"Miss Lou" Part 35

"P'raps. .h.i.t was, p'raps. .h.i.t wasn't."

"Who else could it be?"

"I s'picion who it was, but I'm not goin' ter talk to one who's got nothin' better to give me 'n uggly words."

"You don't mean to say--"

"I don't mean to say nothin' till I know who I'm talkin' ter."

Whately gave a long, low whistle and then muttered "Impossible!"

"Oh, sut'ny," remarked Perkins ironically.

The two men gave each other a long searching look; then Perkins resumed, "That's right, Leftenant, take yer bearin's. I don't see ez you kin do me any special good, ner harm nuther. Ef yer want no news or help from me, we kin sheer off right yere en now."

"I say your suspicion is absurd," resumed Whately, as if arguing with himself. "When the alarm, caused by firing, came last night, it happened she was in her room and was badly frightened."

"What time did the alarm happen?"

"About two o'clock."

"Wal, about midnight a figger that favored you 'mazingly, yes, ter yer very walk, came up boldly en sez ter me, nodding at the Yank, 'Leave 'im ter me.' The figger wasn't jes' dressed like you in 'Federate uniform, but I kin a'most swear the figger had on them clo's and that hat you're a wearin' now; arm in sling, too. What's mo', when I thought hit over I was c.o.c.k sure the figger wuz shorter'n you air. I don't believe there's a Yank livin' that could a fooled me last night, 'less he had yer clo's on en yer walk."

"My uniform and hat hung on the chairs beside me, just where they had been put when I went to sleep."

"Jes' tell me ef the do' o' yer room wuz locked."

"I wasn't in a room. I slept at the end of the hall."

"Then enybody could git 'em en put 'em back while you wuz asleep."

"She couldn't knock you senseless. You're talking wild."

"I've schemed that out. Thar's tracks in the gyardin not so blinded but they kin give a hint ter a blind hoss. Thar's a track nigh whar I fell mighty like what that infernal n.i.g.g.e.r Chunk ud make. Beyond, ez ef some uns had hidden in the bushes, right in the gyarden bed, air two little woman-like tracks en two men tracks."

Whately ground his teeth and muttered an oath.

"I don't s'pose I kin prove anything 'clusive," resumed Perkins, "en I don't s'pose it ud be best ef I could. Ef she was up ter such deviltry, of co'se you don't want hit gen'ly known. Bigger ossifers 'n you ud have ter notice it. Ef I was in yu shoes howsomever, in huntin' shy game, I could use sech a clar s'picion agin her en be mo' on my gyard inter the bargain."

"I can use it and will," said Whately, sternly. "Perkins, keep your eyes wide open in my behalf. If that Yankee or Chunk ever come within our reach again--the n.i.g.g.e.r stole my horse and brought the Yank here too in time to prevent the wedding, I believe."

"Reck'n he did, Leftenant."

"Well, he and his master may be within our reach again. We had better not be seen much together. I will reward you well for any real service," and he strode away in strong perturbation.

"Hang your reward," muttered Perkins. "You think you're goin' ter use me when the boot's on t'other foot. You shall pay me fer doin' my work.

I couldn't wish the gal nuthin' worse than ter marry you. That ud satisfy my grudge agin her, but ef I get my claws on that n.i.g.g.e.r en dom'neerin' Yank of a master"--his teeth came together after the grim fashion of a bulldog, by way of completing his soliloquy.

The spring evening deepened from twilight into dusk, the moon rose and shone with mild radiance over the scene that had abounded in gloom, tragedy and adventure the night before. The conflict which then had taken place now caused the pathetic life-and-death struggles occurring in and about the old mansion. In the onset of battle muscle and the impulse to destroy dominated; now the heart, with its deep longings, its memories of home and kindred, the soul with its solemn thoughts of an unknown phase of life which might be near, came to the fore, rendering the long, doubtful straggle complex indeed.

The stillness was broken only by the steps and voices of attendants and the irrepressible groans of those who watched for the day with hope that waxed and waned as the case might be. Uncle l.u.s.thah yearned over the Federal wounded with a great pity, the impression that they were suffering for him and his people banishing sleep. He hovered among them all night long, bringing water to fevered lips and saying a word of Christian cheer to any who would listen.

