Kitty's Conquest Part 5

"You go now, Paulie; it's my turn. You've all been working here and _must_ be tired and sleepy. I'm going to play nurse now." And for a minute the corners of the pretty mouth twitch, and the soft-gray eyes fill, as though our little heroine were again on the verge of a relapse into lamentation. Pauline's arm is round her in an instant, and she draws her close to her bosom as she says,--

"It is just like you, darling; I knew you would want to come." And then follows the invariable exchange of caresses so indispensable among tender-hearted young ladies on such occasions. Not that I disapprove of it. Oh, no! Only one can hardly expect to be "counted out" from all partic.i.p.ation in such ceremonies and yet stand by and look on with unmoved and unenvying complacency.

Ten minutes more and Pauline has gone, with a good-night to both. The judge comes in and bends with almost fatherly interest over the sleeping boy; and as Kitty seats herself quietly by the bedside, goes round and kisses her, saying, "You are more like your dear mother to-night than I ever saw you."

Kit looks up in his face without a word, but in affection that is eloquent in itself. Then her little hand busies itself about the bandage on Amory's forehead, and my occupation is gone. Leaving her to attend to that, the judge and I seat ourselves at the open fireplace, waking and dozing alternately.

The doctor p.r.o.nounced him better when he came next morning to dress the wounds. Mars spent most of the time in sleeping. Never did patient meet with care and attention more tender, more constant. Either Pauline or Kit was at his bedside. The old judge would come in with every hour or so. Vinton galloped over from camp and spent the afternoon; and as for myself, I was becoming vastly interested in helping Kitty, when, as bad luck would have it, old Jake brought me what he termed a "tallygraff"

when he came back from Sandbrook late at evening with the mail; and the tallygraff sent me hurrying back to Holly Springs by first train the following day.

It was with no satisfaction whatever that I bade them all adieu; though my heart lightened up when the doctor reported our "sub" improving. We all thought he recognized Vinton when the latter arrived in the morning to drive over with me.

We all thought, too, that a week at the utmost would bring me back with them in time to resume my functions as a.s.sistant nurse; but it was fully a month before my business could be completed, and by that time no further occasion existed for my services.

"We've had quite a little series of adventures, major," said I, as we whirled along towards the station, "and for one, _I_ shouldn't be surprised if a spice of romance were to be thrown in; a love-affair, in fact. What do you think?"

Vinton knocked the ashes off his cigar on the dash-board; replaced his cigar between his teeth with great deliberation; smiled very quietly, not to say suggestively, to himself; gave a tug or two at his moustache, and then said,--

"Amory and Miss Kit you mean. Well,--I can't say. To tell the truth, I've been thinking for some time past that he has left his heart up North somewhere,--some old West Point affair, you know; writes long letters every now and then, and won't let me see the address; drops them in the postal-car himself, instead of sending them by the company mail; gets a dainty missive now and then, lady's handwriting, pretty monogram; and blushes, too, when I 'devil' him about Syracuse; they are postmarked from there. May not amount to much, of course. These youngsters get into that sentimental sort of vein at the Academy and seem to think it the correct thing to be spoony over somebody all the time."

That struck me as being a long speech for Vinton, a man of few words ordinarily. It occurred to me, too, that he was suspicious of his _own_ affair's being the one to which I referred, and wanted to head me off.

Oh, the perversity of human nature! _That_ made me press the point and return to the subject. (Pauline afterwards said it was the meanest thing I ever did in my life. How little she knew me!)

"Don't dash my expectations in that way, Vinton. If Amory and Miss Kit don't carry out my plan and fall in love, I'll have to fall back upon you and Miss Pauline, you know; and just imagine how the judge and Harrod would feel at having to give her up. Besides, old fellow, you and I are cut out for confirmed old bachelors. Can't expect a young and attractive girl like her, who could marry anybody, to settle down to an _un_settled and nomadic existence in the army; that's altogether too much for so little, don't you see?"

"Job's comforters" would have proven a dead failure in comparison with that effort. It _was_ mean, but there was something exhilarating about it for all that. What man, raised in a large family of sisters, doesn't grow up as I was raised,--a tease?

Vinton is too old a campaigner, however, and sees my game; grins expressively, and behaves with commendable nonchalance.

"I'll put the matter in train when I get back, Brandon, and try and arrange it between the young people to your satisfaction, so that you won't have to fall back on anything so utterly problematical as the other suggestion." That was all he had to say on the subject.

