Southern Lights and Shadows Part 22

"I would like to see you again, Miss Braxton, before I go North," he said, as he prepared to leave.

She had risen with him, and they were both standing beside the mantel. Her face paled. Then she turned her head aside, and said, in a tone that was almost inaudible, "Father objects."

He became rigid instantly, and his lips grew white. "I suppose your father don't know who I am," he said, proudly. "My family is as good as any in the State. I loved horses and the life and color of the race-track, and refused to go to college when I could. Until I met you I never thought of anything except horses. But that pedigree of my people is straight. There isn't a cold cross on either side. I know I amount to nothing myself," he continued, bitterly, his eyes resting gloomily on the floor; "I'm only a no-account old selling-plater, and I'll just go back to the stable, where I belong." Here an unusual sound interrupted him, and he looked up. The girl, with her head on her arm, was leaning against the mantel, sobbing quietly.

In a moment he forgot all about himself and s.n.a.t.c.hed up her disengaged hand.

"Do you really care?" he cried, pressing the fluttering little hand in both of his.

She lifted up her face, the soft brown eyes swimming in tears. "I wouldn't mind," she replied, half laughing and half sobbing--"I wouldn't mind at all about the pedigree, and I know you're not an old selling-plater; but if you were, I am very sure that I would care for you."

The Lexington meeting was over, and the hors.e.m.e.n were scattered far and wide, from Chicago to Sheepshead Bay. Colonel Bill alone remained behind.

As the days pa.s.sed and he made no preparation to depart, old Elias's irritation grew apace, and the lives of the stable-boys under the increasing rigor of his rule became almost unendurable. The Colonel, however, saw very little of Elias or the stable-boys. Even his beloved horses no longer interested him. He pa.s.sed the days walking the streets of Lexington, hoping by some chance to meet Miss Braxton, and it was not until late at night that he returned to the race-track, foot-sore and disappointed. He had been too deeply wounded and was too proud to make any further effort to visit the Elms, and he thought it would be unmanly and ungenerous to ask Miss Braxton to meet him away from her father's house.

In the mean time the old General's wrath increased as the days pa.s.sed. He was unused to any kind of opposition, and the Colonel's persistence irritated him beyond measure. The dream of his life was a brilliant marriage for his daughter, and no amount of argument could alter his opinion that Colonel Bill was a rude, unlettered stable-man.

"Why, sir," he would exclaim, over a mint-julep, to his friend Major Johnson, who always defended the Colonel vigorously, "the idea of such attentions to my daughter is preposterous--ludicrous! I will not permit it, sir--not for one moment. If he persists in annoying my family, sir," and the purple hue of the General's face deepened, "I would no more hesitate to shoot him--no more, by gad!--than I would a rattlesnake." After the fourth or fifth julep he did not always confine his conversation to his friend, and so his threats often found their way back to the object of his wrath, losing nothing by the journey. Although the Colonel's disposition was the sunniest, the strain to which he was being subjected was telling on his nerves, and once or twice he replied sharply to the tale-bearers. The little city was soon excited over the quarrel, and every movement of the princ.i.p.als was eagerly noted.

"My money goes on Bill," said Jule Chinn, the proprietor of the Blue-gra.s.s Club, when the matter came up for discussion there between deals. "I saw him plug that creole down in Orleans. First he throws him down the steps of the St. Charles for insultin' a lady. When Frenchy insists on a duel an'

Bill gets up in front of him, he says, in that free-an'-easy way of his, 'We mark puppies up in my country by cutting their ears, and that's what I'm going to do to you, for you ain't fit to die,' an' blame me if he don't just pop bullets through that fellow's ears like you'd punch holes in a piece of cheese!" After that the Colonel ruled a strong favorite in the betting.

When this condition of affairs had existed for two weeks, the Colonel arose one morning from a sleepless bed with a fixed idea in his mind. He sat down to a table in his room, pulled out some writing-paper, and set to work.

After many sheets had been covered and destroyed, he finally decided upon the following:

"DEAR MISS BRAXTON,--I am going away from Lexington to-morrow, probably never to return. Will you be at your father's gate at three o'clock this afternoon, as I would like to say good-bye to you before I go?

"Your sincere friend,

"WILLIAM JARVIS"

After he had finished this epistle it seemed to him entirely too cold; but the others, which he had written in a more sentimental vein, had appeared unduly presumptuous. He finally sealed it and gave it to Pete, with terrific threats of personal violence in case of anything preventing its prompt delivery. While Pete was galloping off to Lexington at breakneck speed, the Colonel was wondering what the answer would be.

"I'll just say good-bye to her," he muttered, moodily, "and then I'll never see her again. I suppose I belong with the horses, anyhow, and that old bottle-nosed General has me cla.s.sed all right!"

