that night, so long his step went to and fro in his room as he paced the floor, for he could not sleep and he could not be still, that the rebel, hidden in the attic, was visited by grave monitions concerning his neighbor and did not venture out to roam the stairways and halls and the unoccupied precincts of the ground floor as he was wont to do.
"'the son of belial' has something on his mind, to a certainty, and i hope to the powers 'tisn't me," julius said now and again, as he listened. he had sat long in his rickety arm-chair in the broad slant of the moonlight, that fell athwart the dim furniture and the gray shadows, for the night continued fair and the moon was specially brilliant. once in the clear glow he saw distinctly in the further spaces the figure of a man, watchful-eyed, eager, springing toward him as he moved, and he experienced the cold chill of despair before he realized that it was his own reflection in a dull mirror at the opposite side of the great room that had elicited this apparition of terror. he took himself quickly out of the range of its reflection.
"two johnny rebs are a crowd in this garret![pg 168] i have just about room enough for myself. i'm not recruiting."
he crept silently to the bed and lay down at full length, all dressed and booted as he was, his hands clasped under his head, with the moonlight in his eyes and illuminating his sleepless pillow, still listening to the regular step marching to and fro in the room below.
julius did not court slumber.
"i must keep the watch with you, my fine fellow," he said resolutely.
though there was a strong coercion to wakefulness in the propinquity of that spirit of unrest which possessed his enemy so close at hand, his eyes once grew heavy-lidded and opened with a sudden start as, half dreaming, he fancied a stealthy approach. he sprang from the recumbent posture, and the floor creaked under the abrupt movement. this gave him pause, and he slowly collected his faculties. surely the stranger would hardly venture, even under the relentless scourge of his own wakeful thoughts, to roam about the house in search of peace or the surcease of mental tyranny that change might effect. this might savor of disrespect to his host, yet julius canvassed the suggestion. these were untoward times, and strange people were queerly mannered. the officer must have learned in the length of his residence here that the great vacant attic was untenanted wholly, and of course he knew that the ground floor was[pg 169] altogether unoccupied by night. he might descend and light the library lamp and read. he might indeed roam the deserted rooms with the same sort of satisfaction that julius himself had already felt in the great spaces, the absolute quiet, the still moonlight, the long abeyance of day with its procrastination of the sordid problems and the toilsome business of life. if he had chanced to meet the rebel on the stairs, he would scarcely have thought the apparition a spectral manifestation, as the poor little twins had construed the encounter in the library, for old janus, trembling and terrified, had detailed the significance of the scene in the dining room afterward, and the eagerness of julius to get away, to be off, had been redoubled. daily he had hoped for news of the approach of the picket-lines, and daily the old servant wrung his hands and made his report, of which the burden was, "wuss an' wuss!"—or detailed a "scrimmage" in which "dem scand'lous rebs had run like tuckies, an' deir line is furder off dan it eber was afore!"
