CHAPTER XI.
Later in the night, after the ladies had retired, Harrod and I once morewalked down to the square to see how things were going on. All was veryquiet. A battalion of regular infantry had stacked its arms in themiddle of the street in front of the dismantled station-house; the menwere seated along the curbstone; some in their weariness were lyingasleep upon the stone pavement; the officers, grouped under the archwaysof the old police court on the other side of the street, were puffingtheir cigarettes and sleepily discussing the situation. Major Williamsand his command were not there; the battalion on duty was one which hadbeen for some time past stationed at Jackson Barracks below the city. Alittle farther down we came upon Amory and his troop making a night ofit in front of the Cathedral. The horses were still saddled, though withloosened girths, but had been unbitted, and were busily munching at thehay spread before them on the pavement. Mars himself was seated on thecurbstone with a grain-sack in his lap, petting his horse's head as thatquadruped blissfully devoured the oats with which his thoughtful masterhad heaped the sack. Harrod hailed him gleefully.
"That takes a fellow back to old times, lad, only oats were scarcer thanhorses."
Mars held out his unoccupied hand, looking up with rather a tired smileon his face.
"How's Vinton?" he asked.
"Very much better, we think," said Harrod, "though he is very weak, andhas had an ugly siege. I think he will be housed some time yet."
"Did you see--did you happen to hear of any letter for me at Sandbrookbefore you came away? I told them to forward everything, but nothing hascome."
"No," replied Harrod. "Had there been anything I think they would havetold us, though it may be that letters were simply re-directed anddropped in the Corinth mail."
There was so much anxiety in Amory's face that it suddenly occurred tome to ask, "Your mother is not ill, I hope? You have heard from her?"
"Mother is quite well, thanks. I had telegraphed her of our move, and aletter reached me yesterday. This was--I rather expected anotherletter." And even in the pale moonlight it was plain that Mr. Amory wasblushing vividly. Instantly I was reminded of the letter he had receivedat camp, and received with such evident excitement. Was it from thatsource he now looked for another? If so, what did it mean? Mars wasgetting to be a mystery.
"When are you coming to see us?" asked the colonel.
"I don't know. I'd like to come at once, but you see how I'm fixed,--theonly officer with the troop."
"Well, if all should be quiet to-morrow, come and dine with us atMoreau's at six, will you?" persisted Harrod. "There will be no one butourselves and the ladies, you know; and if you are pressed for time justmeet us there. We'll expect you."
"I would be delighted to," answered the young fellow, though in astrangely embarrassed and hesitating way, "but I really cannot promise.You see how it is, don't you?" he continued, looking almost appealinglyat me; but I chose not to "see how it was," and only insisted onseconding Harrod's invitation. All the old Adam in me was wild withcuriosity to see him with Kitty once more, and his reluctance orhesitancy was something that only served to make me more persistent.Have you never noticed that amiable trait in many a man or woman who,having passed the meridian of life him- or herself, seems bent ondirecting in the most trivial matters the plans and movements of youngerpersons? It was no earthly business of mine, and yet I was determinedto have Mars come and see Kitty whether he wanted to or not. Harrod, ofcourse, was actuated by no such motives.
Early on the following day, on going to my office, the few lettersdeposited on the desk were naturally the first things to be disposed of.Almost wearily I glanced at the superscriptions, for nobody in NewOrleans felt particularly business-like that morning. Some were fromcorrespondents up the railway; others from "down the coast." I simplyglanced at their envelopes, and had just about completed the list, whensuddenly hand and eye rested upon a dainty little missive, an envelopeof creamy white, and addressed to me--to _me_ in the very handwritingthat had so attracted my attention and curiosity in Amory's tent atSandbrook. Here was the same exquisite chirography. I knew I had seen itbefore. I knew now why it seemed so familiar then. For six years orthereabouts it had not fallen under my gaze; and when it did, six yearsbefore, it was only that a proud papa might exhibit to me the beautifulwriting of his daughter, then in her last year at school in New YorkCity, the youngest child of a sister long since dead. It was thehandwriting of my pretty niece, Bella Grayson,--Bella, whom I had notseen since her girlhood, and all at once it flashed across my perturbedbrain that Frank Amory's mysterious correspondent was this self-sameBella. Here was a revelation indeed!
