CHAPTER XI.
An Interrupted Duel.
Pale and agitated, Lettice stood before the company now gathered indoors. “It is gone!” she whispered. “Gone!”
“What do you mean?” asked her brother. “What is gone?”
“The box with the papers. I hid it by the footstone where Theophilus Hopkins is buried, and just now, when Mr. Baldwin and I went to get it, we found nothing there. Some one has taken it.”
“Have you any idea of who could have done it?”
Lettice twisted her fingers nervously, and gave a quick distressed look toward Ellicott Baldwin, but she made no answer.
“Have you any idea of who could have taken the box?” General Benson asked. “Speak up, my child. Remember that you are a loyal little girl, and that it is for the good of your country that we discover these papers. Beyond that, your brother’s honor is involved, and you will place him in a mostembarrassing position if the papers fail to appear. Did any one see you secrete these papers?”
“Yes.” Lettice spoke so low that she could scarcely be heard. Mr. Baldwin watched her silently, but with an expression of deep sympathy.
“Will you tell us whom you suspect?” said her brother, gently. “My little sister is so tender-hearted, gentlemen, that she is loath to divulge the name of the culprit, if indeed she knows it. Suppose we talk it over by ourselves, little sister, if these gentlemen will excuse us.” And putting his arm around her, he led her from the room.
When they were alone she put her head down on his shoulder and wept silently. “I don’t want to tell, brother,” she said, when she had become more composed. “I was very angry at first, but I don’t want to get any one into trouble, and of course I have no proof; I only suspect. But one person saw me as I was covering up the box, and—Oh, if I could only get the papers back, would I need to tell?”
Her brother considered the question. “Perhaps not. It would depend upon the person. If a dangerous enemy were working us harm, you would want him to be put where he could do us no injury,wouldn’t you?”
“If that could be managed? If he should leave the country?” said Lettice, eagerly.
“I cannot promise what leniency would be shown; but if you can recover the papers and will tell whom you suspect, I will do my best to see that nothing shall be done without full proof of treachery.”
“Then if I can get the papers, and I promise to tell you why they were taken, will that do?”
“So far as you are concerned, yes, I think it will. Wait here and I will confer with the general.”
But her brother had no sooner left the room than Lettice flew out by the back way, ran to the stable, flung the saddle on her horse, and was off like a shot. She would take no risks. Down the road she galloped, and dashed up before the porch where Rhoda was sitting alone.
“Lettice!” cried Rhoda, coming hastily forward, “what are you doing here? Is there no one with you? Have you brought bad news?”
Lettice slipped down from her horse, twisted the bridle through the ring of the hitching-post, and ran up the steps. “Are you alone, I ask in turn?”
“Yes. What is it? You are so agitated. Has anything happened to—anybody?”
Lettice did not heed the eagerness of the question nor the sudden pause before the last word.“I am alone, yes. And something has happened. No, no one is hurt, but some valuable papers have been stolen. Do you know anything about it?”
“I? What should I know?” Rhoda drew herself up, and held her head high.
“I overheard you talking one day to Mr. Robert Clinton, and you said things which made me suspect that you might try to help the enemy, if you had a chance. And——Oh, Rhoda, never mind if I do seem to accuse you! it is to save Mr. Clinton. If you have any love for him or for me, tell me truly, do you know anything about the papers?”
“I know nothing of any papers in which you could possibly be concerned,” she replied coldly. “Tell me your story more clearly.”
Lettice tried to do so, ending with, “If you have not been concerned in the matter, he must have done it entirely of his own accord.”
“Do you suppose that either of us would so degrade ourselves as to stoop to theft?” returned Rhoda, frigidly.
“I don’t know; I can’t tell. I am so distracted that I hardly know what I do think. I know you are not friendly to our cause, and that in war it is not thought wrong to avail one’s self of all sorts of methods to carry out an intention. Oh, Rhoda!if I do not recover the papers, they will make me tell whom I suspect, and he will be arrested and perhaps shot for a spy.”
