Ailsa Paige Part 62

"I would not use that wicked flag to protect myse'f," she said quietly-"nor to save this house, either, Curt. It's only fo' you and Phil that I care what happens to anything now--"

"Then go North, you bad little rebel!" whispered her husband, drawing her into his arms. "Paige and Marye have been deserted long enough; and you've seen sufficient of this war-plenty to last your lifetime--"

"I saw Ailsa's house burn," she said slowly.

"Marye-mead. When?"

"This mo'ning, Curt. Phil thinks it was the sh.e.l.ls from the gun-boats. It can't be he'ped now; it's gone. So is Edmund Ruffin's. And I wish I knew where that child, Ailsa, is. I'm that frightened and mise'ble, Curt--"

An orderly suddenly appeared at the door; her husband kissed her and hurried away. The outer door swung wide, letting in a bra.s.sy clangour of bugles and a roll of drums, which softened when the door closed with a snap.

It opened again abruptly, and a thin, gray-garbed figure came in, hesitated, and Celia turned, staring through her tears:

"Miss Lynden!" she exclaimed. "Is Ailsa here?"

Berkley sat up and leaned forward, looking at her intently from the ma.s.s of bandages.

"Letty!" he said, "where is Mrs. Paige?"

Celia had caught the girl's hands in hers, and was searching her thin white face with anxious eyes; and Letty shook her head and looked wonderingly at Berkley.

"Nothing has happened to her," she said. "A Sister of Mercy was wounded in the field hospital near Azalea, and they sent for Mrs. Paige to fill her place temporarily. And," looking from Celia to Berkley, "she is well and unhurt. The fighting is farther west now. Mrs. Paige heard yesterday that the 8th Lancers were encamped near Paigecourt and asked me to find Mr. Berkley-and deliver a letter--"

She smiled, drew from her satchel a letter, and, disengaging her other hand from Celia's, went over to the bed and placed it in Berkley's hands.

"She is quite well," repeated Letty rea.s.suringly; and, to Celia: "She sends her love to you and to your husband and son, and wishes to know how they are and where their regiment is stationed."

"You sweet little thing!" said Celia, impulsively taking her into her arms and kissing her pale face. "My husband and my son are safe and well, thank G.o.d, and my cousin, Phil Berkley, is convalescent, and you may tell my sister-in-law that we all were worried most to death at not hearing from her. And now I'm going to get you a cup of broth-you poor little white-faced child! How did you ever get here?"

"Our ambulance brought me. We had sick men to send North. Ailsa couldn't leave, so she asked me to come."

She accepted a chair near the bed. Celia went away to prepare some breakfast with the aid of old Peter and Sadie, her maid. And as soon as she left the room Letty sprang to her feet and went straight to Berkley.

"I did not tell the entire truth," she said in a low, excited voice. "I heard your regiment was here; Ailsa learned it from me. I was coming anyway to see you."

"To see me, Letty?" he repeated, surprised and smiling.

"Yes," she said, losing what little colour remained in her cheeks.

"I am in-in much-anxiety-to know-what to do."

"Can I help you?"

She looked wistfully at him; the tears rushed into her eyes; she dropped on her knees at his bedside and hid her face on his hands.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "She dropped on her knees at his bedside and hid her face on his hands."]

"Letty-Letty!" he said in astonishment, "what on earth has happened?"

She looked up, lips quivering, striving to meet his gaze through her tears.

"Dr. Benton is here... . He-he has asked me to-marry him."

Berkley lay silent, watching her intently.

"Oh, I know-I know," she sobbed. "I can't, can I? I should have to tell him-and he would never speak to me again-never write to me-never be what he has been all these months!-I know I cannot marry him. I came to tell you-to ask-but it's no use-no use. I knew what you would say--"

"Letty! Wait a moment--"

She rose, controlling herself with a desperate effort.

