Lewis Rand Part 40

"I am going to my office, sir, where I will await your messenger. You cannot name an hour too soon, a place too near for me."

"Of that I am aware, Mr. Rand. I will make no delay that I conceive to be unnecessary. I am, sir, your very humble servant."

"I am yours, Mr. Cary."

The two bowed profoundly and parted company, making their several ways through the throng to the Swan and to the office with the green door.

With them went their immediate friends and backers. The crowd of spectators, talking loud or talking low, conjecturing, explaining, and laying down the law, jesting, disputing, hotly partisan, and on the whole very agreeably excited, finally got itself out of the Court House and the Court-House yard, and the autumn stillness settled down upon the place.

At Roselands, in the late afternoon, Jacqueline came out upon the doorstone and sat there, listening for Selim's hoofs upon the road. The weather was Indian summer, balmy, mild, and blue with haze. On the great ring of gra.s.s before the stone yellow beech leaves were lying thick, and the grey limbs of the gigantic, solitary tree rose bare against the blue. Jacqueline sat with her chin in her hand, watching the mountains, more visible now that the leaves were gone. She saw the cleft through which ran the western road, and she thought with pleasure of the days before her. She loved the journeys to Richmond, and this one would be more beautiful, and new. They would be gone ten days, perhaps,--ten days of slow, bright travel through sumptuous woods, of talk close and dear.

She was exquisitely happy as she sat there with her eyes upon the Blue Ridge. The last fortnight of her stay at Fontenoy had been almost a blissful time. Her uncles changed, and no longer pa.s.sed her with averted eyes, or, when they spoke, used so cold a ceremony as to chill her heart. They grew almost natural, they seemed even tender of her. Uncle d.i.c.k had once again called her "My little Jack," though he groaned immediately afterwards and, getting up, looked out of the window, and Uncle Edward left the library door ajar. Jacqueline laid her head upon her arm and laughed. It was coming right--it was coming right!--and next year they would all dance at Fontenoy with light hearts, at Unity's wedding. It had begun to come right the evening of the day that she had met Ludwell Cary in the cedar wood. She wondered, slightly, at that coincidence, and then she fell again to dreaming.

Lewis was coming; he had pa.s.sed through the gate--and she started up. He rode on to the back of the house, left his horse there, and, striding through the hall and down the three stone steps, joined her where she stood upon the greensward, among the fallen leaves. "Good-evening to you!" she said, touched his shoulder with her hand, and raised her face to his. He drew her to him, kissed her with fierce pa.s.sion, and let her go, then walked to the beech tree and stood with his back to the house, staring at the long wall of the mountains, dark now against a pale gold sky. She followed him. "Lewis! what is the matter?"

He answered without turning, "We are not going, quite yet awhile, over the mountains. Man proposes, and Ludwell Cary disposes. Well! we will stay merrily at home. But he shall pay the score!"

"What do you mean?"

"Two weeks! What may not happen over there in two weeks? And I bound here, hard and fast, hand and foot! By what?--by the plaything code of a plaything honour! Now, if he were any other man under the canopy, I would not stay! The question is, is it imaginable that all this was of set purpose?"

"Lewis, what is the matter?"

Rand turned. "The matter, child? The matter is that you may unpack, and that we will give a dinner party! We do not travel to-morrow; no, nor the next day, nor the next! I have to await a gentleman's leisure."

She hung upon his arm. "Lewis, Lewis, what is it? You are trembling--"

He laughed. "Do you think it is with fear?"

"Don't, don't!" she cried. "Don't be so angry--don't look so black! I am afraid of you. What is it, dearest, dearest?"

"Wait," he said harshly. "Wait, Jacqueline, a moment."

He put her abruptly from him, walked to the doorstone, and, sitting down, bowed his face upon his hands. For some moments he remained thus, while she stood under the beech tree, her hand upon her heart, watching him. At last he lifted his head, rose, and came back to her. "To-day, in the court room, I challenged Ludwell Cary. He has named, as is his right, time and place of our meeting. The time, something more than two weeks from to-day; the place, five miles from Richmond. I confess that I was taken by surprise. I had expected to-morrow morning and the wood beyond the race-course. If I thought--what, by all the G.o.ds, I do think!--that he had dared--that he had done this deliberately, with intent to keep me here, I--Jacqueline! why, Jacqueline!"