When Pete returned he handed the Colonel a dainty little three-cornered note. It was addressed to "My dear friend," and the writer was _so sorry_ he was going away so _very soon_, and had hoped he would stay _ever_ so much longer, and then signed herself cordially his, Susan Burleigh Braxton.

At the bottom was a postscript--"I will expect you at three o'clock."

An hour before the appointed time the Colonel was striding impatiently up and down before the Elms, incessantly consulting his watch or wistfully gazing up the gravelled walk. It still lacked several minutes of three, when his heart gave a great jump as he saw Miss Braxton's graceful figure flitting in and out through the shrubbery. She stopped to pluck some roses from a bush that hung over the walk, bending down the richly laden bough so that the flowers made a complete circle about her bright young face, and as she raised her eyes she caught the Colonel gazing at her with such a look of abject idolatry that she laughed and blushed. "You see I am on time,"

she cried, gayly, hastening down to the gate and handing him one of her roses. "I am going to the post-office, and you may walk with me if you care to." If he cared to! Her mere presence beside him, the feeling that he could reach out his hand and touch her, the music of her voice, filled him with a joy of which he had never before dreamed.

After they had left the post-office, by mutual direction their footsteps turned from the more crowded thoroughfares, and they walked down a quiet and deserted street where the stones were covered with moss, and where solemn gnarled old trees lined the way on either side and met above their heads, the fresh green leaves murmuring softly together like living things.

They reached the end of the old street, and were almost in the country. A wide-spreading chestnut-tree stood before them, around whose giant bole a rustic seat had been built. They walked towards it in silence and sat down side by side.

They were entirely alone. A gay young red-bird, his head knowingly c.o.c.ked on one side, perched in the branches just above them. A belated b.u.mblebee, already heavy laden, hung over a cl.u.s.ter of wild flowers at their feet. A long-legged garrulous gra.s.shopper, undismayed by their presence, uttered his clarion notes on the seat beside them.

The inquisitive young red-bird looking down could only see a soft black hat and a white straw hat with flowers about its broad brim. He heard the black hat wondering if any one ever thought of him, to which the straw hat replied softly that it was sure some one did think of him very often. Then the black hat wondered if some one, when it was away, would continue to think of it, and the flowered straw, still more softly, was very, very sure some one would.

Then the red-bird saw such a remarkable thing happen that his bright eyes almost popped out of his little head. He saw a hand and a powerful arm suddenly steal out from below the black hat and move in the direction of the flowered straw--not hurriedly, but stealthily and surely. Having reached it, the hand and the arm drew the unresisting flowered straw in the direction of the black hat, until presently the hats came together. And then the red-bird, himself desperately in love, knew what it all meant, and burst into jubilant song. And the hard-working b.u.mblebee, who also had a sweetheart, took a moment's rest in honor of the event and buzzed his delight; and even the long-legged gra.s.shopper, an admirer of the s.e.x, but a confirmed bachelor, shouted his approbation until he was fairly hoa.r.s.e.

It was some time before the adventurous hand could be put back where it properly belonged, and the face beneath the straw, when it came into view, was a very flushed face, but the brown eyes shone like stars. As they walked through the old street, the setting sun filling the air with a golden glory, they pa.s.sed a sweet-faced old lady cutting flowers in her garden, and she smiled an indulgent smile, and they nodded and smiled back at her.

"I want you to promise me something," Miss Braxton said, suddenly stopping and looking up at him. "I want you to promise me," she continued, not waiting for his reply, "that you will not quarrel with my father. He is the best father in the world. My mother died when I was a child, and since then he has been father and mother and the whole world to me. I could never forgive myself if you exchanged a harsh word with him."

"If all the stories I hear are true," replied the Colonel, with a good-humored laugh, "your father is the one for you to see."

"My father says a great deal which he frequently regrets the moment afterwards," she responded, earnestly. "He is a warm-hearted and an impulsive man, and the dearest and best father in the world." The Colonel gave the desired promise, and they walked on in silence. When they reached the Elms, and her hand was on the big iron gate, she turned to him, an appealing look in her eyes. "Must you really go to-morrow?" she asked.

"I am compelled to go," he replied, sadly. "I have already remained here too long. I must start to-morrow night."

"I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you are going away," she said, softly, extending her hand. He caught it up pa.s.sionately.

"I must see you again!" he cried. "I can't go away until I do. It is hard enough to leave even then. I won't ask you to come away from your father's house to meet me, but you could be here, couldn't you?"

"When shall I come?" she asked, simply.

"The train leaves to-morrow night at twelve. Could you be here at eleven?"

"I will be here at eleven," she said; and then, with a brave attempt to smile, she turned away. Just at that moment General Braxton rounded the neighboring corner and came straight towards them.

In the hotel across the way the loungers leaning back in their cane-bottomed chairs straightened up with keenest interest and delight.

