The Battle Ground Part 19

She had reached the spot where he had lifted her upon the wall, and leaning against the rough stones she looked southward to where the swelling meadows dipped into the projecting line of hills. He was before her then, as he always would be, and shrinking back, she put up her hand to shut out the memory of his eyes. She could have hated that shallow gayety, she told herself, but for the tenderness that lay beneath it--since jest as he might at his own scars, when had he ever made mirth of another's? Had she not seen him fight the battles of free Levi? and when Aunt Rhody's cabin was in flames did he not bring out one of the negro babies in his coat? That dare-devil courage which had first caught her girlish fancy, thrilled her even to-day as the proof of an enn.o.bling purpose. She remembered that he had gone whistling into the burning cabin, and coming out again had coolly taken up the broken air; and to her this inherent recklessness was clothed with the sublimity of her own ideals.

The cold wind had stiffened her limbs, and she ran back into the road and walked on rapidly. Beyond the whitened foldings of the mountains a deep red glow was burning in the west, and she wanted to hold out her hands to it for warmth. Her next thought was that a winter sunset soon died out, and as she turned quickly to go homeward, she saw that she was before Aunt Ailsey's cabin, and that the little window was yellow from the light within.

Aunt Ailsey had been dead for years, but the free negro Levi had moved into her hut, and as Betty looked up she saw him standing beneath the blasted oak, with a bundle of brushwood upon his shoulder. He was an honest-eyed, grizzled-haired old negro, who wrung his meagre living from a blacksmith's trade, bearing alike the scornful pity of his white neighbours and the withering contempt of his black ones. For twenty years he had moved from spot to spot along the turnpike, and he had lived in the dignity of loneliness since the day upon which his master had won for himself the freedom of Eternity, leaving to his servant Levi the labour of his own hands.

As the girl spoke to him he answered timidly, fingering the edge of his ragged coat.

Yes, he had managed to keep warm through the winter, and he had worn the red flannel that she had given him.

"And your rheumatism?" asked Betty, kindly.

He replied that it had been growing worse of late, and with a sympathetic word the girl was pa.s.sing by when some newer pathos in his solitary figure stayed her feet, and she called back quickly, "Uncle Levi, were you ever married?"

"Dar, now," cried Uncle Levi, halting in the path while a gleam of the wistful humour of his race leaped to his eyes. "Dar, now, is you ever hyern de likes er dat? Mah'ed! Cose I'se mah'ed. I'se mah'ed quick'en Ma.r.s.e Bolling. Ain't you never hyern tell er Sarindy?"

"Sarindy?" repeated the girl, questioningly.

"Lawd, Lawd, Sarindy wuz a moughty likely n.i.g.g.e.r," said Uncle Levi, proudly; "she warn' nuttin' but a fiel' han', but she 'uz a moughty likely n.i.g.g.e.r."

"And did she die?" asked Betty, in a whisper.

Uncle Levi rubbed his hands together, and shifted the brushwood upon his shoulder.

"Who say Sarindy dead?" he demanded sternly, and added with a chuckle, "she warn' nuttin' but a fiel' han', young miss, en I 'uz Ma.r.s.e Bolling's body sarvent, so w'en dey sot me loose, dey des sol' Sarindy up de river. Lawd, Lawd, she warn' nuttin' but a fiel' han', but she 'uz pow'ful likely."

He went chuckling up the path, and Betty, with a glance at the fading sunset, started briskly homeward. As she walked she was asking herself, in a wonder greater than her own love or grief, if Uncle Levi really thought it funny that they sold Sarindy up the river.

V

THE MAJOR LOSES HIS TEMPER

When Betty reached home the dark had fallen, and as she entered the house she heard the crackling of fresh logs from the library, and saw her mother sitting alone in the firelight, which flickered softly on her pearl-gray silk and ruffles of delicate lace.

She was humming in a low voice one of the old Scotch ballads the Governor loved, and as she rocked gently in her rosewood chair, her shadow flitted to and fro upon the floor. One loose bell sleeve hung over the carved arm of the rocker, and the fingers of her long white hand, so fragile that it was like a flower, played silently upon the polished wood.

As the girl entered she looked up quickly. "You haven't been wandering off by yourself again?" she asked reproachfully.

"Oh, it is quite safe, mamma," replied Betty, impatiently. "I didn't meet a soul except free Levi."

"Your father wouldn't like it, my dear," returned Mrs. Ambler, in the tone in which she might have said, "it is forbidden in the Scriptures," and she added after a moment, "but where is Petunia? You might, at least, take Petunia with you."

"Petunia is such a chatterbox," said Betty, tossing her wraps upon a chair, "and if she sees a cricket in the road she shrieks, 'Gawd er live, Miss Betty,' and jumps on the other side of me. No, I can't stand Petunia."

