CHAPTER XVII
When Leila sat upon the upper deck of the great Hudson River steamer, shewas in a condition of excitement natural to an imaginative nature unusedto travel. Her mind was like a fresh canvas ready for the hand of theartist. She was wondering at times what John Penhallow would look likeafter over two years of absence and hardly heard the murmur of talkaround her, and was as unconscious of the interested glances of the youngmen attracted by the tall figure standing in the bow as the great riveropened before her.
"That," said her uncle, "is Weehawken. There--just there--Hamilton waskilled by Burr, and near by Hamilton's son four years before was killedin a duel--a political quarrel." She knew the sad story well, and withthe gift of visualization saw the scene and the red pistol-flashes whichmeant the death of a statesman of genius.
"And there are the palisades, Leila." The young summer was clothing thebanks with leafage not yet dark green, and translucent in the morningsun. No railroads marred the loveliness of the lawns on the East bank,and the grey architecture of the palisades rose in solemn grandeur towestward.
"It is full of history, Leila. There is Tarrytown, where Andre wastaken." She listened in silence. The day ran on--the palisades fell away."Dobbs's Ferry, my dear;" and pointing across the river, "on that hillAndre died."
Presently the mountains rose before them, and in the afternoon they drewup at the old wharf. "We stay at Cozzen's Hotel, Leila. I will send onthe baggage and we will walk up to the Point."
She hardly heard him. A tall young man in white pantaloons and bluejacket stood on the pier. "Good gracious, Uncle Jim, it is John!" Astrange sense of disappointed remembrance possessed her. The boy playmateof her youth was gone. He gave both hands of welcome, as he said, "ByGeorge, Leila, I am glad to see you."
"You may thank uncle for our visit. Aunt Ann was not very willing to partwith me."
He was about to make the obvious reply of the man, but refrained. Theytalked lightly of the place, of her journey, and at last he said veryquietly, even coldly, as if it were merely a natural history observation,"You are amazingly grown, Cousin Leila. It is as well for cadets andofficers that your stay is to be brief."
"John, I have been in Baltimore. You will have to put it stronger thanthat--I am used to it."
"I will see if I can improve on it, Leila."
Now this was not at all the way she meant to meet him, nor these thewords they meant to use--or rather, she--for John Penhallow had given itno thought, except to be glad as a child promised a gift and thenembarrassed into a word of simple descriptive admiration. When JohnPenhallow said, with a curious gravity and a little of his old formalmanner, "I will reflect on it," she knew with the quick perception of hersex that here was a new masculine study for the great naturalist woman.The boy--the lad--she knew were no more.
"Who is that with Uncle James?" she asked.
"The Commandant."
"My niece, Miss Grey. Colonel Beauregard, my dear. Let us walk up to thePoint." The Commandant, who made good his name, took possession of thedelighted young woman and carried her away to his home with Penhallow,leaving the cadet to return to his routine of duty. As they parted, hesaid, "I am set free to-morrow, Leila, at five, and excused from theafternoon parade. If you and Uncle Jim will walk up to Port Putnam, Iwill join you."
"I will tell Uncle Jim. You will be at the hop of course? I have beenthinking of nothing else for a week."
"I may be late."
"Oh, why?"
"We are in the midst of our examinations. Even to get time for a walkwith you and uncle was hard. I wrote Uncle Jim not to come now. He musthave missed it."
"And so I am to suffer."
"I doubt the anguish," he returned, laughing, as he touched his cap, andleft her to brief consideration of the cadet cousin.
"Uncle Jim might have been just like that--looked like that. They arevery unlike too. I used to be able to tell just what Jack would do whenwe were children--don't think I can now. How tall he is and how handsome.The uniform is becoming. I wonder if I too am so greatly changed."
