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Delaven’s cigar was forgotten, and its light gone out. The pedigree was more interesting than he had expected. A Greek! All the beauty of the ancient world had come from those islands across the sea. The romances, the poems, the tragedies! and here was one living through a tragedy of today; that flower on the tomb under the pines––it suggested so much, now that he heard what she was.
“Mahs Lacaris, from what I could heah, was much the turn o’ my Mahs Duke, but ’thout Mahs Duke’s money to back him; an’ one day all his business ’rangements, they go smash! an’ sheriff come take all his lan’ and niggahs fo’ some ’surance he’d gone fo’ some one. Well, sah, they say he most went ’stracted on head o’ that smash up; an’ ’special when he found they took stock o’ Retta, just like any o’ the field hands. But theah wan’t no help fo’ it, ’cause Retta’s mammy was a quadroon gal; jest made a pet o’ the chile, an’ was so easy goen’ he nevah took a thought that anything would ever change his way o’ liven’.
“Mahs Tom, he jes’ got married to Miss Leo Masterson an’ took her down Florida fo’ wedden’ trip; that how he come to be theah when all Mahs Lacaris’ belongings was put up fo’ sale. Seem like Mahs Lacaris had hope he could get mo’ money back in his own country, an’ he was all planned to start, an’ he beg Mahs Tom to buy his little Retta an’ keep her safe till he come back.
“Now, Mahs Tom was powerful good-hearted––jest like his daddy. So he totes the chile home, an’ I know Hester (Miss Leo’s maid) was ragen’ mad about it, ’cause she had to wait on her the whole enduren’ trip home, fo’ seem like that chile nevah had been taught to wait on herself.
“Well, sah, Massa Lacaris, he nevah did come back; that ship he went in nevah was heard tell of again from that day to this, an’ theah wan’t nothin’ fo’ Mahs Tom to do but jest163keep her. He did talk about sendin’ her ’way to some school, fo’ she mighty peart with books, an’ then given’ her a chance to buy herself if so be she wanted to. But Miss Leo object to that, flat foot down; she hadn’t no sort o’ use fo’ ’ristocrat book-learned niggahs.
“Hester, she heard Miss Leo say them words, an’ was mighty glad to tattle ’em! Hester––she was Maryland stock, same as Cynthy. Well, sah, they worried along fo’ ’bout a yeah not deciden’ jest what to do with that young stray, then Miss Gertrude she come to town an’ it did’n take no time to fine out what to do with her,then!
“Miss Gertrude wan’t no ’special stout chile, an’ took a heap o’ care an’ pamperin’ an’ when none o’ the othahs could do a trick with her, Retta would jest walk in, take her in her arms, an’ the wah was ended fo’ that time! Fust time Mahs Tom see that performance he laugh hearty, an’ then he say, ‘Retta, we jest find out what we do need you fo’; yo’ gwine to be installed as governess at Lorinwood from this time on.’ An’ Retta she was powerful pleased an’ so happy, she alles a laughen’ an’ her eyes a shinen’.
“Long ’bout a yeah after that, it was, when Miss Leo die. Mahs Tom, he went way then fo’ a long spell, cause the place too lonesome, an’ when he come back, Retta, she ovah seventeen, an’ she jest manage the whole house fine as she manage that baby, an’ all the quality folks what come an’ go praise her mightily an’ talk ’bout how peart she was.
“Then Mahs Matt, he come up from Orleans, whah he been cutten’ a wide swath, if all folks told true, an’ fust thing his eyes caught was that gal Retta, an’ he up an’ tole Mahs Tom what a fool he was not to sell her down in Orleans whah she’d fetch mo’ money than would buy six nuss gals or housekeepers.
