AILSA PAIGE A NOVEL BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS "It is at best but a mixture of a little good with much evil and a little pleasure with much pain; the beautiful is linked with the revolting, the trivial with the solemn, bathos with pathos, the commonplace with the sublime. " ILLUSTRATED D. APPLETON AND COMPANYNEW YORK AND LONDON1910 COPTRIGHT, 1910, BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS Copyright, 1910, by The Curtis Publishing Company Published August, 1910 TO THE CONQUERORSWHO WON IMMORTAL VICTORY "Arm yourselves and be Valiant Men, and see that ye rise upin readiness against the Dawn, that ye may do Battle with Thesethat are Assembled against us. . . . "For it is better to die in Battle than live to behold theCalamities of our own People. . . . " "Lord, we took not the Land into Possession by our own Swords;neither was it our own Hands that helped us; but Thy Hand wasa Buckler; and Thy right Arm a Shield, and the Light of ThyCountenance hath conquered forever. " AND TO THE VANQUISHED WHO WON IMMORTALITY "We are the fallen, who, with helpless faces Low in the dust, in stiffening ruin lay, Felt the hoofs beat, and heard the rattling traces As o'er us drove the chariots of the fray. "We are the fallen, who by ramparts gory, Awaiting death, heard the far shouts begin, And with our last glance glimpsed the victor's glory For which we died, but dying might not win. "We were but men. Always our eyes were holden, We could not read the dark that walled us round, Nor deem our futile plans with Thine enfolden-- We fought, not knowing God was on the ground. "Aye, grant our ears to bear the foolish praising Of men--old voices of our lost home-land, Or else, the gateways of this dim world, raising, Give us our swords again, and hold Thy hand. " --W. H. WOODS. PREFACE Among the fifty-eight regiments of Zouaves and the seven regimentsof Lancers enlisted in the service of the United States between1861 and 1865 it will be useless for the reader to look for anyrecord of the 3d Zouaves or of the 8th Lancers. The red breechesand red fezzes of the Zouaves clothed many a dead man on Southernbattle-fields; the scarlet swallow-tailed pennon of the Lancersfluttered from many a lance-tip beyond the Potomac; the historiesof these sixty-five regiments are known. But no history of the3d Zouaves or of the 8th Lancers has ever been written save in thisnarrative; and historians and veterans would seek in vain for anyrecords of these two regiments--regiments which might have been, but never were. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "'It is there, in you--all that I believed'" "What an insolently reckless head it was!" "'I won it fairly, and I'm going to stake it all on one last bet'" "'Is Ormond your name?'" "'_Must_ you go so soon? So soon?'" "He dismounted and clutched the senseless carbineer" "She dropped on her knees at his bedside and hid her faceon his hands" "'Phillip--Phillip--my lover, my country, my God--worshippedand adored of men!'" AILSA PAIGE CHAPTER I The butler made an instinctive movement to detain him, but he flunghim aside and entered the drawing-room, the servant recovering hisequilibrium and following on a run. Light from great crystalchandeliers dazzled him for a moment; the butler again confrontedhim but hesitated under the wicked glare from his eyes. Thenthrough the brilliant vista, the young fellow caught a glimpse of adining-room, a table where silver and crystal glimmered, and agreat gray man just lowering a glass of wine from his lips to gazeat him with quiet curiosity. The next moment he traversed the carpeted interval between them andhalted at the table's damask edge, gazing intently across at thesolitary diner, who sat leaning back in an arm-chair, heavy righthand still resting on the stem of a claret glass, a cigar suspendedbetween the fingers of his left hand. "Are you Colonel Arran?" "I am, " replied the man at the table coolly. "Who the devil areyou?" "By God, " replied the other with an insolent laugh, "that's what Icame here to find out!" The man at the table laid both hands on the edge of the cloth andpartly rose from his chair, then fell back solidly, in silence, buthis intent gaze never left the other's bloodless face. "Send away your servants, Colonel Arran!" said the young man in avoice now labouring under restraint. "We'll settle this matternow. " The other made as though to speak twice; then, with an effort, hemotioned to the butler. What he meant by the gesture perhaps he himself scarcely realisedat the moment. The butler instantly signalled to Pim, the servant behind ColonelArran's chair, and started forward with a furtive glance at hismaster; and the young man turned disdainfully to confront him. "Will you retire peaceably, sir?" "No, but you will retire permanently if you touch me. Be verycareful. " Colonel Arran leaned forward, hands still gripping the table's edge: "Larraway!" "Sir?" "You may go. " The small gray eyes in the pock-pitted face stole toward youngBerkley, then were cautiously lowered. "Very well, sir, " he said. "Close the drawing-room doors. No--this way. Go out through thepantry. And take Pim with you. " "Very well, sir. " "And, Larraway!" "Sir?" "When I want you I'll ring. Until then I don't want anybody oranything. Is that understood?" "Yes, sir. " "That is all. " "Thank you, sir. " The great mahogany folding doors slid smoothly together, closingout the brilliant drawing-room; the door of the butler's pantryclicked. Colonel Arran slowly wheeled in his place and surveyed his unbiddenguest: "Well, sir, " he said, "continue. " "I haven't yet begun. " "You are mistaken, Berkley; you have made a very significantbeginning. I was told that you are this kind of a young man. " "I _am_ this kind of a young man. What else have you been told?" Colonel Arran inspected him through partly closed and heavy eyes;"I am further informed, " he said, that at twenty-four you havealready managed to attain bankruptcy. " "Perfectly correct. What other items have you collected concerningme?" "You can retrace your own peregrinations if you care to. I believethey follow a vicious circle bisecting the semi-fashionable world, and the--other. Shall we say that the expression, unenviablenotoriety, summarises the reputation you have acquired?" "Exactly, " he said; "both kinds of vice, Colonel Arran--respectableand disreputable. " "Oh! And am I correct in concluding that, at this hour, you standthere a financially ruined man--at twenty-four years of age----" "I do stand here; but I'm going to sit down. " He did so, dropped both elbows on the cloth, and balancing his chinon the knuckles of his clasped hands, examined the older man withinsolent, unchanging gaze. "Go on, " he said coolly, "what else do you conclude me to be?" "What else is there to say to you, Berkley? You have evidentlyseen my attorneys. " "I have; the fat shyster and the bow-legged one. " He reached over, poured himself a glass of brandy from a decanter, then, with anunpleasant laugh, set it aside untasted. "I beg your pardon. I've had a hard day of it. I'm not myself, "he said with an insolent shrug of excuse. "At eleven o'clock thismorning Illinois Central had fallen three more points, and I had nofurther interest in the market. Then one of your brokers--" Heleaned farther forward on the table and stared brightly at theolder man, showing an edge of even teeth, under the receding upperlip: "How long have your people been watching me?" "Long enough to give me what information I required. " "Then you really _have_ had me watched?" "I have chosen to keep in touch with your--career, Berkley. " Berkley's upper lip again twitched unpleasantly; but, when atlength he spoke, he spoke more calmly than before and his mobilefeatures were in pallid repose. "One of your brokers--Cone--stopped me. I was too confused tounderstand what he wanted of me. I went with him to yourattorneys--" Like lightning the snarl twitched his mouth again; hemade as though to rise, and controlled himself in the act. "Where are the originals of those letters?" he managed to say atlast. "In this house. " "Am I to have them?" "I think so. " "So do I, " said the young man with a ghastly smile. "I'm quitesure of it. " Colonel Arran regarded him in surprise. "There is no occasion for violence in this house, Berkley. " "Where are the letters?" "Have you any doubts concerning what my attorneys have told you?The originals are at your immediate disposal if you wish. " Then Berkley struck the table fiercely, and stood up, as claretsplashed and trembling crystal rang. "That's all I want of _you_!" he said. "Do you understand whatyou've done? You've killed the last shred of self-respect in me!Do you think I'd take anything at _your_ hands? I never cared foranybody in the world except my mother. If what your lawyers tellme is true--" His voice choked; he stood swaying a moment, facecovered by his hands, "Berkley!" The young man's hands fell; he faced the other, who had risen tohis heavy six-foot height, confronting him across the table. "Berkley, whatever claim you have on me--and I'm ignoring thechance that you have none----" "By God, I tell you I have none! I want none! What you have doneto her you have done to me! What you and your conscience and yourcruelty and your attorneys did to her twenty-four years ago, youhave done this day to me! As surely as you outlawed her, so haveyou outlawed me to-day. That is what I now am, an outlaw!" "It was insulted civilisation that punished, not I, Berkley----" "It was you! You took your shrinking pound of flesh. I know yoursort. Hell is full of them singing psalms!" Colonel Arran sat silently stern a moment. Then the congestedmuscles, habituated to control, relaxed again. He said, underperfect self-command: "You'd better know the truth. It is too late now to discuss whosefault it was that the trouble arose between your mother and me. Welived together only a few weeks. She was in love with her cousin;she didn't realise it until she'd married me. I have nothing moreto say on that score; she tried to be faithful, I believe she was;but he was a scoundrel. And she ended by thinking me one. "Even before I married her I was made painfully aware that ourdispositions and temperaments were not entirely compatible. Ithink, " he added grimly, "that in the letters read to you thisafternoon she used the expression, 'ice and fire, ' in referring toherself and me. " Berkley only looked at him. "There is now nothing to be gained in reviewing that unhappyaffair, " continued the other. "Your mother's family are headlong, impulsive, fiery, unstable, emotional. There was a last shamefuland degrading scene. I offered her a separation; but she wasunwisely persuaded to sue for divorce. " Colonel Arran bent his head and touched his long gray moustachewith bony fingers. "The proceeding was farcical; the decree a fraud. I warned her;but she snapped her fingers at me and married her cousin the nextday. . . . And then I did my duty by civilisation. " Still Berkley never stirred. The older man looked down at thewine-soiled cloth, traced the outline of the crimson stain withunsteady finger. Then, lifting his head: "I had that infamous decree set aside, " he said grimly. "It was amatter of duty and of conscience, and I did it withoutremorse. . . . They were on what they supposed to be a wedding trip. But I had warned her. " He shrugged his massive shoulders. "If theywere not over-particular they were probably happy. Then he brokehis neck hunting--before you were born. " "Was he my father?" "I am taking the chance that he was not. " "You had reason to believe----" "I thought so. But--your mother remained silent. And her answerto my letters was to have you christened under the name you bearto-day, Philip Ormond Berkley. And then, to force matters, I madeher status clear to her. Maybe--I don't know--but my punishment ofher may have driven her to a hatred of me--a desperation thataccepted everything--even _you_!" Berkley lifted a countenance from which every vestige of colour hadfled. "Why did you tell me this?" "Because I believe that there is every chance--that you may belegally entitled to my name. Since I have known who you are, I--I_have_ had you watched. I have hesitated--a long while. Mybrokers have watched you for a year, now; my attorneys for muchlonger. To-day you stand in need of me, if ever you have stood inneed of anybody. I take the chance that you have that claim on me;I offer to receive you, provide for you. That is all, Berkley. Now you know everything. " "Who else--knows?" "Knows what?" "Knows what you did to my mother?" "Some people among the families immediately concerned, " repliedColonel Arran coolly. "Who are they?" "Your mother's relatives, the Paiges, the Berkleys--my family, theArrans, the Lents----" "What Lents?" interrupted the young man looking up sharply. "They live in Brooklyn. There's a brother and a sister, orphans;and an uncle. Captain Josiah Lent. " "Oh. . . . Who else?" "A Mrs. Craig who lives in Brooklyn. She was Celia Paige, yourmother's maid of honour. " "Who else?" "A sister-in-law of Mrs. Craig, formerly my ward. She is now awidow, a Mrs. Paige, living on London Terrace. She, however, hasno knowledge of the matter in question; nor have the Lents, nor anyone in the Craig family except Mrs. Craig. " "Who else?" "Nobody. " "I see. . . . And, as I understand it, you are now steppingforward to offer me--on the chance of--of----" "I offer you a place in this house as my son. I offer to deal withyou as a father--accepting that belief and every responsibility, and every duty, and every sacrifice that such a belief entails, " For a long time the young fellow stood there without stirring, pallid, his dark, expressionless eyes, fixed on space. And after awhile he spoke. "Colonel Arran, I had rather than all the happiness on earth, thatyou had left me the memory of my mother. You have chosen not to doso. And now, do you think I am likely to exchange what she and Ireally are, for anything more respectable that you believe you canoffer? "How, under God, you could have punished her as you did--how youcould have reconciled your conscience to the invocation of a brutallaw which rehabilitated you at the expense of the woman who hadbeen your wife--how you could have done this in the name of dutyand of conscience, I can not comprehend. "I do not believe that one drop of your blood runs in my veins. " He bent forward, laying his hands flat on the cloth, then grippingit fiercely in clenched fists: "All I want of you is what was my mother's. I bear the name shegave me; it pleased her to bestow it; it is good enough for me towear. If it be hers only, or if it was also my father's, I do notknow; but that name, legitimate or otherwise, is not for exchange!I will keep it, Colonel Arran. I am what I am. " He hesitated, rigid, clenching and unclenching his hands--then drewa deep, agonised breath: "I suppose you have meant to be just to me, I wish you might havedealt more mercifully with my mother. As for what you have done tome--well--if she was illegally my mother, I had rather be herillegitimate son than the son of any woman who ever lived withinthe law. Now may I have her letters?" "Is that your decision, Berkley?" "It is. I want only her letters from you--and any littlekeepsakes--relics--if there be any----" "I offer to recognise you as my son. " "I decline--believing that you mean to be just--and perhapskind--God knows what you do mean by disinterring the dead for a sonto look back upon----" "Could I have offered you what I offer, otherwise?" "Man! Man! _You_ have nothing to offer _me_! Your silence wasthe only kindness you could have done me! You have killedsomething in me. I don't know what, yet--but I think it was thebest part of me. " "Berkley, do you suppose that I have entered upon this matterlightly?" Berkley laughed, showing his teeth. "No. It was your damnedconscience; and I suppose you couldn't strangle it. I am sorry youcouldn't. Sometimes a strangled conscience makes men kinder. " Colonel Arran rang. A dark flush had overspread his forehead; heturned to the butler. "Bring me the despatch box which stands on: my study table. " Berkley, hands behind his back, was pacing the dining-room carpet. "Would you accept a glass of wine?" asked Colonel Arran in a lowvoice. Berkley wheeled on him with a terrible smile. "Shall a man drink wine with the slayer of souls?" Then, pallidface horribly distorted, he stretched out a shaking arm. "Not thatyou ever could succeed in getting near enough to murder _hers_!But you've killed mine. I know now what died in me. It was that!. . . And I know now, as I stand here excommunicated by you fromall who have been born within the law, that there is not left alivein me one ideal, one noble impulse, one spiritual conviction. I amwhat your righteousness has made me--a man without hope; a man withnothing alive in him except the physical brute. . . . Better notarouse that. " "You do not know what you are saying, Berkley"--Colonel Arranchoked; turned gray; then a spasm twitched his features and hegrasped the arms of his chair, staring at Berkley with burning eyes. Neither spoke again until Larraway entered, carrying an inlaid box. "Thank you, Larraway. You need not wait. " "Thank _you_, sir. " When they were again alone Colonel Arran unlocked and opened thebox, and, behind the raised lid, remained invisibly busy for somelittle time, apparently sorting and re-sorting the hidden contents. He was so very long about it that Berkley stirred at last in hischair; and at the same moment the older man seemed to arrive at anabrupt decision, for he closed the lid and laid two packages on thecloth between them. "Are these mine?" asked Berkley. "They are mine, " corrected the other quietly, "but I choose toyield them to you. " "Thank you, " said Berkley. There was a hint of ferocity in hisvoice. He took the letters, turned around to look for his hat, found it, and straightened up with a long, deep intake of breath. "I think there is nothing more to be said between us, ColonelArran?" "That lies with you. " Berkley passed a steady hand across his eyes. "Then, sir, thereremain the ceremonies of my leave taking--" he stepped closer, level-eyed--"and my very bitter hatred. " There was a pause. Colonel Arran waited a moment, then struck thebell: "Larraway, Mr. Berkley has decided to go. " "Yes, sir. " "You will accompany Mr. Berkley to the door. " "Yes, sir. " "And hand to Mr. Berkley the outer key of this house. " "Yes, sir. " "And in case Mr. Berkley ever again desires to enter this house, heis to be admitted, and his orders are to be obeyed by every servantin it. " "Yes, sir. " Colonel Arran rose trembling. He and Berkley looked at each other;then both bowed; and the butler ushered out the younger man. "Pardon--the latch-key, sir. " Berkley took it, examined it, handed it back. "Return it to Colonel Arran with Mr. Berkley'sundying--compliments, " he said, and went blindly out into the Aprilnight, but his senses were swimming as though he were drunk. Behind him the door of the house of Arran clanged. Larraway stood stealthily peering through the side-lights; thentiptoed toward the hallway and entered the dining-room with velvettread. "Port or brandy, sir?" he whispered at Colonel Arran's elbow. The Colonel shook his head. "Nothing more. Take that box to my study. " Later, seated at his study table before the open box, he heardLarraway knock; and he quietly laid away the miniature of Berkley'smother which had been lying in his steady palm for hours. "Well?" "Pardon. Mr. Berkley's key, with Mr. Berkley's compliments, sir. "And he laid it upon the table by the box. "Thank you. That will be all. " "Thank _you_, sir. Good night, sir. " "Good night. " The Colonel picked up the evening paper and opened it mechanically: "By telegraph!" he read, "War inevitable. Postscript! FortSumter! It is now certain that the Government has decided toreinforce Major Andersen's command at all hazards----" The lines in the _Evening Post_ blurred under his eyes; he passedone broad, bony hand across them, straightened his shoulders, and, setting the unlighted cigar firmly between his teeth, composedhimself to read. But after a few minutes he had read enough. Hedropped deeper into his arm-chair, groping for the miniature ofBerkley's mother. As for Berkley, he was at last alone with his letters and hiskeepsakes, in the lodgings which he inhabited--and now wouldinhabit no more. The letters lay still unopened before him on hiswriting table; he stood looking at the miniatures and photographs, all portraits of his mother, from girlhood onward. One by one he took them up, examined them--touched them to hislips, laid each away. The letters he also laid away unopened; hecould not bear to read them now. The French clock in his bedroom struck eight. He closed and lockedhis desk, stood looking at it blankly for a moment; then he squaredhis shoulders. An envelope lay open on the desk beside him. "Oh--yes, " he said aloud, but scarcely heard his own voice. The envelope enclosed an invitation from one, Camilla Lent, to atheatre party for that evening, and a dance afterward. He had a vague idea that he had accepted. The play was "The Seven Sisters" at Laura, Keene's Theatre. Thedance was somewhere--probably at Delmonico's. If he were going, itwas time he was afoot. His eyes wandered from one familiar object to another; he movedrestlessly, and began to roam through the richly furnished rooms. But to Berkley nothing in the world seemed familiar any longer; andthe strangeness of it, and the solitude were stupefying him. When he became tired trying to think, he made the tour again in astupid sort of way, then rang for his servant, Burgess, and startedmechanically about his dressing. Nothing any longer seemed real, not even pain. He rang for Burgess again, but the fellow did not appear. So hedressed without aid. And at last he was ready; and went out, drunkwith fatigue and the reaction from pain. He did not afterward remember how he came to the theatre. Presently he found himself in a lower tier box, talking to a Mrs. Paige who, curiously, miraculously, resembled the girlish portraitsof his mother--or he imagined so--until he noticed that her hairwas yellow and her eyes blue. And he laughed crazily to himself, inwardly convulsed; and then his own voice sounded again, low, humorous, caressingly modulated; and he listened to it, amused thathe was able to speak at all. "And so you are the wonderful Ailsa Paige, " he heard himselfrepeating. "Camilla wrote me that I must beware of my peace ofmind the moment I first set eyes on you----" "Camilla Lent is supremely silly, Mr. Berkley----" "Camilla is a sibyl. This night my peace of mind departed forever. " "May I offer you a little of mine?" "I may ask more than that of you?" "You mean a dance?" "More than one. " "How many?" "All of them. How many will you give me?" "One. Please look at the stage. Isn't Laura Keene bewitching?" "Your voice is. " "Such nonsense. Besides, I'd rather hear what Laura Keene issaying than listen to you. " "Do you mean it?" "Incredible as it may sound, Mr. Berkley, I really do. " He dropped back in the box. Camilla laid her painted fan acrosshis arm. "Isn't Ailsa Paige the most enchanting creature you ever saw? Itold you so! _Isn't_ she?" "Except one. I was looking at some pictures of her a half an hourago. " "She must be very beautiful, " sighed Camilla. "She was. " "Oh. . . . Is she dead?" "Murdered. " Camilla looked at the stage in horrified silence. Later shetouched him again on the arm, timidly. "Are you not well, Mr. Berkley?" "Perfectly. Why?" "You are so pale. Do look at Ailsa Paige. I am completelyenamoured of her. Did you ever see such a lovely creature in allyour life? And she is very young but very wise. She knows usefuland charitable things--like nursing the sick, and dressinginjuries, and her own hats. And she actually served a whole yearin the horrible city hospital! Wasn't it brave of her!" Berkley swayed forward to look at Ailsa Paige. He began to betormented again by the feverish idea that she resembled the girlpictures of his mother. Nor could he rid himself of the fantasticimpression. In the growing unreality of it all, in the distortedoutlines of a world gone topsy-turvy, amid the deadly blurr ofthings material and mental, Ailsa Paige's face alone remainedstrangely clear. And, scarcely knowing what he was saying, heleaned forward to her shoulder again. "There was only one other like you, " he said. Mrs. Paige turnedslowly and looked at him, but the quiet rebuke in her eyes remainedunuttered. "Be more genuine with me, " she said gently. "I am worth it, Mr. Berkley. " Then, suddenly there seemed to run a pale flash through his brain, "Yes, " he said in an altered voice, "you are worth it. . . . Don'tdrive me away from you just yet. " "Drive you away?" in soft concern. "I did not mean----" "You will, some day. But don't do it to-night. " Then the quick, feverish smile broke out. "Do you need a servant? I'm out of a place. I can either cook, clean silver, open the door, wash sidewalks, or wait on the table;so you see I have every qualification. " Smilingly perplexed, she let her eyes rest on his pallid face for amoment, then turned toward the stage again. The "Seven Sisters" pursued its spectacular course; Ione Burke, Polly Marshall, and Mrs. Vining were in the cast; tableau succeededtableau; "I wish I were in Dixie, " was sung, and the popularburlesque ended in the celebrated scene, "The Birth of theButterfly in the Bower of Ferns, " with the entire company kissingtheir finger-tips to a vociferous and satiated audience. Then it was supper at Delmonico's, and a dance--and at last thewaltz promised him by Ailsa Paige. Through the fixed unreality of things he saw her clearly, standing, awaiting him, saw her sensitive face as she quietly laid her handon his--saw it suddenly alter as the light contact startled both. Flushed, she looked up at him like a hurt child, conscious yet onlyof the surprise. Dazed, he stared back. Neither spoke; his arm encircled her; bothseemed aware of that; then only of the swaying rhythm of the dance, and of joined hands, and her waist imprisoned. Only the fragranceof her hair seemed real to him; and the long lashes resting oncurved cheeks, and the youth of her yielding to his embrace. Neither spoke when it had ended. She turned aside and stoodmotionless a moment, resting against the stair rail as though tosteady herself. Her small head was lowered. He managed to say: "You will give me the next?" "No. " "Then the next----" "No, " she said, not moving. A young fellow came up eagerly, cocksure of her, but she shook herhead--and shook her head to all--and Berkley remained standingbeside her. And at last her reluctant head turned slowly, and, slowly, her gaze searched his. "Shall we rest?" he said. "Yes. I am--tired. " Her dainty avalanche of skirts filled the stairs as she settledthere in silence; he at her feet, turned sideways so that he couldlook up into the brooding, absent eyes. And over them again--over the small space just then allotted themin the world--was settling once more the intangible, indefinablespell awakened by their first light contact. Through its silencehurried their pulses; through its significance her dazed young eyeslooked out into a haze where nothing stirred except a phantomheart, beating, beating the reveille. And the spell lay heavy onthem both. "I shall bear your image always. You know it. " She seemed scarcely to have heard him. "There is no reason in what I say. I know it. Yet--I am destinednever to forget you. " She made no sign. "Ailsa Paige, " he said mechanically. And after a long while, slowly, she looked down at him where he satat her feet, his dark eyes fixed on space. CHAPTER II All the morning she had been busy in the Craig's backyard garden, clipping, training, loosening the earth around lilac, honeysuckle, and Rose of Sharon. The little German florist on the corner hadsent in two loads of richly fertilised soil and a barrel of forestmould. These she sweetened with lime, mixed in her small pan, andapplied judiciously to the peach-tree by the grape-arbour, to thethickets of pearl-gray iris, to the beloved roses, prairie climber, Baltimore bell, and General Jacqueminot. A neighbour's cat, war-scarred and bold, traversing the fences in search of singlecombat, halted to watch her; an early bee, with no blossoms yet torummage, passed and repassed, buzzing distractedly. The Craig's next-door neighbour, Camilla Lent, came out on her backveranda and looked down with a sleepy nod of recognition andgood-morning, stretching her pretty arms luxuriously in thesunshine. "You look very sweet down there, Ailsa, in your pink gingham apronand garden gloves. " "And you look very sweet up there, Camilla, in your muslin frockand satin skin! And every time you yawn you resemble a plump, white magnolia bud opening just enough to show the pink inside!" "It's mean to call me plump!" returned Camilla reproachfully. "Anyway, anybody would yawn with the Captain keeping the entirehousehold awake all night. I vow, I haven't slept one wink sincethat wretched news from Charleston. He thinks he's a battery ofhorse artillery now; that's the very latest development; and I shedtears and the chandeliers shed prisms every time he manoeuvres. " "The dear old thing, " said Mrs. Paige, smiling as she moved amongthe shrubs. For a full minute her sensitive lips remained tenderlycurved as she stood considering the agricultural problems beforeher. Then she settled down again, naively--like a child on itshaunches--and continued to mix nourishment for the roses. Camilla, lounging sideways on her own veranda window sill, restedher head against the frame, alternately blinking down at the prettywidow through sleepy eyes, and patting her lips to control thepersistent yawns that tormented her. "I had a horrid dream, too, " she said, "about the 'Seven Sisters. 'I was _Pluto_ to your _Diavoline_, and Philip Berkley was a phantomthat grinned at everybody and rattled the bones; and I waked in adreadful fright to hear uncle's spurred boots overhead, and thathorrid noisy old sabre of his banging the best furniture. "Then this morning just before sunrise he came into my bedroom, hair and moustache on end, and in full uniform, and attempted toread the Declaration of Independence to me--or maybe it was theConstitution--I don't remember--but I began to cry, and that alwayssends him off. " Ailsa's quick laugh and the tenderness of her expression were heronly comments upon the doings of Josiah Lent, lately captain, United States dragoons. Camilla yawned again, rose, and, arranging her spreading whiteskirts, seated herself on her veranda steps in full sunshine. "We did have a nice party, didn't we, Ailsa?" she said, leaning alittle sideways so that she could see over the fence and down intothe Craig's backyard garden. "I had such a good time, " responded Ailsa, looking up radiantly. "So did I. Billy Cortlandt is the most divine dancer. Isn'tEvelyn Estcourt pretty?" "She is growing up to be very beautiful some day. Stephen paid hera great deal of attention. Did you notice it?" "Really? I didn't notice it, " replied Camilla without enthusiasm. "But, " she added, "I _did_ notice you and Phil Berkley on thestairs. It didn't take you long, did it?" Ailsa's colour rose a trifle. "We exchanged scarcely a dozen words, " she observed sedately. Camilla laughed. "It didn't take you long, " she repeated, "either of you. It wasthe swiftest case of fascination that I ever saw. " "You are absurd, Camilla. " "But _isn't_ he perfectly fascinating? I think he is the mostromantic-looking creature I ever saw. However, " she added, foldingher slender hands in resignation, "there is nothing else to him. He's accustomed to being adored; there's no heart left in him. Ithink it's dead. " Mrs. Paige stood looking up at her, trowel hanging loosely in hergloved hand. "Did anything--kill it?" she asked carelessly. "I don't think it ever lived very long. Anyway there is somethingmissing in the man; something blank in him. A girl's time iswasted in wondering what is going on behind those adorable eyes ofhis. Because there is nothing going on--it's all on thesurface--the charm, the man's engaging ways and manners--allsurface. . . . I thought I'd better tell you, Ailsa. " "There was no necessity, " said Ailsa calmly. "We scarcelyexchanged a dozen words. " As she spoke she became aware of a shape behind the verandawindows, a man's upright figure passing and repassing. And now, atthe open window, it suddenly emerged into full sunlight, a spare, sinewy, active gentleman of fifty, hair and moustache thicklywhite, a deep seam furrowing his forehead from the left ear to theroots of the hair above the right temple. The most engaging of smiles parted the young widow's lips. "Good morning, Captain Lent, " she cried gaily. "You have neglectedme dreadfully of late. " The Captain came to a rigid salute. "April eleventh, eighteen-sixty-one!" he said with clean-cutprecision. "Good morning, Mrs. Paige! How does your garden blow?Blow--blow ye wintry winds! Ahem! How have the roseswintered--the rose of yesterday?" "Oh, I don't know, sir. I am afraid my sister's roses have notwintered very well. I'm really a little worried about them. " "_I_ am worried about nothing in Heaven, on Earth, or in Hell, "said the Captain briskly. "God's will is doing night and day, Mrs. Paige. Has your brother-in-law gone to business?" "Oh, yes. He and Stephen went at eight this morning. " "Is your sister-in-law well. God bless her!" shouted the Captain. "Uncle, you _mustn't_ shout, " remonstrated Camilla gently. "I'm only exercising my voice, "--and to Ailsa: "I neglect nothing, mental, physical, spiritual, that may be of theslightest advantage to my country in the hour when everyrespiration, every pulse beat, every waking thought shall belong tothe Government which I again shall have the honour of serving. " He bowed stiffly from the waist, to Ailsa, to his niece, turnedright about, and marched off into the house, his white moustachebristling, his hair on end. "Oh, dear, " sighed Camilla patiently, "isn't it disheartening?" "He is a dear, " said Ailsa. "I adore him. " "Yes--if he'd only sleep at night. I am very selfish I suppose tocomplain; he is so happy and so interested these days--only--I amwondering--if there ever _should_ be a war--would it break his poorold heart if he couldn't go? They'll never let him, you know. " Ailsa looked up, troubled: "You mean--_because_!" she said in a low voice. "Well _I_ don't consider him anything more than delightfullyeccentric. " "Neither do I. But all this is worrying me ill. His heart is soentirely wrapped up in it; he writes a letter to Washington everyday, and nobody ever replies. Ailsa, it almost terrifies me tothink what might happen--and he be left out!" "Nothing will happen. The world is too civilised, dear. " "But the papers talk about nothing else! And uncle takes everypaper in New York and Brooklyn, and he wants to have the editor ofthe _Herald_ arrested, and he is very anxious to hang the entirestaff of the _Daily News_. It's all well enough to stand therelaughing, but I believe there'll be a war, and then my troubleswill begin!" Ailsa, down on her knees again, dabbled thoughtfully in the soil, exploring the masses of matted spider-wort for new shoots. Camilla looked on, resignedly, her fingers playing with theloosened masses of her glossy black hair. Each was following insilence the idle drift of thought which led Camilla back to herbirthday party. "Twenty!" she said still more resignedly--"four years younger thanyou are, Ailsa Paige! Oh dear--and here I am, absolutelyunmarried. That is not a very maidenly thought, I suppose, is itAilsa?" "You always were a romantic child, " observed Ailsa, diggingvigorously in the track of a vanishing May beetle. But when shedisinterred him her heart failed her and she let him scramble away. "There! He'll probably chew up everything, " she said. "What asentimental goose I am!" "The first trace of real sentiment I ever saw you display, " beganCamilla reflectively, "was the night of my party. " Ailsa dug with energy. "_That_ is absurd! And not even funny. " "You _were_ sentimental!" "I--well there is no use in answering you, " concluded Ailsa. "No, there isn't. I've seen women look at men, and men look backagain--the way _he_ did!" "Dear, please don't say such things!" "I'm going to say 'em, " insisted Camilla with malicioussatisfaction. "You've jeered at me because I'm tender-heartedabout men. Now my chance has come!" Ailsa began patiently: "There were scarcely a dozen wordsspoken----" Camilla, delighted, shook her dark curls. "You've said that before, " she laughed. "Oh, you pretty minx!--youand your dozen words!" Ailsa Paige arose in wrath and stretched out a warning arm amongher leafless roses; but Camilla placed both hands on the fence topand leaned swiftly down from the veranda steps, "Forgive me, dear, " she said penitently. "I was only trying totorment you. Kiss me and make up. I know you too well to believethat you could care for a man of that kind. " Ailsa's face was very serious, but she lifted herself on tiptoe andthey exchanged an amicable salute across the fence. After a moment she said: "What did you mean by 'a man of _that_kind'?" Camilla's shrug was expressive. "There are stories about him. " Ailsa looked thoughtfully into space. "Well you won't say suchthings to me again, about any man--will you, dear?" "You never minded them before. You used to laugh. " "But this time, " said Ailsa Paige, "it is not the least bit funny. We scarcely exchanged----" She checked herself, flushing with annoyance. Camilla, leaning onthe garden fence, had suddenly buried her face in both arms. Infeminine plumpness, when young, there is usually something left ofthe schoolgirl giggler. The pretty girl below remained disdainfully indifferent. She dug, she clipped, she explored, inhaling, with little thrills, the faintmounting odour of forest loam and sappy stems. "I really must go back to New York and start my own garden, " shesaid, not noticing Camilla's mischief. "London Terrace will begreen in another week. " "How long do you stay with the Craigs, Ailsa?" "Until the workmen finish painting my house and installing the newplumbing. Colonel Arran is good enough to look after it. " Camilla, her light head always ringing with gossip, watched Ailsacuriously. "It's odd, " she observed, "that Colonel Arran and the Craigs neverexchange civilities. " "Mrs. Craig doesn't like him, " said Ailsa simply. "You do, don't you?" "Naturally. He was my guardian. " "My uncle likes him. To me he has a hard face. " "He has a sad face, " said Ailsa Paige. CHAPTER III Ailsa and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Craig, had been unusuallyreticent over their embroidery that early afternoon, seatedtogether in the front room, which was now flooded with sunshine--anattractive, intimate room, restful and pretty in spite of theunlovely Victorian walnut furniture. Through a sunny passageway they could look into Ailsa'sbedroom--formerly the children's nursery--where her maid sat sewing. Outside the open windows, seen between breezy curtains, new budsalready clothed the great twisted ropes of pendant wistaria with asilvery-green down. The street was quiet under its leafless double row of trees, maple, ailanthus, and catalpa; the old man who trudged his roundsregularly every week was passing now with his muffled shout: Any old hats Old coats Old boots! _Any_ old mats Old suits, Old flutes! Ca-ash! And, leaning near to the sill, Ailsa saw him shuffling along, green-baize bag bulging, a pyramid of stove-pipe hats crammed downover his ears. At intervals from somewhere in the neighbourhood sounded thepleasant bell of the scissors grinder, and the not unmusical callof "Glass put in!" But it was really very tranquil there in thesunshine of Fort Greene Place, stiller even for the fluted call ofan oriole aloft in the silver maple in front of the stoop. He was a shy bird even though there were no imported sparrows todrive this lovely native from the trees of a sleepy city; and hesat very still in the top branches, clad in his gorgeous livery oforange and black, and scarcely stirred save to slant his head andpeer doubtfully at last year's cocoons, which clung to the barklike shreds of frosted cotton. Very far away, from somewhere in the harbour, a deep sound jarredthe silence. Ailsa raised her head, needle suspended, listened fora moment, then resumed her embroidery with an unconscious sigh. Her sister-in-law glanced sideways at her. "I was thinking of Major Anderson, Celia, " she said absently. "So was I, dear. And of those who must answer for his gove'nment'smadness, --God fo'give them. " There was no more said about the Major or his government. After afew moments Ailsa leaned back dreamily, her gaze wandering aroundthe sunny walls of the room. In Ailsa Paige's eyes there wasalways a gentle caress for homely things. Just now they caressedthe pictures of "Night" and "Morning, " hanging there in their roundgilt frames; the window boxes where hyacinths blossomed; theEnglish ivy festooned to frame the window beside hersister-in-law's writing-desk; the melancholy engraving over thefireplace--"The Motherless Bairn"--a commonplace picture whichharrowed her, but which nobody thought of discarding in a day wheneven the commonplace was uncommon. She smiled in amused reminiscence of the secret tears she had weptover absurd things--of the funerals held for birds found dead--ofthe "Three Grains of Corn" poem which, when a child, elicited fromher howls of anguish. Little golden flashes of recollection lighted the idle path as herthoughts wandered along hazy ways which led back to her own nurserydays; and she rested there, in memory, dreaming through thestillness of the afternoon. She missed the rattle and noise of New York. It was a little tootranquil in Fort Greene Place; yet, when she listened intently, through the city's old-fashioned hush, very far away the voices ofthe great seaport were always audible--a ceaseless harmony of riverwhistles, ferry-boats signalling on the East River, ferry-boats onthe North River, perhaps some mellow, resonant blast from the bay, where an ocean liner was heading for the Narrows. Always thestreet's stillness held that singing murmur, vibrant with deepundertones from dock and river and the outer sea. Strange spicy odours, too, sometimes floated inland from the sugarwharves, miles away under the Heights, to mingle with the scent oflilac and iris in quiet, sunny backyards where whitewashed fencesreflected the mid-day glare, and cats dozed in strategicalpositions on grape trellis and tin roofs of extensions, preparedfor war or peace, as are all cats always, at all times. "Celia!" Celia Craig looked up tranquilly. "Has anybody darned Paige's stockings?" "No, she hasn't, Honey-bell. Paige and Marye must keep theirstockings da'ned. I never could do anything fo' myse'f, and Iwon't have my daughters brought up he'pless. " Ailsa glanced humorously across at her sister-in-law. "You sweet thing, " she said, "you can do anything, and you know it!" "But I don't like to do anything any mo' than I did befo' I hadto, " laughed Celia Craig; and suddenly checked her mirth, listeningwith her pretty close-set ears. "That is the do'-bell, " she remarked, "and I am not dressed. " "It's almost too early for anybody to call, " said Ailsa tranquilly. But she was wrong, and when, a moment later, the servant came toannounce Mr. Berkley, Ailsa regarded her sister-in-law in pinkconsternation. "I did _not_ ask him, " she said. "We scarcely exchanged a dozenwords. He merely said he'd like to call--on you--and now he's doneit, Celia!" Mrs. Craig calmly instructed the servant to say that they were athome, and the servant withdrew. "Do you approve his coming--this way--without anybody invitinghim?" asked Ailsa uneasily. "Of co'se, Honey-bell. He is a Berkley. He should have paid hisrespects to us long ago. " "It was for him to mention the relationship when I met him. He didnot speak of it, Celia. " "No, it was fo' you to speak of it first, " said Celia Craig gently. "But you did not know that. " "Why?" "There are reasons, Honey-bud. " "What reasons?" "They are not yo' business, dear, " said her sister-in-law quietly. Ailsa had already risen to examine herself in the mirror. Now shelooked back over her shoulder and down into Celia's prettyeyes--eyes as unspoiled as her own. In Celia Craig remained that gracious and confident faith inkinship which her Northern marriage had neither extinguished norchilled. The young man who waited below was a Berkley, a kinsman. Name and quality were keys to her hospitality. There was alsoanother key which this man possessed, and it fitted a little lockedcompartment in Celia Craig's heart. But Ailsa had no knowledge ofthis. And now Mrs. Craig was considering the advisability oftelling her--not all, perhaps, --but something of how matters stoodbetween the House of Craig and the House of Berkley. But not howmatters stood with the House of Arran. "Honey-bud, " she said, "you must be ve'y polite to this young man. " "I expect to be. Only I don't quite understand why he came sounceremoniously----" "It would have been ruder to neglect us, little Puritan! I want tosee Connie Berkley's boy. I'm glad he came. " Celia Craig, once Celia Marye Ormond Paige, stood watching hertaller sister-in-law twisting up her hair and winding the thickbraid around the crown of her head _a la coronal_. Little wonderthat these two were so often mistaken for own sisters--the matronnot quite as tall as the young widow, but as slender, and fair, andcast in the same girlish mould. Both inherited from their Ormond ancestry slightly arched anddainty noses and brows, delicate hands and feet, and the samesplendid dull-gold hair--features apparently characteristic of theline, all the women of which had been toasts of a hundred yearsago, before Harry Lee hunted men and the Shadow of the Swamp Foxflitted through the cypress to a great king's undoing. Ailsa laid a pink bow against her hair and glanced at hersister-in-law for approval. "I declare. Honey-bud, you are all rose colour to-day, " said CeliaCraig, smiling; and, on impulse, unpinned the pink-and-white cameofrom her own throat and fastened it to Ailsa's breast. "I reckon I'll slip on a gay gown myse'f, " she added mischievously. "I certainly am becoming ve'y tired of leaving the field to mysister-in-law, and my schoolgirl daughters. " "Does anybody ever look at us after you come into a room?" askedAilsa, laughing; and, turning impulsively, she pressed Celia'spretty hands flat together and kissed them. "You darling, " shesaid. An unaccountable sense of expectancy--almost of exhilarationwas taking possession of her. She looked into the mirror and stoodcontent with what she saw reflected there. "How much of a relation is he, Celia?" balancing the rosy bow witha little cluster of pink hyacinth on the other side. Celia Craig, forefinger crooked across her lips, considered aloud. "_His_ mother was bo'n Constance Berkley; _her_ mother was bo'nBetty Ormond; _her_ mother was bo'n Felicity Paige; _her_mother----" "Oh please! I don't care to know any more!" protested Ailsa, drawing her sister-in-law before the mirror; and, standing behindher, rested her soft, round chin on her shoulder, regarding the tworeflected faces. "That, " observed the pretty Southern matron, "is conside'd ve'y badluck. When I was a young girl I once peeped into the glass over myole mammy's shoulder, and she said I'd sho'ly be punished befo' theyear was done. " "And were you?" "I don't exactly remember, " said Mrs. Craig demurely, "but I thinkI first met my husband the ve'y next day. " They both laughed softly, looking at each other in the mirror. So, in her gown of rosy muslin, bouffant and billowy, a pink flowerin her hair, and Celia's pink-and-white cameo at her whiter throatAilsa Paige descended the carpeted stairs and came into the mellowdimness of the front parlour, where there was much rosewood, and aFrench carpet, and glinting prisms on the chandeliers, --and a youngman, standing, dark against a bar of sunshine in which golden motesswam. "How do you do, " she said, offering her narrow hand, and: "Mrs. Craig is dressing to receive you. . . . It is warm for April, Ithink. How amiable of you to come all the way over from New York. Mr. Craig and his son Stephen are at business, my cousins, Paigeand Marye, are at school. Won't you sit down?" She had backed away a little distance from him, looking at himunder brows bent slightly inward, and thinking that she had made nomistake in her memory of this man. Certainly his features werealtogether too regular, his head and body too perfectly mouldedinto that dark and graceful symmetry which she had hitherto vaguelyassociated with things purely and mythologically Olympian. Upright against the doorway, she suddenly recollected with a blushthat she was staring like a schoolgirl, and sat down. And he drewup a chair before her and seated himself; and then under thebillowy rose crinoline she set her pretty feet close together, folded her hands, and looked at him with a smiling composure whichshe no longer really felt. "The weather, " she repeated, "is unusually warm. Do you think thatMajor Anderson will hold out at Sumter? Do you think the fleet isgoing to relieve him? Dear me, " she sighed, "where will it allend, Mr. Berkley?" "In war, " he said, also smiling; but neither of them believed it, or, at the moment, cared. There were other mattersimpending--since their first encounter. "I have thought about you a good deal since Camilla's theatreparty, " he said pleasantly. "Have you?" She scarcely knew what else to say--and regrettedsaying anything. "Indeed I have. I dare not believe you have wasted as much as onethought on the man you danced with once--and refused ever after. " She felt, suddenly, a sense of uneasiness in being near him. "Of course I have remembered you, Mr. Berkley, " she said withcomposure. "Few men dance as well. It has been an agreeablememory to me. " "But you would not dance with me again. " "I--there were--you seemed perfectly contented to sit out--therest--with me. " He considered the carpet attentively. Then looking up with quick, engaging smile: "I want to ask you something. May I?" She did not answer. As it had been from the first time she hadever seen him, so it was now with her; a confused sense of thenecessity for caution in dealing with a man who had inspired in hersuch an unaccountable inclination to listen to what he chose to say. "What is it you wish to ask?" she inquired pleasantly. "It is this: are you _really_ surprised that I came? Are you, inyour heart?" "Did I appear to be very much agitated? Or my heart, either, Mr. Berkley?" she asked with a careless laugh, conscious now of herquickening pulses. Outwardly calm, inwardly Irresolute, she facedhim with a quiet smile of confidence. "Then you were not surprised that I came?" he insisted. "You did not wait to be asked. That surprised me a little. " "I did wait. But you didn't ask me. " "That seems to have made no difference to you, " she retorted, laughing. "It made this difference. I seized upon the only excuse I had andcame to pay my respects as a kinsman. Do you know that I am arelation?" "That is a very pretty compliment to us all, I think. " "It is you who are kind in accepting me. " "As a relative, I am very glad to----" "I came, " he said, "to see _you_. And you know it. " "But you _couldn't_ do that, uninvited! I had not asked you. " "But--it's done, " he said. She sat very still, considering him. Within her, subtle currentsseemed to be contending once more, disturbing her equanimity. Shesaid, sweetly: "I am not as offended as I ought to be. But I do not see why youshould disregard convention with me. " "I didn't mean it that way, " he said, leaning forward. "I couldn'tstand not seeing you. That was all. Convention is a pitifulthing--sometimes--" He hesitated, then fell to studying the carpet. She looked at him, silent in her uncertainty. His expression wasgrave, almost absent-minded. And again her troubled eyes rested onthe disturbing symmetry of feature and figure in all theunconscious grace of repose; and in his immobility there seemedsomething even of nobility about him which she had not beforenoticed. She stole another glance at him. He remained very still, leaningforward, apparently quite oblivious of her. Then he came tohimself with a quick smile, which she recognised as characteristicof all that disturbed her about this man--a smile in which therewas humour, a little malice and self-sufficiency and--many, manythings she did not try to analyse. "Don't you really want an unreliable servant?" he asked. His perverse humour perplexed her, but she smiled. "Don't you remember that I once asked you if you needed anable-bodied man?" he insisted. She nodded. "Well, I'm that man. " She assented, smiling conventionally, not at all understanding. Helaughed, too, thoroughly enjoying something. "It isn't really very funny, " he said, "Ask your brother-in-law. Ihad an interview with him before I came here. And I think there'sa chance that he may give me a desk and a small salary in hisoffice. " "How absurd!" she said. "It is rather absurd. I'm so absolutely useless. It's onlybecause of the relationship that Mr. Craig is doing this. " She said uneasily: "You are not really serious, are you?" "Grimly serious. " "About a--a desk and a salary--in my brother-in-law's office?" "Unless you'll hire me as a useful man. Otherwise, I hope for abig desk and a small salary. I went to Mr. Craig this morning, andthe minute I saw him I knew he was fine enough to be yourbrother-in-law. And I said, 'I am Philip Ormond Berkley; how doyou do!' And he said, 'How do you do!' And I said, 'I'm arelation, ' and he said, 'I believe so. ' And I said, 'I waseducated at Harvard and in Leipsic; I am full of uselessaccomplishments, harmless erudition, and insolvent amiability, andI am otherwise perfectly worthless. Can you give me a position?'" "And he said: 'What else is the matter?' And I said, 'The stockmarket. ' And that is how it remains, I am to call on himto-morrow. " She said in consternation: "Forgive me. I did not think you meantit. I did not know that you were--were----" "Ruined!" he nodded laughingly. "I am, practically. I have alittle left--badly invested--which I'm trying to get at. Otherwisematters are gay enough. " She said wonderingly: "Had this happened when--I saw you that firsttime?" "It had just happened. I looked the part, didn't I?" "No. _How_ could you be so--interesting and--and be--what youwere--knowing this all the while?" "I went to that party absolutely stunned. I saw you in a corner ofthe box--I had just been hearing about you--and--I don't know nowwhat I said to you. Afterward"--he glanced at her--"the world wasspinning, Mrs. Paige. You only remained real--" His face alteredsubtly. "And when I touched you----" "I gave you a waltz, I believe, " she said, striving to speaknaturally; but her pulses had begun to stir again; the sameinexplicable sense of exhilaration and insecurity was creeping overher. With a movement partly nervous she turned toward the door, butthere sounded no rustle of her sister's skirts from the stairs, andher reluctant eyes slowly reverted to him, then fell in silence, out of which she presently strove to extract them both with somecasual commonplace. He said in a low voice, almost to himself: "I want you to think well of me. " She gathered all her composure, steadied her senses to choose areply, and made a blunder: "Do you really care what I think?" she asked lightly, and bit herlip too late. "Do you believe I care about anything else in the world--now?" She went on bravely, blindly: "And do _you_ expect me to believe in--in such an exaggerated andromantic expression to a staid and matter-of-fact widow whom younever saw more than once in your life?" "You _do_ believe it. " Confused, scarcely knowing what she was saying, she still attemptedto make light of his words, holding her own against herself for themoment, making even some headway. And all the while she was awareof mounting emotion--a swift inexplicable charm falling over themboth. He had become silent again, and she was saying she knew notwhat--fortifying her common-sense with gay inconsequences, when helooked up straight into her eyes. "I have distressed you. I should not have spoken as I did. " "No, you should not----" "Have I offended you?" "I--don't know. " Matters were running too swiftly for her; she strove to remaincool, collected, but confusion was steadily threatening her, andneither resentment nor indifference appeared as allies. "Mrs. Paige, can you account for--that night? The moment I touchedyou----" She half rose, sank back into her seat, her startled eyes meetinghis. "I--don't know what you mean. " "Yes--you know. " Flushed, voices unsteady, they no longer recognised themselves. "You have never seen me but once, " she said. "You cannotbelieve----" "I have not known a moment's peace since I first saw you. " She caught her breath. "It is your business worries that tormentyou----" "It is desire to be near you. " "I don't think you had better say such a thing----" "I know I had better not. But it is said, and it is true. I'm nottrying to explain it to you or to myself. It's just true. Therehas not been one moment, since I saw you, which has been free frommemory of you----" "Please----" "I scarcely know what I am saying--but it's true!" He checkedhimself. "I'm losing my head now, which isn't like me!" He chokedand stood up; she could not move; every nerve in her had becometense with emotions so bewildering that mind and body remainedfettered. He was walking to and fro, silent and white under his self-control. She, seated, gazed at him as though stunned, but every pulse wasriotously unsteady. "I suppose you think me crazy, " he said hoarsely, "but I've notknown a moment's peace of mind since that night--not one! I_couldn't_ keep away any longer. I can't even hold my tongue now, though I suppose it's ruining me every time I move it. It's acrazy thing to come here and say what I'm saying. " He went over and sat down again, and bent his dark gaze on thefloor. Then: "Can you forgive what I have done to you?" She tried to answer, and only made a sign of faint assent. She nolonger comprehended herself or the emotions menacing her. Acurious tranquillity quieted her at moments--intervals in which sheseemed to sit apart watching the development of another woman, listening to her own speech, patient with her own silences. Therewas a droop to her shoulders now; his own were sagging as he leanedslightly forward in his chair, arms resting on his knees, whilearound them the magic ebbed, eddied, ebbed; and lassitude succeededtension; and she stirred, looked up at him with eyes that seemeddazed at first, then widened slowly into waking; and he saw in themthe first clear dawn of alarm. Suddenly she flushed and sprang toher feet, the bright colour surging to her hair. "Don't!" he said. "Don't reason! There will be nothing left of meif you do--or of, these moments. You will hate them--and me, ifyou reason. Don't think--until we see each other again!" She dropped her eyes slowly, and slowly shook her head. "You ask too much, " she said. "You should not have said that. "All the glamour was fading. Her senses were seeking their balanceafter the incredible storm that had whirled them into chaos. Fear stirred sharply, then consternation--flashes of panic piercedher with darts of shame, as though she had been in physical contactwith this man. All her outraged soul leaped to arms, quivering now under thereaction; the man's mere presence was becoming unendurable; theroom stifled her. She turned, scarce knowing what she was doing;and at the same moment her sister-in-law entered. Berkley, already on his feet, turned short: and when she offeredhim a hand as slim and white as Ailsa's, he glanced inquiringly atthe latter, not at all certain who this charming woman might be. "Mrs. Craig, " said Ailsa. "I don't believe it, " he said. "You haven't grown-up children!" "Don't you really believe it, Mr. Berkley? Or is it just theflattering Irish in you that natters us poor women to ourdestruction?" He had sense and wit enough to pay her a quick and really gracefulcompliment; to which she responded, still laughing: "Oh, it is the Ormond in you! I am truly ve'y glad you came. Youare Constance Berkley's son--Connie Berkley! The sweetest girlthat ever lived. " There was a silence. Then Mrs. Craig said gently: "I was her maid of honour, Mr. Berkley. " Ailsa raised her eyes to his altered face, startled at the changein it. He looked at her absently, then his gaze reverted to AilsaPaige. "I loved her dearly, " said Mrs. Craig, dropping a light, impulsivehand on his. "I want her son to know it. " Her eyes were soft and compassionate; her hand still lingeredlightly on his, and she let it rest so. "Mrs. Craig, " he said, "_you_ are the most real person I have knownin many years among the phantoms. I thought your sister-in-lawwas. But you are still more real. " "Am I?" she laid her other hand over his, considering himearnestly. Ailsa looking on, astonished, noticed a singularradiance on his face--the pale transfiguration from some quickinward illumination. Then Celia Craig's voice sounded almost caressingly: "I think you should have come to see us long ago. " A pause. "Youare as welcome in this house as your mother would be if she wereliving. I love and honour her memory. " "I have honoured little else in the world, " he said. They lookedat one another for a moment; then her quick smile broke out. "Ihave an album. There are some Paiges, Ormonds, and Berkleys init----" Ailsa came forward slowly. "Shall I look for it, Celia?" "No, Honey-bell. " She turned lightly and went into the backparlour, smiling mysteriously to herself, her vast, pale-bluecrinoline rustling against the furniture. "My sister-in-law, " said Ailsa, after an interval of silentconstraint, "is very Southern. Any sort of kinship means a greatdeal to her. I, of course, am Northern, and regard such matters asunimportant. " "It is very gracious of Mrs. Craig to remember it, " he said. "Iknow nothing finer than confidence in one's own kin. " She flushed angrily. "I have not that confidence--in kinsman. " For a moment their eyes met. Hers were hard as purple steel. "Is that final?" "Yes. " The muscles in his cheeks grew tense, then into his eyes came thatreckless glimmer which in the beginning she had distrusted--a gay, irresponsible radiance which seemed to mock at all things worthy. He said: "No, it is not final. I shall come back to you. " She answered him in an even, passionless voice: "A moment ago I was uncertain; now I know you. You are what theysay you are. I never wish to see you again. " Celia Craig came back with the album. Berkley sprang to relieveher of the big book and a box full of silhouettes, miniatures, anddaguerreotypes. They placed the family depository upon the tableand then bent over it together. Ailsa remained standing by the window, looking steadily at nothing, a burning sensation in both cheeks. At intervals, through the intensity of her silence, she heardCelia's fresh, sweet laughter, and Berkley's humorous and engagingvoice. She glanced sideways at the back of his dark curly headwhere it bent beside Celia's over the album. What an insolentlyreckless head it was! She thought that she had never before seenthe back of any man's head so significant of character--or the wantof it. And the same quality--or the lack of it--now seemed to herto pervade his supple body, his well-set shoulders, his voice, every movement, every feature--something everywhere about him thatwarned and troubled. [Illustration: "What an insolently reckless head it was!"] Suddenly the blood burnt her cheeks with a perfectlyincomprehensible desire to see his face again. She heard hersister-in-law saying: "We Paiges and Berkleys are kin to the Ormonds and the Earls ofOssory. The Estcourts, the Paiges, the Craigs, the Lents, theBerkleys, intermarried a hundred years ago. . . . My grandmotherknew yours, but the North is very strange in such matters. . . . Why did you never before come?" He said: "It's one of those things a man is always expecting to do, and is always astonished that he hasn't done. Am I unpardonable?" "I did not mean it in that way. " He turned his dark, comely head and looked at her as they benttogether above the album. "I know you didn't. My answer was not frank. The reason I nevercame to you before was that--I did not know I would be welcomed. " Their voices dropped. Ailsa standing by the window, watching theorioles in the maple, could no longer distinguish what they weresaying. He said: "You were bridesmaid to my mother. You are the CeliaPaige of her letters. " "She is always Connie Berkley to me. I loved no woman better. Ilove her still. " "I found that out yesterday. That is why I dared come. I found, among the English letters, one from you to her, written--_after_. " "I wrote her again and again. She never replied. Thank God, sheknew I loved her to the last. " He rested on the tabletop and stood leaning over and looking down. "Dear Mr. Berkley, " she murmured gently. He straightened himself, passed a hesitating hand across hisforehead, ruffling the short curly hair. Then his preoccupied gazewandered. Ailsa turned toward him at the same moment, andinstantly a flicker of malice transformed the nobility of his setfeatures: "It seems, " he said, "that you and I are irrevocably related in allkinds of delightful ways, Mrs. Paige. Your sister-in-law verycharmingly admits it, graciously overlooks and pardons my manydelinquencies, and has asked me to come again. Will you ask me, too?" Ailsa merely looked at him. Mrs. Craig said, laughing: "I knew you were all Ormond and entirelyIrish as soon as I came in the do'--befo' I became aware of yourracial fluency. I speak fo' my husband and myse'f when I say, please remember that our do' is ve'y wide open to our own kin--andthat you are of them----" "Oh, I'm all sorts of things beside--" He paused for asecond--"Cousin Celia, " he added so lightly that the grace withwhich he said it covered the impudence, and she laughed insemi-critical approval and turned to Ailsa, whose smile in responsewas chilly--chillier still when Berkley did what few men have doneconvincingly since powdered hair and knee-breeches becameunfashionable--bent to salute Celia Craig's fingertips. Then heturned to her and took his leave of her in a conventional mannerentirely worthy of the name his mother bore, --and her mother beforeher, and many a handsome man and many a beautiful woman back totimes when a great duke stood unjustly attainted, and the Ormondsserved their king with steel sword and golden ewer; and served himfaithfully and well. Camilla Lent called a little later. Ailsa was in the backyardgarden, a trowel in her hand, industriously loosening the eartharound the prairie roses. "Camilla, " she said, looking up from where she was kneeling amongthe shrubs, "what was it you said this morning about Mr. Berkleybeing some unpleasant kind of man?" "How funny, " laughed Camilla. "You asked me that twice before. " "Did I? I forgot, " said Mrs. Paige with a shrug; and, bending overagain, became exceedingly busy with her trowel until the fire inher cheeks had cooled. "Every woman that ever saw him becomes infatuated with PhilBerkley, " said Camilla cheerfully. "I was. You will be. And theworst of it is he's simply not worth it. " "I--thought not. " "Why did you think not?" "I don't know why. " "He _can_ be fascinating, " said Camilla reflectively, "but hedoesn't always trouble himself to be. " "Doesn't he?" said Ailsa with a strange sense of relief. Camilla hesitated, lowered her voice. "They say he is fast, " she whispered. Ailsa, on her knees, turnedand looked up. "Whatever that means, " added Camilla, shuddering. "But all thesame, every girl who sees him begins to adore him immediately untilher parents make her stop. " "How silly, " said Ailsa in a leisurely level voice. But her heartwas beating furiously, and she turned to her roses with a blindenergy that threatened them root and runner. "How did you happen to think of him at all?" continued Camillamischievously. "He called on--Mrs. Craig this afternoon. " "I didn't know she knew him. " "They are related--distantly--I believe----" "Oh, " exclaimed Camilla. "I'm terribly sorry I spoke that wayabout him, dear----" "_I_ don't care what you say about him, " returned Ailsa Paigefiercely, emptying some grains of sand out of one of her gloves;resolutely emptying her mind, too, of Philip Berkley. "Dear, " she added gaily to Camilla, "come in and we'll have tea andgossip, English fashion. And I'll tell you about my new duties atthe Home for Destitute Children--every morning from ten to twelve, my dear, in their horrid old infirmary--the poor littledarlings!--and I would be there all day if I wasn't a selfish, indolent, pleasure-loving creature without an ounce of womanlyfeeling--Yes I am! I must be, to go about to galleries and dancesand Philharmonics when there are motherless children in thatinfirmary, as sick for lack of love as for the hundred and oneailments distressing their tender little bodies. " But over their tea and marmalade and toast she became lesscommunicative; and once or twice the conversation betrayed anunexpected tendency to drift toward Berkley. "I haven't the slightest curiosity concerning him, dear, " saidAilsa, attempting corroboration in a yawn--which indiscretion shewas unable to accomplish. "Well, " remarked Camilla, "the chances are that you've seen thelast of him if you showed it too plainly. Men don't come back whena girl doesn't wish them to. Do they?" After Camilla had gone, Ailsa roamed about the parlours, apparentlyrenewing her acquaintance with the familiar decorations. Sometimes she stood at windows, looking thoughtfully into the emptystreet; sometimes she sat in corners, critically surveying emptyspace. Yes, the chances were that he would scarcely care to come back. Aman of that kind did not belong in her sister-in-law's house, anyway, nor in her own--a man who could appeal to a woman for afavourable opinion of himself, asking her to suspend her reason, stifle logic, stultify her own intelligence, and trust to asentimental impulse that he deserved the toleration andconsideration which he asked for. . . . It was certainly well forher that he should not return. . . . It would be better for her tolay the entire matter before her sister-in-law--that was what shewould do immediately! She sprang to her feet and ran lightly up-stairs; but, fast as shefled, thought outran her slender flying feet, and she came at lastvery leisurely into Celia's room, a subdued, demure opportunist, apparently with nothing on her mind and conscience, "If I may have the carriage at ten, Celia, I'll begin on theDestitute Children to-morrow. . . . Poor babies! . . . If theyonly had once a week as wholesome food as is wasted in this cityevery day by Irish servants . . . Which reminds me--I suppose youwill have to invite your new kinsman to dine with you. " "There is loads of time for that, Honey-bud, " said hersister-in-law, glancing up absently from the note she was writing. "I was merely wondering whether it was necessary at all, " observedAilsa Paige, without interest. But Celia had begun to write again. "I'll ask him, " she said inher softly preoccupied voice, "Saturday, I think. " "Oh, but I'm invited to the Cortlandt's, " began Ailsa, and caughther under lip in her teeth. Then she turned and walked noiselesslyinto her bedroom, and sat down on the bed and looked at the wall. CHAPTER IV It was almost mid-April; and still the silvery-green tassels on thewistaria showed no hint of the blue petals folded within; but themaples' leafless symmetry was already veined with fire. Faintperfume from Long Island woodlands, wandering puffs of wind fromsalt meadows freshened the city streets; St. Felix Street boasted alilac bush in leaf; Oxford Street was gay with hyacinths and awinter-battered butterfly; and in Fort Greene Place the grassydoor-yards were exquisite with crocus bloom. Peace, good-will, andspring on earth; but in men's souls a silence as of winter. To Northland folk the unclosing buds of April brought no awakening;lethargy fettered all, arresting vigour, sapping desire. Animmense inertia chained progress in its tracks, while overhead thegray storm-wrack fled away, --misty, monstrous, gale-driven beforethe coming hurricane. Still, for the Northland, there remained now little of the keenersuspense since those first fiery outbursts in the South; but allthrough the winter the dull pain throbbed in silence as star afterstar dropped from the old galaxy and fell flashing into the new. And it was a time of apathy, acquiescence, stupefied incredulity; atime of dull faith in destiny, duller resignation. The printed news was read day after day by a people who understoodnothing, neither the cautious arming nor the bold disarming, northe silent fall of fortified places, nor the swift dismantling oftall ships--nor did they comprehend the ceaseless tremors of a landslowly crumbling under the subtle pressure--nor that at last thevast disintegration of the matrix would disclose the formingcrystal of another nation cradled there, glittering, naming underthe splendour of the Southern skies. A palsied Old Year had gone out. The mindless old man--he who hadbeen President--went with it. A New Year had come in, and on itsinfant heels shambled a tall, gaunt shape that seated itself by theWhite House windows and looked out into the murk of things witheyes that no man understood. And now the soft sun of April spun a spell upon the Northland folk;for they had eyes but they saw not; ears had they, but they heardnot; neither spoke they through the mouth. To them only one figure seemed real, looming above the vast andmotionless mirage where a continent stood watching the parapets ofa sea-girt fort off Charleston. But the nation looked too long; the mirage closed in; fort, sea, the flag itself, became unreal; the lone figure on the parapetturned to a phantom. God's will was doing. Who dared doubt? "There seems to be no doubt in the South, " observed Ailsa Paige toher brother-in-law one fragrant evening after dinner where, in thedusk, the family had gathered on the stoop after the custom of asimpler era. Along the dim street long lines of front stoops blossomed with thelight spring gowns of women and young girls, pale, dainty clustersin the dusk set with darker figures, where sparks from cigarsglowed and waned in the darkness. Windows were open, here and there a gas jet in a globe flickeredinside a room, but the street was dusky and tranquil as a countrylane, and unilluminated save where at far intervals lamp-postsstood in a circle of pale light, around which a few moths hovered. "The rebels, " repeated Ailsa, "appear to have no doubts, honest orotherwise. They've sent seven thousand troops to the Charlestonfortifications--the paper says. " Stephen Craig heard his cousin speak but made no response. He wassmoking openly and in sight of his entire family the cigar whichhad, heretofore, been consumed surreptitiously. His mother satclose to his shoulder, rallying him like a tormenting schoolgirl, and, at intervals, turning to look back at her husband who stood onthe steps beside her, a little amused, a little proud, a littleinclined to be critical of this tall son of his who yesterday hadbeen a boy. The younger daughters of the house, Paige and Marye, strolled past, bareheaded, arms linked, in company with Camilla and Jimmy Lent. "O dad!" called out Paige softly, "Jim says that Major Anderson isto be reinforced at once. There was a bulletin this evening. " "I am very glad to hear it, sweetheart, " said her father, smilingthrough his eye-glasses. Stephen bent forward across his mother's shoulder. "Is that true, father?" "Camilla's brother has probably been reading the _Tribune's_evening bulletin. The _Herald_ bulletin says that the Cabinet hasordered the evacuation of Fort Sumter; the _Times_ says MajorAnderson is to be reinforced; the _World_ says that he abandonedthe fort last night; and they all say he has been summoned tosurrender. Take your choice, Steve, " he added wearily. "There isonly one wire working from the South, and the rebels control that. " "Are you tired, Curt?" asked his wife, looking around and up at him. He seated himself and readjusted his eye-glasses. "No, dear--only of this nightmare we are living in"--he stoppedabruptly. Politics had been avoided between them. There was ashort silence; he felt his wife's hand touch his in thedarkness--sign of a tender respect for his perplexity, but not forhis political views. "Forgive me, dear, for using the word 'rebel, '" he said, smilingand straightening his shoulders. "Where have you and Ailsa beento-day? Did you go to New York?" "Yes. We saw the Academy, and, oh, Curt! there are some verystriking landscapes--two by Gifford; and the cutest portrait of agirl by Wiyam Hunt. And your friend Bierstadt has a Westernscene--all fireworks! and, dear, Eastman Johnson was there--andKensett sent such a cunning little landscape. We lunched atTaylor's. " She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Ailsa did looktoo cute fo' words. I declare she is the most engaging littleminx. Eve'y man sta'ed at her. I _wish_ she would marry again andbe happy. _She_ doesn't know what a happy love affair can be--poorbaby. " "Do you?" asked her husband. "Are you beginning to co't me again, Curt?" "Have I ever ceased?--you little Rebel!" "No, " she said under her breath. "By the way, Celia, " he said smiling, "that young man--cousin ofyours--Berkley, turned up promptly to-day. I gave him a room inthe office. " "That was certainly ve'y frien'ly of you, Curt!" she respondedwarmly. "You _will_ be patient with him, won't you?" "I've had to be already. I gave him a commission to collect somerents and he came back fifty dollars short, calmly explaining thatone of our lodgers looked poor and he hated to ask for the rent. " "O Curt--the boy is ve'y sweet and wa'm-hearted. Were you crosswith him?" "Not very. I imparted a few plain truths--very pleasantly, Celia. He knew better; there's a sort of an impish streak in him--also aninclination for the pleasant by-ways of life. . . . He had betterlet drink alone, too, if he expects to remain in my office. I toldhim that. " "Does he--the foolish baby!" "Oh, probably not very much. I don't know; he's likable, but--hehasn't inspired me with any overwhelming respect and confidence. His record is not exactly savoury. But he's your protege, and I'llstand him as long as you can. " "Thank you, Curt. We must be gentle to him. I shall ask him todinner and we can give a May dance perhaps--something informal andpretty--What is the matter, Curt?" "Nothing, dear. . . . Only I wouldn't plan anything just yet--Imean for the present--not for a few days, anyway----" He shrugged, removed his glasses, polished them on hishandkerchief, and sat holding them, his short-sighted eyes lost inreverie. His wife endured it to the limit of patience: "Curt, " she began in a lower voice, "you and I gen'ally avoidcertain matters, dear--but--ev'ything is sure to come right in theend--isn't it? The No'th is going to be sensible. " "In the--end, " he admitted quietly. And between them the oceansprang into view again. "I wonder--" She stopped, and an inexplicable uneasiness stirred inher breast. She looked around at her son, her left hand fellprotectingly upon his shoulder, her right, groping, touched herhusband's sleeve. "I am--well cared for--in the world, " she sighed happily toherself. "It shall not come nigh me. " Stephen was saying to Ailsa: "There's a piece of up-town property that came into the officeto-day which seems to me significant of the future. It would be agood investment for you, Cousin Ailsa. Some day Fifth Avenue willbe built up solidly with brown-stone mansions as far as the CentralPark. It is all going to be wonderfully attractive when theyfinish it. " Ailsa mused for a moment. Then: "I walked down this street to Fort Greene this afternoon, " shebegan, "and the little rocky park was so sweet and fragrant withdogwood and Forsythia and new buds everywhere. And I looked outover the rivers and the bay and over the two cities and, Steve, somehow--I don't know why--I found my eyes filling with tears. Idon't know why, Steve----" "Feminine sentiment, " observed her cousin, smoking. Mrs. Craig's fingers became restless on her husband's sleeve; shespoke at moments in soft, wistful tones, watching her youngerdaughters and their friends grouped under the trees in the dusk. And all the time, whatever it was that had brought a new uneaseinto her breast was still there, latent. She had no name to giveit, no reason, no excuse; it was too shadowy to bear analysis, tooimpalpable to be defined, yet it remained there; she was perfectlyconscious of it, as she held her husband's sleeve the tighter. "Curt, is business so plaguey poor because of all these politics?" "My business is not very flourishing. Many men feel theuncertainty; not everybody, dear. " "When this--_matter_--is settled, everything will be easier foryou, won't it? You look so white and tired, dear. " Stephen overheard her. "The _matter_, as you call it, won't be settled without a row, mother--if you mean the rebellion. " "Such a wise boy with his new cigar, " she smiled through a suddenresurgence of uneasiness. The boy said calmly: "Mother, you don't understand; and all therest of the South is like you. " "Does anybody understand, Steve?" asked his father, slightlyironical. "Some people understand there's going to be a big fight, " said theboy. "Oh. Do you?" "Yes, " he said, with the conviction of youth. "And I'm wonderingwho's going to be in it. " "The militia, of course, " observed Ailsa scornfully. "Camilla isforever sewing buttons on Jimmy's dress uniform. He wears them offdancing. " Mr. Craig said, unsmiling: "We are not a military nation, Steve; weare not only non-military but we are unmilitary--if you know whatthat means. " "We once managed to catch Cornwallis, " suggested his son, stillproudly smoking. "I wonder how we did it?" mused his father. "They were another race--those catchers of Cornwallis--thosefellows in, blue-and-buff and powdered hair. " "You and Celia are their grandchildren, " observed Ailsa, "and youare a West Point graduate. " Her brother-in-law looked at her with a strange sort of humour inhis handsome, near-sighted eyes: "Yes, too blind to serve the country that educated me. And nowit's too late; the desire is gone; I have no inclination to fight, Ailsa. Drums always annoyed me. I don't particularly like a gun. I don't care for a fuss. I don't wish to be a soldier. " Ailsa said: "I rather like the noise of drums. I think I'dlike--war. " "Molly Pitcher! Molly Pitcher! Of what are you babbling, "whispered Celia, laughing down the flashes of pain that ran throughher heart. "Wars are ended in our Western World. Didn't you knowit, grandchild of Vikings? There are to be no more LakeChamplains, only debates--_n'est ce pas_, Curt?