the confederate officer, nevertheless, had hitherto felt a degree of safety in the attic and had the resources of a manly patience to await the event. this nocturnal eccentricity on the part of the guest of the house, however, roused new forebodings. it bore in its own conditions the inception of added danger. it was unprecedented. it marked a turbulent restlessness and the element of change. in the evidently agitated[pg 170] state of the stranger's nerves, some trifle, the scamper of a rat, the dislodgment of the rickety old cornice of this bedstead, the fall of one of the girandoles, teetering over there on a chest of drawers, might rouse him with its clamor and justify the ascent of the attic stairs to investigate its source. these were troublous times. there were stories forever afloat of lawless marauders. smoke-houses were broken into and pillaged. mansions were robbed and fired, and their tenants, chiefly women and children, fleeing into the cornfields to hide, watched the roof-tree flare. it was hard for the authorities to find and fix the responsibility for these dread deeds in remote inaccessible spots, and it would be culpable neglect for this federal officer to tolerate the suggestion of an ill-omened noise or an unaccustomed presence without seeking out its cause. evidently any accident would bring him upstairs. it was equally obvious that the garret was no place to sleep to-night! julius, as he lay on the pillow, could hardly rid himself of the idea of approach. ever and anon he looked for the stealthy shadow of which he had dreamed, climbing in the moonbeams along the balusters of the stairway. finally he stole silently out of the reach of the moonlight to a darker corner of the room,—the deep recess of one of the windows which the shadow of a great branch of the white pine made duskier still. the tall tree, with its full, sempervirent boughs, showed the varying[pg 171] nocturnal tints that color may compass, uninformed by the sun,—the cool suggestion of a fair dull green where the moonbeams glistered, the fibrous leaves tipped with a dim sparkle; the deep umbrageous verdure where the darkness lurked and yet did not annul the vestige of tone. as he reclined on the window-seat, he discerned farther down a faint flare of artificial light. it described a regularly barred square amidst the pine needles, and he presently recognized it as the light from the window of captain baynell's room. now and again it flickered in a way that told how the disregarded candle was beginning to gutter in the socket. still to and fro the regular footfalls went, muffled on the heavy carpet, but in the dead hush of night perceptible enough to the watching listener. at last with a final flare the taper burned out, but the moon was in the windows along the western side of the house, and still to and fro went the steps, betokening the turmoil of unquiet thoughts. julius watched how the moonbeams shifted from bough to bough as the slow night lingered. he heard the bells from the city towers mark the hour and the recurrent echo from the rocky banks of the river: then one far away, belated, faint, scarcely perceived, beat out the tally of the time on some remote cliff. once more the air fell silent save for the jubilee of the mocking-birds, for spring had come, and skies were fair, and the gossamer moon was a-swing in the night, and love, and[pg 172] life, and home were dear, and the incredibly sweet, brilliant delight of song arose in pæans of joy and faith. even this waned after a time. a wind with the thrills of dawn in its wings sprang up, and julius shivered with the chill. the dew was cold and thick in the pines, and the sward glittered like a sheet of water.
at last all was quiet and silent in the room below. julius listened intently. no creak of opening door; no footfall on the stair. now, he told himself, was the moment of danger, when he could no longer be assured of the man's movements, and could not even guess at his intentions. he listened—still—still to silence. silence absolute, null.
a bird stirred with a half-awakened chirp. the sky showed a clearer tone, a vague blue, growing ever more definite. in the stillness, with an elastic, leaping sound, strong and sweet, the call of a bugle rang out suddenly from the fort on the heights, and, behold, with a flash of red on the water, and a flare of gold in the sky, the sweet spring day was early here.
it came glowing on with all the graces and soft splendors of the season as if it bore, too, none of the prosaic recall to the labors and sordid routine and unavailing troubles and vexations of the workaday world. the camps were alive, the drums were beating, and all the echoes of the hills gave voice to martial summons. the flag was floating anew from the heights of the fort in the[pg 173] fresh and fragrant sunshine, and now and again a bar or two of the music of a military band in the distance came on the wind. the clatter of wagon wheels was audible from the stony streets of the little city. the shriek of a locomotive split the air as an incoming train whizzed across the bridge. the river craft steamed and puffed, and blockaded the landing, now backing water and now forging forward, remonstrating with bells and whistles in strenuous dialogue.
it was a day like yesterday, yet to baynell all the world had changed. no day could ever be the same. life itself was made up of depreciated values. the blow had fallen so heavily, so suddenly, so conclusively. all, all was dead! it was much with a sense of decorous observance, of reverential respect, that he made haste to bury his slain hopes, his foolish dream, his ardent expectations out of sight, never to rise again. it was unwise to linger here, but not because of his own interest, he said to himself. it would not unfit him for his duty. this was all that was left to him. his feeling for this had never swerved. it was unaffected—all apart from what had come and gone. but his presence could but be distasteful to her. and any moment might reveal his state of feeling to others—to judge roscoe, who would resent it if it should suggest an unwelcome urgency. and the neighbors—he had not been unnoting of the glances of surprise that had already greeted that radiant figure in white and[pg 174] red yesterday. while he winced a little from the realization that his sudden departure would illustrate the sad plight of a love-lorn suitor, disregarded and cast aside,—for he had a thousand keen susceptibilities to pride,—and he would fain the tongues of gossips should forbear this sacred theme, it were best that he should go, and that shortly.
