The Bondwoman

  CHAPTER XXX.

  Kenneth McVeigh walked the floor of his own room, with the bitterestthoughts of his life for company. Loyal gentleman that he was, he wasappalled at the turn affairs had taken. It had cost him a struggle togive up faith in the man he had known and liked--but all that was asnothing compared to the struggle in which his own love fought againsthim.

  In that room where death apparently stood on the threshold, and thedying man had followed him about the room with most terrible,appealing eyes, he had heard but few of the words spoken--all hisheart and brain were afire with the scene he had just left; that, andthe others preceding it! Every word or glance he had noticed betweenMonroe and the woman he loved returned to him! Trifles light as airbefore, now overwhelmed him with horrible suggestions; and herpleading for him that morning--all the little artifices, the pretendedlightness with which she asked a first favor on her weddingmorning--their wedding morning! for whatever she was or was not, shewas, at least, his wife!

  That fact must be taken into consideration, he could not set it aside;her disgrace meant his disgrace--God! was that why she had consentedto the hurried marriage?--to shield herself under his name, and toinfluence his favor for her lover?

  The spirit of murder leaped in his heart as he thought of it! Heheard Gertrude send to the library for Margeret, and he sent word toMasterson he was detained and would continue the investigation later.When Pluto returned, after delivering the message, he inquired ifMadame Caron was yet in the library, and Pluto informed him MadameCaron had gone to her room some time ago; no one was in the librarynow, the gentleman had gone back to the cottage.

  He meant to see her alone before speaking again with Monroe, to knowthe worst, whatever it was, and then--

  He used a magnifying glass to study the little picture; he took itfrom the frame and examined the frame itself. The statement of Monroeas to its age seemed verified. Certain things in the face werestrange, but certain other things were wonderfully like Judithe as ahappy, care-free girl--had she ever been such a girl?

  The chance that, after all, the picture was not hers gave him a suddenhope that the other things, purely circumstantial, might also diminishon closer examination; the picture had, to him, been the strongestevidence against her; a jealous fury had taken possession of him atthe sight of it; he was conscious that his personal feelings unfittedhim for the judicial position forced upon him, and that he mustsomehow conquer them before continuing any examination.

  An hour had passed; he had decided the picture was not that of hiswife, but if Monroe were not her lover, why did he treasure so alikeness resembling her? And if she were not in love with him, whyignore their former acquaintance, and why intercede for him sopersistently?

  All those thoughts walked beside him as he strode up and down theroom, and beyond them all was the glory of her eyes and theremembrance of her words: _"Whatever you think of me when you knowall, I want you to know that I love you--I love you!"_

  They were the words he had waited for through long days and nights;they had come to him at last, and after all--

  A knock sounded on the door and Pluto entered with a large sealedenvelope on which his name was written.

  "From Madame Caron, sah; she done tole me to put it in yo' own han',"he said.

  When alone again he opened the envelope. Several papers were in it.The first he unfolded was addressed to his wife and the signature wasthat of a statesman high in the confidence of the Northern people. Itwas a letter of gratitude to her for confidential work accomplishedwithin the Confederate lines; it was most extreme in commendation, andleft no doubt as to the consideration shown her by the mostdistinguished of the Federal leaders. It was dated six months before,showing that her friendship for his enemies was not a matter of days,but months.

  There was one newly written page in her own writing. He put that asideto look at last of all, then locked the door and resumed the readingof the others.

  And the woman to whom they were written moved restlessly from room toroom, watching the storm and replying now and then to the disconsolateremarks of Evilena, who was doleful over the fact that everybody wastoo much occupied for conversation. Kenneth had shut himself upentirely, and all the others seemed to be in attendance on Mr. Loring.Captain Masterson was in and out, busy about his own affairs, and notminding the rain a particle, and she was full of questions concerningCaptain Monroe, and why he had paid the brief visit to the library.

  Judithe replied at random, scarcely hearing her chatter, andlistening, listening each instant for his step or voice on the stair.

  While she stood there, looking out at the low, dark clouds, a stepsounded in the hall and she turned quickly; it was only Pluto;ordinarily she would not have noticed him especially, but his eyeswere directed to her in so peculiar a manner that she gave him asecond glance, and perceived that he carried a book she had left on atable in her own room.