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“Mahs Tom cussed at him powerful wicked when he say that! I heard that my own self––it was down at the stable an’ I was jest putten’ a saddle on fo’ Mahs Tom, an’ then right in the middle o’ his cussin’ an’ callen’ names he stopped short off an’ says––says he: ‘Don’t you evah open youah mouth to me ’bout that again so long as yo’ live. If Retta takes care o’ my Gertrude till she ten yeahs old, I made up my mine to give her freedom if she want it, that gal wan’t bought for no slave an’ she ain’t gwine to be one heah––yo’ un’stan’? You un’stan’ if you got any notion o’ stayen’ at Lorinwood!’ An’ then with some more mighty uncivil sayen’s he got in the saddle an’ rode like Jehu, an’ I don’ reckon Mahs Matt evah did make mention of it again, fo’ they got ’long all good ’nough so long as he stayed.
“Well, sah, haven’ to take her part a-way made him think mo’ ’bout the gal I reckon; anyway he say plain to more’n one that he sure gwine give Retta her freedom.
“He gwine do it jest aftah her chile was bawn, then theah was some law fusses raised ’bout that time consarnnen’ Mahstahs freen’ slaves, an’ Mahs Matt was theah then, an’ he not say a word againfreen’her, only he say, ‘wait a spell, Tom.’
“Retta, she wan’t caren’ then; she was young an’ happy all day long while her chile that was jest as white as Miss Gertrude dar be.
“Things went on that-a-way five yeahs, her chile was five yeahs ole when he start fo’ a business visit down to Charleston, an’ he say fo’ he start that Retta gwine have her freedom papers fo’ Christmas gift. Well, sah, he done been gone two weeks in Charleston when he start home, an’ then Mahs Larue persuade him to stay ovah night at his plantation fo’ a fox hunt in the mawnen’. Mahs Matt was theah, an’ some othah friends, so he staid ovah an’ next we heard Mahs Matt165sent word Mahs Tom killed, an’ we all was to be ready to see aftah the relations an’ othah quality folks who boun’ to come to the funeral.
“An’ now, sah, you un’stan’ what sort o’ shock it was made Retta lose her mind that time. She fainted dead away when she heard it, but then she kind o’ pulled herself togethah, as a horse will for a spurt, an’ she looked aftah the company an’ took Mahs Matt’s orders ’bout ’rangements, but we all most scared at the way she look––jest a watching Mahs Matt constant, beggen’ him with her eyes to tell her ’bout them freedom papers, but seems like he didn’t un’stan’, an’ when she ask him right out, right ’long side o’ dead Mahs Tom, he inform her he nevah heah tell ’bout them freedom papers, Mahs Tom not tole him ’bout them, so she b’long to the ’state o’ Loring jest same as she did afore, only now Miss Gertrude owned her ’stead o’ Mahs Tom.
“That when she tried to kill herself, an’ try to kill the chile; didn’t know anybody, she didn’t, I tell yo’ it make a terrible ’miration ’mongst the quality folks, an’ I b’lieve in my soul Mahs Matt would a killed her if he dared, fo’ it made all the folks un’stan’ jest what he would ’a tried to keep them from.
“An’ that, sah, is the whole ’count o’ the reason leaden’ up to the sickness whah she lost her mine. We all sutten sure Mahs Matt sell her quick if evah her senses done come back, but she really an’ truly b’long to Miss Gertrude, an’ Miss Gertrude, she couldn’t see no good reason to let go the best housekeeper on the plantation, an’ that how come she come to stay when she fetched back cured by them doctors. She ain’t nevah made a mite o’ trouble––jest alles same as yo’ see her, but o’ course yo’ the best judge o’ how far to trust her ’bout special medicine an’ sech.”
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“Yes,” agreed Delaven, thoughtfully. He arose and walked back and forth several times. Until now he had only come in contact with the pleasant pastoral side of life, given added interest because, just now, all its peace was encircled by war; but itwaspeace for all that––peace in an eminently Christian land, a land of homes and churchly environment, and made picturesque by the grotesque features and humor of the dark exiles. He had only laughed with them until now and marveled at the gaiety of the troops singing in the rice fields, and suddenly another window had been opened and through it one caught glimpses of tragedies.