For some minutes I was too much confounded to open the letter. Then Iproceeded to read it. A very bright, graceful, well-expressed note itproved to be. Uncle George was appropriately reminded that it was morethan two years since he had written to papa. Papa did not propose towrite again until his letters were answered; but, feeling a trifleuneasy while reading the accounts of the stormy times in New Orleans,and having seen occasional mention of Uncle George in connection withKu-Klux excitements, she had been commissioned to make inquiries as toUncle George's health and fortunes, to express the hope that UncleGeorge would no longer neglect them as he had, and to subscribe herselfvery affectionately, Uncle George's niece, Bella.
So far so good. Uncle George had very vivid recollections of Miss Bellain her graduating years, and had been vastly impressed by the vivacity,wit, and sparkle of the bright little lady who made his last visit toher father's home so pleasant a thing to look back upon. From that timeto this he had never seen her, but never had she been entirely droppedfrom his remembrance. For four years or so he had occasionally occupiedhimself in the metaphorical selection of an appropriate wedding-present,as home letters gave indications that Miss Bella was contemplatingmatrimony; but it never seemed to pass the point of contemplation. Twiceat least, on authoritative announcements, Miss Bella had been "engaged."A dozen times at least, if reports were to be relied upon, Miss Bellawas on the verge of that social entanglement. It was in the winter of'65 that she had first begun to exercise that involuntary gift offascination over Uncle George which seemed to involve him, as it did allmasculines who came within the sphere of her movements. I sayinvoluntary, because then and ever afterwards, Miss Bella was wont toprotest that she was no more conscious of any effort or desire toattract than she was of breathing when asleep. She had spent some monthsof the preceding summer and autumn at West Point. She was _petite_,graceful, not absolutely a beauty, yet there was something about thoselarge, clear, heavily-lashed gray eyes of hers that had all the effectand power of beauty; and even when only eighteen, as she was then, MissBella had learned their influence, and, involuntarily of course, how touse them. I had not been a witness of the campaign itself, but I couldnot live in their cosey home in the city for a week without becomingmeasurably aware of its results. The postman's visits to the Graysonresidence were as regular as his rounds, and it often happened thatletters deposited on the hall-table were left there some hours,awaiting Miss Bella's return from calls or drives or strolls with hersociety friends of both sexes, and that I, in search of my own mail,should look over the pile on the marble slab. There was always onepostmarked West Point; there was sometimes more; and there were no lessthan three separate and distinct handwritings thus making frequent callsat our house. In my avuncular capacity I had ventured to say somethingintended to be arch with regard to those letters. It was at thebreakfast-table. Miss Bella was pouring coffee, and doing it with a deftand graceful turn of the wrist that showed her slender white hand tovast advantage. For all answer she had given me one of those searchingglances from under the deep lids; looked me squarely in the face, thougha merry smile was hovering about the corners of her rosy mouth; and,neither admitting nor denying the correspondence, had disarmed me by aprompt inquiry as to whether I really thought it improper for her tohear from her cadet friends.
No one could ever call it a correspondence, for no one e
ver saw MissBella writing, or heard of her mailing letters to West Point or anywhereelse. Between her and her devoted papa the closest sympathy and allianceexisted. He seemed to take a jovial delight in Bella's fascinations. Sheruled him with a winning and imperious sway that was delicious to see,and Uncle George speedily fell into the same groove, with thisdifference: she may have told her father who her correspondents were;she never did tell Uncle George. What was more, Uncle George never couldfind out. Despite several efforts to win the young lady's confidence inhis somewhat bulky and blundering way, Uncle George had had to give itup. She was impenetrable as a sphinx.
And now, six years afterwards, here she reappeared in his life; and, ifUncle George was not very much mistaken, Miss Bella was thecorrespondent whose letter had caused Frank Amory so much excitement andemotion that last day in camp at Sandbrook. It was her letter he was soeagerly awaiting now. And all this time----
Well. To the neglect of other letters I sat at the desk pondering overthis maidenly missive; then with an effort refolded and was about toclose it, when my eyes were attracted by some lines on the outer page.Who was it who first said that the gist of a woman's letter would alwaysbe found in the postscript? There, on page four of the tiny note-sheet,were the words:
"P. S.--So you have met Mr. Amory of the cavalry, and you had quite an exciting adventure, too. Should you see him again pray remember me to him, though it is quite possible he has forgotten me. We were good friends during his 'first class camp.'"