It is well here to betray the secrets of the novelists' confessional.Leila Grey had seen in the South much of an interesting society wherelove affairs were brief, lightly taken, easily ended, or hardly more thanthe mid-air flirtations of butterflies. No such perilous approaches tothe most intimate relations of men and women were for this young woman,on whom the love and tactful friendship of the married life of Grey Pinehad left a lasting impression. One must have known her well to becomeaware of the sense of duty to her ideals which lay behind her alertappearance of joyous gaiety and capacity to see the mirthful aspects oflife. Once long ago the lad's moment of passionate longing had butlightly stirred the dreamless sleep of unawakened power to love. Even thememory of John's boy-folly had faded with time. Her relation to him hadbeen little more than warm friendship. Even that tie--and she wasabruptly aware of it--had become less close. She was directly consciousof the fact and wondered if this grave young man felt as she did. She layawake that night and wondered too if his ideals of heroism and ambitionwere still actively present, and where too was his imagination--ever onthe wing and far beyond her mental flight? She also had changed. Did heknow it or care? Then she dismissed him and fell asleep.
As John Penhallow near to noon came out a little weary and anxious fromthe examination ordeal, he chanced on his uncle and Leila waiting withthe officer of the day, who said to him, "After dinner you are free forthe rest of the afternoon. Mr. Penhallow has asked me to relieve you."
As he bade them good-morning, his uncle said, "How goes the examination?"
"Don't ask me yet, sir; but I cannot go home until the end of next week.Then I shall know the result."
"But what examination remains?" persisted the Squire.
"Don't ask him, Uncle Jim."
"Well--all right."
"Thank you, Leila. I am worn out. I am glad of a let-up. I dreamequations and pontoon bridges--and I must do some work after dinner. ThenI will find you and Uncle Jim on Fort Putnam, at five."
"I want to talk with Beauregard," said Penhallow, "about the South. Leilacan find her way."
"I can," she said. "I want to sketch the river, and that will give metime."
"Oh, there goes the dinner call. Come in at a quarter to one with UncleJim. I have leave to admit you. There will be something to interest you."
"And what, John--men eating?"
"No. One of my best friends, Gresham from South Carolina, has beenordered home by his father."
"And why?" asked Penhallow.
"Oh, merely because his people are very bitter, and, as he tells me, theywrite about secession as if it were merely needed to say to the North 'Wemean to cut loose'--and go; it is just to be as simple as 'Good-bye,children.' I think I wrote you, uncle, that we do not talk politics here,but this quiet assumption of being able to do with us what they please isnot the ordinary tone of the Southern cadets. Now and then there isa row--"
Leila listened with interest and some presently gratified desire to hearher cousin declare his own political creed. She spoke, as they stoodbeside the staff from which the flag was streaming in the north wind,"Would it not be better, John, as Mr. Rivers desires, to let the SouthernStates go in peace?" As she spoke, she was aware of something more thanbeing merely anxious that he should make the one gallant answer to thewords that challenged opinion. The Squire caught on to some comprehensionof the earnestness with which she put the question.
To his uncle's surprise, the cadet said, "Ah, my dear Leila, that isreally asking me on which side I should be if we come to an openrupture."
"I did not mean quite that, John, and I spoke rather lightly; but you donot answer."
He somewhat resented this inquisition, but as he saw his uncle turn,apparently expectant, he said quietly and speaking with the low voicewhich may be so surpassingly expressive, "I hardly see, Leila, whyyou put such a question to me here under the flag. If there is to bewar--secession, I shall stand by the flag, my
country, and an unbrokenunion." The young face flushed a little, the mouth, which was of singularbeauty, closed with a grip on the strong jaw. Then, to Leila's surprise,the Captain and John suddenly uncovered as music rang out from thequarters of the band.
"Why do you do that, Uncle Jim?"
"Don't you hear, Leila? It is the 'Star Spangled Banner'--we alluncover." Here and there on the parade ground, far and near, officers,cadets and soldiers, stood still an instant bareheaded.
"Oh," murmured Leila. "How wonderful! How beautiful!" Surprised at theeffect of this ceremonial usage upon herself, she stood a moment withthat sense of constriction in the throat which is so common a signal ofemotion. The music ceased, and as they moved on Penhallow asked, "Whatabout Gresham, your friend?"
"Oh, you know, uncle, when a cadet resigns for any cause which involvesno dishonour, we have a little ceremony. I want you to see it. No collegehas that kind of thing. Don't be late. I will join you in time."
