they decided to soothe and placate her.This is how they did it.
"No, dear, I suppose you do not understand. How should you, with suchbringing up as your grandfather gave you? Of all the strangeperversities--"
"Stop!" cried Agatha, rising from her chair with a look upon her facewhich her aunts did not understand but gravely feared. Their last spokenwords had set her free to speak. She had not dared resent theircriticism of Baillie Pegram's conduct. That might have beenmisinterpreted. But the reflection upon her grandfather was a differentmatter. She stood there livid to the lips and shaking with theindignation which she was struggling to suppress. After that one word,"Stop!" she remained silent for a space, struggling to restrain theangry utterance that was surging to her lips. At last, speaking in aconstrained voice, she said:
"I will not hear another word. Neither you nor any other human being isworthy to speak my grandfather's name except with reverence. He wasgreat, and wise, and unspeakably good. He hated lies and shams and falseconventionalities."
Here the roused tigress in Agatha was sharply restrained. She foundherself about to indulge in a tirade, and that she was resolved not onany account to do. Still speaking in a voice of enforced calm, sheadded:
"I must go now and write to Captain Pegram. I shall dine with the MissesBlair at The Forest to-day."
To Baillie she wrote:
"It is very kind of you to feel so much solicitude on my account. But itis needless, as I am quite well again and growing stronger every day. Igo in half an hour to dine at The Forest, where I shall remain tillto-morrow. After that I shall go to Richmond in search of some way inwhich I may be of service. I am pleased to hear through Sam that you areso greatly better. Thank you again for all your kindness to me, andgood-bye."
Having despatched this note, Agatha donned her hat and cloak and walkedout of the house. Without a pause she passed on through the grounds andalong the road to the plantation known as The Forest.
She had made no adieus to her aunts. "To do that," she reflected, "Ishould have to tell lies, or act them. I should have to say I am sorryto leave them, and I am not sorry. Oh, Chummie! the world is very lonelynow that you are not in it! But you mustn't grieve in heaven, Chummie.It will not be for long, you know, and while I stay here I'm going totry harder than ever to be true and g
ood and altogether truthful, as youwant me to be, and when I go to join you I'll be happy enough to make upfor all these little troubles here."
At that moment a merry gust of wind blew off her headgear. She picked itup, but did not replace it on her head. She liked to feel the crispbreezes in her face. She even indulged the fancy that they bore caressesto her from Chummie.