when he appeared at the breakfast-table, pale and a trifle haggard, he gave no other token of his long vigil and the radical change that he had suffered in his life and prospects. he was a man of theory. he valued his self-respect. he insisted on his self-control. he had exerted all his capacities, summoned all the resources of his courage; and this was the more needed because of the unconventional, informal footing on which he stood with the family. to say farewell and ride away might seem easy enough, but this was like quitting a home with affectionate domestic claims. when he said that he thought he must return to camp to-day, the twin "ladies" laid down knife and fork to enter their protest. they lifted their voices in plaintive entreaty, and the deaf-mute looked at baynell with limpid eyes and a quivering lip. but uncle ephraim, bringing in the waffles, had a vague suggestion of "it's time, too," in the wag of his head. judge roscoe doubtless experienced a vivid realization of the advantage to accrue to the young soldier in the attic, whose security in his hiding-place was[pg 175] so endangered by the presence of the federal officer, for he was very guarded even in his first cordial phrases, and thenceforward said no more than policy required. the twin "ladies," however, continued to loudly urge that the captain might find lizards in his cot; and asked if his tent had a floor; and warned him that frogs were everywhere now. "tree-toads, o-o-oh! with injer-rubber feet," cried geraldine, shudderingly, "that blow out and climb!"
"and you'll have no little girl to put a lump of sugar in your after-dinner coffee, captain," said adelaide, impressing the merits of her methods.
"and no little girl to bring you a lighted taper for your cigar," chimed in geraldine.
"it's my turn to-day, ger'ldine," cried the enterprising adelaide, springing from her chair to monopolize the precious privilege.
"no—no! mine—mine! you had it yesterday!" cried geraldine, racing after her out of the room.
"'twas day before!" protested adelaide's voice far up the hallway.
"you had better get your cigar-case ready, to bestow the boon on the first comer," suggested mrs. gwynn. she had entirely recovered her equanimity, as he perceived. the state of his unsought affections was naught to her. the wreck of his heart—she had known wrecked hearts for a more bitter cause! doubtless she thought the pain transitory in his case; already[pg 176] its contemplation seemed to have passed from her mind like a tale that is told. she was sedately suave as always, barely attentive, preoccupied, her usual manner, so incongruous with her youth and beauty, so at variance with her attire from the old wardrobe of by-gone days,—the fresh white lawn, flecked with light blue, the ruffles finished with "footing," and with a bobinet scarf about her throat, wherein was thrust a pin of a single rose carved in coral. she was like some dainty maiden, no refugee from the world, sad and widowed.
she led the way to the library, partly to see that the "ladies" did not set themselves aflame as their short skirts flickered about the small dully burning fire, still lighted night and morning against the chill of the crisp vernal air. they were, indeed, leaping back and forth over the fender with some temerity, and baynell, seating himself by the table, his cigar between his teeth, thought it best to dispose of both the lighted spills by not drawing at all till both were alternately offered and the extinction of each secured. then, as the "ladies" flew back to the dining room and out to the parterre, having volunteered to gather the rest of the flowers for the vases, leonora and baynell were left for the time together.
it gratified him to perceive that she did not fear the introduction of the subject anew. she experienced not even a momentary embarrassment.[pg 177] she understood him so well, and the plane of his emotion.
the early morning sunshine was in the cheerful library windows; a mocking-bird on a vine outside swayed so close, as he sang, that his shadow continually flickered over the sill; the flowers were all freshly abloom, and mrs. gwynn was standing on the opposite side of the table, her hands full of the spring blossoms that lay already on a tray, preparing to fill the great blue and white wedgwood bowl.
baynell, commenting on the splendor of the tulips as he smoked his cigar, spoke of the craze for speculation in the bulb that had existed in holland, and said he had once seen an old book of illustrations of famous prize-takers, with fabulous prices; he had always wondered how they compared with the results of modern culture and the infinite variety to which the bloom had been brought, and he had often wished to see the book again.