The captain and Leila attracted much attention from the cadets at dinnerin the Mess Hall. "Now, dear, look!" said Penhallow. At the end of thelong table a cadet rose--the captain of the corps in charge of thebattalion. There was absolute silence. The young officer spoke:
"You all know that to our regret one of us leaves to-day. Mr. Gresham,you have the privilege of calling the battalion to attention."
A slightly built young fellow in citizen's dress rose at his side. For amoment he could not fully command his voice; then his tones rang clear:"Most unwillingly I take my farewell. I am given the privilege of thosewho depart with honour. Battalion! Attention! God bless you! Good-bye!"
The class filed out, and lifting the departing man on their shouldersbore him down to the old south dock and bade him farewell.
Penhallow looked after them. "There goes the first, Leila. There will bemore--many more--to follow, unless things greatly change--and they willnot. I hoped to take John home with us, but he will come in a week. Imust leave to-morrow morning. John is in the dumps just now, butBeauregard has only pleasant things to say of him. I wish he were asagreeable about the polities of his own State."
"Are they so bad?"
"Don't ask me, Leila."
The capital of available energy in the young may be so exhausted bymental labour, when accompanied by anxiety, that the whole body for atime feels the effect. Muscular action becomes overconscious, and intenseuse of the mind seems to rob the motor centres of easy capacity to usethe muscles. John Penhallow walked slowly up the rough road to where theruined bastions of Port Putnam rose high above the Hudson. He was awareof being tired as he had not been for years. The hot close air and thelong hours of concentration of mind left him discouraged as well asexhausted. He was still in the toils of the might-have-been, of thatwasting process--an examination, and turning over in his mind logistics,logarithms, trajectories, equations, and a mob of disconnected questions."Oh, by George!" he exclaimed, "what's the worth while of it?" All thepleasantly estimated assets of life and love and friendship becameunavailable securities in the presence of a mood of depression which cameof breathing air which had lost its vitalizing ozone. And now at a turnin the road nature fed her child with a freshening change of horizon.
Looking up he saw a hawk in circling flight set against the blue sky. Henever saw this without thinking of Josiah, and then of prisoned thingslike a young hawk he had seen sitting dejected in a cage in the barracks.Did he have dreams of airy freedom? It had affected him as an image ofcaged energy--of useless power. With contrasted remembrance he wentback to the guarded procession of boys from the lyceum in France, theflower-stalls, and the bird-market, the larks singing merrily in theirsmall wicker cages. Yes, he had them--the two lines he wanted--a poet'scondensed statement of the thought he could not fully phrase:
Ah! the lark!He hath the heaven which he sings,--But my poor hawk hath only wings.
The success of the capture of this final perfection of statement of hisown thought refreshed him in a way which is one of the mysteries of thatwild charlatan imagination, who now and then administers tonics to theweary which are of inexplicable value. John Penhallow felt the suddenuplift and quickened his pace until he paused within the bastion lines ofthe fort. Before him, with her back to him, sat Leila. Her hat lay besideher finished sketch. She was thinking that John Penhallow, the boyfriend, was to-day in its accepted sense but an acquaintance, of whom shedesired, without knowing why, to know more. That he had changed wasobvious. In fact, he had only developed on the lines of his inheritedcharacter, while in the revolutionary alterations of perfected womanhoodshe had undergone a far more radical transformation.
The young woman, whom now he watched unseen, rose and stood on thecrumbling wall. A roughly caressing northwest wind blew back her skirts.She threw out her wide-sleeved arms in exultant pleasure at themagnificence of the vast river, with its forest boundaries, and therock-ribbed heights of Crow's Nest. As she stood looking "taller thanhuman," she reminded him of the figure of victory he had seen as a boyon the stairway of the Louvre. He stood still--again refreshed. Thefigure he then saw lived with him through life, strangely recurrent inmoments of peril, on the march, or in the loneliness of his tent.
"Good evening," he said as he came near. She sat down on the low wall andhe at her feet. "Ah, it is good to get you alone for a quiet talk,Leila."
She was aware of a wild desire to lay a hand among the curls hiscadet-cropped hair still left over his forehead. "Do you really like thelife here, John?"