“And the poor woman’s child?” he asked, after a little.
“Mahs Matt done send her down to Mahs Larue’s Georgy plantation, an’ we all nevah seen her no mo’. Mahs Larue done sold that Georgy plantation ’bout five yeahs back an’ move up fo’ good on one his wife own up heah. An’ little while back I hear tell they gwine sell it, too, an’ flit way cross to Mexico somewhah. This heah war jest broke them up a’ready.”
“And the child was sold?––do you mean that?”
“Deed we all nevah got a sure story o’ what come o’ that baby; only when Retta come back Mahs Matt tell her little Rhoda dead long time ago––dead down in Georgy, an’ no one evah heah her ask a word from that day to this. But one Larue’s niggahstole me”––and the voice and manner of Nelse took on a grotesquely impressive air––“they done raise a mighty handsome chile ’bout that time what was called Rhoda, an’ she went to ferren parts with Mahs Larue an’ his family an’ didn’t nevah come back, no mo’, an’ Mahs Matt raise some sort o’ big row with Mahs Jean Larue ovah that gal, an’ they nevah was friends no mo’. To be suah maybe that niggah lied––Idon’t know. But he let on as how167Mars Larue say that gal gwine to fetch a fancy price some day, an’ I thought right off how Mahs Matt said Retta boun’ to fetch a fancy price in Orleans; an’ taken’ it all roun’ I reckoned it jest as well Retta keep on thinken’ that chile died.”
Delaven agreed. From the house he could hear the ladies talking, and Evilena’s laugh sang out clear as a bird’s song. He wondered if they also knew the story of the silent deft-handed bondwoman?––but concluded it was scarcely likely. Mrs. Nesbitt might know something of it, but who could tell Tom Loring’s daughter?––and Evilena, of course, was too much of a child.
“I should like to see the picture you spoke of,” he said at last, “the small one the painter left.”
“I reckon that picture done sent away with little Rhoda’s things. I ain’t nevah heard tell of it since that time. But it don’t look a mite like her now. All the red gone out o’ her cheeks an’ lips, all the shine out o’ her eyes, an’ her long brown hair has mo’ white than brown in it these days. This woman Marg’ret ain’t Retta; they jest as yo’ might say two different women;” then, after a pause, “any othah thing you want ask me, sah? I see Jedge Clarkson comen’ this way.”
“No, that is all; thank you, old fellow.”
He left Nelse ducking his head and fingering a new coin, while he sauntered to meet the Judge.
“How much he give you, Uncle Nelse?” asked a guarded voice back of the old man, and he nearly fell over backwards in his fright. A large, middle-aged colored man arose from the tall grass, where he has been hidden under the bank.
“Wha––what you mean––yo’ Pluto? What fo’ you hide theah an’ listen?”
“I wan’t hiden’,” replied the man, good naturedly. “I jest lay to go sleep in the shade. Yo’ come ’long an’ talk––talk168so I couldn’t help hear it all,” and he smiled shrewdly. “I alles was curious to know the true way ’bout that Marg’ret––I reckon there was a heap that wan’t told to neighbors. An’ reason why I ask you how much he give you fo’ the story is ’cause I got that picture you tole ’bout. I married Mahs Larue’s Rosa what come from Georgy with them. She been daid ovah a yeah now, but it’s some whar ’mongst her b’longings. Reckon that strange gentleman give me dollar for it?––the frame is mighty pretty––what you think?”
CHAPTER XV.
“Do tell me every blessed thing about her––a real Marquise––I love titles;” and Evilena clasped her hands rapturously.
“Do you, now? Faith, then I’m glad I secured mine before I came over,” and the laughing Irish eyes met hers quizzically.
“Oh, I never meant titles people earn themselves, Mr. Doctor, for––”
“Then that puts the Judge and Col. Kenneth and myself on the outside of your fence, does it? Arrah now! I’ll be looking up my pedigree in hopes of unearthing a king––every true Irishman has a traditional chance of being the descendant of rulers who ran barefoot, and carried a club to teach the court etiquette.”
