CHAPTER VI
THE CONFIDENCE OF EDITH VARNEY
Mrs. Varney had, of course, divined toward whom Arrelsford's suspicionpointed. She had been entirely certain before he had mentioned the namethat the alleged spy or traitor could be none other than her daughter'sfriend; indeed, it would not be stretching the truth to say that Thornewas her friend as well as her daughter's, and her keen mother's wit wasnot without suspicion that if he were left to himself, or if he werepermitted to follow his own inclinations, the relation between himselfand the two women might have been a nearer one still and a dearer one,yet, nevertheless, the shocking announcement came to her with sudden,sharp surprise.
We may be perfectly certain, absolutely sure, of a coming event, butwhen it does occur its shock is felt in spite of previous assurance. Wemay watch the dying and pray for death to end anguish, and know that itis coming, but when the last low breath has gone, it is as much of ashock to us as if it had not been expected, or even dreamed of.
The announcement of the name was shattering to her composure. She knewvery well why Arrelsford would rejoice to find Thorne guilty ofanything, and she would have discounted any ordinary accusation that hebrought against him, but the train of the circumstances was so completein this case and the coincidences so unexplainable upon any othertheory, the evidence so convincing, that she was forced to admit thatArrelsford was fully justified in his suspicion, and that without regardto the fact that he was a rejected suitor of her daughter's.
Surprise, horror, and conviction lodged in her soul, and were mirroredin her face. Arrelsford saw and divined what was passing in her mind,and, eager to strike while the iron was hot, bent forward open-mouthedto continue his line of reasoning and denunciation, but Mrs. Varneychecked him. She laid her finger upon her lips and pointed with theother hand to the front of the house.
"What!" exclaimed the Confederate Secret Service agent; "is he there?"
Mrs. Varney nodded.
"He may be. He went out to the summerhouse some time ago to wait forEdith; they were going over to Caroline Mitford's later on. I saw him godown the walk."
"Do you suppose my men could have alarmed him?" asked Arrelsford,greatly perturbed at this unexpected development.
"I don't know. They were all at the back windows. They didn't seem tomake much noise. I suppose not. You have a description of the man forwhom the letter was intended?"
"Yes, at the office; but I remember it perfectly."
"Does it fit this--this Captain Thorne?"
"You might as well know sooner as later, Mrs. Varney, that there is noCaptain Thorne. This is an assumed name, and the man you have in yourhouse is Lewis Dumont."
"Do you mean that he came here to----"
"He came to this town, to this house," said Arrelsford vindictively, hisvoice still subdued but full of fury, "knowing your position, theinfluence of your name, your husband's rank and service, for the solepurpose of getting recognised as a reputable person, so that he would beless likely to be suspected. He has corrupted your servants--you saw oldJonas--and he has contrived to enlist the powerful support of yourdaughter. His aim is the War Department Telegraph Office. He is friendswith the men at that office. What else he hasn't done or what he has,the Lord only knows. But Washington is not the only place where theyhave a secret service; we have one at Richmond. Whatever game he plays,it is one that two can play; and now it is my play."
The patter of light footsteps was heard on the stairs, a flash of whiteseen through the open door into the hall dimly lighted, and Edith Varneycame rapidly, almost breathlessly, into the room. She had changed herdress, and if Caroline Mitford had been there, she would have knowncertainly from the little air of festivity about her clean but faded anddarned, sprigged and flowered white muslin frock that she was going toaccept the invitation. In one hand she held her hat, which she swungcarelessly by its long faded ribbons, and in the other that officialenvelope which had come to her from the President of the Confederacy.She called to her mother as she ran down.
"Mamma!" Her face was white and her voice pitched high, fraught withexcited intensity. "Under my window, in the rosebushes, at the back ofthe house! They're hurting somebody frightfully, I am sure!"
She burst into the room with the last word. Mrs. Varney stared at her,understanding fully who, in all probability, was being roughly dealtwith in the rosebushes, and realising what a terrible effect suchdisclosures as she had listened to would produce upon the mind of thegirl.
"Come," said Edith, turning rapidly toward the rear window; "we muststop it."
Mrs. Varney stood as if rooted to the floor.
"Well," said the girl, in great surprise, "if you aren't coming, I willgo myself."
These words awakened her mother to action.
"Wait, Edith," she said.
Now, and for the first time, Edith noticed Mr. Arrelsford, who hadstepped back and away from her mother. She replied to his salutationwith a cold and distant bow. The man's face flushed; he turned away.
"But, mamma, the men outside," persisted the girl.
"Wait, my dear," said her mother, taking her gently by the arm; "I musttell you something. It will be a great shock to you, I am afraid."
"What is it, mamma? Has father or----"
"No, no, not that," said Mrs. Varney. "A man we have trusted as a friendhas shown himself a conspirator, a spy, a traitor."
"Who is it?" cried the girl, at the same time instinctivelydivining--how or why she could not tell, and that thought smote herafterward--to whom the reference was being made.