"why, we have that!" exclaimed mrs. gwynn, pausing with her hands full of the gold variety "flamed" with scarlet. she glanced uncertainly toward the bookshelves, then suddenly remembering—"oh, i know now where it is;—in the old bookcase upstairs, at the head of the third flight. i will call one of the ladies to go for it."
baynell rose, his lighted cigar between his lips. "don't trouble them; let me go!"
[pg 178]julius heard the swift step of a young man on the stair. he knew that the crucial moment had come. and yet for the sake of the safety of his father, who had concealed him here, he dared not defend himself with his pistols. he had not a moment for flight or to seek a hiding-place. he could only nerve his powers to meet the crisis as best he might.
baynell, taken wholly by surprise, felt his senses reel when, like the grotesque inconsequence of a dream, a man in the uniform of a confederate officer in the quiet, peaceful house confronted him at the head of the flight.
"you are my prisoner!" baynell mechanically gasped, clutching julius with one hand and drawing his pistol with the other. "you are my prisoner!"
"in a horn!" retorted julius, delivering his enemy a blow between the eyes which flung baynell, stunned and bleeding, down the flight to the landing, while the boy went by him like a flash.
that swift fiery figure, with its gray regimentals and its brass and steel glitter, covered with blood, passed leonora like some gory apparition as she stood in the library door, amazed, pallid, breathless, summoned by the sound of loud voices and the reverberating clamors of the collision on the stairs. julius dashed through the drawing-rooms, opened the window on the western balcony, sprang over the rail, and disappeared swiftly among the[pg 179] low boughs of the row of evergreen shrubs planted there in old times as a wind-break, and stretching along the crest of the hill.
and placidly in the sunshine the sentry paced his beat before the south portico, the reaches of the drive in sight, the appropriate entrance of the place, all unconscious of aught amiss, seeing nothing, hearing nothing,—till suddenly, with an effect of confusion, like the distortions of a delirium, he was aware that the grove was full of federal soldiers, chiefly from the infantry regiment camped in the orchard to the west,—soldiers in wild disorder, hatless, shoeless, coatless, many of them,—all armed, all howling with an unexplained excitement, racing frantically hither and thither, bushwhacking with their rifles every bough in their reach. and now they came at full run, still howling and wild, toward the house.
"halt!" cried the sentry. "halt!"
the advance came surging on, regardless.
"halt, or i fire!" once more the guard warned the onset. and he levelled his weapon.
they clamored out words at him, all madly intermingled, all unintelligible, approaching still at full run.
perhaps the sentinel had some excusable regard for his own safety, for in the unexplained excitement that possessed them, they were less soldiery than a frantic mob. he had warrant enough to fire into the midst of the crowd. but it seemed[pg 180] that he might in a moment have been torn limb from limb. he interpreted his duty on the side of caution. he cocked his weapon, fired into the air, and called lustily upon the "corporal of the guard." the mass surged into the house, some by the front door, some by the open library window, others scaled the balcony and pressed through the drawing-rooms and into the hall.
the terrified children clung to the skirt of mrs. gwynn's dress, as amazed and bewildered she stood in the wide long hall, by the great carved newel of the stairs, while with frantic interrogatories—"where is he? where is he? who is he?"—the intruders searched every nook and cranny of the lower floor. destruction, the inadvertent incident of haste, or the concomitant of clumsy accoutrements, seemed to attend their steps. now sounded the shiver of glass as a soldier burst through one of the long french windows of the dining room. a trooper caught his huge cavalry spurs in the meshes of a lace curtain in one of the parlors and brought down cornice, lambrequin, and all with a crash. the crystal shades of the hall chandelier were not proof against a bayonet, held unduly aloft at the posture of shoulder arms. a tussle for precedence knocked a weighty marble statue, half life-size, out of the niche at the turn of the staircase. these casualties and the attendant noise, the heavy tramp of booted feet, the raucous sonority of their voices as they called suggestions to each[pg 181] other, all intensified the terror, the tumult of their uncontrolled and turbulent presence.