We reached Sandbrook; the train came; and in a moment more I was standing on the rear platform watching the tall, stalwart, soldierly form that waved me good-by, growing dim and dimmer in the distance.

That night found me at Holly Springs and in consultation with the United States marshal and the commanding officer of the little garrison of infantrymen. To the care of the last named, our captured Ku-Klux had been turned over, together with a few more of their fraternity, recent acquisitions, one of whom, the marshal informed me, was badly wounded and in hospital. He had been arrested the day after the ambuscade at a farm-house within five miles of the spot, and duly forwarded to join his Klan at their new and much anathematized rendezvous.

On my expressing a desire to see him, the captain obligingly conducted me into the neat little hospital-tent, only a few steps from his own; and there, stretched out at full length, with a bandaged shoulder and a woe-begone countenance, was my missionary friend--Stiggins.

It was easy enough to conjecture how he came by his wound, though his own statement of the occurrence had surrounded him with a halo of martyrdom up to the time of my arrival. Stiggins had stoutly maintained that the Ku-Klux had shot him; that he was a law-abiding man, and that he hadn't seen a blue-coated soldier since the war. But when Stiggins caught sight of me he looked very much as though he had been lying, and in all human probability he had.

I said nothing to the officers on the subject until afterwards; when, in examining the articles which were in his possession at the time of his arrest, I came across a letter written in a hand I knew well enough, appointing a meeting with one J. Bostwick, and signed "Peyton." It was dated the night Harrod and Master Ned arrived at the plantation.

Stiggins swore he didn't know Peyton; never had seen him; "that note didn't belong to him nohow," and lied with a volubility and earnestness that would have done credit to a Jew in a clothing-store. But no information as to Peyton's whereabouts could be extracted from him or his unwounded confederates; nor could they be induced to give any clue which might lead to his implication. Whatever they were otherwise, they were game to the backbone; and stood by one another throughout their captivity and the trial which followed.

Hank Smith we found domiciled in the prison room where the gang were cooped up. He carried his arm in a sling, and a bed had been provided for his especial accommodation. He was surly and defiant, but accepted a piece of plug tobacco with much avidity, and was kind enough to say that "'Twould be a derned sight better if you handed over a bottle of whiskey with it," which sentiment was unanimously concurred in by the a.s.sembled delegates, but vetoed by the captain.

Two weeks pa.s.sed away, and still was I detained. Then came a summons to Jackson, where the State Legislature was in session. I had written to the judge and to Vinton. The former had been called South on business, but while at Jackson the latter's reply reached me,--a long, and for him, gossipy letter.

Amory was rapidly recovering, and the moment he was well enough to be moved--in fact, as soon as he had his ideas about him--had insisted on being carried to camp. It was in vain that Harrod, Pauline, and Vinton had protested; go he would. No persuasions could induce him to remain where he was a burden and a care to them. Kitty had taken no part in the discussion, and had been but little in the sick-room after he had recognized her; but the poor child was possessed with the idea that he was determined to go simply on her account, and was very miserable in consequence. As a last resort, Pauline, "for whom he has a warm affection," had communicated this fact to her intractable patient, and his pale face had flushed up for an instant and he was at a loss what to say, but finally protested that it had nothing to do with his determination. That evening he asked to see her, and, in an embarra.s.sed but earnest way, thanked her for nursing him so kindly and carefully.

"I'll never forget how good you--you all were to me, Miss Carrington."

And from that time until the ambulance came for him, two days after, whenever she chanced to come to the room he was very gentle, and in his whole manner seemed anxious to show her that not an atom of resentment or annoyance remained. "Somehow or other there's something wrong,"

Vinton wrote. "I can't get her to look or talk like her old self; she won't cheer up, and whenever she is in the room both of them are nervous and embarra.s.sed, and though Miss Summers and I have striven to get them into conversation when the doctor would let him talk, it's of no use."

Oh, the subtlety of feminine influence! Fancy Vinton in the _role_ of match-maker! And so Amory was back again among his men, rapidly improving, but still, as Vinton said, "something was wrong."

Nothing had been heard from or of Peyton except an order for his trunk and personal effects, brought to the colonel by a total stranger. It was conjectured, however, that the judge had gone to Mobile during his trip, and that his troublesome kinsman was to be shipped off to climes where Ku-Klux were unknown, and where his propensities for mischief would have no field for operation. No further complaints of outrages or disorders; everything was quiet and peaceful, and men and horses were having a good rest.