  "Look like I can't noway find right shelf fo' this book," he said,with some hesitation. "I boun' to ax yo' to show me whah it b'longs."

  She was about to do so, but when the door of the bookcase opened, hehanded her the book instead of placing it where she directed.

  "Maybe yo' put it in thah fo' me," he suggested.

  She looked at him, remembering she had told Pierson he could betrusted, and took the book without a word. Evilena was absorbed inJuliet's woes, and did not look up.

  Pluto muttered a "thank yo'," and disappeared along the hall.

  She took the book into the alcove before opening it, and found therewhat she had expected--a slip of paper with some pencilled marks. Itwas a cipher, from which she read, _"All is right; we follow close onthis by another road. Be ready. Lincoln"_--she sank on her knees asshe read the rest--_"Lincoln has issued the proclamation ofemancipation!"_

  It was Margeret who found her there a few minutes later. She was stillkneeling by the window, her face covered by her hands.

  "You likely to catch cold down there, Madame," said the soft voice. "Isaw you come in here a good while ago, an' I thought I'd come see if Icould serve you some way."

  Judithe accepted the proffered hand and rose to her feet. For aninstant Margeret's arms had half enfolded her, and the soft colorswept into the woman's face. Judithe looked at her kindly and said:

  "You have already tried to serve me today, Margeret; I've beenthinking of it since, and I wonder why?"

  "Any of the folks here would be proud to serve you, Madame Caron,"said the woman, lapsing again into calm reticence.

  Judithe looked at her and wondered what would become of her and themany like her, now that freedom was declared for the slaves. She couldnot understand why she had denied seeing her in the corridor, for theyhad met there, almost touched! Perhaps she was some special friend ofPluto's, and because of that purchase of the child--

  "I leave tomorrow for Savannah," said Judithe, kindly. "Come to myroom this evening, and if there is anything I can do for you--"

  Margeret's hands were clasped tightly at the question, and thosestrange, haunting eyes of hers seemed to reach the girl's soul.

  "There is one thing," she half whispered, "not now, maybe, notright away! But you've bought Loringwood, and I--I lived there toomany years to be satisfied to live away from it. They--MissGertrude--wouldn't ask much for me now, and--"

  "I see," and Judithe wished she could tell her that there would neverbe buying or selling of her again--that the law of the land haddeclared her free! "I promise you, Loringwood shall be your home someday, if you wish."

  "God forever bless you!" whispered Margeret, and then she pushed asidethe curtains and went through the library and up the stairs, andJudithe watched her, thoughtfully wondering why any slave should clingto a home where Matthew Loring's will had been law. Was it true thatcertain slavish natures in women--whether of Caucasian or Africanblood--loved best the men who were tyrants? Was it a relic ofinherited tendencies when all women of whatever complexion were butslaves to their masters--called husbands?

  But someth
ing in the delicate, sad face of Margeret gave silentnegative to the question. Whatever the affection centered inLoringwood, she could not believe it in any way low or unworthy.

  As she passed along the upper hall Pluto was on the landing.

  "Any visitors today through all this storm?" she asked, carelessly.

  "No out an' out company," he said, glancing around. "A boy from theHarris plantation did stop in out o' the rain, jest now. He got thelend of a coat, an' left his wet one, that how--"

  He looked anxiously at the slip of paper yet in her fingers. Shesmiled and entered her own room, where everything was prepared for herjourney the following day. She glanced about grimly and wondered wherethat journey would end--it depended so much on the temper of the manwho was now reading the evidence against her--the proof absolute thatshe was the Federal agent sought for vainly by the Confederateauthorities. She had told him nothing of the motive prompting her tothe work--it had been merely a plain statement of work accomplished.

  Her door was left ajar and she listened nervously for his step, hisvoice. It seemed hours since she had sent him the message--the timehad really not been long except in her imagination. And the littleslip of paper just received held a threat directed towards him! In anhour, at most, the men she had sent for would be there; she had laidthe plan for his ruin, and now was wild to think she could nowayssave him! If she had dared to go to him, plead with him to leave atonce, persuade him through his love for her--but it seemed ages toolate for that! And she could only await his summons, which sheexpected every moment; she could not even conjecture what he meant todo.