as a score raced up the stairs a sudden hush fell upon the rout. those still below apprehended developments of moment and pressed to the scene. the foremost had encountered judge roscoe and old ephraim bearing down to the second story the prostrate body of captain baynell, all dripping with blood, while the floor of the stairs to the attic showed the stains of the fall.
the unexpected spectacle stayed the tumult for a moment. then as a hoarse murmur rose, judge roscoe turned toward the foremost standing at the foot of the attic flight.
"lend a hand here," he said with a calm, steady voice. then, looking over the balustrade to those below, "has the surgeon come?"
the question went from one to another—"has the surgeon come?" to those that filled the halls and made sudden excursions to and fro in the adjoining rooms as suspicion of hiding-places occurred to them; to others that gorged the main staircase, packed close at its head, with necks craning forward, and ears and eyes intent to hear and see what had chanced.
by this time officers were in the house and the unwelcome voice of command curtailed the activities of the mob and reduced it speedily to the aspect of soldiery. the voice of command had irate intonations, and one or two of the younger[pg 182] officers showed a disposition to lay about with the flat of their swords, as a "wand of authority" indeed, but, apparently inadvertently, dealing blows that had tingling intimations. they cleared the mansion quickly, the unruly manifestation serving to minimize its provocation.
to judge roscoe's infinite relief the officers were disposed to regard the disturbance as one of those inexplicable attacks of folly which sometimes lay hold on a mass of men, but which would be incapable of affecting them as individuals. for a search-party organized on a strict military principle had carefully ransacked every portion of the house and cellar and also the attic,—where no traces betrayed recent habitation,—examined all the vineyard, hedges, shrubbery, and even the boughs of the great trees, and invaded the stable, barn, crib, ice-house, poultry yards, dairy, kennel, dove-cote, the miscellaneous outbuildings, sties and byres, all empty, devoid even of the usual domestic animals—absolutely with no result. no confederate fugitive, covered with blood or in any other plight, was found, and in the thrice-guarded camps that surrounded the place escape seemed impossible. the ranking officer who ordered the search naturally believed that the sudden conviction of the presence of a confederate soldier in the house was a sheer delusion, promulgated and distorted by rumor. some story of captain baynell's fall and wound, caught possibly from the messenger sent[pg 183] to fetch the surgeon, had been misunderstood. this he considered was the only reasonable explanation. no one, he argued, could have escaped under the circumstances. no rebel was in the house or in the grounds. it was impossible for a man to have fled except into the midst of the camps.
notwithstanding the conviction thus reached, special precautionary measures were taken. new sentries were stationed on the rear and west of the house as well as in front. these posts were to be visited by a sergeant with a patrol, twice during the night. if any rebel had contrived to escape from the place, he would find it difficult indeed to reënter it. these duties concluded, the officer dismissed the whole matter as a canard or one of the inexplicable manifestations of human folly, and departed, leaving quiet descending upon the distracted scene.
it was the cook, aunt chaney, who had been sent at full speed for the surgeon. she had vaguely understood from old ephraim's aspect and frantic mandate that something terrifying had befallen the household, and she did not realize until afterward the sacrifice of dignity her aspect must have presented as she ran, fatly waddling, over the hill, across the commons, and then up a path to a hospital on an eminence overlooking the town, formerly a medical college. she was bonnetless, limping actively, for one of her large, loose slippers had gone, and gone forever.[pg 184] its loss destroyed the equipoise of her gait; her unshod foot was pierced with stones and chilled with the damp ground; her sleeves were rolled up, her arms held out at a bandy angle, for her fingers were dripping with cake-batter, and she did not have sufficient composure to wring them free till she was following the surgeon home.