--very grand debatesbetween gentlemen of the South and gentlemen of the North inCongress assembled----" "_Two_ congresses assembled, " said Ailsa calmly, "and the debateswill be at long range----" "By magnetic telegraph if you wish, Honey-bell, " conceded Celiahastily. "Oh, we must _not_ begin disputin' about matters thatnobody can possibly he'p. It will all come right; you know itwill, don't you, Curt?" "Yes, I know it, somehow. " Silence, fragrance, and darkness, through which rang the distantlaugh of a young girl. And, very, very far away sounds arose inthe city, dull, indistinct, lost for moments at a time, thenaudible again, and always the same sounds, the same monotony, anddistant persistence. "I do believe they're calling an extra, " said Ailsa, lifting herhead to listen. Celia listened, too. "Children shouting at play, " she said. "They _are_ calling an extra, Celia!" "No, little Cassandra, it's only boys skylarking. " For a while they remained listening and silent. The voices stillpersisted, but they sounded so distant that the light laughter fromtheir neighbour's stoop drowned the echoes. Later, Jimmy Lent drifted into the family circle. "They say that there's an extra out about Fort Sumter, " he said. "Do you think he's given up, Mr. Craig?" "If there's an extra out the fort is probably safe enough, Jim, "said the elder man carelessly. He rose and went toward the groupof girls and youths under the trees. "Come, children, " he said to his two daughters; and was patientamid indignant protests which preceded the youthful interchange ofreluctant good-nights. When he returned to the stoop Ailsa had gone indoors with hercousin. His wife rose to greet him as though he had been away on along journey, and then, passing her arms around her schoolgirldaughters, and nodding a mischievous dismissal to Jimmy Lent, walked slowly into the house. Bolts were shot, keys turned; fromthe lighted front parlour came the notes of the sweet-toned squarepiano, and Ailsa's voice: --"Dear are her charms to me, Dearest her constancy, Aileen aroon--" "Never mind any more of that silly song!" exclaimed Celia, imprisoning Ailsa's arms from behind. "Youth must with time decay, Aileen aroon, Beauty must fade away, Aileen aroon--" "Don't, dear! please----" But Ailsa sang on obstinately: "Castles are sacked in war, Chieftains are scattered far, Truth is a fixed star, Aileen aroon. " And, glancing back over her shoulder, caught her breath quickly. "Celia! What _is_ the matter, dear?" "Nothing. I don't like such songs--just now----" "What songs?" "I don't know, Ailsa; songs about war and castles. Little thingsplague me. . . . There's been altogether too much talk aboutwar--it gets into ev'ything, somehow. I can't seem to he'p it, somehow----" "Why, Celia! _You_ are not worrying?" "Not fo' myse'f, Honey-bud. Somehow, to-night--I don't know--andCurt seemed a little anxious. " She laughed with an effort; her natural gaiety returned to buoy herabove this indefinable undercurrent of unrest. Paige and Marye came in from the glass extension where their fatherwas pacing to and fro, smoking his bedtime cigar, and their motherbegan her invariable running comment concerning the day's events, rallying her children, tenderly tormenting them with theirshortcomings--undarned stockings, lessons imperfectly learned, little household tasks neglected--she was always aware of and readyat bedtime to point out every sin of omission. "As fo' you, Paige, you are certainly a ve'y rare kind ofHoney-bird, and I reckon Mr. Ba'num will sho'ly catch you some dayfo' his museum. Who ever heard of a shif'less Yankee girl exceptyou and Marye?" "O mother, how _can_ we mend _everything_ we tear? It's heartlessto ask us!" "You don't have to try to mend _ev'y_thing. Fo' example, there'sJimmy Lent's heart----" A quick outbreak of laughter swept them--all except Paige, whoflushed furiously over her first school-girl affair. "That poor Jimmy child came to me about it, " continued theirmother, "and asked me if I would let you be engaiged to him; and Isaid, 'Certainly, if Paige wants to be, Jimmy. I was engaigedmyse'f fo' times befo' I was fo'teen----'" Another gale of laughter drowned her words, and she sat theredimpled, mischievous, naively looking around, yet in her carefulsoul shrewdly pursuing her wise policy of airing all sentimentalmatters in the family circle--letting in fresh air and sunshine onwhat so often takes root and flourishes rather morbidly at sixteen. "It's perfectly absurd, " observed Ailsa, "at your age, Paige----" "Mother was married at sixteen! Weren't you, dearest?" "I certainly was; but _I_ am a bad rebel and _you_ are good littleYankees; and good little Yankees wait till they're twenty odd befo'they do anything ve'y ridiculous. " "We expect to wait, " said Paige, with a dignified glance at hersister. "You've four years to wait, then, " laughed Marye. "What's the use of being courted if you have to wait four years?" "And you've three years to wait, silly, " retorted Paige. "But Idon't care; I'd rather wait. It isn't very long, now. Ailsa, whydon't you marry again?" Ailsa's lip curled her comment upon the suggestion. She sat underthe crystal chandelier reading a Southern newspaper which had beensent recently to Celia. Presently her agreeable voice sounded inappreciative recitation of what she was reading. "Hath not the morning dawned with added light? And shall not evening call another star Out of the infinite regions of the night To mark this day in Heaven? At last we are A nation among nations; and the world Shall soon behold in many a distant port Another flag unfurled!""Listen, Celia, " she said, "this is really beautiful: A tint of pink fire touched Mrs. Craig's cheeks, but she saidnothing. And Ailsa went on, breathing out the opening beauty ofTimrod's "Ethnogenesis": "Now come what may, whose favour need we court? And, under God, whose thunder need we fear?" She stopped short, considering the printed page. Then, doubtfully: "And what if, mad with wrongs themselves have wrought, In their own treachery caught, By their own fears made bold, And leagued with him of old Who long since, in the limits of the North, Set up his evil throne, and warred with God-- What if, both mad and blinded in their rage Our foes should fling us down the mortal gauge, And with a hostile horde profane our sod!" The girl reddened, sat breathing a little faster, eyes on the page;then: "Nor would we shun the battleground! . . . The winds in our defence Shall seem to blow; to us the hills shall lend Their firmness and their calm, And in our stiffened sinews we shall blend The strength of pine and palm! Call up the clashing elements around And test the right and wrong! On one side creeds that dare to preach What Christ and Paul refused to teach----" "Oh!" she broke off with a sharp intake of breath; "Do they believesuch things of us in the South, Celia?" The pink fire deepened in Celia Craig's cheeks; her lips unclosed, tightened, as though a quick retort had been quickly reconsidered. She meditated. Then: "Honey-bell, " she said tranquilly, "if we arebitter, try to remember that we are a nation in pain. " "A _nation_!" "Dear, we have always been that--only the No'th has just found itout. Charleston is telling her now. God give that our cannon neednot repeat it. " "But, Celia, the cannon _can't_! The same flag belongs to us both. " "Not when it flies over Sumter, Honey-bird. " There came a subtleringing sound in Celia Craig's voice; she leaned forward, takingthe newspaper from Ailsa's idle fingers: "Try to be fair, " she said in unsteady tones. "God knows I am nottrying to teach you secession, but suppose the guns on Governor'sIsland were suddenly swung round and pointed at this street? Wouldyou care ve'y much what flag happened to be flying over CastleWilliam? Listen to another warning from this stainless poet of theSouth. " She opened the newspaper feverishly, glanced quickly downthe columns, and holding it high under the chandelier, read in ahushed but distinct voice, picking out a verse here and there atrandom: "Calm as that second summer which precedes The first fall of the snow, In the broad sunlight of heroic deeds A city bides her foe. "As yet, behind high ramparts stem and proud Where bolted thunders sleep, Dark Sumter like a battlemented cloud Towers o'er the solemn deep. "But still along the dim Atlantic's line The only hostile smoke Creeps like a harmless mist above the brine From some frail floating oak. "And still through streets re-echoing with trade Walk grave and thoughtful men Whose hands may one day wield the patriot's blade As lightly as the pen. "And maidens, with such eyes as would grow dim Over a wounded hound Seem each one to have caught the strength of him Whose sword-knot she hath hound. "Thus, girt without and garrisoned at home, Day patient following day, Old Charleston looks from roof and spire and dome Across her tranquil bay. "Shall the spring dawn, and she, still clad in steel, And with an unscathed brow, Watch o'er a sea unvexed by hostile keel As fair and free as now? "We know not. In the Temples of the Fates God has inscribed her doom; And, all untroubled in her faith she waits Her triumph or her tomb!" The hushed charm of their mother's voice fascinated the children. Troubled, uncertain, Ailsa rose, took a few irresolute steps towardthe extension where her brother-in-law still paced to and fro inthe darkness, the tip of his cigar aglow. Then she turned suddenly. "_Can't_ you understand, Ailsa?" asked her sister-in-law wistfully. "Celia--dearest, " she stammered, "I simply can't understand. . . . I thought the nation was greater than all----" "The State is greater, dear. Good men will realise that when theysee a sovereign people standing all alone for human truth andjustice--standing with book and sword under God's favour, assturdily as ever Israel stood in battle fo' the right!--I don'tmean to be disloyal to my husband in saying this befo' my children. But you ask me, and I must tell the truth if I answer at all. " Slender, upright, transfigured with a flushed and girlish beautywholly strange to them, she moved restlessly back and forth acrossthe room, a slim, lovely, militant figure all aglow withinspiration, all aquiver with emotion too long and loyallysuppressed. Paige and Marye, astonished, watched her without a word. Ailsastood with one hand resting on the mantel, a trifle pale but alsosilent, her startled eyes following this new incarnation wearingthe familiar shape of Celia Craig. "Ailsa!" "Yes, dear. " "Can you think evil of a people who po' out their hearts in prayerand praise? Do traitors importune fo' blessings?" She turned nervously to the piano and struck a ringing chord, another--and dropped to the chair, head bowed on her slim childishneck. Presently there stole through the silence a tremulous voiceintoning the "Libera Nos, " with its strange refrain: "_A furore Normanorum Libera nos, O Domme_!" Then, head raised, thegas-light flashing on her dull-gold hair, her voice poured forthall that was swelling and swelling up in her bruised and stifledheart: "God of our fathers! King of Kings! Lord of the earth and sea! With hearts repentant and sincere We turn in need to thee. " She saw neither her children nor her husband nor Ailsa now, wherethey gathered silently beside her. And she sang on: "In the name of God! Amen! Stand for our Southern rights; On our side. Southern men, The God of Battles fights! Fling the invader far-- Hurl back his work of woe-- His voice is the voice of a brother, But his hands are the hands of a foe. By the blood which cries to Heaven. Crimson upon our sod Stand, Southrons, fight and conquer In the Name of the Living God!" Like receding battle echoes the chords, clashing distantly, diedaway. If she heard her husband turn, enter the hallway, and unbolt thedoor, she made no sign. Ailsa, beside her, stooped and passed onearm around her. "You--are not crying, are you, Celia, darling?" she whispered. Her sister-in-law, lashes wet, rose with decision. "I think that I have made a goose of myse'f to-night. Marye, willyou say to your father that it is after eleven o'clock, and that Iam waiting to be well scolded and sent to bed?" "Father went out a few moments ago, " said Paige in an awed voice. "I heard him unbolt the front door. " Ailsa turned and walked swiftly out into the hallway; the frontdoor swung wide; Mr. Craig stood on the steps wearing his hat. Helooked around as she touched his arm. "Oh, is it you, Ailsa?" There was a moment's indecision. Throughit, once more, far away in the city The Voices became audibleagain, distant, vague, incessant. "I thought--if it is actually an extra--" he began carelessly andhesitated; and she said: "Let me go with you. Wait. I'll speak to Celia. " "Say to her that I'll be gone only a moment. " When Ailsa returned she slipped her arm through his and theydescended the steps and walked toward Fulton Avenue. The Voiceswere still distant; a few people, passing swiftly through the dusk, preceded them. Far down the vista of the lighted avenue darkfigures crossed and recrossed the street, silhouetted against thegas-lights; some were running. A man called out something as theypassed him. Suddenly, right ahead in the darkness, theyencountered people gathered before the boarded fence of a vacantlot, a silent crowd shouldering, pushing, surging back and forth, swarming far out along the dimly lighted avenue. "There's a bulletin posted there, " whispered Ailsa. "Could youlift me in your arms?" Her brother-in-law stooped, clasped her knees, and lifted her highup above the sea of heads. Kerosene torches flickered beyond, flanking a poster on which was printed in big black letters: "WASHINGTON, April 13, 1861, 6 A. M. "At half-past four o'clock this morning fire was opened on Fort Sumter by the rebel batteries in the harbour. Major Anderson is replying with his barbette guns. " "8 A. M. "A private despatch to the N. Y. Herald says that the batteries on Mount Pleasant have opened on Sumter. Major Anderson has brought into action two tiers of guns trained on Fort Moultrie and the Iron Battery. " "3 P. M. "The fire at this hour is very heavy. Nineteen batteries are bombarding Sumter. The fort replies briskly. The excitement in Charleston is intense. " "LATER. "Heavy rain storm. Firing resumed this evening. The mortar batteries throw a shell into the fort every twenty minutes. The fort replies at intervals. " "LATEST. "The fort is still replying. Major Anderson has signalled the fleet outside. " All this she read aloud, one hand resting on Craig's shoulder as heheld her aloft above the throng. Men crowding around and strivingto see, paused, with up-turned faces, listening to the emotionlessyoung voice. There was no shouting, no sound save the trample andshuffle of feet; scarcely a voice raised, scarcely an exclamation. As Craig lowered her to the pavement, a man making his way out saidto them: "Well, I guess that ends it. " Somebody replied quietly: "I guess that _begins_ it. " Farther down the avenue toward the City Hall where the new marblecourt house was being built, a red glare quivered incessantlyagainst the darkness; distant hoarse rumours penetrated the nightair, accented every moment by the sharper clamour of voices callingthe _Herald's_ extras. "Curt?" "Yes, dear. " "If he surrenders----" "It makes no difference what he does now, child. " "I know it. . . . They've dishonoured the flag. This is war, isn't it?" "Yes. " "Will it be a long war?" "I think not. " "Who will go?" "I don't know. . . . Soldiers. " "I didn't suppose we had enough. Where are we going to get more?" "The people--" he said absently--"everybody, I suppose. How do Iknow, child?" "Just ordinary people?" "Just ordinary people, " he responded quietly. A few minutes lateras they entered their own street he said: "I suppose I had better tell my wife about this to-night. I don'tknow--it will be in the morning papers; but I think I had betterbreak it to her to-night. " "She will have to know--sometime--of course----" Halting at the foot of the stoop he turned and peered through hisglasses at his sister-in-law. "I don't want Stephen to start any nonsense about going. " "Going where?" she asked innocently. He hesitated: "I don't want to hear any talk from him aboutenlisting. That is what I mean. Your influence counts with himmore deeply than you know. Remember that. " "Steve--_enlist_!" she repeated blankly. She could not yet comprehend what all this had to do with peopleshe personally knew--with her own kin. "He must not enlist, of course, " she said curtly. "There areplenty of soldiers--there will be plenty, of course. I----" Something silenced her, something within her sealed her lips. Shestood in silence while Craig fitted his night-key, then entered thehouse with him. Gas burned low in the hall globes; when he turnedit off a fainter light from above guided them. "Celia, is that you?" she called gently, "Hush; go to bed, Honey-bell. Everybody is asleep. How pale youare, Curt--dearest--dearest----" The rear room was Ailsa's; she walked into it and dropped down onthe bed in the darkness. The door between the rooms closed: shesat perfectly still, her eyes were wide open, staring in front ofher. Queer little luminous shapes danced through obscurity like thenames from the kerosene torches around the bulletin; her ears stillvibrated with the hoarse alarm of the voices; through her brainsounded her brother-in-law's words about Steve, repeatedincessantly, stupidly. Presently she began to undress by sense of touch. The gas in thebathroom was lighted; she completed her ablutions, turned it off, and felt her way back to the bed. Lying there she became aware of sounds from the front room. Celiawas still awake; she distinguished her voice in quick, frightenedexclamation; then the low murmur continued for a while, thensilence fell. She raised herself on one elbow; the crack of light under the doorwas gone; there was no sound, no movement in the house except themeasured tick of the hall clock outside, tic-toc!--tic-toc!--tic-toc! And she had been lying there a long, long while, eyes open, beforeshe realised that the rhythm of the hall clock was but a repetitionof a name which did not concern her in any manner: "Berk-ley!--Berk-ley!--Berk-ley!" How it had crept into her consciousness she could not understand;she lay still, listening, but the tic-toc seemed to fit thesyllables of his name; and when, annoyed, she made a halfdisdainful mental attempt to substitute other syllables, it provedtoo much of an effort, and back into its sober, swinging rhythmslipped the old clock's tic-toe, in wearisome, meaninglessrepetition: "Berk-ley!--Berk-ley!--Berk-ley!" She was awakened by a rapping at her door and her cousin'simperative voice: "I want to talk to you; are you in bed?" She drew the coverlet to her chin and called out: "Come in, Steve!" He came, tremendously excited, clutching the _Herald_ in one hand. "I've had enough of this rebel newspaper!" he said fiercely. "Idon't want it in the house again, ever. Father says that themarine news makes it worth taking, but----" "What on earth are you trying to say, Steve?" "I'm trying to tell you that we're at war! War, Ailsa! Do youunderstand? Father and I've had a fight already----" "What?" "They're still firing on Sumter, I tell you, and if the fortdoesn't hold out do you think I'm going to sit around the houselike a pussy cat? Do you think I'm going to business every day asthough nothing was happening to the country I'm living in? I tellyou now--you and mother and father--that I'm not built that way----" Ailsa rose in bed, snatched the paper from his grasp, and leaningon one arm gazed down at the flaring head-lines: THE WAR BEGUN Very Exciting News from Charleston Bombardment of Fort Sumter Commenced Terrible Fire from the Secessionists' Batteries Brilliant Defence of Maj. Anderson Reckless Bravery of the Confederate States Troops. And, scanning it to the end, cried out: "He hasn't hauled down his flag! What are you so excited about?" "I--I'm excited, of course! He can't possibly hold out with onlyeighty men and nothing to feed them on. Something's got to bedone!" he added, walking up and down the room. "I've made fun ofthe militia--like everybody else--but Jimmy Lent is getting ready, and I'm doing nothing! Do you hear what I'm saying, Ailsa?" She looked up from the newspaper, sitting there cross-legged underthe coverlet. "I hear you, Steve. I don't know what you mean by 'something's gotto be done. ' Major Anderson is doing what he can--bless him!" "That's all right, but the thing isn't going to stop there. " "Stop where?" "At Sumter. They'll begin firing on Fortress Monroe andPensacola--I--how do you know they're not already thinking aboutbombarding Washington? Virginia is going out of the Union; theentire South is out, or going. Yesterday, I didn't suppose therewas any use in trying to get them back again. Father did, but Ididn't. I think it's got to be done, now. And the question is, Ailsa, whose going to do it?" But she was fiercely absorbed again in the news, leaning close overthe paper, tumbled dull-gold hair falling around her bareshoulders, breath coming faster and more irregularly as she readthe incredible story and strove to comprehend its cataclysmicsignificance. "If others are going, I am, " repeated her cousin sullenly. "Going where, Steve?--Oh------" She dropped the paper and looked up, startled; and he looked backat her, defiant, without a flicker in those characteristic familyeyes of his, clear as azure, steady to punishment given ortaken--good eyes for a boy to inherit. And he inherited them fromhis rebel mother. "Father can't keep me home if other people go, " he said. "Wait until other people go. " She reached out and laid a hand onhis arm. "Things are happening too fast, Steve, too fast for everybody toquite understand just yet. Everybody will do what is the thing todo; the family will do what it ought to. . . . Has your motherseen this?" "Yes. Neither she nor father have dared speak about it beforeus--" He made a gesture of quick despair, walked to the window andback. "It's a terrible thing, Ailsa, to have mother feel as she does. " "How could she feel otherwise?" "I've done my best to explain to her----" "O Steve! _You_!--when it's a matter between her soul and God!" He said, reddening: "It's a matter of common-sense--I don't mean toinsult mother--but--good Lord, a nation is a nation, but a state isonly a state! I--hang it all--what's the use of trying to explainwhat is born in one----" "The contrary was born in your mother, Steve. Don't ever talk toher this way. And--go out, please, I wish to dress. " He went away, saying over his shoulders: "I only wanted to tell youthat I'm not inclined to sit sucking my thumb if other men go, andyou can say so to father, who has forbidden me to mention thesubject to him again until I have his permission. " But he went away to business that morning with his father, asusual; and when evening came the two men returned, anxious, deadtired, having passed most of the day standing in the dense throngsthat choked every street around the bulletin boards of thenewspaper offices. Ailsa had not been out during the day, nor had Mrs. Craig, exceptfor an hour's drive in the family coupe around the district wherepreliminary surveys for the new Prospect Park were being pushed. They had driven for almost an hour in utter silence. Hersister-in-law's hand lay clasped in hers, but both looked from thecarriage windows without speaking, and the return from the drivefound them strangely weary and inclined for the quiet of their ownrooms. But Celia Craig could not close her eyes even to feignsleep to herself. When husband and son returned at evening, she asked nothing of thenews from them, but her upturned face lingered a second or twolonger as her husband kissed her, and she clung a little toStephen, who was inclined to be brief with her. Dinner was a miserable failure in that family, which usually hadmuch to compare, much to impart, much badinage and laughter todistribute. But the men were weary and uncommunicative; EstcourtCraig went to his club after dinner; Stephen, now possessing alatch-key, disappeared shortly afterward. Paige and Marye did embroidery and gossipped together under the bigcrystal chandelier while their mother read aloud to them from"Great Expectations, " which was running serially in _Harper'sWeekly_. Later she read in her prayer-book; later still, fullydressed, she lay across the bed in the alcove staring at thedarkness and listening for the sound of her husband's latch-key inthe front door, When it sounded, she sprang up and hastily dried her eyes. "The children and Ailsa are all abed, Curt. How late you are! Itwas not very wise of you to go out--being so tired--" She washovering near him as though to help his weariness with her smalloffices; she took his hat, stood looking at him, then steppednearer, laying both hands on his shoulders, and her face againsthis. "I am--already tired of the--war, " she sighed. "Is it ended yet, Curt?" "There is no more news from Sumter. " "You will--love me--best--anyway. Curt--won't you?" "Do you doubt it?" She only drew a deep, frightened breath. For within her heart shefelt the weight of the new apprehension--the clairvoyantpremonition of a rival that she must prepare to encounter--a rivalthat menaced her peace of mind--a shape, shadowy as yet, butterrible, slowly becoming frightfully denned--a Thing that mightone day wean this man from her--husband, and son, too--bothperhaps----. "Curt, " she faltered, "it will all come right in the end. Say it. I am afraid. " "It will come out all right, " he said gently. They kissed, and sheturned to the mirror and silently began preparing for the night. With the calm notes of church bells floating out across the city, and an April breeze blowing her lace curtains, Ailsa awoke. Overhead she heard the trample of Stephen's feet as he movedleisurely about his bedroom. Outside her windows in the backyard, early sunshine slanted across shrub and grass and white-washedfence; the Sunday quiet was absolute, save for the church bells. She lay there listening and thinking; the church bells ceased; andafter a while, lying there, she began to realise that the silencewas unnatural--became conscious of something ominous in the intensequiet outside--a far-spread stillness which was more than the hushof Sabbath. Whether or not the household was still abed she did not know; nosound came from Celia's room; nor were Marye and Paige stirring onthe floor above when she rose and stole out barefooted to thelanding, holding a thin silk chamber robe around her. She paused, listening; the tic-toc of the hall clock accented the silence; thedoor that led from Celia's chamber into the hall stood wide open, and there was nobody in sight. Something drew her to the alcovewindow, which was raised; through the lace curtains she saw thestaff of the family flag set in its iron socket at right angles tothe facade--saw the silken folds stirring lazily in the sunshine, tiptoed to the window and peered out. As far as her eyes could see, east and west, the street was onerustling mass of flags. For a second her heart almost hurt her with its thrilling leap; shecaught her breath; the hard tension in her throat was choking her;she dropped to her knees by the sill, drew a corner of the flag toher, and laid her cheek against it. Her eyes unclosed and she gazed out upon the world of flags; then, upright, she opened her fingers, and the crinkled edges of theflag, released, floated leisurely out once more into the Aprilsunshine. When she had dressed she found the family in the dining-room--hersister-in-law, serene but pale, seated behind the coffee urn, Mr. Craig and Stephen reading the Sunday newspapers, Paige and Maryewhispering together over their oatmeal and cream. She kissed Celia, dropped the old-fashioned, half-forgotten curtseyto the others, and stood hesitating a moment, one hand resting onCelia's shoulder. "Is the fort holding out?" she asked. Stephen looked up angrily, made as though to speak, but a deepflush settled to the roots of his hair and he remained silent. "Fort Sumter has surrendered, " said her brother-in-law quietly. Celia whispered: "Take your seat now, Honey-bell; your breakfast isgetting cold. " At church that Sunday the Northern clergy prayed in a dazed sort ofway for the Union and for the President; some addressed the MostHigh as "The God of Battles. " The sun shone brightly; new leaveswere startling on every tree in every Northern city; acres ofstarry banners drooped above thousands of departing congregations, and formed whispering canopies overhead. Vespers were solemn; April dusk fell over a million roofs andspires; twinkling gas jets were lighted in street lamps; city, town, and hamlet drew their curtains and bowed their heads indarkness. A dreadful silence fell over the North--a stillness thatbreeds epochs and the makers of them. But the first gray pallor of the dawn awoke a nation for the firsttime certain of its entity, roaring its comprehension of it fromthe Lakes to the Potomac, from sea to sea; and the red sun roseover twenty States in solid battle line thundering their loyalty toa Union undivided, And on that day rang out the first loud call to arms; and the firstbattalion of the Northland, seventy-five thousand strong, formedranks, cheering their insulted flag. Then, southward, another flag shot up above the horizon. The worldalready knew it as The Stars and Bars. And, beside it, from itspointed lance, whipped and snapped and fretted anotherflag--square, red, crossed by a blue saltier edged with white onwhich glittered thirteen stars. It was the battle flag of the Confederacy flashing the answer tothe Northern cheer. CHAPTER V "Burgess!" "Sir?" Berkley sat up in bed and viewed his environment with disgust. "These new lodgings would make a fair kennel, wouldn't they, Burgess?--if a man isn't too particular about his dog. " The servant entered with a nasty smirk. "Yes, sir; I seen a ratlast night. " "He's not the only one, is he, Burgess, " yawned Berkley. "Oh, hell! I've got to dress. Did you paint that bathtub? I guess youdid, the place reeks like a paint shop. Anyway, it kills lessdesirable aromas. Where's the water?" He swung his symmetrical body to the bed's edge, dropped lightly tothe carpet, unloosed his night robe, and stretched himself. "Was I very drunk, Burgess?" "No, sir; you just went to sleep. You haven't got no headache, have you?" "No--but it was only corn whisky. I didn't remember what I didwith it. Is there any left?" "Not much, sir. " The servant, ugly to the verge of deformity, and wearing invariablythe abominable smirk that disgusted others but amused Berkley, wentabout his duties. Berkley blinked at him reflectively, then bathed, dressed, and satdown to a bowl of chocolate and a bit of bread. "What the devil was all that row this morning, Burgess?" "War, sir. The President has called for seventy-five thousand men. Here it is, sir. " And he laid a morning paper beside the cup ofchocolate, which Berkley studied between sips, commentingoccasionally aloud: "Heavens, Burgess, why, we're a race of patriots! Now who on earthcould have suspected that. . . . Why, we seem to be heroes, too!What do you think of that, Burgess? You're a hero; I'm a hero;everybody north of Charleston is an embattled citizen or a hero!Isn't it funny that nobody realised all this before?" . . . Heturned the paper leisurely sipping his chocolate. . . . "_Of_course--the 'dear old flag'! That's the cheese, isn't it, Burgess?Been insulted, hasn't it? And we're all going to Charleston topunch that wicked Beauregard in the nose. . . . Burgess, you and Iare neglecting our duty as heroes; there's much shouting to be doneyet, much yelling in the streets, much arguing to be done, many, many cocktails to be firmly and uncompromisingly swallowed. Areyou prepared to face the serious consequences of being a hero?" "Yes, sir, " said Burgess. "You merit well of the republic! The country needs you. Here'shalf a dollar. Do your duty unflinchingly--at the nearest bar!" Burgess took the coin with a smirk. "Mr. Berkley, the landlady sent word that times is hard. " "Bless her soul! They _are_ hard, Burgess. Inform her of mysentiments, " said Berkley cordially. "Now, my hat and cane, if youplease. We're a wonderful people, Burgess; we'll beat ourwalking-sticks into bayonets if Mr. Beauregard insists on sayingboo to us too many times in succession. . . . And, Burgess?" "Sir?" "Now that you have waked up this morning to find yourself a hero, Ithink you'd better find yourself another and more spectacularmaster. My heroism, for the future, is to be more or lessinconspicuous; in fact, I begin the campaign by inserting my ownstuds and cleaning my own clothes, and keeping out of gaol; and thesooner I go where that kind of glory calls me the sooner my namewill be emblazoned in the bright lexicon of youth where there's nosuch word as 'jail. '", "Sir?" "In simpler and more archaic phrase, I can't afford you, Burgess, unless I pilfer for a living. " "I don't eat much, sir. " "No, you don't _eat_ much. " "I could quit drinking, sir. " "_That_ is really touching, Burgess. This alcohol pickledintegument of yours covers a trusting heart. But it won't do. Heroics in a hall bedroom cut no coupons, my poor friend. Ourpaths to glory and the grave part just outside the door-sillyonder. " "_She_ said I could stay, sir. " "Which _she_?" "The landlady. I'm to fetch coal and run errants and wait ontable. But you'll get the best cuts, sir. And after hours I cansee to your clothes and linen and boots and hats, and do yourerrants same like the usual. " "Now this is nearly as pathetic as our best fiction, " said Berkley;"ruined master, faithful man--_won't_ leave--starves slowly at hismaster's feet--tootle music very sneaky--'transformation! Burgessin heaven, blinking, puzzled, stretching one wing, reflectivelyscratching his halo with right hind foot. Angel chorus. Burgessappears to enjoy it and lights one of my best cigars----" "Sir?" said Burgess, very red. Berkley swung around, levelled his walking-stick, and indicated thepit of his servant's stomach: "Your face is talking now; wait till _that_ begins to yell. Itwill take more than I'm earning to fill it. " He stood a moment, smiling, curious. Then: "You've been as faithless a valet as any servant who ever wateredwine, lost a gimcrack, or hooked a weed. Studs, neckcloths, bootjacks, silk socks, pins, underwear--all magically andeventually faded from my wardrobe, wafted to those silent bournesof swag that valets wot of. What in hell do you want to stay_here_ for now, you amusing wastrel?" "Yes, sir. I'd prefer to stay with you. " "But there'll be no more pleasant pickings, my poor and faithlesssteward! If you should convert anything more to your own bankaccount I'll be obliged to stroll about naked. " "Yes, sir, " muttered Burgess; "I brought back some things lastnight--them socks, shirt-pins and studs, and the fob. . . . Yes, sir; I fetched 'em back, I did--" A sudden and curious gleam ofpride crossed the smirk for an instant;--"I guess my gentlemanain't agoing to _look_ no worse than the next Fifth Avenue swell hemeets--even if he ain't et no devilled kidneys for breakfast and hedon't dine on no canvas-back at Delmonico's. No, sir. " Berkley sat down on the bed's edge and laughed until he couldscarcely see the man, who observed him in patient annoyance. Andevery time Berkley looked at him he went into another fit ofuncontrollable laughter, as he realised the one delightful weaknessin this thorough-paced rogue--pride in the lustre cast upon himselfby the immaculate appearance of a fashionable master. But afterreflection, it did not astonish him too much; the besettingweakness of rogues is vanity in one form or another. This happenedto be an unusual form. "Burgess, " he said, "I don't care how you go to hell. Go with meif you like or go it alone. " "Thank you, sir. " "You're welcome, " replied Berkley gravely, and, tucking his cane upunder one arm, he went out to business, drawing on a pair oflemon-coloured kid gloves. Later he searched his pockets for the cigar he had denied himselfthe evening before. It was not there. In fact, at that moment, Burgess, in the boarding-house backyard, was promenading up anddown, leering at the Swedish scullion, and enjoying the lastexpensive cigar that his master was likely to purchase in many aday. The street, and avenue were seething with people; people stood attheir windows looking out at the news-boys who swarmed everywhere, shouting endless extras; people were gathering on corners, insquares, along park railings, under porticos of hotels, and everyone of them had a newspaper and was reading. In front of the St. Nicholas Hotel a lank and shabby man hadmounted a cracker box, and was evidently making a speech, butBerkley could distinguish nothing he said because of the wildcheering. Everywhere, threading the throng, hurried boys and men sellingminiature flags, red-white-and-blue rosettes, and tricolouredcockades; and everybody was purchasing the national colours--thepassing crowd had already become bright with badges; the Unioncolours floated in streamers from the throats or sleeves of prettygirls, glinted in the lapels of dignified old gentlemen, decoratedthe hats of the stage-drivers and the blinders of their horses. "Certainly, " said Berkley, buying a badge and pinning it in hisbutton-hole. "Being a hero, I require the trade-mark. Kindlypermit that I offer a suggestion--" a number of people waiting tobuy badges; were now listening to him--"those gentlemen gatheredthere in front of the New York Hotel seem to be without these markswhich distinguish heroes from citizens. No doubt they'll bedelighted to avail themselves of your offered cockades. " A quick laugh broke out from those around, but there was anundertone of menace in it, because the undecorated gentlemen infront of the New York Hotel were probably Southerners, andSecessionists in principles; that hostelry being the rendezvous inNew York of everything Southern. So, having bestowed his mischievous advice, Berkley strolled ondown Broadway, his destination being the offices of Craig and Son, City and Country Real Estate, where he had a desk to himself, aclient or two in prospect, and considerable leisure to study thestreet, gas, and sewer maps of New York City. Tiring of this distraction, he was always at liberty to twiddle histhumbs, twirl his pencil, yawn, blink, and look out of the windowat the City Park across the way, where excited citizens maintaineda steady yelling monotone before the neighbouring newspaper officesall day long. He was also free to reflect upon his own personal shortcomings, aspeculation perhaps less damaging than the recent one he hadindulged in; and he thought about it sometimes; and sometimes aboutAilsa Paige, whom he had not again seen since the unaccountablemadness had driven him to trample and destroy the first realinclination he had ever had for a woman. This inclination he occasionally found leisure to analyse, but, notunderstanding it, never got very far, except that, superficially, it had been more or less physical. From the moment he saw her hewas conscious that she was different; insensibly the exquisitelyvolatile charm of her enveloped him, and he betrayed it, awakingher, first, to uneasy self-consciousness; then uneasy consciousnessof him; then, imperceptibly, through distrust, alarm, and athousand inexplicable psychological emotions, to a wistful interestthat faintly responded to his. Ah! that response!--strange, childish, ignorant, restless--but still a response; and fromobscure shallows unsuspected, uncomprehended--shallows that hadnever before warned her with the echo of an evanescent ripple. For him to have reflected, reasoned, halted himself, had beenuseless from the beginning. The sister-in-law of this girl knewwho and what he was and had been. There was no hope for him. Tolet himself drift; to evoke in her, sometimes by hazard, at timeswith intent, the delicate response--faint echo--pale shadow of thevirile emotions she evoked in him, that, too, was useless. He knewit, yet curious to try, intent on developing communication throughthose exquisite and impalpable lines that threaded the mystery fromhim to her--from her to him. And then, when the mystery all about them was aquiver, and hervague eyes met his through the magic, acquiescent under a sorceryfor which she had no name--then, when all things occult breathedsilence--then he had said too much! It was perhaps as well that he had said it then as later--as wellperhaps that, losing self-control, defeat had moved his tongue toboast, had fixed the empty eye and stamped the smile he wore with aconfidence dead in him for ever. He had said that he would come back. He knew that he would not. It was the pitiful defiance of a boaster hopelessly hurt. He no longer desired to see her again. Never again would he riskenduring what she had evoked in him, whatever it was of good or ofevil, of the spiritual or the impure--he did not know he was awareonly of what his eyes had beheld and his heart had begun to desire. On his way back from the office that evening he met Camilla Lentand her uncle, the Captain, and would have passed with an amiablesalute, but the girl evinced a decided desire to speak. So heturned and joined them. "How do you do, Camilla? How are you, Captain Lent? Thisre-conversion of the nation's ploughshares and pruning hooks is anoisy affair, isn't it?" "April 18th, 1861!" replied the Captain quickly. "What you hear, sir, is the attrition consequent upon the grinding together ofcertain millstones belonging to the gods. " "I have no doubt of it, Captain Lent; they'll probably make meal ofus all. Are you offering your services, sir. " Camilla said quickly, and with gayest confidence: "Uncle has beenlooking about casually. There are so many regiments forming, somany recruiting stations that we--we haven't decided--have we, uncle?" And she gave Berkley a wistful, harrowing glance thatenlightened him. He said gravely: "I suppose the average age of these volunteerswill be about eighteen. And if the militia go, too, it will becomforting for a defenceless city to know she has men of yourexperience to count on, Captain Lent. " "_I_ am going to the front, " observed the Captain. "There may be much to be done in New York, sir. " "Then let the police do it, " said Captain Lent calmly. "The Unionmust and shall be preserved. If any man attempts to haul down theAmerican flag, shoot him upon the spot. Et cetera, sir, et cetera. " "Certainly. But it's a question of niggers, too, I believe. " "No, sir. It is _not_ a question of niggers. It is a question ofwho's at the wheel, Union or State. I myself never had any doubtsany more than I ever doubted the Unitarian faith! So it is noquestion for me, sir. What bothers me is to pick out the regimentmost likely to be sent first. " "We've walked our legs off, " said Camilla, aside, "and we've beenin all kinds of frightful places where men are drilling and smokingand swearing and yelling; and I was dreadfully afraid a gun wouldgo off or somebody would be impudent to uncle. The dear oldthing, " she whispered, "he is perfectly sure they want him and thathe has only to choose a regiment and offer his sword. Oh, dear!I'm beginning to be terribly unhappy--I'm afraid they won't let himgo and I'm deadly afraid they might! And I'm sure that Jim meansto go. Oh, dear! Have you seen Ailsa Paige lately?" "No. . . . I hope she is quite well. " "You are not very enthusiastic. " "I have every reason to be. She is a very winsome girl. " "She's a dear. . . . She has spoken of you several times. " "That is most amiable of her, and of you to say so. " "Oh, very, " laughed Camilla, tossing her pretty head, "but itevidently does not interest you very much. In fact--" she glancedsidewise--"it is understood that no woman ever interests you formore than forty-eight consecutive hours. " "Pure slander, Camilla. _You_ do. " "Oh--not in the way I mean. " "Well, but you don't expect me to be interested in Mrs. Paige--inthe way _you_ mean do you?" "Why not?" she asked mischievously. "Because, to begin properly, Mrs. Paige is not likely ever tobecome interested in me. " "I am heartily glad of it, " retorted Camilla. "You'd forget her ina week, " "That's more than forty-eight hours, " he said, laughing. "You'reflattering me now. " "Anyway, " said Camilla, "I don't see why everybody that knows herisn't mad about Ailsa Paige. She has _such_ high principles, suchideals, such wonderful aspirations--" She clasped her handssentimentally: "At times, Phil, she seems too ethereal, scarcely ofearth--and yet I breakfasted with her and she ate twice as much asI did. _How_ does she keep that glorious figure!" Plumpness was the bane and terror of Camilla's life. Her smooth, suave white skin was glossy and tight; distracting curves, entrancing contours characterised her now; but her full red lipsfairly trembled as she gazed at her parents' portraits in herbedroom, for they had both been of a florid texture and full habit;and she had now long refused sugar and the comforts of sweetmeatsdear to the palate of her age and sex. And mostly was thisself-denial practised for the sake of a young and unobservantfriend, one Stephen Craig, who had so far evinced no unusualinclination for her, or for anything except cigars and masculinesociety of his own age and condition. She managed to get Philip Berkley to talk about Stephen, whichingenuity soothed her. But Philip was becoming bored, and hepresently escaped to retrace his steps up Broadway, up FifthAvenue, and then west to the exceedingly modest lodgings whitherfate and misfortune had wafted him. On the way he passed Colonel Arran's big double house with a sullenand sidelong scowl, and continued onward with a shrug. But hesmiled no more to himself. Burgess was in the room, cross-legged on the floor, ironing out hismaster's best coat. "What the devil are you about, " said Philip ungraciously. "Get up. I need what floor I've got to stand on. " Burgess obediently laid the board and the coat on a trunk andcontinued ironing; and Philip scowled at him askance. "Why don't you enlist?" he said. "Every car-driver, stage-driver, hackman, and racing-tout can become major-generals if they yellloud enough. " Burgess continued ironing, then stole a glance at his master. "Are you thinking of enlisting, sir?" "No; I can't pass the examination for lung power. By the way, " headded, laughing, "I overlooked the impudence of your question, too. But now is your time, Burgess. If I wanted you I'd have to put upwith your insolence, I suppose. " "But you don't want me, sir. " "Which restrains you, " said Philip, laughing. "Oh, go on, myfriend. Don't say 'sir' to me; it's a badge of servitude pastedonto the vernacular. Say 'Hi!' if you like. " "Sir?" "Hell! I say don't behave like a servant to me. " "I _am_ a servant, sir. " "You're not mine. " "Yes, sir, I am. Will you wear this coat this evening, sir?" "God knows, " said the young fellow, sitting down and gazing aboutat the melancholy poverty of the place. . . . "Is there any ofthat corn whisky?" "No, sir. " "Damn it, you said there was this morning!" "No, sir, I didn't. " The man lied placidly; the master looked at him, then laughed. "Poor old Burgess, " he said aloud as though to himself; "therewasn't a skinful in that bottle. Well, I can't get drunk, I can'tlie here and count from six to midnight and keep my sanity, I can'tsmoke--you rascal, where's my cigar? And I certainly can't go outanywhere because I haven't any money. " "You might take the air on the avenue, sir. Your clothes are inorder. " "Poor Burgess! That was your amusement, wasn't it?--to see me goout discreetly perfumed, in fine linen and purple, brave as thebest of them in club and hall, in ballroom and supper room, and inevery lesser hell from Crystal Palace cinders to Canal. "Poor Burgess! Even the seventy-five pretty waitresses at theGaities would turn up their seventy-five retrousse noses at a manwith pockets as empty as mine. " "Your clothes are fashionable. So is your figger, sir. " "That settles it?" protested the young fellow, weak with laughter. "Burgess, _don't_ go! Don't _ever_ go! I do need you. Oh I _do_want you, Burgess. Because there never will be anybody exactlylike you, and I've only one life in which to observe you, studyyou, and mentally digest you. You _won't_ go, will you?" "No sir, " said Burgess with dignity. CHAPTER VI There was incipient demoralisation already in the offices of Craig& Son. Young gentlemen perched on high benches still searched citymaps and explored high-way and by-way with compass andpencil-point, but their ears were alert to every shout from thestreets, and their interest remained centred in the newspaperbulletins across the way, where excited crowds clamoured fordetails not forthcoming. All day, just outside the glass doors of the office, Broadwaystreamed with people; and here, where the human counter currentsrunning north and south encountered amid the racket of omnibuses, carts, carriages, and drays, a vast overflow spread turbulently, eddying out around the recruiting stations and newspaper officeswhich faced the City Park. Sidewalks swarmed, the park was packed solid. Overhead flags flewfrom every flag pole, over every portal, across every alley andstreet and square--big nags, little flags, flags of silk, ofcotton, of linen, of bunting, all waving wide in the springsunshine, or hanging like great drenched flowers in the winnowingApril rain. And it was very hard for the young gentlemen in the offices ofCraig & Son to keep their minds on their business. Berkley had a small room to himself, a chair, a desk, a city mapsuspended against the wall, and no clients. Such occasionalcommissions as Craig & Son were able to give him constituted hissole source of income. He also had every variety of time on his hands--leisure to walk tothe window and walk back again, and then walk all around theroom--leisure to go out and solicit business in a city wherealready business was on the edge of chaos and stillsliding--leisure to sit for hours in his chair and reflect uponanything he chose--leisure to be hungry and satisfy the inclinationwith philosophy. He was perfectly at liberty to choose any subjectand think about it. But he spent most of his time in trying toprevent himself from thinking. However, from his window, the street views now were usuallyinteresting; he was an unconvinced spectator of the mob whichstarted for the _Daily News_ office, hissing, cat-calling, yelling:"Show your colours!" "Run up your colours!" He saw the mob visitthe _Journal of Commerce_, and then turn on the _Herald_, yellinginsult and bellowing threats which promptly inspired that journalto execute a political flip-flap that set the entire city smiling. Stephen, who had conceived a younger man's furtive admiration forBerkley and his rumoured misdemeanours, often came into his roomwhen opportunity offered. That morning he chanced in for a momentand found Berkley at the window chewing the end of a pencil, perhaps in lieu of the cigar he could no longer afford. "These are spectacular times, " observed the latter, with a gesturetoward the street below. "Observe yonder ladylike warrior inbrand-new regimentals. Apparently, Stephen, he's a votary of Marsand pants for carnage; but in reality he continues to remain thesartorial artist whose pants are more politely emitted. He emittedthese--" patting his trousers with a ruler. "On what goose hasthis my tailor fed that he hath grown so sightly!" They stood watching the crowds, once brightened only by the redshirts of firemen or the blue and brass of a policeman, but nowvaried with weird uniforms, or parts of uniforms, constructed onevery known and unknown pattern, military and unmilitary, foreignand domestic. The immortal army at Coventry was not morevariegated. "There's a new poster across the street, " said Stephen. Heindicated a big advertisement decorated with a flying eagle. DOWN WITH SECESSION! The Government Appeals to the New York Fire Department for One Regiment of Zouaves! Companies will select their own officers. The roll is at Engine House 138, West Broadway. ELSWORTH, COL: ZOUAVES. "That's a good, regiment to enlist in, isn't it?" said the boyrestlessly. "Cavalry for me, " replied Berkley, unsmiling; "they can run faster. " "I'm serious, " said Stephen. "If I had a chance--" He turned onBerkley: "Why don't you, enlist? There's nothing to stop you, isthere?" "Nothing except constitutional timidity. " "Then why don't you?" Berkley laughed. "Well, for one thing, I'm not sure how I'd behavein battle. I might be intelligent enough to run; I might be assenough to fight. The enemy would have to take its chances. " The boy laughed, too, turned to the window, and suddenly caughtBerkley by the arm: "Look! There's something going on down by the Astor House!" "A Massachusetts regiment of embattled farmers arrived in thishamlet last night. I believe they are to pass by here on their wayto Washington, " remarked Berkley, opening the window and leaningout. Already dense crowds of people were pushing, fighting, forcingtheir way past the windows, driven before double lines of police;already distant volleys of cheers sounded; the throb of drumsbecame audible; the cheering sounded shriller, nearer. Past the windows, through Broadway, hordes of ragged street arabscame running, scattered into night before another heavy escort ofpolice. And now the on-coming drums could be heard moredistinctly; and now two dusty officers marched into view, a colonelof Massachusetts infantry attended by a quartermaster of New Yorkmilitia. Behind them tramped the regimental band of the 6th Massachusetts, instruments slung; behind these, filling the street from gutter togutter, surged the sweating drummers, deafening every ear withtheir racket; then followed the field and staff, then the Yankeeregiment, wave on wave of bayonets choking the thoroughfare far asthe eye could see, until there seemed no end to their coming, andthe cheering had become an unbroken howl. Stephen turned to Berkley: "A fellow can't see too much of thiskind of thing and stand it very long. Those soldiers are no olderthan I am!" Berkley's ironical reply was drowned in a renewed uproar as theMassachusetts soldiers wheeled and began to file into the AstorHouse, and the New York militia of the escort swung past hurrahingfor the first Northern troops to leave for the front. That day Berkley lunched in imagination only, seriously inclined toexchange his present board and lodgings for a dish of glory and acot in barracks. That evening, too, after a boarding-house banquet, and afterBurgess had done his offices, he took the air instead of other andmore expensive distraction; and tired of it thoroughly, and of thesolitary silver coin remaining in his pocket. From his clubs he had already resigned; other and less innocenthaunts of his were no longer possible; some desirable people stillretained him on their lists, and their houses were probably open tohim, but the social instinct was sick; he had no desire to go; nodesire even to cross the river for a penny and look again on AilsaPaige. So he had, as usual, the evening on his hands, nothing inhis pockets, and a very weary heart, under a last year's eveningcoat. And his lodgings were becoming a horror to him; thelandlady's cat had already killed two enormous rats In the hallway;also cabbage had been cooked in the kitchen that day. Which lefthim no other choice than to go out again and take more air. Before midnight he had no longer any coin in his pockets, and hewas not drunk yet. The situation seemed hopeless, and he found apoliceman and inquired politely for the nearest recruiting station;but when he got there the station was closed, and his kicks on thedoor brought nobody but a prowling Bowery b'hoy, sullenly in questof single combat. So Berkley, being at leisure, accommodated him, picked him up, propped him limply against a doorway, resumed hisown hat and coat, and walked thoughtfully and unsteadily homeward, where he slept like an infant in spite of rats, cabbage, and aswollen lip. Next day, however, matters were less cheerful. He had expected torealise a little money out of his last salable trinket--a diamondhe had once taken for a debt. But it seemed that the stonecouldn't pass muster, and he bestowed it upon Burgess, breakfastedon coffee and sour bread, and sauntered downtown quite undisturbedin the brilliant April sunshine. However, the prospect of a small commission from Craig & Son buoyedup his natural cheerfulness. All the way downtown he nourished hiscane; he hummed lively tunes in his office as he studied his mapsand carefully read the real estate reports in the daily papers; andthen he wrote another of the letters which he never mailed, strolled out to Stephen's desk for a little gossip, reportedhimself to Mr. Craig, and finally sallied forth to execute thatgentleman's behest upon an upper Fifth Avenue squatter who haddeclined to vacate property recently dedicated to blasting, theIrish, and general excavation. In a few moments he found himself involved in the usual crowd. The8th Massachusetts regiment was passing in the wake of the 6th, itssister regiment of the day before, and the enthusiasm and noisewere tremendous. However, he extricated himself and went about his business; foundthe squatter, argued with the squatter, gracefully dodged a brickfrom the wife of the squatter, laid a laughing complaint before theproper authorities, and then banqueted in imagination. What aluncheon he had! He was becoming a Lucullus at mental feasts. Later, his business affairs and his luncheon terminated, attemptingto enter Broadway at Grand Street, he got into a crowd so rough andungovernable that he couldn't get out of it--an unreasonable, obstinate, struggling mass of men, women, and children sohysterical that the wild demonstrations of the day previous, and ofthe morning, seemed as nothing compared to this dense, far-spreadriot. Broadway from Fourth to Cortlandt Streets was one tossing mass offlags overhead; one mad surge of humanity below. Through itbattalions of almost exhausted police relieved each other inattempting to keep the roadway clear for the passing of the NewYork 7th on its way to Washington. Driven, crushed, hurled back by the played-out police, the crowdshad sagged back into the cross streets. But even here the policecharged them repeatedly, and the bewildered people turnedstruggling to escape, stumbled, swayed, became panic-stricken andlost their heads. A Broadway stage, stranded in Canal Street, was besieged as arefuge. Toward it Berkley had been borne in spite of his effortsto extricate himself, incidentally losing his hat in the confusion. At the same moment he heard a quiet, unterrified voice pronouncehis name, caught a glimpse of Ailsa Paige swept past on the humanwave, set his shoulders, stemmed the rush from behind, and into themomentary eddy created, Ailsa was tossed, undismayed, laughing, andpinned flat against the forward wheel of the stalled stage. "Climb up!" he said. "Place your right foot on the hub!--now theleft on the tire!--now step on my shoulder!" There came a brutal rush from behind; he braced his back to it; sheset one foot on the hub, the other on the tire, stepped to hisshoulder, swung herself aloft, and crept up over the roof of thestage. Here he joined her, offering an arm to steady her as thestage shook under the impact of the reeling masses below. "How did you get into this mob?" he asked. "I was caught, " she said calmly, steadying herself by the arm heoffered and glancing down at the peril below. "Celia and I wereshopping in Grand Street at Lord and Taylor's, and I thought I'dstep out of the shop for a moment to see if the 7th was coming, andI ventured too far--I simply could not get back. . . . And--thankyou for helping me. " She had entirely recovered her serenity; shereleased his arm and now stood cautiously balanced behind thedriver's empty seat, looking curiously out over the turbulent seaof people, where already hundreds of newsboys were racing hitherand thither shouting an afternoon extra, which seemed to exciteeverybody within hearing to frenzy. "Can you hear what they are shouting?" she inquired. "It seems tomake people very angry. " "They say that the 6th Massachusetts, which passed through hereyesterday, was attacked by a mob in Baltimore. " "_Our_ soldiers!" she said, incredulous. Then, clenching her smallhands: "If I were Colonel Lefferts of the 7th I'd march my menthrough Baltimore to-morrow!" "I believe they expect to go through, " he said, amused. "That iswhat they are for. " The rising uproar around was affecting her; the vivid colour in herlips and cheeks deepened. Berkley looked at her, at the cockadewith its fluttering red-white-and-blue ribbons on her breast, atthe clear, fearless eyes now brilliant with excitement andindignation. "Have you thought of enlisting?" she asked abruptly, withoutglancing at him. "Yes, " he said, "I've ventured that far. It's perfectly safe tothink about it. You have no idea, Mrs. Paige, what warlikesentiments I cautiously entertain in my office chair. " She turned nervously, with a sunny glint of gold hair andfluttering ribbons: "Are you _never_ perfectly serious, Mr. Berkley? Even at such amoment as this?" "Always, " he insisted. "I was only philosophising upon thesescenes of inexpensive patriotism which fill even the most urbaneand peaceful among us full of truculence. . . . I recently saw mytailor wearing a sword, attired in the made-to-measure panoply ofbattle. " "Did that strike you as humorous?" "No, indeed; it fitted; I am only afraid he may find a soldier'sgrave before I can settle our sartorial accounts. " There was a levity to his pleasantries which sounded discordant toher amid the solemnly thrilling circumstances impending. For theflower of the city's soldiery was going forth to battle--a thousandgay, thoughtless young fellows summoned from ledger, office, andcounting-house; and all about her a million of their neighbours hadgathered to see them go. "Applause makes patriots. Why should I enlist when merely bycheering others I can stand here and create heroes in battalions?" "I think, " she said, "that there was once another scoffer whoremained to pray. " As he did not answer, she sent a swift side glance at him, foundhim tranquilly surveying the crowd below where, at the corner ofCanal and Broadway, half a dozen Zouaves, clothed in theircharacteristic and brilliant uniforms and wearing hairy knapsackstrussed up behind, were being vociferously acclaimed by the peopleas they passed, bayonets fixed. "More heroes, " he observed, "made immortal while you wait. " And now Ailsa became aware of a steady, sustained sound audibleabove the tumult around them; a sound like surf washing on adistant reef. "Do you hear that? It's like the roar of the sea, " she said. "Ibelieve they're coming; I think I caught a strain of military musica moment ago!" They rose on tiptoe, straining their ears; even the skylarkinggamins who had occupied the stage top behind them, and the driver, who had reappeared, drunk, and resumed his reins and seat, stood upto listen. Above the noise of the cheering, rolling steadily toward them overthe human ocean, came the deadened throbbing of drums. A far, thinstrain of military music rose, was lost, rose again; the doublethudding of the drums sounded nearer; the tempest of cheers becameterrific. Through it, at intervals, they could catch the clearmarching music of the 7th as two platoons of police, sixty strong, arrived, forcing their way into view, followed by a full company ofZouaves. Then pandemonium broke loose as the matchless regiment swung intosight. The polished instruments of the musicians flashed in thesun; over the slanting drums the drumsticks rose and fell, but inthe thundering cheers not a sound could be heard from brass orparchment. Field and staff passed headed by the colonel; behind jolted twohowitzers; behind them glittered the sabre-bayonets of theengineers; then, filling the roadway from sidewalk to sidewalk theperfect ranks of the infantry swept by under burnished bayonets. They wore their familiar gray and black uniforms, forage caps, andblue overcoats, and carried knapsacks with heavy blankets rolled ontop. And New York went mad. What the Household troops are to England the 7th is to America. Inits ranks it carries the best that New York has to offer. Thepolished metal gorgets of its officers reflect a past unstained;its pedigree stretches to the cannon smoke fringing the Revolution. To America the 7th was always The Guard; and now, in the luridobscurity of national disaster, where all things traditional werecrashing down, where doubt, distrust, the agony of indecisionturned government to ridicule and law to anarchy, there was nodoubt, no indecision in The Guard. Above the terrible clamour ofpolitical confusion rolled the drums of the 7th steadily beatingthe assembly; out of the dust of catastrophe emerged itsdisciplined gray columns. Doubters no longer doubted, uncertaintybecame conviction; in a situation without a precedent, theprecedent was established; the _corps d'elite_ of all statesoldiery was answering the national summons; and once more theassociated states of North America understood that they were firstof all a nation indivisible. Down from window and balcony and roof, sifting among the bayonets, fluttered an unbroken shower of tokens--gloves, flowers, handkerchiefs, tricoloured bunches of ribbon; and here and there abracelet or some gem-set chain fell flashing through the sun. Ailsa Craig, like thousands of her sisters, tore thered-white-and-blue rosette from her breast and flung it down amongthe bayonets with a tremulous little cheer. Everywhere the crowd was breaking into the street; citizens marchedwith their hands on the shoulders of the soldiers; old gentlementoddled along beside strapping sons; brothers passed arms aroundbrothers; here and there a mother hung to the chevroned sleeve ofson or husband who was striving to see ahead through blurring eyes;here and there some fair young girl, badged with the nationalcolours, stretched out her arms from the crowd and laid her handsto the lips of her passing lover. The last shining files of bayonets had passed; the city swarmedlike an ant-hill. Berkley's voice was in her ears, cool, good-humoured: "Perhaps we had better try to find Mrs. Craig. I saw Stephen inthe crowd, and he saw us, so I do not think your sister-in-law willbe worried. " She nodded, suffered him to aid her in the descent to the sidewalk, then drew a deep, unsteady breath and gazed around as thoughawaking from a dream. "It certainly was an impressive sight, " he said. "The Governmentmay thank me for a number of heroes. I'm really quite hoarse. " She made no comment. "Even a thousand well-fed brokers in uniform are bound to beimpressive, " he meditated aloud. Her face flushed; she walked on ignoring his flippancy, ignoringeverything concerning him until, crossing the street, she becameaware that he wore no hat. "Did you lose it?" she asked curtly, "I don't know what happened to that hysterical hat, Mrs. Paige. Probably it went war mad and followed the soldiers to the ferry. You can never count on hats. They're flighty. " "You will have to buy another, " she said, smiling. "Oh, no, " he said carelessly, "what is the use. It will onlyfollow the next regiment out of town. Shall we cross?" "Mr. Berkley, do you propose to go about town with me, hatless?" "You have an exceedingly beautiful one. Nobody will look at me. " "Please be sensible!" "I am. I'll take you to Lord and Taylor's, deliver you to yoursister-in-law, and then slink home----" "But I don't wish to go there with a hatless man! I can'tunderstand----" "Well, I'll have to tell you if you drive me to it, " he said, looking at her very calmly, but a flush mounted to his cheek-bones;"I have no money--with me. " "Why didn't you say so? How absurd not to borrow it from me----" Something in his face checked her; then he laughed. "There's no reason why you shouldn't know how poor I am, " he said. "It doesn't worry me, so it certainly will not worry you. I can'tafford a hat for a few days--and I'll leave you here if you wish. Why do you look so shocked? Oh, well--then we'll stop at Genin's. They know me there. " They stopped at Genin's and he bought a hat and charged it, givinghis addresses in a low voice; but she heard it. "Is it becoming?" he asked airily, examining the effect in a glass. "Am I the bully boy with the eye of glass, Mrs. Paige?" "You are, indeed, " she said, laughing. "Shall we find Celia?" But they could not find her sister-in-law in the shop, which wasnow refilling with excited people. "Celia _non est_, " he observed cheerfully. "The office is closedby this time. May I see you safely to Brooklyn?" She turned to the ferry stage which was now drawing up at the curb;he assisted her to mount, then entered himself, humming under hisbreath: "To Brooklyn! To Brooklyn! So be it. Amen. Clippity, Cloppity, back again!" On the stony way to the ferry he chatted cheerfully, irresponsibly, but he soon became convinced that the girl beside him was notlistening, so he talked at random to amuse himself, amiablyaccepting her pre-occupation. "How those broker warriors did step out, in spite of IllinoisCentral and a sadly sagging list! At the morning board PacificMail fell 3 1/2, New York Central 1/4, Hudson River 1/4, Harlempreferred 1/2, Illinois Central 3/4. . . . I don't care. . . . _You_ won't care, but the last quotations were Tennessee 6's, 41, A41 1/2. . . . There's absolutely nothing doing in money orexchange. The bankers are asking 107 a 1/2 but sell nothing. Oncall you can borrow money at four and five per cent--" he glancedsideways at her, ironically, satisfied that she paid noheed--"_you_ might, but I can't, Ailsa. I can't borrow anythingfrom anybody at any per cent whatever. I know; I've tried. Meanwhile, few and tottering are my stocks, also they continuedownward on their hellward way. "Margins wiped, out in war, Profits are scattered far, I'll to the nearest bar, Ailsa oroon!" he hummed to himself, walking-stick under his chin, his new hat notabsolutely straight on his well-shaped head. A ferry-boat lay in the slip; they walked forward and stood in thecrowd by the bow chains. The flag new over Castle William; latesunshine turned river and bay to a harbour in fairyland, where, through the golden haze, far away between forests ofpennant-dressed masts, a warship lay all aglitter, the sun strikingfire from her guns and bright work, and setting every red bar ofher flag ablaze. "The _Pocahontas_, sloop of war from Charleston bar, " said a man inthe crowd. "She came in this morning at high water. She got toSumter too late. " "Yes. Powhatan had already knocked the head off John Smith, "observed Berkley thoughtfully. "They did these things better incolonial days. " Several people began to discuss the inaction of the fleet offCharleston bar during the bombardment; the navy was freelydenounced and defended, and Berkley, pleased that he had started arow, listened complacently, inserting a word here and therecalculated to incite several prominent citizens to fisticuffs. Andthe ferry-boat started with everybody getting madder. But when fisticuffs appeared imminent in mid-stream, out ofsomewhat tardy consideration for Ailsa he set free the dove ofpeace. "Perhaps, " he remarked pleasantly, "the fleet _couldn't_ cross thebar. I've heard of such things. " And as nobody had thought of that, hostilities were averted. Paddle-wheels churning, the rotund boat swung into the Brooklyndock. Her gunwales rubbed and squeaked along the straining pilesgreen with sea slime; deck chains clinked, cog-wheels clattered, the stifling smell of dock water gave place to the fresher odour ofthe streets. "I would like to walk uptown, " said Ailsa Paige. "I really don'tcare to sit still in a car for two miles. You need not come anyfarther--unless you care to. " He said airily: "A country ramble with a pretty girl is alwaysagreeable to me. I'll come if you'll let me. " She looked up at him, perplexed, undecided. "Are you making fun of Brooklyn, or of me?" "Of neither. May I come?" "If you care to, " she said. They walked on together up Fulton Street, following the stream ofreturning sight-seers and business men, passing recruiting stationswhere red-legged infantry of the 14th city regiment stood in groupsreading the extras just issued by the _Eagle_ and _Brooklyn Times_concerning the bloody riot in Baltimore and the attack on the 6thMassachusetts. Everywhere, too, soldiers of the 13th, 38th, and70th regiments of city infantry, in blue state uniforms, weremarching about briskly, full of the business of recruiting and oftheir departure, which was scheduled for the twenty-third of April. Already the complexion of the Brooklyn civic sidewalk crowds waseverywhere brightened by military uniforms; cavalrymen of the troopof dragoons attached to the 8th New York, jaunty lancers from thetroop of lancers attached to the 69th New York, riflemen in greenepaulettes and facings, zouaves in red, blue, and brown uniformscame hurrying down the stony street to Fulton Ferry on their returnfrom witnessing a parade of the 14th Brooklyn at Fort Greene. Andevery figure in uniform thrilled the girl with suppressedexcitement and pride. Berkley, eyeing them askance, began blandly: "Citizens of martial minds, Uniforms of wondrous kinds, Wonderful the sights we see-- Ailsa, you'll agree with me. " "_Are_ you utterly without human feeling?" she demanded. "Because, if you are, there isn't the slightest use of my pretending to becivil to you any longer. " "Have you been pretending?" "I suppose you think me destitute of humour, " she said, "but thereis nothing humourous about patriotism and self-sacrifice to me, andnothing very admirable about those who mock it. " Her cheeks were deeply flushed; she looked straight ahead of her asshe walked beside him. Yet, even now the swift little flash of anger revealed an innerglimpse to her of her unaltered desire to know this man; of herinterest in him--of something about him that attracted her butdefied analysis---or had defied it until, pursuing it too far oneday, she had halted suddenly and backed away. Then, curiously, reflectively, little by little, she retraced hersteps. And curiosity urged her to investigate in detail the FourFears--fear of the known in another, fear of the unknown inanother, fear of the known in one's self, fear of the unknown inone's self. _That_ halted her again, for she knew now that it wassomething within herself that threatened her. But it was hisnearness to her that evoked it. For she saw, now that her real inclination was to be with him, thatshe had liked him from the first, had found him agreeable--pleasantpast belief--and that, although there seemed to be no reason forher liking, no excuse, nothing to explain her half-fearful pleasurein his presence, and her desire for it, she did desire it. And forthe first time since her widowhood she felt that she had beenliving her life out along lines that lay closer to solitude than tothe happy freedom of which she had reluctantly dreamed locked inthe manacles of a loveless marriage. For her marriage had been one of romantic pity, born of theignorance of her immaturity; and she was very young when she becamethe wife of Warfield Paige--Celia's brother--a gentle, sweet-tempered invalid, dreamy, romantic, and pitifully confidentof life, the days of which were already numbered. Of the spiritual passions she knew a little--of the passion ofpity, of consent, of self-sacrifice, of response to spiritual need. But neither in her early immaturity nor in later adolescence hadshe ever before entertained even the most innocent inclination fora man. Man's attractions, physical and personal, had left only thelightest of surface impressions--until the advent of this man. To what in him was she responsive? What intellectual charm had herevealed? What latent spiritual excellence did she suspect? Whatwere his lesser qualities--the simpler moral virtues--the admirableattributes which a woman could recognise. Nay, where even were thenobler failings, the forgivable faults, the promise of futurethings? Her uplifted, questioning eyes searched and fell. Only theclear-cut beauty of his head answered her, only the body's grace. She sometimes suspected pity as her one besetting sin. Was it pityfor this man--a young man only twenty-four, her own age, socheerful under the crushing weight of material ruin? Was it hispoverty that appealed? Was it her instinct to protect? If all she heard was true, hesorely needed protection from himself. For tales of him hadfiltered to her young ears--indefinite rumours of unworthythings--of youth wasted and manhood threatened--of excessesincomprehensible to her, and to those who hinted them to her. Was it his solitude in the world for which she was sorry? She hadno parents, either. But she had their house and their memoriesconcrete in every picture, every curtain, every chair and sofa. Twilight whispered of them through every hallway, every room; dawnwas instinct with their unseen spirits, sweetening everything inthe quiet old house. . . . And that day she had learned _where_ helived. And she dared not imagine _how_. They turned together into the quiet, tree-shaded street, and, inthe mellow sunset light, something about it, and the pleasantvine-hung house, and the sense of restfulness moved her with awistful impulse that he, too, should share a little of the homewelcome that awaited her from her own kin. "Will you remain and dine with us, Mr. Berkley?" He looked up, so frankly surprised at her kindness that it hurt herall through. "I want to be friends with you, " she said impulsively. "Didn't youknow it?" They had halted at the foot of the stoop. "I should think you could see how easy it would he for us to becomefriends, " she said with pretty self-possession. But her heart wasbeating violently. His pulses, too, were rapping out a message to his intelligence:"You had better not go in, " it ran. "You are not fit to go in. You had better keep away from her. You know what will happen ifyou don't. " As they entered the house her sister-in-law rose from the piano inthe front parlour and came forward. "_Were_ you worried, dearest?" cried Ailsa gaily. "I reallycouldn't help it. And Mr. Berkley lost his hat, and I've broughthim back to dinner. " CHAPTER VII To Berkley the times were surcharged with agreeable agitation. Ahullabaloo diverted him. He himself was never noisy; but agitatedand noisy people always amused him. Day after day the city's multi-coloured militia regiments passedthrough its echoing streets; day after day Broadway resounded withthe racket of their drums. Rifles, chasseurs, zouaves, footartillery, pioneers, engineers, rocket batteries, the 79thHighlanders, dismounted lancers of the 69th and dragoons of the8th--every heard-of and unheard-of unnecessary auxiliary to arespectable regiment of state infantry, mustered for inspection andmarched away in polychromatic magnificence. Park, avenue, andsquare shrilled with their windy fifes; the towering sides of thetransports struck back the wild music of their bands; CastleWilliam and Fort Hamilton saluted them from the ferries to theNarrows; and, hoarse with cheering, the people stared through dimeyes till the last stain of smoke off Sandy Hook vanished seaward. All of which immensely diverted Berkley. The city, too, had become a thoroughfare for New England andWestern troops hurrying pell-mell toward the capital and thatunknown bourne so vaguely defined as the "seat of war. " Also allavenues were now dotted with barracks and recruiting stations, around which crowds clamoured. Fire Zouaves, Imperial Zouaves, National Zouaves, Billy Wilson's Zouaves appropriated withoutceremony the streets and squares as drill grounds. All day longthey manoeuvred and double-quicked; all day and all night herds ofsurprised farm horses destined for cavalry, light artillery, andglory, clattered toward the docks; files of brand-new army waggons, gun-carriages, smelling of fresh paint, caissons, forges, ambulances bound South checked the city traffic and added to thecity's tumult as they jolted in hundreds and hundreds toward thewharves--materially contributing to Berkley's entertainment. Beginning with the uproarious war meeting in Union Square, everyday saw its crowds listening to the harangue of a somebody or anobody. Sometimes short, ugly demonstrations were made against anunpopular newspaper office or the residence of an unpopularcitizen; the police were rough and excitable, the nerves of thepopulace on edge, the city was now nearly denuded of its militia, and everybody was very grateful for the temporary presence ofvolunteer regiments in process of formation. As yet the tension of popular excitement had not jaded the capacityof the city for pleasure. People were ready for excitement, welcomed it after the dreadful year of lethargy. Stocks fell, butthe theatres were the fuller; Joseph Jefferson at Winter Garden, Wallack at his own theatre, "The Seven Sisters" at Laura Keene's, drew unsatisfied crowds, galloping headlong on the heels ofpleasure. Philharmonics, plays, burlesques, concerts, minstrelentertainments, never lacked audiences, especially when theproceeds were destined for the Union Defence Committee; the hotels, Bancroft, St. Nicholas, Metropolitan, New York, Fifth Avenue, wereall brilliantly thronged at night; cafes and concert halls like theGaieties, Canterbury, and American, flourished and flaunted theiradvertisements; grills, restaurants, saloons, multiplied. Therewere none too many for Berkley's amusement. As yet no battle lightning flickered along the Southern horizon tosober folk with premonition; but the nightly illumination of themetropolis was becoming tinged with a more sinister reflectionwhere licence had already begun to lift a dozen hydra-heads fromcertain lurid resorts hitherto limited in number and in impudence. It was into the streets of such a city, a meaner, dirtier, uglier, noisier, perhaps more vicious edition of the French metropolis ofthe Third Empire, thronged with fantastic soldiery and fox-eyedcontractors, filled already with new faces--faces of Western born, Yankee born, foreign born; stupid faces, crafty faces, hard faces, bedizened faces--it was into the streets of such a city thatBerkley sauntered twice a day to and fro from his office, regretting only that his means did not permit him to go to thedevil like a gentleman. And one day, out of the hurly-burly, and against all laws ofprobability and finance, an incredible letter was handed to him. And he read it, standing by his window, and calmly realised that hewas now no longer penniless. Some inspired idiot had become a credulous market for hisapparently unmarketable securities. Who this person was hisbrokers did not say; but, whoever it was, had bought every rottenshare he held; and there was money for him in the world to help himout of it. As he stood there, the letter in his hands, drums sounded acrossthe street, and Stephen came in from the outer office. "Another regiment, " he said. "Do you know where they come from?" Berkley shook his head, and they went to the windows; below themsurged the flood of dead wood driven before the oncomingwaves--haggard men, ragged men, small boys, darkies, Bowery b'hoys, stray red-shirted firemen, then the police, then solid double ranksof drums battered by flashing, brass-bound drumsticks, then lineafter line of blue and steel, steadily flowing through the streetsand away, away into the unknown. "How young they are!" muttered Farren, the gray-haired cashier, standing behind Stephen's shoulders. "God bless me, they'rechildren!" "It's a Vermont regiment, " said Berkley; "they're filing out of thePark Barracks. What a lot of hawk-nosed, hatchet-faced, turkey-necked cow milkers!