  * * * * *

  Neither could Captain Masterson, who stood in McVeigh's room, staringincredulously at his superior officer.

  "Colonel, are you serious in this matter? You actually mean to letCaptain Monroe go free?"

  "Absolutely free," said McVeigh, who was writing an order, andcontinued writing without looking up. "I understand your surprise, butwe arrested an innocent man."

  "I don't mean to question your judgment, Colonel, but the evidence--"

  "The evidence was circumstantial. That evidence has been refuted byfacts not to be ignored." Masterson looked at him inquiringly, a lookcomprehended by McVeigh, who touched the bell for Pluto.

  "I must have time to consider before I decide what to do with thosefacts," he continued. "I shall know tonight."

  "And in the meantime what are we to do with the squad from down theriver?" asked Masterson, grimly. "They have just arrived to take himfor court martial; they are waiting your orders."

  "I will have their instructions ready in an hour."

  "They bring the report of some definite action on the slavery questionby the Federal authorities," remarked Masterson, with a smile ofderision. "Lincoln has proclaimed freedom for our slaves, the order isto go into effect the first of the year, unless we promise to be good,lay down our arms, and enter the Union."

  "The first of the year is three months away, plenty of time to thinkit over;" he locked his desk and arose. "Excuse me now, Phil," hesaid, kindly, "I must go down and speak with Captain Monroe." Hepaused at the door, and Masterson noticed that his face was very paleand his lips had a strange, set expression. Whatever task he hadbefore him was not easy to face! "You might help me in this," headded, "by telling my mother we must make what amends we can tohim--if any amends are possible for such indignities."

  He went slowly down the stairs and entered the library. Monroe waswiping the rain from his coat collar and holding a dripping hat atarm's length.

  "Since you insist on my afternoon calls, Colonel McVeigh, I wish youwould arrange them with some regard to the elements," he remarked. "Iwas at least dry, and safe, where I was."

  But there was no answering light in McVeigh's eyes. He had beenfighting a hard battle with himself, and the end was not yet.

  "Captain Monroe, it is many hours too late for apologies to you," hesaid, gravely, "but I do apologize, and--you are at liberty."

  "Going to turn me out in a storm like this?" inquired his lateprisoner, but McVeigh held out his hand.

  "Not so long as you will honor my house by remaining," and Monroe,after one searching glance, took the offered hand in silence.

  McVeigh tried to speak, but turned and walked across to the window.After a moment he came back.

  "I know, now, you could have cleared yourself by speaking," he said;"yes, I know all," as Monroe looked at him questioningly. "I know youhave borne disgrace and risked death for a chivalrous instinct. MayI"--he hesitated as he realized he was now asking a favor of the manhe had insulted--"may I ask that you remain silent to all but me, andthat you pardon the injustice done you? I did not know--"

  "Oh, the silence is understood," said Monroe, "and as for the rest--wewill forget it; the evidence was enough to hang a man these excitingtimes."

  "And you ran the risk? Captain, you may wonder that I ask yoursilence, but you talked with her here; you probably know that to meshe is--"

  Monroe raised his hand in protest.

  "I don't know anything, Colonel. I heard you were a benedict, but itmay be only hearsay; I was not a witness; if I had been you would nothave found me a silent one! But it is too late now, and we had betternot talk about it," he said, anxious to get away from the strained,unhappy eyes of the man he has always known as the most care-free ofcadets. "With your permission I will pay my respects to your sister,whom I noticed across the hall, but in the meantime, I don't know athing!"

  As he crossed the hall Gertrude Loring descended the stairs andpaused, looking after him wonderingly, and then turned into thelibrary. Colonel McVeigh was seated at the table again, his faceburied in his hands.

  "Kenneth!"

  He raised his head, and she hesitated, staring at him. "Kenneth, youare ill; you--"

  "No; it is really nothing," he said, as he rose, "I am a trifle tired,I believe; absurd, isn't it? and--and very busy just now, so--"

  "Oh, I shan't detain you a moment," she said, hastily, "but I sawCaptain Monroe in the hall, and I was so amazed when Phil told us youhad released him."