the condition of the messenger intimated the seriousness of the call, and the surgeon hardly waited to hear more than the wild appeal—"come at once! captain baynell has killed his-self—heabenly friend! i wish he could hev' tuk enny other premises ter hev' c'mitted the deed." as she toiled along behind the surgeon, "oh, my lawd an' king!" she panted at intervals.
baynell remained unconscious for some time. when at length he came to himself he was lying quietly in the great, commodious bedroom that he had of late occupied in the storm centre, the green venetian blinds half closed, the afternoon sunlight softly flecking the carpet, the air of high decorum and gentle nurture which so characterized the place peculiarly in evidence, and old ephraim noiselessly flitting about with a palm-leaf fan in his hand, ready to annihilate any vagrant fly with enough temerity to appear.
"ye los' yer balance, sah, an' fell down de steers," he unctuously explained.
"i know—i remember that—but who—where is that rebel officer?"
[pg 185]"i reckon ye mus' hev' drempt about him, cap'n," the "double-faced janus" responded casually, with the superior air of humoring a delusion. "ye been talkin' 'bout him afore whenst ye wuz deelerious. but dar ain't none ob dem miser'ble slave-drivers round dese diggin's now'-days, praise de lawd! freedom come wid de union army."
this assurance convinced the federal officer. the old servant's interest was so obviously with the invading force that his motive was not open to question. moreover, it was not the first time that baynell had dreamed of the confederate officer, the erstwhile lover of leonora gwynn, whose splendid portrait hung on the wall, and whom she often mentioned with interest.
when the surgeon next called he expressed to his patient great surprise: "it is very natural that in your state of convalescence you should grow dizzy and fall; but i can't for my life understand how you contrived to get such a blow from the edge of a step. it has all the style about it of a hit straight from the shoulder of an expert boxer. uncle ephraim doesn't happen to be something of a pugilist, now?" he added jocosely, smiling and glancing at the old negro.
"i don't happen to be nuffin, sah, dat ain't perlite," grinned the amenable "janus."
"your friends downstairs seemed frightened out of their wits, baynell,—lest your wound should be imputed to them, i suppose," the surgeon[pg 186] said openly, for he did not consider the presence of the ex-slave.
"yes, sah!" put in uncle ephraim, "eider me or marster, or de widder 'oman, or de ladies air sure bound ter hev' knocked him up dat way, kase 'twould take a puffick reel-foot man ter fall downstairs dat fashion. yah! yah!"
it did not occur to baynell to doubt this statement, and not one word did he say to the surgeon of his dream of the presence of the confederate officer. he made no effort to account for the disaster, merely lending himself to the surgeon's view that he had grown suddenly dizzy and the stairs were steep in the third flight.
this gave the surgeon a disquieting sense of suspicion some time afterward. when returning from his tour of duty at the hospital he was again in the camp, he heard there the amazing rumor among the soldiers that a confederate officer, covered with blood, had been seen to issue from the roscoe house and with lightning-like speed disappear among the shrubbery. he wondered that baynell should not have mentioned the commotion, forgetting that as he was unconscious he might be still unaware of the fact.
dr. grindley was not of a designing nature; but he was consciously experimenting when he said, rather banteringly, on his next visit, "how about the notion that there was a confederate officer concealed in this house?"
baynell looked annoyed. he had heard as[pg 187] yet not an allusion to the raid upon the house during the period of his insensibility, and he did not know that the presence of a confederate officer had even been rumored. he supposed that the doctor referred to the chance question he had asked uncle ephraim, and he deprecated the fact that the old man should have heedlessly repeated this. the dream of the altercation, as he fancied the recollection, was still vague in his mind, and with that quality of unreality and so blended with other visions of his delirium and fever that he in naught doubted its tenuous state as a figment of a disordered brain.
"there was no rebel," he said somewhat gruffly.
"that was all merely the love of sensation?" asked the surgeon.