--all heroes, too, Steve. You can tellthat because they're in uniform and carry guns. " Stephen watched the lank troops, fascinated by the long, silent, almost gliding stride of officers and men loaded down withknapsack, blanket, and canteen, their caps pushed high on their redand sweating foreheads. There was a halt; big hands, big redknuckles, big feet, and the delicate curve of the hawk's beakoutlining every Yankee nose, queer, humourous, restless glancessweeping Gotham streets and windows where Gotham crowded to gazeback at the halted youngsters in blue; then a far tenor cry, nasalcommands, thin voices penetrating from out of the crowded distance;a sudden steadying of ranks; the level flash of shouldered steel; athousand men marking time; and at last the drums' quick outbreak;and the 1st Vermont Infantry passed onward into the unknown. "I'd rather like to go there--to see what there is there, " observedBerkley. "Where?" "Where they're going--wherever that may be--and I think I know. " He glanced absently at his letter again. "I've sold some stock--all I had, and I've made a lot of money, " hesaid listlessly. Stephen dropped an impulsive hand on his shoulder. "I'm terribly glad, Berkley! I'm delighted!" he said with a warmththat brought a slight colour into Berkley's face. "That's nice of you, Stephen. It solves the immediate problem ofhow to go there. " "Go where?" "Why--where all our bright young men are going, old fellow, " saidBerkley, laughing. "I can go with a regiment or I can go alone. But I really must be starting. " "You mean to enlist?" "Yes, it can be done that way, too. Or--other ways. The mainthing is to get momentum. . . . I think I'll just step out andsay good-bye and many thanks to your father. I shall be quite busyfor the rest of my career. " "You are not leaving here?" "I am. But I'll pay my rent first, " said Berkley, laughing. And go he did that very afternoon; and the office of Craig & Sonknew him no more. A few days later Ailsa Paige returned to New York and reoccupiedher own house on London Terrace. A silk flag drooped between the tall pilasters. Under it, at thefront door stood Colonel Arran to welcome her. It had been herfather's house; he had planted the great catalpa trees on thegrassy terrace in front. Here she had been born; from here she hadgone away a bride; from here her parents had been buried, bothwithin that same strange year that left her widowed who hadscarcely been a wife. And to this old house she had returned alonein her sombre weeds--utterly alone, in her nineteenth year. This man had met her then as he met her now; she remembered it, remembered, too, that after any absence, no matter how short, thisold friend had always met her at her own door-sill, standing asidewith head bent as she crossed the sill. Now she gave him both hands. "It is so kind of you, dear Colonel Arran! It would not be ahome-coming without you--" And glancing into the hall, noddedradiantly to the assembled servants--her parents' old andprivileged and spoiled servants gathered to welcome the youngmistress to her own. "Oh--and there's Missy!" she said, as an inquiring "meow!" soundedclose to her skirts. "You irresponsible little thing--I supposeyou have more kittens. Has she, Susan?" "Five m'm, " said Susan drily. "Oh, dear, I suppose it can't be avoided. But we mustn't drownany, you know. " And with one hand resting on Colonel Arran's armshe began a tour of the house to inspect the new improvements. Later they sat together amid the faded splendours of the southerndrawing-room, where sunshine regilded cornice and pier glass, turned the lace curtains to nets of gold, and streaked the reddamask hangings with slanting bars of fire. Shiftless old Jonas shuffled in presently with the oval silvertray, ancient decanters, and seedcakes. And here, over their cakes and Madeira, she told him about hermonth's visit to the Craigs'; about her life in the quaint andquiet city, the restful, old-fashioned charm of the cultivatedcircles on Columbia Heights and the Hill; the attractions of alimited society, a little dull, a little prim, pedantic, perhapsprovincially simple, but a society caring for the best in art, inmusic, in literature, instinctively recognising the best althoughthe best was nowhere common in the city. She spoke of the agreeable people she had met--unobtrusive, gentle-mannered folk whose homes may have lacked such Madeira andsilver as this, but lacked nothing in things of the mind. She spoke of her very modest and temporary duties in church workthere, and in charities; told of the advent of the war news and itseffect on the sister city. And at last, casually, but without embarrassment, she mentionedBerkley. Colonel Arran's large hand lay along the back of the Virginia sofa, fingers restlessly tracing and retracing the carved foliationssupporting the horns of plenty. His heavy, highly coloured headwas lowered and turned aside a little as though to bring one ear tobear on what she was saying. "Mr. Berkley seems to be an--unusual man, " she ventured. "Do youhappen to know him, Colonel Arran?" "Slightly. " "Oh. Did you know his parents?" "His mother. " "She is not living, I believe. " "No. " "Is his father living?" "I--don't know. " "You never met him?" Colonel Arran's forefinger slowly outlined the deeply carved hornof plenty. "I am not perfectly sure that I ever met Mr. Berkley's father. " She sat, elbows on the table, gazing reflectively into space. "He is a--curious--man. " "Did you like him?" asked Colonel Arran with an effort. "Yes, " she said, so simply that the Colonel's eyes turned directlytoward her, lingered, then became fixed on the sunlit damask foldsbehind her. "What did you like about Mr. Berkley, Ailsa?" She considered. "I--don't know---exactly. " "Is he cultivated?" "Why, yes--I suppose so. " "Is he well bred?" "Oh, yes; only--" she searched mentally--"he is not--may I say, conventional? formal?" "It is an age of informality, " observed Colonel Arran, carefullytracing out each separate grape in the horn of plenty. Ailsa assented; spoke casually of something else; but when ColonelArran brought the conversation around again to Berkley, she innowise seemed reluctant. "He is unusually attractive, " she said frankly; "his features, atmoments, are almost beautiful. I sometimes wonder whether heresembles his mother. Was she beautiful?" "Yes. " "I thought she must have been. He resembles her, does he not?" "Yes. " "His father was--is--" She hesitated, looked curiously at ColonelArran, then smiled. "There was something I never thought of when I first met Mr. Berkley, but now I understand why his features seemed to me notentirely unfamiliar. I don't know exactly what it is, but thereseems to be something about him that recalls you. " Colonel Arran sat absolutely still, his heavy hand gripping thehorn of plenty, his face so gray that it was almost colourless. Ailsa, glancing again at his profile, saw nothing now in itresembling Berkley; and, as he made no response, thought himuninterested. But when again she would have changed the subject, the Colonel stirred, interrupting: "Does he seem--well?" "Well?" she repeated. "Oh, yes. " "He--seems well . . . And in good spirits? Contented? Is he thattype of young man? Happy?" "I don't think he is really very happy, though he is cheerfuland--and amusing. I don't see how he can be very light-hearted. " "Why?" She shook her head: "I believe he--I know he must be in painfully straightenedcircumstances. " "I have heard so, " nodded Colonel Arran. "Oh, he certainly _is_!" she said with decision. "He losteverything in the panic, and he lives in a most wretchedneighbourhood, and he hasn't any business except a very little nowand then. It made me quite unhappy, " she added naively. "And you find him personally agreeable?" "Yes, I do. I didn't at first--" She checked herself--"I mean I_did_ at the very first--then I didn't--then I did again, thenI--didn't--" The delicate colour stole into her cheeks; she liftedher wineglass, looked into it pensively, set it back on the table. "But I understand him better now, I think. " "What, in him, do you understand better now?" "I--don't--know. " "Is he a better kind of a man than you thought him at first?" "Y-es. He has it in him to be better, I mean. . . . Yes, he is abetter man than I thought him--once. " "And you like him----" "Yes, I do. Colonel Arran. " "Admire him?" She flushed up. "How do you mean?" "His qualities?" "Oh. . . . Yes, he has qualities. " "Admirable?" "He is exceedingly intelligent. " "Intellectual?" "I don't exactly know. He pretends to make fun of so many things. It is not easy to be perfectly sure what he really believes;because he laughs at almost everybody and everything. But I amquite certain that he really has beliefs. " "Religious?" She looked grave. "He does not go to church. " "Does he--does he strike you as being--well, say, irresponsible--perhaps I may even say reckless?" She did not answer; and Colonel Arran did not ask again. Heremained silent so long that she presently drifted off into othersubjects, and he made no effort to draw her back. But later, when he took his leave, he said in his heavy way: "When you see Mr. Berkley, say to him that Colonel Arran remembershim. . . . Say to him that it would be my--pleasure--to renew ourvery slight acquaintance. " "He will be glad, I know, " she said warmly. "Why do you think so?" "Why? Because _I_ like you!" she explained with a gay littlelaugh. "And whoever I like Mr. Berkley must like if he and I areto remain good friends. " The Colonel's smile was wintry; the sudden animation in his facehad subsided. "I should like to know him--if he will, " he said absently. Andtook his leave of Ailsa Paige. Next afternoon he came again, and lingered, though neither he norAilsa spoke of Berkley. And the next afternoon he reappeared, andsat silent, preoccupied, for a long time, in the peculiar hushedattitude of a man who listens. But the door-bell did not ring andthe only sound in tile house was from Ailsa's piano, where she satidling through the sunny afternoon. The next afternoon he said: "Does he never call on you?" "Who?" "Mr. Berkley. " "I--asked him, " she replied, flushing faintly. "He has not come, then?" "Not yet. I suppose--business----" The Colonel said, ponderously careless: "I imagine that he islikely to come in the late afternoon--when he does come. " "I don't know. He is in business. " "It doesn't keep him after three o'clock at his office. " She looked up surprised: "Doesn't it?" And her eyes askedinstinctively: "How did you know?" But the Colonel sat silentagain, his head lowered and partly averted as though to turn hisgood ear toward her. Clearly his mind already dwelt on othermatters, she was thinking; but she was mistaken. "When he comes, " said Colonel Arran slowly, "will you have thekindness to say to him that Colonel Arran will be glad to renew theacquaintance?" "Yes. . . . Perhaps he has forgotten the street and number. Imight write to him--to remind him?" Colonel Arran made no answer. She wrote that night: "DEAR MR. BERKLEY: "I am in my own house now and am very contented--which does notmean that I did not adore being with Celia Craig and Estcourt andthe children. "But home is pleasant, and I am wondering whether you might care tosee the home of which I have so often spoken to you when you usedto come over to Brooklyn to see me [_me_ erased and _us_ neatlysubstituted in long, sweeping characters]. "I have been doing very little since I last saw you--it is notsheer idleness, but somehow one cannot go light-heartedly todinners and concerts and theatres in times like these, whentraitors are trampling the nag under foot, and when thousands andthousands of young men are leaving the city every day to go to thedefence of our distracted country. "I saw a friend the other day--a Mrs. Wells--and _three_ of herboys, friends of mine, have gone with the 7th, and she is sonervous and excited that she can scarcely speak about it. _So_many men I know have gone or are going. Stephen was hereyesterday, wild to go with the 8d Zouaves, but I promised hisfather to use my influence--and he _is_ too young--although it isvery fine and chivalrous of him to wish to go. "I thought I would write you a little note, to remind you that I amat home, and already it has become a letter. Please remember--whenyou think of it at all--that it would give me pleasure to receiveyou. "Sincerely yours, "AILSA PAIGE. " Toward the end of the week she received a heart-broken note fromCelia Craig, which caused her to hasten over to Brooklyn. Shearrived late; the streets were continually blocked by departingtroops, and the omnibus took a circuitous course to the ferry, going by way of Fourth Avenue and the Bowery. "Honey-bee! O Honey-bell!" whispered her sister-in-law, takingAilsa into her arms, "I could have behaved myse'f better if Curtwere on the side of God and Justice!--But to have to let him gothis way--to know the awful danger--to know he is going against myown people, my own home--against God and the Right!--O Honey-bird!Honey-bud! And the Charleston _Mercury_ says that the South ismost bitter against the Zouaves----" "Curt! With the Zouaves!" "Oh yes, yes, Honey-bee! The Third Regiment. And he--some wickedold men came here yesterday and read a speech--right befo' me--herein this ve'y room--and began to say that they wished him to becolonel of the 3d Zouaves, and that the Governor wished itand--other fools! And I rose straight up f'om my chair and I said, 'Curt!' And he gave me one look. Oh, Honey-bud! His face waschanged; there was _that same thing_ in it that I saw the night thenews came about Sumter! And he said: 'Gentlemen, my countryeducated me; now it honours me. ' And I tried to speak again and mylips were stiff; and then he said: 'I accept the command youoffer----'" "Oh, Celia!" "Yes, he said it, darling! I stood there, frozen--in a corner ofmy heart I had been afraid--such a long time!--but to have it comereal--'this terror!--to have this thing take my husband--come intoour own home befo' I knew--befo' I dreamed--and take Curt!--take--my--Curt!" "Where is he?" "With--_them_. They have a camp near Fort Hamilton. He went therethis morning. " "When is he coming back?" "I don't know. Stephen is scaring me most to death; he is wild togo, too. And, oh--do you believe it? Captain Lent has gone withCurt to the camp, and Curt means to recommend him for his major. _What_ a regiment!--all the soldiers are mere boys, theysay--wilful, reckless, hair-brained boys who don't know--_can't_know--where they're going. . . . And Curt is so blind without hisglasses, and Captain Lent is certainly a little mad, and I'm mostdistracted myse'f----" "Darling--darling--don't cry!" "Cry? Oh, I could die, Ailsa. Yet, I'm Southern enough to chokeback eve'y tear and let them go with a smile if they had to go fo'God and the Right! But to see my Curt go this way--and my only soncrazy to join him--Oh, it is ha'd, Honey-bee, ve'y, ve'y ha'd. " "Dearest!" "O Honey-bud! Honey-bud!" And the two women mourned, uncomforted. Ailsa remained for three unhappy days in Fort Greene Place, thenfled to her own house. A light, amusing letter from Berkleyawaited her. It was so like him, gay, cynical, epigrammatic, andinconsequent, that it cheered her. Besides, he subscribed himselfvery obediently hers, but on re-examining the letter she noticedthat he had made no mention of coming to pay his respects to her. So she lived her tranquil life for another week; and Colonel Arrancame every day and seemed always to be waiting forsomething--always listening--gray face buried in his stock. And atthe week's end she answered Berkley's letter--although, in it, hehad asked no question. "DEAR MR. BERKLEY: "Such sad news from the Craigs. Estcourt has accepted the commandof one of the new zouave regiments--the 3d, in camp near FortHamilton. But, being in his office, I suppose you have heard allabout it from Stephen. Poor Celia Craig! It is peculiarlydistressing in her case; all her sympathies are with her nativestate, and to have her husband go under such unusually tragiccircumstances seems too dreadful. Celia is convinced that he willnever return; she reads some Southern paper which breathes awfulthreats against the Zouaves in particular. Besides, Stephen isperfectly determined to enlist in his father's regiment, and I cansee that they can't restrain him much longer. I have done my best;I have had him here and talked to him and argued with him, but Ihave made no headway. No appeal moves him; he says that the landwill need every man sooner or later, and that the quicker he beginsthe sooner he will learn how to look out for himself in battle. "The regiment is almost full; to-day, the first six companies areto be mustered into the United States service for three years orfor the war. Captain Barris of the regular army is the musteringofficer. And on their departure I am to present a set of coloursto the regiment. It is to be quite solemn. I have already boughtthe lances, and they are beautiful; the spears are silver gilt, therings gilded, too, and the flags are made of the most beautifulsilk with tassels and fringe of gold bullion. There are threeflags: the national colours, the state flag, and a purpleregimental flag lettered in gold: '3d Regt. N. Y. Zouaves, ' andunder it their motto: '_Multorum manibus grande levatur onus_. ' Ihope it is good Latin, for it is mine. Is it? "AILSA PAIGE. " To this letter he made no reply, and, after a week, his silencehurt her. One afternoon toward the middle of May Stephen was announced; andwith a sudden sense of foreboding she hastened down to thedrawing-room. "_Oh_!" she cried. "_You_--Stephen!" But the boy in his zouave uniform was beside himself withexcitement and pride, and he embraced her, laughing, and then beganto walk up and down the room gesticulating. "I couldn't stand it any longer, and they let me go. I'm sorry formother, but look at other men's mothers! They're calling for moreand more troops every week! I knew everybody would have to go, andI'm mighty fortunate to get into father's regiment--And O Ailsa!It is a fine regiment! We're drilling every minute, and now thatwe've got our uniforms it won't be long before our orders come----" "Stephen--does your mother----" "Mother knows I can't help it. I _do_ love her; she knows thatperfectly well. But men have got to settle this thing----" "Two hundred thousand are getting ready to settle it! Are therehot enough without you?--your mother's only son----" "Suppose everybody thought that way, where would our army be?" "But there are hundreds of regiments forming here--getting ready, drilling, leaving on boats and trains every day----" "And every regiment is composed of men exactly like me! They gobecause the Nation's business is everybody's business. And theNation's business comes first. There's no use talking to me, Ailsa. I've had it but with father. He saw that he couldn'tprevent me from doing what he has done. And old Lent is our major!Lord, Ailsa, _what_ a terrible old man for discipline! And fatheris--well he is acting as though we ought to behave like WestPointers. They're cruelly hard on skylarkers and guard runners, and they're fairly kicking discipline into us. But I'm willing. I'm ready to stand anything as long as we can get away!" He was talking in a loud, excited voice, pacing restlessly to andfro, pausing at intervals to confront Ailsa where she sat, limp andsilent, gazing up at this slender youth in his short blue jacketedged with many bell-buttons, blue body sash, scarlet zouavetrousers and leather gaiters. Presently old Jonas shuffled in with Madeira, cakes, andsandwiches, and Stephen began on them immediately. "I came over so you could see me in my uniform, " he explained; "andI'm going back right away to see mother and Paige and Marye andCamilla. " He paused, sandwich suspended, then swallowed what hehad been chewing and took another bite, recklessly. "I'm very fond of Camilla, " he said condescendingly. "She's verynice about my going--the only one who hasn't snivelled. I tellyou, Ailsa, Camilla is a good deal of a girl. . . . And I'vepromised to look out for her uncle--keep an eye on old Lent, youknow, which seems to comfort her a good deal when she beginscrying---- "Oh. . . I thought Camilla didn't cry. " "She cries a little--now and then. " "About her uncle?" "Certainly. " Ailsa looked down at her ringless fingers. Within the week she hadlaid away both rings, meaning to resume them some day. "If you and your father go, your office will be closed, I suppose. " "Oh, no. Farren will run it. " "I see. . . . And Mr. Berkley, too, I suppose. " Stephen looked up from his bitten seedcake. "Berkley? He left long ago. " "Left--where?" she asked, confused. "Left the office. It couldn't be helped. There was nothing forhim to do. I was sorry--I'm sorrier now----" He checked himself, hesitated, turned his troubled eyes on Ailsa. "I _did_ like him so much. " "Don't you like him--still?" "Yes--_I_ do. I don't know what was the matter with that man. Hewent all to pieces. " "W-what!" "Utterly. Isn't it too bad. " She sat there very silent, very white. Stephen bit into anothercake, angrily. "It's the company he keeps, " he said--"a lot of fast men--fastenough to be talked about, fashionable enough to be tolerated--JackCasson is one of them, and that little ass, Arthur Wye. _That's_the crowd--a horse-racing, hard-drinking, hard-gambling crew. " "But--he is--Mr. Berkley's circumstances--how can he do suchthings----" "Some idiot--even Berkley doesn't know who--took all those deadstocks off his hands. Wasn't it the devil's own luck for Berkleyto find a market in times like these?" "But it ended him. . . . Oh, I was fond of him, I tell you, Ailsa!I hate like thunder to see him this way----" "_What_ way!" "Oh, not caring for anybody or anything. He's never sober. Idon't mean that I ever saw him otherwise--he doesn't get drunk likean ordinary man: he just turns deathly white and polite. I've methim--and his friends--several times. They're too fast a string ofcolts for me. But isn't it a shame that a man like Berkley shouldgo to the devil--and for no reason at all?" "Yes, " she said. When Stephen, swinging his crimson fez by the tassel, stood readyto take his leave, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. After he departed Colonel Arran came, and sat, as usual, silent, listening. Ailsa was very animated; she told him about Stephen's enlistment, asked scores of questions about military life, the chances inbattle, the proportion of those who went through war unscathed. And at length Colonel Arran arose to take his departure; and shehad not told what was hammering for utterance in every heart beat;she did not know how to tell, what to ask. Hat in hand Colonel Arran bent over her hot little hand where itlay in his own. "I have been offered the colonelcy of a volunteer regiment nowforming, " he said without apparent interest. "You!" "Cavalry, " he explained wearily. "But--you have not accepted!" He gave her an absent glance. "Yes, I have accepted. . . . I amgoing to Washington to-night. " "Oh!" she breathed, "but you are coming back before--before----" "Yes, child. Cavalry is not made in a hurry. I am to see GeneralScott--perhaps Mr. Cameron and the President. . . . If, in myabsence--" he hesitated, looked down, shook his head. And somehowshe seemed to know that what he had not said concerned Berkley. Neither of them mentioned him. But after Colonel Arran had goneshe went slowly to her room, sat down at her desk, sat there along, long while thinking. But it was after midnight before shewrote to Berkley: "Have you quite forgotten me? I have had to swallow a little prideto write you again. But perhaps I think our pleasant friendshipworth it. "Stephen has been here. He has enlisted as a private in hisfather's regiment of zouaves. I learned by accident from him thatyou are no longer associated with Craig & Son in business. I trustthis means at least a partial recovery of your fortune. If itdoes, with fortune recovered responsibilities increase, and Ichoose to believe that it is these new and exacting duties whichhave prevented me from seeing you or from hearing from you for morethan three weeks. "But surely you could find a moment to write a line to a friend whois truly your very sincere well-wisher, and who would be the firstto express her pleasure in any good fortune which might concern you. "AILSA PAIGE. " Two days passed, and her answer came: "Ailsa Paige, dearest and most respected, I have not forgotten youfor one moment. And I have tried very hard. "God knows what my pen is trying to say to you, and not hurt you, and yet kill utterly in you the last kindly and charitable memoryof the man who is writing to you. "Ailsa, if I had known you even one single day before that night Imet you, you would have had of me, in that single day, all that aman dare lay at the feet of the truest and best of women. "But on that night I came to you a man utterly and hopelesslyruined--morally dead of a blow dealt me an hour before I saw youfor the first time. "I had not lived an orderly life, but at worst it was only aheedless life. I had been a fool, but not a damned one. There wasin me something loftier than a desire for pleasure, somethingworthier than material ambition. What else lay latent--ifanything--I may only surmise. It is all dead. "The blow dealt me that evening--an hour before I first laid eyeson you--utterly changed me; and if there was anything spiritual inmy character it died then. And left what you had a glimpseof--just a man, pagan, material, unmoral, unsafe; unmoved byanything except by what appeals to the material senses. "Is that the kind of man you suppose me? That is the man I am. And you _know_ it now. And you know, now, what it was in me thatleft you perplexed, silent, troubled, not comprehending--why it wasyou would not dance with me again, nor suffer my touch, nor endureme too near you. "It was the less noble in me--all that the blow had notkilled--only a lesser part of a finer and perfect passion thatmight perhaps have moved you to noble response in time. "Because I should have given you all at the first meeting; I couldno more have helped it than I could have silenced my heart andlived. But what was left to give could awake in you no echo, noresponse, no comprehension. In plainer, uglier words, I meant tomake you love me; and I was ready to carry you with me to that hellwhere souls are lost through love--and where we might lose oursouls together. "And now you will never write to me again. " All the afternoon she bent at her desk, poring over his letter. Inher frightened heart she knew that something within her, notspiritual, had responded to what, in him, had evoked it; that herindefinable dread was dread of herself, of her physicalresponsiveness to his nearness, of her conscious inclination for it. Could this be she--herself--who still bent here over his writtenwords--this tense, hot-cheeked, tremulous creature, staringdry-eyed at the blurring lines which cut her for ever asunder fromthis self-outlawed man! Was this letter still unburned. Had she not her fill of itsbrutality, its wickedness? But she was very tired, and she laid her arms on the desk and herhead between them. And against her hot face she felt the coolletter-paper. All that she had dreamed and fancied and believed and cared for inman passed dully through her mind. Her own aspirations towardideal womanhood followed--visions of lofty desire, high ideals, innocent passions, the happiness of renunciation, the glory offorgiveness---- She sat erect, breathing unevenly; then her eyes fell on theletter, and she covered it with her hands, as hands cover the shameon a stricken face. And after a long time her lips moved, repeating: "The glory of forgiveness--the glory of forgiveness----" Her heart was beating very hard and fast as her thoughts ran on. "To forgive--help him--teach truth--nobler ideals----" She could not rest; sleep, if it really came, was a ghostly thingthat mocked her. And all the next day she roamed about the house, haunted with the consciousness of where his letter lay locked inher desk. And that day she would not read it again; but the nextday she read it. And the next. And if it were her desire to see him once again before all endedirrevocably for ever--or if it was what her heart was striving totell her, that he was in need of aid against himself, she could nottell. But she wrote him: "It is not you who have written this injury for my eyes to read, but another man, demoralised by the world's cruelty--not knowingwhat he is saying--hurt to the soul, not mortally. When herecovers he will be you. And this letter is my forgiveness. " Berkley received it when he was not particularly sober; andlighting the end of it at a candle let it burn until the last ashesscorched his fingers. "Burgess, " he said, "did you ever notice how hard it is for thefrailer things to die? Those wild doves we used to shoot inGeorgia--by God! it took quail shot to kill them clean. " "Yes, sir?" "Exactly. Then, that being the case, you may give me aparticularly vigorous shampoo. Because, Burgess, I woo my volatilegoddess to-night--the Goddess Chance, Burgess, whose wanton andnaughty eyes never miss the fall of a card. And I desire that allmy senses work like lightning, Burgess, because it is a fastcompany and a faster game, and that's why I want an unusuallymuscular shampoo!" "Yes, sir. Poker, sir?" "I--ah--believe so, " said Berkley, lying back in his chair andclosing his eyes. "Go ahead and rub hell into me--if I'll hold anymore. " The pallor, the shadows under eyes and cheeks, the nervous lines atthe corners of the nose, had almost disappeared when Burgessfinished. And when he stood in his evening clothes pulling arose-bud stem through the button-hole of his lapel, he seemed veryfresh and young and graceful in the gas-light. "Am I very fine, Burgess? Because I go where youth and beautychase the shining hours with flying feet. Oh yes, Burgess, thefair and frail will be present, also the dashing andself-satisfied. And we'll try to make it agreeable all around, won't we? . . . And don't smoke _all_ my most expensive cigars, Burgess. I may want one when I return. I hate to ask too much ofyou, but you won't mind leaving one swallow of brandy in thatdecanter, will you? Thanks. Good night, Burgess. " "Thank _you_, sir. Good night, sir. " As he walked out into the evening air he swung his cane inglittering circles. "Nevertheless, " he said under his breath, "she'd better be careful. If she writes again I might lose my head and go to her. You cannever tell about some men; and the road to hell is a lonelyone--damned lonely. Better let a man travel it like a gentleman ifhe can. It's more dignified than sliding into it on your back, clutching a handful of lace petticoat. " He added: "There's only one hell; and it's hell, perhaps, becausethere are no women there. " CHAPTER VIII Berkley, hollow-eyed, ghastly white, but smiling, glanced at theclock. "Only one more hand after this, " he said. "I open it for thelimit. " "All in, " said Cortlandt briefly. "What are you going to do now?" "_Scindere glaciem_, " observed Berkley, "you may give me threecards, Cortlandt. " He took them, scanned his hand, tossed thediscards into the centre of the table, and bet ten dollars. Through the tobacco smoke drifting in level bands, the crystalchandeliers in Cortlandt's house glimmered murkily; the cigar hazeeven stretched away into the farther room, where, under brilliantlylighted side brackets, a young girl sat playing at the piano, aglass of champagne, gone flat, at her dimpled elbow. Another girl, in a shrimp-pink evening gown, one silken knee drooping over theother, lay half buried among the cushions, singing the air whichthe player at the piano picked out by ear. A third girl, velvet-eyed and dark of hair, listened pensively, turning the gemson her fingers. The pretty musician at the piano was playing an old song, once muchadmired by the sentimental; the singer, reclining amid hercushions, sang the words, absently: "Why did I give my heart away-- Give it so lightly, give it to pay For a pleasant dream on a summer's day? "Why did I give? I do not know. Surely the passing years will show. "Why did I give my love away-- Give it in April, give it in May, For a young man's smile on a summer's day? "Why did I love? I do not know. Perhaps the passing years will show. "Why did I give my soul away-- Give it so gaily, give it to pay For a sigh and a kiss on a summer's day? "Perhaps the passing years may show; My heart and I, we do not know. " She broke off short, swung on the revolving chair, and called: "Mr. Berkley, _are_ you going to see me home?" "Last jack, Miss Carew, " said Berkley, "I'm opening it for thelimit. Give me one round of fixed ammunition, Arthur. " "There's no use drawing, " observed another man, laying down hishand, "Berkley cleans us up _as_ usual. " He was right; everything went to Berkley, as usual, who laughed andturned a dissipated face to Casson. "Cold decks?" he suggested politely. "Your revenge at yourconvenience, Jack. " Casson declined. Cortlandt, in his brilliant zouave uniform, stoodup and stretched his arms until the scarlet chevrons on the bluesleeves wrinkled into jagged lightning. "It's been very kind of you all to come to my last 'good-byeparty, '" he yawned, looking sleepily around him through the smokeat his belongings. For a week he had been giving a "good-bye party" every evening inhis handsome house on Twenty-third Street. The four men and thethree young girls in the other room were the residue of this party, which was to be the last. Arthur Wye, wearing the brand-new uniform, red stripes and facings, of flying artillery, rose also; John Casson buttoned his cavalryjacket, grumbling, and stood heavily erect, a colossus in blue andyellow. "You have the devil's luck, Berkley, " he said without bitterness. "I need it. " "So you do, poor old boy. But--God! you play like a professional. " Wye yawned, thrust his strong, thin hands into his trouserspockets, and looked stupidly at the ceiling. "I wish to heaven they'd start our battery, " he said vacantly. "I'm that sick of Hamilton!" Casson grumbled again, settling his debts with Berkley. "Everybody has the devil's own luck except the poor God-forsakencavalry. Billy Cortlandt goes tomorrow, your battery is underorders, but nobody cares what happens to the cavalry. And they'rethe eyes and ears of an army----" "They're the heels and tail of it, " observed Berkley, "and theartillery is the rump. " "Shut up, you sneering civilian!" "I'm shutting up--shop--unless anybody cares to try one last coldhand--" He caught the eye of the girl at the piano and smiledpallidly. "'_Quid non mortalia pectora cogis, auri sacra fames_!'Also I have them all scared to death, Miss Carew--the volunteerarmy of our country is taking water. " "It doesn't taste like water, " said the pretty singer on the sofa, stretching out her bubbling glass, "try it yourself, Mr. Berkley. " They went toward the music room; Cortlandt seated himself on top ofthe piano. He looked rather odd there in his zouave jacket, redtrousers, white-gaitered legs hanging. "Oh the Zou-zou-zou! Oh the Zou-zou-zou! Oh the boys of the bully Zouaves!" he hummed, swinging his legs vigorously. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's all over but the shooting. Arthur, I saw your battery horses;they belong in a glue factory. How arc you going to save your gunswhen the rebs come after you?" "God knows, especially if the Zouaves support us, " replied Wye, yawning again. Then, rising: "I've got to get back to that cursed fort. I'll escort anybodywho'll let me. " "One more glass, then, " said Cortlandt. "Berkley, fill the partingcup! Ladies of the Canterbury, fair sharers of our hospitality whohave left the triumphs of the drama to cheer the unfortunatesoldier on his war-ward way, I raise my glass and drink to eachTerpsichorean toe which, erstwhile, was pointed skyward amid thethunder of metropolitan plaudits, and which now demurely taps myflattered carpet. Gentlemen--soldiers and civilians--I give youthree toasts! Miss Carew, Miss Lynden, Miss Trent! Long may theydance! Hurrah!" "Get on the table, " said Casson amid the cheering, and climbed up, spurs jingling, glass on high. "Will it hold us all?" inquired Letty Lynden, giving her hands toBerkley, who shrugged and swung her up beside him. "Hurrah for theZouaves!" she cried; "Hurrah for Billy Cortlandt!--Oh, somebodyspilled champagne all over me!" "Hurrah for the artillery!" shouted Arthur Wye, vigorously cheeringhimself and waving his glass, to the terror of Ione Carew, whoattempted to dodge the sparkling rain in vain. "Arthur, you look like a troop of trained mice, " observed Berkleygravely. "Has anybody a toy cannon and a little flag?" Wye descended with a hop, sprang astride a chair, and clatteredaround the room, imitating his drill-master. "Attention! By the right of batteries, break into sections, trot. Mar-r-rch! Attention-n-n! By section from the right ofbatteries--front into column. Mar-r-rch!" "By section from the right, front into column, march!" repeatedCortlandt, jumping down from the table and seizing another chair. "Everybody mount a chair!" he shouted. "This is the last artillerydrill of the season. Line up there, Letty! It won't hurt yourgown. Berkley'll get you another, anyway! Now, ladies andgentlemen, sit firmly in your saddles. Caissons to therear--march! Caissons, left about--pieces forward--march!" Wye's chair buckled and he came down with a splintering crash;Casson galloped madly about, pretending his chair had becomeunmanageable. It, also, ultimately collapsed, landed him flat onhis back, whence he surveyed the exercises of the _haute ecole_ inwhich three flushed and laughing young girls followed the dashinglead of Cortlandt, while Berkley played a cavalry canter on thepiano with one hand and waved his cigar in the other. Later, breathless, they touched glasses to the departingvolunteers, to each other, to the ladies ("God bless them! Hear!He-ah!"), to the war, to every regiment going, to each separatebattery horse and mule in Arthur's section. And then began on theguns, "I prophesy a quick reunion!" said Berkley. "Here's to it! Fullglasses! "Speech! Speech--you nimble-witted, limber-legged prophet!" roaredJohn Casson, throwing a pack of cards at Berkley. "Read the cardsfor us!" Berkley very gracefully caught a handful, and sorting them, beganimpromptu: "Diamonds for _you_, Little Miss Carew, Strung in a row, Tied in a bow-- What would you do If they came true? "What can it be? _Hearts_! for Miss Letty-- Sweethearts and beaux, Monarchs in rows, Knaves on their knees-- Choose among these! "Clubs now, I see! _Ace_! for Miss Betty-- Clubman and swell, Soldier as well. Yes, he's all three; Who can he be? "Ione, be kind To monarch and knave, But make up your mind To make 'em behave. And when a man finds _you_ The nicest he's met, he Is likely to marry you, Letty and Betty!" Tremendous cheering greeted these sentiments; three more cheerswere proposed and given for the Canterbury. "Home of the 'ster arts, m-music an' 'r' drama-r-r--" observedCasson hazily--"I'm going home. " Nobody seemed to hear him. "Home--ser-weet home, " he repeated sentimentally--"home among thehorses--where some Roman-nosed, camel-backed, slant-eared nag isprobably waitin' to kick daylight out'r me! Ladies, farewell!" headded, tripping up on his spurs and waving his hand vaguely. "Cav'lry's eyes 'n' ears 'f army! 'Tain't the hind legs' No--_no_!_I'm_ head 'n' ears--army! 'n' I wan' t' go home. " For a while he remained slanting against the piano, thoughtfullyattempting to pry out the strings; then Wye returned from puttingMiss Carew and Miss Trent into a carriage. "You come to the fort with me, " he said. "That'll sober you. Isleep near the magazine. " Berkley's face looked dreadfully battered and white, but he wasmaster of himself, careful of his equilibrium, and very polite toeverybody. "You're--hic!--killin' yourself, " said Cortlandt, balancing himselfcarefully in the doorway. "Don't put it that way, " protested Berkley. "I'm trying to makefast time, that's all. I'm in a hurry. " The other wagged his head: "_You_ won't last long if you keep thisup. The--hic!--trouble with you is that you can't get decentlydrunk. You just turn blue and white. That'swhat's--matter--_you_! And it kills the kind of--hic!--of man youare. B-b'lieve me, " he added shedding tears, "I'm fon' 'v' you, Ber--hic!--kley. " He shed a few more scalding tears, waved his hand in resignation, bowed his head, caught sight of his own feet, regarded them withsurprise. "Whose?" he inquired naively. "Yours, " said Berkley reassuringly. "They don't want to go to bed. " "Put 'em to bed!" said Cortlandt in a stem voice. "No businesswand'ring 'round here this time of night!" So Berkley escorted Cortlandt to bed, bowed him politely into hisroom, and turned out the gas as a precaution. Returning, he noticed the straggling retreat of cavalry andartillery, arms fondly interlaced; then, wandering back to theother room in search of his hat, he became aware of Letty Lynden, seated at the table. Her slim, childish body lay partly across the table, her cheek waspillowed on one outstretched arm, the fingers of which lay looselyaround the slender crystal stem of a wine-glass. "Are you asleep?" he asked. And saw that she was. So he roamed about, hunting for something or other--he forgotwhat--until he found it was her mantilla. Having found it, heforgot what he wanted it for and, wrapping it around his shoulders, sat down on the sofa, very silent, very white, but physicallymaster of the demoralisation that sharpened the shadows under hischeek-bones and eyes. "I guess, " he said gravely to himself, "that I'd better become agambler. It's--a--very, ve--ry good 'fession--no, " he addedcautiously, "_per_--fession--" and stopped short, vexed with hisdifficulties of enunciation. He tried several polysyllables; they went better. Then he becameaware of the mantilla on his shoulders. "Some time or other, " he said to himself with precision, "thatlittle dancer girl ought to go home. " He rose steadily, walked to the table: "Listen to me, you funny little thing, " he said. No answer. The childlike curve of the cheek was flushed; the velvet-fringedlids lay close. For a moment he listened to the quiet breathing, then touched her arm lightly. The girl stirred, lifted her head, straightened up, withdrawing herfingers from the wine-glass. "Everybody's gone home, " he said. "Do you want to stay here allnight?" She rose, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands, saw themantilla he was holding, suffered him to drop it on, her shoulders, standing there sleepy and acquiescent. Then she yawned. "Are you going with me, Mr. Berkley?" "I'll--yes. I'll see you safe. " She yawned again, laid a small hand on his arm, and together theydescended the stairs, opened the front door, and went out intoTwenty-third Street. He scarcely expected to find a hack at thathour, but there was one; and it drove them to her lodgings onFourth Avenue, near Thirteenth Street. Spite of her paint andpowder she seemed very young and very tired as she stood by theopen door, looking drearily at the gray pallor over the roofsopposite, where day was breaking. "Will you--come in?" He had prepared to take his leave; he hesitated. "I think I will, " he said. "I'd like to see you with your facewashed. " Her room was small, very plain, very neat. On the bed lay folded awhite night gown; a pair of knitted pink slippers stood closetogether on the floor beside it. There was a cheap curtain acrossthe alcove; she drew it, turned, looked at him; and slowly her ovalface crimsoned. "You needn't wash your face, " he said very gently. She crept into the depths of a big arm-chair and lay back watchinghim with inscrutable eyes. He did not disturb her for a while. After a few moments he got upand walked slowly about, examining the few inexpensive ornaments onwall and mantel; turned over the pages of an album, glanced at anewspaper beside it, then came back and stood beside her chair. "Letty?" She opened her eyes. "I suppose that this isn't the--first time. " "No. " "It's not far from it, though. " She was silent, but her eyesdropped. He sat down on the padded arm of the chair. "Do you know how much money I've made this week?" he said gaily. She looked up at him, surprised, and shook her head; but her velveteyes grew wide when he told her. "I won it fairly, " he said. "And I'm going to stake it all on onelast bet. " [Illustration: "I won it fairly, and I'm going to stake it all onone last bet. "] "On--what?" "On--_you_. Now, _what_ do you think of that, you funny littlething?" "How--do you mean, Mr. Berkley?" He looked down into the eyes of ahurt child. "It goes into the bank in your name--if you say so. " "For--what?" "I don't know, " he said serenely, "but I am betting it will go forrent, and board, and things a girl needs--_when she has no man toask them of--and nothing to pay for them_. " "You mean no man---excepting--you?" "No, " he said wearily, "I'm not trying to buy you. " She crimsoned. "I thought--then why do you----" "Why? Good God, child! _I_ don't know! How do I know why I doanything? I've enough left for my journey. Take this and try tobehave yourself if you can--in the Canterbury and out of it! . . . And buy a new lock for that door of yours. Good night. " She sprang up and laid a detaining hand on his sleeve as he reachedthe hallway. "Mr. Berkley! I--I can't----" He said, smiling: "My manners are really better than that----" "I didn't mean----" "You ought to. Don't let any man take his leave in such a manner. Men believe a woman to be what she thinks she is. Think well ofyourself. And go to bed. I never saw such a sleepy youngster inmy life! Good night, you funny, sleepy little thing. " "Mr. Berkley--I can't take--accept----" "Oh, listen to her!" he said, disgusted. "Can't I make a bet withmy own money if I want to? I _am_ betting; and _you_ are holdingthe stakes. It depends on how you use them whether I win or lose. " "I don't understand--I don't, truly, " she stammered; "d-do you wishme to--leave--the Canterbury? Do you--_what_ is it you wish?" "You know better than I do. I'm not advising you. Where is yourhome? Why don't you go there? You have one somewhere, I suppose, haven't you?" "Y-yes; I had. " "Well--where is it?" "In Philadelphia. " "Couldn't you stand it?" he inquired with a sneer. "No. " She covered her face with her hands. "Trouble?" "Y-yes. " "Man?" "Y-y-yes. " "Won't they take you back?" "I--haven't written. " "Write. Home is no stupider than the Canterbury. Will you write?" She nodded, hiding her face. "Then--_that's_ settled. Meanwhile--" he took both her wrists anddrew away her clinging hands: "I'd rather like to win this bet because--the odds are all againstme. " He smiled, letting her hands swing back and hang inert at hersides. But she only closed her eyes and shook her head, standing there, slim and tear-stained in her ruffled, wine-stained dinner dress. And, watching her, he retreated, one step after another, slowly;and slowly closed the door, and went out into the dawn, weary, haggard, the taste of life bitter in his mouth. "What a spectacle, " he sneered, referring to himself, "the viciousgod from the machine! Chorus of seraphim. Apotheosis of littleMiss Turveydrop----" He swayed a trine as he walked, but it was not from the wine. A policeman eyed him unfavourably, "No, " said Berkley, "I'm not drunk. You think I am. But I'm not. And I'm too tired to tell you how I left my happy, happy home. " In the rosy gray of the dawn he sat down on the steps of his newlodgings and gazed quietly into space. "_This_ isn't going to help, " he said. "I can stand years of ityet. And that's much too long. " He brooded for a few moments. "I hope she doesn't write me again. I can't stand everything. " He got up with an ugly, oblique glance at the reddening sky. "I'm what he's made me--and I've got to let her alone. . . . Lether alone. I--" He halted, laid his hand heavily on the door, standing so, motionless. "If I--go--near her, he'll tell her what I am. If he didn't, I'dhave to tell her. There's no way--anywhere--for me. And _he_ mademe so. . . . And--by God! it's in me--in me--to--to--if she writesagain--" He straightened up, turned the key calmly, and let himselfin. Burgess was asleep, but Berkley went into his room and awoke him, shining a candle in his eyes. "Burgess!" "S-sir?" "Suppose you knew you could never marry a woman. Would you keepaway from her? Or would you do as much as you could to break herheart first?" Burgess yawned: "Yes, sir. " "You'd do all you could?" "Yes, sir. " There was a long silence; then Berkley laughed. "They drowned thewrong pup, " he said pleasantly. "Good night. " But Burgess was already asleep again. CHAPTER IX And now at last she knew what it was she feared. For she wasbeginning to understand that this man was utterly unworthy, utterlyinsensible, without character, without one sympathetic trait thatappealed to anything in her except her senses. She understood it now, lying there alone in her room, knowing it tobe true, admitting it in all the bitter humiliation ofself-contempt. But even in the light of this new self-knowledgeher inclination for him seemed a thing so unreasonable, soterrible, that, confused and terrified by the fear of spiritualdemoralisation, she believed that this bewildering passion was allthat he had ever evoked in her, and fell sick in mind and body forthe shame of it. A living fever was on her night and day; disordered memories of himhaunted her, waking; defied her, sleeping; and her hatred for whathe had awakened in her grew as her blind, childish longing to seehim grew, leaving no peace for her. What kind of love was that?--founded on nothing, nurtured onnothing, thriving on nothing except what her senses beheld in him. Nothing higher, nothing purer, nothing more exalted had she everlearned of him than what her eyes saw; and they had seen only a manin his ripe youth, without purpose, without ideals, takingcarelessly of the world what he would one day return to it--thematerial, born in corruption, and to corruption doomed. It was night she feared most. By day there were duties awaiting, or to be invented. Also, sometimes, standing on her steps, shecould hear the distant sound of drums, catch a glimpse far to theeastward of some regiment bound South, the long rippling line ofbayonets, a flutter of colour where the North was passing on God'sown errand. And love of country became a passion. Stephen came sometimes, but his news of Berkley was alwaysindefinite, usually expressed with a shrug and emphasised insilences. Colonel Arran was still in Washington, but he wrote her every day, and always he asked whether Berkley had come. She never told him. Like thousands and thousands of other women in New York she didwhat she could for the soldiers, contributing from her purse, attending meetings, making havelocks, ten by eight, for thesoldiers' caps, rolling bandages, scraping lint in company withother girls of her acquaintance, visiting barracks and camps and"soldiers' rests, " sending endless batches of pies and cakes anddozens of jars of preserves from her kitchen to the variousdistributing depots. Sainte Ursula's Church sent out a call to its parishioners; anotice was printed in all the papers requesting any women of thecongregation who had a knowledge of nursing to meet at the rectoryfor the purpose of organisation. And Ailsa went and enrolledherself as one who had had some hospital experience. Sickness among the thousands of troops in the city there alreadywas, also a few cases of gunshots in the accident wards incident onthe carelessness or ignorance of raw volunteers. But as yet in theEast there had been no soldier wounded in battle, no violent deathexcept that of the young colonel of the 1st Fire Zouaves, shot downat Alexandria. So there was no regular hospital duty asked of Ailsa Paige, nonerequired; and she and a few other women attended a class ofinstruction conducted by her own physician, Dr. Benton, whoexplained the simpler necessities of emergency cases and coollypredicted that there would be plenty of need for every properlyinstructed woman who cared to volunteer. So the ladies of Sainte Ursula's listened very seriously; and somehad enough of it very soon, and some remained longer, and finallyonly a small residue was left--quiet, silent, attentive women ofvarious ages who came every day to hear what Dr. Benton had to tellthem, and write it down in their little morocco notebooks. Andthese, after a while, became the Protestant sisterhood of SainteUrsula, and wore, on duty, the garb of gray with the pectoralscarlet heart. May went out with the booming of shotted guns beyond the, Southernhorizon, amid rumours of dead zouaves and cavalrymen somewherebeyond Alexandria. And on that day the 7th Regiment returned togarrison the city, and the anxious city cheered its return, andpeople slept more soundly for it, though all day long the streetsechoed with the music of troops departing, and of regimentsparading for a last inspection before the last good-byes were said. Berkley saw some of this from his window. Never perfectly sobernow, he seldom left his rooms except at night; and all day long heread, or brooded, or lay listless, or as near drunk as he evercould be, indifferent, neither patient nor impatient with a life heno longer cared enough about to either use or take. There were intervals when the deep despair within him awokequivering; instants of fierce grief instantly controlled, throttled; moments of listless relaxation when some particularlycontemptible trait in Burgess faintly amused him, or some attemptedinvasion of his miserable seclusion provoked a sneer or a haggardsmile, or perhaps an uneasiness less ignoble, as when, possibly, the brief series of letters began and ended between him and thedancing girl of the Canterbury. "DEAR MR. BERKLEY: "Could you come for me after the theatre this evening? "LETITIA LYNDEN. " "DEAR LETTY: "I'm afraid I couldn't. "Very truly yours, "P. O. BERKLEY. " "DEAR MR. BERKLEY: "Am I not to see you again? I think perhaps you might care to hear that I have been doing what you wished ever since that night. I have also written home, but nobody has replied. I don't think they want me now. It is a little lonely, being what you wish me to be. I thought you might come sometimes. Could you? "LETITIA LYNDEN. " "DEAR LETITIA: "I seem to be winning my bet, but nobody can ever tell. Wait for a while and then write home again. Meantime, why not make bonnets? If you want to, I'll see that you get a chance. "P. O. BERKLEY. " "DEAR MR. BERKLEY: "I don't know how. I never had any skill. I was assistant in a physician's office--once. Thank you for your kind and good offer--for all your goodness to me. I wish I could see you sometimes. You have been better to me than any man. Could I? "LETTY. " "DEAR LETTY: "Why not try some physician's office?" "DEAR MR. BERKLEY: "Do you wish me to? Would you see me sometimes if I left the Canterbury? It is _so_ lonely--you don't know, Mr. Berkley, how lonely it is to be what you wish me to be. Please only come and speak to me. "LETTY. " "DEAR LETTY: "Here is a card to a nice doctor, Phineas Benton, M. D. I have not seen him in years; he remembers me as I was. You will not, of course, disillusion him. I've had to lie to him about you--and about myself. I've told him that I know your family in Philadelphia, that they asked me about the chances of a position here for you as an assistant in a physician's office, and that now you had come on to seek for such a position. Let me know how the lie turns out. "P. O. BERKLEY. " A fortnight later came her last letter: "DEAR MR. BERKLEY: "I have been with Dr. Benton nearly two weeks now. He took me at once. He is such a good man! But--I don't know--sometimes he looks at me and looks at me as though he suspected what I am--and I feel my cheeks getting hot, and I can scarcely speak for nervousness; and then he always smiles so pleasantly and speaks so courteously that I know he is too kind and good to suspect. "I hold sponges and instruments in minor operations, keep the office clean, usher in patients, offer them smelling salts and fan them, prepare lint, roll bandages--and I know already how to do all this quite well. I think he seems pleased with me. He is so very kind to me. And I have a little hall bedroom in his house, very tiny but very neat and clean; and I have my meals with his housekeeper, an old, old woman who is very deaf and very pleasant. "I don't go out because I don't know where to go. I'm afraid to go near the Canterbury--afraid to meet anybody from there. I think I would die if any man I ever saw there ever came into Dr. Benton's office. The idea of that often frightens me. But nobody has come. And I sometimes do go out with Dr. Benton. He is instructing a class of ladies in the principles of hospital nursing, and lately I have gone with him to hold things for him while he demonstrates. And once, when he was called away suddenly, I remained with the class alone, and I was not very nervous, and I answered all their questions for them and showed them how things ought to be done. They were _so_ kind to me; and one very lovely girl came to me afterward and thanked me and said that she, too, had worked a little as a nurse for charity, and asked me to call on her. "I was so silly--do you know I couldn't see her for the tears, and I couldn't speak--and I couldn't let go of her hands. I wanted to kiss them, but I was ashamed. "Some day do you think I might see you again? I am what you have asked me to be. I never wanted to be anything else. They will not believe that at home because they had warned me, and I was such a fool--and perhaps you won't believe me--but I _didn't_ know what I was doing; I didn't want to be what I became--This is really true, Mr. Berkley. Sometime may I see you again? Yours sincerely, "LETITIA A. LYNDEN. " He had replied that he would see her some day, meaning not to doso. And there it had rested; and there, stretched on his sofa, herested, the sneer still edging his lips, not for her but forhimself. "She'd have made some respectable man a good--mistress, " he said. "Here is a most excellent mistress, spoiled, to make a common-placenurse! . . . _Gaude! Maria Virgo; gaudent proenomine mollesauriculoe. . . . Gratis poenitet esse probum_. Burgess!" "Sir?" "What the devil are you scratching for outside my door?" "A letter, sir. " "Shove it under, and let me alone. " The letter appeared, cautiously inserted under the door, and laythere very white on the floor. He eyed it, scowling, withoutcuriosity, turned over, and presently became absorbed in the bookhe had been reading: "Zarathustra asked Ahura-Mazda: 'Heavenly, Holiest, Pure, when apure man dies where does his soul dwell during that night?' "Then answered Ahura-Mazda: 'Near his head it sits itself down. Onthis night his soul sees as much joy as the living world possesses. ' "And Zarathustra asked: 'Where dwells the soul throughout thesecond night after the body's death?' "Then answered Ahura-Mazda: 'Near to his head it sits itself down. ' "Zarathustra spake: 'Where stays the soul of a pure roan throughoutthe third night, O Heavenly, Holiest, Pure?' "And thus answered Ahura-Mazda, Purest, Heavenly: 'When the ThirdNight turns Itself to Light, the soul arises and goes forward; anda wind blows to meet it; a sweet-scented one, more sweet-scentedthan other winds. ' "And in that wind there cometh to meet him His Own Law in the bodyof a maid, one beautiful, shining, with shining arms; one powerful, well-grown, slender, with praiseworthy body; one noble, withbrilliant face, as fair in body as the loveliest. "And to her speaks the soul of the pure man, questioning her whoshe might truly be. And thus replies to him His Own Law, shining, dove-eyed, loveliest: 'I am thy thoughts and works; I am thine ownLaw of thine own Self. Thou art like me, and I am like thee ingoodness, in beauty, in all that I appear to thee. Beloved, come!' "And the soul of the pure man takes one step and is in the FirstParadise, Humata; and takes a second step, and is in the SecondParadise, Hukhta; and takes a third step, and is in the ThirdParadise, Hvarsta. "And takes one last step into the Eternal Lights for ever. " His haggard eyes were still fixed vacantly on the printed page, buthe saw nothing now. Something in the still air of the room hadarrested his attention--something faintly fresh--an evanescent hintof perfume. Suddenly the blood surged up in his face; he half rose, turnedwhere he lay and looked back at the letter on the floor. "Damnit, " he said. And rising heavily, he went to it, picked it up, andbroke the scented seal. "Will you misunderstand me, Mr. Berkley? They say that the pagesof friendship are covered with records of misunderstandings. "We _were_ friends. Can it not be so again? I have thought solong and so steadily about it that I no longer exactly know whetherI may venture to write to you or whether the only thing decentlyleft me is silence, which for the second time I am breaking now, because I cannot believe that I offered my friendship to such a manas you have said you are. It is not in any woman to do it. Perhaps it is self-respect that protests, repudiates, denies whatyou have said to me of yourself; and perhaps it is a sentiment lessaustere. I can no longer judge. "And now that I have the courage--or effrontery--to write you oncemore, will you misconstrue my letter--and my motive? If I cannotbe reconciled to what I hear of you--if what I hear pains, frightens me out of a justifiable silence which perhaps you mightrespect, will you respect my motive for breaking it the less? I donot know. But the silence is now broken, and I must endure theconsequences. "Deep unhappiness I have never known; but I recognise it in otherswhen I see it, and would aid always if I could. Try to understandme. "But despair terrifies me--I who never have known it--and I do notunderstand how to meet it, how to cope with it in others, what tosay or do. Yet I would help if help is possible. Is it? "I think you have always thought me immature, young in experience, negligible as to wisdom, of an intellectual capacityinconsequential. "These are the facts: I was married when I was very young, and Ihave known little of such happiness; but I have met sorrow and haveconquered it, and I have seen bitter hours, and have overcome them, and I have been tempted, and have prevailed. Have you done thesethings? "As for wisdom, if it comes only with years, then I have everythingyet to learn. Yet it seems to me that in the charity wards ofhospitals, in the city prisons, in the infirmary, the asylum--eventhe too brief time spent there has taught me something of humanfrailty and human sorrow. And if I am right or wrong, I do notknow, but to me sin has always seemed mostly a sickness of themind. And it is a shame to endure it or to harshly punish it ifthere be a cure. And if this is so, what you may have done, andwhat others may have done to you, cannot be final. "My letter is longer than I meant it, but I had a great need tospeak to you. If you still think well of me, answer me. Answer inthe way it pleases you best. But answer--if you still think wellof me. "AILSA PAIGE. " A touch of rose still tinted the sky overhead, but already the lamplighters were illuminating the street lamps as he came to LondonTerrace--that quaint stretch of old-time houses set back from thestreet, solemnly windowed, roofed, and pilastered; decorouslyscreened behind green trees and flowering bushes ringed by littlelawns of emerald. For a moment, after entering the iron gateway and mounting thesteps, he stood looking up at her abode. Overhead the silken foldsof the flag hung motionless in the calm evening air; and all theplace about him was sweet with the scent of bridal-wreath and earlyiris. Then, at his tardy summons, the door of her house opened to him. He went in and stood in the faded drawing-room, where the damaskcurtain folds were drawn against the primrose dusk and a singlelight glimmered like a star high among the pendant prisms of thechandelier. Later a servant came and gave the room more light. Then he waitedfor a long while. And at last she entered. Her hands were cold--he noticed it as the fingers touched his, briefly, and were withdrawn. She had scarcely glanced at him, andshe had not yet uttered a word when they were seated. It lay withhim, entirely, so far. "What a lazy hound I have been, " he said, smiling; "I have noexcuses to save my hide--no dogs ever have. Are you well, Ailsa?" She made the effort: "Yes, perfectly. I fear--" Her eyes rested onhis marred and haggard face; she said no more because she could not. He made, leisurely, all proper and formal inquiries concerning theCraigs and those he had met there, mentioned pleasantly his changedfortunes; spoke of impending and passing events, of the war, of themovement of troops, of the chances for a battle, which the papersdeclared was imminent. Old Jonas shuffled in with the Madeira and a decanter of brandy, itbeing now nearly eight o'clock. Later, while Berkley was still carelessly bearing the burden ofconversation, the clock struck nine times; and in anotherincredibly brief interval, it struck ten. He started to rise, and encountered her swiftly lifted eyes. And aflush grew and deepened on his face, and he resumed his place insilence. When again he was seated she drew, unconsciously, a long, deep breath, and inclined her head to listen. But Berkley had nomore to say to her--and much that he must not say to her. And shewaited a long while, eyes bent steadily on the velvet carpet at herfeet. The silence endured too long; she knew it, but could not yet breakit, or the spell which cradled her tired heart, or the blessedsurcease from the weariness of waiting. Yet the silence was lasting too long, and must be broken quickly. She looked up, startled, as he rose to take his leave. It was theonly way, now, and she knew it. And, oh, the time had sped toofast for her, and her heart failed her for all the things thatremained unsaid--all the kindness she had meant to give him, allthe counsel, the courage, the deep sympathy, the deeper friendship. But her hand lay limply, coldly in his; her lips were mute, tremulously curving; her eyes asked nothing more. "Good night, Ailsa. " "Good night. " There was colour, still, in his marred young face, grace, still, inhis body, in the slightly lowered head as he looked down at her. "I must not come again, Ailsa. " Then her pulses died. "Why?" "Because--I am afraid to love you. " It did not seem that she even breathed, so deathly still she stood. "Is that---your reason?" "Yes. I have no right to love you. " She could scarcely speak. "Is--friendship not enough, Mr. Berkley?" "It is too late for friendship. You know it. " "That cannot be. " "Why, Ailsa?" "Because it is friendship--mistaken friendship that moves you nowin every word you say. " She raised her candid gaze. "Is there noend to your self-murder? Do you still wish to slay yourself beforemy very eyes?" "I tell you that there is nothing good left living in me: "And if it were true; did you never hear of a resurrection?" "I--warn you!" "I hear your warning. " "You dare let me love you?" Dry-lipped, voices half stifled by their mounting emotion, theystood closely confronted, paling under the effort of self-mastery. And his was giving way, threatening hers with every breath. Suddenly in his altered face she saw what frightened her, and herhand suddenly closed in his; but he held it imprisoned. "Answer me, Ailsa!" "Please--" she said--"if you will let me go--I will answer--you----" "What?" "What you--ask. " Her breath was coming faster; her face, now white as a flower, nowflushed, swam before him. Through the surging passion envelopinghim he heard her voice as at a distance: "If you will--let me go--I can tell you----" "Tell me now!" "Not--this way. . . . How can you care for me if---- "I warned you, Ailsa! I told you that I am unfit to love you. Nowoman could ever marry _me_! No woman could even love me if sheknew what I am! You understood that. I told you. And now--goodGod!--I'm telling you I love you--I can't let you go!--yourhands:--the sweetness of them--the----" "I--oh, it must not be--this way----" "It _is_ this way!" "I know--but please try to help. --I--I am not afraid to--loveyou------" Her slender figure trembled against him; the warmth of her set himafire. There was a scent of tears in her breath--a fragrance asher body relaxed, yielded, embraced; her hands, her lids, her:hair, her mouth, all his now, for the taking, as he took her intohis arms. But he only stared down at what lay there; and, trembling, breathless, her eyes unclosed and she looked up blindlyinto his flushed face. "Because I--love you, " she sighed, "I believe in all that--that Ihave--never--seen--in you. " He looked back into her eyes, steadily: "I am going mad over you, Ailsa. There is only destruction for youin that madness. . . . Shall I let you go?" "W-what?" But the white passion in his face was enough; and, involuntarilyher lids shut it out. But she did not stir. "I--warned you, " he said again. "I know. . . . Is it in you to--destroy--me?" "God knows. . . . Yes, it is. " She scarcely breathed; only their hearts battled there in silence. Then he said harshly: "What else is there for us? You would not marry me. " "Ask me. " "You would not marry me if I told you----" "What?" "I will _not_ tell you!" "Are you--married?" "No!" "Then _tell_ me!" "G-od! _No_! I can't throw _this_ hour away. I can't throw loveaway! I want you anyway--if you have the--courage!" "Tell me. I promise to marry you anyway. I promise it, whateveryou are! Tell me. " "I--" An ugly red-stained neck and forehead; his embrace suddenlyhurt her so that she cried out faintly, but her hand closed on his. "Tell me, tell me, _tell_ me!" she pleaded; "I know you are halfcrazed by something--some dreadful thing that has been done toyou--" and ceased, appalled at the distorted visage he turned onher. His arms relaxed and fell away from her. Released, she stood swaying as though stunned, pressed both handsto her eyes, then let her arms fall, inert. For a moment they confronted one another; then he straightened up, squared his shoulders with a laugh that terrified her. "No, " he said, "I _won't_ tell you! You go on caring for me. I'mbeast enough to let you. Go on caring! Love me--if you're braveenough. . . . And I warn you now that I love you, and I don't carea damn how I do it! . . . Now you _are_ frightened! . . . Verywell--I----" He swayed a little, swung blindly on his heel, and lurched out intothe hall. Mechanically she followed, halting in the doorway and restingagainst it, for it seemed as though her knees were giving way. "Is that--to be the--end?" she whispered. He turned and came swiftly back, took her in his arms, crushed herto him, kissed her lips again and again, fiercely. "The end will be when you make an end, " he said. "Make it now ornever!" His heart was beating violently against hers; her head had fallen alittle back, lips slightly parted, unresponsive under his kiss, yetenduring--and at last burning and trembling to the verge ofresponse---- And suddenly, passion-swept, breathless, she felt her self-controlgoing, and she opened her eyes, saw hell in his, tore herself fromhis arms, and shrank, trembling, against the wall. He turnedstupidly and opened the door, making his way out into the night. But she did not see him, for her burning face was hidden in herhands. Drunk as though drugged, the echoes of passion still stirred hisdarker self, and his whirling thoughts pierced his heart likenames, whispering, urging him to go back and complete thedestruction he had begun--take her once more into his arms and keepher there through life, through death, till the bones of theblessed and the damned alike stirred in their graves at the lastreveille. To know that she, too, had been fighting herself--that she, too, feared passion, stirred every brutal fibre in him to a fiercerrecklessness that halted him in his tracks under the calm stars. But what held him there was something else, perhaps what hebelieved had died in him; for he did not even turn again. And atlast, through the dark and throbbing silence he moved on again atrandom, jaws set. The mental strain was beginning to distort everything. Once ortwice he laughed all to himself, nodding mysteriously, his tensewhite face stamped with a ghastly grimace of self-contempt. Thenan infernal, mocking curiosity stirred him: What kind of a thing _was_ he anyway? A moment since he had loosedthe brute in himself, leaving it to her to re-chain or let it carryher with him to destruction. And yet he was too fastidious tomarry her under false pretences! "Gods of Laughter! What in hell--what sort of thing am I?" heasked aloud, and lurched on, muttering insanely to himself, laughing, talking under his breath, hearing nothing, seeing nothingbut her wistful eyes, gazing sorrowfully out of the night. At a dark crossing he ran blindly into a moving horse; was pushedaside by its cloaked rider with a curse; stood dazed, while hissenses slowly returned--first, hearing--and his ears were filledwith the hollow trample of many horses; then vision, and in thedark street before him he saw the column of shadowy horsemen ridingslowly in fours, knee to knee, starlight sparkling on spur and bitand sabre guard. Officers walked their lean horses beside the column. One amongthem drew bridle near him, calling out: "Have you the right time?" Berkley looked at his watch. "Midnight. " "Thank you, friend. " Berkley stepped to the curb-stone: "What regiment is that?" "Eighth New York. " "Leaving?" "Going into camp. Yorkville. " Berkley said: "Do you want a damned fool?" "The companies are full of fools. . . . We can stand a fewfirst-class men. Come up to camp to-morrow, friend. If you canpass the surgeons I guess it will be all right. " And he prodded his tired horse forward along the slowly movingcolumn of fours. CHAPTER X Her hatred and horror of him gave her no peace. Angry, incensed, at moments almost beside herself with grief and shame andself-contempt, she awaited the letter which he must write--thehumble and hopeless effort for pardon which she never, never wouldanswer or even in her own soul grant. Day after day she brooded, intent, obsessed, fiercely pondering hisobliteration. But no letter came. No letter came that week, nor Monday, nor at the end of the nextweek, nor the beginning of the next. Wrath, at night, had dried her eyes where she lay crying in herhumiliation; wrath diminished as the days passed; scorn became lessrigid, anger grew tremulous. Then what was lurking near herpillow lifted a pallid head. Fear! She waited. Wrath died, scorn died; there was not enough to dryher tears at night--a deeper, more hopeless humiliation had becomethe shame of forgiving him, of loneliness without him, of waitingfor his letter, heart sick--his letter that never came. Letter after letter to him she destroyed, and fell ill of thetension, or perhaps of a heavy cold caught in the rain where shehad walked for hours, aimlessly, unable to bear her longing and herdesolation. Dr. Benton attended her; the pretty volunteer nurse came to sitwith her during convalescence. The third week in June she was physically well enough to dress andgo about the house. And on that day she came to her shamefuldecision. She wrote him, waited a dreary week for an answer; wrote him again, waited two weeks; wrote him a third and last letter. No answercame. And she went dully about the task of forgetting. About the middle of July she heard from Stephen that Berkley hadenlisted in one of the new unattached cavalry companies, but whichone he did not know. Also she learned that the 3rd Zouaves hadtheir marching orders and would probably come to the city toreceive their colours. Later she heard from the mayor, the commoncouncil, and from Major Lent; and prepared for the ceremony. The ceremony was prettily impressive; Ailsa, Mrs. Craig, herdaughters, Paige and Marye, and Camilla Lent wearing a bell buttonfrom Stephen's zouave jacket, stood on the lawn in front of Ailsa'shouse, escorted by Colonel Arran who had returned from Washington, with his commission, by the mayor of the city, and severalred-faced, fat-paunched gentlemen of the common council, and by ayoung officer, Captain Hallam, who stood behind Ailsa and seemedunable to keep his handsome eyes off her. Twenty-third Street was packed solid with people and all aflutterwith flags under the July sun when the distant strains of militarymusic and blue lines of police heralded the coming of the 3rdZouaves. Band crashing, raw, gray horses of field and staff-officersdancing, the regiment came swinging down the wide stony street, --atorrent of red and gold, a broad shaft of silvery bayonets;--andhalted facing the group of ladies and officials. Celia Craig looked down at her husband where he sat his great grayhorse. Their last good-bye had already been said; he sat erect, calm, gazing quietly up at her through his gold-rimmed eye-glasses;from his blue sleeves' edge to the points of his shouldersglittered in twisted gold the six-fold arabesques of his rank. The roar of cheers was dying away now; a girlish figure in whitehad moved forward to the edge of the lawn, carrying two standardsin her arms, and her voice was very clear and sweet and perfectlyaudible to everybody; "Colonel Craig, officers, and soldiers of the 3rd New York Zouaves;the ladies of the Church of Sainte Ursula have requested me, intheir name, to present to you this set of colours. God guard themand you! "Remember that, although these flags are now yours, they stillremain ours. Your cause is ours. Your vows our vows. Yourloyalty to God and country is part of our loyalty to God, tocountry, and to you. " She stood silent, pensive a moment; then stretched out her arms, aflag in either hand; and the Colonel rode straight up to where shestood, took the silken colours and handed them to the twocolour-sergeants. Then, while an orderly advanced to the head ofhis horse, Colonel Craig dismounted and quietly ascended the stepsbeside the little group of ladies and city officials: "On behalf of the officers and men of the 3rd New York Zouaves, " hesaid, "I thank you. We are grateful. I think that we all mean todo our best. "If we cannot, in the hour of trial, do all that is expected of us, we will do all that is in us to do. "It is very easy to dress a thousand men in uniform, and investthem with the surroundings of military life; but it is not thusalone that soldiers are made. It is only discipline; regularsteady, rigid discipline--that forms a soldier to be relied upon inthe hour of need. "At present we are only recruits. So I ask, in justice to theregiment, that you will not demand too much of us in the beginning. We desire to learn; we desire most earnestly to deserve yourconfidence. I can only say that we will try to prove ourselves notunworthy guardians of these flags you have given us. " He bowed, turned to go, swung around sharply and looked at his wife. "Good-bye, my darling, " he said under his breath; and the nestmoment he was in the saddle. All the rest that Ailsa recollected distinctly was the deafeningoutcrash of military music, the sustained cheering, the clatter ofhoofs, the moving column of red and gold--and Celia, standing thereunder the July sun, her daughters' hands in hers. So the 3rd Zouaves marched gaily away under their new silk flags totheir transport at Pier No. 3, North River. But the next dayanother regiment received its colours and went, and every day or somore regiments departed with their brand-new colours; and after alittle only friends and relatives remembered the 3rd Zouaves, andwhat was their colonel's name. By the middle of July the transformation of the metropolis from acity into a vast military carnival was complete. Gaudy uniformswere no longer the exception; a madness for fantastic brilliancyseized the people; soldiers in all kinds of colours and all kindsof dress filled the streets. Hotels, shops, ferry-boats, stages, cars, swarmed with undisciplined troops of all arms of the service, clad in every sort of extravagant uniforms. Except for the moresevere state uniform and the rarer uniform of National troops, eccentric costumes were the rule. It was a carnival of militaryabsurdity. Regiments were continually entering the city, regimentswere continually leaving it; regiments in transit disembarkedovernight only to resume the southward journey by steamer or train;regiments in camp and barrack were completing organisation andbeing mustered in by United States officers. Gorgeous regimentsparaded for inspection, for drill, for the reception of state andregimental colours; three-month troops were returning, bands madlyplaying; two- and three-year regiments leaving, drums beatingfrantically. The bewildering variety of cut and colour in the uniforms of thisvast army, which was being made to order, had been, in a measure, rendered comparatively homogeneous by the adoption of theregulation blue overcoat, but many a regiment wore its own patternof overcoat, many a regiment went forward in civilian attire, without arms and equipment, on the assurance that these detailswere to be supplied in Washington. The dress of almost every foreign army in Europe was representedamong the regiments forming or in transit. The 79th Highlanders, it is true, discarded kilt and bagpipe on the eve of departure, marching in blouse and cap and breeks of army blue; but the 14th. Brooklyn departed in red cap and red breeches, the 1st and 2d FireZouaves discarded the Turkish fez only; the 5th, 9th, 10th Zouavesmarched wearing fez and turban; and bizarre voltigeurs, footchasseurs, hussars, lancers, rocket batteries in costume defantasie poured southward, --no two regiments equipped and armedalike. The city remained in painful suspense concerning its raw, multicoloured, and undisciplined army. Every few days aroserumours of a great battle fought on Virginia soil, corroborated byextras, denied next morning. During the last half of July suchreports had been current daily, tightening the tension, frighteningparents, wives, and sweethearts. Recent armed affrays had beencalled battles; the dead zouaves at Big Bethel, a dead trooper atAlexandria sobered and silenced the street cheering. Yet, what areal battle might be, nobody really comprehended or even surmised. To Ailsa Paige June and July passed like fevered dreams; the briefsweet spring had suddenly turned into summer in a single day--astrange, stifling, menacing summer full of heavy littlethunder-storms which rolled crackling and banging up the Hudsonamid vivid electric displays, leaving no coolness behind theirtrailing wake of rain. Society was lingering late in town--if the few nebulous, unorganised, and scattered social groups could be calledsociety--small coteries drawn temporarily together through accidentof environment, inherited family acquaintance, traditional, material, or religious interest, and sometimes by haphazardintellectual compatibility. In the city, and in Ailsa's little world, the simple social routinecentring in Sainte Ursula's and the Assembly in winter, and in LongBranch and Saratoga in summer, had been utterly disorganised. Veryfew of her friends had yet left for the country; nor had she madeany arrangements for this strange, unreal summer, partly because, driven to find relief from memory in occupation, she was devotingherself very seriously to the medical instruction under Dr. Benton;partly because she did not consider it a fitting time to seek thecoolness and luxury of inland spa or seaside pier. Colonel Arran had brought back with him from Washington a CaptainHallam, a handsome youngster who wore his cavalry uniform toperfection and who had become instantly attentive to Ailsa, --soattentive that before she realised it he was a regular visitor ather house, appropriating the same chair that Berkley alwayshad--Berkley!