Mrs. Varney naturally hesitated to say the name. Arrelsford, carriedaway by his passion for the girl and his hatred for Thorne, was not soreticent. He stepped toward her.
"It is the gentleman, Miss Varney, whose attentions you have beenpleased to accept in the place of mine," he burst out bitterly.
His manner and his meaning were unmistakable. The girl stared at himwith a white, haughty face, in spite of her trembling lips. Mechanicallyshe thrust the envelope with the commission into her belt, andconfronted the man who loved her and whom she did not love, who accusedof this hateful thing the man whom, in the twinkling of an eye, sherealised she did love. Then the daughter turned to her mother.
"Is it Mr Arrelsford who makes this accusation?" she asked.
"Yes," said Arrelsford, again answering for Mrs. Varney, "since you wishto know. From the first I have had my suspicions about this----"
But Edith did not wait for him to finish his sentence. She turned awayfrom him with loathing, and moved rapidly toward the front window.
"Where are you going!" asked Arrelsford.
"For Captain Thorne."
"Not now," he said peremptorily.
The colour flamed in the girl's cheek again.
"Mr. Arrelsford, you have said something to me about Captain Thorne. Areyou afraid to say it to him?"
"Miss Varney," answered Arrelsford hotly, "if you--if you----"
"Edith," said Mrs. Varney, "Mr. Arrelsford has good reasons for notmeeting Captain Thorne now."
"I should think he had," returned the girl swiftly; "for a man who madesuch a charge to his face would not live to make it again."
"My dear, my dear," said her mother, gently but firmly, "you don'tunderstand, you don't----"
"Mamma," said the girl, "this man has left his desk in the WarDepartment so that he can have the pleasure of persecuting me."
Both the mother and the rejected suitor noticed her identification ofherself with Captain Thorne in the pronoun "me," one with sinking heartand the other with suppressed fury.
"He has never attempted anything active in the service before,"continued Edith, "and when I ask him to face the man he accuses, heturns like a coward!"
"Mrs. Varney, if she thinks----"
"I think nothing," said the girl furiously; "I know that CaptainThorne's character is above suspicion."
Arrelsford sneered.
"His char
acter! Where did he come from--what is he?"
"For that matter," said Edith intensely, "where did you come from, andwhat are you?"
"That is not the question," was the abrupt reply.
"Neither," said the girl, "is it the question who he is. If it were, I'danswer it--I'd tell you that he is a soldier who has fought and beenwounded in service, while you----"
Arrelsford made a violent effort to control himself under this bitterjibing and goading, and to his credit, succeeded in part.
"We are not so sure of that, Miss Varney," he said more coolly.
"But I am sure," answered the girl. "Why, he brought us letters fromStonewall Jackson himself."
"Has it occurred to you that General Jackson was dead before his letterswere presented?" asked Arrelsford quickly.
"What does that signify if he wrote them before he was killed?"
"Nothing certainly," assented the other, "if he wrote them."
"The signatures and the letters were verified."
"They may have been written for some one else and this Thorne may havepossessed himself of them by fraud, or----"
"Mr. Arrelsford," cried the girl, more and more angry, "if you mean----"
"My dear child," said Mrs Varney, "you don't understand. They haveproofs of a conspiracy. The Yankees are going to try to break throughour lines to-night, some one is going to use the telegraph, and two menin the Northern Secret Service have been sent here to do this work. Oneis in Libby Prison. Our faithful Jonas has been corrupted. He went thereto-day and took a message from one and brought it here to deliver it tothe other. They are trying to make him speak out there to tellwho----Our country, our cause, is at stake."
"Is this Mr. Arrelsford's story?" asked the daughter stubbornly,apparently entirely unconvinced.
"No; these are facts. We had Jonas in here," answered her mother;"caught him off his guard, and found the incriminating paper on him."
"But he has not said it was for----" persisted Edith desperately.
"Not yet," whispered Mr. Arrelsford, "but he will. You may be sure ofthat; we have means to--Oh, Corporal," he broke off eagerly, lookingtoward the door where the Corporal stood, his hand at salute. "Well,speak out, what does he say?"
"Nothing, sir."
"What have you done with him?"
"Strung him up three times, and----"
"Well, string him up again," snarled Arrelsford. "If he won't speak,shoot it out of him, kill the dog. We don't need his evidence any way,there's enough without it."
"There is nothing," said Edith tersely.
"By midnight," answered Arrelsford, "you shall have all the proof----"
"There is no proof to have," persisted the girl.
"I will show it to you at the telegraph office, if you dare to go withme."
"Dare! I will go anywhere, even with you, for that----"
"I will call for you in half an hour then," said Arrelsford, goingtoward the door.
"Wait," interrupted Edith; "what are you going to do?"
"I am going to let him get this paper," said Arrelsford, coming back tothe table. "He will know what they want him to do, and then we'll seehim try to do it."
