Kitabı oku: «The Bondwoman», sayfa 21

“Where is he now?” asked the Judge. “I have not seen him for an hour; but there seems only one thing to be done.”

“Certainly,” agreed Masterson, delighted that McVeigh at last began to look with reason on his own convictions. “He should be arrested at once.”

“We must not be hasty in this matter, it is so important,” said McVeigh. “Phil, I will ask you to see that a couple of horses are saddled. Have your men do it without arousing the servants’ suspicions. I am going to my room for a more thorough investigation. Come with me, Judge, if you please. I am glad you remained. I don’t want any of the others to know what occurred. I can’t believe it of Monroe–yet.”

“Kenneth, my boy, I don’t like to crush any lingering faith you have in your Northern friend,” said Clarkson, laying his hand affectionately on McVeigh’s arm as they reached the steps, “but from the evidence before us I–I’m afraid he’s gone! He’ll never come back!”

At that moment a low, lazy sort of whistle sounded across the lawn, so low and so slow that it was apparently an unconscious accompaniment to reverie or speculation. It was quite dark except where the light shone from the hall. All the gaudy paper lanterns had been extinguished, and when the confidential notes of “Rally ’round the flag, boys,” came closer, and the whistler emerged from the deeper shadows, he could only distinguish two figures at the foot of the steps, and they could only locate him by the glow of his cigar in the darkness.

There was a moment’s pause and then the whistler said, “Hello! Friends or foes?”

“Captain Jack!” said McVeigh, with a note of relief in his voice, very perceptible to the Judge, who felt a mingling of delight and surprise at his failure as a prophet.

“Oh, it’s you, is it, Colonel?” and Monroe came leisurely forward. “I fancied every one but myself had gone to bed when I saw the lights out. I walked away across your fields, smoking.”

The others did not speak. They could not at once throw aside the constraint imposed by the situation. He felt it as he neared the steps, but remarked carelessly:

“Cloudy, isn’t it? I am not much of a weather prophet, but feel as if there is a storm in the air.”

“Yes,” agreed McVeigh, with an abstracted manner. He was not thinking of the probable storm, but of what action he had best take in the matter, whether to have the suspected man secretly watched, or to make a plain statement of the case, and show that the circumstantial evidence against him was too decided to be ignored.

“Well, Colonel, you’ve helped me to a delightful evening,” continued the unsuspecting suspect. “I shall carry away most pleasant memories of your plantation hospitality, and have concluded to start with them in the morning.” There was a slight pause, then he added: “Sorry I can’t stay another day, but I’ve been thinking it over, and it seems necessary for me to move on to the coast.”

“Not going to run from the enemy?” asked Clarkson, with a doubtful attempt at lightness.

“Not necessary, Judge; so I shall retreat in good order.” He ascended the steps, yawning slightly. “You two going to stay up all night?”

“No,” said McVeigh, “I’ve just been persuading Judge Clarkson to remain; we’ll be in presently.”

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning, gentlemen. Good night.”

They exchanged good nights, and he entered the house, still with that soft whisper of a whistle as accompaniment. It grew softer as he entered the house, and the two stood there until the last sound had died away.

“Going in the morning, Kenneth,” said the Judge, meaningly. “Now, what do you think?”

“That Masterson is right,” answered McVeigh. “He is the last man I should have suspected, but there seems nothing to do except make the arrest at once, or put him secretly under surveillance without his knowledge. I incline to the latter, but will consult with Masterson. Come in.”

They entered the hall, where McVeigh shut the door and turned the light low as they passed through. Pluto was nodding half asleep in the back hall, and his master told him to go to bed, he would not be needed. Though he had formed no definite plan of action he felt that the servants had best be kept ignorant of all movements for the present. Somebody’s servants might have helped with that theft, why not his own?

In the upper hall he passed Margeret, who was entering the room of Miss Loring with a pitcher of water. The hall was dark as they passed the corridor leading to the rooms of Madame Caron, Evilena, Miss Loring and Captain Monroe. Light showed above the doors of Miss Loring and Monroe. The other rooms were already dark.