  "I knew you would be, but he is an innocent man, and his arrest wasall a mistake. Pray, tell mother for me that I have apologized toCaptain Monroe, and he is to be our guest until tomorrow. I am sureshe will be pleased to hear it."

  "Oh, yes, of course," agreed Gertrude, "but Kenneth, the guard hasarrived, and who will they take in his place for court-martial?"

  She spoke lightly, but there was a subtle meaning back of her words.He felt it, and met her gaze with a sombre smile.

  "Perhaps myself," he answered, quietly.

  "Oh, Kenneth!"

  "There, there!" he said, reassuringly; "don't worry about the future,what is, is enough for today, little girl."

  He had opened the door for her as though anxious to be alone; sheunderstood, and was almost in the hall when the other door into thelibrary opened, and glancing over her shoulder she saw Judithestanding there gazing after her, with a peculiar look.

  She glanced up at Kenneth McVeigh, and saw his face suddenly growwhite, and stern; then the door closed on her, and those two wereleft alone together. She stood outside the door for a full minute,amazed at the strange look in his eyes, and in hers, as they facedeach other, and as she moved away she wondered at the silencethere--neither of them had spoken.

  They looked at each other as the door closed, a world of appeal in hereyes, but there was no response in his; a few hours ago she meant allof life to him--and now!--

  With a quick sigh she turned and crossed to the window; drawing backthe curtain she looked out, but all the heavens seemed weeping withsome endless woe. The light of the lamp was better, and she drew thecurtains close, and faced him again.

  "You have read--all?"

  He bent his head in assent.

  "And Captain Monroe?"

  "Captain Monroe is at liberty. I have accepted your confession, andacted upon it."

  "You accept th
at part of my letter, but not my other request," shesaid, despairingly. "I begged that you make some excuse and leave foryour command at once--today--do you refuse to heed that?"

  "I do," he said, coldly.

  "Is it on my account?" she demanded; "if so, put me under arrest; sendme to one of the forts; do anything to assure yourself of my inabilityto work against your cause, though I promise you I never shall again.Oh, I know you do not trust me, and I shan't ask you to; I only askyou to send me anywhere you like, if you will only start for yourcommand at once; for your own sake I beg you; for your own sake youmust go!"

  All of pleading was in her eyes and voice; her hands were clasped inthe intensity of her anxiety. But he only shook his head as he lookeddown in the beautiful, beseeching face.

  "For your sake I shall remain," he said, coldly.

  "Kenneth!"

  "Your anxiety that I leave shows that the plots you confessed are notthe only ones you are aware of," he said, controlling his voice withan effort, and speaking quietly. "You are my wife; for the plots ofthe future I must take the responsibility, prevent them if I can;shield you if I cannot."

  "No, no!" and she clasped his arm, pleadingly; "believe me, Kenneth,there will be no more plots, not after today--"

  "Ah!" and he drew back from her touch; "not after today! then there_is_ some further use you have for my house as a rendezvous? Do yousuppose I will go at once and leave my mother and sister to the dangerof your intrigues?"

  "No! there shall be no danger for any one if you will only go," shepromised, wildly; "Kenneth, it is you I want to save; it is the lastthing I shall ever ask of you. Go, go! no more harm shall come to yourpeople, I promise you, I--"

  "You promise!" and he turned on her with a fury from which she shrank."The promise of a woman who allowed a loyal friend to suffer disgracefor her fault!--the promise of one who has abused the affection andhospitality of the women you assure protection for! A spy! A traitor!_You_, the woman I worshipped! God! What cursed fancy led you to risklife, love, honor, everything worth having, for a fanatical fightagainst one of two political factions?"

  He dropped into a chair and buried his face in his hands. As he did soa handkerchief in his pocket caught in the fastening of his cuff, ashe let his hand fall the 'kerchief was dragged from the pocket, andwith it the little oval frame over which he had been jealous for anhour, and concerning which he had not yet had an explanation.

  It rolled towards her, and with a sudden movement she caught it, andthe next instant the dark, girlish face lay uncovered in her hand.