---- At the memory she closed her eyes instinctively. The woundthrobbed, "What is the matter, Mrs. Paige?" inquired Captain Hallamanxiously. "Are you faint?" She opened her eyes and smiled in pretence of surprise at such aquestion; and Hallam muttered: "I thought you seemed rather paleall of a sudden. " Then he brightened up and went gaily on withwhat he had been saying: "We've got nine full companies already, and the 10th, K, is anindependent company which we're taking in to complete ourorganisation. Colonel Arran and I stopped in Philadelphia toinspect Colonel Rush's regiment of lancers--the 6th PennsylvaniaCavalry--because the French officers on McClellan's staff have putit into his head that he needs lancers----" "Is Colonel Arran's regiment to carry lances?" interrupted Ailsa insurprise. Hallam nodded, laughing: "We recruited as light cavalry, armed withsabre and pistol, but General McClellan has ordered that we carrythe lance in addition. The department had none to issue until theforeign samples arrived. We are ordered to carry a lance of theAustrian pattern, nine feet long with an eleven-inch, three-edgedblade; the staff of Norway fir about an inch and a quarter through, with ferrule and counter poise at the heel. Do I make myselfclear, Mrs. Paige?" Ailsa, thinking of Berkley, flushed slightly and nodded. "There'll be a scarlet swallow-tailed pennon on the end just belowthe blade point. The whole affair will weigh about five pounds, "concluded Hallam, rising to take his leave; "and I've got to be offto camp. " "Must you go, Captain Hallam?" "I really must. That K Company is due in camp this evening, and Iexpect our uniforms and equipments will be delivered in themorning. Are you coming to see us off, Mrs. Paige?" "When do you go? Colonel Arran said nothing about going. " "Oh, I expect we'll be on our way before very long. We are not inthe best of shape yet; that's not to be expected. But there's asad lack of cavalry in Washington, and they may want us to gowhether we're ready or not. They sent off a regiment that hadneither arms nor uniforms and couldn't even keep step, the otherday. I've an idea we are going pretty soon. " He took Ailsa'soffered hand, looked at her a little earnestly, smiled inself-satisfaction, and went his way. Later in the week he came back for a few moments; and all throughthe week he continued to come back for a few moments whenever hehad an hour's leave. And every time he took his leave his smile became less nervous andmore confident. She was very unhappy; devotion to Dr. Benton's class helped;devotion to Celia in her brief visits to Brooklyn helped, too;devotion to others, to prayer, all helped as long as it wasdevotion of some sort. And now this young, blue-eyed, blonde-haired fellow was on the edgeof offering to devote himself to her. She knew it, wonderedwhether this was her refuge from care. And when he did, at last, she was quietly prepared to answer. "Captain Hallam, " she said slowly, "I _do_ like you. I don't knowwhether I could ever learn to love you. I am not very happy; itmight influence my judgment. If you are willing to wait until Iknow more about myself----" Oh, he _would_ wait! Certainly. Meanwhile would she wear hisring--not exactly an engagement--unless she was willing--but---- She hesitated. Lonelier than she had ever been in all her life, nolonger self-sufficient, wistfully hopeless, needing to devoteherself absolutely to something or somebody, she hesitated. Butthat evening when Hallam came with his ring she could not bringherself to accept what she now seemed to be most deeply in needof--the warm, eager, complacent affection that he laid at her feet. She was not yet able--could not; and the desolate memories ofBerkley set the wound aching anew. . . . No, she could promisenothing to this young fellow--nothing yet. . . . Perhaps, in thefuture--as time passed--she might venture to wear his ring, and seewhat happened to her. But she would not promise--she would nottalk of marrying him. . . . And cried herself to sleep over thememory of Berkley, and his vileness, and his heartless wickedness, and his ignoble love that had left her so ashamed, so humiliated, so cruelly crushed for ever. And all night long she dreamed ofBerkley and of his blessed nearness; and the sweetness of her dreamtroubled her profoundly. She sat up, still asleep, her strainingthroat whispering his name, her arms outstretched, blindlysearching the darkness for him, until suddenly awake, she realisedwhat she was doing, and dropped back among her pillows. All that day the city was filled with rumours of a great battlefought in Virginia. The morning's papers hailed it with triumphanthead-lines and columns of praise and thanksgiving for a greatvictory won. But at night the stunned city knew that Bull Run hadbeen fought and lost, and the Confederacy was at the gates ofWashington. CHAPTER XI In a city where thousands and thousands of women were noworganising relief work for the troops already in the field, AilsaPaige had been among the earliest to respond to the call for ameeting at the Church of the Puritans. Here she had left her namefor enrolment with Mrs. Gerard Stuyvesant. Later, with Mrs. Marquand, Mrs. Aspinwall, Mrs. Astor, and Mrs. Hamilton Fish, and a hundred others, she had signed the call forthe great mass-meeting; had acted on one of the subcommitteeschosen from among the three thousand ladies gathered at theInstitute; had served with Mrs. Schuyler on the board of theCentral Relief Association; had been present at the inception ofthe Sanitary Commission and its adjunct, the Allotment Commission;had contributed to the Christian Commission, six thousand of whosedelegates were destined to double the efficiency of the armies ofthe Union. Then Sainte Ursula's Sisterhood, organised for field as well ashospital service, demanded all her energies. It was to be anemergency corps; she had hesitated to answer the call, hesitated toenroll for this rougher service, and, troubled, had sought counselfrom Mr. Dodge and Mr. Bronson of the Allotment Commission, andfrom Dr. Agnew of the Sanitary Commission. Dr. Agnew wrote to Dr. Benton: "Mrs. Paige is a very charming and very sweet little lady, excellently equipped by experience to take the field with SainteUrsula's Sisterhood, but self-distrustful and afraid of her ownbehaviour on a battle-field where the emergency corps might beunder fire. In _this_ sort of woman I have every confidence. " The next day Ailsa enrolled; arranged her household affairs so thatshe could answer any summons at a few hours' notice; and went tobed dead tired, and slept badly, dreaming of dead men. The morningsun found her pale and depressed. She had decided to destroyBerkley's letters. She burned all, except one; then went to herclass work. Dr. Benton's class was very busy that morning, experimenting on thedoctor's young assistant with bandages, ligatures, lint, andsplints. Letty, wearing only her underclothes, lay on theoperating table, her cheek resting on her bared arm, watching Ailsasetting a supposed compound fracture of the leg, and, at intervals, quietly suggesting the proper methods. Autumn sunshine poured through the windows gilding the soft graygarb of Sainte Ursula's nursing sisterhood which all now wore onduty. The girl on the table lay very still, now and then directing orgently criticising the well-intended operations on limb and body. And after the allotted half hour had struck, she sat up, smiling atAilsa, and, slipping to the floor, dressed rapidly, talking all thewhile in her pretty, gentle way about bandages and bones andfractures and dislocations. A few minutes after she had completed dressing and was standingbefore the glass, smoothing the dark, silky masses of her hair, Dr. Benton arrived, absent-eyed, preoccupied at first, then in afidgety humour which indicated something was about to happen. Ithappened. "Could any lady get ready in time to take the noon train forWashington?" he asked abruptly. There was a startled silence; the call had come at last. Mrs. Rutherford said quietly: "I will go. But I must see myhusband and children first. I could be ready by to-morrow, if thatwill do. " Another--a young girl--said: "I could not leave my mother at anhour's notice. She is ill. Would tomorrow do, Dr. Benton?" "I--think I can go to-day, " said Ailsa in a low voice. "Our quota is to be two nurses, " said the doctor. But no otherlady could possibly leave before the morrow; and it was, after all, scarcely fair to expect it of women with families to be providedfor and home responsibilities to be arranged. "I could go to-day--if I may be permitted, " said the doctor's youngassistant, timidly. He swung around and scowled at her, lips compressed, eyes gleamingthrough his spectacles: "You are not asked to go, Miss Lynden. " "I--thought----" "Do you want to go?" "If Mrs. Paige is going--alone----" Ailsa looked at her, gratefully surprised, but smiled her thanks. "If Miss Lynden may come, Dr. Benton, I would be very glad. Mayshe?" "Miss Lynden is not a member of Sainte Ursula's congregation, " hesaid drily. "She's my--rather valuable--assistant. " "She has been to church with me several times, " said Ailsa. "Ihave spoken to her about becoming a communicant of Sainte Ursula's, and she desired to begin her instruction in October----" "But, confound it!--I want her with me!" interrupted the doctorimpatiently. "My house and office require the services of MissLynden!" He turned and paced the room rapidly, hands claspedbehind his bent back; then, halting: "Do you _want_ to go?" he repeated. The girl coloured. "You are very kind to wish me to remain. . . . But I feel as though Mrs. Paige should not go alone. " "Oh, all right, " said the doctor gruffly. "And you'd better startat once; that train leaves at mid-day. " And, turning to his class:"Now, ladies, if you will kindly put away those rags and give meyour strict and undivided attention!"--his voice rumbled off into agrowl. Ailsa was already putting on her hat. Presently Letty Lynden cameout of the inner office, carrying a light scarf over her arm. Sheand Ailsa bade a hasty and excited good-bye to the ladies of theclass; thanked Dr. Benton; listened solemnly to instructions;promised to obey; and gave him tremulous hands in leave taking. "If those ungrateful dogs of soldiers don't appreciate you twoyoung ladies, come home on the next train, where you'll beappreciated, " grumbled the doctor. "Anyway, God bless you both. And don't drink dirty water! And keep your patients clean! Keep'em clean! clean! clean! I've a notion that cleanness isnine-tenths of surgery; and it's all there is to nursing--but fewagree with me. Good-bye! Tell Agnew I say that you know yourbusiness!" Ailsa turned to Letty Lynden. "It is so sweet of you to want to come. Will you send your trunkto my house? I will have luncheon ready, and another gray uniformfor you. You'll be a communicant soon, so there is no possibleharm in wearing it. " "I would like to wear Sainte Ursula's garb, " said the girlwistfully. "Do you really think I may, Mrs. Paige?" "You shall indeed! Will you be ready by eleven?" "I have very little to take with me--only a small trunk. I will beat your house at eleven. " Ailsa, nervous and excited, nodded; the suddenness of departure wasbeginning to stimulate her. She walked rapidly home, summoned theservants, interviewed the house-keeper, sat down and drew necessarychecks to cover a month's absence; sent hurried notes to Celia, toCamilla, to Colonel Arran, to Captain Hallam; dispatched a servantto find a hack, another to pack for her, another to serve hersomething to eat. The household below stairs was inclined to tears; old Jonassniffled and shuffled about, shrunken hands hanging helpless, mildeyes following his young mistress as she moved decisively from roomto room, gathering up or indicating to servants what she requiredfor her journey. Shawls, handbags, umbrellas, cloaks, and trunk were packed andstrapped and carried off below. Letty arrived with her trunk, wastaken to Ailsa's room where luncheon for two was ready on a bigsilver tray. Later Jonas arrived, still sniffling, to announce the hack; and thetwo gray-garbed women hurried away amid the hysterical snivel ofservants and the friendly mewing of Missy, who trotted after themto the front door, tail erect, followed by her latest progeny ondiminutive and wavering legs. All the way to the ferry Ailsa sat silent in her corner of thehack, worried, reflecting, trying to recollect what it was that shehad left undone. _Something_ important she certainly had forgotten; she knew it, searching her mind, while Letty furtively watched her in silence, gloved hands clasped in her lap. And suddenly Ailsa knew, and a flood of colour dyed her face; forthe vague sense of leaving something undone was the instinct to letBerkley know she was going--the blind, unreasoning need for somecommunication with him. Had it been possible that all this time she had not utterlyuprooted this man from her insulted heart! Had hope, all thistime, unconsciously lived latent in her; was it possible thatsomehow, somewhere, there remained a chance for him yet--a chancefor her--a cure--the only cure for all he had done to her--himself! She reddened painfully again as memory, insolent, imperious, flashed in her brain, illuminating the unquiet past, sparing hernothing--no, not one breathless heart beat, not one atom of theshame and the sweetness of it, not one dishonourable thrill she hadendured for love of him, not one soundless cry at night where shelay tortured, dumb, hands clenched but arms wide flung as her heartbeat out his name, calling, calling to the man who had endedhimself for ever. And Letty, silent in her comer, watched her without a word. At the station, scarcely knowing what she did, Ailsa stopped at thetelegraph office and wrote a despatch to him, addressing it to hisold lodgings: "I don't know whether this will ever reach you, but I can't gowithout trying to let you know that I am leaving for Washington asvolunteer nurse. They have my address at the house. "AILSA PAIGE. " Then the two gray-garbed women hurried to the train, but found noseats together until a lank, sad-eyed lieutenant of artillery gaveup his place and doubled in with a sweating, red-necked contractorfrom St. Louis, who sat in his shirt sleeves, fanning himself withhis straw hat. The day was hot; the car dusty, ill-smelling, uncomfortable. At Philadelphia their train was stalled for hours. Two longtrains, loaded with ammunition and a section of field-artillery, had right of way; and then another train filled with jeering, blue-clad infantry blocked them. The soldiers, bare headed and in their undershirts, lolled andyelled and hung from the car windows, chewing tobacco, smoking, orgazing, jaws a-gape, at the crowds in the station. Another train rolled by, trailing a suffocating stench of cattleand hogs from its slatted stock-cars; and Ailsa was almost stifledbefore her train at last moved heavily southward, saluted bygood-natured witticisms from the soldiers at the windows of thestalled troop train. Evening came, finding them somewhere in Delaware; the yellow starsappeared, the air freshened a little. Letty had fallen asleep; herdark lashes rested quietly on her cheeks, but the car jolted herhead cruelly, and Ailsa gently drew it to her own shoulder and putone arm around her. A major of heavy artillery turned toward her from his seat and said: "Are you a volunteer nurse, ma'am?" "Yes, " motioned Ailsa with her lips, glancing cautiously at Letty. "Can I do anything for you at Wilmington?" She thanked him, smiling. He was disposed to be very friendly. "You ladies arc the right stuff, " he said. "I've seen you aboardthose abominable transports, behaving like angels to the poorsea-sick devils. I saw you after Big Bethel, scraping the bloodand filth off of the wounded zouaves; I saw you in Washington afterBull Run, doing acts of mercy that, by God, madam! would haveturned my stomach. . . . _Won't_ you let me do something for you. You don't need any whisky for your sick boys, do you?" Ailsa smiled and shook her head, saying they had not yet beenassigned to duty. "I haven't anything else to offer you except tobacco, " said theMajor ruefully, and subsided. At Wilmington, however, he got out, and presently reappeared withhard-boiled eggs and sandwiches, a big bottle of cold, sweet milk, and a basket of fruit. Letty awoke; realised that Ailsa had beenholding her in her arms; looked at her in confusion, thenimpulsively bent and laid her lips against Ailsa's hands. "Why--child--I didn't mind, " faltered Ailsa, flushing in responseto Letty's swift emotion. "See what this very kind officer hasbrought us for dinner, dear! Isn't it delicious?" They were as hungry as two school children and ate everything; andby and by the Major of heavy artillery came back and reversed theseat he had been occupying, and arranged it so he could sit facingthem. He was fat, red-faced, with a pair of terrific moustaches, and a closely clipped head showing two scars. "I've daughters older than you, ma'am, " he said, in partexplanation of his friendliness. "One's got a new baby. He's adevil!" "W-what?" asked Ailsa. "The right kind of devil, ma'am. I've been to see him! He wantedmy sword; he tried to chew off my shoulder straps; he almostimpaled himself on my spurs. By heaven, ma'am, _that's_ a boy foryou!" Ailsa smiled. She knew about babies; implanted in her had alwaysbeen a perfect madness to possess one. She and the red-faced Major talked babies. Letty, knowing nothingabout babies and not deeply interested, lay back in her seat, watching Ailsa in the dim light of the ceiling lamps. She seemednever to have enough of Ailsa. It had been so from the first. In Baltimore dawn was breaking when Ailsa awoke at the summons ofthe major; and he remained devoted to the two nurses of SainteUrsula, attending to their baggage and transfer across the city, finding seats in the waiting-room already invaded by the officersof several regiments in transit, and finally saw them safely aboardthe cars again. "Good-bye, little ladies, " he said cheerily. "If I'm hit, God sendone of you to wash my face for me. My card, ladies--if I may bepermitted the honour. I'm to be at Fortress Monroe as soon as mycommand leaves Baltimore. " After he had gone away, Ailsa looked at his card: A. J. DENISLOW MAJOR, ART. , U. S. A. "I thought he was a regular, " she said, smiling at Letty. "He's aperfect old dear. Shall we open the parcel and see what he hasleft us for breakfast?" There was more milk, more peaches and pears, more bread and butter, and a cold roast chicken; and they made very merry over it, doingthe best they could without knife and fork. They were nearing Washington now. Every little while they passedbodies of troops marching or encamped along the roads; and oncethey saw a line of army waggons, drab coloured, with yellow canvastops, moving slowly in clouds of dust. In the limpid morning light buzzards were already soaring over thegreen fields; the fresh odour of wild flowers came blowing in atthe open car window; butterflies fluttered, wind-driven, helpless. And now they were passing mounds of freshly turned red earth--longstretches of hillocks banked high and squared at the ends. Hundreds of negroes were at work sodding them; here and there aflag fluttered and a bayonet gleamed. "I believe all these little hills and ditches have something to dowith forts, " said Ailsa. "Certainly that great mound must be partof a fort. Do you see the cannon?" Letty nodded, wide-eyed. And now they were passing soldiers onevery road, at every bridge, along every creek bank. Squads of them, muskets shining, marched briskly along beside therailroad track; sentinels stood at every culvert, every flag house, every water tank and local station past which they rolled withoutstopping. Acres of white tents flashed into view; houses and negrocabins became thicker; brick houses, too, appeared at intervals, then half-finished blocks fronting the dusty roads, then rows andlines of dwellings, and street after street swarming with negroesand whites. And before they realised it they had arrived. They descended from the car amid a pandemonium of porters, hackmen, soldiers, newsboys, distracted fellow-passengers, locomotivesnoisily blowing off steam, baggagemen trundling and slamming trunksabout; and stood irresolute and confused. "Could you direct us to the offices of the Sanitary Commission?"asked Ailsa of a passing soldier wearing the insignia of thehospital service on his sleeve. "You bet I can, ladies! Are you nurses?" "Yes, " said Ailsa, smiling. "Bully for you, " said the boy; "step right this way, Sanitary. Onemoment----" He planted himself before a bawling negro hack driver and began toapply injurious observations to him, followed by terrible threatsif he didn't take these "Sanitary Ladies" to the headquarters ofthe Commission. "I'm going up that way, too, " he ended, "and I'm going to sit onthe box with you, and I'll punch your nose off if you charge mySanitary Ladies more than fifty cents!" And escorted in this amazing manner, cinder-smeared, hot, rumpled, and very tired, Ailsa Paige and Letty Lynden entered theunspeakably dirty streets of the Capital of their country andturned into the magnificent squalor of Pennsylvania Avenue whichlay, flanked by ignoble architecture, straight and wide and hazyunder its drifting golden dust from the great unfinished dome ofthe Capitol to the Corinthian colonnade of the Treasury. Theirnegro drove slowly; their self-constituted escort, legs crossed, cap over one impish eye, lolled on the box, enjoying the drive. Past them sped a company of cavalry in blue and yellow, bouncingconsiderably in their saddles, red faces very dusty under theirtightly strapped caps, sabres and canteens jangling like anunexpected avalanche of tin-ware in a demoralised pantry. "Go it, young 'uns!" cried their soldier escort from the box, waving his hand patronisingly. He also saluted an officer inspectacles as "Bully boy with a glass eye, " and later informedanother officer in a broad yellow sash that he was "the cheese. "All of which painfully mortified the two young nurses of SainteUrsula, especially when passing the fashionably-dressed thronggathered in front of the Willard and promenading Lafayette Square. "Oh, dear, " said Ailsa, "I suppose he's only a boy, but I didn'tknow soldiers were permitted to be so impudent. What on earth doall these people think of us?" Letty, who had been mischievously amused and inclined to enjoy it, looked very grave as the boy, after a particularly outrageous jibeat a highly respectable old gentleman, turned and deliberatelywinked at his "Sanitary Ladies. " "That's old hoss Cameron, " he said. "I made such a mug at the oldterrapin that he'll never be able to recognise my face. " "The--the Secretary of War!" gasped Ailsa. "You very wicked little boy, don't you dare to make another face atanybody!--or I'll--I'll report your conduct to--to the SanitaryCommission!" "Oh, come!" he said blankly, "don't do that, lady! They'll raisehell with me, if you do. I want to get hunky with the Sanitaryboss. " "Then behave yourself!" said Ailsa, furious; "and don't you dare toswear again. Do you hear?" "Yes, ma'am--I will--I won't, I mean. And if I see that oldmudsill, Simon Cameron, I'll take off my cap to him, b'gosh!" It was an anxious and subdued soldier who showed them the door ofthe Commission's office, and stood at attention, saluting carefullyas the ladies passed him. "You won't peach, will you?" he whispered loudly, as Ailsa stoppedto pay the driver. "No, I won't--this time, " she said, smiling, "if you promise to bea very good soldier hereafter. " He promised fervidly. He happened to be on duty at headquarters, and the fear of the Commission had been driven into him deep. Soshe and Letty entered the door with a stream of people whoevidently had business with the officials of the American SanitaryCommission; and a very amiable young man received them in theirturn, took their papers, examined their credentials, noddedsmilingly, and directed them to a small boarding-house on F Street, where, he explained, they had better remain until further orders. There had been some desultory fighting in Virginia, he said, alsothere were a great many sick soldiers in the army. Perhaps, added the young man, they would be sent to one of the cityhospitals, but the chances were that they would be ordered directlyto a field hospital. In that case their transportation would be byarmy waggon or ambulance, or the Commission might send one of itsown mule-drawn conveyances. At any rate, they had better rest andnot worry, because as long as the Commission had sent for them, theCommission certainly needed them, and would see that they arrivedsafely at their destination. Which turned out to be a perfectly true prophecy; for after arefreshing bath in their boarding-house quarters, and a gratefulchange of linen, and an early supper, a big, bony cavalryman cameclanking to their door, saying that a supply train was leaving forthe South, and that an ambulance of the Sanitary Commission waswaiting for them in front of the house. The night was fearfully hot; scarcely a breath of dir stirred astheir ambulance creaked put toward the river. The Long Bridge, flanked by its gate houses, loomed up in the dusk;and: "Halt! Who goes there?" "Friends with the countersign. " "Dismount one and advance with the countersign!" And the Sergeant of cavalry dismounted and moved forward; there wasa low murmur; then: "Pass on, Sanitary!" A few large and very yellow stars looked down from the blacknessabove; under the wheels the rotten planking and worn girders of theLong Bridge groaned and complained and sagged. Ailsa, looking out from under the skeleton hood, behind her, sawother waggons following, loaded heavily with hospital supplies andbaggage, escorted by the cavalrymen, who rode as though exhausted, yellow trimmed shell jackets unbuttoned exposing sweat-soakedundershirts, caps pushed back on their perspiring heads. Letty, lying on a mattress, had fallen asleep. Ailsa, scarcelyable to breathe in the heavy heat, leaned panting against theframework, watching the darkness. It seemed to be a little cooler on the Virginia side after they hadpassed the General Hospital, and had gone forward through thedeserted city of Alexandria. About a mile beyond a slightfreshness, scarcely a breeze, stirred Ailsa's hair. The driversaid to her, pointing at a shadowy bulk with his whip-stock: "That's the Marshall House, where Colonel Ellsworth was killed. God help their 'Tigers' if the Fire Zouaves ever git at 'em. " She looked at the unlighted building in silence. Farther on thewhite tents of a Pennsylvania regiment loomed gray under the stars;beyond them the sentinels were zouaves of an Indiana regiment, wearing scarlet fezzes. Along the road, which for a while paralleled the Orange andAlexandria Railroad, cavalry vedettes sat their horses, carbine onthigh. No trains passed the embankment; once she saw, on aweed-grown siding, half a dozen locomotives apparently intact; butno fire burned in their furnaces, no smoke curled from their hugedrumhead stacks; and on the bell frame of one an owl was sitting. And now, between a double line of ditches, where a battalion ofengineers lay asleep in their blankets, the road entered the pinewoods. Ailsa slept fitfully, but the far challenge and the halting of thewaggon usually awoke her in darkness feebly lit by the rays of acandle-set lantern, swung up inquiringly by the corporal of someguard. And, "Pass forward, Sanitary!" was the invariable formula;and the ambulance rolled on again between a double abattis offallen trees, flanked on either horizon by tall, quiet pines. Once she heard singing; a small company of cavalry-men straggledby, and, seeing their long lances and their Belgian forage caps, she leaned out and asked what regiment it might be. Somebodyanswered: "Escort Squad of Rankin's Lancers, 1st United States. Our regiment is in Detroit, Miss, and thank God we're going backthere. " And they rode on toward Washington, singing their monotonous "DoThey Miss Me at Home" song, till she lost them against the darknessof the distant woods, and dropped back to her bed of shawls andblankets once more. After midnight she slept, and it was only the noise the driver madepulling the canvas cover of the frame above her that awakened her, and she sat up, half frozen, in a fine fog that became a drizzlesoon after the cover was up. "The sunny South, " observed the driver in disgust. "Yesterday thethermometer stood at 105 in Washington, and now look at this hereweather, lady. " Day broke, bitter cold; it was raining heavily; but soon aftersunrise the rain slackened, the fog grew thinner, and the airwarmer. Slowly the sun appeared, at first only a dazzling blotthrough the smother, then brassy, glittering, flooding the chilledearth with radiance. Through steaming fields, over thickets, above woods, the vapourswere rising, disclosing a shining and wet world, sweet and fresh inits early autumn beauty. The road to Fairfax Court House was deep in red mud, set withrunnels and pools of gold reflecting corners of blue sky. Throughit slopped mules and horses and wheels, sending splashes of sprayand red mud over the roadside bushes. A few birds sang; overheadsailed and circled hundreds of buzzards, the sun gilding theirupcurled wing tips as they sheered the tree-tops. And now, everywhere over the landscape soldiers were visible, squads clothed only in trousers and shirts, marching among the oaksand magnolias with pick and shovel; squads carrying saws and axesand chains. A little farther on a wet, laurel-bordered road intothe woods was being corduroyed; here they were bridging the lazyand discoloured waters of a creek, there erecting log huts. Hammerstrokes rang from half-cleared hillsides, where some regiment, newly encamped, was busily flooring its tents; the blows of axessounded from the oak woods; and Ailsa could see great treesbending, slowly slanting, then falling with a rippling crash ofsmashed branches. The noises in the forest awoke Letty. Whimpering sleepily, butwarm under the shawls which Ailsa had piled around her, she sat uprubbing her dark eyes; then, with a little quick-drawn breath ofcontent, took Ailsa's hand. The driver said: "It's them gallus lumbermen from some o' the Maineregiments clearing the ground. They're some with the axe. Yonder's the new fort the Forty Thieves is building. " "The--what?" asked Ailsa, perplexed. "Fortieth New York Infantry, ma'am. The army calls 'em the FortyThieves, they're that bright at foraging, flag or no flag!Chickens, pigs, sheep--God knows they're a light-fingered lot; buttheir colonel is one of the best officers in the land. Whyshouldn't they be a good fat regiment, with their haversacks fullo' the best, when half the army feeds on tack and sow-belly, andthe other half can't git that!" The driver, evidently nearing his destination, becameconfidentially loquacious. "Yonder's Fort Elsworth, ladies! It's hid by the forest, but it'sthere, you bet! If you ladies could climb up one o' them bigpines, you'd see the line of forts and trenches in a half-moon fromthe Chain Bridge at Georgetown to Alexandria, and you'd see theseminary in its pretty park, and, belike, Gineral McClellan in thechapel cupola, a-spying through his spy-glass what deviltry themrebel batteries is hatching on the hill over yonder. " "Are the rebels _there_?" "Yes'm. Little Mac, he lets 'em stay there till he's good 'n'ready to gobble 'em. " Ailsa and Letty stared at the bluish hill, the top of which justshowed above the forest. A young soldier of engineers, carrying a bundle of axes, came alongthe road, singing in a delightful tenor voice the hymn, "Arise, MySoul, Arise!" He glanced admiringly at Ailsa, then at Letty, asthe ambulance drove by, but his song did not falter; and far awaythey heard him singing gloriously through the autumn woods. Presently a brigade medical officer rode up, signalling the driverto stop, with his gloved hand. "Where do you come from, ladies--the General Hospital atAlexandria?" Ailsa explained. "That's good, " he said emphatically; "the brigade hospitals areshort handed. We need experienced nurses badly. " And he pointedacross the fields toward a hillside where a group of farm-housesand barns stood. A red flag napped darkly against the sky from thecupola of a barn. "Is that the hospital?" asked Ailsa, noticing some ambulancesparked near by. "Yes, madam. You will report to Dr. West. " He looked at them for asecond, shook his head thoughtfully, then saluted and wheeled hishorse. "Pass on, Sanitary!" he added to the driver. There was a deeply rutted farm road across the fields, guarded bygates which now hung wide open. Through these the supply waggonsand the Commission ambulance rolled, followed slowly by therain-soaked troopers of the escort. In front of one of the outhouses a tall, bald-headed, jolly-facedcivilian stood in his checked shirt sleeves, washing bloody handsin a tin basin. To Ailsa's question he answered: "I'm Dr. Hammond of the Sanitary Commission. Dr. West is in thewards. Very glad you came, Mrs. Paige; very glad, indeed, MissLynden. Here's an orderly who'll show you your quarters--can'tgive you more than one room and one bed. You'll get breakfast inthat house over there, as soon as it's ready. After that come backhere to me. There's plenty to do, " he added grimly; "we're justsending fifty patients to Alexandria, and twenty-five toWashington. Oh, yes, there's plenty to do--plenty to do in thisGod-forsaken land. And, it isn't battles that are keeping us busy. " No, it was not battles that kept the doctors, nurses, and detailsfor the ambulance corps busy at the front that first autumn andwinter in Virginia. Few patients required the surgeon, few woundedwere received, victims of skirmish or sharpshooting or of their owncomrades' carelessness. But unwounded patients were arrivingfaster and faster from the corduroy road squads, from the outpostsin the marshy forests, from the pickets' hovels on the red-mudbanks of the river, from chilly rifle pits and windy hill camps, from the trenches along Richmond Turnpike, from the stockades atFairfax. And there seemed no end of them. Hundreds of regimentalhospital tents, big affairs, sixty feet long by forty wide, werealways full. The hospitals at Alexandria, Kalorama, the Columbia, and the Stone Mansion, took the overflow, or directed it toWashington, Philadelphia, and the North. In one regiment alone, the Saratoga Regiment, the majority of themen were unfit for duty. In one company only twelve men could bemustered for evening parade. Typhoid, pneumonia, diphtheria, spotted fever were doing their work in the raw, unacclimatedregiments. Regimental medical officers were exhausted. Two steady streams of human beings, flowing in opposite directions, had set in with the autumn; the sick, going North, the newregiments arriving from the North to this vast rendezvous, where agreat organizer of men was welding together militia and volunteers, hammering out of the raw mass something, that was slowly beginningto resemble an army. Through the wards of their hospital Ailsa and Letty saw theunbroken column of the sick pass northward or deathward; from theirshuttered window they beheld endless columns arriving--cavalry, infantry, artillery, engineers, all seeking their allotted fieldsor hillsides, which presently blossomed white with tents and grewblue and hazy with the smoke of camp fires. All day long, rain or sun, the landscape swarmed with men andhorses; all day long bugle answered bugle from hill to hill; drumsrattled at dawn and evening; the music from regimental and brigadebands was almost constant, saluting the nag at sunset, or, withmuffled drums, sounding for the dead, or crashing out smartly atguard-mount, or, on dress parade, playing the favorite, "EveningBells. " Leaning on her window ledge when off duty, deadly tired, Ailsawould listen dully to the near or distant strains, wondering at thestrangeness of her life; wondering what it all was coming to. But if life was strange, it was also becoming very real and veryfull as autumn quickened into winter, and the fever waxed fiercerin every regiment. Life gave her now scant time for brooding--scarce time for thoughtat all. There were no other women at the Farm Hospital except thelaundresses. Every regiment in the newly formed division encampedin the vicinity furnished one man from each company for hospitalwork; and from this contingent came their only relief. But work was what Ailsa needed, and what Letty needed, too. Itleft them no chance to think of themselves, no leisure forself-pity, no inclination for it in the dreadful daily presence ofpestilence and death. So many, many died; young men, mostly. So many were sent away, hopelessly broken, and very, very young. And there was so much todo--so much!--instruments and sponges and lint to hold forsurgeons; bandages, iced compresses, medicines to hand tophysicians; and there were ghastly faces to be washed, and filthybodies to be cleansed, and limp hands to be held, and pillows to beturned, and heads to be lifted. And there were letters to bewritten for sick boys and dying boys and dead boys; there was teaand lemonade and whisky and wine to be measured out and given;there was broth to be ordered and tasted and watched, delicacies tobe prepared; clothing to be boiled; inventories to be made ofdwindling medical supplies and of fresh stores to be ordered orunpacked from the pyramids of muddy boxes and barrels in the courts. There was also the daily need of food and a breath of fresh air;and there were, sometimes, letters to read, None came to Ailsa fromBerkley. No letters came to Letty at all, except from Dr. Benton, who wrote, without any preliminary explanation of why he wrote atall, once every fortnight with absolute regularity. What he had to say in his letters Ailsa never knew, for Letty, whohad been touched and surprised by the first one and had read italoud to Ailsa, read no more of the letters which came to her fromDr. Benton. And Ailsa asked her nothing. Part of Colonel Arran's regiment of lancers was now inWashington--or near it, encamped to the east of Meridian Hill, in afield beyond Seventh Street--at least these were the carefuldirections for posting letters given her by Captain Hallam, whowrote her cheerfully and incessantly; and in every letter hedeclared himself with a patient and cordial persistence thatperhaps merited something more enthusiastic than Ailsa's shy andbrief replies. Colonel Arran had been to see her twice at her hospital thatwinter; he seemed grayer, bigger than ever in his tight blue andyellow cavalry uniform; and on both occasions he had spoken ofBerkley, and had absently questioned her; and after both visits shehad lain awake, her eyes wide in the darkness, the old painstirring dully in her breast. But in the duties of the morning sheforgot sorrow, forgot hope, and found strength and peace in a dutythat led her ever amid the shadows of pain and death. Once Hallam obtained leave, and made the journey to the FarmHospital; but it had been a hard day for her, and she couldscarcely keep awake to talk to him. He was very handsome, verybronzed, very eager and determined as a wooer; and she did notunderstand just how it happened, but suddenly the world's miseryand her own loneliness overwhelmed her, and she broke down for thefirst time. And when Captain Hallam went lightly away about hisbusiness, and she lay on her mattress beside Letty, she could feel, furtively, a new jewel on the third finger of her left hand, andfell asleep, wondering what she had done, and why--too tired toreally care. The sick continued to drift North; new regiments continued toarrive; the steady, tireless welding of the army was going on allaround her, night and day; and the clamour of it filled the sky. Celia Craig wrote her and sent her boxes for herself; but thecontents of the parcels went to her sick men. Camilla wrote herand requested information concerning Stephen, who was, it appeared, very lax in correspondence; but Ailsa had not heard from ColonelCraig since the 3rd Zouaves left Fortress Monroe, and she had noinformation for either Celia or Camilla. Christmas boxes for the hospital began to arrive early; presentscame to Ailsa from Colonel Arran, from Hallam, from Celia andCamilla, Letty had only one gift, a beautiful watch and chain from Dr. Benton; and Ailsa, going up to undress for a short sleep beforesupper, found the girl sitting with the little timepiece in herhand, crying silently all to herself. "Why, dear!" she exclaimed, "what in the world is the trouble?" andput both arms around her. But Letty only laid her head againstAilsa's breast, and sobbed anew, uncomforted. "Won't you tell me what is wrong?" urged Ailsa, mystified. "Yes . . . _I_ am . . . Don't pay attention to what I say, Mrs. Paige. You--you like me, don't you?" "I love you, dear, " "Please--do. I am--very unhappy. " "You are only tired out. Listen; don't the wards look pretty withall the laurel and evergreens and ribbons! Our poor boys will havesomething to remind them of Christmas. . . . I--do you know thatyoung Langley is dead?" "Yes--I helped him--die. Yesterday Dr. West seemed to think hewould get well. But Hammond couldn't stop the gangrene, and he cuthim almost to pieces. Oh--I'm very, very miserable--my boys die sofast--so fast----" "You mustn't be miserable on Christmas Eve! I won't let you besilly!" "I'm gay enough in the wards, " said Letty listlessly; "I've got tobe. Can't I cry a little in my own room?" "No, we haven't time to cry, " said Ailsa decisively. "Lie downbeside me and go to sleep. Flannery has promised to wake us intime for supper. " "I can't get Langley's terrible face out of my mind, " whimperedLetty, cuddling close to Ailsa, as they lay in bed in the wintrydarkness. "It was all drawn up on one side. " "But coma had set in, " said Ailsa gently. "You know, he wasn'tsuffering when he died. . . . You'll write to his mother, won'tyou, dear? Or shall I?" "I will. . . . She wanted to come, you remember, but she'sbedridden. . . . Her only son. . . . Yes, I'll write . . . Ithink Peterson is going to die, next----" "But Levy is getting well, " interrupted Ailsa. "Stop it, Letty dear! I won't let you become morbid. Think ofyour beautiful watch! Think of dear Dr. Benton. " "I--I am, " gaspedLetty, and fell to crying again until she sobbed herself to sleepin Ailsa's tired arms. Supper was spread in Dr. West's private office; Hallam had obtainedleave, and Ailsa expected him; Colonel Arran was in Washington andcould not come, but the company was to be a small one atbest--Ailsa, Letty Lynden, Dr. West, Dr. Hammond, and Hallam wereall who had been expected for Christmas Eve supper. They waited for Hallam until Dr. West decided to wait no longer, saying that he was either stuck in the mud somewhere or had beendetailed for duty unexpectedly. So Ailsa lighted the Christmas candles, and the two young women intheir fresh gray garbs, and the two civilian doctors in cleanclothes, sat down before a rather thin roasted turkey. But thebird proved tender and juicy, and it was beautifully cooked; and aglass of wine sent the colour into Letty's pale cheeks, andstraightened Ailsa's drooping neck. Candles, laurel branches, evergreens, bits of red ribbon, and flagsmade the office very gay and attractive. Dr. West rose anddelivered an unexpected speech, complimenting the ladies andpraising their skill and devotion; then dinner began, and Dr. Hammond told about an intensely interesting operation, which madethe negro waiter turn almost white. "Christmas comes but once a year!" cried jolly Dr. Hammond, warmingup. "Let's be merry!" And he told about another operation evenmore wonderful than the first; and Letty, catching a glimpse of thenegro's wildly rolling eyes, threw back her head and laughed. Itwas the first genuine laughter of the evening, and rested everybody. A few moments later there came a jingle of metal from outside, andHallam walked in, his wonderfully handsome face aglow, and plentyof red mud frozen on his boots. "I've a green orderly outside. Where can I stow him?" he asked, shaking hands and exchanging preliminary Christmas greetings allaround. "I'll attend to him, " said Ailsa, flushed and a little shy as shefelt the significant pressure of Hallam's hand and saw him glanceat her ring. "No, " he insisted, "I'll see to him myself, if you'll tell me wherehe can put the horses and find some supper. " "Poor fellow, " said Ailsa. "Tell him to stable the horses in thenew barn, and go to the kitchen. Wait a moment, Captain Hallam, I'd rather do it myself!" And she turned lightly and ran out tothe dark porch. The trooper holding Hallam's horse: sat his own saddle, wrapped tothe eyes in his heavy overcoat, long lance with its drooping pennonslanting stiffly athwart the wintry wilderness of stars. "Soldier!" she called gently from the porch. "Stable, blanket, andfeed; then come back to the kitchen, and there will be a good hotdinner waiting. " The cavalryman slowly turned his head at the sound of her voice. And, as he made no movement to obey: "There is the stable over there, " she said, pointing across thefrozen field. "Follow that gate path. There's a lantern in thebarn. " An orderly, passing, added: "Come on, lancer. I'm going to the barn myself;" and very slowlythe trooper turned both tired horses and walked them away into thedarkness. When she returned to the table there was considerable laughter overa story chat Hallam had been telling. He jumped up, seated Ailsa, hovered over her for a second with just a suspicion of proprietaryair which made her blush uncomfortably. Talking had becomegeneral, but everybody noted it, and Letty's eyes grew wide andvelvety, and the blood was making her cheeks and lips very pink. Dr. West said: "The new regiment on Pine Knob was recruited fromthe Bowery. I happened to be with Kemp, their surgeon, when sickcall sounded, and I never saw such a line of impudent, ruffianlymalingerers as filed before Kemp. One, I am convinced, haddeliberately shot off his trigger finger; but it couldn't beproven, and he'll get his discharge. Another, a big, hulkingbrute, all jaw and no forehead, came up and looked insolently atKemp. "Kemp said: 'Well, what's the matter with you?' "'Aw, ' said thesoldier, with a leer, 'I've got de lapsy-palls, and I wanter go tode horspittle, I do. ' "I never saw such a mad man as Kemp was. "'So you've got the lapsy-palls, have you?' "'Bet yer boots, I have. ' "'_And_ you want to go to the hospital?' "Aw--w'ats der matter wit youse, Doc. ?' "And Kemp gave him a bang on the eye with his fist, and another onthe nose, and then began to hit him so quickly that the fellowreeled, about, yelling for mercy. "'Sure cure for the lapsy-palls, ' said Kemp; and, turning his glareon the rest of the shivering line: 'Anybody else got 'em?' he askedbriskly. "At that a dozen big brutes sneaked out of the line and hurriedlydecamped; and I don't think that disease is going to be popular inthat regiment. " A shout of laughter greeted the story. All present had seen toomany instances of malingering not to appreciate Surgeon Kemp's curefor a disease which never existed. A plum pudding was brought on and set afire. Ailsa poured theburning sauce over and over it. Dr. Hammond got up and threw somemore pine logs on the fire. Huge shadows rose up and danced in theruddy light, as the candles burned lower. Then Dr. West begananother story, but was checked by the appearance of a hospitalsteward: "Davis, Ward A, No. 3, is very bad, sir. " "Going?" "Yes, sir. " The doctor bent above the table, took a hasty spoonful of pudding, nodded to the company, and went out. "Speaking of malingerers, " began Hammond, "I saw the Colonel of theforty Thieves put down in a most amusing manner the day before BullRun. Shall I tell it? It involves some swearing. " Ailsa laughed. "Proceed, Dr. Hammond. Do you think Miss Lyndenand I have been deaf since we arrived at the front?" "Does anybody in this hospital use bad language?" demanded thedoctor sharply. "Not to us, " said Ailsa, smiling. "But there's an army justoutside the windows. Go on with your story, please. " "Well, then, " said the jolly surgeon, "I was talking with ColonelRiley, when up walks the most honest-looking soldier I think I eversaw; and he gazed straight into the Colonel's eyes as he saluted. He wanted a furlough, it appeared, to go to New York and see hisdying wife. "Riley said: 'Is she very sick?' "'Yes, Colonel. ' "'You have a letter: saying she is very sick?' "'Yes, Colonel. ' "'Well, _I_ also have a letter from your wife. I wanted to makecertain about all the applications for furlough you have beenmaking, so I wrote her. ' "'Yes, Colonel. ' "'And she says that she is perfectly well, and does not want you tocome home!' "The soldier smiled. "'Did you write a letter to my wife, Colonel?' "'I did. " "'Did my wife write to you?' "'She did. And what do you mean by coming here to me with a lieabout your sick wife! Have you anything to say to that?' "'Yes, Colonel. ' "'Then say it!' "'Well, Colonel, all I have to say is that there are two of thedamnedest, biggest liars that ever lived, right here in thisregiment!' "'What!' "The soldier grinned. "'I'm not married at all, ' he said, 'and I'm the biggest liar--andyou can ask the boys who the damnedest liar is. '" When the merriment and laughter had subsided, Hallam told anotherstory rather successfully; then Hammond told another. Then Dr. West returned; the tiny Christmas tree, cut in the forest, andloaded with beribboned cakes and sticks of chocolate and a fewpresents tied in tissue-paper, was merrily despoiled. Ailsa and Letty had worked slippers for the two doctors, greatlyappreciated by them, apparently; Hallam had some embroideredhandkerchiefs from Ailsa, and she received a chain and locket fromhim--and refrained from opening the locket, although everybodyalready had surmised that their engagement was a fact. Letty sent an orderly for her guitar, and sang very sweetly anold-fashioned song: "When the moonlight Shines bright Silvery bright on the sea. " Ailsa sang "Aileen Aroon, " and "Oft in the Stilly Night, " andeverybody, later, sang "The Poor Old Soldier. " The fire glowed red in the chimney; gigantic shadows wavered onwall and ceiling; and, through the Christmas candles dimly burning, the branches of the little evergreen spread, laden with cake andcandy. "They're to have a tree in every ward to-morrow, " said Ailsa, turning toward Hallam. Her eyes smiled, but her voice wasspiritless. A tinge of sadness had somehow settled over thefestivity; Hammond was staring at the fire, chin in hand; Westsipped his wine reflectively; Letty's idle fingers touched herguitar at intervals, as her dark eyes rested on Ailsa and Hallam. Hallam had found in camp a copy of a Southern newspaper; and, thinking it might amuse the company to read it, produced it. Ailsa, looking over his shoulder, noticed a poem called"Christmas, " printed on the first page. "Read it aloud, " he said, laughing. "Let's hear what sort ofChristmas poetry the Johnnies produce. " So, after smilingly scanning the first lines, she began, aloud; buther face had grown very grave, and her low voice thrilled them asshe became conscious of the deeper sadness of the verse. "How grace this Hallowed Day? Shall happy bells from yonder ancient spire Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire Round which our children play? "How shall we grace the Day? With feast and song and dance and homely sport, And shout of happy children in the court, And tales of ghost and fay? "Is there indeed a door Where the old pastimes with their joyful noise And all the merry round of Christmas joys Can enter as of yore? "Would not some pallid face Look in upon the banquet, calling up Dread shapes of battle in the Christmas cup, And trouble all the place? "How can we hear the mirth While some loved reveller of a year ago Keeps his mute Christmas now beneath the snow, In cold Virginia earth--" Her voice suddenly broke; she laughed, slightly hysterical, thetears glittering in her eyes. "I--c-can't--read it, somehow. . . . Forgive me, everybody, Ithink I'm--tired----" "Nerves, " said West cheerily. "It'll all come right in a moment, Mrs. Paige. Go up and sit by Davis for a while. He's going fast. " Curious advice, yet good for her. And Ailsa rose and fled; but amoment later, seated at the side of the dying man, all thought ofself vanished in the silent tragedy taking place before her. "Davis?" she whispered. The man opened his sunken eyes as the sleepy steward rose, gave hisbedside chair to Ailsa, and replaced the ominous screen. "I am here, Private Davis, " she said cheerily, winking away thelast tear drop. Then the man sighed deeply, rested his thin cheek against her hand, and lay very, very still. At midnight he died as he lay. She scarcely realised it at first. And when at length she did, she disengaged her chilled hand, closedhis eyes, drew the covering over his face, and, stepping frombehind the screen, motioned to the steward on duty. Descending the stairs, her pale, pensive glance rested on thelocket flashing on its chain over the scarlet heart sewn on herbreast. Somehow, at thought of Hallam waiting for her below, shehalted on the stairway, one finger twisted in the gold chain. Andpresently the thought of Hallam reminded her of the trooper and thehot dinner she had promised the poor fellow. Had the cook beenkind to him? She hastened downstairs, passed the closed door of the improviseddining-room, traversed the hall to the porch, and, lifting theskirts of her gray garb, sped across the frozen yards to thekitchen. The cook had gone; fire smouldered in the range; and a singlecandle guttered in its tin cup on the table. Beside it, seated on a stool, elbows planted on both knees, faceburied in his spread fingers, sat the lancer, apparently asleep. She cast a rapid glance at the table. The remains of the foodsatisfied her that he had had his hot dinner. Once more sheglanced at him, and then started to withdraw on tiptoe. And he raised his head; and she gazed into the face of Berkley. Neither stirred, although in the shock of discovery she felt thatshe would drop where she stood. Then, instinctively, she reachedfor the table's edge, rested against it, hand clutching it, fascinated eyes never leaving his face. He got up leisurely, walked toward her, made an abrupt turn andfaced her again from the window recess, leaning back against theclosed wooden shutters. Her heart was beating too rapidly for her to speak; she tried tostraighten her shoulders, lift her head. Both sank, and she lookeddown blindly through the throbbing silence. Berkley spoke first; but she could not answer him. Then he said, again, lightly: "A woman's contempt is a bitter thing; but they say we thrive beston bitter medicine. Do you wish me to go, Ailsa? If so, where?I'll obey with alacrity. " She raised her dazed eyes. "W-was that _you_, with Captain Hallam's horse--there in thestarlight--when I spoke?" "Yes. Didn't you know me?" "No. Did you know _me_?" "Of course. I nearly fell out of my saddle. " She strove hard to collect herself. "How did you know it was I?" "How?" He laughed a short, mirthless laugh. "I knew your voice. Why shouldn't I know it?" "Did--had anybody told you I was here?" "No. Who is there to tell me anything?" "Nobody wrote you?--or telegraphed?" He laughed again. "Nobody has my address. " "And you never--received--receive--letters?" "Who would write to me? No, I never receive letters. Why do youask?" She was silent. He waited a moment, then said coolly: "If you actually have anyinterest in what I'm doing--" and broke off with a shrug. At whichshe raised her eyes, waiting for him to go on. "I went into an unattached company--The Westchester Horse--and somefool promised us incorporation with the 1st Cavalry and quickservice. But the 1st filled up without us and went off. And aweek ago we were sent off from White Plains Camp as K Companyto"--he bit his lip and stared at her--"to--your friend ColonelArran's regiment of lancers. We took the oath. Our captain, Hallam, selected me for his escort to-night. That is the simplesolution of my being here. I didn't sneak down here to annoy you. I didn't know you were here. " After a moment she raised her pallid face. "Have you seen Colonel Arran?" "No, " he said shortly. "I--it would give me--pleasure--to recommend you to his--attention. May I write----" "Thank you, no. " There was another painful interval of silence. Then: "May I speak to Captain Hallam about you?" "No, thank you!" he said contemptuously, "I am currying no favours. " Hurt, she shrank away, and the blood mounted to her temples. "You see, " he said, "I'm just a plain brute, and there's no usebeing kind to me. " He added in a lower voice, but deliberately:"You once found out that. " She quivered and straightened up. "Yes, " she said, "I found that out. I have paid very dearly formy--my--" But she could not continue. Watching her, cap hanging in his gauntleted hand, he saw the colourdeepen and deepen in neck and cheek, saw her eyes falter, and turnfrom him. "Is there any forgiveness for me?" he said. "I didn't ask itbefore--because I've still some sense of the ludicrous left inme--or did have. It's probably gone now, since I've asked if it isin you to pardon--" He shrugged again, deeming it useless; and shemade no sign of comprehension. For a while he stood, looking down at his cap, turning it over andover, thoughtfully. "Well, then, Ailsa, you are very kind to offer what you did offer. But--I don't like Colonel Arran, " he added with a sneer, "and Ihaven't any overwhelming admiration for Captain Hallam. And thereyou are, with your kindness and gentleness and--everything--utterlywasted on a dull, sordid brute who had already insulted youonce. . . . Shall I leave your kitchen?" "No, " she said faintly. "I am going. " He offered to open the door for her, but she opened it herself, stood motionless, turned, considered him, head high and eyes steady; "You have killed in me, this night--this Christmas night--somethingthat can never again l-live in me. Remember that in the years tocome. " "I'm sorry, " he said. "That's the second murder I've attempted. The other was your soul. " Her eyes flashed. "Even murderers show some remorse--some regret----" "I do regret, " he said deliberately, "that I didn't kill it. . . . You would have loved me then. " She turned white as death, then, walking slowly up in front of him: "You lie!" she said in even tones. Confronted, never stirring, their eyes met; and in the cold, concentrated fury which possessed her she set her small teeth andstared at him, rigid, menacing, terrible in her outraged pride. After a while he stirred; a quiver twitched his set features. "Nevertheless--" he said, partly to himself. Then, drawing a longbreath, he turned, unhooked his sabre from a nail where it hung, buckled his belt, picked up the lance which stood slanting across achair, shook out the scarlet, swallow-tailed pennon, and walkedslowly toward the door--and met Letty coming in. "Mrs. Paige, " she said, "we couldn't imagine what had become ofyou--" and glancing inquiringly at Berkley, started, and uttered acurious little cry: "You!" "Yes, " he said, smiling through his own astonishment. "Oh!" she cried with a happy catch in her voice, and held out bothhands to him; and he laid aside his lance and took them, laughingdown into the velvet eyes. And he saw the gray garb of SainteUrsula that she wore, saw the scarlet heart on her breast, andlaughed again--a kindly, generous, warm-hearted laugh; but therewas a little harmless malice glimmering in his eyes. "Wonderful--wonderful, Miss Lynden"--he had never before called herMiss Lynden--"I am humbly overcome in the presence of Holy SainteUrsula embodied in you. How on earth did old Benton ever permityou to escape? He wrote me most enthusiastically about you beforeI--ahem--left town. " "Why didn't you let me know where you were going?" asked Letty witha reproachful simplicity that concentrated Ailsa's amazed attentionon her, for she had been looking scornfully at Berkley. "Why--you are very kind, Miss Lynden, but I, myself, didn't knowwhere I was going. " "I--I wanted to write you, " began Letty; and suddenly rememberedAilsa's presence and turned, shyly: "Mrs. Paige, " she said, "this private soldier is Mr. Berkley--agentleman. May I be permitted to present him to you?" And there, while the tragic and comic masks grinned side by side, and the sky and earth seemed unsteadily grinning above and underher feet, Ailsa Paige suffered the mockery of the presentation;felt the terrible irony of it piercing her; felt body and sensesswaying there in the candle-light; heard Letty's happy voice andBerkley's undisturbed replies; found courage to speak, to take herleave; made her way back through a dreadful thickening darkness toher room, to her bed, and lay there silent, because she could notweep. CHAPTER XII In February the birds sang between flurries of snow; but the end ofthe month was warm and lovely, and robins, bluebirds, and cardinalsburst into a torrent of song. The maples' dainty fire illuminedevery swamp; the green thorn turned greener; and the live-oakssprouted new leaves amid their olive-tinted winter foliage, evergreen. Magnolia and laurel grew richer and glossier; azaleas were budding;dog-wood twigs swelled; and somewhere, in some sheltered hollow, aspray of jasmine must have been in bloom, because the faint andexquisite scent haunted all the woodlands. On the 17th the entire army was paraded by regiments to cheer forthe fall of Fort Donnelson. About mid-February the Allotment Commission began its splendid workin camp; and it seemed to Ailsa that the mental relief it broughtto her patients was better than any other medicine--that is, betterfor the Union patients; for now there were, also, in the wards, anumber of Confederate wounded, taken at various times during theskirmishing around Fairfax--quiet, silent, dignified Virginians, and a few fiery Louisianians, who at first, not knowing what toexpect, scarcely responded to the brusque kindness of the hospitalattendants. The first Confederate prisoner that Ailsa ever saw was brought inon a stretcher, a quiet, elderly man in bloody gray uniform, wearing the stripes of a sergeant. Prisoners came more often after that. Ailsa, in her letters toCelia Craig, had mentioned the presence of Confederate wounded atthe Farm Hospital; and, to her delight and amazement, one day latein February a Commission ambulance drove up, and out stepped CeliaCraig; and the next instant they were locked tightly in eachother's arms, "Darling--darling!" sobbed Ailsa, clinging desperately to Celia, "it is heavenly of you to come. I was so lonely, so tired anddiscouraged. You won't go away soon, will you? I couldn't bearit--I want you so--I need you----" "Hush, Honey-bud! I reckon I'll stay a while. I've been a weekwith Curt's regiment at Fortress Monroe. I had my husband tomyse'f fo' days, befo' they sent him to Acquia Creek. And I've hadmy boy a whole week all to myse'f! Then his regiment went away. They wouldn't tell me where. ' But God is kinder. . . . You arecertainly ve'y pale, Honey-bee!" "I'm well, dearest--really I am, I'll stay well now. Is Curt allright? And Stephen? And Paige and Marye?--and Camilla?" "Everybody is well, dear. Curt is ve'y brown and thin--the dearfellow! And Steve is right handsome. I'm just afraid some prettyminx--" She laughed and added: "But I won't care if she's a rebelminx. " "Celia! . . . And I--I didn't think you liked that word. " "What word, Honey-bell?" very demurely. "Rebel!" "Why, I reckon George Washington wore that title without reproach. It's a ve'y good title--rebel, " she added serenely. "I admire itenough to wear it myse'f. " Quarters were found for Mrs. Craig. Letty shyly offered to move, but Celia wouldn't have it. "My dear child, " she said, "I'm just a useless encumbrance 'roundthe house; give me a corner where I may sit and look on and--he'peverybody by not inte'fering. " Her corner was an adjoining section of the garret, boarded up, wall-papered, and furnished for those who visited the Farm Hospitalon tour of inspection or to see some sick friend or relative, orescort some haggard convalescent to the Northern home. Celia had brought a whole trunkful of fresh gingham clothes andaprons, and Ailsa could not discover exactly why, until, on the dayfollowing her arrival, she found Celia sitting beside the cot of awounded Louisiana Tiger, administering lemonade. "Dearest, " whispered Ailsa that night, "it is very sweet of you tocare for your own people here. We make no distinction, however, between Union and Confederate sick; so, dear, you must be verycareful not to express any--sentiments. " Celia laughed. "I won't express any sentiments, Honey-bee. Ireckon I'd be drummed out of the Yankee army. " Then, graver: "IfI'm bitter--I'll keep it to myse'f. " "I know, dear. . . . And--your sympathies would never leadyou--permit you to any--indiscretion. " "You mean in talking--ahem!--treason--to sick Confederates? Idon't have to, dear. " "And. . . You must never mention anything concerning what you seeinside our lines. You understand that, of course, don't you, darling?" "I hadn't thought about it, " said Celia musingly. Ailsa added vaguely: "There's always a government detective hangingaround the hospital. " Celia nodded and gazed out of the open window. Very far away thepurple top of a hill peeped above the forest. Ailsa had told herthat a Confederate battery was there. And now she looked at it insilence, her blue eyes very soft, her lips resting upon one anotherin tender, troubled curves. Somewhere on that hazy hill-top a new flag was flying; soldiers ofa new nation were guarding it, unseen by her. It was the firstoutpost of her own people that she had ever seen; and she looked atit wistfully, proudly, her soul in her eyes. All the pain, all thesolicitude, all the anguish of a Southern woman, and a wife of aNorthern man, who had borne him Northern children deepened in hergaze, till her eyes dimmed and her lids quivered and closed; andAilsa's arms tightened around her. "It is ve'y hard, Honey-bud, " was all she said. She had Dr. West's permission to read to the sick, mend theirclothing, write letters for them, and perform such little officesas did not require the judgment of trained nurses. By preference she devoted herself to the Confederate sick, but shewas very sweet and gentle with all, ready to do anything any sickman asked; and she prayed in her heart that if her husband and herson were ever in need of such aid. God would send, in mercy, somewoman to them, and not let them lie helpless in the clumsy hands ofmen. She had only one really disagreeable experience. Early in March agovernment detective sent word that he wished to speak to her; andshe went down to Dr. West's office, where a red-faced, burly mansat smoking a very black cigar. He did not rise as she entered;and, surprised, she halted at the doorway. "Are you Mrs. Craig?" he demanded, keeping his seat, his hat, andthe cigar between his teeth. "Are you a government detective?" "Yes, I am. " "Then stand up when you speak to me!" she said sharply. "I reckona Yankee nigger has mo' manners than you display. " And the astonished detective presently found himself, hat in hand, cigar discarded, standing while Mrs. Craig, seated, repliedindifferently to his very mild questions. "Are you a Southerner, Mrs. Craig?" "I am. " "Your husband is Colonel Estcourt Craig, 3rd New York Zouaves?" "He is. " "You have a son serving in that regiment?" "Yes. " "Private soldier?" "Yes. " "You are not a volunteer nurse?" "No. " "Your sister-in-law, Mrs. Paige, is?" "Yes. " "Now, Mrs. Craig"--but he could not succeed in swaggering, with hercalm, contemptuous eyes taking his measure--"now, Mrs. Craig, isit true that you own, a mansion called Paigecourt near Richmond?" "I do. " "It was your father's house?" "It was my father's home befo' he was married. " "Oh. Who owns your father's house--the one he lived in after hewas married?" "Mrs. Paige. " "She is your sister-in-law? Your brother inherited this house?And it is called Marye Mead, isn't it?" "Yes. " "It is not occupied?" "No. " "Is Paigecourt--your own house--ah--occupied?" "It is. " "By an overseer?" "By a housekeeper. The overseer occupies his own quarters. " "I see. So you hold slaves. " "There are negroes on the plantations. Mr. Paige, my father, freedhis slaves befo' I was married. " The man looked surprised and incredulous. "How did your father come to do that? I never heard of a Southernslave owner voluntarily freeing his slaves. " "A number of gentlemen have done so, at va'ious times, and fo'va'ious reasons, " said Celia quietly. "Mr. Paige's reason was apersonal matter. . . . Am I obliged to give it to you?" "I think you had better, " said the detective, watching her. "Ve'y well. Mr. Paige happened to find among family papers aletter written by General Washington to my grandfather, in whichhis Excellency said; "'I never mean to possess another slave, it being now among myfirst wishes to see slavery, in this country, abolished by law. 'That is why my father freed his slaves. " The detective blinked; then, reddening, started toward the door, until he suddenly remembered his rudiments of manners. So hehalted, bowed jerkily, clapped the hat on his head and the cigarinto his mouth, and hastily disappeared. When Celia scornfully informed Ailsa what had happened, the latterlooked worried. "You see, " she said, "how easily trouble is created. Somehow theGovernment has learned about your coming here. " "Oh, I had to have a pass. " "Of course. And somebody has informed somebody that you ownPaigecourt, and that you hold slaves there, and therefore you mightbe a suspicious person. And they told that detective to find outall about you. You see, dear, for Curt's sake and Stephen's sakeas well as for your own, you will have to be particularly careful. You see it, don't you?" "Yes, " said Celia, thoughtfully, "I----" The sudden thunder of a field battery drowned her voice. Ailsa ranto the door and looked out, and a soldier shouted to her the newsof the _Monitor's_ combat with the _Merrimac_. Battery afterbattery saluted; regiment after regiment blackened the hill-tops, cheering. At dusk gigantic bonfires flamed. That evening Hallam came unexpectedly. Now Ailsa had neither worn her ring and locket since hersister-in-law had arrived at the Farm Hospital, nor had she toldher one word about Hallam. Since her unhappy encounter with Berkley, outraged pride had aidedto buoy her above the grief over the deep wound he had dealt her. She never doubted that his insolence and deliberate brutality hadkilled in her the last lingering spark of compassion for the memoryof the man who had held her in his arms that night so long--so longago. Never, even, had she spoken to Letty about him, or betrayed anyinterest or curiosity concerning Letty's knowing him. . . . Notthat, at moments, the desire to ask, to know had not burned her. Never had she spoken of Berkley to Hallam. Not that she did notcare to know what this private in Colonel Arran's regiment oflancers might be about. And often and often the desire to knowleft her too restless to endure her bed; and many a night she roseand dressed and wandered about the place under the yellow stars. But all fires burn themselves: to extinction; a dull endurance, which she believed had at last become a God-sent indifference, settled on her mind. Duties helped her to endure; pride, anger, helped her toward the final apathy which she so hopefully desiredto attain. And still she had never yet told Celia about Hallam andhis ring; never told her about Berkley and his visit to the FarmHospital that Christmas Eve of bitter memory. So when, unexpectedly, Hallam rode into the court, dismounted, andsent word that he was awaiting Ailsa in Dr. West's office, shelooked up at Celia in guilty consternation. They had been seated in Celia's room, mending by candle-light, andthe steward who brought the message was awaiting Ailsa's response, and Celia's lifted eyes grew curious as she watched hersister-in-law's flushed face. "Say to Captain Hallam that I will come down, Flannery. " And when the hospital steward had gone: "Captain Hallam is a friend of Colonel Arran, Celia. " "Oh, " said Celia drily, and resumed her mending. "Would you care to meet him, dear?" "I reckon not, Honey-bud. " A soldier had found a spray of white jasmine in the woods thatafternoon and had brought it to Ailsa. She fastened a cluster inthe dull gold masses of her hair, thickly drooping above each ear, glanced at her hot cheeks in the mirror, and, exasperated, went outand down the stairs. And suddenly, there in the star-lit court, she saw Berkley leaningagainst one of the horses, and Letty Lynden standing beside him, her pretty face uplifted to his. The shock of it made her falter. Dismayed, she shrank back, closing the door noiselessly. For a moment she stood leaningagainst it, breathing fast; then she turned and stole through tothe back entrance, traversed the lower gallery, and came into Dr. West's office, offering Hallam a lifeless hand. They talked of everything--every small detail concerning theirpersonal participation in the stirring preparations which weregoing on all around them; gossip of camp, of ambulance; politicalrumours, rumours from home and abroad; and always, through herbrain, ran the insistent desire to know what Berkley was doing inhis regiment; how he stood; what was thought of him; whether theColonel had yet noticed him. So many, many things which she hadsupposed no longer interested her now came back to torment her intoinquiry. . . . And Hallam talked on, his handsome sun-bronzed faceaglow, his eager eyes of a lover fastened on her and speaking toher a different but silent language in ardent accompaniment to hisgaily garrulous tongue. "I tell you, Ailsa, I witnessed a magnificent sight yesterday. Colonel Rush's regiment of lancers, a thousand strong, rode intothe meadow around Meridian Hill, and began to manoeuvre at fullspeed, not far away from us. Such a regiment! Every man ahorseman; a thousand lances with scarlet pennons fluttering in thesunlight! By ginger! it was superb! And those Philadelphians ofthe 6th Pennsylvania Lancers can give our 8th Lancers a thousandkeener points than the ends of their lance blades!" "I thought your regiment was a good one, " she said surprised. "It is--for greenhorns. Every time we ride out past some of thesedirty blue regiments from the West, they shout: 'Oh my! Freshfish! Fresh fish!' until our boys are crazy to lay a lance buttacross their ragged blouses. " "After all, " said Ailsa, smiling, "what troops have really seen waryet--except the regiments at Bull Run--and those who have beenfighting in the West?" "Oh, we _are_ fresh fish, " laughed Hallam. "I don't deny it. ButLord! what an army we _look_ like! It ought to scare the Johnniesinto the Union again, just to look at us; but I don't suppose itwill. " Ailsa scarcely heard him; she had caught the sound of regular andsteady steps moving up and down the wooden walk outside; and shehad caught glimpses, too, of a figure in the starlight, of twofigures, Berkley and Letty, side by side, pacing the walk together. To and fro, to and fro, they passed, until it seemed as though shecould not endure it. Hallam laughed and talked, telling her aboutsomething or other--she did not know what--but all she listened towas the steady footsteps passing, repassing. "Your orderly--" she scarce knew what she was saying--"is thesame--the one you had Christmas Eve?" "Yes, " said Hallam. "How did you know?" "I re--thought so. " "What wonderfully sharp eyes those violet ones of yours are, Ailsa!Yes, I did take Ormond with me on Christmas Eve--the surly brute. " "Or--Ormond?" "That's his rather high-flown name. Curious fellow. I likehim--or try to. I've an odd idea he doesn't like me, though. Funny, isn't it, how a man goes out of his way to win over a nobodywhom he thinks doesn't like him but ought to? He's an odd crab, "he added. "Odd?" Her voice sounded so strange to her that she tried again. "Why do you think him odd?" "Well, he is. For one thing, he will have nothing to do withothers of his mess or troop or squadron, except a ruffianly troopernamed Burgess; consequently he isn't very popular. He could be. Besides, he rides better than anybody except the drill-master atWhite Plains; he rides like a gentleman---and looks like one, withthat infernally cool way of his. No, Ormond isn't very popular. " "Because he--looks like a gentleman?" "Because he has the bad breeding of one. Nobody can find outanything about him. " "Isn't it bad breeding to try?" Hallam laughed. "Technically. But a regiment that elects itsofficers is a democracy; and if a man is too good to answerquestions he's let alone. " "Perhaps, " said Ailsa, "that is what he wants. " "He has what he wants, then. Nobody except the trooper Burgessventures to intrude on his sullen privacy. Even his own bunky haslittle use for him. . . . Not that Ormond isn't plucky. That'sall that keeps the boys from hating him. " "_Is_ he plucky?" Hallam said; "We were on picket duty for three days last week. TheColonel had become sick of their popping at us, and asked fortwelve carbines to the troop. On the way to the outposts theammunition waggon was rushed by the Johnnies, and, as our escorthad only their lances, they started to scatter--would havescattered, I understand, in spite of the sergeant if that manOrmond hadn't ridden bang into them, cursing and swearing andwaving his pistol in his left hand. "'By God!' he said, 'it's the first chance you've had to use thesedamned lances! Are you going to run away?' "And the sergeant and the trooper Burgess and this fellow Ormondgot 'em into line and started 'em down the road at a gallop; andthe rebs legged it. " Ailsa's heart beat hard. "I call that pluck, " said Hallam, "a dozen lancers without acarbine among them running at a company of infantry. I call that aplucky thing, don't you?" She nodded. Hallam shrugged. "He behaved badly to the sergeant, who saidwarmly: ''Tis a brave thing ye did, Private Ormond. ' And 'Is it?'said Ormond with a sneer. 