CHAPTER V.

One bright, beautiful evening late in February, it was my good fortune to find myself once more within "twenty minutes of Sandbrook"; this time on no hurried visit, but with the deliberate intention of accepting the cordial invitation of the judge and Harrod to spend a month with them. I was to make their home my headquarters while attending to the limited amount of law business that called me to that vicinity. I had heard several times from the plantation since Vinton's letter, and the very last news I had received was penned by Miss Pauline's own fair hand, telling me in a sweet, happy, womanly letter of what neither you, who have had patience enough to read this, nor I could be in the least degree surprised to learn,--her engagement to Major Vinton. The major himself, she wrote, had been summoned as a witness before a court-martial, and would be gone several days, but back in time to welcome me. Then came a page about Amory: "He has entirely recovered; that is to say, he is as strong and active as ever; but still--I don't know how to express it exactly--he is not the same man he was before that night. You know that the wound in his shoulder was a very slight one, and that his injuries were mainly shocks and bruises received by being thrown and dragged by his wounded horse. When he was well enough to drive about, the major used to bring him here frequently; and I really thought that he and Kitty were going to become great friends, for they wore off much of the old embarra.s.sment and seemed to be getting along so nicely. Then he used to ride over and spend entire afternoons with us; and then, all of a sudden, he stopped coming; only visits us now when he _has_ to; and is so changed, so constrained and moody that I don't know what to make of it. I really believe that Kitty was growing to like him ever so much; and she wonders, I know, at this sudden change. Even when he _does_ come he avoids and barely looks at her."

It was strange; and I puzzled over it for some time. Matchmaking was hardly in my line of business, yet no spinster aunt could have taken more interest in the affair than myself. I was really anxious to get back to the plantation and see what could be made of it.

Harrod and the carriage were at the station to meet me, and a rapid drive in the cool night air soon brought us to the dear old house again; and there on the broad piazza, in the broad, cheerful stream of light from the hall, stood the judge, Vinton, and Pauline; and in a moment I had sprung from the carriage and was receiving their warm and charming welcome. Vinton was as happy in his quiet, undemonstrative way as man could be, and the fond, proud light in his dark eyes as he looked down at the graceful form leaning so trustfully upon his arm, was a sight that made me envious. Presently Kitty came down; but not the Kitty of old. Ah! little girl, what is it that has made those soft eyes so heavy, so sad? What has taken all the color from those round, velvety cheeks?

What has become of the ringing, light-hearted laugh that came bubbling up from heart-springs that seemed inexhaustible in their freshness, their gladness? It is of no use to smile and chatter and prate about your pleasure at seeing this antiquarian again. It is of no use to toss your little head and look at me with something of the old coquettish light in your eyes. You can't deceive me, little Kit; you are changed, sadly changed. I, who have been away so long a time, can see what others only partially notice.

During the evening we all gathered in the parlor, talking over the events of my previous visit. Kitty had early tired of any share in the conversation, and sat silent and absent, taking little heed of what was said, though once or twice, when we were not speaking of Amory, she rallied for a moment and made an effort. She had taken a chair near the window, and was more than half the time gazing dreamily out towards the road. At last Vinton said he must get back to camp, bade us all good-night; his orderly came round with the horses, and Pauline went out to see him off, everybody else just at that particular moment finding something of extreme interest which detained him or her in the parlor.

It is odd how long it takes to say good-night under those circ.u.mstances.

Fully fifteen minutes elapsed before the spurred boot-heels were heard going down the steps; then there was another slight detention,--cause, unknown; time, three minutes and a half,--and finally the clatter of hoofs as they rode off, twenty-seven minutes by the clock after the time when the major had announced that he must be off at once,--couldn't stay another minute.

When the hoof-beats had died away, Pauline came back to us radiant, lovely; and even that tease Harrod could not find it in his heart to say one word on the subject of the major's unaccountable display of unmilitary tardiness, though he looked vastly as though he would like to. Good-nights were exchanged, and soon after I found myself cosily ensconced in my old quarters in the wing.