"I'm--I'm not going to swoon," said Jacqueline, with difficulty. "Air, that is all--let me sit down a moment on the gra.s.s. A duel--you and Ludwell Cary."

"I and Ludwell Cary." Rand uttered his short laugh. "How steadily have we been coming just to this! I think I knew it long ago. I have in me so much of the ancient Roman that I prize him, now that we are at grips, and think him a fair enemy. If I did not hate him, I would love him. But it is the first, and I'll not forgive this pretty trap he's laid! What does he think will come after these two weeks he has me shackled? Does he think that he can always keep me here?--or only until--until it is too late to go?" He struck his hand against the beech tree. "Well, well, mine enemy, we will try conclusions."

Jacqueline rose from the gra.s.s, came to him, and laid her head upon his breast. "Lewis, is there no way out with honour? Must it be? He is my friend and you my husband whom I love. Will you face each other there like--like General Hamilton and Aaron Burr? Oh, break, my heart!"

Rand kissed her. "There is no way out. He means me to stay, and I will do it--for this while, Cary, for this while! Look, Jacqueline; the sun is setting over the road we should have gone! I have been a fool. Six weeks ago should have seen us far, far upon that shining track! Now the world is spinning from me, the glory rolling under, and I feel the dark.

Adam is right; once started on this trail, I should have gone like the strong arrow's flight. I knew the warriors were behind me, and yet I idled,--waited first to break with my old chief,--as if my going would not have done that work, as short, as clean!--and waited last because of a sick woman's whim! If I had not let you go to Fontenoy, we might to-day have heard the rushing of a mightier river than the Rivanna yonder! Delay, delay, where haste itself should have felt the spur!"

"If I had not gone to Fontenoy," cried Jacqueline, "my aunt might have died with her last wish ungratified! If I had not gone, oh, what would they not have thought of me, most rightly, most justly! Now we are almost friends again,--the thing I've prayed for, longed for, wept for, since that June! Was this not worth the waiting? There is something here that I do not understand. Why should you so greatly care to see these lands? Say that there is some money lost and some vexation--what does that count against this nearing home--this making friends?" She struck her hands together. "And yet--and yet if we had gone, there would not have been this day, this quarrel, and this challenge! There would not be this day to come, when I shall hear what, from now till then I'll dream I hear! O Christ, I heard them then, the pistol shots! Why did we not go, Lewis, days ago?"

"Now you are weeping," said Rand, "and that will ease your heart. Could I have helped it, I would not have told you of this quarrel. You could not, however, have failed to hear; it was a public thing, and the town is buzzing with it. See, Jacqueline, I am no longer pa.s.sionate. The dog is down. The mistake, if mistake it was, is made; we are not over the mountains; we are here in Albemarle, at Roselands, underneath the beech tree. I was never one to weep for spilt milk. This way is stopped, and this moment foreclosed. Well, there are other moments and other ways!

The sun is down and the night falls dark and cold. Come, dry your eyes!"

"That is soon done. The thorn is in my heart."

"I will draw it out," he answered. "I'll draw it out with love. Don't think that Ludwell Cary can hurt me; it's not within his kingdom. Do not grieve that men are enemies; smile and say, 'It will be so a few years longer!' I am glad with all my heart that you are friends again with all at Fontenoy. As for this journey, I stayed for you, Jacqueline. It was needful for me to go, but I stayed that you might part friends with your kindred. Remember it one day."

"Why," she cried,--"why did you not go without me? You would not have been long gone, and I should have waited your return there at Fontenoy!

Then this day and this quarrel would not have come! Ludwell Cary and you to meet--O G.o.d!"

"I did not wish to go without you. You do not understand--but trust me, Jacqueline; trust me, trust me!" He took her in his arms. "Come, now! It is twilight, and there's a dreariness in these fallen leaves. Come indoors to the fire and the light, and the books and the harp. Deb arrived to-day, did she not?"

"Yes; she is somewhere with Miranda. They have been playing dolls with the last flowers."

He stopped a moment as they were moving over the gra.s.sy ring. "Flower dolls! They were playing flower dolls that morning in June when I came down from the blue room and out into the garden. There they sat, on the red earth in the little cedar wood, with their bright ladies. Deb told me all their names. She told me more than that--she told me you were reading in the arbour. Jacqueline, are you sorry that I found you there?"