"Oh, yes. It is so definite--its duties are so plain--nothing is left tochoice. Like it? Yes, I like it."
"But, isn't it very limited?"
"All good education must be--it is only a preparation; but one'simagination is free--as to a man's future, and as to ambitions. Thereone can use one's wings."
She continued her investigation. "Then you have ambitions. Yes, you musthave," she cried with animation. "Oh, I want you to have them--ideals tooof life. We used to discuss them."
He looked up. "You think I have changed. You want to know how. It is allvague--very vague. Yet, I could put my creed of what conduct is desirablein life in a phrase--in a text."
"Do, John." She leaned over in her interest.
"Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and to God the thingswhich are God's." The seriousness of the upturned face for a moment kepther silently reflective.
"Caesar! What of Caesar, John?"
"My country, of course; that is simple. The rest, Leila, coversall--almost all of life and needs no comment. But how serious we are.Tell me all about home and the village and the horses and Uncle Jim.He has some grey hairs."
"He may well have grey hairs, John. The times are bad. He is worried.Imagine Uncle Jim economical!"
"Incredible."
"Yes. He told me that his talk with Colonel Beauregard had made himdespair of a peaceful ending, and usually he is hopeful."
"Well, don't make me talk politics. We rarely do. Isn't this outlookbeautiful? People rarely come here and it often gives me a chance to bealone and to think."
"And what do you think about, John?" She was again curious.
"Oh, many things, big and little. Uncle Jim, Aunt Ann, Mr. Rivers,Dixy--hornets, muskrats," he laughed. She noted the omission of LeilaGrey.
"And what else?"
"Oh, the tragedy of Arnold,--the pathos of Washington's despair,--hiswords, 'Who is there now I can trust?'"
"It came home to me, John, this morning when Colonel Beauregard showed usthe portraits of the major-generals of the Revolution. I saw a vacantplace and a tablet like the rest, but with 'Major General--Born 1740' andno name! I asked what it meant. The Colonel said only, 'Arnold.' That istoo pitiful--and his wife--I read somewhere that she was young,beautiful, and innocent of his horrible treason."
"Yes, what crime could be worse than his, and, too, such a gallantsoldier. Let us walk around the fort. Oh, by the way, I found here lastweek two Continental buttons, Third Pennsylvania Infantry. Like to havethem, Leila? I though
t you might."
"Would I like?" She took them eagerly. "They ought to be gilded and usedas sleeve-links." But where she kept them John Penhallow never knew. Theydid not make the sleeve-links for which she agreed they were so suitable.
"Isn't there a walk down through the woods?" asked Leila.
"Yes, this way." Leaving the road they followed a rough trail through thewoods to a more open space half-way down the hill. Here he paused. "Thisis our last chance to talk until I am at Grey Pine."
"That will be very soon, John." She sat down amid numberless violets,adding, "There will be the hop to-night, as you call it."
"Yes, the hop. I forgot. You will give me the first dance?"
To her surprise he asked no others. "Cadets have to learn to dance, butBaltimore may have left you critical."
Still on her investigation track, she returned, "Oh, Baltimore! It seemsodd to me that I should have seen so much of the world of men and womenand you who are older so little in this military monastery."
He laughed outright. "We have the officers' families, and if we areallowed to visit, the Kembles and Gouverneurs and Pauldings across theriver--no better social life anywhere. And as for young women--sisters,cousins--_embarras de choix_, Miss Grey. They come in flocks like theblackbirds. I assure you that this branch of natural history is prettywell illustrated at the Point. We are apt to be rather over-supplied inJune."
"Indeed!--all sorts, I suppose."
"Yes, a variety, and just now three charming young women from the South."
"Rather a strong adjective--charming. I might hesitate to apply it to awhole flock. I think men are more apt to use it than women."
"I stand by my adjective. Take care of your laurels, Miss Grey. I amlucky enough to have two dances with Miss Ramsay. Her brother is acadet."
"Introduce him to me. What myriads of violets!"
"Do you remember how, when we were small, we used to fight violets?"
"How long ago it seems, John. It must have been the first June after youappeared in that amazing cap and--the cane I have it yet. Let's fightviolets. It may have a charm to make me look young again--I feel so oldsometimes."