"Forgive me, Mr. Berkley; I didn't mean to break down; but I'm so tired-and-I wanted you-I needed to hear you tell me what was right... . But I knew already. Even if I were-were treacherous enough to marry him-I know he would find me out... . I can't get away from it-I can't seem to get away. Yesterday, in camp, the 20th Cavalry halted-and there was John Ca.s.son!-And I nearly dropped dead beside Dr. Benton-oh the punishment for what I did!-the awful punishment!-and Ca.s.son stared at me and said: 'My Lord, Letty! is that you?'"

She buried her burning cheeks in her hands.

"I did not lie to him. I offered him my hand; and perhaps he saw the agony in my face, for he didn't say anything about the Canterbury, but he took off his forage cap and was pleasant and kind. And he and Dr. Benton spoke to each other until the bugles sounded for the regiment to mount."

She flung her slender arm out in a tragic gesture toward the horizon. "The world is not wide enough to hide in," she said in a heart-breaking voice. "I thought it was-but there is no shelter-no place-no place in all the earth!"

"Letty," he said slowly, "if your Dr. Benton is the man I think he is-and I once knew him well enough to judge-he is the only man on earth fit to hear the confession you have made this day to me."

She looked at him, bewildered.

"I advise you to love him and marry him. Tell him about yourself if you choose; or don't tell him. There is a vast amount of nonsense talked about the moral necessity of turning one's self inside out the moment one comes to marry. Let me tell you, few men can do it; and their fiancees survive the shock. So, few men are a.s.ses enough to try it. As for women, few have any confessions to make. A few have. You are one."

"Yes," she whispered.

"But I wouldn't if I were you. If ever any man or woman took the chance of salvation and made the most of it, that person is you!

And I'm going to tell you that I wouldn't hesitate to marry you if I loved you."

"W-what!"

He laughed. "Not one second! It's a good partnership for any plan. Don't be afraid that you can't meet men on their own level. You're above most of us now; and you're mounting steadily. There, that's my opinion of you-that you're a good woman, and a charming one; and Benton is devilish lucky to get you... . Come here, Letty."

She went to him as though dazed; and he took both her hands in his.

"Don't you know," he said, "that I have seen you, day after day, intimately a.s.sociated with the woman I love? Can you understand now that I am telling the truth when I say, let the past bury its ghosts; and go on living as you have lived from the moment that your chance came to live n.o.bly. I know what you have made of yourself. I know what the chances were against you. You are a better woman to-day than many who will die untempted. And you shall not doubt it, Letty. What a soul is born into is often fine and n.o.ble; what a soul makes of itself is beyond all praise.

"Choose your own way; tell him or not; but if you love him, give yourself to him. Whether or not you tell him, he will want you-as I would-as any man would... . Now you must smile at me, Letty."

She turned toward him a face, pallid, enraptured, transfigured with an inward radiance that left him silent-graver after that swift glimpse of a soul exalted.

She said slowly: "You and Ailsa have been G.o.d's own messengers to me... . I shall tell Dr. Benton... . If he still wishes it, I will marry him. It will be for him to ask-after he knows all."

Celia entered, carrying the breakfast on a tray.

"Curt's Zouaves have stolen ev'y pig, but I found bacon and po'k in the cellar," she said, smilingly. "Oh, dear! the flo' is in such a mess of plaster! Will you sit on the aidge of the bed, Miss Lynden, and he'p my cousin eat this hot co'n pone?"

So the napkin was spread over the sheets, and pillows tucked behind Berkley; and Celia and Letty fed him, and Letty drank her coffee and thankfully ate her bacon and corn pone, telling them both, between bites, how it had been with her and with Ailsa since the great retreat set in, swamping all hospitals with the sick and wounded of an unbeaten but disheartened army, now doomed to decimation by disease.

"It was dreadful," she said. "We could hear the firing for miles and miles, and n.o.body knew what was happening. But all the northern papers said it was one great victory after another, and we believed them. All the regimental bands at the Landing played; and everybody was so excited. We all expected to hear that our army was in Richmond."