"of course," baynell assented, and fell silent.
this had been the conclusion among the officers of the surrounding camp, and it was not surprising to the surgeon that baynell should share it, but there was a consciousness, a mortification, in his manner, that implied a personal interest and forced the question to be dropped. the surgeon had no wish to press it, and moreover he was anxious to avoid exciting the patient. he had some doubt as to the result of the fall; he was meditating seriously on symptoms which indicated that the skull had sustained a fracture. but when he remarked that all might be well if captain baynell remained quiet and stirred as little as possible, he was surprised and dismayed[pg 188] by the vehemence with which the patient declared that he must move; he must leave the house; he could not, he would not stay under this roof another night, not even an hour longer. he requested the surgeon to make arrangements to attend him elsewhere, and rang the bell to send a message to camp directing his servant to come and get his personal effects. only a sleeping-potion could restrain this determination at the time, and the next day a return of the fever and delirium solved the surgeon's problem how to bend the will of the refractory patient to the demands of his own best interests.
uncle ephraim found some difficulty in sustaining with composure the disasters and excitement and fears that crowded in upon him. he must play his part with requisite spirit when in presence of the public, and he must suffer in silence and alone. he dared not seek to confer apart with his master as to the next step, lest he rouse suspicion that they had some secret understanding, and had indeed harbored the enemy. he dared not confide his troubles even to his wife, aunt chaney, although he yearned for sympathy, for reassurance. the old cook, however, had not been admitted to any detail of the secret presence of julius in the house. for aught she knew, even now, he was five hundred miles away.
the perversity of the falling out of events dismayed and daunted old ephraim. only that[pg 189] morning—the morning of that momentous day—captain baynell had announced at the table the termination of his visit.
"an' it wuz time, too. 'fore de lawd, it wuz surely time," the old servant grumbled, in surly retrospect. for had the officer but taken his leave and his cigar together, how different it might all have been! "marse julius mought hev' seen miss leonora, an' mebbe de ladies, an' come down inter de house an' smoked a seegar wid his pa. lawdy, massy! wid de curtains drawed, an' de blinds down. dat's whut he honed for! oh, 'fore gawd, i dunno whar dat baby-chile—dat pore leetle julius—is now!"
his face caught a fleeting grimace to remember the height of the "baby-chile,"—but as helpless, as forlorn, as some tiny waif, and oh, so terribly threatened in this beleaguered, in this thrice-guarded, town!
when at last he was dismissed from his station in the sick room by the sinking of baynell into slumber under the influence of the sedative administered by the surgeon, old ephraim, succumbing both in physique and in spirit, even in gait, stumbled downstairs and took his way into the kitchen to find some talk of trifles, some stir of the familiar duties, that might enable him to be rid of his unquiet thoughts, of his dread prognostications, of his sheer terror of the future. he sunk into a wooden chair beside the stove, for the cooking of supper was already under way.[pg 190] he was feeling very old and weary. his countenance seemed to have collapsed in some sort, so did his usual expression of brisk satisfaction and dapper respectfulness and reserve of intelligence prop and sustain its contours. its bony structure now seemed withdrawn. it was a sort of dilapidated mask of desolation. he drew a long sigh. and then he said:—
"dis is a tur'ble, tur'ble world, mon!"
"dis world is a long sight better dan de nex' world for you!" said his wife, rancorously prophetic. "you hear me!"
the imperious chaney had not collapsed. her "head-handkercher" was bestowed in a turban that had two high standing ends like tufts of feathers above her black, resolute face. her black eyes snapped as she looked beyond him, not at him. she was stepping about, stoutly, firmly, audibly, in her sunday shoes, for no amount of mourning materialized the lost slip-shod chaussure—pressed deep in the mud of the highway by wagon-wheels and the uninformed hoof of an unimaginative army mule.
uncle ephraim gazed up in growing anxiety, not to say fright, for aunt chaney's mood was not suave. she suddenly paused on the other side of the stove, and, gesticulating across it with a long spoon, demanded: "you—ole—deestracted—cawnfield—hand! what fur did you send me fur de doctor-man?"