Intent on her game, she was already gathering the flowers in her lap,while the young man a little puzzled and a little amused watched the facewhich she described for his benefit as needing to look young. She ran ongaily, "You will pick five and I will pick five. I never heard of anyother children fighting violets. It is a neglected branch of education. Igot it from the Westways children. Now, fair play, John Penhallow." Hewas carelessly taking his five violets, while Leila was testing hers,choosing them with care. The charm she sought was working--they werechildren again.
"That's not fair, Leila."
"Why not?"
"You are testing yours. It is a mean advantage. I would scorn to do sucha thing. It is just like a woman--the way you do about dress. All womenought to dress alike--then the competition would be fair."
Leila looked up from her lap full of violets. "I should like to see_your_ Miss Ramsay in one of my gowns."
"_My_ Miss Ramsay! No such luck."
"You're a goose, Jack."
"You're a silly, Leila."
"Oh, now, we are children, John. This is the magic of the June violets."
"And you are just fourteen, Leila. The wrinkles of age are gone--theyused to be dimples."
"Nonsense! Let's play."
They hooked together the bent stems of the flowers. Then there was aquick jerk, and one violet was decapitated. "One for you, Leila;--andanother."
"You are not paying any attention to the game. Please to keep young alittle while." He was watching the sunlight as it fell upon her neck whenit bent over the flowers.
"And how am I to keep young, Miss Grey?"
"Oh, any woman can answer that--ask Miss Ramsay."
"I will. There! you have won, Leila, three to two. There used always tobe a forfeit. What must I pay?"
"Now, John, what terrible task shall I put upon you? I have it. You shallask me to give you the third dance."
"That is Miss Ramsay's. I am sorry."
"Oh, one girl is as good as another."
"Perhaps--for women." He did not ask of her any other dances. "Butreally, Leila, the better bred of these Southern girls we see here aremost pleasant acquaintances, more socially easy of acquaintance thanNorthern girls. As they are butterflies of the hour--their frank ways arevaluable in what you call our monastery."
"Yes, I know them well. There may be time here for some briefflirtations. I used to see them in Maryland, and once when Aunt Margarettook me on visits to some old Virginia homes. These pleasant girls taketo it with no more conscience than birds in the spring. I used to see itin Maryland."
"Oh, yes," he said, "but it means very little;--quite harmless--merepractice, like our fencing bouts."
"Did you ever kiss a woman, John--just for practice?" "Why did I saythat!" thought Leila. "Come, sir, confess!"
"Yes," he said, not liking it and far from any conception of the littlemob of motives which betrayed to her a state of mind he had not thedaring to guess. "Did I? That requires courage. Have I--ever kissed awoman? Yes, often--"
"Oh, I did not ask who."
"Aunt Ann--and a girl once--"
"Indeed!"
"Yes--Leila Grey, aged fifteen--and got my ears boxed. This confessionbeing at an end, I want absolution." The air was cleared.
"How about the first polka as absolution?" said Leila.
"It is unusual, but as penance it may answer."
"The penance may be mine. I shall know better after the first round, Mr.Penhallow."
"You are complimentary, Miss Grey," he added, with the whimsical displayof mirth which was more than a smile and not a laugh, and was singularlyattractive.
In place of keeping up the gay game of trifles as shuttle-cocks, Leilastood still upon the edge of the wood, "I don't think you liked what Iasked."
"What, about kissing? I did not, but upon my honour I answered youtruly." He was grave as he replied.
"You did not think it impertinent, Jack?"
"I don't know what I thought it." And then, as if to avoid need to defendor explain contradictory statements, he said, "Put yourself in my place.Suppose I had dared to ask you if ever a man had kissed you--"
"Oh, that's the difference between kissing and being kissed."
"Then put it my way."
"John Penhallow, I should dearly like to box your ears. Once a man didkiss me. He was tall, handsome, and had the formal courtly manners youhave at times. He was General Winfield Scott. He kissed my hand."
"You minx!" cried John, "you are no better than you used to be. Theregoes the bugle!" And laughing as he deserted her, he ran down the hilland across the parade ground.