"No, I am not sorry; I am glad. You could make me wretched, but you could not make me repentant. Oh, Lewis! I shall hear those shots to-night--"

"No, you will not--I shall read you to sleep. Why, if you were a soldier's wife, would you hear all the bullets flying? There, the last red has faded, and I hear the children's voices! Come in; come in out of the dark."

CHAPTER XXIV

THE DUEL

It was nine o'clock of a November morning when a coach, driven out from Richmond, pa.s.sed a country tavern and a blacksmith's shop, and, turning from the main road, went jolting through a stubble-field down to the steep and gra.s.sy bank of the James. It was a morning fine and clear, with the h.o.a.r frost yet upon the ground. The trees, of which there were many, were bare, saving the oaks, which yet held a rusty crimson. In the fields the crows were cawing, and beyond the network of branch and bough the river flashed and murmured among its mult.i.tude of islets. The place was solitary, screened from the highroad by a rise of land, and fitted for a lovers' meeting or for other concerns of secrecy.

The coach drew up beneath a spreading oak with the mistletoe cl.u.s.tering in the dull red upper branches. Three men stepped out,--Lewis Rand, the gentleman acting as his second, and a good physician. "We are first on the field," said Rand, looking at his watch. "It is early yet. Pompey, drive a hundred yards down the bank--as far as those bushes yonder--and wait until you are called. Ha! there could be no better spot, Mr.

Jones!"

"I've seen no better in my experience, sir," answered Skelton Jones.

"When I was last out, we had the worst of fare!--starveling locust wood--d.a.m.ned poor makeshift at gentlemanly privacy--stuck between a schoolhouse and a church! But this is good; this is nonpareil! Fine, brisk, frosty weather, too! I hate to fight on a muggy, leaden, dispirited day, weeping like a widow! It's as crisp as mint, this morning--hey, Doctor?"

"I find," said the doctor, in a preoccupied tone, "that I've left my best probe at home. However, no matter--I've one I can use.

"I hear wheels," remarked Rand. "He is on the hour."

A chaise mounted the knoll of furrowed land and came down to the gra.s.sy level and the waiting figures. It stopped, and Ludwell Cary and his brother got out. "Drive over there where the coach is standing,"

directed the latter, and chaise and negro driver rolled away. The elder Cary walked forward, paused within a few feet of his antagonist, and the two bowed ceremoniously.

"I trust that I have not kept you waiting, Mr. Rand."

"Not in the least, Mr. Cary. The hour has but struck."

Fairfax Cary strode up, and the salutations became general. Skelton Jones looked briskly at his watch. "With your leave, gentlemen, we'll to formalities. The Washington stage has just gone by, and we will all wish to get back for the mail. Mr. Fairfax Cary, shall we walk a little to one side? You have, I see, the case of pistols. Dr. McClurg, if you will kindly station yourself beneath yonder oak--"

The seconds stepped aside for their conference, and the doctor retreated to the indicated oak. Lewis Rand and Ludwell Cary exchanged a comment or two upon the weather, then fell silent. The one presently sat down upon the root of a tree, and, drawing out a pocket-book, began to look over certain memoranda; the other walked near the river and stood gazing across its falls and eddies and innumerable fairy islands to the misty blue of the farther woods. The seconds returned and proceeded to measure the distance--ten paces, after which they loaded the pistols. Skelton Jones advanced, the ends of two strips of paper showing from his closed hand. "Gentlemen, you will draw for choice of position. The longest strip carries the advantage. Thank you. Mr. Cary, Fortune favours you!

We are ready now, I think."

The two laid aside their riding-coats. Cary walked across the leaf-strewn lists and, turning, stood with his back to the sun. Rand took the opposite place. The seconds presented the loaded pistols. As Cary took his from his brother, their hands touched--that of the younger was marble cold. Skelton Jones crossed to his princ.i.p.al's right, and Fairfax Cary moved also to his proper place. There was a minute's pause while the sun shone and the leaves drifted down, then, "Are you ready, gentlemen?" cried Rand's second.

The princ.i.p.als answered in the affirmative. Fairfax Cary gave the word, "_Present!_" The two raised their weapons, and Skelton Jones began to count "One--two--three! Fire!" Rand fired. Cary swayed slightly, recovered himself, and stood firm. Fairfax Cary took the count.