  She uttered a low cry, and then something of strength seemed to cometo her as she looked at it. Her eyes dilated, and she drew a longbreath, as she turned and faced him again with both hands clasped overher bosom, and the open picture pressed there. All the tears andpleading were gone from her face and voice, as she answered:

  "Because to that political question there is a background, shadowed,shameful, awful! Through the shadows of it one can hear the clang ofchains; can see the dumb misery of fettered women packed in the holdsof your slave ships, carried in chains to the land of your free! Fromthe day the first slave was burned at the stake on Manhattan Island byyour Christian forefathers, until now, when they are meeting your menin battle, fighting you to the death, there is an unwritten recordthat is full of horror, generations of dumb servitude! Did you thinkthey would keep silence forever?"

  He arose from the chair, staring at her in amazement; those argumentswere so foreign to all he had known of the dainty woman, patrician,apparently, to her finger tips. How had she ever been led tosympathize with those rabid, mistaken theories of the North?

  "You have been misled by extravagant lies!" he said, sternly; "abusessuch as you denounce no longer exist; if they ever did it was when thetemper of the times was rude--half savage if you will--when men wererough and harsh with each other, therefore, with their belongings."

  "Therefore, with their belongings!" she repeated, bitterly, "and inyour own age all that is changed?"

  "Certainly."

  "Certainly!" she agreed. "Slaves are no longer burned forinsubordination, because masters have grown too wise to burn money!But they have some laws they use now instead of the torch and the whipof those old crude days. From their book of laws they read thecommandment: _'Go you out then, and of the heathen about you, buybondmen and bondmaids that they be servants of your household;'_ andagain it is commanded: _'Servants be obedient unto your masters!'_ Thetorch is no longer needed when those fettered souls are taught Godhas decreed their servitude. God has cursed them before they wereborn, and under that curse they must bend forever!"

  "You doubt even the religion of my people?" he demanded.

  "Yes!"

  "You doubt the divinity of those laws?"

  "Yes!"

  "Judithe!"

  "Yes!" she repeated, a certain dauntless courage in her voice andbearing. She was no longer the girl he had loved and married; she wasa strange, wild, beautiful creature, whose tones he seemed to hear forthe first time. "A thousand times--yes! I doubt any law and every lawshackling liberty of thought and freedom of people! And the poison ofthat accursed system has crept into your own blood until, even to me,you pretend, and deny the infamy that exists today, and of which youare aware!"

  "Infamy! How dare you use that word?" and his eyes flamed with angerat the accusation, but she raised her hand, and spoke more quietly.

  "You remember the story you heard here today--the story of your guestand guardian, who sold the white child of his own brother? and the daywhen that was done is not so long past! It is so close that the childis now only a girl of twenty-three, the girl who was educated by herfather's brother that she might prove a more desirable addition toyour bondslaves!"

  "God in heaven!" he muttered, as he drew back and stared at her. "Yourknowledge of those things, of the girl's age, which _I_ did not know!Where have you gained it all? When you heard so much you must know Iwas not aware of the purchase of the girl, but that does not matternow. Answer my questions! Your words, your manner; what do they mean?What has inspired this fury in you? Answer--I command you!"

  _"'Servants, be obedient unto your masters!'"_ she quoted, with astrange smile. "My words oppress you, possibly, because so many womenare speaking through my lips, the women who for generations havethought and suffered and been doomed to silence, to bear the childrenof men they hated; to have the most sacred thing of life, mother-love,desecrated, according to the temper of their masters; to dreadbringing into the world even the children of love, lest, whether whiteor black, they prove cattle for the slave market!"

  "Judithe!"

  He caught her hand as though to force silence on her by the strengthof his own horror and protest. She closed her eyes for an instant ashe touched her, and then drew away to leave a greater space betweenthem, as she said:

  "All those women are back of me! I have never lived one hour out ofthe shadow of their presence. Their cause is my cause, and when Iforget them, may God forget me!"

  "_Your_ cause!--my wife!" he half whispered, as he dropped her hand,and the blue eyes swept her over with a glance of horror. "Who are youthat their cause should be yours?"