The two men paused long enough to note those details, then McVeigh walked to the end of the corridor and bolted the door to the balcony. Monroe was still softly whistling at intervals. He would cease occasionally and then, after a few moments, would commence again where he had left off. He was evidently very busy or very much preoccupied. To leave his room and descend the stairs he would have to pass McVeigh’s room, which was on the first landing. The orderly was on guard there, within. McVeigh sent him with a message to Masterson, who was in the rear of the building. The man passed out along the back corridor and the other two entered the room, but left the door ajar.

In the meantime a man who had been watching Monroe’s movements in the park for some time now crept closer to the house. He watched him enter the house and the other two follow. He could not hear what they said, but the closing of the door told him the house was closed for the night. The wind was rising and low clouds were scurrying past. Now and then the stars were allowed to peep through, showing a faint light, and any one close to him would have seen that he wore a Confederate uniform and that his gaze was concentrated on the upper balcony. At last he fancied he could distinguish a white figure against the glass door opening from the corridor. Assuring himself of the fact he stepped forward into the open and was about to cross the little space before the house when he was conscious of another figure, also in gray uniform, and the unmistakable cavalry hat, coming stealthily from the other side of the house.

The second figure also glanced upwards at the balcony, but was too close to perceive the slender form above moving against one of the vine-covered pillars when the figure draped in white bent over as though trying to decipher the features under the big hat, and just as the second comer made a smothered attempt to clear his throat, something white fell at his feet.

“Sweet Evilena!” he said, picking it up. “Faith, the mother has told her and the darling was waiting for me. Delaven’s private post office!” He laid down the guitar and fumbled for a match, when the watcher from the shadows leaped upon him from behind, throttling him that no sound be made, and while he pinned him to the ground with his knee, kept one hand on his throat and with the other tried to loosen the grasp of Delaven’s hand on the papers.

“Give me that paper!” he whispered fiercely. “Give it to me or I’ll kill you where you lay! Give it to me!”

In the struggle Delaven struck the guitar with the heel of his boot, there was a crash of resonant wood, and a wail of the strings, and it reached the ears of Masterson and the orderly, who were about to enter the side door from the arbor.

Masterson halted to listen whence the crash came, but the orderly’s ears were more accurate and he dashed towards the corner.

“Captain,” he called in a loud whisper, as he saw the struggling figures, and at the call and the sound of quick steps Pierson leaped to his feet and ran for the shrubbery.

“Halt!” called Masterson, and fired one shot from his revolver. The fugitive leaped to one side as the order rang out and the bullet went whistling past. He had cleared the open space and was in the shrubbery. The orderly dashed after him as Masterson caught Delaven, who was scrambling to his feet, feeling his throat and trying to take a full breath.

“Who are you?” demanded Masterson, shaking him a trifle to hasten the smothered speech. “Doctor Delaven! You! Who was that man?”

“It’s little I can tell you,” gasped the other, “except that he’s some murderous rival who wanted to make an angel of me. Man, but he has a grip!”

Margeret suddenly appeared on the veranda with a lamp held high above her head, as she peered downward in the darkness, and by its light Masterson scanned the appearance of Delaven with a doubtful eye.

“Why did the man assault you?” he demanded, and Delaven showed the long envelope.

“He was trying to rob me of a letter let fall from the balcony above, bad luck to him!”

At that moment the orderly came running back to say that the man had got away; a horse had been tied over in the pines, they could hear the beat of its hoofs now on the big road.

“Get a horse and follow him,” ordered Masterson briefly, as McVeigh and Clarkson came down the stairs and past Margeret. “Arrest him, shoot him, fetch him back some way!” Then he turned again to the would-be cavalier of romance, who was surveying the guitar disconsolately.

“Doctor Delaven, what are you doing in that uniform?”

“I was about to give a concert,” returned that individual, who made a grotesque figure in the borrowed suit, a world too large for him.

McVeigh laughed as he heard the reply and surveyed the speaker. Masterson’s persistent search for spies had evidently spoiled Delaven’s serenade.

Mrs. McVeigh opened a window and asked what the trouble was, and Masterson assured her it was only an accident–his revolver had gone off, but no one was hurt, on which assurance she said good night and closed the window, while the group stood looking at each other questioningly. Masterson’s manner showed that it was something more than an accident.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked McVeigh in a guarded tone; and Masterson pointed to the package in Delaven’s hand.