“Sh! sh! Aunt Martha may hear.”
“Where is she?”
“Gone to bed with a sick headache. It was warm, and I did not care to go so early.”
“What shall I do? What shall I do?”
“Do you care so much for Robert Clinton’s safety?”
“I care! Of course I do. I don’t know whether much or little. One would rather one’s friends should be safe. I denounced him to his face for a spy, and if it is true that he is one, I despise him, but I do not want him taken and hung. Oh, Rhoda, will you warn him? And, oh, those papers! What can I do? I don’t know which way to turn.”
“Robert will tell me the truth,” said Rhoda, after a moment’s thought; “I am sure he will.”
“And will you try to get the papers back again?”
“Yes; but I am quite convinced that he did not take them.”
“Who, then? No one else saw me.”
“How do you know?”
“I know that he did see me.”
“But you cannot swear that another was not peeping, so I think you should give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“I cannot help my suspicions, knowing his devotion to his party.”
“Yes, but he is not a traitor to his country, and does not love her enemies any more than you do.”
“And I have given my word that I would tell the name of the one I suspect. Please, Rhoda, get him away if you can, but do not tell him that I begged it of you. Promise me that.”
“I will do my best. It is a great pity that you were not more cautious. Are you going back to-night? Must you?”
“Yes, I must. I am not afraid.”
“No one knew of your coming?”
“No, I sneaked out, and shall probably be well scolded for it. And what excuse can I make?”
“You are all well?”
“Yes. You have not seen Jamie yet, I suppose.”
“No.”
“He has just come from down the country, and to-night had to remain at home to help entertain this array of soldiers I left there. You will see him to-morrow, no doubt.”
“You volunteer the information as if you thoughtI had demanded it.”
“Well, don’t you demand it? There, Rhoda, I will not tease you. You have been very sweet and forbearing, and I thank you, and will thank you still more if you can help to get this dreadful matter righted.”
“One thing you have forgotten.”
“And what is that?”
“Your companion, Mr. Baldwin. You say you denounced Robert before him. What is to prevent him from telling the whole thing?”
“True. I didn’t think of that; yet I don’t think he will until I give him leave. But so much the more need of a speedy warning. When Robert—Mr. Clinton comes in, you will see to it that he is on his guard. They may come after him at any moment.”
“I will wait till he comes in. He should be here by now.”
“And I must get off at once. I would not encounter him for the world. Kiss me, Rhoda. I never loved you half so well. You are a dear good girl. I wish I were half so wise and discreet.”
Rhoda smiled, and gave her the asked-for kiss; then Lettice again mounted her horse and turned down the level road.
She had not travelled very far before she heardthe hoofs of horses coming rapidly toward her. Suddenly there was a pause in the advancing sound, and she drew in her horse. In the moonlight she could see the forms of two horsemen ahead of her. She watched them for a few moments as they carried on an excited conversation. Presently each led his horse to one side and tied him to the fence; then they stood apart in the middle of the road. Again there seemed to be a heated discussion. Lettice wondered what it was all about. She longed, yet feared, to draw nearer; but at last her curiosity overcame her fear, and she too led her horse to the shadow of a tree, tied him, and crept along by the fence till she came within hearing distance. At this point she gave a quick exclamation which nearly betrayed her to the two young men, in whom she recognized Robert Clinton and Ellicott Baldwin. She cowered close to the fence, her heart beating very fast. She dreaded to advance or retreat.
“I am at your service at any time and at any place,” Mr. Baldwin was saying. “I will accept any challenge sent in the regular way.”
“Now! I insist upon it now. If you refuse, I shall deem you a coward and a braggart,” cried Robert.
“Then,” returned the other, hastily, “choose your position.”
At that moment Lettice arose to her feet. This was a duel, she comprehended, and perhaps one or the other would be killed. She ran forward and held up her hand. “You should have witnesses,” she said. “Here is one.” She stood between them, looking from one to the other.