Oh, Bella Grayson! "Pray remember me to him," indeed! "Quite possible hehas forgotten me." Upon my word, young lady, this is too much even for along-suffering uncle. Asking me to remember her to a young fellow withwhom she was actually in correspondence at the time! For a moment I wasfairly indignant; but something of the witchery of Bella's own caressingvoice and manner seemed to steal from the folds of the tiny note. Adozen things that had been told me of her from time to time camefloating back to my brain, and--I couldn't help it--I began to laugh.
Once, just before his coming South, Miss Bella had appeared before UncleGeorge in a state of indignation. A young man whom he rather liked hadbeen one of her devotees for a month or more, and then suddenly ceasedhis attentions. Bella's eyes flashed as she half reluctantly related toUncle George (in response to his urgent request) the circumstances whichled to the sudden break. "He dared to say to me that, if no moreattractive subject happened to be available, it was his belief I wouldflirt with a chimney-sweep!" and then, when Uncle George burst into afit of uncontrollable merriment, Miss Bella had first flushed withindignation, then her irresistible sense of the humorous began to getthe better of her resolution to be deeply offended, and presently shelaughed too; laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks; laughed as onlyBella could laugh, the most musical, ringing, delightful laugh everheard; and then, suddenly recollecting herself, she had pronounced UncleGeorge an unfeeling wretch, and flounced out of the room in highdudgeon.
Now, it is contrary to all principles of story-telling to introduce anutterly new character towards the fag end of a narrative, but Mr.Brandon makes no pretensions to being a story-teller. He can only relatethings as they happened; and never, until this stage of the game, hadhis fair niece Bella appeared as a factor in the plot so far as hisknowledge went. Nevertheless, it was vividly apparent to Mr. Brandonthat now at least she was destined to become a leading lady, a powerbehind the throne, whether she appeared in person upon the boards ornot. He recalled the frequent allusions to her in the letters that usedto reach him from the North in the days when he found time to keep upcorrespondence with the scattered family. There was a tone of almosttragic despair in the letters of one of her aunts whenever Bella was thesubject under discussion. Wherever she went--and she went pretty mucheverywhere--Miss Grayson was the centre of a knot of admirers. Hersummers were spent at West Point or on "the Sound;" her winters in NewYork or Syracuse; and the oddest thing about it all was that, despiteher great attractiveness among the beaus of society, she retained anabsolute dominion over the hearts of a little coterie of schoolmates,--asextette of as bright and intelligent and attractive girls as UncleGeorge had ever seen; two of them undoubted beauties; all of themgracious and winning; yet, as though by common and tacit understanding,when Bella appeared in their midst, and the men concentrated theirattentions upon her, the others contentedly, even approvingly, so itseemed, fell into the background. They had their own personalworshippers, to be sure, but they were paraded for Bella's inspectionand approval before being decided upon. Two of the sisterhood marriedwithin a few years of their graduation after receiving Bella's sanction.It had even been alleged that, involuntarily as usual, Bella haddiverted the growing admiration of one youth from a sister to herself;but the unruffled sweetness of the sisterly relations seemed to give thelie to that statement.
But Bella's fascinations were not so placidly accepted with the oppositesex. It had been a pet theory of hers that cadets and officers were fairgame for flirtation _a l'outrance_. She had become involved in her veryfirst visit to the Academy in two very serious affairs; retainingcomplete mastery over her own susceptibilities, while obtaining masteryas complete over those of two cadet admirers who chanced to be ratherclose friends. One of them, at least, had been desperately in earnest atthe outset; both of them were before they got through; and Bella was, orprofessed to be, totally incapable of believing that they had intendedmore than a mere flirtation. To her credit be it said, she wasgrievously distressed when the actual truth came to light; but hertheories were in nowise shaken, for with the following year a still moredesperate victim was at her feet, while the singed moths of the previousseason looked gloomily and sardonically on the throes which they had sorecently suffered. It was an attribute of Bella's as marvellous as theascendency she maintained over her sisterhood, that even in jilting anadmirer she had so sweet, sympathetic, caressing, and self-reproachful amanner as to make the poor devil feel that the whole thing was his ownfault, or that of his blindness; and to send him on his way comforted,perhaps enslaved. She never could succeed in absolutely and definitelydisposing of a lover. New ones might come, and did come, every season ofthe year. She had them wherever she moved; but Bella could no more letone go than a cat could a captured mouse,--another statement at herexpense that first excited her wrath and afterwards nearly convulsedher by its humorous accuracy. She would turn her back on him; lose sightof him to all appearances; but let him but display a desire for freedom;let him but make an effort to get away from the toils; and under the_patte de velours_ was an inflexible grasp that once more stretched thevictim panting at her feet.