  "Until this morning I was Madame La Marquise de Caron," she said,making a half mocking inclination of her head; "in the bill of saleyou read today I was named Rhoda Larue, the slave girl who--"

  "No!" He caught her fiercely by the shoulder, and his face had amurderous look as he bent above her, "don't dare to say it! You aremad with the desire to hurt me because I resent your sympathy with theNorth! But, dear, your madness has made you something more terriblethan you realize! Judithe, for God's sake, never say that wordagain!"

  "For God's sake, that is, for truth's sake, I am telling you the thingthat is!"

  He half staggered to the table, and stood there looking at her; hergaze met his own, and all the tragedy of love and death was in thatregard.

  "_You_!" he said, as though it was impossible to believe the thing heheard. "Yo
u--of all women! God!--it is too horrible! What right haveyou to tell me now? I was happy each moment I thought you loved me;even my anger against you was all jealousy! I was willing to forgiveeven the spy work, shield you, trust you, _love_ you--but--now--"

  He paused with his hand over his eyes as though to shut out the sightof her, she was so beautiful as she stood there--so appealing. Thedark eyes were wells of sadness as she looked at him. She stood as onewaiting judgment and hoping for no mercy.

  "You have punished me for a thing that was not my fault," hecontinued. "I destroyed it--the accursed paper, and--"

  "And by destroying it you gave me back to the Loring estate," shesaid, quietly. All the passion had burned itself out; she spokewearily and without emotion. "That is, I have become again, theproperty of my half sister, my father's daughter! Are the brutalpossibilities of your social institution so very far in the past?"

  He could only stare at her; the horror of it was all too sickening,and that man who was dying in the other room had caused it all; he hadmoved them as puppets in the game of life, a malignant Fate, who hadmade all this possible.

  "Now, will you go?" she asked, pleadingly. "You may trust me now; Ihave told you all."

  But he did not seem to hear her; only that one horrible thought ofwhat she was to him beat against his brain and dwarfed every otherconsideration.

  "And you--married me, knowing this?"

  "I married you because I knew it," she said, despairingly. "I thoughtyou and Matthew Loring equally guilty--equally deserving ofpunishment. I fought against my own feelings--my own love for you--"

  "Love!"

  "Love--love always! I loved you in Paris, when I thought hate was allyou deserved from me. I waited three years. I told myself it had beenonly a girlish fancy--not love! I pledged myself to work for the unionof these states and against the cause championed by Kenneth McVeighand Matthew Loring; for days and nights, weeks and months, I haveworked for my mother's people and against the two men whose names werealways linked together in my remembrance. The thought became amonomania with me. Well, you know how it is ended! Every plan againstyou became hateful to me from the moment I heard your voice again. Butthe plans had to go on though they were built on my heart. As for themarriage, I meant to write you after I had left the country, and tellyou who you had given your name to. Then"--and all of despair was inher voice--"then I learned the truth too late. I heard your words whenthat paper was given to you here, and I loved you. I realized that Ihad never ceased to love you; that I never should!"

  "The woman who is my--wife!" he muttered. "Oh, God!--"

  "No one need ever know that," she said earnestly. "I will go away,unless you give me over to the authorities as the spy. For the wrong Ihave done you I will make any atonement--any expiation--"

  "There is no atonement you could make," he answered, steadily. "Thereis no forgiveness possible."

  "I know," she said, whisperingly, as if afraid to trust her voicealoud, "I know you could never forgive me. I--I do not ask it; only,Kenneth, a few hours ago we promised to love each other always," hervoice broke for an instant and then she went on, "I shall keep thatpromise wherever I go, and--that is all--I think--"

  She had paused beside the table, where he sat, with his head buried inhis hands.

  "I give you back the wedding ring," she continued, slipping itfrom her finger, but he did not speak or move. She kissed the littlegold circlet and laid it beside him. "I am going now," she said,steadily as she could; "I ask for no remembrance, no forgiveness;but--have you no word of good-bye for me?--not one? It is forever,Kenneth--_Kenneth_!"

  Her last word was almost a scream, for a shot had sounded just outsidethe window, and there was the rush of feet on the veranda and thecrash of arms.

  "Go! Go at once!" she said, grasping his arm. "They will take youprisoner--they will--"

  "So!" he said, rising and reaching for the sword on the rack near him;"this is one of the plots you did _not_ reveal to me; some of yourFederal friends!"