The men were thunderstruck. “You, Miss Hopkins! What are you doing here? I rode out to find you,” Mr. Baldwin said, but Robert spoke never a word.
“I beg of you to desist,” Lettice went on. “I chanced to be coming this way. I have been to the house of a sick relative and was on my way home. This is our own ground, and I forbid you to make it a place of bloodshed.”
“I bow to a lady’s decree,” Mr. Baldwin said, returning his pistol to its place. “Why did you give us the slip, Miss Hopkins? And what is your desire concerning yonder gentleman? You denounced him in my presence, and yet when the moment came to declare his offence to your brother, you ran away. As for me, my lips aresealed till you give me permission to speak.”
“I do not give you permission to do anything but leave him and let his conscience be his accuser.”
“But who is to be responsible for his appearance if we find he is guilty of the act for which you denounced him?”
“I will be. We have been friends,” she said softly, as she half turned to where Robert stood with arms folded and eyes cast down. For an instant Lettice’s heart melted within her, and she took a step forward, but she retreated again to Mr. Baldwin’s side.
“Take me home,” she said faintly, “and let this affair be settled there. My horse is but a few steps back.”
“I will bring him to you,” Mr. Baldwin said, “and yes, I shall be glad to defer this. You understand,” he said, turning to Robert, “I am at your service when you will. This address will always find me.” He handed out a card with an elaborate bow. He stood evidently thinking deeply. “If you are innocent, sir,” he went on to say, “you will not be afraid to answer a few questions should you be required to do so. If you are guilty, you owe your escape from immediate arrest to the good offices of this young lady. Whatevermay be my own opinion, I owe you no more of an apology than you do me, and in the interest of my country I am bound to say that you are free only through extreme tolerance.” And he turned away.
Lettice and Robert stood facing each other. “How could you? How could you?” Lettice murmured. “This dark suspicion has blighted all the memory of our happy hours.”
“This dark suspicion, indeed,” replied the young man.
“And you will not clear yourself, will not tell me?” she said eagerly. “But give up the papers, and I will screen you and will think of you as gently as I can.”
“I have said that I have no papers.”
Lettice wrung her hands. “O dear! O dear! if you would but be candid and tell me, I could help you, I could indeed. For the sake of our past friendship, will you not tell me?”
He came to her side. “Lettice,” he began; then dropping the hand he had taken, he turned away. “’Twould be no use,” he said. “Farewell, the dream is over. Tell your friend that I shall not run away either from arrest or from him.” And he sprang on his horse and disappeared intothe woods, leaving Lettice with her face buried in her hands.
She brushed away her tears as Mr. Baldwin approached, and stood ready to mount her horse again. They were fairly on their way when he spoke. “This is a hard ordeal for a young lady to go through, Miss Hopkins, but I cannot leave the subject just yet. You are very positive that my late adversary, whose name, by the way, I do not know, is the one who took the papers?”
“No, I am not certain. I only think so because he saw me secure them, and because he is violently opposed to the war, and belongs to the Peace party. I know he has been very energetic in working for his side.”
“It looks suspicious, certainly.”
“Yet it would be a shame to arrest a man, unless we were sure.”
“Yes, I think so, too.”
“I think he should be given the benefit of the doubt.”
“That is dangerous, sometimes.”
“Yes; but I would rather let a dozen guilty ones go free than to cause an innocent person to suffer misfortune.”
“A very lovely way of thinking, but I fear few offenders would come to justice if all agreed with you. However, in this case we shall have to trust to chance. Your gentleman was very eager for a fight, which it would perhaps have been as well to allow him. I do not feel comfortable over that part of it.”
“Oh, but I think it would have been terrible! He has been a friend of ours; has been received at our house on the most intimate terms. Suppose he had fallen, or had caused your death; it would have been dreadful! I should never have ceased to reproach myself for having been the cause of it.”
“You are right. I should have remembered your part in the matter. But this other affair of—What did you say the gentleman’s name is?”