'I thought we were paid for doing suchthings. ' 'Och, ye sour-faced Sassenach!' said Sergeant Mulqueen, disgusted; and told me about the whole affair. " Ailsa had clasped her hands in her lap. The fingers weretightening till the delicate nails whitened. But it was too late to speak of Berkley to Hallam now, too late toask indulgence on the score of her friendship for a man who hadmutilated it. Yet, she could scarcely endure the strain, theovermastering desire to say something in Berkley's behalf--to makehim better understood--to explain to Hallam, and have Hallamexplain to his troop that Berkley was his own most reckless enemy, that there was good in him, kindness, a capacity for betterthings---- Thought halted; was it _that_ which, always latent within herbruised heart, stirred it eternally from its pain-weary repose--thebelief, still existing, that there was something better in Berkley, that there did remain in him something nobler than he had everdisplayed to her? For in some women there is no end to thecapacity for mercy--where they love. Hallam, hungry to touch her, had risen and seated himself on theflat arm of the chair in which she was sitting. Listlessly sheabandoned her hand to him, listening all the time to the footstepsoutside, hearing Hallam's low murmur; heard him lightly venturingto hint of future happiness, not heeding him, attentive only to thefootsteps outside. "Private Berk--Ormond--" she calmly corrected herself--"has had nosupper, has he?" "Neither have I!" laughed Hallam. And Ailsa rose up, scarlet withannoyance, and called to a negro who was evidently boundkitchenward. And half an hour later some supper was brought to Hallam; and thenegro went out into the star-lit court to summon Berkley to thekitchen. Ailsa, leaving Hallam to his supper, and wandering aimlesslythrough the rear gallery, encountered Letty coming from the kitchen. "My trooper, " said the girl, pink and happy, "is going to have_such_ a good supper! You know who I mean, dear--that Mr. Ormond----" "I remember him, " said Ailsa steadily. "I thought his name wasBerkley. " "It is Ormond, " said Letty in a low voice. "Then I misunderstood. Is he here again?" "Yes, " ventured Letty, smiling; "he is escort to--your Captain. " Ailsa's expression was wintry. Letty, still smiling out of hervelvet eyes, looked up confidently into Ailsa's face. "Dear, " she said, "I wish you could ever know how nice he is. . . . But--I don't believe I could explain----" "Nice? Who? Oh, your trooper!" "You don't mistake me, do you?" asked the girl, flushing up. "Ionly call him so to you. I knew him in New York--and--he is somuch of a man--so entirely good----" She hesitated, seeing no answering sympathy in Ailsa's face, sighed, half turned with an unconscious glance at the closed doorof the kitchen. "What were you saying about--him?" asked Ailsa listlessly. "Nothing--" said Letty timidly--"only, isn't it odd how matters arearranged in the army. My poor trooper--a gentleman born--is beingfed in the kitchen; your handsome Captain--none the less gentlyborn--is at supper in Dr. West's office. . . . They might easilyhave been friends in New York. . . . War is so strange, isn't it?" Ailsa forced a smile; but her eyes remained on the door, behindwhich was a man who had held her in his arms. . . . And who mightthis girl be who came now to her with tales of Berkley's goodness, kindness--shy stories of the excellence of the man who had killedin her the joy of living--had nigh killed more than that? What didthis strange, dark-eyed, dark-haired girl know about hisgoodness?--a girl of whom she had never even heard until she sawher in Dr. Benton's office! And all the while she stood looking at the closed door, thinking, thinking. They were off duty that night, but Letty was going back to a NewHampshire boy who was not destined to live very long, and whosefather was on the way from Plymouth to see his eldest son--hiseldest son who had never fought a battle, had never seen one, hadnever even fired his musket, but who lay dying in the nineteenthyear of his age, colour corporal, loved of his guard and regiment. "Baily asked for me, " she said simply. "I can get some sleepsitting up, I think. " She smiled. "I'm happier and--better forseeing my trooper. . . . I am--a--better--woman, " she saidserenely. Then, looking up with a gay, almost childish toss of herhead, like a schoolgirl absolved of misdemeanours unnumbered, shesmiled wisely at Ailsa, and went away to her dying boy from NewHampshire. The closed door fascinated Ailsa, distressed, harrowed her, tillshe stood there twisting her hands between desire and pallidindecision. Leaden her limbs, for she could not stir them to go forward or toretire; miserably she stood there, swayed by fear and couragealternately, now rigid in bitter self-contempt, now shivering lesthe fling open the door and find her there, and she see the mockerydarkening his eyes---- And, "Oh-h!" she breathed, "is there nothing on earth but thisshame for me?" Suddenly she thought of Celia, and became frightened. SupposeCelia had gone to the kitchen! What would Celia think of herattitude toward the son of Constance Berkley? She had never toldCelia that she had seen Berkley or that she even knew of hiswhereabouts. What would Celia think! In her sudden consternation she had walked straight to the closeddoor. She hesitated an instant; then she opened the door. AndBerkley, seated as he had been seated that Christmas Eve, all aloneby the burning candle, dropped his hands from his face and lookedup. Then he rose and stood gazing at her. She said, haughtily: "I suppose I am laying myself open tomisconstruction and insult again by coming here to speak to you. " "Did you come to speak to me, Ailsa?" "Yes. Celia Craig is here--upstairs. I have never told her thatyou have even been in this place. She does not know you are herenow. If she finds out----" "I understand, " he said wearily. "Celia shall not be informed ofmy disgrace with you--unless you care to tell her. " "I do not care to tell her. Is there any reason to distress herwith--such matters?" "No, " he said. "What do you wish me to do? Go out somewhere--"He glanced vaguely toward the darkness. "I'll go anywhere youwish. " "Why did you come--again?" asked Ailsa coldly. "Orders--" he shrugged--"I did not solicit the detail; I could notrefuse. Soldiers don't refuse in the army. " She stood looking at the floor for a moment. Then: "Why have youchanged your name?" "It's not a permanent change, " he said carelessly. "Oh. You wish to remain unrecognised in your regiment?" "While my service lasts. " Her lips formed the question again; and he understood, though shehad not spoken. "Why? Yes, I'll tell you, " he said with a reckless laugh. "I'lltell you why I wear a new name. It's because I love my oldone--and the mother who bore it--and from whom I received it! Andit's because I won't risk disgracing it. You have asked, and_that's_ why! Because--_I'm afraid in battle_!--if you want toknow!--afraid of getting hurt--wounded--killed! I don't know whatI might do; I don't _know_! And if the world ever sees PrivateOrmond running away, they'll never know it was Constance Berkley'sson. And _that's_ why I changed my name!" "W-what?" she faltered. Then, revolted. "It is not true! You are_not_ afraid!" "I tell you I am, " he repeated with a mirthless laugh. "Don't yousuppose I ought to know? I want to get out of bullet range everytime I'm shot at. And--if anybody ever turns coward, I prefer thatit should be trooper Ormond, not trooper Berkley. And that is thetruth, Ailsa. " She was scarcely able to suppress her anger now. She looked athim, flushed, excited, furious. "Why do you say such untruthful things to me! Who was it thatfairly kicked his fellow troopers into charging infantry withnothing but lances against bullets?" Amazed for a second, he burst into an abrupt laugh that rangharshly in the room. "Who told you such cock-and-bull stories, Ailsa?" "Didn't you do it? _Isn't_ it true?" "Do what? Do what the Government pays me for doing? Yes, Ihappened to come up to the scratch that time. But I was scared, every inch of me--if you really want the truth. " "But--you _did_ it?" He laughed again, harshly, but apparently puzzled by her attitude. She came nearer, paler in her suppressed excitement. "Private Ormond, " she faltered, "the hour that you fail under fireis the hour when I--shall be able to--forget--you. Not--until--then. " Neither moved. The slow, deep colour mounted to the roots of hishair; but she was white as death. "Ailsa. " "Yes. " And suddenly he had dropped to one knee, and the hem of her graygarb was against his lips--and it was a thing of another age thathe did, there on one knee at her feet, but it became him as it hadbecome his ancestors. And she saw it, and, bending, laid her slimhands on his head. After a long silence, her hands still resting on his dark hair, shefound voice enough to speak. "I know you now. " And, as he made no answer: "It is there, in you--all that I believed. It was to thatI--yielded--once. " She looked intently down at him. "I think at last you have become--my champion. . . . Notmy--destroyer. Answer me, Philip!" He would not, or could not. "I take you--for mine, " she said. "Will you deny me?" "No, Ailsa. " She said, steadily: "The other--the lesser happiness is tobe--forgotten. Answer. " "It--must be. " She bent lower, whispering: "Is there no wedlock of the spirit?" "That is all there ever was to hope for. " "Then--_will_ you--Philip?" "Yes. Will _you_, Ailsa?" "I--will. " He rose; her fingers slipped from his hair to his hands, and theystood, confronted. She said in a dull voice: "I am engaged to--be--married to CaptainHallam. " "I know it. " She spoke again, very white. "Can you tell me why you will not marry me?" "No, I cannot tell you. " "I--would love you none the less. Don't you believe me?" "Yes, I do now. But I--cannot ask that of you. " "Yet--you would have--taken me without--marriage. " He said, quietly: "Marriage--or love to the full, without it--God knows how right orwrong that may be. The world outlaws those who love withoutit--drives them out, excommunicates, damns. . . . It may be Goddoes, too; but--_I--don't--believe it_, Ailsa. " She said, whiter still: "Then I must not think of--what cannot be?" "No, " he said dully, "it cannot be. " She laid her hands against his lips in silence. "Good night. . . . You won't leave me--too much--alone?" "May I write to you, dear?" "Please. And come when--when you can. " He laughed in the utter hopelessness of it all. "Dear, I cannot come to you unless--_he_ comes. " At that the colour came back into her face. Suddenly she stooped, touched his hands swiftly with her lips--thevery ghost of contact--turned, and was gone. Hallam's voice was hearty and amiable; also he welcomed her with asmile; but there seemed to be something hard in his eyes as he said: "I began to be afraid that you'd gone to sleep, Ailsa. What thedeuce has kept you? A sick man?" "Y-es; he is--better--I think. " "That's good. I've only a minute or two left, and I wanted tospeak--if you'll let me--about----" "Can't you come again next week?" she asked. "Well--of course, I'll do my best. I wanted to speak----" "Don't say everything now, " she protested, forcing a smile, "otherwise what excuse will you have for coming again?" "Well--I wished to-- See here, Ailsa, will you let me speak aboutthe _practical_ part of our future when I come next time?" For a moment she could, not bring herself to the deception; but thememory of Berkley rendered her desperate. "Yes--if you will bring back to Miss Lynden her trooper friend whenyou come again. Will you?" "Who? Oh, Ormond. Yes, of course, if she wishes----" But she could not endure her own dishonesty any longer. "Captain Hallam, " she said with stiffened lips, "I--I have justlied to you. It is not for Miss Lynden that I asked; it is formyself!" He looked at her in a stunned sort of way. She said, forcingherself to meet his eyes: "Trooper Ormond is your escort; don't you understand? I desire tosee him again, because I knew him in New York. " "Oh, " said Hallam slowly. She stood silent, the colour racing through her cheeks. She_could_ not, in the same breath, ask Hallam to release her. It wasimpossible. Nothing on earth could prevent his believing that itwas because she wished to marry Berkley. And she was never tomarry Berkley. She knew it, now. "Who is this Private Ormond, anyway?" asked Hallam, handsome eyesbent curiously on her. And she said, calmly: "I think you did not mean to ask me that, Captain Hallam. " "Why not?" "Because the man in question would have told you had he not desiredthe privilege of privacy--to which we all are entitled, I think. " "It seems to me, " said Hallam, reddening, "that, under thecircumstances, I myself have been invested by you with someprivileges. " "Not yet, " she returned quietly. And again her reply implieddeceit; and she saw, too late, whither that reply led--where shewas drifting, helpless to save herself, or Berkley, or this man towhom she had been betrothed. "I've got to speak now, " she began desperately calm. "I must tellyou that I cannot marry you. I do not love you enough. I amforced to say it. I was a selfish, weak, unhappy fool when Ithought I could care enough for you to marry you. All the fault ismine; all the blame is on me. I am a despicable woman. " "Are you crazy, Ailsa!" "Half crazed, I think. If you can, some day, try to forgive me--Ishould be very grateful. " "Do you mean to tell me that you--you are--have been--in love withthis--this broken-down adventurer----" "Yes. From the first second in my life that I ever saw him. Nowyou know the truth. And you will now consider me worthy ofthis--adventurer----" "No, " he replied. And thought a moment. Then he looked at her. "I don't intend to give you up, " he said. "Captain Hallam, believe me, I am sorry----" "I won't give you up, " he repeated doggedly. "You won't--release me?" "No. " She said, with heightened colour: "I am dreadfully sorry--andbitterly ashamed. I deserve no mercy, no consideration at yourhands. But--I must return your ring--" She slipped it from herfinger, laid it on the table, placed the chain and locket beside it. She said, wistfully: "I dare not hope to retain your esteem--I darenot say to you how much I really desire your forgiveness--yourfriendship----" Suddenly he turned on her a face, red, distorted, with rage. "Do you know what this means to me? It means ridicule in myregiment! What kind of figure do you think I shall cut after this?It's--it's a shame!--it's vile usage. I'll appearabsurd--_absurd_! Do you understand?" Shocked, she stared into his inflamed visage, which anger andtortured vanity had marred past all belief. "Is _that_ why you care?" she asked slowly. "Ailsa! Good God--I scarcely know what I'm saying----" "I know. " She stepped back, eyes darkening to deepest violet--retreated, facing him, step by step to the doorway, through it; and left himstanding there. CHAPTER XIII Berkley's first letter to her was written during that week oflovely weather, the first week in March. The birds never sang moredeliriously, the regimental bands never played more gaily; everycamp was astir in the warm sunshine with companies, regiments, brigades, or divisions drilling. At the ceremonies of guard mount and dress parade the country wasthronged with visitors from Washington, ladies in gay gowns andscarfs, Congressmen in silk hats and chokers, apparently forgetfulof their undignified role in the late affair at Bull Run--evenchildren with black mammies in scarlet turbans and white wooldresses came to watch a great army limbering up after a winter ofinaction. He wrote to her: "Dearest, it has been utterly impossible for me to obtain leave ofabsence and a pass to go as far as the Farm Hospital. I tried torun the guard twice, but had to give it up. I'm going to try againas soon as there seems any kind of a chance. "We have moved our camp. Why, heaven knows. If our generalunderstood what cavalry is for we would have been out longago--miles from here--if to do nothing more than make a few mapswhich, it seems, our august leaders entirely lack. "During the night the order came: 'This division will move at fouro'clock in the morning with two days' rations. ' All night long wewere at work with axe and hammer, tearing down quarters, packingstores, and loading our waggons. "We have an absurd number of waggons. There is an infantryregiment camped near us that has a train of one hundred andthirty-six-mule teams to transport its household goods. It's the77th New York, "The next morning the sun rose on our army in motion. You say thatI am a scoffer. I didn't scoff at that spectacle. We were onFlint Hill; and, as far as we could see around us, the whole worldwas fairly crawling with troops. Over them a rainbow hung. Laterit rained, as you know. "I'm wet, Ailsa. The army for the first time is under sheltertents. The Sibley wall tents and wedge tents are luxuries of thepast for officers and men alike. "The army--that is, the bulk of it--camped at five. We--thecavalry--went on to see what we could see around Centreville; butthe rebels had burned it, so we came back here where we don'tbelong--a thousand useless men armed with a thousand uselessweapons. Because, dear, our lances are foolish things, picturesquebut utterly unsuited to warfare in such a country as this. "You see, I've become the sort of an ass who is storing upinformation and solving vast and intricate problems in order to bekind to my superiors when, struck with panic at their own tardilydiscovered incapacity, they rush to me in a body to ask me how todo it. "Rush's Lancers are encamped near you now; our regiment is not farfrom them. If I can run the guard I'll do it. I'm longing to seeyou, dear. "I've written to Celia, as you know, so she won't be too muchastonished if I sneak into the gallery some night. "I've seen a lot of Zouaves, the 5th, 9th, 10th, and otherregiments, but not the 3rd. What a mark they make of themselves intheir scarlet and blue. Hawkins' regiment, the 9th, is lessconspicuous, wearing only the red headgear and facings, butDuryea's regiment is a sight! A magnificent one from thespectacular stand-point, but the regiments in blue stand a betterchance of being missed by the rebel riflemen. I certainly wishColonel Craig's Zouaves weren't attired like tropical butterflies. But for heaven's sake don't say this to Celia. "Well, you see, I betray the cloven hoof of fear, even when I writeyou. It's a good thing that I know I am naturally a coward;because I may learn to be so ashamed of my legs that I'll never runat all, either way. "Dear, I'm too honest with you to make promises, and far toointelligent not to know that when people begin shooting at eachother somebody is likely to get hit. It is instinctive in me toavoid mutilation and extemporary death if I can do it. I realisewhat it means when the air is full of singing, buzzing noises; whentwigs and branches begin to fall and rattle on my cap and saddle;when weeds and dead grass are snipped off short beside me; whenevery mud puddle is starred and splashed; when whack! smack! whack!on the stones come flights of these things you hear about, andhear, and never see. And--it scares me. "But I'm trying to figure out that, first, I am safer if I do whatmy superiors tell me to do; second, that it's a dog's life anyway;third, that it's good enough for me, so why run away from it? "Some day some of these Johnnies will scare me so that I'll startafter them. There's no fury like a man thoroughly frightened. "Nobody has yet been hurt in any of the lancer regiments except oneof Rush's men, who got tangled up in the woods and wounded himselfwith his own lance. "Oh, these lances! And oh, the cavalry! And, alas! a general whodoesn't know how to use his cavalry. "No sooner does a cavalry regiment arrive than, bang! it's split upinto troops--a troop to escort General A. , another to gallop afterGeneral B. , another to sit around headquarters while General C. Dozes after dinner! And, if it's not split up, it's detailedbodily on some fool's job instead of being packed off under a lineofficer to find out what is happening just beyond the end of thecommander's nose. "The visitors like to see us drill--like to see us charge, redpennons flying, lances at rest. I like to see Rush's Lancers, too. But, all the same, sometimes when we go riding gaily down the road, some of those dingy, sunburnt Western regiments who have been toobusy fighting to black their shoes line up along the road andrepeat, monotonously: "'Who-ever-saw-a-dead-cavalryman?' "It isn't what they say, Ailsa, it's the expression of their dirtyfaces that turns me red, sometimes, and sometimes incites me towild mirth. "I'm writing this squatted under my 'tente d'abri. ' GeneralMcClellan, with a preposterous staff the size of a small brigade, has just passed at a terrific gallop--a handsome, mild-eyed man whohas made us into an army, and who ornaments headquarters with anentire squadron of Claymore's 20th Dragoons and one of our own 8thLancers. Well, some day he'll come to me and say: 'Ormond, Iunderstand that there is only one man in the entire army fit tocommand it. Accept this cocked hat. ' "That detail would suit me, dear. I could get behind the casematesof Monroe and issue orders. I was cut out to sit in a good, thickcasemate and bring this cruel war to an end. "A terribly funny thing happened at Alexandria. A raw infantryregiment was camped near the seminary, and had managed to flounderthrough guard mount. The sentinels on duty kept a sharp lookoutand turned out the guard every time a holiday nigger hove in sight;and sentinels and guard and officer were getting awfully tired oftheir mistakes; and the day was hot, and the sentinels grew sleepy. "Then one sentry, dozing awake, happened to turn and glance towardthe woods; and out of it, over the soft forest soil, and alreadynearly on top of him, came a magnificent cavalcade at fullgallop--the President, and Generals McClellan and Benjamin Butlerleading. "Horror paralyzed him, then he ran toward the guard house, shrieking at the top of his lungs: "'Great God! Turn out the guard! Here comes Old Abe and LittleMac and Beast Butler!' "And that's all the camp gossip and personal scandal that I have torelate to you, dear. "I'll run the guard if I can, so help me Moses! "And I am happier than I have ever been in all my life. If I don'trun under fire you have promised not to stop loving me. That isthe bargain, remember. "Here comes your late lamented. I'm no favorite of his, nor he ofmine. He did me a silly trick the other day--had me up before theColonel because he said that it had been reported to him that I hadenlisted under an assumed name. "I had met the Colonel. He looked at me and said: "'Is Ormond your name?' [Illustration: "'Is Ormond your name?'"] "I said: 'It is, partly. ' "He said: 'Then it is sufficient to fight under. ' "Ailsa, I am going to tell you something. It has to do with me, asyou know me, and it has to do with Colonel Arran. "I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you; but I'm also afraid it will benecessary. "Colonel Arran is your friend. But, Ailsa, I am his implacableenemy. Had I dreamed for one moment that the Westchester Horse wasto become the 10th troop of Arran's Lancers, I would never havejoined it. "It was a bitter dose for me to swallow when my company was sworninto the United States service under this man. "Since, I have taken the matter philosophically. He has notannoyed me, except by being alive on earth. He showed a certainprimitive decency in not recognizing me when he might have done itin a very disagreeable fashion. I think he was absolutelyastonished to see me there; but he never winked an eyelash. I givethe devil his due. "All this distresses you, dear. But I cannot help it; you wouldhave to know, sometime, that Colonel Arran and I are enemies. Solet it go at that; only, remembering it, avoid always anyuncomfortable situation which must result in this man and myselfmeeting under your roof. " His letter ended in lighter vein--a gay message to Celia, a cordialone to Letty, and the significant remark that he expected to seeher very soon. The next night he tried to run the guard, and failed. She had written to him, begging him not to; urging the observanceof discipline, while deploring their separation--a sweet, confusedletter, breathing in every line her solicitation for him, her newfaith and renewed trust in him. Concerning what he had told her about his personal relations withColonel Arran she had remained silent--was too unhappy andastonished to reply. Thinking of it later, it recalled to her mindCelia's studied avoidance of any topic in which Colonel Arranfigured. She did not make any mental connection between Celia'sdislike for the man and Berkley's--the coincidence merely made herdoubly unhappy. And, one afternoon when Letty was on duty and she and Celia werebusy with their mending in Celia's room, she thought aboutBerkley's letter and his enmity, and remembered Celia's silentaversion at the same moment. "Celia, " she said, looking up, "would you mind telling me what itis that you dislike about my old and very dear friend, ColonelArran?" Celia continued her needlework for a few moments. Then, withoutraising her eyes, she said placidly: "You have asked me that befo', Honey-bird. " "Yes, dear. . . . You know it is not impertinent curiosity----" "I know what it is, Honey-bee. But you can not he'p this gentlemanand myse'f to any ground of common understanding. " "I am so sorry, " sighed Ailsa, resting her folded hands on her workand gazing through the open window. Celia continued to sew without glancing up. Presently she said: "I reckon I'll have to tell you something about Colonel Arran afterall. I've meant to for some time past. Because--because mysilence condemns him utterly; and that is not altogether just. "She bent lower over her work; her needle travelled more slowly asshe went on speaking: "In my country, when a gentleman considers himse'f aggrieved, heasks fo' that satisfaction which is due to a man of hisquality. . . . But Colonel Arran did not ask. And when it wasoffered, he refused. " Her lips curled. "He cited the _Law_, "she said with infinite contempt. "But Colonel Arran is not a Southerner, " observed Ailsa quietly. "You know how all Northerners feel----" "It happened befo' you were born, Honey-bud. Even the No'threcognised the code then. " "Is _that_ why you dislike Colonel Arran? Because he refused tochallenge or be challenged when the law of the land forbade privatemurder?" Celia's cheeks flushed deeply; she tightened her lips; then: "The law is not made fo' those in whom the higher law is inherent, "she said calmly. "It is made fo' po' whites and negroes. " "Celia!" "It is true, Honey-bird. When a gentleman breaks the law thatmakes him one, it is time fo' him to appeal to the lower law. AndColonel Arran did so. " "What was his grievance?" "A deep one, I reckon. He had the right on his side--and his ownlaw to defend it, and he refused. And the consequences were ve'ydreadful. " "To--him?" "To us all. . . . His punishment was certain. " "Was he punished?" "Yes. Then, in his turn, _he_ punished--terribly. But not as agentleman should. Fo' in that code which gove'ns us, no man canraise his hand against a woman. He must endure all things; he maynot defend himse'f at any woman's expense; he may not demandjustice at the expense of any woman. It is the privilege of hiscaste to endure with dignity what cannot be remedied or revengedexcept through the destruction of a woman. . . . And Colonel Arraninvoked the lower law; and the justice that was done himdestroyed--a woman. " She looked up steadily into Ailsa's eyes. "She was only a young girl, Honey-bud--too young to marry anybody, too inexperienced to know her own heart until it was too late. "And Colonel Arran came; and he was ve'y splendid, and handsome, and impressive in his cold, heavy dignity, and ve'y certain thatthe child must marry him--so certain that she woke up one day andfound that she had done it. And learned that she did not love him. "There was a boy cousin. He was reckless, I reckon; and she wasve'y unhappy; and one night he found her crying in the garden; andthere was a ve'y painful scene, and she let him kiss the hem of herpetticoat on his promise to go away fo' ever. And--Colonel Arrancaught him on his knees, with the lace to his lips--and the childwife crying. . . . He neither asked nor accepted satisfaction; hethreatened the--_law_! And that settled him with her, I reckon, and she demanded her freedom, and he refused, and she took it. "Then she did a ve'y childish thing; she married the boy--orsupposed she did----" Celia's violet eyes grew dark with wrath: "And Colonel Arran went into co't with his lawyers and hiswitnesses and had the divorce set aside--and publicly made thissilly child her lover's mistress, and their child nameless! Thatwas the justice that the law rendered Colonel Arran. And now youknow why I hate him--and shall always hate and despise him. " Ailsa's head was all awhirl; lips parted, she stared at Celia instunned silence, making as yet no effort to reconcile the memory ofthe man she knew with this cold, merciless, passionless portrait. Nor did the suspicion occur to her that there could be theslightest connection between her sister-in-law's contempt forColonel Arran and Berkley's implacable enmity. All the while, too, her clearer sense of right and justice criedout in dumb protest against the injury done to the man who had beenher friend, and her parents' friend--kind, considerate, loyal, impartially just in all his dealings with her and with the world, as far as she had ever known. From Celia's own showing the abstract right and justice of thematter had been on his side; no sane civilisation could toleratethe code that Celia cited. The day of private vengeance was over;the era of duelling was past in the North--was passing in theSouth. And, knowing Colonel Arran, she knew also that twenty oddyears ago his refusal to challenge had required a higher form ofcourage than to face the fire of a foolish boy's pistol. And now, collecting her disordered thoughts, she began tounderstand what part emotion and impulse had played in the painfuldrama--how youthful ignorance and false sentiment had combined toinvest a silly but accidental situation with all the superficialdignity of tragedy. What must it have meant to Colonel Arran, to this quiet, slow, respectable man of the world, to find his girl wife crying in themoonlight, and a hot-headed boy down on his knees, mumbling thelace edge of her skirts? What must it have meant to him--for the chances were that he hadnot spoken the first word--to be confronted by an excited, love-smitten, reckless boy, and have a challenge flung in his facebefore he had uttered a word. No doubt his calm reply was to warn the boy to mind his businessunder penalty of law. No doubt the exasperated youth defiedhim--insulted him--declared his love--carried the other child offher feet with the exaggerated emotion and heroics. And, once offtheir feet, she saw how the tide had swept them together--sweptthem irrevocably beyond reason and recall. Ailsa rose and stood by the open window, looking out across thehills; but her thoughts were centred on Colonel Arran's tragedy, and the tragedy of those two hot-headed children whom hispunishment had out-lawed. Doubtless his girl wife had told him how the boy had come to bethere, and that she had banished him; but the clash betweenmaturity and adolescence is always inevitable; the misunderstandingbetween ripe experience and Northern logic, and emotionalinexperience and Southern impulse was certain to end in disaster. Ailsa considered; and she knew that now her brief for Colonel Arranwas finished, for beyond the abstract right she had no sympathywith the punishment he had dealt out, even though his conscienceand civilisation and the law of the land demanded the punishment ofthese erring' ones. No, the punishment seemed too deeply tainted with vengeance for herto tolerate. A deep unhappy sigh escaped her. She turned mechanically, seatedherself, and resumed her sewing. "I suppose I ought to be asleep, " she said. "I am on dutyto-night, and they've brought in so many patients from the newregiments. " Celia bent and bit off her thread, then passing the needle into thehem, laid her work aside. "Honey-bud, " she said, "you are ve'y tired. If you'll undress I'llgive you a hot bath and rub you and brush your hair. " "Oh, Celia, will you? I'd feel so much better. " She gave a daintylittle shudder and made a wry face, adding: "I've had so many dirty, sick men to cleanse--oh, incredibly dirtyand horrid!--poor boys--it doesn't seem to be their fault, either;and they are so ashamed and so utterly miserable when I am obligedto know about the horror of their condition. . . . Dear, it willbe angelic of you to give me a good, hot scrubbing. I could go tosleep if you would. " "Of co'se I will, " said Celia simply. And, when Ailsa was ready tocall her in she lifted the jugs of water which a negro hadbrought--one cold, one boiling hot--entered Ailsa's room, filledthe fiat tin tub; and, when Ailsa stepped into it, proceeded toscrub her as though she had been two instead of twenty odd. Then, her glowing body enveloped in a fresh, cool sheet, she layback and closed her eyes while Celia brushed the dull gold massesof her hair. "Honey-bee, they say that all the soldiers are in love with you, even my po' Confederate boys in Ward C. Don't you dare corrupttheir loyalty!" "They are the dearest things--all of them, " smiled Ailsa sleepily, soothed by the skilful brushing. "I have never had one cross word, one impatient look from Union or Confederate. " She added: "Theysay in Washington that we women are not needed--that we are in theway--that the sick don't want us. . . . Some very importantpersonage from Washington came down to the General Hospital andannounced that the Government was going to get rid of all womennurses. And such a dreadful row those poor sick soldiers made!Dr. West told us; he was there at the time. And it seems that thepersonage went back to Washington with a very different story totell the powers that be. So I suppose they've concluded to let usalone. " "It doesn't surprise me that a Yankee gove'nment has no use fo'women, " observed Celia. "Hush, dear. That kind of comment won't do. Besides, some horridstories were afloat about some of the nurses not being all theyought to be. " "That sounds ve'y Yankee, too!" "Celia! And perhaps it was true that one or two among thousandsmight not have been everything they should have been, " admittedAilsa, loyal to her government in everything. "And perhaps one ortwo soldiers were insolent; but neither Letty Lynden nor I haveever heard one unseemly word from the hundreds and hundreds ofsoldiers we have attended, never have had the slightest hint ofdisrespect from them. " "They certainly do behave ve'y well, " conceded Celia, brushing awayvigorously. "They behave like our Virginians. " Ailsa laughed, then, smiling reflectively, glanced at her handwhich still bore the traces of a healed scar. Celia noticed herexamining the slender, uplifted hand, and said: "You promised to tell me how you got that scar, Honey-bud. " "I will, now--because the man who caused it has gone North. " "A--man!" "Yes, poor fellow. When the dressings were changed the agonycrazed him and he sometimes bit me. I used to be so annoyed, " sheadded mildly, "and I used to shake my forefinger at him and say, 'Now it's got to be done, Jones; will you promise not to bite me. 'And the poor fellow would promise with tears in his eyes--and thenhe'd forget--poor boy----" "I'd have slapped him, " said Celia, indignantly. "What a darlingyou are, Ailsa! . . . Now bundle into bed, " she added, "becauseyou haven't any too much time to sleep, and poor little LettyLynden will be half dead when she comes off duty. " Letty really appeared to be half dead when she arrived, and bentwearily over the bed where Ailsa now lay in calm-breathing, rosyslumber. "Oh, you sweet thing!" she murmured to herself, "you can sleep fortwo hours yet, but you don't know it. " And, dropping her garmentsfrom her, one by one, she bathed and did up her hair and crept inbeside Ailsa very softly, careful not to arouse her. But Ailsa, who slept lightly, awoke, turned on her pillow, passedone arm around Letty's dark curls. "I'll get up, " she said drowsily. "Why didn't Flannery call me?" "You can sleep for an hour or two yet, darling, " cooed Letty, nestling close to her. "Mrs. Craig has taken old Bill Symonds, andthey'll be on duty for two hours more. " "How generous of Celia--and of old Symonds, too. Everybody seemsto be so good to me here. " "Everybody adores you, dear, " whispered Letty, her lips againstAilsa's flushed cheek. "Don't you know it?" Ailsa laughed; and the laugh completed her awakening past all hopeof further slumber. "You quaint little thing, " she said, looking at Letty. "Youcertainly are the most engaging girl I ever knew. " Letty merely lay and looked her adoration, her soft cheek pillowedon Ailsa's arm. Presently she said: "Do you remember the first word you ever spoke to me?" "Yes, I do. " "And--you asked me to come and see you. " "Who wouldn't ask you--little rosebud?" But Letty only sighed and closed her eyes; nor did she awaken whenAilsa cautiously withdrew her arm and slipped out of bed. She still had an hour and more; she decided to dress and go out fora breath of fresh, sweet air to fortify her against the heavyatmosphere of the sick wards. It was not yet perfectly dark; the thin edge of the new moon traceda pale curve in the western sky; frogs were trilling; a night-birdsang in a laurel thicket unceasingly. The evening was still, but the quiet was only comparative because, always, all around her, the stirring and murmur of the vast armynever entirely ended. But the drums and bugles, answering one another from hill to hill, from valley to valley, had ceased; she saw the reddening embers ofthousands of camp fires through the dusk; every hill was jewelled, every valley gemmed. In the darkness she could hear the ground vibrate under the steadytread of a column of infantry passing, but she could not seethem--could distinguish no motion against the black background ofthe woods. Standing there on the veranda, she listened to them marching by. From the duration of the sound she judged it to be only oneregiment, probably a new one arriving from the North. A little while afterward she heard on some neighbouring hillsidethe far outbreak of hammering, the distant rattle of waggons, theclash of stacked muskets. Then, in sudden little groups, scatteredstarlike over the darkness, camp fires twinkled into flame. Thenew regiment had pitched its tents. It was a pretty sight; she walked out along the fence to see moreclearly, stepping aside to avoid collision with a man in the dark, who was in a great hurry--a soldier, who halted to make hisexcuses, and, instead, took her into his arms with a breathlessexclamation. "Philip!" she faltered, trembling all over. "Darling! I forgot I was not to touch you!" He crushed her handsswiftly to his lips and let them drop. "My little Ailsa! My--little--Ailsa!" he repeated under hisbreath--and caught her to him again. "Oh--darling--we mustn't, " she protested faintly. "Don't youremember, Philip? Don't you remember, dear, what we are to be toone another?" He stood, face pressed against her burning cheeks; then his armencircling her waist fell away. "You're right, dear, " he said with a sigh so naively robust, soremarkably hearty, that she laughed outright--a very tremulous anduncertain laugh. "What a tragically inclined boy! I never before heard a'thunderous sigh'; but I had read of them in poetry. Philip, tellme instantly how you came here!" "Ran the guard, " he admitted. "No! Oh, dear, oh, dear!--and I told you not to. Philip!_Philip_! Do you want to get shot?" "Now you know very well I don't, " he said, laughing. "I spendevery minute trying not to. . . . And, Ailsa, what do you think?A little while ago when I was skulking along fences and lurking inditches--all for your sake, ungrateful fairone!--tramp--tramp--tramp comes a column out of the darkness!'Lord help us, ' said I, 'it's the police guard, or some horriblemisfortune, and I'll never see my Ailsa any more!' Then I took asquint at 'em, and I saw officers riding, with about a thousandyards of gold lace on their sleeves, and I saw their music trudgingalong with that set of silver chimes aloft between two scarletyaks' tails; and I saw the tasselled fezzes and the white gaitersand--'Aha!' said I--'the Zou-Zous! But _which_?' "And, by golly, I made out the number painted white on theirknapsacks; and, Ailsa, it was the 3d Zouaves, Colonel Craig!--justarrived! And there--on that hill--are their fires!" "Oh, Phil!" she exclaimed in rapture, "how heavenly for Celia! I'mperfectly crazy to see Curt and Steve----" "Please transfer a little of that sweet madness to me. " "Dear--I can't, can I?" But she let him have her hands; and, resting beside him on the railfence, bent her fair head as he kissed her joined hands, let itdroop lower, lower, till her cheek brushed his. Then, turning veryslowly, their lips encountered, rested, till the faint fragrance ofhers threatened his self-control. She opened her blue eyes as he raised his head, looking at himvaguely in the dusk, then very gently shook her head and rested onecheek on her open palm. "I don't know, " she sighed. "I--don't--know--" and closed her lidsonce more. "Know what, dearest of women?" "What is going to happen to us, Phil. . . . It seemsincredible--after our vows--after the lofty ideals we----" "The ideals are there, " he said in a low voice. And, in his tonethere was a buoyancy, a hint of something new to her--somethingalmost decisive, something of protection which began vaguely tothrill her, as though that guard which she had so long mounted overherself might be relieved--the strain relaxed---the duty left tohim. She laid one hand on his arm, looked up, searching his face, hesitated. A longing to relax the tension of self-discipline cameover her--to let him guard them both--to leave all to him--let himfight for them both. It was a longing to find security in thecertainty of his self-control, a desire to drift, and let him beresponsible, to let him control the irresponsibility within her, the unwisdom, the delicate audacity, latent, mischievous, thatneeded a reversal of the role of protector and protected to blossomdeliciously into the coquetry that she had never dared. "Are you to be trusted?" she asked innocently. "Yes, at last. You know it. Even if I----" "Yes, dear. " She considered him with a new and burning curiosity. It was thefeminine in her, wondering, not yet certain, whether it mightsafely dare. "I suppose I've made an anchorite out of you, " she ventured. "You can judge, " he said, laughing; and had her in his arms again, and kissed her consenting lips and palms, and looked down into thesweet eyes; and she smiled back at him, confident, at rest. "What has wrought this celestial change in you, Phil?" shewhispered, listlessly humourous. "What change?" "The spiritual. " "Is there one? I seem to kiss you just as ardently. " "I know. . . . But--for the first time since I ever saw you--Ifeel that I am safe in the world. . . . It may annoy me. " He laughed. "I may grow tired of it, " she insisted, watching him. "I maybehave like a naughty, perverse, ungrateful urchin, and kick andscream and bite. . . . But you won't let me be hurt, will you?" "No, child. " His voice was laughing at her, but his eyes werecuriously grave. She put both arms up around his neck with a quick catch of herbreath. "I do love you--I do love you. I know it now, Phil--I know it as Inever dreamed of knowing it. . . . You will never let me be hurt, will you? Nothing can harm me now, can it?" "Nothing, Ailsa. " She regarded him dreamily. Sometimes her blue eyes wandered towardthe stars, sometimes toward the camp fires on the hill. "Perfect--perfect belief in--your goodness--to me, " she murmuredvaguely. "Now I shall--repay you--by perversity--misbehaviour--Idon't know what--I don't know--what----" Her lids closed; she yielded to his embrace; one slim, detaininghand on his shoulder held her closer, closer. "You must--never--go away, " her lips formed. But already he was releasing her, pale but coolly master of thesituation. Acquiescent, inert, she lay in his arms, thenstraightened and rested against the rail beside her. Presently she smiled to herself, looked at him, still smiling. "Shall we go into Dr. West's office and have supper, Phil? I'm onduty in half an hour and my supper must be ready by this time; andI'm simply dying to have you make up for the indignity of thekitchen. " "You ridiculous little thing!" "No, I'm not. I could weep with rage when I think of _you_ in thekitchen and--and-- Oh, never mind. Come, will you?" And she heldout her hand. Her supper was ready, as she had predicted, and she delightedlymade room for him beside her on the bench, and helped him tofreshly baked bread and ancient tinned vegetables, and somedoubtful boiled meat, all of which he ate with an appetite and areckless and appreciative abandon that fascinated her. "Darling!" she whispered in consternation, "don't they give you_anything_ in camp?" "Sometimes, " he enunciated, chewing vigorously on the bread. "Wedon't get much of this, darling. And the onions have all sprouted, and the potatoes are rotten. " She regarded him for a moment, then laughed hysterically. "I _beg_ your pardon, Phil, but somehow this reminds me of our cookfeeding her policeman:--just for one tiny second, darling----" They abandoned any effort to control their laughter. Ailsa hadbecome transfigured into a deliciously mischievous and bewilderingcreature, brilliant of lip and cheek and eye, irresponsible, provoking, utterly without dignity or discipline. She taunted him with his appetite, jeered at him for his recent andmarvellous conversion to respectability, dared him to make love toher, provoked him at last to abandon his plate and rise and starttoward her. And, of course, she fled, crying in consternation:"Hush, Philip! You _mustn't_ make such a racket or they'll put usboth out!"--keeping the table carefully between them, dodging everystrategy of his, every endeavour to make her prisoner, quick, graceful, demoralising in her beauty and abandon. They behavedlike a pair of very badly brought up children, until she was inreal terror of discovery. "Dearest, " she pleaded, "if you will sit down and resume yourgnawing on that crust, I'll promise not to torment you. . . . Iwill, really. Besides, it's within a few minutes of my tour ofduty----" She stopped, petrified, as a volley of hoof-beats echoed outside, the clash of arms and accoutrements rang close by the porch. "Phil!" she gasped. And the door opened and Colonel Arran walked in. There was a dreadful silence. Arran stood face to face withBerkley, looked him squarely in the eye where he stood at salute. Then, as though he had never before set eyes on him, Arran liftedtwo fingers to his visor mechanically, turned to Ailsa, uncovered, and held out both his hands. "I had a few moments, Ailsa, " he said quietly. "I hadn't seen youfor so long. Are you well?" She was almost too frightened to answer; Berkley stood like astatue, awaiting dismissal, and later the certain consequences ofguard running. And, aware of her fright, Arran turned quietly to Berkley: "Private Ormond, " he said, "there is a led-horse in my escort, incharge of Private Burgess. It is the easier and--safer route tocamp. You may retire. " Berkley's expression was undecipherable as he saluted, shot aglance at Ailsa, turned sharply, and departed. "Colonel Arran, " she said miserably, "it was all my fault. I amtoo ashamed to look at you. " "Let me do what worrying is necessary, " he said quietly. "Iam--not unaccustomed to it. . . . I suppose he ran the guard. " She did not answer. The ghost of a smile--a grim one--altered the Colonel's expressionfor a second, then faded. He looked at Ailsa curiously. Then: "Have you anything to tell me that--perhaps I may be entitled toknow about, Ailsa?" "No. " "I see. I beg your pardon. If you ever are--perplexed--indoubt--I shall always----" "Thank you, " she said faintly. . . . "And--I am so sorry----" "So am I. I'm sorrier than you know--about more matters than youknow, Ailsa--" He softly smote his buckskin-gloved hands together, gazing at vacancy. Then lifted his head and squared his heavyshoulders. "I thought I'd come when I could. The chances are that the armywill move if this weather continues. The cavalry will march outanyway. So I thought I'd come over for a few moments, Ailsa. . . . Are you sure you are quite well? And not overdoing it? Youcertainly look well; you appear to be in perfect health. . . . Iam very much relieved. . . . And--don't worry. Don't cherishapprehension about--anybody. " He added, more to himself than toher: "Discipline will be maintained--_must_ be maintained. Thereare more ways to do it than by military punishments, I know thatnow. " He looked up, held out his hand, retained hers, and patted itgently. "Don't worry, child, " he said, "don't worry. " And went out to theporch thoughtfully, gazing straight ahead of him as his horse wasbrought up. Then, gathering curb and snaffle, he set toe tostirrup and swung up into his saddle. "Ormond!" he called. Berkley rode up and saluted. "Ride with me, " said Colonel Arran calmly. "Sir?" "Rein up on the left. " And, turning in his saddle, he motionedback his escort twenty paces to the rear. Then he walked his big, bony roan forward. "Ormond?" "Yes, Colonel. " "You ran the guard?" "Yes, Colonel. " "Why?" Berkley was silent. The Colonel turned in his saddle and scrutinised him. The lancer'svisage was imperturbable. "Ormond, " he said in a low voice, "whatever you think ofme--whatever your attitude toward me is, I would like you tobelieve that I wish to be your friend. " Berkley's expression remained unchanged. "It is my desire, " said the older man, "my--very earnest--desire. " The young lancer was mute. Arran's voice fell still lower: "Some day--if you cared to--if you could talk over some--matterswith me, I would be very glad. Perhaps you don't entirelyunderstand me. Perhaps I have given you an erroneous impressionconcerning--matters--which it is too late to treat differently--inthe light of riper experience--and in a knowledge born ofyears--solitary and barren years----" He bent his gray head thoughtfully, then, erect in his saddle again: "I would like to be your friend, " he said in a voice perceptiblyunder control. "Why?" asked Berkley harshly. "Is there any reason on God's earthwhy I could ever forgive you?" "No; no reason perhaps. Yet, you are wrong. " "Wrong!" "I say so in the light of the past, Berkley. Once I also believedthat a stern, uncompromising attitude toward error was what Godrequired of an upright heart. " "Error! D-do you admit that?" stammered Berkley. "Are you awakeat last to the deviltry that stirred you--the damnable, misguided, distorted conscience that twisted you into a murderer of souls? ByGod, _are_ you alive to what you did to--_her_?" Colonel Arran, upright in his saddle and white as death, rodestraight on in front of him. . Beside him, knee to knee, rodeBerkley, his features like marble, his eyes ablaze. "I am not speaking for myself, " he said between his teeth, "I amnot reproaching you, cursing you, for what you have done to me--forthe ruin you have made of life for me, excommunicating me fromevery hope, outlawing me, branding me! I am thinking, now, only ofmy mother. God!--to think--to _think_ of it--of her----" Arran turned on him a face so ghastly that the boy was silenced. Then the older man said: "Do you not know that the hell men make for others is what they aredestined to burn in sooner or later? Do you think you can tell meanything of eternal punishment?" He laughed a harsh, mirthlesslaugh. "Do you not think I have learned by this time thatvengeance is God's--and that He never takes it? It is man alonewho takes it, and suffers it. Humanity calls it justice. But Ihave learned that what the laws of men give you is never yours totake; that the warrant handed you by men is not for you to execute. I--have--learned--many things in the solitary years, Berkley. . . . But this--what I am now saying to you, here under the stars--is thefirst time I have ever, even to myself, found courage to confessChrist. " Very far away to the south a rocket rose--a slender thread of fire. Then, to the northward, a tiny spark grew brighter, flickered, swung in an arc to right, to left, dipped, soared, hung motionless, dipped again to right, to left, tracing faint crimson semicirclesagainst the sky. Two more rockets answered, towering, curving, fading, leaving bluestars floating in the zenith. And very, very far away there was a dull vibration of thunder, orof cannon. CHAPTER XIV The tremendous exodus continued; regiment after regiment packedknapsacks, struck tents, loaded their waggons and marched backthrough the mud toward Alexandria, where transports were waiting inhundreds. The 3rd Zouaves were scheduled to leave early. Celia had only afew hours now and then in camp with husband and son. Once or twicethey came to the hospital in the bright spring weather where newblossoms on azalea and jasmine perfumed the fields and floweringpeach orchards turned all the hills and valleys pink. Walking with her husband and son that last lovely evening beforethe regiment left, a hand of each clasped in her own, she strovevery hard to keep up the gaiety of appearances, tried with all hermight to keep back the starting tears, steady the lip thatquivered, the hands that trembled locked in theirs. They were walking together in a secluded lane that led from behindthe Farm Hospital barns to a little patch of woodland through whicha clear stream sparkled, a silent, intimate, leafy oasis amid anarmy-ridden desert, where there was only a cow to stare at them, knee deep in young mint, only a shy cardinal bird to interrupt themwith its exquisite litany. Their talk had been of Paige and Marye, of Paigecourt and theadvisability of selling all stock, dismissing the negroes, andclosing the place with the exception of the overseer's house. AndCelia had made arrangements to attend to it. "I certainly do despise travelling, " she said, "but while I'm sonear, I reckon I'd better use my pass and papers and try to gothrough to Paigecourt. It's just as well to prepare for theimpossible, I suppose. " Colonel Craig polished his eye-glasses, adjusted them, and examinedthe official papers that permitted his wife to go to her estate, pack up certain family papers, discharge the servants, close thehouse, and return through the Union lines carrying only personalbaggage. He said without enthusiasm: "It's inside their lines. To go thereisn't so difficult, but how about coming back? I don't want you togo, Celia. " She explained in detail that there would be no difficulty--a littleproudly, too, when she spoke of her personal safety among her ownpeople. "I understand all that, " he said patiently, "but nobody except thecommander-in-chief knows where this army is going. I don't wantyou to be caught in the zone of operations. " She flushed up with a defiant little laugh. "The war isn't goingto Paigecourt, anyway, " she said. He smiled with an effort. "I am not sure, dearest. All I am sureof is that we march in the morning, and go aboard ship atAlexandria. I _don't_ know where we are expected to land, or wherewe are going to march after we do land. " . . . He smiled again, mischievously. "Even if you believe that a Yankee army is notlikely to get very far into Virginia, Paigecourt is too nearRichmond for me to feel entirely sure that you may not have anothervisit from Stephen and me before you start North. " "Listen to the Yankee!" she cried, laughing gaily to hide thesudden dimness in her blue eyes. "My darling Yankee husband isve'y absurd, and he doesn't suspect it! Why! don't you perfec'lyridiculous Zouaves know that you'll both be back in New York befo'I am--and all tired out keeping up with the pace yo' general setsyou?" But when it was time to say good-bye once more, her limbs grew weakand she leaned heavily on husband and son, her nerveless feetdragging across the spring turf. "Oh, Curt, Curt, " she faltered, her soft cheeks pressed against thestiff bullion on his sleeve and collar, "if only I had the wretchedconsolation of sending you away to fight fo' the Right--fo' God andcountry--There, darling! Fo'give me--fo'give me. I am yo' wifefirst of all--first of all, Curt. And that even comes befo'country and--God!--Yes, it does! it _does_, dear. You are allthree to me--I know no holier trinity than husband, God, and nativeland. . . . _Must_ you go so soon? So soon? . . . Where is myboy--I'm crying so I can't see either of you--Stephen! Mother'sown little boy--mother's little, little boy--oh, it is ve'yhard--ve'y hard----" [Illustration: "_Must_ you go so soon? So soon?"] "Steve--I think you'd better kiss your mother now"--his voicechoked and he turned his back and stood, the sun glittering on thegold and scarlet of his uniform. Mother and son clung, parted, clung; then Colonel Craig'sglittering sleeve was flung about them both. "I'll try to bring him through all right, Celia. You must believethat we are coming back. " So they parted. And at three in the morning, Celia, lying in her bed, started to asitting posture. Very far away in the night reveille was soundingfor some regiment outward bound; and then the bugles blew foranother regiment and another, and another, until everywhere thedarkened world grew gaily musical with the bugle's warning. She crept to the window; it was too dusky to see. But in obscurityshe felt that not far away husband and son were passing throughdarkness toward the mystery of the great unknown; and there, in hernight-dress, she knelt by the sill, hour after hour, straining hereyes and listening until dawn whitened the east and the riversbegan to marshal their ghostly hosts. Then the sun rose, annihilating the phantoms of the mist and shining on columns ofmarching men, endless lines of waggons, horse-batteries, footartillery, cavalry, engineers with gabions and pontoons, and entiredivisions of blue infantry, all pouring steadily toward Alexandriaand the river, where lay the vast transport fleet at anchor, destined to carry them whither their Maker and commanding generalwilled that they should go. To Celia's wet eyes there seemed to be little variation in the dullblue columns with the glitter of steel flickering about them; yet, here and there a brilliant note appeared--pennons fluttering abovelances, scarfs and facings of some nearer foot battery, and, faraway toward Alexandria, vivid squares of scarlet in a green field, dimmed very little by the distance. Those were zouaves--her own, or perhaps the 5th, or the 9th from Roanoke, or perhaps the 14thBrooklyn--she could not know, but she never took her eyes from thedistant blocks and oblongs of red against the green until the woodsengulfed them. Ailsa still lay heavily asleep. Celia opened the door and calledher to the window. "Honey-bud, darling, " she whispered tearfully, "did you know theLancers are leaving?" Ailsa's eyes flew wide open: "Not _his_ regiment!" "Are there two?" "Yes, " said Ailsa, frightened. "That must be the 6thPennsylvania. . . . Because I think--somebody would have toldme--Colonel Arran----" She stared through eyes from which the mist of slumber had entirelycleared away. Then she sprang from her bed to the window: "Oh--_oh_!" she said half to herself, "he wouldn't go away withoutsaying something to me! He couldn't! . . . And--oh, dear--ohdear, their pennons _are_ swallow-tailed and scarlet! It lookslike his regiment--it does--it does! . . . But he wouldn't gowithout speaking to me----" Celia turned and looked at her. "Do you mean Colonel Arran?" And saw that she did not. For a while they stood there silently together, the soft springwind blowing over their bare necks and arms, stirring the frail, sheer fabric of their night-robes. Suddenly the stirring music of cavalry trumpets along the roadbelow startled them; they turned swiftly to look out upon a torrentof scarlet pennons and glancing lance points--troop after troop ofdancing horses and blue-clad riders, their flat forage caps setrakishly, bit and spur and sabre hilt glistening, the morning sunflashing golden on the lifted trumpets. On they came, on, on, horses' heads tossing, the ground shakingwith the mellow sound of four thousand separate hoofs, --and passed, troop on troop, a lengthening, tossing wave of scarlet across theverdure. Then, far away in the column, a red lance pennon swung in a circle, a blue sleeve shot up in salute and adieu. And Ailsa knew thatBerkley had seen her, and that the brightness of the young worldwas leaving her, centred there in the spark of fire that tipped hislance. Now she saw her lover turn in his saddle and, sitting so, ride onand on, his tall lance slanting from stirrup boot to arm loop, themorning sun bright across his face, and touching each metal buttonwith fire from throat to belt. So her lancer rode away into the unknown; and she sat on the edgeof her bed, crying, until it was time to go on duty and sit besidethe dying in the sick wards. They brought her his last letter that evening. "You wicked little thing, " it ran, "if you hadn't taught meself-respect I'd have tried to run the guard to-night, and wouldprobably have been caught and drummed out or shot. We're in abustle; orders, totally unexpected, attach us to Porter's Corps, Sykes's division of regulars. Warren's brigade, which includes, Ibelieve, the 5th Zouaves, the 10th Zouaves, 6th PennsylvaniaLancers, and 1st Connecticut Heavy Artillery. "We've scarcely time to get off; our baggage will never be ready, and how we're going to get to Alexandria and aboard ship is morethan I know. "And I'm simply furious; I'd counted on a dramatic situation, Ailsa--the soldiers farewell, loud sobs, sweetheart faints, lancerdashes away unmanly tears--'Be strong, be br-r-rave, dah-ling!Hevving watches over your Alonzo!' "Not so. A big brawny brute in spurs comes in the dark to stir uswith the toe of his boot. 'Silence, ' he hisses, 'if you can't hearthat damn reveille, I'll punch you in the snoot, an' then mebbeyou'll spread them lop-ears o' yourn!' "Heaven! Your Alonzo is derided by a hireling! "'Pack up, you swallow-tailed, leather-seated, pig-prodding sons ofgaloots!' Thus, our first sergeant, recently of the regulars, roll-call having ended. "Coffeeless, soupless, tackless, we leer furtively at the two days'rations in our haversacks which we dare not sample; lick our chopsreflectively, are cruelly chidden by underlings in uniform, furtherinsulted by other underlings, are stepped on, crowded, bitten, andkicked at by our faithful Arab steeds, are coarsely huddled intoline, where officers come to gloat over us and think out furtheringenious indignities to heap upon us while we stand to horse. Andwe stand there two hours! "I can't keep up this artificial flow of low comedy. The plainfact of the situation is that we're being hustled toward anamphibious thing with paddle-wheels named _The Skylark_, and Ihaven't said good-bye to you. "Ailsa, it isn't likely that anything is going to knock my head offor puncture vital sections of me. But in case the ludicrous shouldhappen, I want you to know that a cleaner man goes before the lastCourt Marshal than would have stood trial there before he met you. "You are every inch my ideal of a woman--every fibre in you isutterly feminine. I adore your acquired courage, I worship yourheavenly inconsistencies. The mental pleasure I experienced withyou was measured and limited only by my own perversity and morbidself-absorption; the splendour of the passion I divine in you, unawakened, awes me, leaves me in wonder. The spiritual tonic, even against my own sickly will has freshened me by mere contactwith the world you live in; the touch of your lips and hands--ah, Ailsa--has taught me at last the language that I sneered at. "Well--we can never marry. How it will be with us, how end, Hewho, after all is said and done, _did_ construct us, knows now. And we will know some day, when life is burned out in us. "Hours, days of bitter revolt come--the old madness for you, theold recklessness of desire, the savage impatience with life, assailme still. Because, Ailsa, I would--I _could_ have made youa--well, an _interesting_ husband, anyway. You were fashioned tobe the divinest wife and . . . I'm not going on in this strain;I'll write you when I can. And for God's sake take care of yourlife. There's nothing left if you go--_nothing_. "I've made a will. Trooper Burgess, a comrade--my formervalet--carries a duplicate memorandum. Don't weep; I'll live tomake another. But in this one I have written you that my mother'sletters and pictures are to be yours--when I have a chance I'lldraw it in legal form. And, dear, first be perfectly sure I'mdead, and then destroy my mother's letters without reading them;and then look upon her face. And I think you will forgive me whenI tell you that it is for her sake that I can never marry. But youwill not understand why. " Over this letter Ailsa had little time to wonder or to make herselfwretched, for that week orders came to evacuate the Farm Hospitaland send all sick and wounded to the General Hospital at Alexandria. A telegram arrived, too, from Miss Dix, who was authorised todetail nurses by the Secretary of War, ordering the two nurses ofSainte Ursula's Sisterhood to await letters of recommendation andwritten assignments to another hospital to be established farthersouth. But where that hospital was to be built nobody seemed toknow. A week later a dozen Protestant women nurses arrived at Alexandria, where they were made unwelcome. Medical directors, surgeons, wardmasters objected, bluntly declaring that they wouldn't endure a lotof women interfering and fussing and writing hysterical nonsense tothe home newspapers. For a while confusion reigned, intensified by the stupendousmobilisation going on all around. A medical officer came to the Farm Hospital and angrily informedAilsa that the staff had had enough of women in the wards; and fromforty cots forty half-dead, ghastly creatures partly rose andcursed the medical gentleman till his ears burned crimson, Ailsa, in her thin gray habit bearing the scarlet heart, stood inthe middle of the ward and defied him with her credentials. "The medical staff of the army has only to lay its case before theSecretary of War, " she said, looking calmly at him, "and that iswhere the Sanitary Commission obtains its authority. Meanwhile ourorders detail us here for duty. " "We'll see about that!" he snapped, backing away. "So will we, " said Ailsa, smiling. But that afternoon she andLetty took an ambulance and went, in great distress of mind, to seeMother Angela, Superior of the Sisters of the Holy Cross, who hadarrived from Indiana ready to continue hospital duties on thePotomac if necessary. The lovely Superieure, a lady of rare culture and ability, tookAilsa's hand in hers with a sad smile. "Men's prejudices are hard to meet. The social structure of theworld is built on them. But men's prejudices vanish when thosesame men fall sick. The War Department has regularised ourposition; it will authorise yours. You need not be afraid. " She smiled again reminiscently. "When our Sisters of the Holy Cross first appeared in the wards, the patients themselves looked at us sullenly and askance. I heardone say: 'Why can't they take off those white-winged sun-bonnets inthe wards?' And another sneered: 'Sun-bonnets! Huh! They looklike busted white parasols!' But, Mrs. Paige, our white'sun-bonnets' have already become to them the symbol they lovemost, after the flag. Be of good courage. Your silver-gray garband white cuffs will mean much to our soldiers before this battleyear is ended. " That evening Ailsa and Letty drove back to the Parm Hospital intheir ambulance, old black Cassius managing his mules withalternate bursts of abuse and of praise. First he would beat uponhis mules with a flat stick which didn't hurt, but made a loudracket; then, satisfied, he would loll in his seat singing inmelodious and interminable recitative: An' I hope to gain de prommis' lan', Yaas I do, 'Deed I do. Lor' I hope to gain de prommis' lan', Dat I do, An' dar I'll flap ma wings an' take ma stan', Yaas I will, 'Deed I will, An' I'll tune ma harp an' jine de Shinin' Ban' Glory, Glory, I hope to gain de prommis' lan'! And over and over the same shouted melody, interrupted only by anoutburst of reproach for his mules. They drove back through a road which had become for miles only agreat muddy lane running between military encampments, halted atevery bridge and crossroads to exhibit their passes; they passednever-ending trains of army waggons cither stalled or rumblingslowly toward Alexandria. Everywhere were soldiers, drilling, marching, cutting wood, washing clothes, cooking, cleaning arms, mending, working on camp ditches, drains, or forts, writing lettersat the edge of shelter tents, digging graves, skylarking--everywhere the earth was covered with them. They passed the camp for new recruits, where the poor "fresh fish"awaited orders to join regiments in the field to which they hadbeen assigned; they passed the camp for stragglers and captureddeserters; the camp for paroled prisoners; the evil-smellingconvalescent camp, which, still under Surgeon General Hammond'sDepartment, had not yet been inspected by the Sanitary Commission. An officer, riding their way, talked with them about conditions inthis camp, where, he said, the convalescents slept on the bareground, rain or shine; where there were but three surgeons for thethousands suffering from intestinal and throat and lung troubles, destitute, squalid, unwarmed by fires, unwashed, wretched, forsakenby the government that called them to its standard. It was the first of that sort of thing that Ailsa and Letty hadseen. After the battles in the West--particularly after the fall of FortDonnelson--terrible rumours were current in the Army of the Potomacand in the hospitals concerning the plight of the wounded--of newregiments that had been sent into action with not a single medicalofficer, or, for that matter, an ounce of medicine, or of lint inits chests. They were grisly rumours. In the neat wards of the Farm Hospital, with its freshly swept and sprinkled floors, its cots in rows, itsdetailed soldier nurses and the two nurses from Sainte Ursula'sSisterhood, its sick-diet department, its medical stores, its twoexcellent surgeons, these rumours found little credence. And now, here in the vicinity, Ailsa's delicate nostrils shrankfrom the stench arising from the "Four Camps"; and she saw theemaciated forms lining the hillside, and she heard the horrible andcontinuous coughing. "Do you know, " she said to Letty the next morning, "I am going towrite to Miss Dix and inform her of conditions in that camp. " And she did so, perfectly conscious that she was probably earningthe dislike of the entire medical department. But hundreds ofletters like hers had already been sent to Washington, and alreadythe Sanitary Commission was preparing to take hold; so, when atlength one morning an acknowledgment of her letter was received, nonotice was taken of her offer to volunteer for service in thatloathsome camp, but the same mail brought orders and credentialsand transportation vouchers for herself and Letty. Letty was still asleep, but Ailsa went up and waked her when thehour for her tour of duty approached. "What do you think!" she said excitedly. "We are to pack up ourvalises and go aboard the _Mary Lane_ to-morrow. She sails withhospital stores. _What_ do you think of that?" "Where are we going?" asked Letty, bewildered. "You poor, sleepy little thing, " said Ailsa, sitting down on thebed's shaky edge, "I'm sure I don't know where we're going, dear. Two Protestant nurses are coming here to superintend the removal ofour sick boys--and Dr. West says they are old and ugly, and thatMiss Dix won't have any more nurses who are not over thirty and whoare not _most_ unattractive to look at. " "I wonder what Miss Dix would do if she saw us, " said Lettynaively, and sat up in bed; rubbing her velvety eyes with the backsof her hands. Then she yawned, looked inquiringly at Ailsa, smiled, and swung her slender body out of bed. While she was doing her hair Ailsa heard her singing to herself. She was very happy; another letter from Dr. Benton had arrived. Celia, who had gone to Washington three days before, to see Mr. Stanton, returned that evening with her passes and order fortransportation; and to Ailsa's astonishment and delight she foundthat the designated boat was the _Mary Lane_. But Celia was almost too nervous and too tired to talk over theprospects. "My dear, " she said wearily, "that drive from the Chain Bridge toAlexandria has mos'ly killed me. I vow and declare there was neverone moment when one wheel was not in a mud hole. All my bonesache, Honey-bud, and I'm cross with talking to so many Yankees, and--do you believe me !