And yet she was so winning, so plaintive, so appealing with it all!Volumes of pity and trust and sympathy beamed from Bella's clear grayeyes. Volumes of half-playful reproach and condolence in the letters shewould write. "Even in bidding you go she implores you to stay," was oncesaid of her by an exasperated yet enthralled victim, and Uncle Georgewas quite ready to believe it.
And Bella was still unmarried; still careering over the old preserves;still maintaining, apparently, her old theory that "men are deceiversever;" and still, to judge from recent developments, bringing down freshvictims among the too inflammable youngsters of the battalion of cadets.Now, was Frank Amory a victim in good earnest, or only a narrow escapefrom being one? She wrote to him, but that proved nothing: she wrote toa dozen, and all at the same time. Aunt Ethel declared of her that shewas writing to two classmates an entire winter, receiving almost dailymissives from both, and responding when she felt disposed; and that notuntil they came to be stationed at the same post; to occupy the samequarters; to make the simultaneous discovery that each had parted withhis class ring; and, one never-to-be-forgotten day, that each wasreceiving letters from the same damsel; had either of the young fellowsthe faintest idea that he was not the sole possessor of such attentions.It was alleged of Bella that she could have worn a class ring on everyfinger if she chose; but whatever may have been her object in acceptingthem, it was not for purposes of
self-glorification. Her most intimatefriend never knew whose rings she had; never knew how many; and Bella'sflirtations, whatever may have been the wide-spread destruction sheeffected, were subjects that never could be spoken of in her presence. Adozen men were believed to confide in her, and she held their confidenceinviolable. No one of them ever extracted from her the faintestadmission that she ever received a line or an attention from any oneelse.
Now, what in the world was I to do? Here was a complication that baffledme completely. If Mars were really smitten with my fascinating niece,how far had it gone? That he had been I could readily believe; but,whether she looked it or not, Bella must now be older than he, andprobably had only been--involuntarily, as usual--amusing herself withhis devotions. And now he was interested in Kitty,--of that I feltcertain,--and, by Jove! I had it. He felt himself still bound by the oldties; still fettered by some real or imaginary allegiance to his WestPoint affinity; still--"Why, the whole thing was plain as A, B, C,"thought I, in my masculine profundity. "Bella would not accept, couldnot discard him, and here she has kept him dangling at her beck and callever since." I decided to write to Bella,--oh, the bewildering idiocy ofsome men!--and I wrote forthwith.
That evening a letter winding up as follows was on its way northward:
"Yes, I have met your friend, young Amory; have seen a good deal of him,in fact, and am greatly interested in him. He strikes me as a gallantyoung soldier and gentleman, and his evident admiration for a fair youngfriend of mine--an heiress, by the way--commands my entire sympathy.I've half a mind to take you into my confidence, Bella, for perhaps youcan dispel my perplexity. I _think_--mind you, I only say I_think_--that the young people are quite ready to fall in love with oneanother. They have been thrown together under most romanticcircumstances, but he has behaved very oddly of late, and I could notbut indulge in some theory as to the cause. I have learned that he hassome young lady correspondent up North, and, knowing what susceptiblefellows cadets are (from your own statements), it has occurred to methat he may have gotten into some entanglement there from which he wouldnow gladly escape. Now, Bella, put on your thinking-cap. You have beenthere every summer for six or eight years (oh!), and although much abovecadets now I fancy, you still retain your old ascendency over the sex.You knew Amory well, probably, and possibly he has made you a confidanteof his affairs. What young girl was there to whom he was devoted?Perhaps you and I can help him out of his boyish folly and intosomething that is worth having."
Was there _ever_ such a colossal ass?