“I think we’ve found it, Colonel,” he said, excitedly. “Doctor Delaven, what is in that envelope?”

“Faith, I don’t know, Captain. The fellow didn’t give me time to read it.”

“Give it to me.”

“No, I’ll not,” returned Delaven, moving towards the light.

“And why not?” demanded Masterson, suspiciously.

“Because it’s from a lady, and it’s private.”

He held the envelope to the light, but there was no name or address on it. He tore off the end and in extracting the contents two papers slipped out and fell on the ground. Masterson picked them up and after a glance waved them triumphantly, while Delaven looked puzzled over the slip in his hands. It was only something about military matters,–the furthest thing possible from a billet-doux.

“I thought myself it was the weightiest one ever launched by Cupid,” he remarked as he shook his head over the mystery. But Masterson thrust the papers into McVeigh’s hands.

“Your commission and instructions, Colonel!” he said, jubilantly. “What a run of luck. See if they are all right.”

“Every one of them,” and in a moment the Judge and Masterson were shaking hands with him, while Delaven stood apart and stared. He was glad they were having so much joy to themselves, but could not see why he should be choked to obtain it for them.

“Understand one thing,” said Masterson, when the congratulations were over; “those papers were thrown from that balcony to Dr. Delaven by mistake. The man they were meant for tried to strangle the doctor and has escaped, but the man who escaped, Colonel, was evidently only a messenger, and the real culprit, the traitor, is in your house now, and reached the balcony through that corridor door!”

The wind blew Margeret’s lamp out, leaving them, for an instant, in darkness, but she entered the hall, turned up the light there so that it shone across the veranda and down the steps; then she lit the lamp in the library and went softly up the stairs and out of sight.

“Come into the library,” suggested McVeigh. “You are right, Phil, there is only one thing to be done in the face of such evidence By Jove! It seems incredible. I would have fought for Jack Monroe, sworn by him, and after all–”

A leisurely step sounded on the stairs and Monroe descended. He wore no coat or vest and was evidently prepared for bed when disturbed.

“What’s all the row about?” he asked, yawning. “Oh, are you in it, Colonel?”

There was a slight pause before McVeigh said:

“Captain Monroe, the row is over for the present, since your confederate has escaped.”

“My–confederate?”

He glanced in inquiry from one to the other, but could see no friendliness in their faces. Delaven looked as puzzled as himself, but the other three regarded him coldly. He tossed his half finished cigar out of the door, and seemed to grow taller, as he turned toward them again.

“May I ask in what way I am linked with a confederacy.”

“In using your parole to gain knowledge of our army for the use of the Federal government,” answered McVeigh, bluntly.

Monroe made a step forward, but halted, drew a long breath, and thrust his uninjured hand into his pocket, as if to hamper its aggressive tendencies.

“Is it considered a part of Southern hospitality that the host reserves the right to insult his guests?” he asked slowly. Masterson’s face flushed with anger at the sweeping suggestion, but McVeigh glanced at him warningly.

“This is not a time for useless words, Captain Monroe, and it seems useless to discuss the rights of the hospitality you have outraged.”

“That is not true, Colonel McVeigh,” and his tones were very steady as he made the denial. His very steadiness and cool selfcontrol angered McVeigh, who had hoped to see him astonished, indignant, natural.

“Not true?” he demanded. “Is it not true that you were received here as a friend, welcomed as a brother? That you listened this morning when those military dispatches reached me? That you heard me say they were very important? That as soon as they were stolen from my room tonight you announced that you could not prolong your stay, your object in coming having evidently been accomplished? Is it not true that today you managed to divert suspicion from yourself to an innocent lady? The authorities were evidently right who had that sailor followed here; but unknown to her it was not his employer he came here to meet, but you, his confederate! He was only the messenger, while you were the real spy–the officer who has broken his parole of honor.”

Monroe had listened with set teeth to the accusation, a certain doggedness in his expression as the list of his delinquencies were reviewed, but at the final sentence the clenched hand shot forward and he struck McVeigh a wicked blow, staggering him back against the wall.

“You are a liar and a fool, Colonel McVeigh,” he said in a choked voice, his face white with anger.