--that ve'y horrid Stanton creature gaveorders that I was to take the oath!" "The--oath?" asked Ailsa, amazed. "Certainly. And I took it, " she added fiercely, "becose of myhusband! If it had not been fo' Curt I'd have told Mr. Stantonwhat I thought of his old oath!" "What kind of an oath was it, Celia?" Celia repeated it haughtily: "'I do solemnly swear, in the presence of Almighty God, tofaithfully support the Constitution of the United States, and ofthe State of New York. So he'p me God. '" "It is the oath of fealty, " said Ailsa in a hushed voice. "It was not necessa'y, " said Celia coldly. "My husband issufficient to keep me--harmless. . . . But I know what I feel inmy heart, Honey-bud; and so does eve'y Southern woman--God help usall. . . . Is that little Miss Lynden going with us?" "Letty? Yes, of course. " Celia began to undress. "She's a ve'y sweet little minx. . . . She is--odd, somehow. . . . So young--such a he'pless, cute littlething. . . Ailsa, in that child's eyes--or in her featuressomewhere, somehow, I see--I feel a--a sadness, somehow--like thegravity of expe'ience, the _something_ that wisdom brings to theve'y young too early. It is odd, isn't it. " "Letty is a strange, gentle little thing. I've often wondered----" "What, Honey-bee?" "I--don't know, " said Ailsa vaguely. "It is not natural that ahappy woman should be so solemnly affectionate to another. I'veoften thought that she must, sometime or other, have known deepunhappiness. " When Celia was ready to retire, Ailsa bade her good-night andwandered away down the stairs, Letty was still on duty; she glancedinto the sick-diet kitchen as she passed and saw the girl bendingover a stew-pan. She did not disturb her. With evening a soft melancholy had begunto settle over Ailsa. It came in the evening, now, often--asensation not entirely sad, not unwelcome, soothing her, composingher mind for serious thought, for the sweet sadness of memory. Always she walked, now, companioned by memories of Berkley. Wherever she moved--in the quiet of the sick wards, in the silenceof the moonlight, seated by smeared windows watching the beatingrain, in the dead house, on duty in the kitchen contriving broths, or stretched among her pillows, always the memories came in troopsto bear her company. They were with her now as she paced the veranda to and fro, to andfro. She heard Letty singing happily over her stew-pan in the kitchen;the stir and breathing of the vast army was audible all around herin the darkness. Presently she looked at her watch in themoonlight, returned it to her breast. "I'm ready, dear, " she said, going to the kitchen door. And another night on duty was begun--the last she ever was to spendunder the quiet roof of the Farm Hospital. That night she sat beside the bed of a middle-aged man, a corporalin a Minnesota regiment whose eyes had been shot out on picket. Otherwise he was convalescent from dysentery. But Ailsa had seenthe convalescent camp, and she would not let him go yet. So she read to him in a low, soothing voice, glancing from time totime at the bandaged face. And, when she saw he was asleep, shesat silent, hands nervously clasped above the Bible on her knee. Then her lids closed for an instant as she recited a prayer for theman she loved, wherever he might be that moon-lit night. A zouave, terribly wounded on Roanoke Island, began to fret; sherose and walked swiftly to him, and the big sunken eyes opened andhe said, humbly: "I am sorry to inconvenience you, Mrs. Paige. I'll try to keepquiet. " "You foolish fellow, you don't inconvenience me. What can I do foryou?" His gaze was wistful, but he said nothing, and she bent downtenderly, repeating her question. A slight flush gathered under his gaunt cheek bones. "I guess I'mjust contrary, " he muttered. "Don't bother about me, ma'am. " "You are thinking of your wife; talk to me about her, Neil. " It was what he wanted; he could endure the bandages. So, her coolsmooth hand resting lightly over his, where it lay on the sheets, she listened to the home-sick man until it was time to give anothersufferer his swallow of lemonade. Later she put on a gingham overgown, sprinkled it and her handswith camphor, and went into the outer wards where the isolatedpatients lay--where hospital gangrene and erysipelas were thehorrors. And, farther on, she entered the outlying wing devoted totyphus. In spite of the open windows the atmosphere was heavy;everywhere the air seemed weighted with the odour of decay. As always, in spite of herself, she hesitated at the door. But thesteward on duty rose; and she took his candle and entered the placeof death. Toward morning a Rhode Island artilleryman, dying in great pain, relapsed into coma. Waiting beside him, she wrote to his parents, enclosing the little keepsakes he had designated when conscious, while his life flickered with the flickering candle. Her letterand his life ended together; dawn made the candle-light ghastly; afew moments later the rumble of the dead waggon sounded in thecourt below. The driver came early because there was a good dealof freight for his waggon that day. A few moments afterward thedetail arrived with the stretchers, and Ailsa stood up, drew asidethe screen, and went down into the gray obscurity of the court-yard. Grave-diggers were at work on a near hillside; she could hear theclink clink of spade and pick; reveille was sounding from hill tohill; the muffled stirring became a dull, sustained clatter, neverceasing around her for one instant. A laundress was boiling clothing over a fire near by; Ailsa slippedoff her gingham overdress, unbound the white turban, and tossedthem on the grass near the fire. Then, rolling back her sleeves, she plunged her arms into a basin of hot water in which a littlepowdered camphor was floating. While busy with her ablutions the two new nurses arrived, seated ona battery limber; and, hastily drying her hands, she went to themand welcomed them, gave them tea and breakfast in Dr. West'soffice, and left them there while she went away to awake Celia andLetty, pack her valise for the voyage before her, and write toBerkley. But it was not until she saw the sun low in the west from the deckof the _Mary Lane_, that she at last found a moment to write. The place, the hour, her loneliness, moved depths in her that shehad never sounded--moved her to a recklessness never dreamed of. It was an effort for her to restrain the passionate confessionstrembling on her pen's tip; her lips whitened with the crystruggling for utterance. "Dear, never before did I so completely know myself, never soabsolutely trust myself to the imperious, almost ungovernable tidewhich has taken my destiny from the quiet harbour where it lay, andwhich is driving it headlong toward yours. "You have left me alone, to wonder and to wonder. And whileisolated, I stand trying to comprehend why it was that your wordsseparated our destinies while your arms around me made them one. Iam perfectly aware that the surge of life has caught me up, tossedme to its crest, and is driving me blindly out across the wastespaces of the world toward you--wherever you may be--whatever bethe cost. I will not live without you. "I am not yet quite sure what has so utterly changed me--what hasso completely changed within me. But I am changed. Perhaps dailyfamiliarity with death and pain and wretchedness, hourly contactwith the paramount mystery of all, has broadened me, or benumbedme. I don't know. All I seem to see clearly--to clearlyunderstand--is the dreadful brevity of life, the awful chancesagainst living, the miracle of love in such a maelstrom, theinsanity of one who dare not confess it, live for it, love to theuttermost with heart, soul, and body, while life endures, "All my instincts, all principles inherent or inculcated; allknowledge spiritual and intellectual, acquired; all precepts, maxims, proverbs, axioms incorporated and lately a part of me, seemtrivial, empty, meaningless in sound and in form compared to theplain truths of Death. For never until now did I understand thatwe walk always arm in arm with Death, that he squires us at everystep, coolly joggles our elbow, touches our shoulder now and then, wakes us at dawn, puts out our night-light, and smooths the sheetswe sleep under. "I had thought of Death as something hiding very, very far away. Yet I had already seen him enter my own house. But now Iunderstand how close he always is; and, somehow, it haschanged--hardened, maybe--much that was vague and unformed in mycharacter. And, maybe, the knowledge is distorting it; I don'tknow. All I know is that, before life ends, if there is a chanceof fulfilment, I will take it. And fulfilment means you--my lovefor you, the giving of it, of myself, of all I am, all I desire, all I care for, all I believe, into your keeping--into yourembrace. That, for me, is fulfilment of life. "Even in your arms you tell me that there is to be no fulfilment. I have acquiesced, wondering, bewildered, confused. But, dear, youcan never tell me so again--if we live--if I live to look into youreyes again--never, never. For I shall not believe it, nor shall Ilet you believe it, if only we can win through this deathly battlenightmare which is rising between us--if ever we can find eachother again, touch each other through this red, unreal glare of war. "Oh, Philip--Philip--only to have your arms around me! Only totouch you! You shall not tell me then that our destinies do notmingle. They shall mingle like two wines; they shall becomeutterly confused in one another; I was meant for that; I will notdie, isolated by you, unknown to you, not belonging to you! I willnot die alone this way in the world, with no deeper memory to takeinto the unknown than that you said you loved me. "God alone knows what change misery and sorrow and love and deathhave accomplished in me; never have I stood so alone upon thisearth; never have I cared so for life, never have I so desired tobe a deathless part of yours. "If you love me you will make me part of yours--somehow, some way. And, Philip, if there is no way, yet there is always one way if weboth live. And I shall not complain--only, I cannot die--let lifego out--so that you could ever forget that my life had been part ofyours. "Is it dreadful of me to think this? But the mighty domination ofDeath has dwarfed everything around me, dear; shrivelled the littleman-made formulas and laws; the living mind and body seem morevital than the by-laws made to govern them. . . . God knows whatI'm writing, but you have gone into battle leaving life unfulfilledfor us both, and I assented--and my heart and soul are crying outto you, unreconciled--crying out my need of you across thesmoke. . . . "There is a battery at Cock-pit Point, firing, and the smoke of theguns drifts across the low-hanging sun. It must be only a salute, for our fleet of transports moves on, torrents of black smokepouring out of every tall funnel, paddle-wheels churning steadily. "When the fleet passed Mount Vernon the bells tolled aboard everyboat; and we could see the green trees and a glimmer of white onshore, and the flag flying. "What sadness! A people divided who both honour the sacredness ofthis spot made holy by a just man's grave--gathering to meet inbattle--brother against brother. "But Fate shall not longer array you and me against each other! Iwill not have it so! Neither my heart nor my soul could endure thecruelty of it, nor my reason its wickedness and insanity. From thefirst instant I met your eyes, Philip, somehow, within me, I knew Ibelonged to you. I do more hopelessly to-day than ever--and witheach day, each hour, more and more until I die. You will not letme go to my end unclaimed, will you?--a poor ghost all alone, lostin the darkness somewhere among the stars--lacking that tie betweenyou and it which even death does not know how to sever! "I leave all to you, loving you, wishing what you wish, contentwith what you give--and take--so that you do give and take and keepand hold for life. "It is very dusky; the lights, red and white, glimmer on everytransport. We feel the sea-swell a little. Celia left us, goingashore at Acquia Creek. She takes the cars to Richmond and then toPaigecourt. Letty sits beside me on deck. There were two cases offever aboard and we went down into a dreadfully ill-smelling cabinto do what we could. Now we are here on deck again. Some officersare talking very gaily with Letty. I am ending my letter toyou--wherever you are, my darling, under these big, staring starsthat look down at me out of space. I don't want my ghost to beblown about up there--unless it belongs to you. That is the onlyfear of death I ever have or ever had--that I might die before youhad all of me there is to give. " CHAPTER XV Toward the end of June, as Claymore's new provisional brigade ofSykes's division, Fitz John Porter's superb corps d'armee, nearedthe designated rendezvous, some particularly dirty veteranregiments, bivouacked along the fields, crowded to the roadside, fairly writhing in their scorn and derision. "Fresh fish! Oh--h! Fresh fi--sh!" they shouted. "My God, boys, just see them pretty red pants! Mother! Come and look. Oh, papa, what are they? Sa--ay, would you gentlemen kindly tell us poor oldsodgers what kind ov a hell ov a, dressmaker cut out thempantalettes? I wish I could go out to play with these nice, perlite little boys? Oh, children! why _didn't_ you bring yournursemaids with you?" The 3rd Zouaves marched past the jeering veterans, grinding theirteeth, but making no effort at retort. They knew well enough bythis time that any attempt to retort would be worse than useless. As the head of the column of the 8th Lancers appeared from the Westat the forks of the other road, the dingy veterans fairly danced inmalicious delight: "Excuse us, " they simpered, kissing their dirty finger-tips to thehorsemen, "_ex_-cuse us, please, but do tell us how you left dearold Fift' Avenoo. Them rocking hosses need a leetle new paintwhere they sit down, me lords. Hey, you ain't got any old red silkstockings we can use for guidons, have you? Oh, Alonzo darling!curl my hair an' wet me with expensive cologne!" Colonel Egerton's 20th Dragoons, being in blue and orange, got offeasier, though the freshness of their uniforms was tremendouslyresented; but McDunn's 10th Flying Battery, in brand new uniforms, ran the full fierce fire of chaff; the indignant cannoneers werebegged to disclose the name of the stage line which had suppliedtheir battery horses; and Arthur Wye, driving the showy swing teamof No. 6, Left Section, shouted back in his penetrating voice: "If you want to know who sells broken-down nags to suckers, it'sSimon Cameron!--you Dutch-faced, barrel-bellied, Pennsylvaniascuts!" A bull-like bellow of laughter burst from the battery; even CaptainMcDunn's grin neutralised the scowling visage he turned to concealit. And the fury of the Pennsylvanians knew no bounds; for, fromgeneral to drummer boy, the troops of that great State werehorribly sensitive to any comment on the Hon. Mr. Cameron's horsetransactions. Warren's matchless brigade followed; but the 6th Lancers had seenservice and they were not jeered; nor were the 5th and 10thZouaves, the 1st Connecticut Heavy Artillery and the Rhode IslandBattery. Berkley, riding with his troop, bridle loose in both gauntletedhands, lance swinging wide from stirrup and elbow loop, looked tothe left and noticed Warren's regiments swinging out across thebreezy uplands. Half an hour later he saw the 3rd Zouaves enter awheat field to the left of the road, form on their colour front, unsling knapsacks, and stack arms. McDunn's battery found a gap inthe fence and followed, the guns bumping and bouncing out over apotato field; and presently Egerton's Dragoons turned sharply tothe right and entered a cool road that ran along a bushy hollow. The 8th Lancers kept straight on for five or six hundred yards, until they encountered their regimental quartermaster and campingparty. Then they wheeled to the right, passed through a thin beltof shade trees, across a splendid marl drive and a vast unkemptlawn. Beyond this they skirted a typical planter's house of thebetter class, with its white galleries, green blinds, quarters, smoke houses, barns, and outhouses innumerable; and halted, eachtroop moving to a point a little in the rear of where its horseswere to be secured, and forming one rank. The bugles sounded"Dismount!" Eight hundred sun-burned riders set foot to sod, details were made to hold the horses, lances were stacked, picketropes fixed, shelter tents erected, sabre and bridle hung on thetwelve weapons of the troop-carbineers, and the standard carried toColonel Arran's tent. Directly to the right was a gentle declivity with a clear, rapidstream splashing the bottom grasses. Beyond the stream a low greenhill rose, concealing the landscape and the river beyond. And here, on the breezy meadow slope, Egerton's Dragoons went intocamp and sent out their fatigue parties and grand guards. Company and squadron streets were laid out, sinks dug, sheltertents pitched, firewood brought, horses picketed. Twenty paces infront of each pile of tents the kitchens were established; all theregimental cavalry waggons came up promptly and were parked in therear of the picket line for sick horses; the belated and hatedsutler of the 8th Lancers drove hastily in, deaf to theblandishments of veterans along the roadside, who eyed himmalevolently and with every desire to work him substantial harm. Late in the afternoon there was much visiting along the lines andbetween distant camps; the day was cloudless and perfect; magnoliaand china-berry scented the winds which furrowed every grassyhillside; flags fluttered, breezy gusts of bugle music incited thebirds to rivalry. Peace and sunshine lay over all, and there wasnothing sinister to offend save, far along the horizon, the low, unbroken monotone of cannon, never louder, never lower, steady, dull, interminable; and on the southern horizon a single tallcloud, slanting a trifle to the east, like a silver pillar out ofplumb. Berkley's attention was directed to it by a suspicious comrade;they both gazed at it curiously, listening to the low mutter of thecannonade; then Berkley frowned, folded both gauntlets, placed themin his belt, passed his hand over his freshly shaven chin, and, pocketing his cob pipe, sauntered forth to visit and gossip withthose he knew in other camps. "Hello, Burgess, " he said humorously; "how are you making out?" His late valet's arm twitched instinctively toward the salute hedared not offer; he glanced stealthily right and left beforeanswering: "I am doing very well, sir, thank you. " "I told you to cut out the 'sir, ' didn't I?" "Yes, sir--beg pardon----" Berkley eyed him. "You've got your chance, " he said. "Your rankand mine are equal. Do you take pleasure in continually remindingyourself of your recent position of servitude?" "Sir?--beg pardon----" "Can't you help it? Is it born in you?" Burgess stood silent, considering, then he lifted his ugly face andlooked hard at Berkley. "I am not ashamed of having served you. I am more comfortableunder orders. . . . I liked to dress you up . . . I wish to Godit was that way now. " "Don't you want your independence?" "My independence, " repeated Burgess, "I had it--more of it when Iwas looking out for you, sir, than I have now in this damnregiment----" "Well, what did you enlist for?" "You've asked me that many times, sir, and I don't know. . . . I'drather be around, handy like----" "You'll get killed some day, don't you know it?" "No, sir. I guess you'll look out for me. You always did. " "How the devil can I prevent one of those big shells from knockingyou off your horse!" Burgess, patient, undisturbed, let the, question go with a slightsmile. "What a jackass you are!" said Berkley irritably; "here's a dollarto get some pie. And if you can cheat that cursed sutler, do it!" He himself purchased two big pies from the sutler after an angryhaggle in which he was easily worsted; and he munched awaycontentedly as he walked toward the lines of the 3rd Zouaves, hisspurs and sabre jingling, Burgess following respectfully at heel. "Hello, Steve!" he called out to a sun-burnt young zouave who wasdrying his freshly washed turban in the hill breeze. "I alwaysheard you fellows wore infant's underclothes, but I never believedit before!" "That's my turban, you idiot!" retorted Stephen, turning red asseveral of McDunn's artillerymen began to laugh. But he came overand shook hands and accepted a big piece of pie without furtherresentment. "Hello, Burgess, " he added. "How do you do, sir. " "That damned Dutch sutler of ours, " commented Berkley, "puts clayin his pie-erust. We'll certainly have to fix him before long. How are you, Steve, anyway?" "Both socks full of tallow; otherwise I'm feeling fine, " said theboy. "Did you hear those dirty Bucktail veterans back there pokingfun at us? Well, we never answer 'em nowadays; but the Zouaves aregetting fearfully sick of it; and if we don't go into battle prettysoon there'll be a private war on--" he winked--"with thosePennsylvanians, you bet. And I guess the Lancers will be in it, too. " Berkley cast an evil eye on a pair of Pennsylvania soldiers who hadcome to see how the Zou-zous made camp; then he shrugged hisshoulders, watching Burgess, who had started away to roam hungrilyaround the sutler's camp again. "After all, " he said, "these veterans have a right to jeer at us. They've seen war; and now they know whether they'll fight or runaway. It's more than we know, so far. " "Well, I tell you, " said Stephen candidly, "there's no chance of myrunning away. A fellow can't skedaddle when his father's lookingat him. Besides, Phil, I don't know how it is, but I'm not verymuch afraid, not as much as I thought I'd be. " Berkley looked at him curiously. "Have you been much under fire?" "Only that affair at the Blue Bridge--you know yourself how it was. After the first shell had made me rather sick at my stomach I wasall right--except that I hated to see father sitting up there onhis horse while we were all lying snug in the wheat. . . . How didyou feel when the big shells came over?" "Bad, " said Berkley briefly. "Sick?" "Worse. " "I don't see why you should feel queer, Phil--after that bullything you did with the escort----" "Oh, hell!" cut in Berkley savagely, "I'm sick of hearing about it. If you all knew that I was too scared to realise what I was doingyou'd let up on that episode. " Stephen laughed. "I hope our boys get scared in the sameway. . . . Hello, here's a friend of yours I believe----" They turned to encounter Casson, the big dragoon, arm in arm withthe artilleryman, Arthur Wye. "Give us some pie, you son of a gun!" they suggestedunceremoniously; and when supplied and munching, they all lockedarms and strolled out across the grass toward the hill, wherealready, dark against the blinding blue, hundreds of idle soldiershad gathered to sit on the turf and stare at the tall cloud on thehorizon, or watch the signal officer on the higher hill beyond, seated at his telescope, while, beside him, a soldier swung dirtysquare flags in the wind, As they arrived on the crest a quick exclamation escaped them; forthere, beyond, mile on mile, lay the armed host of which theirregiments were tiny portions. "Lord!" said Stephen in a low, surprised voice, "did you fellowsknow that the whole army was near here?" "Not I, " said Berkley, gazing spellbound out across the rollingpanorama of river, swamp, woods, and fields. "I don't believe itoccurs very often, either--the chance to see an entire army all atonce, encamped right at your feet. What a lot of people andanimals!" They sat down, cross-legged, enjoying their pie, eyes wanderingwonderingly over the magic landscape. Here and there a marqueemarked some general's headquarters, but except for these there wereno tents save shelter tents in sight, and not so many of these, because many divisions had bivouacked, and others were incantonments where the white cupola of some house glimmered, or thethin spire of a church pierced green trees. Here and there they noted and pointed out to each other roads overwhich cavalry moved or long waggon trains crept. Down along theswamps that edged the river they could see soldiers buildingcorduroy, repairing bridges, digging ditches, and, in one spot, erecting a fort. "Oh, hell, " said Casson, whose regiment, dismounted, had servedmuddy apprenticeship along the York River, "if they're going tobegin that kind of thing again I'd rather be at home laying gaspipes on Broadway!" "What kind of thing?" demanded Stephen. "That road making, swamp digging--all that fixing up forts for bigguns that nobody has a chance to fire because the Johnnies get outjust when everything's ready to blow 'em into the Union again. A--h!" he added in disgust, "didn't we have a dose of that atYorktown and Williamsburg? Why doesn't Little Mac start ushell-bent for Richmond and let us catch 'em on the jump?" For a while, their mouths full of pie, the soldiers, with theexception of Berkley, criticised their commander-in-chief, freely--their corps commanders, and every officer down to theirparticular corporals. That lasted for ten minutes. Then one andall began comparing these same maligned officers most favourablywith other officers of other corps; and they ended, as usual, byendorsing their commander-in-chief with enthusiasm, and by praisingevery officer under whom they served. Then they boasted of their individual regiments--all exceptBerkley--extolling their discipline, their marching, their foragingefficiency, their martyr-like endurance. "What's your Colonel like, anyway?" inquired Casson, turning toBerkley. "He's a good officer, " said the latter indifferently. "Do you like him?" "He has--merit. " "Jerusalem!" laughed Wye, "if that isn't a kick in the seat of hispants!" Berkley reddened. "You're mistaken, Arthur. " "Didn't you tell me at Alexandria that you hated him?" "I said that--yes. I was disappointed because the WestchesterHorse was not attached to John Casson's regiment. . . . Idon't--dislike Colonel Arran. " Berkley was still red; he lay in the grass on his stomach, watchingthe big cloud pile on the horizon. "You know, " said Casson, "that part of our army stretches as far asthat smoke. We're the rear-guard. " "Listen to the guns, " said Wye, pretending technical familiarityeven at that distance. "They're big fellows--those Dahlgrens andColumbiads----" "Oh, bosh!" snapped Casson, "you can't tell a howitzer from arocket!" Wye sat up, thoroughly offended. "To prove _your_ dense ignorance, you yellow-bellied dragoon, let me ask you a simple question: Whena shell is fired toward you _can_ you see it coming?" "Certainly. Didn't we see the big shells at Yorktown----" "Wait! When a solid shot is fired, can you see it when it iscoming toward you?" "Certainly----" "No you can't, you ignoramus! You can see a shell coming or going;you can see a solid shot going--never coming from the enemy's guns. Aw! go soak that bull head of yours and wear a lady-like havelock!" The bickering discussion became general for a moment, then, stilldisputing, Casson and Wye walked off toward camp, and Stephen andBerkley followed. "Have you heard from your mother?" asked the latter, as theysauntered along over the grass. "Yes, twice. Father was worried half to death because she hadn'tyet left Paigecourt. Isn't it strange, Phil, that after all we'reso near mother's old home? And father was all against her going, Itell you, I'm worried. " "She has probably gone by this time, " observed Berkley. The boy nodded doubtfully; then: "I had a fine letter from Ailsa. She sent me twenty dollars, " he added naively, "but our sutler hasgot it all. " "What did Ailsa say?" asked Berkley casually. "Oh, she enquired about father and me--and you, too, I believe. Oh, yes; she wanted me to say to you that she was well---and so isthat other girl--what's her name?" "Letty Lynden?" "Oh, yes--Letty Lynden. They're in a horrible kind of a temporaryhospital down on the York River along with the Sisters of Charity;and she said she had just received orders to pack up and start westwith the ambulances. " "West?" "I believe so. " After a silence Berkley said: "I heard from her yesterday. " "You did!" "Yes. Unless your father already knows, it might be well to say tohim that Ailsa's ambulance train is ordered to rendezvous in therear of the 5th Provisional Corps head-quarters. " "Our corps!" "That looks like it, doesn't it? The 5th Provisional Corps isPorter's. " He turned and looked back, out across the country. "She may be somewhere out yonder, at this very moment, Steve. " Hemade a vague gesture toward the west, stood looking for a while, then turned and walked slowly on with head lowered. "I wish my mother and Ailsa were back in New York, " said the boyfretfully. "I don't see why the whole family should get into hotwater at the same time. " "It wouldn't surprise me very much if Ailsa's ambulance landedbeside your mother's door at Paigecourt, " said Berkley. "Thehead-quarters of the 5th Corps cannot be very far from Paigecourt. "At the cavalry lines he offered his hand to Stephen in farewell. "Good-bye, " said the boy. "I wish you the luck of the 6th Lancers. Since Hanover Court-House nobody calls 'em 'fresh fish'--justbecause they charged a few Johnnies with the lance and took a fewprisoners and lost thirty horses. " Berkley laughed. "Thanks; and I wish you the luck of the 5thZouaves. They're into everything, I hear, particularly hen-coopsand pigpens. Casson says they live high in the 5th Zouaves. . . Good-bye, old fellow . . . Will you remember me to your father?" "I will when he lets me talk to him, " grinned Stephen. "We're adisciplined regiment--I found that out right away--and there'snothing soft for me to expect just because my father is colonel andJosiah Lent happens to be major. " The regimental bands played the next day; the distant cannonade hadceased; sunshine fell from a cloudless sky, and the army watched amilitary balloon, the "Intrepid, " high glistening above the river, its cables trailing in gracious curves earthward. Porter's 5th Corps now formed the rear-guard of the army; entireregiments went on picket, even the two regiments of Lancers tooktheir turn, though not armed for that duty. During the day therehad been some unusually brisk firing along the river, near enoughto cause regiments that had never been under fire to prick up athousand pairs of ears and listen. As the day lengthened towardevening, picket firing became incessant, and the occasional solidreport of a cannon from the shore opposite disclosed the presenceof Confederate batteries, the nearness of which surprised many anuntried soldier. Toward sundown Berkley saw a business-like cavalry officer rideinto camp with an escort of the 5th Regulars. Men around him saidthat the officer was General Philip St. George Cooke, and that thechances were that the regiments of the reserve were going intoaction pretty soon. About 3 o'clock the next morning boots and saddles sounded from thehead-quarters of the Cavalry Reserve brigade and the 5th and 6thUnited States Cavalry, followed by Colonel Rush's Lancers, rode outof their camp grounds and were presently followed by the 1st UnitedStates and a squadron of Pennsylvania carbineers. The troopers of the 8th Lancers watched them ride away in the dawn;but mo orders came to follow them, and, discontented, muttering, they went sullenly about their duties, wondering why they, also, had not been called on. That nobody had caught the great Confederate cavalryman did notconsole them; they had to listen to the jeers of the infantry, blaming them for Stuart's great raid around the entire Union army;in sickening reiteration came the question: "Who ever saw a deadcavalryman?" And, besides, one morning in a road near camp, someof the 8th Lancers heard comments from a group of general officerswhich were not at all flattering to their own cavalry. "You see, " said a burly colonel of engineers, "that this armydoesn't know what real cavalry looks like--except when it gets aglimpse of Jeb Stuart's command. " An infantry colonel coincided with him, profanely: "That damned rebel cavalry chases ours with a regularity andpersistence that makes me ill. Did the world ever see the like ofit? You send out one of our mounted regiments to look for amounted rebel regiment, and the moment it finds what it's lookin'for the rebs give a pleased sort of yell, and ours turn tail. Because it's become a habit: that's why our cavalry runs! And thenthe fun begins! Lord God Almighty! what's the matter with ourcavalry?" "You can't make cavalry in a few months, " observed a colonel ofheavy artillery, stretching his fat, scarlet-striped legs in hisstirrups. "What do you expect? Every man, woman, and child southof Mason and Dixon's Line knows how to ride. The Southerners areborn horsemen. We in the North are not. That's the difference. We've got to learn to be. Take a raw soldier and send him forthmounted on an animal with which he has only a most formalacquaintance, and his terrors are increased twofold. When you givehim a sabre, pistol, and carbine, to take care of when he has allhe can do to take care of himself, those terrors increase inproportion. _Then_ show him the enemy and send him intobattle--and what is the result? Skedaddle! "Don't make any mistake; we haven't any cavalry yet. Some day wewill, when our men learn to ride faster than a walk. " "God!" muttered a brigadier-general under his white moustache;"it's been a bitter pill to swallow--this raid around our entirearmy by fifteen hundred of Jeb Stuart's riders and two iron guns!" The half dozen lancers, lying on their bellies in the grass on thebank above the road where this discussion took place remainedcrimson, mute, paralysed with mortification. Was _that_ what thearmy thought of them? But they had little time for nursing their mortification thatmorning; the firing along the river was breaking out in patcheswith a viciousness and volume heretofore unheard; and a six-gunConfederate field battery had joined in, arousing the entire campof Claymore's brigade. Louder and louder grew the uproar along theriver; smoke rose and took silvery-edged shape in the sunshine;bugles were calling to the colours regiments encamped on the right;a light battery trotted out across a distant meadow, unlimbered andwent smartly into action. About noon the bugles summoned the 3rd Zouaves. As they wereforming, the camps of the 8th Lancers and the 10th Light Batteryrang with bugle music. Berkley, standing to horse, saw the Zouavesleaving the hill at a jog-trot, their red legs twinkling; but halfway down the slope they were halted to dress ranks; and theLancers, cantering ahead, turned westward and moved off along theedge of the river swamp toward the piled-up cloud of smoke downstream. After them trotted the 10th New York Flying Battery as though onparade, their guidons standing straight out behind thered-and-white guidons of the Lancers. The Zouaves had now reached wet land, where a staff officer metColonel Craig and piloted him through a field of brush and wildgrass, and under the parapets of an emplacement for big guns, onwhich men were nonchalantly working, to the beginning of a newlylaid road of logs. The noise of musketry and the smoke had becomeprodigious. On the logs of the road lay the first big pool ofblood that many of them had ever seen. What it had come from theycould not determine; there was nothing dead or dying there. The men glanced askance at the swamp where the black shining waterhad risen almost level with the edges of the road; but the Coloneland his staff, still mounted, rode coolly over it, and the regimentfollowed. The corduroy road through the heavily wooded swamp which the 3rdZouaves now followed was the only inlet to the noisy scene of localaction, and the only outlet, too. Except for watching the shells at Blue Bridge, the regiment hadnever been in battle, had never seen or heard a real battle; manyhad never even seen a wounded man. They understood that they weregoing into battle now; and now the regiment caught sight of itsfirst wounded men. Stretchers passed close to them on whichsoldiers lay naked to the waist, some with breasts glistening redand wet from unstopped haemorrhage, some with white bodies markedonly by the little round blue hole with its darker centre. Soldiers passed them, limping, bloody rags dripping from thigh orknee; others staggered along with faces the colour of clay, leaningon the arms of comrades, still others were carried out feet first, sagging, a dead-weight in the arms of those who bore them. One manwith half his fingers gone, the raw stumps spread, hurried out, screaming, and scattering blood as he ran. The regiment passed an artilleryman lying in the water whose head, except for the lower jaw, was entirely missing; and another on hisback in the ooze whose bowels were protruding between his fingers;and he was trying very feebly to force them back, while twocomrades strove in vain to lift him. The regiment sickened as it looked; here and there a young zouaveturned deathly pale, reeled out of the ranks, leaned against atree, nauseated, only to lurch forward again at the summons of theprovost guard; here and there a soldier disengaged his white turbanfrom his fez and dropped it to form a sort of Havelock; for thevertical sun was turning the men dizzy, and the sights they sawwere rapidly unnerving them. They heard the tremendous thunder and felt the concussion of bigguns; the steady raining rattle of musketry, the bark of howitzers, the sharp, clean crack of rifled field guns dismayed them. Sometimes, far away, they could distinguish the full deep cheeringof a Union regiment; and once they caught the distant treble battlecry of the South. There were moments when a sudden lull in thenoise startled the entire regiment. Even their officers looked upsharply at such times. But ahead they could still see ColonelCraig riding calmly forward, his big horse picking its leisurelyway over the endless road of logs; they could see the clipped grayhead of Major Lent under its red forage-cap, steady, immovable, ashe controlled his nervous mount with practised indifference. It was broiling hot in the swamp; the Zouaves stood bathed inperspiration as the regiment halted for a few minutes, then theymoved forward again toward a hard ridge of grass which glimmeredgreen beyond the tangled thicket's edges. Here the regiment was formed in line of battle, and ordered to liedown. Stephen wiped his sweaty hands on his jacket and, lifting his headfrom the grass, looked cautiously around. Already there had beenfighting here; a section of a dismantled battery stood in the roadahead; dead men lay around it; smoke still hung blue in the woods. The air reeked. The Zouaves lay in long scarlet rows on the grass; their officersstood leaning on their naked swords, peering ahead where theColonel, Major, and a mounted bugler were intently watchingsomething--the two officers using field glasses. In a few momentsboth officers dismounted, flung their bridles to an orderly, andcame back, walking rather quickly. Major Lent drawing his bright, heavy sword and tucking up his gold-embroidered sleeves as he cameon. "Now, boys, " said Colonel Craig cheerfully, "we are going in. Allyou've got to do can be done quickly and thoroughly with thebayonet. Don't cock your muskets, don't fire unless you're toldto. Perhaps you won't have to fire at all. All I want of you isto keep straight on after me--right through those dry woods, there. Try to keep your intervals and alignment; don't yell until yousight the enemy, don't lose your heads, trust your officers. Wherethey go you are safest. " He dropped his eye-glasses into his slashed pocket, drew out andput on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. The soldiers saw himsmile and say something to Major Lent, saw him bare his handsomesword, saw the buglers setting the shining bugles to their lips. "Now, _charge_, you red-legged rascals!" shouted Major Lent; and upfrom the grass rose a wave of scarlet and flashing steel. Charge! Charge! echoed the bugles; a wailing storm, high among thetree tops, passed over them as they entered the dry woods on a run;branches crashed earthward, twig's and limbs crackled down inwhirling confusion. But there was nothing in the woods exceptsmoke--and the streaming storm shrilling overhead, raining down onthem leaves and boughs and splintered sticks. The belt of woodland was very narrow; already the men could seesunlight on the farther edge, and catch glimpses of fields; andstill they ran forward, keeping their alignment as best they mightamong the trees; and came, very soon, to the wood's edge. Herethey were halted and ordered to lie down again; and they lay there, close to the ground among the dead leaves, while from above livingleaves rained on them in never-ending showers, and the wild tempestsped overhead unchecked. Far out across the fields in the sunshine, looking diminutive astoys in the distance, four cannon puffed smoke toward them. TheZouaves could see the guns--see even the limbers and caissonsbehind, and the harnessed teams, and the cannoneers very busily atwork in the sunshine. Then a long low wall of white smoke suddenlyappeared along a rail fence in front of the guns, and at the sametime the air thickened with bullets storming in all about them. The Colonel and the Major had run hastily out into the field. "Getup! Get up!" shouted the company officers. "Left dress, there!Forward! Don't cock your rifles; don't fire until you're told to. Steady there on the left. Forward! Forward!" "Now yell, you red-legs! Yell!" As they started running, their regimental colours fell, man and nagsprawling in the grass; and the entire line halted, bewildered. The next instant a zouave had lifted the colours, and was runningforward; and: "Get on there! Continue the movement! What inhell's the matter with you Zouaves!" shouted theirlieutenant-colonel. And the sagging scarlet line bellied out, straightened as the flanks caught up, and swept out into thesunshine with a cheer--the peculiar Zouave cheer--not very fullyet, for they had not yet lost the troubled wonder of things. Stephen, running with shouldered musket, saw close ahead a longline of blue smoke and flame, but instead of the enemy there wasnothing hidden behind the smoke except a long field-ditch in whichdry brush was burning. Into the ditch tumbled the regiment, and lay panting, coughing, kicking out the embers, and hugging the ground closely, because nowthe storm that had swept the tree tops was shaving the weeds andgrass around them; and the drone of bullets streaming over theditch rose to a loud, fierce whine. Up in the blue sky little white clouds suddenly unfolded themselveswith light reports, and disappeared, leaving jagged streamers ofvapour afloat here and there; the near jarring discharge ofartillery shook the ground till bits of sod fell in particles, crumbling from the ditch's edge; the outrageous racket of musketrynever slackened. Lying there, they heard a sudden burst of cheering, and far to theleft saw another regiment come tumbling into the ditch and crouch, huddled there in a blue line stretching as far away as they couldsee. And again the firing increased to a stunning roar, and therewere more cheers; and, to their right, another regiment camerunning and rolling into the ditch. Officers, recklessly erect, stood here and there along the interiorof the ditch; then from the lair of each regiment flags emerged, bugles blew clear and impatient; there came an upheaval ofbayonets, and the three regiments scrambled to their feet, over theditch's edge, and surged forward into the sunshine. Across the fields Stephen saw guns being limbered up; and driverslashing their horses to a gallop across a bridge. The regiment ontheir left was firing by wings as it advanced, the regiment on theright had broken into a heavy run, yelling: "Hey! We want themguns! Wait a second, will yer? Where you takin' them guns to?" There was a new rail fence close in front of the Zouaves, barringtheir way to the bridge; and suddenly, from behind it, men arosewith levelled muskets; and the Zouaves dropped flat to the volleythat buried the fence in smoke. "Now, boys!" cried Colonel Craig, "we've got to have that bridge!So we'll finish this business right here with the bayonet. Come onand let's end it _now_!" Major Lent ran forward and started to climb the smoky fence;everywhere the Zouaves were swarming along the newly split rails ordriving their bayonets through the smoke at the gray phantomsclustering behind. Shots rang out, the crack of stock againststock, the ringing clamour and click of steel filled the air. The zouave next to Stephen lurched up against him spouting bloodfrom the neck; on the other side of him another, a sergeant, too, had gone stark mad, apparently, and was swinging his terrible sabrebayonet without regard to friend or foe; and still another man ofhis squad, swearing horridly, had clutched a ghostly enemy in thesmoke across the fence and was trying to strangle him with his barehands. Stephen, bewildered by a blow which glanced from his head to hisleft shoulder, clung to his musket and tried to stagger forward, but a bayonet seared his right temple, tearing the scalp andletting down a rush of blood all over his face and eyes. Blinded, the boy called instinctively: "Father! I'm hurt! Could you helpme!" Colonel Craig turned white under his tan, and looked back. "I can't help you, my boy. Sergeant, will you look after my son?"And he ran forward into the infernal network of bayonets, callingout: "Get through there, boys. We might as well clean up this messwhile we're about it. Pull down that fence! Never mind those menbehind it!--rush it! Kick it over! Now come on! I don't ask youto do anything that I don't do. Major Lent and I will take youthrough. Come on and take that bridge!" A captain, fighting back the bayonets with his sword, suddenlyfloundered to the fence top and clung, balanced on his belly, shouting hysterically: "Look at the Lancers! Look at 'em coming! Now, Zouaves! Pulldown the fence and give them a chance to charge the bridge!" Over a low swell of land some horsemen trotted into view; behindthem the horizon was suddenly filled with the swimming scarletpennons of the Lancers. A thousand horses' heads shot up againstthe sky line, manes tossing; a thousand lance points fell to aglittering level. They were cheering shrilly as they came on; the Zouaves heard them, the gray infantry regiment gave way, turned, filed off, retreatingtoward the bridge at a slow trot like some baffled but dangerousanimal; and after it ran the Zouaves, firing, screaming, maddenedto hysteria by their first engagement, until their panting officersand their bugles together barely managed to halt them short of theedges of utter annihilation just as a full Confederate brigade rosegrimly from the wood's edge across the stream, ready to end theirhysterical yelling for ever. Stephen, sitting on the grass among the dead and stricken, tied hisbloody turban, pulled the red fez close over it, smeared the bloodfrom his eyes, and, clutching his musket, stood up unsteadily. He could see the charge of the 8th Lancers--see the horsemen wheeland veer wildly as they received the fire of the Confederate troopsfrom the woods across the stream, squadron after squadron sheeringoff at a gallop and driving past the infantry, pell-mell, a wildriot of maddened horses, yelling riders, and streaming scarletpennons descending in one vivid, headlong torrent to the bridge. But the structure was already hopelessly afire; and the baffledcarbineers of the advance reined up at the edge of the burningtimbers and sent an angry volley after the gray infantry nowjogging back into the woods beyond. Then, suddenly, the Zouavesheard the Lancers cheering wildly in the smoke of the burningstructure, but did not know what it meant. It meant--Berkley. Fear had squired him that day. When the bugles sounded through thecannon thunder and his squadron trotted out, Fear, on a paler horsethan Death bestrides, cantered with him, knee to knee. Fear'sstartled eyes looked into his through the jetted smoke of musketry, through the tumult of the horses and the trumpets; Fear made hisvoice light and thin, so that he scarcely heard it amid the fiercecheering of his comrades, the pounding of hoofs, the futileclattering of equipments. It was all a swift and terrible nightmare to him--the squadronsbreaking into a gallop, the woods suddenly belted with smoke, thethud and thwack of bullets pelting leather and living flesh, thefrantic plunging of stricken horses, the lightning down-crash ofriders hurled earthward at full speed, the brief glimpses ofscarlet streaks under foot--of a horse's belly and agonisediron-shod feet, of a white face battered instantly intoobliteration, of the ruddy smoke flowing with sparks amid whichbugles rang above the clashing halt of maddened squadrons. Then, through the rolling ocean of smoke, he saw officers and mentrying to hack away and beat out the burning timbers--saw areckless carbineer--his own tent-mate--dismount and run out acrossthe planking which was already afire, saw him stumble and roll overas a bullet hit him, get to his knees blindly, trip and fall flatin the smoke. Then Fear bellowed in Berkley's ear; but he hadalready clapped spurs to his horse, cantering out across theburning planking and straight into the smoke pall. "Where are you, Burgess?" he shouted. The Fear of Death stiffenedhis lips as he reined up in the whirling spark-shot obscurity. "Burgess--damn you--answer me, can't you!" he stammered, halfstrangled in the smoke, trying to master his terrified mount withrein and knee and heel. Vaguely he heard comrades shouting for him to come back, heardshells exploding amid the smoke, wheeled his staggering horse, bentswiftly and grasped at an inanimate form in the smoke, missed, dismounted and clutched the senseless carbineer--his comrade--andonce his valet. [Illustration: "He dismounted and clutched the senselesscarbineer. "] Out of the fiery tunnel came tearing his terrified horse, riderless; out of the billowing, ruddy vapours reeled Berkley, dragging the carbineer. It was the regiment cheering him that the Zouaves heard. The fields were now swimming in bluish smoke; through it theZouaves were reforming as they marched. Little heaps of brilliantcolour dotting the meadow were being lifted and carried off thefield by comrades; a few dismounted carbineers ran hither andthither, shooting hopelessly crippled horses. Here and there adead lancer lay flat in the grass, his scarlet pennon a vivid spotbeside him. The hill road to the burning bridge was now choked with ColonelArran's regiment, returning to the crest of the hill; through theblackish and rolling smoke from the bridge infantry were creepingswiftly forward toward the river bank, and very soon theintermittent picket firing began again, running up and down thecreek bank and out across the swamp lands, noisily increasing as itwoke up vicious volleys from the woods on the opposite bank, andfinally aroused the cannon to thunderous anger. Berkley, standing to horse with his regiment on the sparsely woodedhill crest, could see the crowding convolutions of smoke risingfrom the thickets, as each gun spoke from the Confederatebatteries. But to him their thunder was like the thunder in adream. Hour after hour the regiment stood to horse; hour after hour thebattle roared west and south of them. An irregular cloud, slenderat the base, spreading on top, towered to mid zenith above theforest. Otherwise, save for the fleecy explosion of shells in thequivering blue vault above, nothing troubled the sunshine that layover hill and valley, wood and river and meadowland. McDunn's battery was not firing; the Zouaves lay dozing awake inthe young clover, the Lancers, standing to horse, looked out acrossthe world of trees and saw nothing stirring save a bird or twowinging hastily northward. Berkley could distinguish a portion of the road that ran down tothe burning bridge, where part of McDunn's battery was in position. Across the hills to the left a scarlet windrow undulating on eitherflank of the battery marked the line of battle where the Zouaveslay in a clover-field, within supporting distance of the guns. Except for these, and a glimpse of Lowe's balloon overhead, Berkleycould not see anything whatever even remotely connected with theuproar which continued steadily in the west and south. Nobodyseemed to know whose troops were engaged, where they came from, whither they were trying to force a fiery road through a land inarms against their progress. At times, to Berkley, it seemed as though every tree, every hill, every thicket was watching him with sombre intent; as if Natureherself were hostile, stealthy, sinister, screening terrors yetunloosed, silently storing up violence in dim woods, aiding andabetting ambush with all her clustering foliage; and that everyriver, every swamp, every sunny vista concealed some hidden path todeath. He stood rigid at his horse's head, lance in hand, dirty, smoke-blackened, his ears deafened by the cannonade, his eyes cooland alert, warily scanning hill and hollow and thicket. Dead men of his regiment were borne past him; he glanced furtivelyat them, not yet certain that the lower form of fear had left him, not yet quite realising that he had blundered into manhood--thatfor the first time in his life he was ready to take his chance withlife. But, little by little, as the hours passed, there in the troddengrass he began to understand something of the unformulated decisionthat had been slowly growing in him--of the determination, takingshape, to deal more nobly with himself--with this harmless selfwhich had accepted unworthiness and all its attributes, and whichriven pride would have flung back at the civilisation which brandedhim as base. It came--this knowledge--like a slowly increasing flare of light;and at last he said under his breath, to himself: "Nothing is unworthily born that is born of God's own law. I havebeen what I chose. I can be what I will. " A gracious phantom grew under his eyes taking exquisite shapebefore him; and dim-eyed, he stared at it till it dwindled, faded, dissolved into empty air and sunshine. No; he could never marry without revealing what he was; and that hewould never do because of loyalty to that tender ghost which hemust shield for ever even as he would have shielded her in life. No living soul had any right to know. No love of his for any womancould ever justify betrayal of what alone concerned the dead. The shells, which, short fused, had been bursting high above theswamp to the right, suddenly began to fall nearer the cavalry, andafter a while a shell exploded among them, killing a horse. They retired by squadrons, leisurely, and in good order; but theshells followed them, searching them out and now and then findingthem with a deafening racket and cloud of smoke, out of whichmangled horses reared, staggered, and rolled over screaming; out ofwhich a rider, here and there was hurled sideways, head first, orsent spinning and headless among his white-faced comrades. McDunn's guns had opened now, attempting to extinguish the fire ofthe troublesome Confederate battery. Berkley, teeth set, pallid, kept his place in the ranks, and hung to his horse's head until hegot the animal calmed again. One of his sleeves was covered withblood from a comrade's horse, blown into fragments beside him. He could see McDunn's gunners working methodically amid the vapourssteaming back from the battery as it fired by sections; saw theguns jump, buried in smoke; saw the long flames flicker, flicker, flicker through the cannon mist; felt the solid air strike him inthe face at each discharge. Hallam, white as a sheet, stood motionless at the head of histroop; a shell had just burst, but it was as though he dared notlook back until Colonel Arran rode slowly over to the strickencompany--and saw Berkley still standing at his horse's head, andgave him a look that the younger man never forgot. Again, by troops, the Lancers retired; and again the yelling shellsfound them, and they retired to the base of a hill. And came upona division in full panic. Over a culvert and down a wooded road troops of all arms wereriotously retreating, cavalry, baggage-waggons, battered fragmentsof infantry regiments, ambulances, all mixed and huddled pell-mellinto a headlong retreat that stretched to the rear as far as theeye could see. Astonished, the Lancers looked on, not understanding, fearful ofsome tremendous disaster. A regiment of regular cavalry of theProvost Guard was riding through the fugitives, turning, checking, cutting out, driving, separating the disorganised mob; but it washard work, and many got away, and teamsters began to cut traces, and skulking cavalrymen clapped spurs and rode over screechingdeserters who blocked their path. It was a squalid sight; theLancers looked on appalled. Colonel Arran rode his horse slowly along the front of hisregiment, talking quietly to his men. "It's only one or two of the raw brigades and a few teamsters andfrightened sutlers--that's all. Better that the Provost Guardshould let them through; better to sift out that kind of soldier. ". . . He calmly turned his horse's head and rode back along thelines of horses and dismounted troopers, commenting reassuringly onwhat was taking place around them. "There is never any safety in running away unless your officersorder you to run. The discipline of a regiment is the onlysecurity for the individual. There is every chance of safety aslong as a regiment holds together; no chance at all if itdisintegrates. "The regulars understand that; it is what makes them formidable; itis what preserves them individually, and every man knows it. Theregulars don't run; it happens to be contrary to their traditions;but those traditions originated less in sentiment than in plaincommon-sense. " He turned his horse and walked the animal slowly along the lines. "I am exceedingly gratified by the conduct of this regiment, " hesaid. "You have done all that has been asked of you. To do morethan is asked of you is not commendable in a soldier, though it maydisplay individual courage. . . . The carbineer, Burgess, 10thtroop, Captain Hallam, was foolhardy to attempt the bridge withoutorders. . . . The lancer, Ormond, 10th troop, Captain Hallam, however, did his full duty--admirably--when he faced death torescue a wounded comrade from the flames. . . . In England aVictoria Cross is given for deeds of this kind. The regimentrespects him--and respects itself. . . . I care to believe thatthere is not one officer or trooper in my command who is not readyto lay down his life for a friend. . . . I am happy in theconsciousness that it is not courage which is lacking in thiscommand; it is only experience. And that will come; it came withthe shells on the slope yonder. There is no more severe test of aregiment's discipline than to endure the enemy's fire without beingable to retaliate. " The regiment's eyes were fastened on their colonel's tall heavyfigure as he walked his powerful horse slowly to and fro alongtheir front, talking to them in his calm, passionless manner. Strained muscles and tense nerves relaxed; breath came moreregularly and naturally; men ventured to look about them morefreely, to loosen the spasmodic grip on curb and snaffle, to speakto comrades in low tones, inquiring what damage other troops hadsustained. The regular cavalry of the Provost Guard had turned the tide ofstragglers now, letting through only the wounded and the teams. But across the open fields wreckage from the battle was streamingin every direction; and so stupid and bewildered with fear weresome of the fugitives that McDunn's battery had to cease its firefor a time, while the officers ran forward through the smoke, shouting and gesticulating to warn the mass of skulkers out of theway. And now a fearful uproar of artillery arose immediately to thewest, shells began to rain in the river woods, then shrapnel, then, in long clattering cadence, volley succeeded volley, faster, faster, till the outcrash became one solid, rippling roar. Far to the west across the country the Lancers saw regimentspassing forward through the trees at a quick-step; saw batteriesgalloping hither and thither, aides-de-camp and staff-officersracing to and fro at full speed. The 3rd Zouaves rose from the clover, shouldered muskets, and movedforward on a run; a staff-officer wheeled out of the road, jumpedhis horse over the culvert, and galloped up to Colonel Arran. Andthe next moment the Lancers were in the saddle and moving at a trotout toward the left of McDunn's battery. They stood facing the woods, lances poised, for about ten minutes, when a general officer with dragoon escort came galloping down theroad and through the meadow toward McDunn's battery. It wasClaymore, their general of brigade. "Retire by prolonge!" he shouted to the battery commander, pullingin his sweating horse. "We've got to get out of this!" And toColonel Arran, who had ridden up, flushed and astonished: "We'vegot to leave this place, " he repeated shortly. "They're drivingthe Zouaves in on us. " All along the edge of the woods the red breeches of the Zouaveswere reappearing, slowly retreating in excellent order beforesomething as yet unseen. The men turned every few paces to fire bycompanies, only to wheel again, jog-trot toward the rear, halt, load, swing to deliver their fire, then resume their joggingretreat. Back they fell, farther, farther, while McDunn's battery continuedto fire and retire by prolonge, and the Lancers, long weaponsdisengaged, accompanied them, ready to support the guns in anemergency. The emergency seemed very near. Farther to the left a blueregiment appeared enveloped in spouting smoke, fairly hurled bodilyfrom the woods; Egerton's 20th Dragoons came out of a concealedvalley on a trot, looking behind them, their rear squadron firingfrom the saddle in orderly retreat; the Zouaves, powder soiled, drenched in sweat, bloody, dishevelled, passed to the left of thebattery and lay down. Then, from far along the stretch of woods, arose a sound, incessant, high-pitched--a sustained treble cadence, nearer, nearer, louder, shriller, like the excited cry of a hunting pack, bursting into a paroxysm of hysterical chorus as a long line ofgray men leaped from the wood's edge and swept headlong toward theguns. Berkley felt every nerve in his body leap as his lance fell to alevel with eight hundred other lances; he saw the battery buryitself in smoke as gun after gun drove its cannister into obscurityor ripped the smoke with sheets of grape; he saw the Zouaves risefrom the grass, deliver their fire, sink back, rise again whiletheir front spouted smoke and flame. The awful roar of the firing to the right deafened him; he caught aglimpse of squadrons of regular cavalry in the road, slingingcarbines and drawing sabres; a muffled blast of bugles reached hisears; and the nest moment he was trotting out into the smoke. After that it was a gallop at full speed; and he remembered nothingvery distinctly, saw nothing clearly, except that, everywhere amonghis squadron ran yelling men on foot, shooting, lunging withbayonets, striking with clubbed rifles. Twice he felt the shockingimpact of his lance point; once he drove the ferruled counterpoiseat a man who went down under his horse's feet. One moment therewas a perfect whirlwind of scarlet pennons flapping around him, another and he was galloping alone across the grass, lance crossedfrom right to left, tugging at his bridle. Then he set the reekingferrule in his stirrup boot, slung the shaft from the braided armloop, and drew his revolver--the new weapon lately issued, with itscurious fixed ammunition and its cap imbedded. There were groups of gray infantry in the field, walking, running, or standing still and firing; groups of lancers and dragoonstrotting here and there, wheeling, galloping furiously at the menon foot. A number of foot soldiers were crowding around a mixedcompany of dragoons and Lancers, striking at them, shooting intothem. He saw the Lieutenant-colonel of his own regiment tumble outof his saddle; saw Major Lent put his horse to a dead run and rideover a squad of infantry; saw Colonel Arran disengage his horsefrom the crush, wheel, and begin to use his heavy sabre in the massaround him. Bugles sounded persistently; he set spurs to his tired horse androde toward the buglers, and found himself beside Colonel Arran, who, crimson in the face, was whipping his way out with drippingsabre. Across a rivulet on the edge of the woods he could see theregimental colours and the bulk of his regiment re-forming; and hespurred forward to join them, skirting the edge of a tangle ofinfantry, dragoons, and lancers who were having a limited butbloody affair of their own in a cornfield where a flag tossedwildly--a very beautiful, square red flag, its folds emblazonedwith a blue cross set with stars, Out of the melee a score of dishevelled lancers came plungingthrough the corn, striking right and left at the infantry thatclung to them with the fury of panthers; the square battle flag, flung hither and thither, was coming close to him; he emptied hisrevolver at the man who carried it, caught at the staff, missed, was almost blinded by the flashing blast from a rifle, set spurs tohis horse, leaned wide from his saddle, seized the silk, jerked itfrom its rings, and, swaying, deluged with blood from asword-thrust in the face, let his frantic horse carry him whitherit listed, away, away, over the swimming green that his sickenedeyes could see no longer. CHAPTER XVI On every highway, across every wood trail, footpath, and meadowstreamed the wreckage of seven battle-fields. Through mud and raincrowded heavy artillery, waggons, herds of bellowing cattle, infantry, light batteries, exhausted men, wounded men, dead men onstretchers, men in straw-filled carts, some alive, some dying. Cannoneers cut traces and urged their jaded horses through thecrush, cursed and screamed at by those on foot, menaced by bayonetsand sabres. The infantry, drenched, starving, plastered with mudto the waists, toiled doggedly on through the darkness; batteriesin deplorable condition struggled from mud hole to mud hole; thereserve cavalry division, cut out and forced east, limped wearilyahead, its rear-guard firing at every step. To the north, immense quantities of stores--clothing, provisions, material of every description were on fire, darkening the sky withrolling, inky clouds; an entire army corps with heavy artillery andbaggage crossed the river enveloped in the pitchy, cinder-ladensmoke from two bridges on fire. The forests, which had been felledfrom the Golden Farm to Fair Oaks to form an army's vast abattis, were burning in sections, sending roaring tornadoes of flame intorifle pits, redoubts, and abandoned fortifications. Cannonthundered at Ellison's Mills; shells rained hard on Gaines's Farm;a thousand simultaneous volleys of musketry mingled with the awfuluproar of the cannon; uninterrupted sheets of light from the shellsbrightened the smoke pall like the continuous flare of electricityagainst a thundercloud. The Confederacy, victorious, was advancingwrapped in flame and smoke. At Savage's Station the long railroad bridge was now on fire;trains and locomotives burned fiercely; millions of boxes of hardbread, barrels of flour, rice, sugar, coffee, salt pork, cases ofshoes, underclothing, shirts, uniforms, tin-ware, blankets, ponchos, harness, medical stores, were in flames; magazines ofammunition, flat cars and box cars loaded with powder, shells, andcartridges blazed and exploded, hurling jets and spouting fountainsof fire to the very zenith. And through the White Oak Swamp rode the Commander-in-chief of anarmy in full retreat, followed by his enormous staff and escort, abandoning the siege of Richmond, and leaving to their fate thewretched mass of sick and wounded in the dreadful hospitals atLiberty Hall. And the red battle flags of the Southland flutteredon every hill. Claymore's mixed brigade, still holding together, closed the rearof Porter's powder-scorched _corps d'armee_. The Zouaves of the 3rd Regiment--what was left of them--marched asflankers; McDunn's battery, still intact, was forced to unlimberevery few rods; and the pouring rain turned to a driving goldenfire in the red glare of the guns, which lighted up the haltedsquadrons of the Lancers ranged always in support. Every rod in retreat was a running combat. In the darkness thedischarge of the Zouaves' rifles ran from the guns' muzzles likestreams of molten metal spilling out on the grass. McDunn's gunsspirted great lumps of incandescence; the fuses of the shells inthe sky showered the darkness with swarming sparks. Toward ten o'clock the harried column halted on a hill andbivouacked without fires, food, or shelter. The Zouaves slept ontheir arms in the drenched herbage; the Lancers, not daring tounsaddle, lay down on the grass under their patient horses, bridletied to wrist. An awful anxiety clutched officers and men. Fewslept; the ceaseless and agonised shrieking from an emergencyhospital somewhere near them in the darkness almost unnerved them. At dawn shells began to plunge downward among the Dragoons. McDunn's battery roused itself to reply, but muddy staff-officersarrived at full speed with orders for Claymore to make haste; andthe starving command staggered off stiffly through the mud, theirears sickened by the piteous appeals of the wounded begging not tobe abandoned. Berkley, his face a mass of bloody rags, gazed from his wet saddlewith feverish eyes at the brave contract surgeons standing silentamid their wounded under the cedar trees. Cripples hobbled along the lines, beseeching, imploring, catchingat stirrups, plucking feebly, blindly at the horses' manes forsupport. "Oh, my God!" sobbed a wounded artilleryman, lifting himself fromthe blood-stained grass, "is this what I enlisted for? Are youboys going to leave us behind to rot in rebel prisons?" "Damn you!" shrieked another, "you ain't licked! What'n hell areyou runnin' away for? Gimme a gun an' a hoss an' I'll go back withyou to the river!" And another pointed a mangled and shaking hand at the passinghorsemen. "Oh, hell!" he sneered, "we don't expect anything of the cavalry, but why are them Zouaves skedaddlin'? They fit like wild cats atthe river. Halt! you red-legged devils. You're goin' the wrongway!" A Sister of Charity, her snowy, wide-winged headdress limp in therain, came out of a shed and stood at the roadside, slender handsjoined imploringly. "You mustn't leave your own wounded, " she kept repeating. "Youwouldn't do that, gentlemen, would you? They've behaved so well;they've done all that they could. Won't somebody tell GeneralMcClellan how brave they were? If he knew, he would never leavethem here. " The Lancers looked down at her miserably as they rode; ColonelArran passed her, saluting, but with heavy, flushed face averted;Berkley, burning with fever, leaned from his saddle, cap in hand. "We can't help it, Sister. The same thing may happen to us in anhour. But we'll surely come back; you never must doubt that!" Farther on they came on a broken-down ambulance, the mules gone, several dead men half buried in the wet straw, and two Sisters ofCharity standing near by in pallid despair. Colonel Arran offered them lead-horses, but they were timid andfrightened; and Burgess gave his horse to the older one, andBerkley took the other up behind him, where she sat sidewaysclutching his belt, white coiffe aflutter, feet dangling. At noon the regiment halted for forage and rations procured from awaggon train which had attempted to cross their line of march. Therain ceased: a hot sun set their drenched clothing and theirhorses' flanks steaming. At two o'clock they resumed their route;the ragged, rain-blackened pennons on the lance heads dried outscarlet; a hot breeze set in, carrying with it the distant noise ofbattle. All that afternoon the heavy sound of the cannonade jarred theirears. And at sunset it had not ceased. Berkley's Sister of Charity clung to his belt in silence for awhile. After a mile or two she began to free her mind in regard tothe distressing situation of her companion and herself. Sheinformed Berkley that the negro drivers had become frightened andhad cut the traces and galloped off; that she and the other Sisterwere on their way to the new base at Azalea Court House, wherethousands of badly wounded were being gathered from the battles ofthe last week, and where conditions were said to be deplorable, although the hospital boats had been taking the sick to Alexandriaas fast as they could be loaded. She was a gentle little thing, with ideas of her own concerning thedisaster to the army which was abandoning thousands of its woundedto the charity and the prisons of an enemy already too poor to feedand clothe its own. "Some of our Sisters stayed behind, and many of the medical staffand even the contract surgeons remained. I hope the rebels will begentle with them. I expected to stay, but Sister Aurelienne and Iwere ordered to Azalea last night. I almost cried my eyes out whenI left our wounded. The shells were coming into the hospitalyesterday, and one of them killed two of our wounded in the straw. Oh, it was sad and terrible. I am sure the rebels didn't fire onus on purpose. Do you think so?" "No, I don't. Were you frightened, Sister. " "Oh, yes, " she said naively, "and I wished I could run into thewoods and hide. " "But you didn't?" "Why, no, I couldn't, " she said, surprised. The fever in his wound was making him light-headed. At intervalshe imagined that it was Ailsa seated behind him, her arms aroundhis waist, her breath cool and fragrant on his neck; and still heknew she was a phantom born of fever, and dared not speak--becamesly, pretending he did not know her lest the spell break and shevanish into thin air again. What the little sister said was becoming to him only a prettyconfusion of soft sounds; at moments he was too deaf to hear hervoice at all; then he heard it and still believed it to be Ailsawho was speaking; then, for a, few seconds, reality cleared hisclouded senses; he heard the steady thunder of the cannonade, thesteady clattering splash of his squadron; felt the hot, dry windscorching his stiffened cheek and scalp where the wound burned andthrobbed under a clotted bandage. When the regiment halted to fill canteens the little sister washedand re-bandaged his face and head. It was a ragged slash running from the left ear across thecheek-bone and eyebrow into the hair above the temple--a deep, swollen, angry wound. "What _were_ you doing when you got this?" she asked in softconsternation, making him as comfortable as possible with thescanty resources of her medical satchel. Later, when the buglessounded, she came back from somewhere down the line, suffered himto lift her up behind him, settled herself, slipped both armsconfidently around his waist, and said: "So you are the soldier who took the Confederate battle flag? Whydidn't you tell me? Ah--I know. The bravest never tell. " "There is nothing to tell, " he replied. "They captured a guidonfrom us. It evens the affair. " She said, after a moment's thought; "It speaks well for a man tohave his comrades praise him as yours praise you. " "You mean the trooper Burgess, " he said wearily. "He's alwayschattering. " "All who spoke to me praised you, " she observed. "Your colonelsaid: 'He does not understand what fear is. He is absolutelyfearless. '" "My colonel has been misinformed, Sister. I am intelligent enoughto be afraid--philosopher enough to realise that it doesn't helpme. So nowadays I just go ahead. " "Trusting in God, " she murmured. He did not answer. "Is it not true, soldier?" But the fever was again transfiguring her into the shape of AilsaPaige, and he remained shyly silent, fearing to disturb thevision--yet knowing vaguely that it was one. She sighed; later, in silence, she repeated some Credos and HailMarys, her eyes fixed on space, the heavy cannonade dinning in herears. All around her rode the Lancers, tall pennoned weaponsswinging from stirrup and loop, bridles loose under their claspedhands. The men seemed stupefied with fatigue; yet every now andthen they roused themselves to inquire after her comfort or tooffer her a place behind them. She timidly asked Berkley if shetired him, but he begged her to stay, alarmed lest the vision ofAilsa depart with her; and she remained, feeling contented andsecure in her drowsy fatigue. Colonel Arran dropped back from thehead of the column once to ride beside her. He questioned herkindly; spoke to Berkley, also, asking with grave concern about hiswound. And Berkley answered in his expressionless way that he didnot suffer. But the little Sister of Charity behind his back laid one fingeracross her lips and looked significantly at Colonel Arran; and whenthe colonel again rode to the head of the weary column his faceseemed even graver and more careworn. By late afternoon they were beyond sound of the cannonade, ridingthrough a golden light between fields of stacked wheat. Far behindin the valley they could see the bayonets of the Zouavesglistening; farther still the declining sun glimmered on the gunsof the 10th battery. Along a parallel road endless lines ofwaggons stretched from north to south, escorted by Egerton'sDragoons. To Berkley the sunset world had become only an infernal pit ofscarlet strung with raw nerves. The terrible pain in his face andhead almost made him lose consciousnesss. Later he seemed to bedrifting into a lurid sea of darkness, where he no longer felt hissaddle or the movement of his horse; he scarcely saw the lanternsclustering, scarcely heard the increasing murmur around him, theracket of picket firing, the noise of many bewildered men, thecries of staff-officers directing divisions and brigades to theircamping ground, the confused tumult which grew nearer, nearer, mounting like the ominous clamour of the sea as the regiment rodethrough Azalea under the July stars. He might have fallen from his saddle; or somebody perhaps liftedhim, for all he knew. In the glare of torches he found himselflying on a moving stretcher. After that he felt straw under him;and vaguely wondered why it did not catch fire from his body, whichsurely now was but a mass of smouldering flame. For days the fever wasted him--not entirely, for at intervals heheard cannon, and always the interminable picket firing; and heheard bugles, too, and recognised the various summons. But it wasno use trying to obey them--no use trying to find his legs. Hecould not get up without his legs--he laughed weakly at thethought; then, drowsy, indifferent, decided that they had been shotaway, but could not remember when; and it bothered him a good deal. Other things bothered him; he was convinced that his mother was inthe room. At intervals he was aware of Hallam's handsome face, cutout like a paper picture from _Harper's Weekly_ and pasted flat onthe tent wall. Also there were too many fire zouaves around hisbed--if it was a bed, this vague vibrating hammock he occupied. Itwas much more like a hollow nook inside a gigantic pendulum whichswung eternally to and fro until it swung him intosenselessness--or aroused him with fierce struggles to escape. But his mother's slender hand sometimes arrested the maddeningmotion, or--and this was curiously restful--she cleverlytransferred him to a cradle, which she rocked, leaning close overhim. Only she kept him wrapped up too warmly. And after a long while there came a day when his face becamecooler, and his skin grew wet with sweat; and on that day he partlyunclosed his eyes and saw Colonel Arran sitting beside him. Surprised, he attempted to sit up, but not a muscle of his bodyobeyed him, and he lay there stupid, inert, hollow eyes fixedmeaninglessly on his superior, who spoke cautiously. "Berkley, do you know me?" His lips twitched a voiceless affirmative. Colonel Arran said: "You are going to get well, now. . . . Getwell quickly, because--the regiment misses you. . . . What is ityou desire to say? Make the effort if you wish. " Berkley's sunken eyes remained focussed on space; he was trying toconsider. Then they turned painfully toward Colonel Arran again. "Ailsa Paige?" he whispered. The other said quietly: "She is at the base hospital near Azalea. I have seen her. She is well. . . . I did not tell her you wereill. She could not have left anyway. . . . Matters are not goingwell with the army, Berkley. " "Whipped?" His lips barely formed the question. Colonel Arran's careworn features flushed. "The army has been withdrawing from the Peninsula. It is thecommander-in-chief who has been defeated--not the Army of thePotomac. " "Back?" "Yes, certainly we shall go back. This rebellion seems to betaking more time to extinguish than the people and the nationalauthorities supposed it would require. But no man must doubt ourultimate success. I do not doubt it. I never shall. You mustnot. It will all come right in the end. " "Regiment?" whispered Berkley. "The regiment is in better shape, Berkley. Our remounts havearrived; our wounded are under shelter, and comfortable. We needrest, and we're getting it here at Azalea, although they shell usevery day. We ought to be in good trim in a couple of weeks. You'll be in the saddle long before that. Your squadron has becomevery proud of you; all the men in the regiment have inquired aboutyou. Private Burgess spends his time off duty under the oak treesout yonder watching your window like a dog. . . . I--ah--may sayto you, Berkley, that you--ah--have become a credit to theregiment. Personally--and as your commanding officer--I wish youto understand that I am gratified by your conduct. I have said soin my official reports. " Berkley's sunken eyes had reverted to the man beside him. After amoment his lips moved again in soundless inquiry. Colonel Arran replied: "The Zouaves were very badly cut up; MajorLent was wounded by a sabre cut. He is nearly well now. ColonelCraig and his son were not hurt. The Zouaves are in cantonmentabout a mile to the rear. Both Colonel Craig and his son have beenhere to see you--" he hesitated, rose, stood a moment undecided. "Mrs. Craig--the wife of Colonel Craig--has been here. Herplantation, Paigecourt, is in this vicinity I believe. She hasrequested the medical authorities to send you to her house for yourconvalescence. Do you wish to go?" The hollow-eyed, heavily bandaged face looked up at him from thestraw; and Colonel Arran looked down at it, lips aquiver. "Berkley--if you go there, I shall not see you again until youreturn to the regiment. I--" suddenly his gray face began totwitch again--and he set his jaw savagely to control it. "Good-bye, " he said. . . "I wish--some day--you could try to thinkless harshly of me. I am a--very--lonely man. " Berkley closed his eyes, but whether from weakness or sullenresentment the older man could not know. He stood looking downwistfully at the boy for a moment, then turned and went heavilyaway with blurred eyes that did not recognise the woman in bonnetand light summer gown who was entering the hospital tent. As hestood aside to let her pass he heard his name pronounced, in acold, decisive voice; and, passing his gloved hand across his eyesto clear them, recognised Celia Craig. "Colonel Arran, " she said coolly, "is it necessa'y fo' me torequest yo' permission befo' I am allowed to move Philip Berkley tomy own house?" "No, madam. The brigade surgeon is in charge. But I think I cansecure for you the necessary authority to do so if you wish. " She thanked him haughtily, and passed on; and he turned and walkedout, impassive, silent, a stoop to his massive shoulders which hadalready become characteristic. And that evening Berkley lay at Paigecourt in the chintz-hungchamber where, as a girl, his mother had often slept, dreaming thedreams that haunt young hearts when the jasmine fragrance growsheavier in the stillness and the magnolia's snowy chalice isoffered to the moon, and the thrush sings in the river thickets, and the fire-fly's lamp drifts through the fairy woods. Celia told him this on the third day, late in the afternoon--solate that the westering sun was already touching the crests of theoak woods, and all the thickets had turned softly purple like thebloom on a plum; the mounting scent of phlox from the garden wasgrowing sweeter, and the bats fluttered and dipped and soared inthe calm evening sky. She had been talking of his mother when she was Constance Paige andwore a fillet over her dark ringlets and rode to hounds at ten withthe hardest riders in all Prince Clarence County. "And this was her own room, Phil; nothing in it has been moved, nothing changed; this is the same bird and garland chintz, matchingthe same wall-paper; this is the same old baid with its fo' ca'vedcolumns and its faded canopy, the same gilt mirror where she lookedand saw reflected there the loveliest face in all the valley. . . . A child's face, Phil--even a child's face when she drew aside herbridal veil to look. . . . Ah--God--" She sighed, looking down ather clasped hands, "if youth but knew--if youth but knew!" He lay silent, the interminable rattle of picket firing in hisears, his face turned toward the window. Through it he could seegreen grass, a magnolia in bloom, and a long flawless spray ofCherokee roses pendant from the gallery. Celia sighed, waited for him to speak, sighed again, and picked upthe Baltimore newspaper to resume her reading if he desired. Searching the columns listlessly, she scanned the headings, glancedover the letter press in silence, then turned the crumpled page. Presently she frowned. "Listen to this, Philip; they say that there is yellow fever amongthe Yankee troops in Louisiana. It would be like them to bringthat horror into the Ca'linas and Virginia----" He turned his head suddenly, partly rose from where he lay; and shecaught her breath and bent swiftly over him, placing one hand onhis arm and gently forcing him down upon the-pillow again. "Fo'give me, dear, " she faltered. "I forgot what I was reading----" He said, thoughtfully: "Did you ever hear exactly how my motherdied, Celia? . . . But I know you never did. . . . And I think Ihad better tell you. " "She died in the fever camp at Silver Bayou, when you were a littlelad, " whispered Celia. "No. " "Philip! What are you saying?" "You don't know how my mother died, " he said quietly. "Phil, we had the papers--and the Governor of Louisiana wrote ushimse'f----" "I know what he wrote and what the papers published was not true. I'll tell you how she died. When I was old enough to take care ofmyself I went to Silver Bayou. . . . Many people in that town haddied; some still survived. I found the parish records. I foundone of the camp doctors who remembered that accursed year ofplague--an old man, withered, indifferent, sleeping his days awayon the rotting gallery of his tumble-down house. _He_ knew. . . . And I found some of the militia still surviving; and one among themretained a confused memory of my mother--among the horrors of thatpoisonous year----" He lay silent, considering; then: "I was old enough to remember, but not old enough to understand what I understood later. . . . Doyou want to know how my mother died?" Celia's lips moved in amazed assent. "Then I will tell you. . . . They had guards north, east, and westof us. They had gone mad with fright; the whole land wasquarantined against us; musket, flintlock, shotgun, faced usthrough the smoke of their burning turpentine. I was only a littlelad, but the horror of it I have never forgotten, nor my mother'sterror--not for herself, for me. " He lay on his side, thin hands clasped, looking not at Celia butbeyond her at the dreadful scene his fancy was painting on the wallof his mother's room: "Often, at night, we heard the shots along the dead line. Oncethey murdered a man behind our water garden. Our negroes moanedand sobbed all day, all night, helpless, utterly demoralised. Twowere shot swimming; one came back dying from snake bite. I saw himdead on the porch. "I saw men fall down in the street with the black vomit--women, also--and once I saw two little children lying dead against agarden wall in St. Catharine's Alley. I was young, but I remember. " A terrible pallor came into his wan face. "And I remember my mother, " he said; "and her pleading with the menwho came to the house to let her send me across the river wherethere was no fever. I remember her saying that it was murder toimprison children there in Silver Bayou; that I was perfectly wellso far. They refused. Soldiers came and went. Their captaindied; others died, we heard. Then my mother's maid, Alice, anoctoroon, died on the East Gallery. And the quarters went insanethat day. "When night came an old body-servant of my grandfather scratched atmother's door. I heard him. I thought it was Death. I was halfdead with terror when mother awoke and whispered to me to dress inthe dark and to make no sound. "I remember it perfectly--remember saying: 'I won't go if youdon't, mother. I'd rather be with you. ' And I remember hersaying: 'You shall not stay here to die when you are perfectlywell. Trust mother, darling; Jerry will take you to SainteJacqueline in a boat. ' "And after that it is vaguer--the garden, the trench dug under thenorth wall--and how mother and I, in deadly fear of moccasins, downon all fours, crept after Jerry along the ditch to the water'sedge----" His face whitened again; he lay silent for a while, crushing hiswasted hands together. "Celia, they fired on us from the levee. After that I don't know;I never knew what happened. But that doctor at Silver Bayou saidthat I was found a mile below in a boat with the first marks of theplague yellowing my skin. Celia, they never found my mother'sbody. It is not true that she died of fever at Silver Bayou. Shefell under the murderous rifles of the levee guard--gave her lifetrying to save me from that pest-stricken prison. Jerry's body wasfound stranded in the mud twenty miles below. He had been shotthrough the body. . . . And now you know how my mother died. " He raised himself on one elbow, watching Celia's shocked white facefor a moment or two, then wearily turned toward the window and sankback on his pillows. In the still twilight, far away through the steady fusillade fromthe outposts, he heard the dull boom-booming of cannon, and theheavy shocks of the great guns aboard the Union gun-boats. But itsounded very far off; a mocking-bird sang close under his window;the last rosy bar faded from the fleecy cloud bank in the east. Night came abruptly--the swift Southern darkness quickly emblazonedwith stars; and the whip-poor-wills began their ghostly calling;and the spectres of the mist crept stealthily inland. "Celia?" Her soft voice answered from the darkness near him. He said: "I knew this was her room before you told me. I have seenher several times. " "Good God, Phil!" she faltered, "what are you saying?" "I don't know. . . . I saw her the night I came here. " After a long silence Celia rose and lighted a candle. Holding it alittle above her pallid face she glided to his bedside and lookeddown at him. After a moment, bending, she touched his face withher palm; then her cool finger-tips brushed the quiet pulse at hiswrist. "Have I any fever?" "No, Phil. " "I thought not. . . . I saw mother's face a few moments ago inthat mirror behind you. " Celia sank down on the bed's edge, the candle trembling in herhand. Then, slowly, she turned her head and looked over hershoulder, moving cautiously, until her fascinated eyes found theglass behind her. The mirror hung there reflecting the floweredwall opposite; a corner of the bed; nothing else. He said in an even voice; "From the first hour that you brought me into this room, she hasbeen here. I knew it instantly. . . . The first day she wasbehind those curtains--was there a long while. I knew she wasthere; I watched the curtains, expecting her to step out. I waitedall day, not understanding that I--that it was better that I shouldspeak. I fell asleep about dusk. She came out then and sat whereyou are sitting. " "It was a dream, Phil. It was fever. Try to realise what you aresaying!" "I do. The next evening I lay watching; and I saw a figurereflected in the mirror. It was not yet dusk. Celia, in thesunset light I saw her standing by the curtains. But it wasstar-light before she came to the bed and looked down at me. "I said very quietly: 'Mother dear!' _Then_ she spoke to me; and Iknew she was speaking, but I could not hear her voice. . . . Itwas that way while she stood beside me--I could not hear her, Celia. I could not hear what she was saying. It was no spirit Isaw--no phantom from the dead there by my bed, no ghost--norestless wraith, grave-driven through the night. I believe she isliving. She knows I believe it. . . . As you sat here, a momentago, reading to me, I saw her reflected for a moment in the mirrorbehind you, passing into the room beyond. Her hair is perfectlywhite, Celia--or, " he said vaguely to himself, "was it somethingshe wore?