  "Oh, I warned you! I begged you to go," she said, pleadingly; againshe caught his arm as he strode towards the veranda, but he flunghimself loose with an angry exclamation:

  "Let your friends look to themselves," he said, grimly. "My own guardis here to receive them today."

  As he tore aside the curtains and opened the glass door she flungherself in front of him. On the steps and on the lawn men werestruggling, and shots were being fired. Men were remounting theirhorses in hot haste and a few minutes later were clattering down theroad, leaving one dead stranger at the foot of the steps. But for hispresence it would all have seemed but a tumultuous vision ofgrey-garbed combatants.

  It was, perhaps, ten minutes later when Kenneth McVeigh re-entered thelibrary. All was vague and confused in his mind as to what hadoccurred there in the curtained alcove. She had flung herself in frontof him with her arms about him as the door opened; there had been twoshots in quick succession, one of them had shattered the glass, andthe other--

  He remembered tearing himself from her embrace as she clung to him,and he remembered she had sunk with a moan to the floor; at the timehe thought her attitude and cry had meant only despair at her failureto stop him, but, perhaps--

  He found her in the same place; the oval portrait was open in herhand, as though her last look had been given to the pretty mother,whose memory she had cherished, and whose race she had fought for.

  Margeret was crouched beside her, silent as ever, her dark eyesstrange, unutterable in expression, were fixed on the beautiful face,but the stray bullet had done its work quickly--she had been quitedead when Margeret reached her.

  * * * * *

  Monroe told McVeigh the true story of the portrait that night. Thetwo men sat talking until the dawn broke. Delaven was admitted to theconference long enough to hear certain political reasons why themarriage of that morning should continue to remain a secret, and whenthe mistress of Loringwood was laid to rest under the century-oldcedars, it was as Judithe, Marquise de Caron.

  In settling up the estate of Matthew Loring, who died a few dayslater, speechless to the last, Judge Clarkson had the unpleasant taskof informing Gertrude that for nearly twenty years one of the slavessupposed to belong to her had been legally free. Evidence was foundestablishing the fact that Tom Loring had given freedom to Margeretand her child a few days previous to that last, fatal ride of his.Matthew Loring had evidently disapproved and suppressed theknowledge.

  Gertrude made slight comment on the affair, convinced as she was thatthe woman was much better off in their household than dependent onherself, and was frankly astonished that Margeret returned at once toLoringwood, and never left it again for the three remaining years ofher life.

  Gertrude was also surprised at the sudden interest of Kenneth in herformer bondwoman, and when the silent octoroon was found dead besidethe tomb of her master, it was Kenneth McVeigh who arranged that shebe placed near the beautiful stranger who had dwelt among them forawhile.

  A year after the war ended Gertrude, the last of the once dominantLorings, married an Alabama man, and left Carolina, to the greatregret of Mrs. Judge Clarkson and sweet Evilena Delaven. They felt agrievance against Kenneth for his indifference in the matter, and weredisconsolate for years over his persistent bachelorhood.

  When he finally did marry, his wife was a pretty little woman, who wasa relative of Jack Monroe, and totally different from either Gertrudeor Judithe Loring. Jack Monroe, who was Major Monroe at the close ofthe war, makes yearly hunting trips to the land of the Salkahatchie,and when twitted concerning his state of single blessedness, declareshe is only postponing matrimony until Delaven's youngest daughtergrows up, but the youngest has been superseded by a younger oneseveral times since he first made the announcement.

  The monument planned by Judithe has existed for many years; but only afew remember well the builder; she has become a misty memory--part ofa romance the older people tell. She was a noted beauty of France
andshe died to save General McVeigh, who was young, handsome, and, it wassaid, her lover. He never after her death was heard to speak her nameand did not marry until twenty years later--what more apt material fora romance? None of them ever heard of her work for the union of thestates.

  But when the local historians tell of the former grandeur of theLorings, the gay, reckless, daring spirits among them, and end thelist with handsome Tom, there are two veterans, one of the blue andthe other of the grey, who know that the list did not end there, andthat the most brilliant, most daring, most remarkable spirit of themall, was the one of their blood, who was born a slave.

  THE END.

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