The Judge and Masterson interposed as McVeigh lunged forward at him, and then he controlled his voice enough to say, “Captain Monroe, you are under arrest.”

And the commotion and deep breathing of the men prevented them hearing the soft rustle of a woman’s dress in the hall as Judithe slipped away into the darkness of the sitting room, and thence up the back stairs.

She had followed Monroe as he passed her door. She heard all their words, and the final ones: “Captain Monroe, you are under arrest!” rang in her ears all night as she tossed sleepless in the darkness. That is what Kenneth McVeigh would say to her if he knew the truth. Well, he should know it. Captain Monroe was sacrificing himself for her. How she admired him! Did he fancy she would allow it? Yet that shot alarmed her. She heard them say Pierson had escaped, but had he retained the papers? If she was quite sure of that she would announce the truth at once and clear him. But the morning was so near. She must wait a few hours longer, and then–then Kenneth McVeigh would say to her, “You are under arrest,” and after all her success would come defeat.

She had never yet met defeat, and it was not pleasant to contemplate. She remembered his words of love–the adoration in his eye; would that love protect her when he learned she was the traitor to his home and country? She smiled bitterly at the thought, and felt that she could see clearly how that would end. He would be patriot first and lover after, unless it was some one of his own family–some one whose honor meant his honor–some one–

Then in the darkness she laughed at a sudden remembrance, and rising from the couch paced feverishly the length of the room many times, and stood gazing out at the stars swept by fleecy clouds.

Out there on the lawn he had vowed his love for her, asked her to marry him–marry him at once, before he left to join his brigade. She had not the slightest idea of doing it then; but now, why not? It could be entirely secret–so he had said. It would merely be a betrothal with witnesses, and it would make her so much a part of the McVeigh family that he must let Captain Jack go on her word. And before the dawn broke she had decided her plan of action. If he said, “You are under arrest” to her, it should be to his own wife!

She plunged into the idea with the reckless daring of a gamester who throws down his last card to win or lose. It had to be played any way, so why not double the stakes? She had played on that principle in some of the most fashionable gaming places of Europe in search of cure for the ennui she complained of to Captain Jack; so why not in this more vital game of living pawns?

She had wept in the dark of the garden when his lips had touched her; she had said, wild, impulsive things; she had been a fool; but in the light of the new day she set her teeth and determined the folly was over–only one day remained. Military justice–or injustice–moved swiftly, and there was a man’s life to be saved.

CHAPTER XXVIII

The sun was just peeping, fiery red and threatening, above the bank of clouds to the east when Delaven was roused from sweet sleep by the apparition of Colonel McVeigh, booted, spurred and ready for the saddle.

“I want you to come riding with me, and to come quick,” he said, with a face singularly bright and happy, considering the episode of the night before, and the fact that his former friend was now a prisoner in a cottage back of the dwelling house, guarded by the orderlies.

He had dispatched a courier for a detachment of men from one of the fortifications along the river. He would send Monroe in their charge to Charleston with a full statement of the case before he left to join his brigade–and ere that time:–

Close to his heart lay the little note Pluto had brought him less than an hour before, the second written word he had ever received from Judithe. The first had sent him away from her–but this!

So Delaven dressed himself quickly, ate the impromptu breakfast arranged by the Colonel’s order, and joined Judithe at the steps as the horses were brought around.

She was gracious and gay as usual, and replied to his gallant remarks with her usual self-possession, yet he fancied her a trifle nervous, as was to be expected, and that she avoided his gaze, looking over him, past him, every place but in his eyes, at which he did not wonder especially. Of all the women he had known she was the last to associate with a hurried clandestine marriage. Of course it was all explained by the troublous war times, and the few brief hours, and above all by the love he had always fancied those two felt for each other.

They had a five mile ride to the country home of a disabled chaplain who had belonged to McVeigh’s regiment–had known him from boyhood, and was home now nursing a shattered arm, and was too well used to these hurried unions of war times to wonder much at the Colonel’s request, and only slightly puzzled at the added one of secrecy.

At the Terrace no one was surprised at the early ride of the three, even though the morning was not a bright one. Madame Caron had made them accustomed to those jaunts in the dawn, and Mrs. McVeigh was relieved to learn that Kenneth had accompanied her. Shocked as she was to hear of Monroe’s arrest, and the cause of it, she was comforted somewhat that Kenneth did not find the affair serious enough to interfere with a trifle of attention to her guest.

