My Lady of the North Part 41

"True, I was dreaming," she admitted, "and had almost forgotten where I was."

"Could I purchase your dream? I was intently studying your face as you sat there, yet was unable to determine whether your reflections were pleasant or unpleasant."

"They were merely foolish," was the frank response, "but such as they were they are certainly not for sale. You are better, Captain Wayne?"

"How could I fail to be better with so delightful a nurse? I confess I am tempted to say no, so as to regain the soft touch of your palm upon my temple; but it was really nothing more serious than fatigue that had overcome me. I scarcely know how I chanced to fall asleep. I merely sat down here for a rest; it was very quiet, and that was the last I remember. Have I been lying here long?"

"There is a rule of evidence, I believe, which protects a suspected person from incriminating himself, but I will acknowledge that I have been here all of half an hour," she answered, too proud to deny her part. "The people below were wondering where you could have gone, and I undertook a search upon my own account. Yes, sir," somewhat archly, "I was afraid lest your injuries were more serious than you believed them to be. I discovered you lying here. You were resting very uncomfortably when I first came, and I felt it my duty to render your position as easy as possible. I did not forget that your fatigue came in our defence."

"Could you not say in yours?" I corrected. "But I have already been more than repaid. Your hand upon my brow was far more restful than I can tell you--its soft stroking mingled in my dreams even before I awoke. It brought back to me the thought of my mother. I do not think I have had a woman's hand press back my hair since I was a child."

Her eyes fell slightly, and she moved uneasily.

"There was a look of pain upon your face as you lay sleeping, and I thought it might ease you somewhat. I have had some experience as a nurse, you know," she explained quietly. "You mentioned your mother; is she yet living?"

"She is in Richmond, stopping with friends, but since my capture we have lost all trace of each other. I was reported as having been killed in action, and I doubt if she even yet knows the truth. Everything is so confused in the capital that it is impossible to trace any one not directly connected with the army, once you lose exact knowledge of their whereabouts."

"Your father, then, is dead?"

"He yielded his life the first year of the war; and our plantation near Charlottesville has been constantly in the track of the armies. One rather important battle, indeed, was fought upon it, so you may realize that it is now desolate, and utterly unfit for habitation."

"The house yet stands?"

"The chimney and one wall alone remained when I was last there," I replied, glad of the interest she exhibited. "Fortunately two of the negro cabins were yet standing. Doubtless these will form the nucleus of our home when the war ceases; they will prove a trifle better than the mere sky."

"The South is certainly paying a terrible price for rebellion," she said soberly, her fine eyes filled with tears. "Only those of us who have beheld some portion of the sacrifice can ever realize how complete it is."

"The uselessness of it is what makes it seem now so unutterably sad."

"Yes," she a.s.sented, "and this the South is beginning to understand.

But I cannot help thinking of the joy awaiting your mother when she learns that you are well, after she has mourned you as dead. It will almost repay her for all the rest. How I should love to be the bearer of such news."

As she spoke she quietly rose to her feet and smiled pleasantly as I took advantage of the opportunity to sit up.

"I thought you must be tired, lying in that position so long; besides, I am sure I have tarried here quite as long as I should, now that I can be of no further service."

As she gathered her skirts in her hand preparatory to descending the stairs, I yielded to temptation and stopped her. Right or wrong I must yet have one word more.

"I beg of you do not desert me so soon. This may prove our final meeting,--indeed, I fear it must be; surely, then, it need not be so brief a one?"

She paused irresolute, one white hand resting upon the dark stair-rail, her face turned partially aside so I could only guess at its expression.

"Our final meeting?"

She echoed my words as though scarcely comprehending their meaning.

"Yes," I said, rising and standing before her. "How can we well hope it shall be otherwise? I am not free to remain here, even were it best for other reasons, for I am a soldier under orders. You undoubtedly will proceed North at the earliest possible moment. There is scarcely a probability that in the great wide world we shall meet again."

"The war will soon be over; perhaps then you may come North also."

"I scarcely expect to do so. My work then will be to join with my comrades in an effort to rebuild the shattered fortunes of Virginia.

When the lines of lives diverge so widely as ours must, the chances are indeed few that they ever meet again."

"Yes; yet we are free agents."

"Not always, nor under all circ.u.mstances--there are outside influences which cannot be ignored."

Her head was bowed slightly, but she lifted it now, and I dreamed I saw unshed tears in her eyes.

"But surely you can remain here until we leave?" she questioned, evidently striving not to reveal the depth of interest she felt in the decision. "It will not be until to-morrow that all details are arranged so as to permit of our departure. I had supposed you would certainly be with us until then."

"Mrs. Brennan!" I exclaimed almost pa.s.sionately, "do not tempt me! Your wish is a temptation most difficult to resist."

"Why resist, then?"

She did not look at me, but stood twisting a handkerchief nervously through her fingers. The abrupt question startled me almost into full confession, but fortunately my eyes chanced to fall upon her wedding- ring, and instantly I crushed the mad words back into my throat.

"Because it is right," I replied slowly, feeling each sentence as a death-blow. "For me to remain can mean only one thing. For that I am ready enough, if I thought you desired it, but I dare not choose such a course myself."

"You speak in riddles. What is the one thing?"

"A personal meeting with Major Brennan."

The high color deserted her cheeks, and her eyes met mine in sudden inquiry. "Oh, no, no!" she exclaimed with energy. "You and Frank must never meet in that way. You mean a duel?"

I bowed gravely. "I can a.s.sure you I earnestly desire to avoid it for your sake, but am aware of no possibility of escape except through my immediate departure."

"There has been no challenge then?"

"Not formally, yet almost an equivalent--I was permitted to aid in defence of this house only by pledging myself to Major Brennan afterwards."

"But why need it be--at least now that you have stood together as comrades?"

"I fear," I said quietly, "that fact will not count for much. We both fought inspired by your presence."

"Mine!" I hardly knew how to interpret her tone.

"Certainly; you cannot be ignorant that Major Brennan's dislike is based upon your friendship for me."

"But there is no reason," she stammered. "He has no cause--"

"His reason I must leave him to explain," I interrupted, to relieve her evident embarra.s.sment. "His words, however, were extremely explicit; and to ignore them by departure is to imperil my own reputation in both armies. I would do so for no one else in the world but you."

Her reception of this almost open avowal surprised me. For an instant she remained motionless, her eyes lowered upon the carpet, a flush on either cheek; then they were frankly lifted to mine, and she extended both hands.

"How can I ever thank you?" she asked gravely. "Captain Wayne, you make me trust you utterly, and place me constantly in your debt."

Her words and manner combined to make me realize the depth of her feeling. But what did they really betoken? Was it merely thankfulness at her husband's escape from peril, or a personal devotion toward myself? I could not determine, but might only venture to believe the first more probable.