“I didn’t say. He is Robert Clinton, a relative of our former Vice-President of the same name. He is from New York, and is a great friend of some connections of ours.”
“Well, we must settle this affair of his before we go home. They are waiting for your return. You can imagine your brother is in something of an awkward position; the papers gone, and you gone. It would simplify matters if we could have returned with a prisoner. I fear Mr. Clinton will be beyondour reach by to-morrow.”
“He bade me say to you that he would not run away from either you or the authorities, but if he should, and if at last he is proved innocent, we will both be glad.”
“In that case, yes. You do not seem to be so enraged against him as at first.”
“No, I was truly angry. I always fly off like that and regret it afterward. I have had time for reflection, and I needed it. I spoke too impulsively. Think what a dreadful dreadful state of affairs I have stirred up by my quick tongue!”
“It was natural that you should speak in the excitement of the moment. Where does this turning take us?”
“Around by the bay.”
“Shall we take it?”
“Yes, if you like. It is not quite so near a way.”
She had hardly spoken the words before three men sprang out from a fence corner. One snatched Lettice’s bridle; two more dragged Mr. Baldwin down from his horse. “I’ll take the girl, pretty creature that she is,” cried the first, “and you can have the Yankee.”
“Save me! Oh, save me! Let me go!” shrieked Lettice. But the captor only laughed, and catchingher around the waist, he pulled her down beside him, while a terrible tussle went on between the other two men and their prisoner, who fought like a tiger, and finally managed to secure his pistol. A shot rang out on the air, and one man fell. The one by Lattice’s side sprang forward. “Poor old Jerry, are you done for?” he cried, as he leaned forward.
Like a flash Lettice sprang up. At her feet lay the man’s pistol which he had dropped. The girl picked it up. Providence had come to her rescue. She raised the pistol, but almost immediately her hand dropped to her side. She noted that the man had lifted the head of his former companion to a more comfortable position. To shoot him would be murder, she reflected. She could not, no, she could not. Yet her own life and Mr. Baldwin’s lay in the balance. Now her adversary was about to rise. The horror of what might come next rushed over her, and she hesitated no longer, but darted forward, and dealt the man a desperate blow on the head with the butt of the pistol. He dropped heavily by the side of his fallen comrade, and was very still. Had she killed or only stunned him? She shuddered and turned aside.
Meanwhile Mr. Baldwin and his opponent foughtfor their lives. Lettice’s friend had discharged the last load from his pistol, and now it was a question of which would prove the best man in a hand-to-hand fight? Lettice watched them breathlessly. The strength of one or the other must at last give out. Suppose it should be her one dependence, this desperate man who was giving his assailant no time for anything but to attend to the matter in hand. Breathlessly Lettice put into execution a plan. If Mr. Baldwin could only hold out long enough, she might save both herself and him. She quickly undid the long silken scarf she wore, tied one end tightly around the wrist of the man she had sent to the ground, and then tied the other end to a little tree under which they had been sitting. It was sufficiently small for her to be able to make her tether quite secure.
The man began to move slightly, and Lettice realized that he was merely stunned by her blow. Another moment and he might recover sufficiently to add to the hopelessness of the situation. In the distance there was a faint plash of oars; it might be that those who approached would reënforce these assailants. Her wits were sharpened by despair. She leaned over and extricated the pistol from the belt of the wounded man, and rushed to a safe distance from her prisoner. If he had a knife it wouldtake him but a moment to cut his bonds as soon as he should be aware of them. She must act quickly, for the regular plash of the oars came nearer and more near.
Ellicott Baldwin, still struggling desperately, heard a cry, “Look out!” A shot whizzed through the air, and his adversary loosened his hold, and in a second was felled to the earth. Lettice’s pistol had done good service. She had wounded the man in the ankle, for she had purposely fired low. “Here, here,” she cried, thrusting the second pistol into Mr. Baldwin’s hand, and he, with one dazed look, rushed to where she stood.