"He is not really handsome," said the young woman, "but no man ought tohave so beautiful a mouth--I could have made him do it in a minute. Whydid I not? What's the matter? I merely couldn't. He hasn't the remotestidea that if he were to kiss me--I--" She reddened at the thought andwent with quick steps of "virgin liberty" to take tea with theCommandant.
In New York, on his way home, Penhallow received a telegram, "I am third.John Penhallow." Then the Squire presented Leila with a bracelet, to thebelated indignation of Aunt Ann, who was practising the most disagreeableeconomy. Her husband wrote her that the best policy for a man financiallyin peril was to be extravagant enough to discredit belief in his need tolessen expenditure. He was, moreover, pleasantly aware that the improvingconditions of trade this summer of 1859 had enabled him to collect somelarge outstanding debts. He encouraged Leila to remember their oldvillage friends, but when he proposed a set of furs for Ann Penhallow'swinter wear Leila became ingeniously impossible about choice, and theSquire's too lavish generosity somehow failed to materialize; but why orhow was not clear to him because of their being feminine diplomaticways--which attain results and leave with the male a mildly feltresentment without apparent cause of defeat.
As Cadet
No. 3 of his class in this year's studies made the railwayjourney of a warm June day, he recalled with wondering amusement hisfirst lonely railway travel. "I was a perfect little snob." The formal,too old-mannered politeness of his childhood had left, if the child isfather of the man, an inheritance of pleasant courtesy which was unusualand had varied values in the intercourse of life. Rivers said of himlater that the manner of John Penhallow's manners had the mystery ofcharm. Even when younger, at Grey Pine, he liked to talk to people, withcuriosity about their lives and their work. Now, as the train moved on,he fell into chat with the country folk who got on the train for shorttravel. Soon or late they all talked politics, but 'generally guessedthings would be settled somehow'--which is the easily reached conclusionof the American. When the old conductor, with the confidence John'smanner invited, asked what uniform he wore, John said, laughing, "Do younot remember the boy with a cane who got out at Westways Crossing?"
"You ain't him--?? not really? Why it's years ago! You are quite a bitchanged."
"For the better, I hope."
"Well, here's your station, and Miss Grey waiting."
"Oh, John, glad to see you! I told aunt no one must go for you but me.Get in. And Billy, look out how you drive."
Billy, bewildered by the tall figure in cadet jacket and grey pantaloons,needed the warning.
Then there was the avenue, the big grey pine, home, and Aunt Ann's kissof welcome. The old familiar life was again his. He rode with the Squireor Leila, swam, and talked to Rivers whenever he could induce the tooeasily tired man to walk with him. He was best pleased to do so whenLeila was of the party. Then at least the talk was free and wandered frompoetry and village news to discussion of the last addition to the causesof quarrel between the North and South. When tempted to speak at length,Rivers sat down.
"How can a man venture to speak, John, like Mr. Jefferson Davis? Have youread his speech?"
"No, sir."
"Well, he says the importation of Africans ought to be left to theStates--and the President. He thinks that as Cuba is the only spot in thecivilized world where the African slave-trade is permitted, its cessionto us would put an end to that blot on civilization. An end to it,indeed! Think of it!" His voice rose as he spoke. "End slavery and youend that accursed trade. And to think that a woman like Ann Penhallowshould think it right!" Neither John nor Leila were willing to discusstheir aunt's definitely held views.
"I think," said Leila, who had listened silently, "Aunt Ann has lost orput aside her interest in politics."
"I wish I could," said John. "But what do you mean, Leila? She has neversaid so."
"It's just this. Aunt Ann told me two weeks ago that Uncle Henry Grey wastalked of as a delegate to the Democratic Convention to meet next year.Now her newspapers remain unopened. They are feeding these dissensionsNorth and South. No wonder she is tired of it all. I am with Uncle Jim,but I hate to wrangle over politics like Senator Davis and this new manLincoln--oh, and the rest. No good comes of it. I can't see it as you do,Mr. Rivers."
"And yet, I am right," said Rivers gravely. "God knows. It is in Hishands."