Miss Lou wakened with the dawn and recognized with gladness that her strength and courage for work had been restored. Even more potent than thoughts of Scoville was the impulse to be at work again, especially among those with whom she inevitably a.s.sociated him. Dressing hastily, she went first to see the old Confederate colonel. He was evidently failing fast Ackley and an attendant were watching him. He looked at the girl, smiled and held out his hand. She took it and sat down beside him.

"Ah!" he said feebly, "this is a good deal better than dying alone.

Would you mind, my child, writing some things I would like to say to my family?"

Miss Lou brought her portfolio and tearfully received his dying messages.

"Poor little girl!" said the colonel, "you are witnessing scenes very strange to you. Try to keep your heart tender and womanly, no matter what you see. Such tears as yours reveal the power to help and bless, not weakness. I can say to YOU all the sacred, farewell words which would be hard to speak to others."

Brokenly, with many pauses from weakness, he dictated his last letter, and she wrote his words as well as she could see to do so. "They will be all the sweeter and more soothing for your tears, my dear," he said.

He kept up with wonderful composure until he came to his message to "little Hal," his youngest child. Then the old soldier broke down and reached out his arms in vain yet irrepressible longing. "Oh, if I could kiss the little fellow just once before--" he moaned.

For a few moments he and the girl at his side just wept together, and then the old man said almost sternly, "Tell him to honor his mother and his G.o.d, to live for the South, for which his father died. Say, if he will do this he shall have my blessing, not without. Now, my child, I trust this letter to you. Good-by and G.o.d bless you. I wish to be alone a little while and face the last enemy calmly."

As she knelt down and kissed him tears again rushed to his eyes and he murmured, "That was good and sweet of you, my child. Keep your heart simple and tender as it is now. Good-by."

Returning to her room with the portfolio she met her cousin in the upper hall. He fixed his eyes searchingly upon her and with the air of one who knew very much began, "Cousin Lou, my eyes are not so often blinded with tears as yours, yet they see more perhaps than you are aware of. I'm willing to woo you as gallantly as can any man, but you've got to keep some faith with me as the representative of our house and of the cause which, as a Southern girl, should be first always in its claims."

Her heart fluttered, for his words suggested both knowledge and a menace. At the same time the scenes she had pa.s.sed through, especially the last, lifted her so far above his plane of life that she shrank from him with something very like contempt.

"Do you know what I have been writing?" she asked sternly.

"I neither know nor care. I only wish you to understand that you cannot trifle with me nor wrong me with impunity."

"Oh!" she cried, with a strong repellant gesture, "why can't YOU see and understand? You fairly make me loathe the egotism which, in scenes like these, can think only of self. As if I had either time or inclination to be trifling with you, whatever you mean by that. Brave men are dying heroically and unselfishly, thinking of others, while 'I, me and gallant wooing,' combined with vague threats against one whom you are in honor bound to protect, are the only words on your lips. How can you be so unmanly? What are you, compared with that n.o.ble old colonel whose last words I have just received? If you care a straw for my opinion, why are you so foolish as to compel me to draw comparisons?

Do, for manhood's sake, forget yourself for once."

He was almost livid from rage as he replied harshly, "You'll rue these words!"

She looked at him scornfully as she said, "It's strange, but your words and expression remind me of Perkins. He might make you a good ally."

In his confusion and anger he blurted out, "Little wonder you think of him. You and that accursed n.i.g.g.e.r, Chunk--"

"Hush!" she interrupted in a low, imperious voice, "hush, lest as representative of our house you disgrace yourself beyond hope." And she pa.s.sed quickly to her room.

Within less than an hour he was asking himself in bitter self-upbraiding, "What have I gained? What can I do? Prefer charges against my own cousin which I cannot prove? Impossible!--Oh, I've been a fool again. I should have kept that knowledge secret till I could use it for a definite purpose. I'll break her spirit yet."

If he had seen her after she reached her room he might have thought it broken then. Vague dread of the consequences of an act which, from his words, she believed he knew far more about than he did, mingled with her anger and feelings of repugnance. "Oh," she moaned, "it was just horrible; it was coming straight down from the sublime to the contemptible. That n.o.ble old colonel took me to the very gate of heaven. Now I'm fairly trembling with pa.s.sion and fear. Oh, why will Cousin Mad always stir up the very worst of my feelings! I'd rather suffer and die as poor Yarry did than marry a man who WILL think only of his little self at such a time as this!"

CHAPTER XXVII

AUN' JINKEY'S SUPREME TEST