Jule Chinn in the Blue-gra.s.s Club up-stairs, happening to glance out of the window, turned his box over, and remarked that if any gentleman cared to bet, he would lay any part of $5000 on Bill. When the General was directly opposite him Colonel Bill gravely and courteously lifted his hat. For an instant the old man hesitated, and then, with a glance at his daughter, he lifted his own hat and pa.s.sed through the gate.

"Well, I'll be----!" cried Jule, with a whistle of infinite amazement.

"Things is changed in Kentucky!"

"That," said Major Cicero Johnson, who had exchanged several hundred subscriptions to his paper for an ever-decreasing pile of Jule's blue chips--"that is the tribute which valor pays to beauty. Their pleasure has only been postponed. Colonel Chinn, you have overlooked that small wager on the ace. Thanks."

Ten minutes later Colonel Bill was galloping out to the race-track, gayly singing a popular love-song. Suddenly something occurred to him and he stopped, reached back into his hip-pocket, and drew out a long pistol. He threw it as far as he could into a neighboring brier-patch, and once more giving rein to his horse, began to sing with renewed enthusiasm.

When he reached the track he called old Elias into his room, and they remained together for a long time in whispered conference. That night any one who happened to have been belated on the Versailles 'pike might have pa.s.sed Elias jogging along on his horse, looking very important, and an air of mystery enveloping him like a garment.

It was far into the night when he returned. As he started to creep up the ladder to the loft above his young master's room, his shoes in his hand so as not to awaken him, the Colonel, who had been tossing on a sleepless bed for hours, called out. Elias, who evidently regarded himself as a conspirator, waited until he had reached the loft, and then whispered back, "Hit's all right, Ma.r.s.e Bill," and was instantly swallowed up in the darkness.

It was one of those perfect June nights so often seen in Kentucky. The full moon hung in a cloudless sky, filling the air with a soft white radiance.

There was not a movement in the still, warm atmosphere, and to Colonel Bill, waiting beneath the shadows of the big oak-tree near the General's gate, it seemed that all nature was waiting with him. The leaves above his head, the gray old church steeple beyond the house, the long stretch of deserted streets--they all wore a hushed, expectant look.

It was several minutes past the appointed hour, and Miss Braxton had not come. He had begun to fear that perhaps her father, suspecting something, had detained her, when he saw her figure, a white outline among the rose-bushes, far up the walk. As she drew near he stepped out from the shadows, and she gave a little cry of delight.

"I know I am late, but I was talking with father," she said, apologetically, and the brown eyes became troubled. "He was very restless and nervous to-night and when he is in that condition he says I soothe him." They had slowly walked towards the tree as she was speaking, and when she had finished they were completely hidden from any chance pa.s.ser. She glanced up, and even in the gloom she noticed how white and tense was his face.

"Do you know," he cried, abruptly, "if I go away from Lexington to-night it will only be to return in a day, or two days? For weeks I have been able to think of nothing, to dream of nothing, except you. I haven't come here to-night to say good-bye to you," he continued, pa.s.sionately, "because I cannot say good-bye to you, but to implore you to come with me--to marry me--to-night--now." She shrank back. "I have made all my arrangements," he continued, feverishly. "I have a cousin, a minister, living in Versailles.

Once a month he preaches in a little church on the 'pike near there. I sent word by Elias last night for him to meet us there to-night, and he said he would. Elias has the horses under the trees yonder; they will be here in a moment, and in an hour we will be married. Come!" His arms were around her, and while he spoke she was carried away by the rush of his pa.s.sion, and yielded to it with a feeling of languorous delight. Then there came the thought of the lonely old man who would be left behind. She slipped gently from her lover's arms and looked back at the house which had been her home for so many years. She saw the light, in her father's room, and recalled how she went there when she was a little girl to say her prayers at his knee and kiss him good-night. He had always been so kind to her, so willing to sacrifice himself for her pleasure, and he was so old. What would he do when she had gone out of his life? No; she could not desert him. She covered her face with her hands. "I cannot leave father," she sobbed. "I cannot; I must not." They had moved out from the shadow of the tree into the moonlight. He had taken her hand, and had begun to renew his appeals, when they were both startled by the sound of footsteps on the gravelled walk and the General's voice crying, "Sue! Sue, where are you?" At the same moment Elias came up, leading two horses. The Colonel and Miss Braxton stood just as they were, too surprised to move. They could not escape in any event, for almost as soon as the words reached them the General came into view. He saw them at once, and it required only a glance at the approaching horses to tell him everything. With an inarticulate cry of rage, his gray hair streaming behind him, he rushed wildly back to the house. The Colonel looked after him, and then turned to Miss Braxton.

"He has gone to arm himself," he said, quietly. "He will be back with your brothers."

The girl looked up in his face and shivered. Then she glanced towards the house, where lights were flashing from room to room, and the doors were being opened and shut, and she wrung her hands. In the stillness every sound could be heard--the rush of footsteps down the stairs, the fierce commands, the creaking of the great stable door in the rear of the house.