"What Aunt Ann thinks right," said Leila, "can't be so unpardonablywicked." She spoke softly. "Oh, John, look at that squirrel. She iscarrying a young one on her back--how pretty! She has to do it. What alovely instinct. It must be heavy."
"I suppose," said Rivers, "we all have loads we must carry, are born tocarry--"
"Like the South, sir," said John. "We can help neither the squirrel northe South. You think we can throw stones at the chipmunk and make herdrop it--and--"
"Bad logic, John," returned Rivers. "But soon there will be stonesthrown."
"And who will cast the first stone?" rejoined Leila, rising.
"It is an ancient crime," said Rivers. "It was once ours, and it willbe ours to end it. Now I leave you to finish your walk; I am tired." Asthey moved away, he looked after them. "Beauty, intelligence, perfecthealth--oh, my God!"
In August with ever resisted temptation John Penhallow went back to WestPoint to take up his work again.
The autumn came, and in October, at night, the Squire read with dismayand anger of the tragic attempt of John Brown at Harper's Ferry. "My poorAnn," he exclaimed. He went at once from his library back to the hall,where Leila was reading aloud. "Ann," he said, "have you seen the papersto-day?"
"I have read no paper for a month, James. They only fill me with griefand the sense of how helpless I am--even--even--with those I love. Whatis it now, James?"
"An insane murderer named John Brown has made an attack on Harper's Perrywith a dozen or so of infatuated followers." He went on to tell brieflythe miserable story of a madman's folly.
"The whole North is mad," said Ann, not looking up, but knitting fasteras she spoke, "mad--the abolitionists of Boston are behind it." It wastoo miserably true. "Thank you, James, for wanting to make me see in thisonly insanity."
The Squire stood still, watched by the pitiful gaze of Leila. "I wantyou, Ann--I wanted you to see, dear, to feel how every thoughtful man inthe North condemns the wickedness of this, and of any, attempt to causeinsurrection among the slaves."
"Yes--yes, of course--no doubt--but it is the natural result of Northernsentiment."
"Oh, Aunt Ann!"
"Keep quiet, child!"
"You should not have talked politics to me, James."
"But, my God, Ann, this is not politics!" He looked down at herflushed face and with the fatal newspaper in his hand stood still amoment, and then went back to his library. There he stayed before thefire, distressed beyond measure. "Just so," he said, "the South willtake it--just so."
Ann Penhallow said, "Where did you leave off, Leila? Go on, my dear, withthe book."
"I can't. You were cruel to Uncle Jim--and he was so dear and sweet."
"If you can't read, you had better go to bed." Leila broke into tears andstumbled up the stairs with half-blinded eyes.
Ann sat long, hearing Penhallow's steps as he walked to and fro. Then shelet fall her knitting, rose, and went into the library.
"James, forgive me. I was unjust to say such things--I was--"
"Please don't," he cried, and took her in his arms. "Oh, my love," hesaid, "we have darker days than this before us. If only there was betweenNorth and South love like ours--there is not. We at least shall love onto the end--no matter what happens."
The tearful face looked up, "And you do forgive me?" "Forgive! Thereis no need for any such word in the dictionary of love." Betweenhalf-hysterical laughter and ready tears, she gasped, "Where did youget that prettiness?"
"Read it in a book, you goosey. Go to bed."
"No, not yet. This crime or craze will make mischief?"
"Yes, Ann, out of all proportion to the thing. The South will be in afrenzy, and the North filled with regret and horror. Now go to bed--wehave behaved like naughty children."
"Oh, James, must I be put in a corner?"
"Yes--of my heart. Now, good night."
November passed. The man who had sinned was fairly tried, and on December2nd went to a well-deserved death. Penhallow refused to talk of him toRivers, who praised the courage of his last hours.
"Mark," he said, "have been twice or thrice sure I was to die--and Ihave seen two murderers hanged, and I do assure you that neither theynor I were visibly disturbed. The fact is, when a fellow is sure to beput to death, he is either dramatic--as this madman was--or quietlyundemonstrative. Martyr! Nonsense! It was simply stupid. I don't wantto talk about it. Those mischief-makers in Congress will howl over it."They did, and secession was ever in the air.