--like the bandeaux of the Sisters of Charity----" The lighted candle fell from Celia's nerveless fingers and rolledover and over across the floor, trailing a smoking wick. Berkley'shand steadied her trembling arm. "Why are you frightened?" he asked calmly. "There is nothing dead about what I saw. " "I c-can't he'p myse'f, " stammered Celia; "you say such frightfulthings to me--you tell me that they happen in my own house--in_her_ own room--How can I be calm? How can I believe such thingsof--of Constance Berkley--of yo' daid mother----" "I don't know, " he said dully. The star-light sparkled on the silver candle-stick where it lay onthe floor in a little pool of wax. Quivering all over, Celiastooped to lift, relight it, and set it on the table. And, overher shoulder, he saw a slim shape enter the doorway. "Mother dear?" he whispered. And Celia turned with a cry and stood swaying there in the rays ofthe candle. But it was only a Sister of Charity--a slim, childish figure underthe wide white head-dress--who had halted, startled at Celia's cry. She was looking for the Division Medical Director, and the sentrieshad misinformed her--and she was very sorry, very deeply distressedto have frightened anybody--but the case was urgent--a Sister shotnear the picket line on Monday; and authority to send her Northwas, what she had come to seek. Because the Sister had lost hermind completely, had gone insane, and no longer knew them, knewnobody, not even herself, nor the hospital, nor the doctors, noreven that she lay on a battle-field. And she was saying strangeand dreadful things about herself and about people nobody had everheard of. . . . Could anybody tell her where the Division MedicalDirector could be found? It was not yet daybreak when Berkley awoke in his bed to findlights in the room and medical officers passing swiftly hither andthither, the red flames from their candles blowing smokily in thebreezy doorways. The picket firing along the river had not ceased. At the sameinstant he felt the concussion of heavy guns shaking his bed. Thelawn outside the drawn curtains resounded with the hurrying clatterof waggons, the noise of pick and spade and crack of hammer andmallet. He drew himself to a sitting posture. A regimental surgeon passingthrough the room glanced at him humorously, saying: "You've got apretty snug berth here, son. How does it feel to sleep in a realbed?" And, extinguishing his candle, he went away through the doorwithout waiting for any answer. Berkley turned toward the window, striving to reach the drawncurtains. And at length he managed to part them, but it was alldark outside. Yet the grounds were evidently crowded with waggonsand men; he recognised sounds which indicated that tents were beingerected, drains and sinks dug; the rattle of planks and boards weresignificant of preparation for the construction of "shebangs. " Farther away on the dark highway he could hear the swift gallop ofcavalry and the thudding clank of light batteries, all passing inperfect darkness. Then, leaning closer to the sill, he gazedbetween the curtains far into the southwest; and saw the tall curveof Confederate shells traced in whirling fire far down the river, the awful glare of light as the enormous guns on the Union warshipsreplied. Celia, her lovely hair over her shoulders, a scarf covering hernight-dress, came in carrying a lighted candle; and instantly avoice from outside the window bade her extinguish the light or drawthe curtain. She looked at Berkley in a startled manner, blew out the flame, andcame around between his bed and the window, drawing the curtainsentirely aside. "General Claymore's staff has filled eve'y room in the house exceptyours and mine, " she said in her gentle, bewildered way. "There'sa regiment--Curt's Zouaves--encamped befo' the west quarters, and abattery across the drive, and all the garden is full of theirhorses and caissons. " "Poor little Celia, " he said, reaching out to touch her hand, anddrawing her to the bed's edge, where she sat down helplessly. "The Yankee officers are all over the house, " she repeated. "They're up in the cupola with night-glasses now. They are ve'ypolite. Curt took off his riding boots and went to sleep on mybed--and oh he is so dirty!--my darling Curt' my own husband!--toodirty to touch! I could cry just to look at his uniform, all blackand stained and the gold entirely gone from one sleeve! AndStephen!--oh, Phil, some mise'ble barber has shaved the heads ofall the Zouaves, and Steve is perfectly disfigured!--the poor, dearboy"--she laughed hysterically--"he had a hot bath and I've beenmending the rags that he and Curt call unifo'ms--and I found cleanflannels fo' them both in the attic----" "_What_ does all this mean--all this camping outside?" heinterrupted gently. "Curt doesn't know. The camps and hospitals west of us have beenshelled, and all the river roads are packed full of ambulances andstretchers going east. " "Where is my regiment?" "The Lancers rode away yesterday with General Stoneman--all excepthaidqua'ters and one squadron--yours, I think--and they are actingescort to General Sykes at the overseers house beyond the oakgrove. Your colonel is on his staff, I believe. " He lay silent, watching the burning fuses of the shells as theysoared up into the night, whirling like fiery planets on theiraxes, higher, higher, mounting through majestic altitudes to thepallid stars, then, curving, falling faster, faster, till theirswift downward glare split the darkness into broad sheets of light. "Phil, " she whispered, "I think there is a house on fire across theriver!" Far away in the darkness rows of tiny windows in an unseen mansionhad suddenly become brilliantly visible. "It--it must be Mr. Ruffin's house, " she said in an awed voice. "Oh, Phil! It _is_! Look! It's all on fire--it's--oh, see theflames on the roof! This is terrible--terrible--" She caught herbreath. "Phil! There's another house on fire! Do you see--do you _see_!It's Ailsa's house--Marye-mead! Oh, how could they set it onfire--how could they have the heart to burn that sweet old place!" "Is that Marye-mead?" he asked. "It _must_ be. That's where it ought to stand--and--oh! oh! it'sall on fire, Phil, all on fire!" "Shells from the gun-boats, " he muttered, watching the entire skyturn crimson as the flames burst into fury, lighting up clumps oftrees and outhouses. And, as they looked, the windows of anotherhouse began to kindle ominously; little tongues of fire flutteredover a distant cupola, leaped across to a gallery, ran up invinelike tendrils which flowered into flame, veining everything ina riotous tangle of brilliancy. And through the kindling darknessthe sinister boom--boom! of the guns never ceased, and the shellscontinued to mount, curve, and fall, streaking the night withgolden incandescence. Outside the gates, at the end of the cedar-lined avenue, where thehighway passes, the tumult was increasing every moment amid shouts, cracking of whips, the jingle and clash of traces and metallicracket of wheels. The house, too, resounded with the heavy hurriedtread of army boots trampling up and down stairs and crossing thefloors above in every direction. In the summer kitchen loud-voiced soldiers were cooking; there camethe clatter of plates from the dining-room, the odour of hot breadand frying pork. "All my negroes except old Peter and a quadroon maid have gonecrazy, " said Celia hopelessly. "I had them so comfo'tablyqua'tered and provided foh!--Cary, the ove'seer, would have lookedafter them while the war lasts--but the sight of the blue uniformsunbalanced them, and they swa'med to the river, where thecontraband boats were taking runaways. . . . Such foolishcreatures! They were ve'y happy here and quite safe and welltreated. . . . And everyone has deserted, old and young!--totingtheir bundles and baskets on their silly haids--every negro onPaigecourt plantation, every servant in this house except Peter andSadie has gone with the contrabands . . . I'm sure I don't knowwhat these soldiers are cooking in the kitchen. I expect they'llend by setting the place afire, and I told Curt so, but he can'the'p it, and I can't. It's ve'y hard to see the house turned outof the windows, and the lawns and gardens cut to pieces by hoofsand wheels, but I'm only too thankful that Curt can find shelterunder this roof, and nothing matters any mo' as long as he andStephen are alive and well. " "Haven't you heard from Ailsa yet?" asked Berkley in a low voice. "Oh, Phil! I'm certainly worried. She was expecting to go onboard some hospital boat at the landing the day befo' your regimentarrived. I haven't set eyes on her since. A gun-boat was to takeone of the Commission's steamers to Fortress Monroe, and all thatday the fleet kept on firing at our--at the Confederate batteriesover the river"--she corrected herself wearily--"and I was soafraid, that Ailsa's steamer would try to get out----" "Did it?" "I don't know. There are so many, many boats at the landing, andthere's been so much firing, and nobody seems to know what ishappening or where anybody is. . . . And I don't know where Ailsais, and I've been ve'y mise'ble because they say some volunteernurses have been killed----" "What!" "I didn't want to tell you, Phil--until you were better----" "Tell me what?" he managed to say, though a terrible fear wasstiffening his lips and throat. She said dully: "They get shot sometimes. You remember yo'se'fwhat that Sister of Charity said last night. I heard Ailsacautioning Letty--the little nurse, Miss Lynden----" "Yes, I know. What else?" Celia's underlip quivered: "Nothing, only Ailsa told me that shewas ordered to the field hospital fo' duty befo' she went aboardthe commission boat--and she never came back--and there was abattle all that day----" "Is that all?" he demanded, rising on one elbow. "Is thereanything else you are concealing?" "No, Phil. I'd tell you if there was. Perhaps I'm foolish to beso nervous--but I don't know--that Sister of Charity struck by abullet--and to think of Ailsa out there under fire--" She closedher eyes and sat shivering in the gray chill of the dawn, the tearssilently stealing over her pale cheeks. Berkley stared out of thewindow at a confused and indistinct mass of waggons and tents andmoving men, but the light was still too dim to distinguishuniforms; and presently Celia leaned forward and drew the curtains. Then she turned and took Berkley's hands in hers. "Phil, dear, " she said softly, "I suspect how it is with you andAilsa. Am I indiscreet to speak befo' you give me any warrant?" He said nothing. "The child certainly is in love with you. A blind woman coulddivine that, " continued Celia wistfully. "I am glad, Phil, becauseI believe you are as truly devoted to her as she is to you. Andwhen the time comes--if God spares you both----" "You are mistaken, " he said quietly, "there is no future before us. " She coloured in consternation. "Wh--why I certainlysupposed--believed----" "Celia!" "W-what, dear?" "Don't you _know_ I cannot marry?" "Why not, Philip?" "Could I marry Ailsa Craig unless I first told her that my fatherand my mother were never married?" he said steadily. "Oh, Philip!" she cried, tears starting to her eyes again, "do youthink that would weigh with a girl who is so truly and unselfishlyin love with you?" "You don't understand, " he said wearily. "I'd take _that_ chancenow. But do you think me disloyal enough to confess to any womanon earth what my mother, if she were living, would sacrifice hervery life to conceal?" He bent his head, supporting it in his hands, speaking as though tohimself: "I believe that the brain is the vehicle, not the origin ofthought. I believe a brain becomes a mind only when an immortalityexterior to ourselves animates it. And this is what is called thesoul. . . . Whatever it is, it is what I saw--or what that_something_, exterior to my body, recognised. "Perhaps these human eyes of mine did not see her. Something thatbelongs to me saw the immortal visitor; something, that is thevital part of me, saw, recognised, and was recognised. " For a long while they sat there, silent; the booming guns shook thewindow; the clatter and uproar of the passing waggon train filledtheir ears. Suddenly the house rocked under the stunning crash of a huge gun. Celia sprang to her feet, caught at the curtain as another terrificblast shivered the window-panes and filled the room with acrid dust. Through the stinging clouds of powdered plaster Colonel Craigentered the room, hastily pulling on his slashed coat as he came. "There's a fort in the rear of us--don't be frightened, Celia. Ithink they must be firing at----" His voice was drowned in the thunder of another gun; Celia made herway to him, hid her face on his breast as the room shook again andthe plaster fell from the ceiling, filling the room with blindingdust. "Oh, Curt, " she gasped, "this is dreadful. Philip cannot stayhere----" "Better pull the sheets over his head, " said her husband, meetingBerkley's eyes with a ghost of a smile. "It won't last long; andthere are no rebel batteries that can reach Paigecourt. " He kissedher. "How are you feeling, dear? I'm trying to arrange for you togo North on the first decent transport----" "I want to stay with you, Curt, " she pleaded, tightening her armsaround his neck. "Can't I stay as long as my husband and son arehere? I don't wish to go----" "You can't stay, " he said gently. "There is no immediate dangerhere at Paigecourt, but the army is turning this landing into avast pest hole. It's deadly unhealthy. I wish you to go home justas soon as I can secure transportation----" "And let them burn Paigecourt? Who is there to look after----" "We'll have to take such chances, Celia. The main thing is for youto pack up and go home as soon as you possibly can. . . . I've gotto go out now. I'll try to come back to-night. The Generalunderstands that it's your house, and that you are my wife; andthere's a guard placed and a Union flag hung out from thegallery----" She looked up quickly; a pink flush stained her neck and forehead. "I would not use that wicked flag to protect myse'f, " she saidquietly--"nor to save this house, either, Curt. It's only fo' youand Phil that I care what happens to anything now----" "Then go North, you bad little rebel!" whispered her husband, drawing her into his arms. "Paige and Marye have been desertedlong enough; and you've seen sufficient of this war--plenty to lastyour lifetime----" "I saw Ailsa's house burn, " she said slowly. "Marye-mead. When?" "This mo'ning, Curt. Phil thinks it was the shells from thegun-boats. It can't be he'ped now; it's gone. So is EdmundRuffin's. And I wish I knew where that child, Ailsa, is. I'm thatfrightened and mise'ble, Curt----" An orderly suddenly appeared at the door; her husband kissed herand hurried away. The outer door swung wide, letting in a brassyclangour of bugles and a roll of drums, which softened when thedoor closed with a snap. It opened again abruptly, and a thin, gray-garbed figure came in, hesitated, and Celia turned, staring through her tears: "Miss Lynden!" she exclaimed. "Is Ailsa here?" Berkley sat up and leaned forward, looking at her intently from themass of bandages. "Letty!" he said, "where is Mrs. Paige?" Celia had caught the girl's hands in hers, and was searching herthin white face with anxious eyes; and Letty shook her head andlooked wonderingly at Berkley. "Nothing has happened to her, " she said. "A Sister of Mercy waswounded in the field hospital near Azalea, and they sent for Mrs. Paige to fill her place temporarily. And, " looking from Celia toBerkley, "she is well and unhurt. The fighting is farther westnow. Mrs. Paige heard yesterday that the 8th Lancers were encampednear Paigecourt and asked me to find Mr. Berkley--and deliver aletter----" She smiled, drew from her satchel a letter, and, disengaging herother hand from Celia's, went over to the bed and placed it inBerkley's hands. "She is quite well, " repeated Letty reassuringly; and, to Celia:"She sends her love to you and to your husband and son, and wishesto know how they are and where their regiment is stationed. " "You sweet little thing!" said Celia, impulsively taking her intoher arms and kissing her pale face. "My husband and my son aresafe and well, thank God, and my cousin, Phil Berkley, isconvalescent, and you may tell my sister-in-law that we all wereworried most to death at not hearing from her. And now I'm goingto get you a cup of broth--you poor little white-faced child! Howdid you ever get here?" "Our ambulance brought me. We had sick men to send North. Ailsacouldn't leave, so she asked me to come. " She accepted a chair near the bed. Celia went away to prepare somebreakfast with the aid of old Peter and Sadie, her maid. And assoon as she left the room Letty sprang to her feet and wentstraight to Berkley. "I did not tell the entire truth, " she said in a low, excitedvoice. "I heard your regiment was here; Ailsa learned it from me. I was coming anyway to see you. " "To see me, Letty?" he repeated, surprised and smiling. "Yes, " she said, losing what little colour remained in her cheeks. "I am in--in much--anxiety--to know--what to do. " "Can _I_ help you?" She looked wistfully at him; the tears rushed into her eyes; shedropped on her knees at his bedside and hid her face on his hands. [Illustration: "She dropped on her knees at his bedside and hid herface on his hands. "] "Letty--Letty!" he said in astonishment, "what on earth hashappened?" She looked up, lips quivering, striving to meet his gaze throughher tears. "Dr. Benton is here. . . . He--he has asked me to--marry him. " Berkley lay silent, watching her intently. "Oh, I know--I know, " she sobbed. "I can't, can I? I should haveto tell him--and he would never speak to me again--never write tome--never be what he has been all these months!--I know I cannotmarry him. I came to tell you--to ask--but it's no use--no use. Iknew what you would say----" "Letty! Wait a moment----" She rose, controlling herself with a desperate effort. "Forgive me, Mr. Berkley; I didn't mean to break down; but I'm sotired--and--I wanted you--I needed to hear you tell me what wasright. . . . But I knew already. Even if I were--were treacherousenough to marry him--I know he would find me out. . . . I can'tget away from it--I can't seem to get away. Yesterday, in camp, the 20th Cavalry halted--and there was John Casson!--And I nearlydropped dead beside Dr. Benton--oh the punishment for what Idid!--the awful punishment!--and Casson stared at me and said: 'MyLord, Letty! is that you?'" She buried her burning cheeks in her hands. "I did not lie to him. I offered him my hand; and perhaps he sawthe agony in my face, for he didn't say anything about theCanterbury, but he took off his forage cap and was pleasant andkind. And he and Dr. Benton spoke to each other until the buglessounded for the regiment to mount. " She flung her slender arm out in a tragic gesture toward thehorizon. "The world is not wide enough to hide in, " she said in aheart-breaking voice. "I thought it was--but there is noshelter--no place--no place in all the earth!" "Letty, " he said slowly, "if your Dr. Benton is the man I think heis--and I once knew him well enough to judge--he is the only man onearth fit to hear the confession you have made this day to me. " She looked at him, bewildered. "I advise you to love him and marry him. Tell him about yourselfif you choose; or don't tell him. There is a vast amount ofnonsense talked about the moral necessity of turning one's selfinside out the moment one comes to marry. Let me tell you, few mencan do it; and their fiancees survive the shock. So, few men areasses enough to try it. As for women, few have any confessions tomake. A few have. You are one. " "Yes, " she whispered. "But I wouldn't if I were you. If ever any man or woman took thechance of salvation and made the most of it, that person is you!And I'm going to tell you that I wouldn't hesitate to marry you ifI loved you. " "W-what!" He laughed. "Not one second! It's a good partnership for anyplan. Don't be afraid that you can't meet men on their own level. You're above most of us now; and you're mounting steadily. There, that's my opinion of you--that you're a good woman, and a charmingone; and Benton is devilish lucky to get you. . . . Come here, Letty. " She went to him as though dazed; and he took both her hands in his. "Don't you know, " he said, "that I have seen you, day after day, intimately associated with the woman I love? Can you understandnow that I am telling the truth when I say, let the past bury itsghosts; and go on living as you have lived from the moment thatyour chance came to live nobly. I know what you have made ofyourself. I know what the chances were against you. You are abetter woman to-day than many who will die untempted. And youshall not doubt it, Letty. What a soul is born into is often fineand noble; what a soul makes of itself is beyond all praise. "Choose your own way; tell him or not; but if you love him, giveyourself to him. Whether or not you tell him, he will want you--asI would--as any man would. . . . Now you must smile at me, Letty. " She turned toward him a face, pallid, enraptured, transfigured withan inward radiance that left him silent--graver after that swiftglimpse of a soul exalted. She said slowly: "You and Ailsa have been God's own messengers tome. . . . I shall tell Dr. Benton. . . . If he still wishes it, Iwill marry him. It will be for him to ask--after he knows all. " Celia entered, carrying the breakfast on a tray. "Curt's Zouaves have stolen ev'y pig, but I found bacon and po'k inthe cellar, " she said, smilingly. "Oh, dear! the flo' is in such amess of plaster! Will you sit on the aidge of the bed, MissLynden, and he'p my cousin eat this hot co'n pone?" So the napkin was spread over the sheets, and pillows tucked behindBerkley; and Celia and Letty fed him, and Letty drank her coffeeand thankfully ate her bacon and corn pone, telling them both, between bites, how it had been with her and with Ailsa since thegreat retreat set in, swamping all hospitals with the sick andwounded of an unbeaten but disheartened army, now doomed todecimation by disease. "It was dreadful, " she said. "We could hear the firing for milesand miles, and nobody knew what was happening. But all thenorthern papers said it was one great victory after another, and webelieved them. All the regimental bands at the Landing played; andeverybody was so excited. We all expected to hear that our armywas in Richmond. " Celia reddened to the ears, and her lips tightened, but she saidnothing; and Letty went on, unconscious of the fiery emotionsawaking in Celia's breast: "Everybody was so cheerful and happy in the hospital--all thosepoor sick soldiers, " she said, "and everybody was beginning to planto go home, thinking the war had nearly ended. I thought so, too, and I was so glad. And then, somehow, people began to get uneasy;and the first stragglers appeared. . . . Oh, it did seemincredible at first; we wouldn't believe that the siege of Richmondhad been abandoned. " She smiled drearily. "I've found out that it is very easy tobelieve what you want to believe in this world. . . . Will youhave some more broth, Mr. Berkley?" Before he could answer the door opened and a red zouave came in, carrying his rifle and knapsack. "Mother, " he said in an awed voice, "Jimmy Lent is dead!" "What!" He looked stupidly around the room, resting his eyes on Letty andBerkley, then dropped heavily onto a chair. "Jim's dead, " he repeated vacantly. "He only arrived hereyesterday--transferred from his militia to McDunn's battery. Andnow he's dead. Some one had better write to Camilla. I'm afraidto. . . . A shell hit him last night--oh--he's all torn topieces--and Major Lent doesn't know it, either. . . . Father letme come; we're ordered across the river; good-bye, mother--" Herose and put his arms around her. "You'll write to Camilla, won't you?" he said. "Tell her I loveher. I didn't know it until just a few minutes ago. But I do, mother. I'd like to marry her. Tell her not to cry too much. Jimmy was playing cards, they say, and a big shell fell inside theredoubt. Philip--I think you knew Harry Sayre? Transferred fromthe 7th to the Zouaves as lieutenant in the 5th company?" "Yes. Was he killed?" "Oh, Lord, yes; everybody in the shebang except Arthur Wye was alltorn to pieces. Tommy Atherton, too; you knew him, of course--5thZouaves. He happened in--just visiting Arthur Wye. They were allplaying cards in a half finished bomb-proof. . . . Mother, you_will_ write to Camilla, won't you, dear? Good-bye--good-bye, Phil--and Miss Lynden!" He caught his mother in his arms for alast hug, wrenched himself free, and ran back across the hall, bayonet and canteen clanking. "Oh, why are they sending Curt's regiment across the river?" wailedCelia, following to the window. "Look at them, Phil! Can you see?The road is full of Zouaves--there's a whole regiment of them inblue, too. The batteries are all harnessed up; do you thinkthere's going to be another battle? I don't know why they want tofight any mo'!" she exclaimed in sudden wrath and anguish. "Idon't understand why they are not willing to leave the South alone. My husband will be killed, and my only son--like Jimmy Lent--ifthey don't ever stop this wicked fighting----" The roar of a heavy gun buried the room in plaster dust. Lettycalmly lifted the tray from the bed and set it on a table. Thenvery sweetly and with absolute composure she took leave of Celiaand of Berkley. They saw her climb into an ambulance which wasdrawn up on the grass. Then Berkley opened the letter that Letty had brought him: "This is just a hurried line to ask you a few questions. Do youknow a soldier named Arthur Wye? He is serving now as artillerymanin the 10th N. Y. Flying Battery, Captain McDunn. Are youacquainted with a lieutenant in the 5th Zouaves, named Cortlandt?I believe he is known to his intimates as Billy or 'Pop' Cortlandt. Are they trustworthy and reliable men? Where did you meet MissLynden and how long have you known her? Please answer immediately. "AILSA PAIGE. " Wondering, vaguely uneasy, he read and re-read this note, so unlikeAilsa, so brief, so disturbing in its direct coupling of the peoplein whose company he had first met Letty Lynden. . . . Yet, onreflection, he dismissed apprehension, Ailsa was too fine acharacter to permit any change in her manner to humiliate Lettyeven if, by hazard, knowledge of the unhappy past had come to herconcerning the pretty, pallid nurse of Sainte Ursula. As for Arthur Wye and Billy Cortlandt, they were incapable ofanything contemptible or malicious. He asked Celia for a pencil and paper, and, propped on his pillows, he wrote: "My darling, I don't exactly understand your message, but I guessit's all right. To answer it: "Billy Cortlandt and Arthur Wye are old New York friends of mine. Their words are better than other people's bonds. Letty Lynden isa sweet, charming girl. I regret that I have not known her yearslonger than I have. I am sending this in haste to catch Letty'sambulance just departing, though still blocked by artillery passingthe main road. Can you come? I love you. "PHILIP BERKLEY. " Celia sent her coloured man running after the ambulance. He caughtit just as it started on. Berkley, from his window, saw theservant deliver his note to Letty. He had not answered the two questions concerning Letty. He couldnot. So he had evaded them. Preoccupied, still conscious of the lingering sense of uneasiness, he turned on his pillows and looked out of the window. An enormous cloud of white smoke rose curling from the river, another, another; and boom! boom! boom! came the solid thunder ofcannon. The gunboats at the Landing were opening fire; cavalrywere leading their horses aboard transports; and far down the roadthe sun glistened on a long column of scarlet, where the 3rdZouaves were marching to their boats. The sharpshooters had already begun to trouble them. Theirofficers ordered them to lie down while awaiting their turn toembark. After a while many of the men sat up on the ground tostretch and look about them, Stephen among the others. And amoment later a conoidal bullet struck him square in the chest andknocked him flat in the dirt among his comrades. CHAPTER XVII The smoke and spiteful crackle of the pickets' fusilade had risento one unbroken crash, solidly accented by the report of field guns. Ambulances were everywhere driving to the rear at a gallop past thecentre and left sections of McDunn's Battery, which, unlimbered, was standing in a cotton field, the guns pointed southward acrossthe smoke rising below. Claymore's staff, dismounted, stood near. The young generalhimself, jacket over one arm, was seated astride the trail of thesixth gun talking eagerly to McDunn, when across the rolling groundcame a lancer at full speed, plunging and bucketing in his saddle, the scarlet rags of the lance pennon whipping the wind. Thetrooper reined in his excited horse beside Claymore, saluted, andhanded him a message; and the youthful general, glancing at it, gotonto his feet in a hurry, and tossed his yellow-edged jacket of aprivate to an orderly. Then he faced the lancer: "Tell Colonel Craig to hold his position no matter what it costs!"he exclaimed sharply. "Tell Colonel Arran that I expect him tostand by the right section of the 10th battery until it is safelyand properly brought off!" He swung around on Captain McDunn. "Limber your battery to the rear, sir! Follow headquarters!" hesnapped, and threw himself into his saddle, giving his mount reinand heel with a reckless nod to his staff. McDunn, superbly mounted, scarcely raised his clear, penetratingvoice: "Cannoneers mount gun-carriages; caissons follow; drivers, put spur and whip to horses--forward--march!" he said. "Trot out!" rang the bugles; the horses broke into a swinging lopeacross the dry ridges of the cotton field, whips whistled, thecannoneers bounced about on the chests, guns, limbers and caissonsthumped, leaped, jolted, rose up, all wheels in the air at once, swayed almost to overturning, and thundered on in a tornado ofdust, leaders, swing team, wheel team straining into a franticgallop. The powerful horses bounded forward into a magnificent stride;general and staff tore on ahead toward the turnpike. Suddenly, right past them came a driving storm of stampeding cavalry, panic-stricken, riding like damned men, tearing off and hurlingfrom them carbines, canteens, belts; and McDunn, white with rage, whipped out his revolver and fired into them as they rushed by in atorrent of red dust. From his distorted mouth vile epithetspoured; he cursed and damned their cowardice, and, standing up inhis stirrups, riding like a cossack at full speed, attempted to usehis sabre on the fugitives from the front. But there was nostopping them, for the poor fellows had been sent into fireignorant how to use the carbines issued the day before. Into a sandy field all spouting with exploding shells and bulletsthe drivers galloped and steered the plunging guns. The driver ofthe lead team, fifth caisson, was shot clear out of his saddle, allthe wheels going over him and grinding him to pulp; piece andlimber whirled into a lane on a dead run, and Arthur Wye, drivingthe swing team, clinging to the harness and crawling out along thetraces, gained the saddle of the lead-horse. "Bully for you!" shouted McDunn. "I hope to God that cowardlymonkey cavalry saw you!" The left section swung on the centre to get its position; limberafter limber dashed up, clashing and clanking, to drop its gun;caisson after caisson rounded to under partial cover in the farmlane to the right. The roar of the conflict along the river had become terrific; tothe east a New Jersey battery, obscured in flame-shot clouds, wasretiring by its twenty-eight-foot prolonges, using cannister; theremains of a New Hampshire infantry regiment supported the retreat;between the two batteries Claymore in his shirt, sleeves rolled tohis elbows, heavy revolver swinging in his blackened fist, wasgiving a tongue lashing to the stream of fugitives from the riverwoods. "Where are you going! Hey! Scouting? Well scout to the front, damn you! . . . Where are _you_ going, young man? For ammunition?Go back to the front or I'll shoot you! Get along there youmalingerers! or, by God, I'll have a squadron of Arran'spig-stickers ride you down and punch your skins full of holes!Orderly! Ask Colonel Arran if he can spare me a squad of hislancers for a few minutes----" The orderly saluted, coughed up a stream of blood, fell backwardoff his horse, scrambled to his feet, terror-stricken, both handspressed convulsively over his stomach! "Damn them! They've got me. General!" he gasped--"they've g-gotme this time! There's a piece of shell inside me as big----" He leaned weakly against his mild-eyed horse, nauseated; but it wasonly a spent ball on his belt plate after all, and a few momentslater, swaying and sickly, he forced his horse into a trot acrossthe hill. A major of Claymore's staff galloped with orders to the Zouaves;but, as he opened his mouth to speak a shell burst behind him, andhe pitched forward on his face, his shattered arm doubling underhim. "Drag me behind that tree. Colonel Craig!" he said coolly. "I'llfinish my orders in a moment. " Major Lent and Colonel Craig gothim behind the tree; and the officer's superb will never faltered. "Your new position must cover that bridge, " he whispered faintly. "The left section of McDunn's battery is already ordered to yoursupport. . . . How is it with you, Colonel? Speak louder----" Colonel Craig, pallid and worn under the powder smears and sweat, wiped the glistening grime from his eye-glasses. "We are holding on, " he said. "It's all right, Major. I'll getword through to the General, " and he signalled to some drummer boyslying quietly in the bushes to bring up a stretcher, just as theleft section of McDunn's battery burst into view on a dead run, swung into action, and began to pour level sheets of flame into thewoods, where, already, the high-pitched rebel yell was beginningagain. A solid shot struck No. 5 gun on the hub, killing Cannoneer No. 2, who was thumbing the vent, and filling No. 1 gunner with splintersof iron, whirling him into eternity amid a fountain of dirt andflying hub-tires. Then a shell blew a gun-team into fragments, plastering the men's faces with bloody shreds of flesh; and theboyish lieutenant, spitting out filth, coolly ordered up thelimbers, and brought his section around into the road with abeautiful display of driving and horsemanship that drew raucouscheers from the Zouaves, where they lay, half stifled, firing atthe gray line of battle gathering along the edges of the woods. And now the shrill, startling battle cry swelled to the hystericalpack yell, and, gathering depth and volume, burst out into afrantic treble roar. A long gray line detached itself from thewoods; mounted officers, sashed and debonaire, trotted jauntily outin front of it; the beautiful battle flags slanted forward; therecame a superb, long, low-swinging gleam of steel; and the Southlandwas afoot once more, gallant, magnificent, sweeping recklessly oninto the red gloom of the Northern guns. Berkley, his face bandaged, covered with sweat and dust, sat hisworn, cowhide saddle in the ranks, long lance couched, watching, expectant. Every trooper who could ride a horse was needed now;hospitals had given up their invalids; convalescents and sick mengathered bridle with shaking fingers; hollow-eyed youngsterstightened the cheek-straps of their forage caps and waited, lancein rest. In the furious smoke below them they could see the Zouaves runningabout like red devils in the pit; McDunn's guns continued to poursolid columns of flame across the creek; far away to the west theunseen Union line of battle had buried itself in smoke. Through itthe Southern battle flags still advanced, halted, tossed wildly, moved forward in jerks, swung to the fierce cheering, moved onhaltingly, went down, up again, wavered, disappeared in the cannonfog. Colonel Arran, his naked sabre point lowered, sat his saddle, grayand erect. The Major never stirred in his saddle; only the troopcaptains from time to time turned their heads as some strickenhorse lashed out, or the unmistakable sound of a bullet hittingliving flesh broke the intense silence of the ranks. Hallam, at the head of his troop, stroked his handsome moustachecontinually, and at moments spoke angrily to his restive horse. Hewas beginning to have a good deal of trouble with his horse, whichapparently wished to bolt, and he had just managed to drag thefretting animal back into position, when, without warning, thevolunteer infantry posted on the right delivered a ragged volley, sagged back, broke, and began running. Almost on their very heelsa dust-covered Confederate flying battery dropped its blackenedguns and sent charge after charge ripping through them, while outof the fringing woods trotted the gray infantry, driving inskirmishers, leaping fences, brush piles, and ditches, like leanhounds on the trail. Instantly a squadron of the Lancers trampled forward, facing to thewest; but down on their unprotected flank thundered the Confederatecavalry, and from the beginning it had been too late for acounter-charge. A whirlwind of lancers and gray riders drove madly down the slope, inextricably mixed, shooting, sabering, stabbing with tip andferrule. A sabre stroke severed Berkley's cheek-strap, sheering throughvisor and button; and he swung his lance and drove it backward intoa man's face. In the terrible confusion and tangle of men and horses he couldscarcely use his lance at all, or avoid the twirling lances of hiscomrades, or understand what his officers were shouting. It wasall a nightmare--a horror of snorting horses, panting, sweatingriders, the swift downward glitter of sabre strokes, thickeninglike sheeted rain. His horse's feet were now entangled in brush heaps; a crowding, cursing mass of cavalrymen floundered into a half demolished snakefence, which fell outward, rolling mounts and riders into a wetgully, where they continued fighting like wild cats in a pit. Yelling exultantly, the bulk of Confederate riders passed throughthe Lancers, leaving them to the infantry to finish, and rode atthe flying Federal infantry. Everywhere bayonets began to glimmerthrough the smoke and dust, as the disorganised squadrons ralliedand galloped eastward, seeking vainly for shelter to reform. Down in the hollow an entire troop of Lancers, fairly intact, hadbecome entangled among the brush and young saplings, and theConfederate infantry, springing over the fence, began to bayonetthem and pull them from their horses, while the half-stunnedcavalrymen scattered through the bushes, riding hither and thitherlooking vainly for some road to lead them out of the bushy trap. They could not go back; the fence was too solid to ride down, toohigh to leap; the carbineers faced about, trying to make a stand, firing from their saddles; Colonel Arran, confused but cool, turnedhis brier-torn horse and rode forward, swinging his heavy sabre, just as Hallam and Berkley galloped up through the bushes, followedby forty or more bewildered troopers, and halted fo'r orders. Butthere was no way out. Then Berkley leaned from his saddle, touched the visor of his cap, and, looking Arran straight in the eyes, said quietly: "With your permission, sir, I think I can tear down enough of thatfence to let you and the others through! May I try?" Colonel Arran said, quietly: "No man can ride to that fence andlive. Their infantry hold it. " "Two men may get there. " He turned and looked at Hallam. "We'renot going to surrender; we'll all die here anyway. Shall we trythe fence together?" For a second the silence resounded with the racket of theConfederate rifles; three men dropped from their saddles; thenHallam turned ghastly white, opened his jaws to speak; but no soundcame. Suddenly he swung his horse, and spurred straight toward theopen brush in the rear, whipping out his handkerchief and holdingit fluttering above his head. Colonel Arran shouted at him, jerked his revolver free, and firedat him. A carbineer also fired after him from the saddle, butHallam rode on unscathed in his half-crazed night, leaving hisdeserted men gazing after him, astounded. In the smoke of anothervolley, two more cavalrymen pitched out of their saddles. Then Berkley drove his horse blindly into the powder fog ahead; adozen brilliant little jets of flame pricked the gloom; his horsereared, and went down in a piteous heap, but Berkley landed on allfours, crawled hurriedly up under the smoke, jerked a board loose, tore another free, rose to his knees and ripped away board afterboard, shouting to his comrades to come on and cut their way out. They came, cheering, spurring their jaded horses through the gap, crowding out across the road, striking wildly with their sabres, forcing their way up the bank, into a stubble field, and forward ata stiff trot toward the swirling smoke of a Union battery behindwhich they could see shattered squadrons reforming. Berkley ran with them on foot, one hand grasping a friendlystirrup, until the horse he clung to halted abruptly, quivering allover; then sank down by the buttocks with a shuddering scream. AndBerkley saw Colonel Arran rising from the ground, saw him glance athis horse, turn and look behind him where the Confederateskirmishers were following on a run, kneeling to fire occasionally, then springing to their feet and trotting forward, riflesglittering in the sun. A horse with an empty saddle, its off foreleg entangled in itsbridle, was hobbling around in circles, stumbling, neighing, tripping, scrambling to its feet again, and trying frantically togo on. Berkley caught the bridle, freed it, and hanging to theterrified animal's head, shouted to Colonel Arran: "You had better hurry, sir. Their skirmishers are coming up fast!" Colonel Arran stood quietly gazing at him. Suddenly he reeled andstumbled forward against the horse's flank, catching at the mane. "Are you badly hurt, sir?" The Colonel turned his dazed eyes on him, then slid forward alongthe horse's flank. His hands relaxed their hold on the mane, andhe fell flat on his face; and, Berkley, still hanging to the bit, dragged the prostrate man over on his back and stared into hisdeathly features. "Where did they hit you, sir?" "Through the liver, " he gasped. "It's all right, Berkley. . . . Don't wait any longer-----" "I'm not going to leave you. " "You must . . . I'm ended. . . . You haven't a--moment--tolose----" "Can you put your arms around my neck?" "There's no time to waste! I tell you to mount and run forit! . . . And--thank you----" "Put both arms around my neck. . . . Quick! . . . Can you lockyour fingers? . . . This damned horse won't stand! Hold fast tome. I'll raise you easily. . . . Get the other leg over thesaddle. Lean forward. Now I'll walk him at first--holdtight! . . . Can you hang on, Colonel?" "Yes--_my son_" A wild thrill ran through the boy's veins, stopping breath andpulse for a second. Then the hot blood rushed stinging into hisface; he threw one arm around the drooping figure in the saddle, and, controlling the bridle with a grip of steel, started the horseoff across the field. All around them the dry soil was bursting into little dustyfountains where the bullets were striking; ahead, dark smoke hungheavily. Farther on some blue-capped soldiers shouted to them fromtheir shallow rifle pits. Farther on still they passed an entire battalion of regularinfantry, calmly seated on the grass in line of battle; and behindthese troops Berkley saw a stretcher on the grass and two men ofthe hospital corps squatted beside it, chewing grass stems. They came readily enough when they learned the name and rank of thewounded officer. Berkley, almost exhausted, walked beside thestretcher, leading the horse and looking down at the stricken manwho lay with eyes closed and clothing disordered where a hastysearch for the wound had disclosed the small round blue hole justover the seat of the liver. They turned into a road which had been terribly cut up by thewheels of artillery. It was already thronged with the debris ofthe battle, skulkers, wounded men hobbling, pallid malingerersedging their furtive way out of fire. Then ahead arose a terribleclamour, the wailing of wounded, frightened cries, the angry shoutsof cavalrymen, where a Provost Guard of the 20th Dragoons wasriding, recklessly into the fugitives, roughly sorting the goatsfrom the sheep, and keeping the way clear for the ambulances nowarriving along a cross-road at a gallop. Berkley heard his name called out, and, looking up, saw Casson, astride a huge horse, signalling him eagerly from his saddle. "Who in hell have you got there?" he asked, pushing his horse up tothe litter. "By God, it's Colonel Arran, " he added in a modifiedvoice. "Is he very bad, Berkley?" "I don't know. Can't you stop one of those ambulances, Jack? Iwant to get him to the surgeons as soon as possible----" "You bet!" said Casson, wheeling his horse and displaying the newchevrons of a sergeant. "Hey, you black offspring of a yellowwhippet!" he bellowed to a driver, "back out there and be damnquick about it!" And he leaned from his saddle, and seizing theleaders by the head, swung them around with a volley of profanity. Then, grinning amiably at Berkley, he motioned the stretcherbearers forward and sat on his horse, garrulously superintendingthe transfer of the injured man. "There's an emergency hospital just beyond that clump of trees, " hesaid. "You'd better take him there. Golly! but he's hard hit. Iguess that bullet found its billet. There's not much hope whenit's a belly-whopper. Too bad, ain't it? He was a bully old boyof a colonel; we all said so in the dragoons. Only--to hell withthose lances of yours, Berkley! What cursed good are theyalongside a gun? And I notice your regiment has its carbineers, too--which proves that your lances are no good or you wouldn't havetwelve carbines to the troop. Eh? Oh, you bet your boots, sonny. Don't talk lance to me! It's all on account of those Frenchmen onLittle Mac's staff----" "For God's sake shut up!" said Berkley nervously. "I can't standany more just now. " "Oh!" said Casson, taken aback, "I didn't know you were suchcronies with your Colonel. Sorry, my dear fellow; didn't mean toseem indifferent. Poor old gentleman. I guess he will pullthrough. There are nurses at the front--nice little things. Godbless 'em! Say, don't you want to climb up with the driver?" Berkley hesitated. "Do you know where my regiment is? I ought togo back--if there's anybody to look after Colonel Arran----" "Is that your horse?" "No--some staff officer's, I guess. " "Where's yours?" "Dead, " said Berkley briefly. He thought a moment, then tied hishorse to the tail-board and climbed up beside the driver. "Go on, " he said; "drive carefully", and he nodded his thanks toCasson as the team swung north. The Provost Guard, filing along, carbines on thigh, opened to lethim through; and he saw them turning in their saddles to peercuriously into the straw as the ambulance passed. It was slow going, for the road was blocked with artillery andinfantry and other ambulances, but the driver found a lane betweenguns and caissons and through the dusty blue columns ploddingforward toward the firing line; and at last a white hospital tentglimmered under the trees, and the slow mule team turned into aleafy lane and halted in the rear of a line of ambulances whichwere all busily discharging their mangled burdens. The cries ofthe wounded were terrible. Operating tables stood under the trees in the open air; assistantssponged the blood from them continually; the overworked surgeons, stripped to their undershirts, smeared with blood, worked coollyand rapidly in the shade of the oak-trees, seldom raising theirvoices, never impatient. Orderlies brought water in artillerybuckets; ward-masters passed swiftly to and fro; a soldier stood bya pile of severed limbs passing out bandages to assistants whoswarmed around, scurrying hither and thither under the quiet ordersof the medical directors. A stretcher was brought; Colonel Arran opened his heavy lids asthey placed him in it. His eyes summoned Berkley. "It's all right, " he said in the ghost of a voice. "Whichever wayit turns put, it's all right. . . I've tried to livelawfully. . . . It is better to live mercifully. I think--she--wouldforgive. . . . Will you?" "Yes. " He bent and took the wounded man's hand, in his. "If I knew--if I _knew_--" he said, and his burning eyes searchedthe bloodless face beneath him. "God?" he whispered--"if it were true----" A surgeon shouldered him aside, glanced sharply at the patient, motioned the bearers forward. Berkley sat down by the roadside, bridle in hand, head bowed in hisarms. Beside him his horse fed quietly on the weeds. In his earsrang the cries of the wounded; all around him he was conscious ofpeople passing to and fro; and he sat there, face covered, deadlytired, already exhausted to a stolidity that verged on stupor. He must have slept, too, because when he sat up and opened his eyesagain it was nearly sundown, and somebody had stolen his horse. A zouave with a badly sprained ankle, lying on a blanket near him, offered him bread and meat that stank; and Berkley ate it, strivingto collect his deadened thoughts. After he had eaten he filled thezouave's canteen at a little rivulet where hundreds of soldierswere kneeling to drink or dip up the cool, clear water. "What's your reg'ment, friend?" asked the man. "Eighth New York Lancers. " "Lord A'mighty! You boys did get cut up some, didn't you?" "I guess so. Are you Colonel Craig's regiment?" "Yes. We got it, too. Holy Mother--we got it f'r fair!" "Is your Colonel all right?" "Yes. Steve--his son--corporal, 10th Company--was hit. " "What!" "Yes, sir. Plumb through the collar-bone. He was one of the firstto get it. I was turrible sorry for his father--fine old boy!--andhe looked like he'd drop dead hisself--but, by gosh, friend, whenthe stretcher took Steve to the rear the old man jest sot themclean-cut jaws o' his'n, an' kep' his gold-wired gig-lamps to thefront. An' when the time come, he sez in his ca'm, pleasant way:'Boys, ' sez he, 'we're agoin' in. It's a part of the job, ' sez he, 'that has got to be done thorough. So, ' sez he, 'we'll jest moseyalong kind o' quick steppin' now, and we'll do our part like weal'us does do it. For'rd--mar-r-rch!'" Berkley sat still, hands clasped over his knees, thinking ofStephen, and of Celia, and of the father out yonder somewhere amidthe smoke. "Gawd, " said the zouave, "you got a dirty jab on your cocanut, didn't you?" The bandage had slipped, displaying the black scab of the scarcelyhealed wound; and Berkley absently replaced it. "That'll ketch the girls, " observed the zouave with conviction. "Damn it, I've only got a sprained ankle to show my girl. " "The war's not over, " said Berkley indifferently. Then he got up, painfully, from the grass, exchanged adieux with the zouave, andwandered off toward the hospital to seek for news of Colonel Arran. It appeared that the surgeons had operated, and had sent theColonel a mile farther to the rear, where a temporary hospital hadbeen established in a young ladies' seminary. And toward thisBerkley set out across the fields, the sound of the battle dinningheavily in his aching cars. As he walked he kept a sullen eye out for his stolen horse, neverexpecting to see him, and it was with a savage mixture of surpriseand satisfaction that he beheld him, bestridden by two dirtymalingerers from a New York infantry regiment who rode on thesnaffle with difficulty and objurgations and reproached each otherfor their mutual discomfort. How they had escaped the Provost he did not know; how they escapedabsolute annihilation they did not comprehend; for Berkley seizedthe bridle, swung the horse sharply, turning them both out of thesaddle; then, delivering a swift kick apiece, as they lay cursing, he mounted and rode forward amid enthusiastic approval from thedrivers of passing army waggons. Long since the towering smoke in the west had veiled the sun; andnow the sky had become gray and thick, and already a fine drizzlingrain was falling, turning the red dust to grease. Slipping, floundering, his horse bore him on under darkening skies;rain fell heavily now; he bared his hot head to it; raised hisface, masked with grime, and let the drops fall on the dark scarthat burned under the shifting bandage. In the gathering gloom eastward he saw the horizon redden anddarken and redden with the cannon flashes; the immense battlerumour filled his ears and brain, throbbing, throbbing. "Which way, friend?" demanded a patrol, carelessly throwing hishorse across Berkley's path. "Orderly to Colonel Arran, 8th New York Lancers, wounded. Is thatthe hospital, yonder?" "Them school buildin's, " nodded the patrol. "Say, is your colonelvery bad? I'm 20th New York, doin' provost. We seen you fellersat White Oak. Jesus! what a wallop they did give us----" He broke off grimly, turned his horse, and rode out into a soggyfield where some men were dodging behind a row of shaggy hedgebushes. And far behind Berkley heard his loud, bullying voice: "Git! you duck-legged, egg-suckin', skunk-backed loafers! Go on, there! Aw, don't yer talk back to me 'r I'll let m' horse bite yerpants off! Back yer go! Forrard! Hump! Hump! Scoot!" Through the heavily falling rain he saw the lighted schoolbuildings looming among the trees; turned into the drive, accountedfor himself, gave his horse to a negro with orders to care for it, and followed a ward-master into an open-faced shed where a kettlewas boiling over a sheet-iron stove. The ward-master returned presently, threading his way through amass of parked ambulances to the shed where Berkley sat on a brokencracker box. "Colonel Arran is very low. I guess you'd better not bother himto-night. " "Is he--mortally hurt?" "I've seen worse. " "He may get well?" "I've seen 'em get well, " said the non-committal ward-master. Then, looking Berkley over: "You're pretty dirty, ain't you? Areyou--" he raised his eyebrows significantly. "I'm clean, " said Berkley with the indifference habituated to filth. "All right. They'll fix you up a cot somewhere. If Colonel Arrancomes out all right I'll call you. He's full of opium now. " "Did they get the bullet?" "Oh, yes. I ain't a surgeon, my friend, but I hear a lot ofsurgeon talk. It's the shock--in a man of his age. The wound'sclean, so far--not a thread in it, I hear. Shock--andgangrene--that's what we look out for. . . . What's the news downby the river?" "I don't know, " said Berkley. "Don't you know if you got licked?" "I don't think we did. You'd hear the firing out here muchplainer. " "You're the 8th Cavalry, ain't you?" "Yes. " "They say you got cut up. " "Some. " "And how about the Zouaves?" "Oh, they're there yet, " said Berkley listlessly. Fatigue wasoverpowering him; he was aware, presently, that a negro, carrying alantern, was guiding his stumbling steps into a small buildingwhere, amid piles of boxes, an army cot stood covered by a blanket. Berkley gave him a crumpled mess of paper money, and he almostexpired. Later the same negro rolled a wooden tub into the room, half filledit with steaming water, and stood in profound admiration of hiswork, grinning at Berkley. "Is you-all gwine bresh up, suh?" he inquired. Berkley straightened his shoulders with an effort, unbuckled hisbelt, and slowly began to take off his wet uniform. The negro aided him respectfully; that wet wad of dollars had doneits work profoundly. "Yo' is de adjetant ob dis here Gin'ral ob de Lancers, suh? De po'ole Gin'ral! He done git shot dreffle bad, suh. . . . Jess youlay on de flo', suh, t'will I gits yo' boots off'n yo' laigs! Dar!Now jess set down in de tub, suh. I gwine scrub you wif desaddle-soap--Lor', Gord-a-mighty! Who done bang you on de haiddat-a-way?"--scrubbing vigorously with the saddle-soap all thewhile. "Spec' you is lame an' so' all over, is you? Now I'segwine rub you haid, suh; an' now I'se gwine dry you haid. " Hechuckled and rubbed and manipulated, yet became tender as a womanin drying the clipped hair and the scarred temple. And, beforeBerkley was aware of what he was about, the negro lifted him andlaid him on the cot. "Now, " he chuckled, "I'se gwine shave you. " And he fished out arazor from the rear pocket of his striped drill overalls, rubbedthe weapon of his race with a proud thumb, spread more soap overBerkley's upturned face, and fell deftly to work, wiping off theaccumulated lather on the seat of his own trousers. Berkley remembered seeing him do it twice; then remembered no more. A blessed sense of rest soothed every bone; in the heavenlystillness and surcease from noise he drifted gently into slumber, into a deep dreamless sleep. The old negro looked at him, aged face wrinkled in compassion. "Po' li'l sodger boy, " he muttered. "Done gib me fo' dollahs. Lor' Gor' a'mighty! Spec' Mars Linkum's men is all richer'n oleMiss. " He cast another glance at the sleeping man, then picked up theworn, muddy boots, threw the soiled jacket and breeches over hisarm, and shuffled off, shaking his grizzled head. CHAPTER XVIII It was still dark when he awoke with a violent start, dreaming ofloud trumpets, and found himself sitting upright on his cot, staring into obscurity. Outside on the veranda a multitude of heavy steps echoed andre-echoed over the creaking boards; spurs clinked, sabres draggedand clanked; a man's harsh, nasal voice sounded irritably atintervals: "We're not an army--we're not yet an army; that's what's thematter. You can't erect an army by uniforming and drilling a fewhundred thousand clerks and farmers. You can't manufacture an armyby brigading regiments--by creating divisions and forming armycorps. There is only one thing on God's long-enduring earth thatcan transform this mob of State troops into a Nationalarmy--discipline!--and that takes time; and we've got to take itand let experience kick us out of one battle into another. Andsome day we'll wake up to find ourselves a real army, with realdepartments, really controlled and in actual and practical workingorder. Now it's every department for itself and God help GeneralMcClellan! He has my sympathy! He has a dirty job on his handshalf done, and they won't let him finish it!" And again the same impatient voice broke out contemptuously: "War? These two years haven't been two years of war! They've beentwo years of a noisy, gaudy, rough and tumble! Bull Run was _operabouffe_! The rest of it has been one fantastic and bloodycarnival! Did anybody ever before see such a grandmother's rag bagof uniforms in an American army! What in hell do we want ofzouaves in French uniforms, cavalry, armed with Austrian lances, ridiculous rocket-batteries, Polish riders, Hungarian hussars, grenadiers, mounted rifles, militia and volunteers in every garb, carrying every arm ever created by foreign armourers and militarytailors! . . . But I rather guess that the fancy-dress-ball era isjust about over. I've a notion that we're coming down to theold-fashioned army blue again. And the sooner the better. I wantno more red fezzes and breeches in my commands for the enemy toblaze at a mile away! I want no more picturesque lances. I wantplain blue pants and Springfield rifles, by God! And I guess I'llget them, if I make noise enough in North America!" Who this impassioned military critic was, shouting opinions to thesky, Berkley never learned; for presently there was a greatjingling and clatter and trample of horses brought around, and theofficers, whoever they were, mounted and departed as they hadarrived, in darkness, leaving Berkley on his cot in the storehouseto stretch his limbs, and yawn and stretch again, and draw the warmfolds of the blanket closer, and lie blinking at the dark, throughwhich, now, a bird had begun to twitter a sweet, fitful salute tothe coming dawn. Across the foot of his couch lay folded an invalid's red hospitalwrapper; beside his bed stood the slippers. After a few moments herose, stepped into the slippers, and, drawing on the woolen robe, belted it in about his thin waist. Then he limped out to theveranda. In the dusk the bird sang timidly. Berkley could just make out theoutlines of the nearer buildings, and of tall trees around. Hereand there lights burned behind closed windows; but, except forthese, the world was black and still; stiller for the deadenedstamping of horses in distant unseen stalls. An unmistakable taint of the hospital hung in the fresh morningair--a vague hint of anaesthetics, of cooking--the flat odour ofsickness and open wounds. Lanterns passed in the darkness toward the stables; unseen shapesmoved hither and thither, their footsteps sharply audible. Helistened and peered about him for a while, then went back to thestore-room, picked his way among the medical supplies, and sat downon the edge of his bed. A few moments later he became aware of somebody moving on theveranda, and of a light outside; heard his door open, lifted hisdazzled eyes in the candle rays. "Are you here, Philip?" came a quiet, tired voice. "You must wake, now, and dress. Colonel Arran is conscious and wishes to see you. " "Ailsa! Good God!" She stood looking at him placidly, the burning candle steady in herhand, her; face very white and thin. He had risen, standing there motionless in his belted invalid'srobe with the stencilled S. C. On the shoulder. And now he wouldhave gone to her, hands outstretched, haggard face joyouslyillumined; but she stepped back with a swift gesture that haltedhim; and in her calm, unfriendly gaze he hesitated, bewildered, doubting his senses. "Ailsa, dear, is anything wrong?" "I think, " she said quietly, "that we had better not let ColonelArran see how wrong matters have gone between us. He is very badlyhurt. I have talked a little with him. I came here because heasked for you and for no other reason. " "Did you know I was here?" "I saw you arrive last night--from the infirmary window. . . . Ihope your wound is healed, " she added in a strained voice. "Ailsa! What has happened?" She shuddered slightly, looked at, him without a shadow ofexpression. "Let us understand one another now. I haven't the slightest atomof--regard--left for you. I have no desire to see you, to hear ofyou again while I am alive. That is final. " "Will you tell me why?" She had turned to go; now she hesitated, silent, irresolute. "Will you tell me, Ailsa?" She said, wearily: "If you insist, I can make it plainer, sometime. But this is not the time. . . And you had better not ask meat all, Philip. " "I do ask you. " "I warn you to accept your dismissal without seeking anexplanation. It would spare--us both. " "I will spare neither of us. What has changed you?" "I shall choose my own convenience to answer you, " she repliedhaughtily. "Choose it, then, and tell me when to expect your explanation. " "When I send for you; not before. " "Are you going to let me go away with that for my answer?" "Perhaps. " He hooked his thumbs in his girdle and looked down, considering;then, quietly raising his head: "I don't know what you have found out--what has been told you. Ihave done plenty of things in my life unworthy of you, but Ithought you knew that. " "I know it now. " "You knew it before. I never attempted to conceal anything. " A sudden blue glimmer made her eyes brilliant. "That is afalsehood!" she said deliberately. The colour faded from hischeeks, then he said with ashy composure: "I lie much less than the average man, Ailsa. It is nothing toboast of, but it happens to be true. I don't lie. " "You keep silent and act a lie!" He reflected for a moment; then: "Hadn't you better tell me?" "No. " Then his colour returned, surging, making the scar on his facehideous; he turned, walked to the window, and stood looking intothe darkness while the departing glimmer of her candle faded on thewall behind him. Presently, scraping, ducking, chuckling, the old darky appearedwith his boots and uniform, everything dry and fairly clean; and hedressed by lantern light, buckled his belt, drew on his gloves, settled his forage cap, and followed the old man out into thegraying dawn. They gave him some fresh light bread and a basin of coffee; hefinished and waited, teeth biting the stem of his empty pipe forwhich he had no tobacco. Surgeons, assistant surgeons, contract physicians, ward-masters, nurses, passed and re-passed; stretchers filed into the dead house;coffins were being unloaded and piled under a shed; a constantstream of people entered and left the apothecary's office; theDivision Medical Director's premises were besieged. Ambulancescontinually drove up or departed; files of sick and wounded, ableto move without assistance, stood in line, patient, uncomplainingmen, bloody, ragged, coughing, burning with fever, weakened forlack of nourishment; many crusted with filth and sometimes withvermin, humbly awaiting the disposition of their battered, half-dead bodies. . . . The incipient stages of many diseases were plainly apparent amongthem. Man after man was placed on a stretcher, and hurried off tothe contagious wards; some were turned away and directed to otherhospitals, and they went without protest, dragging their gauntlegs, even attempting some feeble jest as they passed theirwretched comrades whose turns had not yet come. Presently a hospital servant came and took Berkley away to anotherbuilding. The wards were where the schoolrooms had been. Blackboards still decorated the wall; a half-erased exercise inLatin remained plainly visible over the rows of cots. Ailsa and the apothecary stood together in low-voiced conversationby a window. She merely raised her eyes when Berkley entered;then, without giving him a second glance, continued herconversation. In the heavy, ether-laden atmosphere flies swarmed horribly, andmen detailed as nurses from regimental companies were fanning themfrom helpless patients. A civilian physician, coming down theaisle, exchanged a few words with the ward-master and then turnedto Berkley. "You are trooper Ormond, orderly to Colonel Arran?" "Yes. " "Colonel Arran desires you to remain here at his orders for thepresent. " "Is Colonel Arran likely to recover, doctor?" "He is in no immediate danger. " "May I see him?" "Certainly. He sent for you. Step this way. " They entered another and much smaller ward in which there were veryfew cots, and from which many of the flies had been driven. Colonel Arran lay very white and still on his cot; only his eyesturned as Berkley came up and stood at salute. "Sit down, " he said feebly. And, after a long silence: "Berkley, the world seems to be coming right. I am grateful thatI--lie here--with you beside me. " Berkley's throat closed; he could not speak; nor did he know whathe might have said could he have spoken, for within him all hadseemed to crash softly into chaos, and he had no mind, no will, novigour, only a confused understanding of emotion and pain, and afierce longing. Colonel Arran's sunken eyes never left his, watching, wistful, patient. And at last the boy bent forward and rested his elbows onhis knees and dropped his face in both hands. Time ebbed away insilence; there was no sound in the ward save the blue flies' buzzor the slight movement of some wounded man easing his tortured body. "Philip!" The boy lifted his face from his hands. "Can you forgive me?" "Yes, I have. . . . There was only one thing to forgive. I don'tcount--myself. " "I count it--bitterly. " "You need not. . . . It was only--my mother----" "I know, my boy. The blade of justice is double-edged. No mortalcan wield it safely; only He who forged it. . . . I have neverceased to love--your mother. " Berkley's face became ashen. Colonel Arran said: "Is there punishment more terrible than thatfor any man?" Presently Berkley drew his chair closer. "I wish you to know how mother died, " he said simply. "It is yourright to know. . . . Because, there will come a time when sheand--you will be together again . . . If you believe such things. " "I believe. " For a while the murmur of Berkley's voice alone broke the silence. Colonel Arran lay with eyes closed, a slight flush on his sunkencheeks; and, before long, Berkley's hand lay over his and remainedthere. The brilliant, ominous flies whirled overhead or drove headlongagainst the window-panes, falling on their backs to kick and buzzand scramble over the sill; slippered attendants moved softly alongthe aisle with medicines; once the ward-master came and looked downat Colonel Arran, touched the skin of his face, his pulse, andwalked noiselessly away. Berkley's story had already ended. After a while he said: "If you will get well--whatever I am--we twomen have in common a memory that can never die. If there werenothing else--God knows whether there is--that memory is enough, tomake us live at peace with one another. . . . I do not entirelyunderstand how it is with me, but I know that some things have beenwashed out of my heart--leaving little of the bitterness--nothingnow of anger. It has all been too sad for such things--a tragedytoo deep for the lesser passions to meddle with. . . . Let usforgive each other. . . . She will know it, somehow. " Their hands slowly closed together and remained. "Philip!" "Sir?" "Ailsa is here. " "Yes, sir. " "Will you say to her that I would like to see her?" For a moment Berkley hesitated, then rose quietly and walked intothe adjoining ward. Ailsa was bending over a sick man, fanning away the flies thatclustered around the edge of the bowl from which he was drinking. And Berkley waited until the patient had finished the broth. "Ailsa, may I speak to you a moment?" She had been aware of his entrance, and was not startled. Shehanded the bowl and fan to an attendant, turned leisurely, and cameout into the aisle. "What is it?" "Colonel Arran wishes to see you. Can you come?" "Certainly. " She led the way; and as she walked he noticed that all the lithegrace, all the youth and spring to her step had vanished. Shemoved wearily; her body under the gray garb was thin; blue veinsshowed faintly in temple and wrist; only her superb hair and eyeshad suffered no change. Colonel Arran's eyes opened as she stooped at his bedside and laidher lips lightly on his forehead. "Is there another chair?" he asked wearily. Ailsa's glance just rested on Berkley, measuring him inexpressionless disdain. Then, as he brought another chair, sheseated herself. "You, too, Philip, " murmured the wounded man. Ailsa's violet eyes opened in surprise at the implied intimacybetween these men whom she had vaguely understood were anything butfriends. But she remained coldly aloof, controlling even a shiverof astonishment when Colonel Arran's hand, which held hers, gropedalso for Berkley's, and found it. Then with an effort he turned his head and looked at them. "I have long known that you loved each other, " he whispered. "Itis a happiness that God sends me as well as you. If it be His willthat I--do not recover, this makes it easy for me. If He wills itthat I live, then, in His infinite mercy, He also gives me thereason for living. " Icy cold, Ailsa's hand lay there, limply touching Berkley's; thesick man's eyes were upon them. "Philip!" "Sir?" "My watch is hanging from a nail on the wall. There is a chamoisbag hanging with it. Give--it--to me. " And when it lay in his hand he picked at the string, forced itopen, drew out a key, and laid it in Berkley's hand with a faintsmile. "You remember, Philip?" "Yes, sir. " The wounded man looked at Ailsa wistfully. "It is the key to my house, dear. One day, please God, you andPhilip will live there. " . . . He closed his eyes, groping forboth their hands, and retaining them, lay silent as though asleep. Berkley's palm burned against hers; she never stirred, never moveda muscle, sitting there as though turned to stone. But when thewounded man's frail grasp relaxed, cautiously, silently, she freedher fingers, rose, looked down, listening to his breathing, then, without a glance at Berkley, moved quietly toward the door. He was behind her a second later, and she turned to confront him inthe corridor lighted by a single window. "Will you tell me what has changed you?" he said. "Something which that ghastly farce cannot influence!" she said, hot faced, eyes brilliant with anger. "I loved Colonel Arranenough to endure it--endure your touch--whichshames--defiles--which--which outrages every instinct in me!" Breathless, scornful, she drew back, still facing him. "The part you have played in my life!" she said bitterly--"think itover. Remember what you have been toward me from the first--aliving insult! And when you remember--all--remember that in spiteof _all_ I--I loved you--stood before you in the rags of mypride--all that you had left me to clothe myself!--stood upright, unashamed, and acknowledged that I loved you!" She made a hopeless gesture. "Oh, you had all there was of my heart! I gave it; I laid itbeside my pride, under your feet. God knows what madness was uponme--and you had flung my innocence into my face! And you had heldme in your embrace, and looked me in the eyes, and said you wouldnot marry me. And I still loved you!" Her hands flew to her breast, higher, clasped against the full, white throat. "Now, have I not dragged my very soul naked under your eyes? HaveI not confessed enough. What more do you want of me before youconsent to keep your distance and trouble me no more?" "I want to know what has angered you against me, " he said quietly. She set her teeth and stared at him, with beautiful resolute eyes. "Before I answer that, " she said, "I demand to know why you refusedto marry me. " "I cannot tell you, Ailsa. " In a white rage she whispered: "No, you dare not tell me!