About noon on the following day Mars trotted up the road, and, throwing his horse's rein over the gate-post, came "clinking" up the walk. His heels were decorated with a pair of huge Mexican spurs, with little pendants of steel attached to the rowels in such a way as to cause a jingling with every movement. I had gone out on the piazza to meet him, and he quickened his pace and waved his cap with a cheery "How are you, Mr. Brandon?" the moment he caught sight of me. As he sprang up the steps I saw that he had at least lost none of his old activity; and though thinner and a trifle paler than when I first met him, it was not at first glance noticeable.

After the excitement of our meeting was over, however, and we were chatting over the Ku-Klux entertainments, I noticed how soon he became just the restless, absent, constrained fellow that Pauline had described. He changed color and started every time a footstep was heard in the hall; greeted Pauline warmly when she came down, and seemed to be more himself when talking with her, but even then his eyes wandered to the doorway. Something was wanting; and at last he made a vigorous effort and stammered an inquiry as to "Miss Carrington's" health.

"Kitty is pretty well, and will be down in a minute. She was writing to Aunt Mary when you came. If I were Kitty _I_ wouldn't come down to see you at all, Mr. Frank Amory, for you've not been near us for the last ten days, and I presume we owe this call entirely to Mr. Brandon."

Poor fellow! he fidgets and looks woe-begone enough; tries hard to plead constant duties, no lack of inclination, etc., and just in the midst of it all, the rustle of skirts and the patter of quick, light footsteps is heard in the hall, and Frank Amory starts up with the flush deepening on his cheek and forehead, and stands facing the doorway as little Kit comes in,--comes in with a face that flushes deeply as his own, with eyes that are raised to his but for one brief second and then seek any other object but the young soldier before her, with a nervous, fluttering reply to his "Good-morning, Miss Carrington; I hope you're well?" and finally, as she subsides into an arm-chair by the window, with an air of mingled relief and apprehension that puzzles me inexpressibly. Amory, meantime, has resumed his seat (on his forage-cap this time), and plunged hastily into a description of a marvellous horse they have just concluded to purchase for officers' use. He must be a marvel; and it is astonishing what an amount of interest Frank takes in telling Pauline all about his performances. Kitty sits by the window listening, but saying not a word; and after this sort of thing has been kept up some twenty minutes Pauline excuses herself.

"Now don't go till I come back, Frank; I'll only be gone a few minutes."

And with a glance at me that seems, as Mark Twain says, "perfectly luminous with meaning" to her, but which in my masculine stupidity I fail to comprehend until some minutes after, that young lady makes her exit. Then Mars turns upon me, utterly absorbed in the same horse, and with distracting volubility tells me the same rigmarole he told Pauline, every word of which I had heard. Then he asks questions about Hank Smith that he had asked three or four times already, and just as I'm beginning to wonder whether his accident had not resulted in permanent injury to his mental faculties a servant appears at the door.

"Miss Summers says will Mr. Brandon please come and help her a minute."

And as Mr. Brandon obligingly rises to comply with her request, Amory springs up too, whips out his watch, and exclaims,--

"By Jove! how time flies! I told Vinton I'd be back for afternoon stables,--_must_ be off! Good-by, Mr. Brandon; come over to camp and see us. Good-by, Miss Carrington; sorry I have to hurry." And out he goes; clatters down the steps and back to his horse; throws the reins over the animal's head, and vaults into his saddle; and then, with one wave of his hand, dashes off at a mad gallop.

I turned again into the house, and this is what I saw in the parlor.

Kitty Carrington, all alone, standing there at the window gazing after Amory as he disappeared down the road; her tiny white hands tightly clinching the window-sill; two great big tears just starting from each eye and trickling slowly, heavily down her cheeks; her dainty form quivering with emotion. Little by little I am beginning to suspect the truth in the matter, and, as I turn softly away without attracting her attention, mentally resolve to unearth the whole secret. Pretty business for a man of my years, you will say, but "we lawyers are curious."

N.B.--Pauline didn't want me at all. It was a ruse to get me away.

For the next three days matters went on in pretty much the same groove.

Amory came over to dinner once and was utterly absurd,--handed Miss Kit to her chair, took his allotted place beside her; and hardly addressed one word to her through the entire repast, though he gabbled unceasingly to every one else. Just as soon as we could finish our cigars after dinner, and an adjournment was moved to the parlor, he declared he must be off; said he had a whole heap of commissary returns to make up before morning; and, with the briefest possible good-night to the ladies and the judge, away he went.