"whut you go fur, den?"
[pg 191]aunt chaney reflected on her appearance on the highway, in her old homespun dress, "coat," as she called it, one slipper, no bonnet, the cake-dough dripping from her hands. she remembered that some wagoners of a forage train, struck by her agitated aspect, had looked back to laugh from their high perches among the hay and fodder; she remembered that some little imp-like boys had twitted her, calling after her in their high, callow chirp, and sorry was she that she had not left all to chase them—to chase them till they died of fright! she—she who was accustomed to flaunt in a "changeable" silk, and her bonnet had an ostrich plume! she wore a bracelet, too, on grand occasions, and this was gold, solid and heavy, fine and engraved, for "miss leonora" herself had it bought in new orleans expressly for her, after she had discovered and unaided extinguished a midnight fire. not that old chaney would have wasted all this splendor on the errand for the doctor. if she had thought but for a moment, she would have garbed herself as now, as she did instantly on her return home, to save her self-respect,—in a purple calico and a clean, white, domestic apron, with her respected and respectable green-and-white checked sun-bonnet, all laundered, as ever, to absolute perfection. her haste had destroyed her judgment.
"whyn't ye tole me dat de man hed jes' fell downsteers,—when ye come out yere, howlin'[pg 192] lak a painter wid a misery in his jaw. i 'lowed de yankee had deestroyed his-self on dese yere premises."
"so did i! so did i! he bled—and bled!" old ephraim paused, his face fallen. the association of ideas brought by the mention of blood was uncanny.
"what ailed de man dat he hatter fall downsteers?"
"i dunno." the denial was pat.
"whut's he come down here fightin' in the war without he's able ter keep from fallin' downsteers? de roscoes kin stan' up! i'll say dat fur 'em."
"dey kin dat," replied the "double-faced janus" admiringly, thinking of julius.
"how long he gwine stay?"
"'twell he git well, i reckon."
"den i say dis ain't no house nor home. dis is horspital number forty—dat's whut. marse gerald roscoe ain't got no more sense 'n a good-sized chicken, dough he is a jedge, ter hev' dat man yere fur miss leonora ter keer fur, an' take ter marryin' agin 'fore her old sweetheart, julius roscoe, kin git home. 'fore de lawd, i stood it ez long ez dere seemed enny end to it, but now—" she banged her pots, and pans, and kettles about with virulence.
"marse julius," she continued, "he's de man fur leonora roscoe,—i ain't gwine call her 'gwynn,'—marse julius is good-hearted and[pg 193] free-handed; i knowed him from a baby, an' he wuz a big one! i always knowed he war in love wid her ever since dat christmas up at the devrett place, when he an' some o' dem limber-jack devrett boys got inter de wall or inter de groun'—i dunno whar—an' sung right inter de company's ear, powerful mysterious,—skeered 'em all! marse julius, he tuk his guitar an' sung,—'oh, my love's like a red, red rose!' an' she looked lak one while she listened, fur she knowed his voice. i wuz peekin' in at de company at de winder—lawd—lawd! i 'lowed dat would be a match—but yere come along dat gwynn feller!"
a sudden white flare of burning lard spread over the red-hot stove, for uncle ephraim had sprung up so abruptly as to strike the long handle of the skillet and overturn the utensil.
"ain't ye got no mo' use of yer haid 'n ter go buttin' 'roun' de kitchen, lak a ole deestracted billy-goat, lak you is!" aunt chaney demanded.
as the smoke circled about she snatched up the skillet with its flaming contents.
"git out my kitchen, else i'll scald de grizzled woolly soul out'n you!"
"bress de lawd, 'oman, i ain't wantin' ter stay in yer kitchen," said uncle ephraim, suddenly spry and saucy and brisk,—a trifle more brisk, indeed, accelerating his pace toward the[pg 194] door, as she took two or three long, agile, elastic steps toward him.
"i got other feesh ter fry!" he chuckled to himself.
for the blazing lard but typified a certain illumination in old ephraim's mind.