In fact the Colonel had not, in the note hastily scribbled to his mother, given her anything like a serious account of the case. Captain Monroe had for certain military reasons been placed under guard until an escort could arrive and accompany him to Charleston for some special investigations. She was not to be disturbed or alarmed because of it; only, no one was to be allowed to see or speak with him without a special permit. He would explain more fully on his return, and only left the note to explain why Captain Monroe would breakfast alone.

Matthew Loring also breakfasted alone. He was in a most excitable state over the occurrence of the night before, which Judge Clarkson was called on to relate, and concerning which he made all the reservations possible, all of them entirely acceptable to his listeners with the exception of Miss Loring, who heard, and then sent for Phil Masterson.

She was talking with him on the lawn when the three riders returned, and when Kenneth McVeigh bent above Judithe with some laughing words as he led her up the steps, the heart of his girl-playmate grew sick within her. She had feared and dreaded this foreign exquisite from the first; now, she knew why.

Evilena was also watching for their return and gave Delaven a cool little nod in contrast to the warm greeting given her brother and Madame Caron. But instead of being chilled he only watched his opportunity to whisper:

“I wore the uniform!”

She tossed her head and found something interesting in the view on the opposite side of the lawn. He waited meekly, plucked some roses, which he presented in silence and she regarded with scorn. But as she did not move away more than two feet he took heart of grace and repeated:

“I wore the uniform!”

“Yes,” she said, with fine scorn, “wore it in our garden, where you were safe!”

“Arrah! Was I now?” he asked in his best brogue. “Well, it’s myself thought I was anything but safe for a few minutes. But I saved the papers, and your brother was good enough to say I’d saved his honor.”

“You!”

“Just me, and no other,” he affirmed. “Didn’t I hold on to those instructions while that Yankee spy was trying to send me to–heaven? And if that was not helping the cause and risking my life, well now, what would you call it?”

“Oh!” gasped Evilena, delightedly, “I never thought of that. Why, you were a real hero after all. I’m so glad, I–”

Then realizing that her exuberance was little short of caressing, and that she actually had both hands on his arm, she drew back and added demurely that she would always keep those roses, and she would like to keep the guitar, too, just as it was, for her mama agreed that it was a real romance of a serenade–the serenade that was not sung.

After which, he assured her, the serenades under her window should not always be silent ones, and they went in search of the broken guitar.

Judge Clarkson was pacing the veranda with well concealed impatience. Colonel McVeigh’s ride had interfered with the business talk he had planned. Matthew Loring was decidedly irritable over it, and he, Clarkson, was the one who, with Gertrude, had to hear the complaints. But looking in Kenneth’s happy face he could not begrudge him those brief morning hours at Beauty’s side, and only asked his consideration for the papers at the earliest convenient moment, and at the same time asked if the cottage was really a safe place for so important a prisoner as Monroe.

“Perfectly safe,” decided McVeigh, “so safe that there is no danger of escape; and as I think over the whole affair I doubt if on trial anything in this world can save him.”

“Well, I should hate to take his chances in the next,” declared the Judge; “it seems so incredible that a man possessed of the courage, the admirable attributes you have always ascribed to him, should prove so unworthy–a broken parole. Why, sir, it is–is damnable, sir, damnable!”

Colonel McVeigh agreed, and Clarkson left the room without perceiving that Madame Caron had been a listener, but she came in, removing her gloves and looking at the tiny band of gold on her third finger.

“The Judge referred to Captain Monroe, did he not?” she asked, glancing up at him. “Kenneth”–and her manner was delightfully appealing as she spoke his name in a shy little whisper, “Kenneth, there may be some horrible mistake. Your friend–that was–may be innocent.”

“Scarcely a chance of it, sweetheart,” and he removed her other glove and kissed her fingers, glancing around first, to see that no one was in sight.

She laughed at his little picture of nervousness, but returned to the subject.

“But if it were so?” she persisted; “surely you will not counsel haste in deciding so serious a matter?”