--you coward! I had to learn thedegrading reason from others!" He grew deathly white, caught her arms in a grasp of steel, heldher twisting wrists imprisoned. "Do you know what you are saying?" he stammered. "Yes, I know! Your cruelty--your shame----" "Be silent!" he said between his teeth. "My shame is my pride! Doyou understand!" Outraged, quivering all over, she twisted out of his grasp. "Then go to her!" she whispered. "Why don't you go to her?" And, as his angry eyes became blank: "Don't you understand? She is there--just across the road!" Sheflung open the window and pointed with shaking anger. "Didn't anybody tell you she is there? Then I'll tell you. Now goto her! You are--worthy--of one another!" "Of whom are you speaking--in God's name!" he breathed. Panting, flushed, flat against the wall, she looked back out ofeyes that had become dark and wide, fumbling in the bosom of hergray garb. And, just where the scarlet heart was stitched acrossher breast, she drew out a letter, and, her fascinated gaze stillfixed on him, extended her arm. He took the crumpled sheets from her in a dazed sort of way, butdid not look at them. "_Who_ is there--across the road?" he repeated stupidly. "Ask--Miss--Lynden. " "Letty!" But she suddenly turned and slipped swiftly past him, leaving himthere in the corridor by the open window, holding the letter in hishand. For a while he remained there, leaning against the wall. Soundsfrom the other ward came indistinctly--a stifled cry, a deep groan, the hurried tread of feet, the opening or closing of windows. Oncea dreadful scream rang out from a neighbouring ward, where a manhad suddenly gone insane; and he could hear the sounds of thestruggle, the startled orders, the shrieks, the crash of a cot;then the dreadful uproar grew fainter, receding. He rousedhimself, passed an unsteady hand across his eyes, looked blindly atthe letter, saw only a white blurr, and, crushing it in hisclenched fist, he went down the kitchen stairs and out across theroad. A hospital guard stopped him, but on learning who he was and thathe had business with Miss Lynden, directed him toward a low, one-storied, stone structure, where, under the trees, a figurewrapped in a shawl lay asleep in a chair. "She's been on duty all night, " observed the guard. "If you've gotto speak to her, go ahead. " "Yes, " said Berkley in a dull voice, "I've got to speak to her. "And he walked toward her across the dead brown grass. Letty's head lay on a rough pine table; her slim body, supported bya broken chair, was covered by a faded shawl; and, as he lookeddown at her, somehow into his memory came the recollection of thefirst time he ever saw her so--asleep in Casson's rooms, herchildish face on the table, the room reeking with tobacco smoke andthe stale odour of wine and dying flowers. He stood for a long while beside her, looking down at the thin, pale face. Then, in pity, he turned away; and at the same momentshe stirred, sat up, confused, and saw him. "Letty, dear, " he said, coming back, both hands held out to her, "Idid not mean to rob you of your sleep. " "Oh--it doesn't matter! I am so glad--" She sat up suddenly, staring at him. The next moment the tears rushed to her eyes. "O--h, " she whispered, "I wished so to see you. I am so thankfulyou are here. There is--there has been such--a terriblechange--something has happened----" She rose unsteadily; laid her trembling hand on his arm. "I don't know what it is, " she said piteously, "butAilsa--something dreadful has angered her against me----" "Against _you_!" "Oh, yes. I _don't_ know all of it; I know--partly. " Sleep and fatigue still confused her mind; she pressed both frailhands to her eyes, her forehead: "It was the day I returned from seeing you at Paigecourt. . . . Iwas deadly tired when the ambulance drove into Azalea; and when itarrived here I had fallen asleep. . . . I woke up when it stopped. Ailsa was sitting here--in this same chair, I think--and I rememberas I sat up in the ambulance that an officer was just leavingher--Captain Hallam. " She looked piteously at Berkley. "He was one of the men I have avoided. Do you understand?" "No. . . . Was he----" "Yes, he often came to the--Canterbury. He had never spoken to methere, but Ione Carew knew him; and I was certain he wouldrecognise me. . . . I thought I had succeeded in avoiding him, buthe must have seen me when I was not conscious of his presence--hemust have recognised me. " She looked down at her worn shoes; the tears fell silently; shesmoothed her gray gown for lack of employment for her restlesshands. "Dear, " he said, "do you believe he went to Ailsa with his storyabout you?" "Oh, yes, yes, I am sure. What else could it be that has angeredher--that drives me away from her--that burns me with the dreadfulgaze she turns on me--chills me with her more dreadfulsilence? . . . Why did he do it? I don't know--oh, I don'tknow. . . . Because I had never even spoken to him--in those daysthat I have tried so hard--so hard to forget----" He said slowly: "He is a coward. I have known that for a longtime. But most men are. The disgrace lies in acting like one. . . And I--that is why I didn't run in battle. . . . Because, thatfirst day, when they fired on our waggons, _I saw him riding in theroad behind us_. Nobody else suspected him to be within miles. Isaw him. And--_he galloped the wrong way_. And that is whyI--did what I did! He shocked me into doing it. . . . But I neverbefore have told a soul. I would not tell even you--but the man, yesterday, put himself beyond the pale. And it can make nodifference now, for he carries the mark into his grave. " He shuddered slightly. "God forbid I hold him up to scorn. Imight, this very moment, be what he is now. No man may know--noman can foretell how he will bear himself in time of stress. Ihave a sorry record of my own. Battle is not the only conflictthat makes men or cowards. " He stood silent, gazing into space. Letty's tears dried as shewatched him. "Have you seen--her?" she asked tremulously. "Yes. " The girl sighed and looked down. "I am so sorry about Colonel Arran . . . . I believe, somehow, hewill get well. " "Do you really believe it, Letty?" "Yes. The wound is clean. I have seen many recover who were farmore dangerously hurt. . . . His age is against him, but I dotruly believe he will get well. " He thought a moment. "Have you heard about Stephen Craig?" "They have telegraphed to his affianced--a Miss Lent. You probablyknow her. Her brother was killed a day or two ago. Poor littlething! I believe that Miss Lent is coming. Mrs. Craig wishes totake her boy North as soon as he can be moved. And, unless thewound becomes infected, I don't believe he is going to die. " "Where is he?" "At Paigecourt. Many transports are waiting at the landing. . . . They say that there was another severe engagement near thereyesterday, and that our army is victorious. I have heard, also, that we were driven in, and that your regiment lost a great manymen and horses . . . I don't know which is true, " she added, listlessly picking at her frayed gown; "only, as we haven't heardthe guns to-day, it seems to me that if we had lost the battle we'dhave Confederate cannon thundering all around us. " "That seems reasonable, " he admitted absently. . . . "Is Dr. Benton here still?" "No, " she said softly. "Where is he?" "At Paigecourt. I asked him to go because he is the best doctor Iever knew. He came down here to see me; he is not detailed forduty under contract. I asked him to go and see Stephen Craig. Hegrumbled--and went. " She looked up shyly at Berkley, smiled for the first time, then herpale young face grew beautiful and solemn. "You dear girl, " he said impulsively, taking both her hands andkissing them. "I am so glad for you--and for him. I knew it wouldcome true. " "Yes. But I had to tell him--I started to tell him--and--oh, wouldyou believe how splendid he is! He _knew_ already! He stopped meshort--and I never can forget the look in his face. And he said:'Child--child! You can tell me nothing I am not already aware of. And I am aware of nothing except your goodness. '" "I _thought_ I knew Phineas Benton, " said Berkley, warmly. "He wastoo upright a character for me to enjoy with any comfort--a fewyears back. . . . I'm trying harder than you ever had to, Letty. You always desired to be decent; I didn't. " He shook both herhands heartily. "You deserve every atom of your happiness, you dear, sweet girl! Ionly wish you were safely out of here and back in the North!" Letty began to cry softly: "Forgive me, please; I'm not naturally as tearful as this. I amjust tired. I've done too much--seen too much--and it hasn'thardened me; it has made me like a silly child, ready to sniffle atanything. " Berkley laughed gently. "Why are you crying now, Letty?" "B-because they have offered me a furlough. I didn't apply. ButDr. Benton has made me take it. And it almost kills me to go Northand leave Ailsa--alone--and so strangely changed toward me----" She straightened her shoulders resolutely; brushed the tears fromher lashes; strove to smile at him. "Shall we walk a little? I am not on duty, you know; and I've hadenough sleep. There's such a pretty lane along the creek behindthe chapel. . . . What are you doing here, anyway? I suppose youare acting orderly to poor Colonel Arran? How splendidly theLancers have behaved! . . . And those darling Zouaves!--oh, we arejust bursting with pride over our Zou-zous----" They had turned away together, walking slowly through the grovetoward a little cart road deep in golden seeded grass which wounddown a hollow all moist with ferns and brambles and young trees inheavy leaf. Her hand, unconsciously, had sought his nestling into it with aconfidence that touched him; her pale, happy face turnedcontinually to meet his as she chatted innocently of the thingswhich went to make up the days of life for her, never conscious ofherself, or that the artless chatter disclosed anything admirablein her own character. She prattled on at random, sometimes naive, sometimes wistful, sometimes faintly humourous--a brave, cleanspirit that was content to take the consequence of duty done--atender, gentle soul, undeformed amid the sordid horrors thathardened or crippled souls less innocent. Calm, resourceful, patient, undismayed amid conditions thatsickened mature experience to the verge of despair, she went abouther business day after day, meeting all requisitions upon herslender endurance without faltering, without even supposing therewas anything unusual or praiseworthy in what she did. She was only one of many women who did full duty through thedarkest days the nation ever knew--saints in homespun, martyrsuncanonised save in the hearts of the stricken. There was a small wooden foot-bridge spanning the brook, with arough seat nailed against the rail. "One of my convalescents made it for me, " she said proudly. "Hecould use only one arm, and he had such a hard time sawing andhammering! and the foolish boy wouldn't let anybody help him. " She seated herself in the cool shade of a water oak, retaining hishand in hers and making room for him beside her. "I wonder, " she said, "if you know how good you have been to me. You changed all my life. Do you realise it?" "You changed it yourself, Letty. " She sighed, leaned back, dreamy eyed, watching the sun spots glowand wane on the weather-beaten footbridge. "In war time--here in the wards--men seem gentler towomen--kinder--than in times of peace. I have stood beside manythousands; not one has been unkind--lacking in deference. . . . " Aslight smile grew on her lips; she coloured a little, looked up atBerkley, humorously. "It would surprise you to know how many have asked me to marrythem. . . . Such funny boys. . . . I scolded some of them andmade them write immediately to their sweethearts. . . . The oldermen were more difficult to manage--men from the West--such fine, simple-natured fellows--just sick and lonely enough to fall in lovewith any woman who fanned them and brought them lemonade. . . . Iloved them all dearly. They have been very sweet to me. . . . Men_are_ good. . . . If a woman desires it. . . . The world is sofull of people who don't mean to do wrong. " She bent her head, considering, lost in the retrospection of hernaive philosophy. Berkley, secretly amused, was aware of several cadaverousconvalescents haunting the bushes above, dodging the eyes of thispretty nurse whom one and all adored, and whom they now beheld, with jealous misgivings, in intimate and unwarrantable tete-a-tetewith a common and disgustingly healthy cavalryman. Then his weather-tanned features grew serious. The sunny moments slipped away as the sunlit waters slipped underthe bridge; a bird or two, shy and songless in their moultingfever, came to the stream to drink, looking up, bright eyed, at thetwo who sat there in the mid-day silence. One, a cardinal, ruffledhis crimson crest, startled, as Berkley moved slightly. "The Red Birds, " he said, half aloud. "To me they are the sweetestsingers of all. I remember them as a child, Letty. " After a while Letty rose; her thin hand lingered, on his shoulderas she stood beside him, and he got to his feet and adjusted beltand sabre. "I love to be with you, " she said wistfully. "It's only because Ido need a little more sleep that I am going back. " "Of course, " he nodded. And they retraced their steps together. He left her at the door of the quaint, one-storied stone buildingwhere, she explained, she had a cot. "You _will_ come to see me again before you go back to yourregiment, won't you?" she pleaded, keeping one hand in both of hers. "Of course I will. Try to get some sleep, Letty. You'retremendously pretty when you've had plenty of sleep. " They both laughed; then she went indoors and he turned away acrossthe road, under the windows of the ward where Ailsa was on duty, and so around to his store-room dwelling-place, where he sat downon the cot amid the piles of boxes and drew from his pocket thecrumpled sheets of the letter that Ailsa had given him. The handwriting seemed vaguely familiar to him; he glancedcuriously down the page; his eyes became riveted; he reddened tothe roots of his hair; then he deliberately began at the beginning, reading very carefully. The letter had been written several weeks ago; it was dated, andsigned with Hallam's name: "MY DEAR MRS. PAIGE: "Only my solemn sense of duty to all pure womanhood enables me toindite these lines to you; and, by so doing, to invite, nay, toencourage a cruel misunderstanding of my sincerest motives. "But my letter is not dictated by malice or inspired by the naturalchagrin which animates a man of spirit when he reflects upon theundeserved humiliation which he has endured from her who was oncedearer to him than life itself. Mine is a nature susceptible andsensitive, yet, I natter myself, incapable of harbouring sentimentsunworthy of a gentleman and a soldier. "To forgive, to condone, is always commendable in man; but, madam, there is a higher duty men owe to womanhood--to chaste and trustingwomanhood, incapable of defending itself from the wiles and schemeswhich ever are waiting to ensnare it. "It is for this reason, and for this reason alone, that, mysuspicions fully aroused, I have been at some pains to verify them. A heart conscious of its moral rectitude does not flinch from theduty before it or from the pain which, unfortunately, the executionof that duty so often inflicts upon the innocent. "Believe me, dear Mrs. Paige, it is a sad task that lies before me. Woman is frail and weak by nature. Man's noblest aspiration canattain no loftier consummation than in the protection of a purewoman against contamination. "Mine becomes the unhappy mission of unmasking two unworthy peoplewhom you, in your innocence and trust, have cherished close to yourheart. I speak of the trooper Ormond--whose name I believe youknow is Philip Berkley--and, if you now hear it for the first time, it is proof additional of his deceit and perfidy. "The other is Miss Lynden, known, in a certain immoral resortcalled the Canterbury, as Letty Lynden, or 'Daisy' Lynden. "She was a dancer in the Canterbury Music Hall. I enclosephotographs of her in costume, also receipts from her landlady, washing lists, her contract with the Canterbury, all in her ownhandwriting, and all gathered for me at my request by a New Yorkdetective, and forwarded to me here. Among these papers you willfind several notes written to her in the spring and summer of 1861by the trooper Berkley and discovered in her room by her landladyafter her departure. A perusal of them is sufficient to leave nodoubt concerning the character of this young woman--who, apparently, neglected by the fellow, Berkley, pleaded piteouslywith him for an interview, and was, as you see, cynically rebuffed. "I enclose, also, an affidavit made by Miss Lynden's landlady thatshe, Letty, or 'Daisy' Lynden, was commonly understood to be themistress of Berkley; that he took her from the Canterbury and fromher lodgings, paid her board bills, and installed her in rooms atthe enclosed address, where she remained until she found employmentwith a Doctor Benton. "What her relations were with him I do not pretend to know. It isevident, however, that they continue, as he writes to her. It willalso be apparent to you that she has not scrupled to continue herrelations with the man Berkley. "I will now further prove to you the truth of my assertionconcerning this degrading and demoralising condition of affairs. "It came to my knowledge that a certain Arthur Wye, serving in thevolunteer artillery, and a certain subaltern in a zouave regiment, were not only intimates of the trooper Berkley, but had also beenon dubious terms with the Lynden girl. "Therefore, in company with an agent of the United States SecretService detailed for the duty by Surgeon-General Hammond at myrequest, I held a private examination of these two men, and, withsome adroitness, succeeded in making them identify the photographsof the Lynden girl, and later, unobserved by her, attempted to makethem identify her as she was sitting outside the field hospital. But this they refused to do. "However, that evidence was not necessary. Among her effects, scraps of letters in the waste-basket, etc. , which she hadimprudently left at her lodgings, were discovered fragments which, when pasted together, showed conclusively that she was on speakingterms at least with the artilleryman, Wye. "This evidence I deem it my duty to lay before you. As a sensitiveand chaste woman, gently born, the condition of affairs willhorrify you. But the knowledge of them will also enable you totake measures for self-protection, and to clearly understand themeasure which I shall now take to rid the Sanitary Service of thisabandoned woman, who, as your friend and intimate associate, conceals her true character under the garb of Sainte Ursula, andwho continues her intrigues with the trooper Berkley under the veryroof that shelters you. "I am, madam, with sincere pain and deepest sympathy and respect, "Obediently your humble servant, "EUGENE HALLAM, "Capt. 8th N. Y. Cav. " He laid the letter and the enclosed papers on the bunk beside him, and sat there thinking. He knew that the evidence before him had been sufficient to driveLetty from the Sanitary Service. Why had she not been driven? Theevidence and the letter were weeks old now. What had preventedtheir use? And now Hallam was a fugitive--a deserter in the faceof the enemy. It was too late for him to work more mischief if hewould. But why had he held his hand against Letty? Sunset found him still sitting there, thinking. The old negro cameshuffling in, bringing hot hoe-cake and bacon for his dinner. Heate obediently; later he submitted to the razor and clothes brush, absently pondering the problem that obsessed him: "Why had Hallamspared Letty; how could he convey the truth to Ailsa Paige?" At dusk he reported to the ward-master; but Colonel Arran wasasleep, and there were no orders for him. Then, slowly, he went into the adjoining ward. Ailsa was off duty, lying down in her room. His message asking a moment's interviewwas refused. So he turned away again, head bent, and wandered over to hisstore-room quarters, pondering the problem before him. CHAPTER XIX A car full of leaf tobacco had been brought in that day, andBerkley secured a little of it for his pipe. Seated on the edge of the shaky veranda in the darkness, he filledand lighted his cob pipe and, smoking tranquilly, listened to thedistant cannonade which had begun about sundown. Thousands offire-flies sailed low in the damp swale beyond the store-house, or, clinging motionless to the long wet grass and vines, sparkledpalely at intervals. There was no wind. Far on the southernhorizon the muttering thunder became heavier and more distinct. From where he sat he could now watch the passage of the greatmortar shells through the sky, looking like swiftly moving cometscleaving unfathomable space; then, falling, faster and faster, dropping out of the heights of night, they seemed to leave behindthem tracks of fire that lingered on the dazzled retina long afterthey had disappeared. The explosion of the incendiary shells waseven more spectacular; the burning matter of the chemical chargefell from them in showers of clear blue and golden stars, droppingslowly toward the unseen river below. He could distinguish the majestic thunder of the huge mortars fromthe roar of the Parrotts; the irregular volleys of musketry had aresonant clang of metal in them like thousands of iron ballsdropped on a sheet of tin. For an hour the distant display of fireworks continued, then thethunder rolled away, deadened to a dull rumour, and died out; andthe last lingering spark of Greek fire faded in mid-heaven. Awavering crimson light brightened on the horizon, increasing, deepening. But what it was that had been set on fire he could notguess. Paigecourt lay in that direction. He extended his booted legs, propped his back against a pillar, andcontinued smoking carefully and economically to save his fragmentsof Virginia leaf, deeply absorbed in retrospection. For the first time he was now certain of the change which time, circumstance, and environment had wrought in himself; he wascuriously conscious of the silent growth of a germ which, one day, must become a dictatorial and arbitrary habit--the habit of rightthinking. The habit of duty, independent of circumstances, hadslowly grown with his military training; mind and body had learnedautomatically to obey; mind and body now definitely recognised theimportance of obedience, were learning to desire it, had begun totake an obscure sort of pride in it. Mind and body were alreadysubservient to discipline. How was it with his other self. In the human soul there is seldom any real perplexity. Only thebody reasons; the soul knows. He knew this now. He knew, too, that there is a greater drill-master than that which was nowdisciplining his mind and body--the spiritual will--that there is ahigher sentiment than the awakened instinct of mental and physicalobedience--the occult loyalty of the spirit. And, within him, something was now awaking out of night, slowly changing him, souland body. As he sat there, tranquil, pondering, there came a shadowy figure, moving leisurely under the lighted windows of the hospital, directly toward him--a man swinging a lantern low above thegrass--and halted beside him in a yellow shaft of light, "Berkley, " he said pleasantly; then, to identify himself, liftedthe lantern to a level with his face. "Dr. Benton!" "Surely--surely. I come from Paigecourt. I left Mrs. Craig andStephen about five o'clock; I have just left Miss Lynden on duty. May I sit here beside you, Phil? And, in the first place, how areyou, old fellow?" "Perfectly well, doctor. . . . I am glad to see you. . . . It ispleasant to see you. . . . I am well; I really am. You are, too;I can see that. . . . I want to shake hands with you again--towish you happiness, " he added in a low voice. "Will you accept mywarmest wishes, Dr. Benton?" They exchanged a hard, brief grip. "I know what you mean. Thank you, Phil. . . . I am very happy; Imean that she shall be. Always. " Berkley said: "There are few people I really care for. She isamong the few. " "I have believed so. . . . She cares, deeply, for you. . . . Sheis right. " . . . He paused and glanced over his shoulder at thecrimson horizon. "What was that shelling about? The gun-boats werefiring, too. " "I haven't any idea. Something is on fire, evidently. I hope itis not Paigecourt. " "God forbid!" The doctor looked hard at the fiery sky, but said nothing more. "How is Stephen?" asked the younger man earnestly. "Better. " "Is he going to get well?" Dr. Benton thought a moment. "He was struck by a conoidal ball, which entered just above theinterclavicular notch of the sternum and lodged near the superiorangle of the scapula. Assistant Surgeon Jenning, U. S. V. , removedthe bullet and applied simple dressings. There was a longitudinalgroove on the bullet which may have been caused by contact with thebone, but there are no symptoms of injury to the osseous tissue. Ihope he will recover entirely. Miss Lent, his affianced, isexpected to-night. Arrangements have been made to convey himaboard a Sanitary Commission boat this evening. The sooner hestarts North the better. His mother and Miss Lent go with him asnurses. " Berkley drew a quiet breath of relief. "I am glad, " he saidsimply. "There is fever in the air here. " "There is worse, Phil. They're fine people, the Craigs. Thatmother of his stood the brutal shock of the news wonderfully--not atear, not a tremor. She is a fine woman; she obeyed me, notimplicitly, but intelligently. I don't like that kind of obedienceas a rule; but it happened to be all right in her case. She hasvoluntarily turned Paigecourt and all the barns, quarters, farms, and out-buildings into a base hospital for the wounded of eitherarmy. She need not have done it; there were plenty of otherplaces. But she offered that beautiful old place merely because itwas more comfortable and luxurious. The medical corps have alreadyruined the interior of the house; the garden with its handsome boxhedges nearly two centuries old is a wreck. She has given all thefarm horses to the ambulances; all her linen to the medicaldirector; all cattle, sheep, swine, poultry to the hospitalauthorities; all her cellared stores, wines, luxuries to thewounded. I repeat that she is a fine specimen of Americanwoman--and the staunchest little rebel I ever met. " Berkley smiled, then his bronzed face grew serious in the nickeringlantern light. "Colonel Arran is badly hurt. Did you know it?" "I do, " said the doctor quietly. "I saw him just before I cameover here to find you. " "Would you care to tell me what you think of his chances?" "I--don't--know. He is in considerable pain. The wound continueshealthy. They give him a great deal of morphia. " "Do you--believe----" "I can't yet form an opinion worth giving you. Dillon, theassistant surgeon, is an old pupil of mine. He asked me to look into-morrow; and I shall do so. " "I'm very glad. I was going to ask you. But--there's a good dealof professional etiquette in these hospitals----" "It's everywhere, " said the doctor, smiling. Then his pleasant, alert face changed subtly; he lifted the lantern absently, softlyreplaced it on the veranda beside him, and gazed at it. Presentlyhe said: "I came here on purpose to talk to you about another matter. . . . Shall we step inside? Or"--he glanced sharply around, lantern heldabove his head--"I guess we're better off out here. " Berkley silently assented. The doctor considered the matter inmind for a while, nursing his knees, then looking directly atBerkley: "Phil, you once told roe a deliberate falsehood. " Berkley's face flushed scarlet, and he stiffened in every muscle. The doctor said: "I merely wanted you to understand that I knew itto be a falsehood when you uttered it. I penetrated your motive intelling it, let it go at that, and kept both eyes open--and waited. " Berkley never moved. The painful colour stained the scar on hisbrow to an ugly purple. "The consequences of which falsehood, " continued the doctor, "culminated in my asking Miss Lynden to marry me. . . . I've beenthinking--wondering--whether that lie was justifiable. And I'vegiven up the problem. But I respect your motive in telling it. It's a matter for you to settle privately with yourself and yourMaker. I'm no Jesuit by nature; but--well--you've played a man'spart in the life of a young and friendless girl who has become tome the embodiment of all I care for in woman. And I thank you forthat. I thank you for giving her the only thing she lacked--achance in the world. Perhaps there were other ways of doing it. Idon't know. All I know is that I thank you for giving her thechance. " He ceased abruptly, folded Ins arms, and gazed musingly into space. Then: "Phil, have you ever injured a man named Eugene Hallam, Captain ofyour troop in the 8th Lancers?" Berkley looked up, startled; and the hot colour began to fade. "What do you know about Captain Hallam?" he asked. "Where is he?" "Probably a prisoner. He was taken at the cavalry affair whichthey now call Yellow Run. " "You saw him taken by the enemy?" "No. I saw him--surrender--or rather, ride toward the enemy, apparently with that design in mind. " "Why don't you say that Hallam played the coward--that he desertedhis men under fire--was even shot at by his own colonel?" "You seem to know about it, " said Berkley in a mortifiedvoice. . . . "No man is anxious to reflect on his own regiment. That is why I did not mention it. " "Yes, I knew it. Your servant, the trooper Burgess, came toPaigecourt in search of you. I heard the detestable details fromhim. He was one of the detachment that got penned in; he saw theentire performance. " "I didn't know Burgess was there, " said Berkley. "Is he all right?" "Wears his left wrist in a sling; Colles's fracture; horse fell. He's a villainous-looking party; I wouldn't trust that fellow witha pewter button. But he seems devoted to you. " "I've never been able to make him out, " said Berkley, smiling. The doctor thought a minute. "I saw two interesting people at Paigecourt. One was Miss Dix, anold friend of mine; the other chanced to be Surgeon GeneralHammond. They were on a tour of inspection. I hope they likedwhat they saw. " "Did they?" "I guess not. . . . Things in the hospitals ought to go betternow. We're learning. . . . By the way, you didn't know that AilsaPaige had been to Paigecourt, did you?" "When?" "Recently. . . . She's another fine woman. She never had anillness worse than whooping cough. I know because I've always beenher physician. Normally she's a fine, wholesome woman, Berkley--but she told a falsehood. . . . You are not the only liarsouth of Dixon's damnable Line!" Berkley straightened up as though shot, and the doctor dropped aheavy hand on his shoulder. "The sort of lie you told, Phil, is the kind she told. It doesn'tconcern you or me; it's between her conscience and herself; andit's in a good safe place. . . . And now I'll sketch out for youwhat she did. This--this beast, Hallam, wrote to Miss Dix atWashington and preferred charges against Miss Lynden. . . . I'mtrying to speak calmly and coherently and without passion, damn it!Don't interrupt me. . . . I say that Hallam sent his writtenevidence to Miss Dix; and Ailsa Paige learned of it, and learnedalso what the evidence was. . . . And it was a terrible thing forher to learn, Phil--a damnable thing for a woman to learn. " He tightened his grasp on Berkley's shoulder, and his voice was notvery steady. "To believe those charges--that evidence--meant the death of herfaith in you. . . . As for the unhappy revelation of what MissLynden had been--the evidence was hopelessly conclusive. Imaginewhat she thought! Any other woman would have sat aloof and letjustice brand the woman who had doubly betrayed her. I want you toconsider it; every instinct of loyalty, friendship, trust, modestyhad apparently been outraged and trampled on by the man she hadgiven her heart to, and by the woman she had made a friend. Thatwas the position in which Ailsa Paige found herself when shelearned of these charges, saw the evidence, and was informed byHallam that he had forwarded his complaint. " His grip almost crushed Berkley's shoulder muscles. "And now I'll tell you what Ailsa Paige did. She went before MissDix and told her that there was not one atom of truth in thecharges. She accounted for every date specified by saying thatMiss Lynden was with her at those times, that she had known herintimately for years, known her family--that it was purely a caseof mistaken identity, which, if ever pressed, would bewilder herfriend, who was neither sufficiently experienced to understand whatsuch charges meant, nor strong enough to endure the horror andshock if their nature were explained. "She haughtily affirmed her absolute faith in you, avowed herengagement to marry you, pointed to your splendid military record;disdainfully exposed the motive for Hallam's action. . . . And she_convinced_ Miss Dix, who, in turn, convinced the Surgeon General. And, in consequence, I can now take my little girl away from hereon furlough, thank God!--and thanks to Ailsa Paige, who lied like amartyr in her behalf. And that's what I came here to tell you. " He drew a long, shuddering breath, his hand relaxed on Berkley'sshoulder, and fell away. "I don't know to-day what Ailsa Paige believes; but I know what shedid for the sake of a young girl. . . . If, in any way, her faithin you has been poisoned, remember what was laid before her, provenin black and white, apparently; remember, more than that, theterrible and physically demoralising strain she has been under inthe line of duty. No human mind can remain healthy very long undersuch circumstances; no reasoning can be normal. The small dailyvexations, the wear and tear of nerve tissue, the insufficientsleep and nourishment, the close confinement in the hospitalatmosphere, the sights, sounds, odours, the excitement, theanxiety--all combine to distort reason and undermine one's naturalequipoise. "Phil, if Ailsa, in her own heart, doubts you as she now doubtsLetty, you must understand why. What she did shows her courage, her sweetness, her nobility. What she may believe--or think shebelieves--is born only of morbid nerves, overworked body, and acrippled power of reasoning. Her furlough is on the way; I didmyself the honour to solicit it, and to interest Miss Dix in herbehalf. It is high time; the child cannot stand much more. . . . After a good rest in the North, if she desires to return, there isnobody to prevent her . . . Unless you are wise enough to marryher. What do you think?" Berkley made no answer. They remained silent for a long time. Then the doctor rose and picked up his lantern; and Berkley stoodup, too, taking the doctor's outstretched hand. "If I were you, Phil, I'd marry her, " said Benton. "Good-night. I'll see Colonel Arran in the morning. Good-night, my boy. " "Good-night, " said Berkley in a dull voice. Midnight found him pacing the dead sod in front of the veranda, under the stars. One by one the lights in the hospital had beenextinguished; a lantern glimmered at the guard-house; here andthere an illuminated window cast its oblong of paler light acrossthe grass. Southward the crimson radiance had died out; softenedechoes of distant gunshots marked the passing of the slow, darkhours, but the fitful picket firing was now no louder than thedeadened stamp of horses in their stalls. A faint scent of jasmine hung in the air, making it fresher, thoughno breeze stirred. He stood for a while, face upturned to the stars, then his headfell. Sabre trailing, he moved slowly out into the open; and, atrandom, wandered into the little lane that led darkly down undergreen bushes to Letty's bridge. It was fresher and cooler in the lane; starlight made the plankingof the little foot-bridge visible in the dark, but the stream ranunder it too noiselessly for him to hear the water moving over itsbed of velvet sand. A startled whippoorwill flashed into shadowy night from the rail ashe laid his hand upon it, and, searching for the seat which Letty'sinvalid had built for her, he sank down, burying his head in hishands. And, as he sat there, a vague shape, motionless in the starlight, stirred, moved silently, detaching itself from the depthless wallof shadow. There was a light step on the grass, a faint sound from the bridge. But he heard nothing until she sank down on the flooring at hisfeet and dropped her head, face downward, on his knees. As in a dream his hands fell from his eyes--fell on her shoulders, lay heavily inert. "Ailsa?" Her feverish face quivered, hiding closer; one small hand searchedblindly for his arm, closed on his sleeve, and clung there. Hecould feel her slender body tremble at intervals, under his lips, resting on her hair, her breath grew warm with tears. She lay there, minute after minute, her hand on his sleeve, slipping, tightening, while her tired heart throbbed out its heavyburden on his knees, and her tears fell under the stars. Fatigued past all endurance, shaken, demoralised, everything in herwas giving way now. She only knew that he had come to her out ofthe night's deathly desolation--that she had crept to him forshelter, was clinging to him. Nothing else mattered in the world. Her weary hands could touch him, hold fast to him who had been lostand was found again; her tear-wet face rested against his; theblessed surcease from fear was benumbing her, quieting her, soothing, relaxing, reassuring her. Only to rest this way--to lie for the moment unafraid--to ceasethinking, to yield every sense to heavenly lethargy--to forget--toforget the dark world's sorrows and her own. The high planets shed their calm light upon her hair, silvering herslender neck and the hand holding to his sleeve, and the steel edgeof his sabre hilt, and a gilded button at his throat. And all elselay in shadow, wrapping them close together in obscurity. At times he thought she was asleep, and scarcely moving, bentnearer; but always felt the nervous closing of her fingers on hissleeve. And at last sleep came to her, deadening every sense. Cautiouslyhe took her hand; the slim fingers relaxed; body and limbs werelimp, senses clouded, as he lifted her in his arms and rose. "Don't--go, " she murmured drowsily. "No, dear. " Through the darkness, moving with infinite care, he bore her underthe stars and stepped noiselessly across the veranda, entered, andlaid her on his cot. "Philip, " she murmured. But he whispered to her that she must sleep, that he would be nearher, close to her. And she sighed deeply, and her white lidsclosed again and rested unstirring on her pallid cheeks. So she slept till the stars faded, then, awaking, lifted her head, bewildered, drawing her hand from his; and saw the dawn graying hisface where he sat beside her. She sat up, rigid, on the blanket, the vivid colour staining herfrom throat to brow; then memory overwhelmed her. She covered hereyes with both arms and her head dropped forward under the beautyof her disordered hair. Minute succeeded minute; neither spoke nor moved. Then, slowly, insilence, she looked up at him and met his gaze. It was herconfession of faith. He could scarcely hear her words, so tremulously low was the voicethat uttered them. "Dr. Benton told me everything. Take me back. The world is emptywithout you. I've been through the depths of it--my heart hassearched it from the ends to the ends of it. . . . And finds nopeace where you are not--no hope--no life. All is desolationwithout you. Take me back. " She stretched out her hands to him; he took them, and pressed themagainst his lips; and looking across at him, she said: "Love me--if you will--as you will. I make no terms; I ask none. Teach me your way; your way is mine--if it leads to you; all otherpaths are dark, all other ways are strange. I know, for I havetrodden them, and lost myself. Only the path you follow is lightedfor me. All else is darkness. Love me. I ask no terms. " "Ailsa, I can offer none. " "I know. You have said so. That is enough. Besides, if you loveme, nothing else matters. My life is not my own; it is yours. Ithas always been yours--only I did not know how completely. Now Ihave learned. . . . Why do you look at me so strangely? Are youafraid to take me for yourself? Do you think I do not know what Iam saying? Do you not understand what the terror of these dayswithout you has done to me? The inclination which lacked onlycourage lacks it no longer. I know what you have been, what youare. I ask nothing more of life than you. " "Dear, " he said, "do you understand that I can never marry you?" "Yes, " she said steadily. "I am not afraid. " In the silence the wooden shutter outside the window swung to witha slam in the rising breeze which had become a wind blowingfitfully under a wet gray sky. From above the roof there came asudden tearing sound, which at first he believed to be the wind. It increased to a loud, confusing, swishing whistle, as thoughhundreds of sabres were being whirled in circles overhead. Berkley rose, looking upward at the ceiling as the noise grew involume like a torrent of water flowing over rocks. Ailsa also had risen, laying one hand on his arm, listeningintently. "What is it?" she breathed. "It is the noise made by thousands of bullets streaming through theair above us. It sounds like that in the rifle-pits. Listen!" The strange, bewildering sound filled the room. And now, as thewind shifted, the steady rattle of musketry became suddenlyaudible. Another sound, sinister, ominous, broke on their ears, the clang of the seminary bell. "Is it an attack on this place?" she asked anxiously. "What can wedo? There are no troops here! I--I must go to my sick boys----" Her heart stood still as a cannon thundered, followed by thefearful sound of the shell as it came tearing toward them. As itneared, the noise grew deafening; the air vibrated with a rushingsound that rose to a shriek. Ailsa's hands grasped his arm; her ears seemed bursting with theabominable sound; pain darted through her temples, flashing intoagony as a heavy jar shook the house, followed by a dazzling lightand roar. Boom! Boom! came the distant, sullen thunder, followed by theunmistakable whir of a Parrott shell. Suddenly shrapnel shellsbegan to come over, screaming, exploding, filling the air with therush and clatter of bullets. "Lie down, " he said. "You can't go out in this. It will veer offin a few moments, when they find out that they're shelling ourhospitals. " "I've got to go, " she repeated; "my boys won't understand why Idon't come. " She turned and opened the door; he caught her in his arms, and shelooked up and kissed him. "Good-bye, dear, " she whispered. "You mustn't detain me----" "You shall not go outside----" "I've got to. Be reasonable, dear. My sick are under fire. " The bugle was sounding now; his arms fell from her waist; shesmiled at him, stepped outside, and started to run; and found himkeeping pace between her and the west. "You should not do that!" she panted, striving to pass him, but hekept his body in line with the incoming missiles. Suddenly heseized her and dropped flat with her as a shell plunged downward, exploding in a white cloud laced with flame through which thehumming fragments scattered. As they rose to their knees in the dust they saw mengathering--soldiers of all arms, infantry, dismounted cavalrymen, hospital guards, limping convalescents, officers armed' withrifles, waggon drivers, negroes. "They're attacking our works at Cedar Springs, " said an officerwearing one hand in a sling. "This hospital is in a bad place. " Ailsa clapped both hands over her ears as a shell blew up at theangle of an outhouse and the ground rocked violently; then, palebut composed, she sprang inside the hospital door and ran for herward. It was full of pungent smoke; a Parrott shell had passed through awindow, carrying everything away in its path, and had burst, terrifying the sick men lying there, but not injuring anybody. And now a flare of light and a crash outside marked the descent ofanother shell. The confusion and panic among the wounded wasterrible; ward-masters, nurses, surgeons, ran hither and thither, striving to quiet the excited patients as shell after shell rushedyelling overhead or exploded with terrific force, raining itswhirring iron fragments over roof and chimney. Ailsa, calm and collected in the dreadful crisis, stood at the endof the ward, directing the unnerved stretcher bearers, superintending the carrying out of cots to the barns, which stoodin the shelter of the rising ground along the course of the littlestream. Letty appeared from the corridor behind her; and Ailsa smiled andkissed her lightly on the cheek; and the blood came back to thegirl's face in a passion of gratitude which even the terror ofdeath could not lessen or check. "Ailsa--darling--" she whispered; then shuddered in the violence ofan explosion that shattered the window-glass beside her, "We're taking them to the old barns, Letty, " said Ailsa, steadyingher voice. "Will you take charge here while I go to Colonel Arran?" "They've taken him out, " whispered Letty. "That ward is on fire. Everybody is out. W-what a cruel thing for our boys! Some of themwere getting well! Can you come now?" "As soon as they carry out young Spencer. He's the last. . . . Look from the window! They're trying to put out the fire withwater in buckets. O--h!" as a shell struck and the flame flashedout through a geyser of sand and smoke. "Come, " murmured Letty. "I will stay if there is anything to stayfor----" "No, dear; we can go. Give me your hand; this smoke is horrible. Everything is on fire, I think. . . . Hurry, Letty!" She stumbled, half suffocated, but Letty kept her hand fast andguided her to the outer air. A company of cavalry, riding hard, passed in a whirlwind of dust. After them, clanking, thudding, pounding, tore a battery, horses ona dead run, The west wing of the seminary was on fire; billows of sooty smokerolled across the roof and blew downward over the ground where theforms of soldiers could be seen toiling to and fro with buckets. Infantry now began to arrive, crowding the main road on the doublequick, mounted officers cantering ahead. Long lines of them wereswinging out east and west across the country, where a battery wentinto action wrapped in torrents of smoke. Bullets swarmed, singing above and around in every key, and thedistracting racket of the shrapnel shells became continuous. Ailsa and Letty ran, stooping, into the lane where the stretcherswere being hurried across the little footbridge. As they crossedthey saw a dead artilleryman lying in the water, a crimson threadwavering from his head to the surface. It was Arthur Wye; andLetty knew him, and halted, trembling; but Ailsa called to her in afrightened voice, for, confused by the smoke, they had come out inthe rear of a battery among the caissons, and the stretchers hadturned to the right, filing down into the hollow where the barnsstood on the edge of a cedar grove. Already men were hard at work erecting hospital tents; the woundedlay on their stretchers, bloodless faces turned to the sky, thewind whipping their blankets and uncovering their naked, emaciatedbodies. The faces of the dead had turned black. "Good God!" said Dr. Benton as Letty and Ailsa came up, outof'breath, "we've got to get these sick men under shelter! Can youtwo girls keep their blankets from blowing away?" They hurried from cot to cot, from mattress to mattress, from oneheap of straw to another, from stretcher to stretcher, deftlyreplacing sheet and blanket, tucking them gently under, whisperingcourage, sometimes a gay jest or smiling admonition to the helplessmen, soothing, petting, reassuring. The medical director with his corps of aides worked furiously toget up the big tents. The smoke from the battery blew east andsouth, flowing into the hollow in sulphurous streams; the uproarfrom the musketry was terrific. Ailsa, kneeling beside a stretcher to tuck in the blankets, lookedup over her shoulder suddenly at Letty. "Where did they take Colonel Arran?" "I don't know, dear. " Ailsa rose from her knees and looked around her through the flyingsmoke; then she got wearily to her feet and began to makeinquiries. Nobody seemed to know anything about Colonel Arran. Anxious, she threaded her way through the stretchers and thehurrying attendants, past the men who were erecting the tents, looking everywhere, making inquiries, until, under the trees by thestream, she saw a heap of straw on which a man was dying. He died as she came up--a big, pallid, red-headed zouave, whoseblanket, soaked with blood, bore dreadful witness of his end. A Sister of Charity rose as though dazed. "I could not stop the hemorrhage, " she said in her soft, bewilderedvoice. Together they turned back toward the mass of stretchers, movingwith difficulty in the confusion. Letty, passing, glanced wanly atthe Sister, then said to Ailsa: "Colonel Arran is in the second barn on the hay. I am afraid he isdying. " Ailsa turned toward the barns and hurried across the trampled sod. Through the half light within she peered about her, movingcarefully among the wounded stretched out on the fragrant hay. Colonel Arran lay alone in the light of a window high under theeaves. "Oh, here you are!" she said gaily. "I hear most most splendidthings about you. I--" she stopped short, appalled at the terriblechange that was coming over his face. "I want to see--Phil--" he whispered. "Yes--yes, I will find him, " she said soothingly; "I will goimmediately and find him. " His head was moving slowly, monotonously, from side to side. "I want to see my boy, " he murmured. "He is my son. I wish you toknow it--my only son. " He lifted his brilliant eyes to Ailsa. Twice he strove to speak, and could not, and she watched him, stunned. He made the supreme effort. "Philip!" he gasped; "our son! My little son! My little, littleboy! I want him, Ailsa, I want him near me when I die!" CHAPTER XX They told her that Berkley had gone up the hill toward the firingline. On the windy hill-top, hub deep in dry, dead grass, a section of abattery was in action, the violent light from the dischargeslashing out through the rushing vapours which the wind flattenedand drove, back into the hollow below so that the cannoneers seemedto be wading waist deep in fog. The sick and wounded on their cots and stretchers were coughing andgasping in the hot mist; the partly erected tents had become fullof it. And now the air in the hollow grew more suffocating asfragments of burning powder and wadding set the dead grass afire, and the thick, strangling blue smoke spread over everything. Surgeons and assistants were working like beavers to house theirpatients; every now and then a bullet darted into the vale with anevil buzz, rewounding, sometimes killing, the crippled. To add tothe complication and confusion, more wounded arrived from thefiring line above and beyond to the westward; horses began to fallwhere they stood harnessed to the caissons; a fine, powerfulgun-team galloping back to refill its chests suddenly rearedstraight up into annihilation, enveloped in the volcanic horror ofa shell, so near that Ailsa, standing below in a clump of willows, saw the flash and smoke of the cataclysm and the flyingdisintegration of dark objects scattering through the smoke. Far away on the hillside an artilleryman, making a funnel of hishands, shouted for stretchers; and Ailsa, repeating the call, managed to gather together half a dozen overworked bearers andstart with them up through the smoke. Deafened, blinded, her senses almost reeling under thenerve-shattering crash of the guns, she toiled on through the drygrass, pausing at the edge of charred spaces to beat out the lowflames that leaped toward her skirts. There was a leafy hollow ahead, filled with slender, willow-trees, many of them broken off, shot, torn, twisted, and splintered. Deadsoldiers lay about under the smoke, their dirty shirts or nakedskin visible between jacket and belt; to the left on a sparselywooded elevation, the slope of which was scarred, showing dry redsand and gravel, a gun stood, firing obliquely across the gullyinto the woods. Long, wavering, irregular rings of smoke shot out, remaining intact and floating like the rings from a smoker's pipe, until another rush and blast of flame scattered them. The other gun had been dismounted and lay on its side, one wheel inthe air, helpless, like some monster sprawling with limbs stiffenedin death. Behind it, crouched close, squatted some infantrysoldiers, firing from the cover of the wreckage. Behind everytree, every stump, every inequality, lay infantry, dead, wounded, or alive and cautiously firing. Several took advantage of thefallen battery horses for shelter. Only one horse of that gun-teamremained alive, and the gunners had lashed the prolonge to thetrail of the overturned cannon and to the poor horse's collar, andwere trying to drag the piece away with the hope of righting it. This manoeuvre dislodged the group of infantry soldiers who hadtaken shelter there, and, on all fours, they began crawling andworming and scuffling about among the dead leaves, seeking anothershelter from the pelting hail of lead. There was nothing to be seen beyond the willow gully except smoke, set grotesquely with phantom trees, through which the enemy'sfusillade sparkled and winked like a long level line of fire-fliesin the mist. The stretcher bearers crept about gathering up the wounded whocalled to them out of the smoke. Ailsa, on her knees, made her waytoward a big cavalryman whose right leg was gone at the thigh. She did what she could, called for a stretcher, then, crouchingclose under the bank of raw earth, set her canteen to his blackenedlips and held it for him. "Don't be discouraged, " she said quietly, "they'll bring anotherstretcher in a few moments. I'll stay here close beside you untilthey come. " The cavalryman was dying; she saw it; he knew it. And his swollenlips moved. "Don't waste time with me, " he managed to say. "Then--will you lie very still and not move?" "Yes; only don't let the horse step on me. " She drew her little note-book and pencil from the pocket of hergown and gently lowered her head until one ear was close to hislips. "What is your name and regiment?" His voice became suddenly clear. "John Casson--Egerton's Dragoons. . . . Mrs. Henry Casson, Islip, Long Island. My mother is a widow; I don't--thinkshe--can--stand----" Then he died--went out abruptly into eternity. Beside him, in the grass, lay a zouave watching everything withgreat hollow eyes. His body was only a mass of bloody rags; he hadbeen shot all to pieces, yet the bleeding heap was breathing, andthe big sunken eyes patiently watched Ailsa's canteen until sheencountered his unwinking gaze. But the first swallow he tookkilled him, horribly; and Ailsa, her arms drenched with blood, shrank back and crouched shuddering under the roots of a shatteredtree, her consciousness almost deserting her in the roaring andjarring and splintering around her. She saw more stretcher bearersin the smoke, stooping, edging their way--unarmed heroes of many afield who fell unnoted, died unrecorded on the rolls of glory. A lieutenant of artillery, powder-blackened, but jaunty, calleddown to her from the bank above: "Look out, little lady. We're going to try to limber up, and wedon't want to drop six horses and a perfectly good gun on top ofyou!" Somebody seized her arm and dragged her across the leaves; and shestruggled to her knees, to her feet, turned, and started to run. "This way, " said Berkley's voice in her ear; and his hand closed onhers. "Phil--help me--I don't know where I am!" "I do. Run this way, under the crest of the hill. . . . Dr. Connor told me that you had climbed up here. This isn't yourplace! Are you stark mad?" They ran on westward, panting, sheltered by the grassy crest behindwhich soldiers lay firing over the top of the grass--long lines ofthem, belly flattened to the slope, dusty blue trousers hitched upshowing naked ankles and big feet pendant. Behind them, swordsdrawn, stood or walked their officers, quietly encouraging them orcoolly turning to look at Ailsa and Berkley as they hurried past. In a vast tobacco field to their left, just beyond a wide cleft inthe hills, a brigade of cavalry was continually changing station toavoid shell fire. The swallow-tailed national flags, the yellowguidons with their crossed sabres, the blue State colours, streamedabove their shifting squadrons as they trotted hither and thitherwith the leisurely precision of a peaceful field day; but here andthere from the trampled earth some fallen horse raised its head inagony; here and there the plain was dotted with dark heaps thatnever stirred. The wailing flight of bullets streamed steadily overhead, but, asthey descended, the whistling, rushing sound grew higher andfainter. They could see, on the plain where the cavalry wasmanoeuvring, the shells bursting in fountains of dirt, the ominousshrapnel cloud floating daintily above. Far away through the grassy cleft, on wooded hillsides, delicatelyblue, they could see the puff of white smoke shoot out from amongthe trees where the Confederate batteries were planted, then hearthe noise of the coming shell rushing nearer, quavering, whistlinginto a long-drawn howl as it raced through the gray clouds overhead. While he guided her among the cedars at the base of the hill, onearm around her body to sustain her, he quietly but seriouslyberated her for her excursion to the firing line, telling her therewas no need of it, no occasion for anybody except the bearersthere; that Dr. Connor was furious at her and had said aloud thatshe had little common-sense. Ailsa coloured painfully, but there was little spirit left in her, and she walked thankfully and humbly along beside him, resting hercheek, against his shoulder. "Don't scold me; I really feel half sick, Phil. . . . From wheredid you come?" she added timidly. "From the foot bridge. They wanted a guard set there. I foundhalf a dozen wounded men who could handle a musket. Lord, but therebels came close to us that time! When we heard those bulletsthey were charging the entire line of our works. I understand thatwe've driven them all along the line. It must be so, judging fromthe sound of the firing. " "Did our hospital burn?" "Only part of one wing. They're beginning to move back the woundedalready. . . . Now, dear, will you please remain with yoursuperiors and obey orders?" he added as they came out along thebanks of the little stream and saw the endless procession ofstretchers recrossing the foot bridge to the left. "Yes. . . . I didn't know. I saw part of a battery blown up; anda soldier stood on the hill and shouted for stretchers. There wasnobody else to start them off, so I did it. " He nodded. "Wait here, dear. I will run over and ask Dr. Connorwhether they have moved Colonel Arran----" "Colonel Arran! Oh, Philip! I forgot to tell you--" She clutchedhis arm in her excitement, and he halted, alarmed. "Has anything happened to him?" he demanded. "He asked for you. " "Is he worse?" "I fear so. " "Dying?" "Phil--I am afraid so. He--he--thinks that you are his son!" "W-what are you saying!" he stammered: "What are you trying to tellme, Ailsa?" "Phil--my darling!--don't look that way!" she exclaimed, frightened. "What way?" He laughed as though crazed. "Where is he? Do youknow? I want to see him. You better let me see him. " "I'll go with you, Phil; I'll be close beside you. You mustn'tbecome so terribly excited; I didn't know what I was saying; Ithink he is delirious----" "Where is he? I can't endure this much longer, " he kept repeatingin a vacant way as they forced a path among the litters andambulances, and came out through the smoke blowing from a pile ofdebris that lay where the east wing of the seminary had once stood. Charred and battered, every window smashed, and the blackenedrafters of the roof still smouldering, the east wing rose beforethem, surrounded by the wounded. A surgeon told them that Colonel Arran had been carried out of thebarn, but to what place he did not know. Letty with Dr. Bentonpassed them by the stables, but they knew only that Colonel Arran, lying on a litter, had been placed in an ambulance which hadstarted for Azalea Court House. This was confirmed by Dr. Connor, who came hurrying by and whohalted to scowl heartily at Ailsa. "No more of _that_!" he said roughly. "When I want a nurse on thefiring line I'll detail her. I've sent two hundred invalids to thelanding, and I wanted you to go with them and when I looked aroundfor you I saw you kiting for the line of battle! That's all wrong, Mrs. Paige! That's all wrong! You look sick anyway. Are you?" "No. I'll go now, if you'll let me, Dr. Connor. " "How are you going to get there? I haven't another ambulance tosend--not a horse or a mule----" "I--I'll walk, " she said with a sob in her throat. "I am fearfullysorry--and ashamed----" "There, there, " muttered Dr. Connor, "I didn't mean all I said. Itwas a brave thing to do--not that your pluck mitigates the offence!Be a little more considerate; think a little faster; don't take toyour legs on the first impulse. Some fool told me you'd beenkilled--and that made--made me--most damnably angry!" he burst outwith a roar to cover the emotion working at his mouth and eyes. He seized Ailsa's hand and shook it vigorously. "Excuse my profanity. I can't avoid it when I think of_you_--dead! There, there. I'm an old fool and you're a--youngerone. See if you can find somebody to take you to Azalea. I wantthat batch of invalids carefully watched. Besides, there's afurlough there for you. Don't say one word! You're not well, Itell you. I had to send those invalids back; the place here isatrociously crowded. Try to find some way of getting to thelanding. And take care of your pretty little self for God's sake!" She promised, shook hands with him again, disengaged herself fromthe crowd around her, turned about to search for Berkley, andcaught sight of him near the stables, saddling his horse. Hebuckled the last strap as she came up; turned a blank gaze on her, and did not appear to comprehend her question for a moment. Then, nodding in a dazed way, he lifted her to the saddle in front, swungup behind her, passed one arm around her waist, gathered bridle, and edged his way carefully through the crowd out into the road. The 3rd Zouaves in heavy marching order filled the road with theirscarlet column, moving steadily southward; and Ailsa, from herperch on the saddle, called to Colonel Craig and Major Lent, stretching out her hot little hand to them as she passed. Engineers blocked their progress farther on, then Wisconsininfantry, young giants in blue, swinging forward in their longloose-limbered stride; then an interminable column of artillery, jolting slowly along, the grimy gunners swaying drowsily on theirseats, officers nodding half asleep in their saddles. "Philip, " she ventured timidly. "Yes. " "Is there--anything--you wish to tell me? Anything thatI--perhaps--have a faint shadow of a right to know?" For a long time they rode in silence, her question unanswered. Anarrow cart road--less of a road than a lane--led east. He turnedhis horse into it. For a moment no sound broke the silence save the monotonous clankof his sabre and the creak of girth and saddle. "Ailsa!" "Yes, Phil. " "Move closer; hold very tight to me; clasp both arms around myneck. . . . Are you seated firmly?" "Yes, Phil. " He encircled her slender body with his right arm and, shaking outthe bridle, launched his horse at a gallop down the sandy lane. Her breath and his mingled as they sped forward; the wind rushedby, waving the foliage on either hand; a steady storm of sand andgravel rained rattling through the bushes as the spurred horsebounded forward, breaking into a grander stride, thundering onthrough the gathering dusk. Swaying, cradled in his embrace, her lips murmured his name, or, parted breathless, touched his, as the exquisitely confused senseof headlong speed dimmed her senses to a happy madness. Trees, bushes, fences flew past and fled away behind in the dusk. It seemed to her as though she was being tossed through spacelocked in his arms; infinite depths of shadow whirled and eddiedaround her; limitless reaches, vistas unfathomable stretched towardouter chaos into which they were hurled, unseeing, her arms aroundhis neck, her soft face on his breast. Then a lantern flashed; voices sounded in far-off confusion; morelanterns twinkled and glimmered; more voices broke in on theirheavenly isolation. Was the divine flight ended? Somebody said: "Colonel Arran is here, and is still alive, but hismind is clouding. He says he is waiting for his son to come. " Dizzy, burning hot, half blinded, she felt herself swung out ofspace onto the earth again, through a glare of brightness in whichCelia's face seemed to be framed, edged with infernal light. . . . And another face, Camilla's, was there in the confusing brilliancy;and she reeled a little, embraced, held hot and close; and in herdulled ears drummed Celia's voice, murmuring, pitying, complaining, adoring: "Honey-bell--Oh, my little Honey-bud! I have you back in my a'ms, and I have my boy, and I'm ve'y thankful to my Heavenly Master--Icertainly am, Honey-bee!--fo' His goodness and His mercy which Heis showing eve'y day to me and mine. " And Camilla's pale face was pressed against her hot cheeks and thegirl's black sleeve of crape encircled her neck. She whispered: "I--I try to think it reconciles me to losing Jimmy. . . . War gave me Stephen. . . . Yet--oh, I cannot understand whyGod's way must sometimes be the way of battle!" Ailsa saw and heard and understood, yet, all around her fell anunreal light--a terrible fiery radiance, making voices the voices, of phantoms, forms the outlines of ghosts. Through an open door she saw a lamp-lit room where her lover kneltbeside a bed--saw a man's arm reach feebly toward him--and saw nomore. Everything wavered and dazzled and brightened into rainbowtints around her, then to scarlet; then velvety darkness sprang up, through which she fell into swift unconsciousness. One of the doctors, looking at her as she lay on the hospital cot, dropped his hand gravely on her thin wrist. "You cannot tell me anything that I don't know about Mrs. Paige, "he said wearily. "This is a complete breakdown. It's come justin time, too, that girl has been trying to kill herself. Iunderstand that her furlough has arrived. You'd better get herNorth on the next transport. I guess that our angels are morepopular in our hospitals just now than they would be tuning littlegilt harps aloft. We can't spare 'em, Mrs. Craig, and I guess theMost High can wait a little longer. " Doctor, ward-master, apothecary, and nurses stood looking down atthe slim, fever-flushed shape moving restlessly on thecot--babbling soft inconsequences, staring out of brilliant eyes atnothing. The doctor whispered to the apothecary, and his gesture dismissedthose who stood around her waiting in silence. CHAPTER XXI Early in October the Union Cavalry began their favourite pastime of"chasing" Stuart. General Pleasanton with a small force and ahorse battery began it, marching seventy-eight miles in twenty-fourhours; but Stuart marched ninety in the same time. He had to. About ten o'clock in the morning of October tenth, General Buford, chief of cavalry, set the 6th Pennsylvania Lancers galloping afterStuart. Part of the 1st Maine Cavalry joined the chase; but Stuartflourished his heels and cantered gaily into Pennsylvania to theamazement and horror of that great State, and to the unboundedmortification of the Union army. He had with him the 1st, 3d, 4th, 5th and 9th Virginia Cavalry; the 7th and 9th North Carolina, andtwo Legions; and after him went pelting the handful that McClellancould mount. A few tired troopers galloped up to Whitens Ford justas Stuart crossed in safety; and the gain of "chasing" Stuart wasover. Never had the efficiency of the Union Cavalry been at such alow ebb; but it was low-water mark, indeed, and matters weredestined to mend after a history of nearly two years of neglect, disorganisation, and misuse. Bayard took over the cavalry south of Washington; Pleasantoncollected the 6th Regulars, the 3d Indiana, the 8th New York, the8th Pennsylvania, and the 8th Illinois, and started in to domischief with brigade head-quarters in the saddle. The 8th New York went with him, but the 8th New York Lancers, reorganising at Orange Hill, were ordered to recruit the depletedregiment to twelve companies. In August, Berkley's ragged blue and yellow jacket had been gailyembellished with brand-new sergeant's chevrons; at the Stone Bridgewhere the infantry recoiled his troop passed over at a gallop. The War Department, much edified, looked at the cavalry and beganto like it. And it was ordered that every cavalry regiment beincreased by two troops, L and M. Which liberality, in combinationwith Colonel Arran's early reports concerning Berkley's conduct, enabled the company tailor to sew a pair of lieutenant'sshoulder-straps on Berkley's soiled jacket. But there was more than that in store for him; it was all very wellto authorise two new troops to a regiment, but another matter torecruit them. Colonel Arran, from his convalescent couch in the North, wrote toGovernor Morgan; and Berkley got his troop, and his orders to go toNew York and recruit it. And by the same mail came the firstletter Ailsa had been well enough to write him since her transferNorth on the transport _Long Branch_. He read it a great many times; it was his only diversion whileawaiting transportation at the old Hygeia Hotel, where, in companywith hundreds of furloughed officers, he slept on the floors in hisblanket; he read it on deck, as the paddle-wheeled transportweighed anchor, swung churning under the guns of the greatFortress--so close that the artillerymen on the water-battery couldhave tossed a biscuit aboard--and, heading north-east, passed outbetween the capes, where, seaward, the towering black sides of asloop of war rose, bright work aglitter, smoke blowing fitfullyfrom her single funnel. At Alexandria he telegraphed her: "Your letter received, I am on myway North, " and signed it with a thrill of boyish pride: "Philip O. Berkley-Arran, Capt. Cavalry, U. S. V. " To his father he sent a similar telegram from the Willard inWashington; wasted two days at the State, War, and Navy for anaudience with Mr. Stanton, and finally found himself, valise inhand, waiting among throngs of officers of all grades, all arms ofthe service, for a chance to board his train. And, as he stood there, he felt cotton-gloved fingers fumbling forthe handle of his valise, and wheeled sharply, and began to laugh. "Where the devil did you come from, Burgess? Did they give you afurlough?" "Yes, Captain. " "Well, you got more than I. What's the matter; do you want tocarry my bag?" "Yes, sir. " "You don't have to. " "No, Captain. . . . If you don't object, sir, I'll carry it. " They found seats together; Philip, amused, tried to extract fromBurgess something besides the trite and obvious servant'spatter--something that might signify some possibility of a latentindependence--the germ of aspiration. And extracted nothing. Burgess had not changed, had not developed. His ways were Philip'sways; his loftier flights mounted no higher toward infinity thanthe fashions prevailing in the year 1862, and their suitability tohis master's ultimate requirements. For his regiment, for its welfare, its hopes, its glory, heapparently cared nothing; nor did he appear to consider the part hehad borne in its fluctuating fortunes anything to be proud of. Penned with the others in the brush field, he had done stolidlywhat his superiors demanded of him; and it presently came out thatthe only anxiety that assailed him was when, in the smoke of thetangled thickets, he missed his late master. "Well, what do you propose to do after the regiment is musteredout?" inquired Philip curiously. "Wait on you, sir. " "Don't you _want_ to do anything else?" "No, sir. "' Philip looked at him, smiling. "I suppose you like my cigars, and my brandy and my linen?" The ghost of . A grin touched the man's features. "Yes, sir, " he said with an impudence that captivated Philip. "All right, my friend; I can stand it as long as you can. . . . And kindly feel in my overcoat for a cigar wrapped in paper. I'llgo forward and smoke for a while. " "Sir?" "The cigar--I put it in my overcoat pocket wrapped in a bit ofpaper. . . . You--you don't mean to tell me that it's not there!" Burgess searched the pockets with a perfectly grave face. "It ain't here; no, sir. " Philip flung himself into the corner of his seat, making no effortto control his laughter: "Burgess, " he managed to say, "the dear old days are returningalready. I'll stay here and read; you go forward and smoke thatcigar. Do you hear?" "Yes, sir. " Again, just as he had done every day since leaving camp, he rereadAilsa's letter, settling down in his corner by the dirty, rattlingwindow-pane: "Everybody writes to you except myself. I know they have told youthat it is taking a little longer for me to get well than anybodyexpected. I was terribly tired. Your father has been so sweet;everybody has been good to me--Celia, poor little Camilla, andStephen. I know that they all write to you; and somehow I havebeen listlessly contented to let them tell you about home matters, and wait until my strength returned. But you must not doubt whereevery waking memory of mine has centred; my thoughts have circledalways around that central vortex from which, since I first laideyes on you, they have never strayed. "Home news is what all good soldiers want; I write for you all Iknow: "The city is the same hot, noisy, dirty, dusty, muddy, gridiron, changed in nowise except that everywhere one sees invalid soldiers;and there are far too many officers lounging about, presumably onfurlough--too many Captain Dash's, twirling black moustaches infront of fashionable hotels. There are no powder stains on theiruniforms, no sun-burn on their cheeks. They throng the city; andit is a sinister phenomenon. "I think Broadway was never as lively, never quite as licentious. Those vivid cafes, saloons, concert halls, have sprung upeverywhere; theatres, museums, gardens are in full blast; shops arecrowded, hotels, street cars, stages overflowing with careless, noisy, overdressed people. The city is _en fete_; and somehow whenI think of that Dance of Death thundering ceaselessly just south ofus, it appalls me to encounter such gaiety and irresponsibility inthe streets. "Yet, after all, it may be the safety-valve of a brave people. Those whirling daily in the Dance of Death have, at least, theexcitement to sustain them. Here the tension is constant andterrible; and the human mind cannot endure too much tragedy. ". . . They say our President fits a witticism to the tragedy ofevery battle-field; but it may be to preserve his own reasonthrough these infernal years. He has the saddest eyes of any mansince the last Martyr died. "England behaves badly. It was her God-given opportunity to standby us. She has had chance after chance since the last patriot diedfrom lack of food and air in this sad old city of New York. . . . The Prince Consort is kind; his wife is inclined to be what he is. Napoleon is the sinister shape behind the arras; and the Torygovernment licks his patent-leather boots. Vile is the attitude ofEngland, vile her threats, her sneers, her wicked contempt of agreat people in agony. Her murderous government, bludgeon in hand, stands snarling at us in Mexico; her ministers glare at us fromevery war port; her press mocks in infamous caricature our unhappyPresident; only her poor are with us--the poor of England whom ourwar is starving. Again and again we have forgiven her. But now, standing on our blood-wet battle-fields, can we ever again forgive? "You have heard from your family and from Celia, so what news Iwrite may be no news. Yet I know how it is with soldiers; theynever tire of such repetitions. "Your father is slowly recovering. But he will never sit hissaddle again, dear. Don't expect it; the war is over as far as heis concerned. But never have my eyes beheld such happiness, suchgratitude, such adoration as I see in his eyes when your letterscome. I think the burden of his conversation is you. I never hearhim speak of anything else. Your father walks now; and by the timeyou are here he will be able to drive on Fifth Avenue and in thenew Central Park. But he is not the man who left this city at thehead of his regiment. His hair and moustache are white as snow;there are a thousand tiny wrinkles on his hands and features. Allthat heavy colour is gone; only a slight flush remains on his thinface. He is very handsome, Phil. Once, never dreaming of what wastrue, I thought he resembled you. Do you recollect my saying soonce? Even you would recognise the likeness now. He is absorbed, wrapped up in you. . . . I can see, now, that he always has been. How blind we are! How blind! "Celia, the darling, has not changed one particle. She is theprettiest thing you ever saw, cheerful, clever, courageous, self-possessed, devoted to Stephen, whose leave has been extendedand who plays the role of a pale and interesting invalid hero withplacid satisfaction to himself, adored and hovered over by Paigeand Marye and all their girl friends. But when poor littleCamilla, in her deep mourning, appears at the door, he clears outthe others with a tyranny characteristic of young men; and I'msomewhat sorry for his mother and sisters. But it's theinevitable; and Camilla is the sweetest thing. "Celia hears often from Curt, Poor Major Lent! It seems too hardthat Camilla should be left so utterly alone in the world. TheMajor died as he would have wished to die, Curt writes. It was atthat terrible Stone Bridge--where God was merciful to me when yoursquadron galloped across. "He was found, seated against a tree, stone dead, one handstiffened over the Mexican war medal at his throat. Curt says hisface was calm, almost smiling. Camilla has his sword and medals. "Did you know that your friend John Casson was dead? I was withhim; I did not know he was a friend of yours. He displayed thesame patience, the same desire not to be troublesome that so manybadly wounded do. "Letty asked me to say that a zouave of the 5th Regiment, a Mr. Cortlandt, was also killed. So many, many people I knew or hadheard of have been killed or have died of disease since the warbegan. One sees a great many people wearing mourning in thecity--crape is so common, on sword-hilts, on arms, veils, gowns, bonnets. "Letty made the loveliest bride you or I ever beheld. Usuallybrides do not look their best, but Letty was the most charming, radiant, bewildering creature--and so absurdly young--as thoughsuddenly she had dropped a few years and was again beginning thatgirlhood which I sometimes thought she had never had. "Dr. Benton is a darling. He looks twenty years younger and wearsa monocle! They are back from their honeymoon, and are planning tooffer their services to the great central hospital at Philadelphia. "Dear, your letter breaking the news to me that Marye Mead wasburned when the cavalry burned Edmund Ruffin's house was no news tome. I saw it on fire. But, Philip, there was a fiercer flameconsuming me than ever swept that house. I thank God it Isquenched for ever and that my heart and soul, refreshed, made new, bear no scars now of that infernal conflagration. "I sit here at my window and see below me the folds of the dearflag stirring; in my ears, often, is the noise of drums from thedusty avenue where new regiments are passing on into theunknown--no longer the unknown to us--but the saddest of all truths. "Sometimes Celia comes from the still, leafy seclusion of FortGreene Place, to love me, caress me, gently jeer at me for the hintof melancholy in my gaze, shaming me for a love-sick thing thatdroops and pines in the absence of all that animates her soul andbody with the desire to live. "She is only partly right; I am very tired, Phil. Not that I amill. I am well, now. It only needs you. She knows it; I havealways known it. Your love, and loving you, is all that life meansto me. "I see them all here--Celia fussing with my trousseau, gowns, stockings, slippers, hovering over them with Paigie and Marye inmurmurous and intimate rapture. They lead me about to shops and inbusy thoroughfares; and I see and understand, and I hear my ownvoice as at an infinite distance, and I am happy in the sameindefinite way. But, try as I may, I cannot fix my thoughts onwhat I am about, on the pretty garments piled around me, on thenecessary arrangements to be made, on the future--our future! Icannot even think clearly about that. All that my mind seems ableto contain is my love for you, the knowledge that you are coming, that I am to see you, touch you. "I try to realise that I am to be your wife; the heavenly realityseems vaguely impossible. Yet every moment I am schooling myselfto the belief, telling myself that it is to be, repeating thedivine words again and again. And all I am capable ofunderstanding is that I love you, and that the world stands still, waiting for you as I wait; and that without you nothing is real, and I move in a world of phantoms. "I have been to the mirror to look at myself. To be certain, Ialso asked Celia. She says that you will not be disappointed. "She sat here searching the morning paper for news of her husband'sregiment, but found none. What women endure for men no man thatever lives can understand. "She is perfectly cheerful about it all. And, oh, such a rebel!She read aloud to me with amused malice the order from the WarDepartment which does away with regimental bands and substitutes abrigade band. "I sca'cely blame them, ' she observed; 'I'd be ve'y glad myse'f tohear less of Yankee Doodle and the Star-spangled Banner. When theylet President Davis alone, and when Curt comes home, I've got someve'y pretty songs fo' him to learn to appreciate. ' "She's down stairs now, seated at the piano, singing very softly toherself some gaily impudent rebel song or other. I know it's arebel song by the way she sings it. "And, as I sit here, alone, thinking of how I love you--far away Ihear the 'old line's bugle'--the quaint, quick rhythm of the fifesand drums; and it stirs depths in me where my very soul lieslistening--and the tears spring to my eyes. And I try tounderstand why every separate silver star in the flag is mine tohold, mine to rescue and replace, mine to adore. And I try tounderstand why all of it is part of the adoration of you, and ofGod who gave you to me--Philip--Philip--my lover, my country, myGod--worshipped and adored of men!" [Illustration: "Philip--Philip--my lover, my country, myGod--worshipped and adored of men!"] THE END