She sat down upon an ottoman at her mother's feet, and rested her chin in her clasped hands.

"But did you never go walking in your life, mamma?" she questioned.

Mrs. Ambler looked a little startled. "Never alone, my dear," she replied with dignity. "Why, I shouldn't have thought of such a thing. There was a path to a little arbour in the glen at my old home, I remember,--I think it was at least a quarter of a mile away,--and I sometimes strolled there with your father; but there were a good many briers about, so I usually preferred to stay on the lawn."

Her voice was clear and sweet, but it had none of the humour which gave piquancy to Betty's. It might soothe, caress, even reprimand, but it could never jest; for life to Mrs. Ambler was soft, yet serious, like a continued prayer to a pleasant and tender Deity.

"I'm sure I don't see how you stood it," said Betty, sympathetically.

"Oh, I rode, my dear," returned her mother. "I used to ride very often with your father or--or one of the others. I had a brown mare named Zephyr."

"And you never wanted to be alone, never for a single instant?"

"Alone?" repeated Mrs. Ambler, wonderingly, "why, of course I read my Bible and meditated an hour every morning. In my youth it would have been considered very unladylike not to do it, and I'm sure there's no better way of beginning the day than with a chapter in the Bible and a little meditation. I wish you would try it, Betty." Her eyes were upon her daughter, and she added in an unchanged voice, "Don't you think you might manage to make your hair lie smoother, dear? It's very pretty, I know; but the way it curls about your face is just a bit untidy, isn't it?"

Then, as the Governor came in from his day in town, she turned eagerly to hear the news of his latest speech.

"Oh, I've had a great day, Julia," began the Governor; but as he stooped to kiss her, she gave a little cry of alarm. "Why, you're frozen through!" she exclaimed. "Betty, stir the fire, and make your father sit down by the fender. Shall I mix you a toddy, Mr. Ambler?"

"Tut, tut!" protested the Governor, laughing, "a touch of the wind is good for the blood, my dear."

There was a light track of snow where he had crossed the room, and as he rested his foot upon the bra.s.s k.n.o.b of the fender, the ice clinging to his riding-boot melted and ran down upon the hearth.

"Oh, I've had a great day," he repeated heartily, holding his plump white hands to the flames. "It was worth the trip to test the spirit of Virginia; and it's sound, Julia, as sound as steel. Why, when I said in my speech--you'll remember the place, my dear--that if it came to a choice between slavery and the Union, we'd ship the negroes back to Africa, and hold on to the flag, I was applauded to the echo, and it would have done you good to hear the cheers."

"I knew it would be so, Mr. Ambler," returned his wife, with conviction.

"Even if they thought otherwise I was sure your speech would convince them.

Dr. Crump was talking to me only yesterday, and he said that he had heard both Mr. Yancey and Mr. Douglas, and that neither of them--"

"I know, my love, I know," interposed the Governor, waving his hand. "I have myself heard the good doctor commit the same error of judgment. But, remember, it is easy to convince a man who already thinks as you do; and since the Major has gone over to the Democrats, the doctor has grown Whiggish, you know."

Mrs. Ambler flushed. "I'm sure I don't see why you should deny that you have a talent for oratory," she said gravely. "I have sometimes thought it was why I fell in love with you, you made such a beautiful speech the first day I met you at the tournament in Leicesterburg. Fred Dulany crowned me, you remember; and in your speech you brought in so many lovely things about flowers and women."

"Ah, Julia, Julia," sighed the Governor, "so the sins of my youth are rising to confound me," and he added quickly to Betty, "Isn't that some one coming up the drive, daughter?"

Betty ran to the window and drew back the damask curtains. "It's the Major, papa," she said, nodding to the old gentleman through the gla.s.s, "and he does look so cold. Go out and bring him in, and don't--please don't talk horrid politics to-night."

"I'll not, daughter, on my word, I'll not," declared the Governor, and he wore the warning as a breastplate when he went out to meet his guest.

The Major, in his tight black broadcloth, entered, with his blandest smile, and bowed over Mrs. Ambler's hand.

"I saw your firelight as I was pa.s.sing, dear madam," he began, "and I couldn't go on without a glimpse of you, though I knew that Molly was waiting for me at the end of three cold miles."

He put his arm about Betty and drew her to him.

"You must borrow some of your sister's blushes, my child," he said; "it isn't right to grow pale at your age. I don't like to see it," and then, as Virginia came shyly in, he held out his other hand, and accused her of stealing his boy's heart away from him. "But we old folks must give place to the young," he continued cheerfully; "it's nature, and it's human nature, too."

"It will be a dull day when you give place to any one else, Major,"

returned the Governor, politely.