“At any rate, I mean to put aside so serious a subject of conversation on our wedding morning,” he answered, and she smiled back at him as she said:

“On our wedding morning, sir, you should be mercifully disposed towards all men.”

“We never class traitors as men,” and his fine face grew stern for an instant, “they are vampires, birds of prey. A detail has been sent for to take him to court-martial; there is little doubt what the result will be, and–”

“Suppose,” and she glanced up at him with a pretty appeal in her eyes, “that your wife, sir, should ask as a first favor on her wedding day that you be merciful, as the rules of war allow you to be, to this poor fellow who danced with us last night? Even supposing he is most horribly wicked, yet he really did dance with us–danced very well, and was very amusing. So, why not grant him another day of grace? No?” as he shook his head. “Well, Monsieur, I have a fancy ill luck must come if you celebrate our wedding day by hastening a man to meet his death. Let him remain here under guard until tomorrow?”

He shook his head, smilingly.

“No, Judithe.”

“Not even for me?”

“Anything else, sweetheart, but not that. It is really out of my power to delay, now, even if I wished. The guard will come for him some time this evening. I, myself, shall leave at dawn tomorrow; so, you see!–”

She glanced at him in playful reproach, a gay irresponsible specimen of femininity, who would ignore a man’s treason because he chanced to be a charming partner in the dance.

“My very first request! So, Monsieur, this is how you mean to love, honor and obey me?”

He laughed and caught the uplifted forefinger with which she admonished him.

“I shall be madly jealous in another minute,” he declared, with mock ferocity; “you have been my wife two full hours and half of that precious time you have wasted pleading the cause of a possible rival, for he actually did look at you with more than a passing admiration, Judithe, it was a case of witchery at first sight; but for all that I refuse to allow him to be a skeleton at our feast this morning. There comes Phil Masterson for me, I must go; but remember, this is not a day for considerations of wars and retribution; it is a day for love.”

“I shall remember,” she said, quietly, and walked to the window looking out on the swaying limbs of the great trees; they were being swept by gusts of wind, driving threatening clouds from which the trio had ridden in haste lest a rain storm be back of their shadows. The storm Monroe had prophesied the night before had delayed and grumbled on the way, but it was coming for all that, and she welcomed the coming. A storm would probably delay that guard for which McVeigh had sent, and even the delay of a few hours might mean safety for Captain Monroe; otherwise, she–

She had learned all about the adventures of the papers, and had made her plans. Some time during that day or evening there would be a raid made on the Terrace by Federals in Confederate uniform. They would probably be thought by the inmates a party of daring foragers, and would visit the smoke houses, and confiscate the contents of the pantry. Incidentally they would carry Colonel McVeigh and Captain Masterson back to the coast as prisoners, if the required papers were not found, otherwise nothing of person or property would be molested by them; and they would, of course, free Captain Monroe, but force him, also, to go with them until within Federal lines and safety.

She had planned it all out, and knew it would not be difficult. The coast was not far away, a group of men in Confederate uniform could ride across the country to the Salkahatchie, at that point, unobserved. The fortifications on the river had men coming and going, though not thoroughly manned, and just now the upper one had no men stationed there, which accounted for the fact that Colonel McVeigh had to send farther for extra men. He could not spare his own orderlies, and Masterson’s had not yet returned from following Pierson. Unless the raiders should meet with a detachment of bona-fide Confederates there was not one chance in fifty of them being suspected if they came by the back roads she had mapped out and suggested; and if they reached the Terrace before the Confederate guard, Monroe would be freed.

She had not known there was that hope when she wrote the note consenting to the marriage. She heard they had sent down to the fort for some men and supposed it was the first fort on the river–merely an hour’s ride away. It was not until they were in the saddle that she learned it would be an all day’s journey to the fort and back, and that the colored carrier had just started.

She knew that if it were a possible thing some message would be sent to her by the Federals as to the hour she might expect them, but if it were not possible–well–

She chafed under the uncertainty, and watched the storm approaching over the far level lands of the east. Blue black clouds rolled now where the sun had shot brief red glances on rising. Somewhere there under those heavy shadows the men she waited for were riding to her through the pine woods and over the swamp lands; if she had been a praying woman she would have prayed that they ride faster–no music so longed for as the jingle of their accoutrements!