"You are going to spy on him, are you?"
"I am going to prove what he is."
"Then prove it openly at once. It is shameful to let such a suspicionrest upon an honourable man. Let him come in here, and----"
"It is impossible."
"Then do something, something, but do it now!" cried the girl. "You willsoon know that he is innocent, you must know it. Wait! You say theprisoner in Libby is his brother--that's what you said--his brother.Bring him here. Go to the prison and bring that man here."
"What?"
"Let them meet. Bring them face to face, then you can see whether----"
"You mean bring them together here?"
"Yes."
"As if the prisoner were trying to escape?"
"Exactly."
"There is something in that," said Arrelsford; "when do you suggest----"
"Now."
"I am willing to try it, but it depends upon you. Can you keep Thornehere?"
"I can."
"It won't take more than half an hour. Be out there on the veranda. WhenI tap on the glass bring him into this room and leave him alone. And Ican rely upon you to give him no hint or sign that we suspect----"
"Mr. Arrelsford!" said the girl, indignant and haughty, and her motherstepped swiftly toward her, looking at him contemptuously, as if heshould have known that such an action would be impossible for either ofthem.
Arrelsford gazed at them a minute or two, smiled triumphantly, andpassed out of the room.
"Mamma, mamma!" moaned the girl, her eyes shut, her hand extended."Mamma," she repeated in anguish.
"I am here, Edith dear; I am here," said Mrs. Varney, coming toward herand taking her tenderly in her arms.
"Do you think--do you think--that he--he could be what they say?" Herhand fell upon the commission in her belt "This commission I got for himthis afternoon----"
"Yes?"
"The commission, you know, from the President, for the TelegraphService--why, he refused to take it," her voice rose and rangtriumphantly through the room; "he refused to take it! That doesn't lookas if he wanted to use the telegraph to betray us."
"Refused! That's impossible!" said her mother.
"He said that it was for me that he couldn't take it."
"For you! Then it is true," answered Mrs. Varney.
"No, no," said the girl; "don't say it."
"Yes," said her mother; "the infamous----" The girl tried to stifle withher hand upon her mother's lips the words, but Mrs. Varney shook off herhand. "The spy, the traitor," she added witheringly.
"No, no!" cried the girl, but as she spoke, conviction seemed to come toher. Why was it that her faith was not more substantially based andenduring? she asked herself. "Mamma," she wailed, "it can't be." Sheburied her face in her hands for a moment and then tore them away andconfronted her mother boldly. "Won't you leave me alone for a littlewhile, mamma?" she asked plaintively. "I must get----"
"I will go to Howard; I will be back in a short time, my dear," said hermother, gently laying her hand on her daughter's bent head.
Left alone, the girl took the commission from her belt, opened it,smoothed it out, and read it through, as if bewildered anduncomprehending. She folded it up again, and walked slowly over to oneof the front windows, drew aside the curtains, and pushed it open. Allwas still. She listened for she knew not what. There was a footstep fromthe far end of the walk leading from the summerhouse, a footstep sheknew. Edith moved rapidly away from the window to the table and stood byit, her hand resting upon it, her knees fairly trembling in her emotion,as she waited. The next moment the open space framed the figure ofCaptain Thorne. He entered fearlessly, but when his eye fell upon herthere was something so strained about her attitude that a spark ofsuspicion was kindled in his soul. Yet his action was prompt enough. Hecame instantly toward her and took her hand.
"Miss Varney," he said.
Edith watched his approach fascinated, as a bird by a serpent. His touchawakened her to action. She snatched her hand away and shrank back.
"No; don't touch me!" she cried.
He looked at her in amazement. The spark of suspicion burst into flame,but she recovered herself instantly.
"Oh, it was you," she faltered. She forced a smile to her lips. "Howperfectly absurd I am. I am sure I ought to be ashamed of myself. Come,let's go out on the veranda. I want to talk to you about so many things.There's--there's half an hour--yet before we must go to Caroline's."
She had possessed herself of his hand again as she spoke. She nowstepped swiftly toward the window. He followed her reluctantly untilthey reached the opening. She stepped through it and archly looked backat him, still in the room.
"How lovely is the night," she said with tender persuasiveness. "Comewith me."
The man looked around him hastily. Every mom
ent was precious to him. DidMiss Varney know. If so, what did she know? What was to be gained orlost by half an hour's delay on his part? He drew out his watch andglanced at it swiftly. There was time. He would never see her again. Hemight say he would possibly never see any one again after the hazards ofthis night. He was entitled to one brief moment of happiness. How longhad she said? Half an hour. He would take it.
"Aren't you coming, Captain Thorne?" cried the girl from the porch, allthe coquettish witchery of youth and the South in her voice.
"I am coming," answered the officer, deliberately stepping through thewindow, "for just half an hour," he added.
"That will be time enough," replied the girl, laughing.
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BOOK II
WHAT HAPPENED AT NINE O'CLOCK