She made a mutinous little grimace and refused to discuss his probable ancestors.
“Does not the presence of a French Marquise show how Europe sides with us?” she demanded, triumphantly. “Quantities of noblemen have been the guests of the South169lately, and isn’t General Wolseley, the most brilliant officer of the British Army, with our General Lee now? I reckon allthatshows how we are estimated. And now the ladies of title are coming over. Oh, tell me all about her; is she very grand, very pretty?”
“Grand enough for a queen over your new monarchy,” replied Delaven, who derived considerable enjoyment from teasing the girl about affairs political––“and pretty? No, she’s not that; she’s just Beauty’s self, entirely.”
“And you knew her well in Paris?” asked Evilena, with a hesitating suspicion as to why he had not announced such a wonderful acquaintance before––this woman who was Beauty’s self, and a widow. She wondered if she had appeared crude compared with those grand dames he had known and forgotten to mention.
“Oh, yes, I knew her while the old Marquise was living, that was when your mother and Col. Kenneth met her, but afterwards she took to travel for a change, and has evidently taken your South on her way. It will be happiness to see her again.”
“And brother Ken knew her, too?” asked the girl, with wide-open eyes; “andhenever mentioned her, either––well!”
“The rascal!––to deprive you of an account of all the lovely ladies he met! But you were at school when they returned, were you not?––and Ken started off hot foot for the West and Indian fighting, so you see there were excuses.”
“And Kenneth does not know you are here still, and will not know the beautiful Marquise is here. Won’t he be surprised to see you all?”
“I doubt if I cause him such a shock,” decided Delaven; “when he gets sight of Judithe, Marquise de Caron, he will naturally forget at once whether I am in America or Ireland.”
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“Indeed, then, I never knew Kenneth to slight a friend,” said the girl, indignantly.
“But maybe you never saw him face to face with such a temptation to make a man forget the universe.”
“Sh––h!” she whispered, softly. Gertrude had come out on the veranda looking for the Judge. Seeing him down at the landing she walked leisurely in that direction.
“You do say such wild, extravagant things,” continued Evilena, “that I just had to stop you until Gertrude was out of hearing. I suppose you know she and Kenneth are paired off for matrimony.”
“Are they, now? Well, he’s a lucky fellow; when are we to dance at the wedding?”
“Oh, they never tell me anything about serious things like that,” complained Evilena. “There’s Aunt Sajane; she can tell us, if any one can; everybody confides love affairs to her.”
“Do they, now? Might I ask how you know?”
“Yes, sir; you mayask!” Then she dropped that subject and returned to the first one. “Aunt Sajane, when do you reckon we can dance at Kenneth’s wedding––his and Gertrude’s? Doctor Delaven and I want to dance.”
“Evilena––honey!” murmured Aunt Sajane, chidingly, the more so as Matthew Loring had just crept slowly out with the help of his cane, and a negro boy. His alert expression betrayed that he had overheard the question.
“You know,” she continued, “folks have lots to think of these days without wedding dances, and it isn’t fair to Gertrude to discuss it, forIdon’t know that there really has been any settled engagement; only it would seem like a perfect match and both families seem to favor it.” She glanced inquiringly at Loring, who nodded his head decidedly.
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“Of course, of course, a very sensible arrangement. They’ve always been friends and it’s been as good as settled ever since they were children.”
“Settled by the families?” asked Delaven.
“Exactly––a good old custom that is ignored too often these days,” said Mr. Loring, promptly. “Who is so fit to decide such things for children as their parents and guardians? That boy’s father and me talked over this affair before the children ever knew each other. Of course he laughed over the question at the time, but when he died and suggested me as the boy’s guardian, I knew he thought well of it and depended on me, and it will come off right as soon as this war is over––all right.”
“A very good method for this country of the old French cavaliers,” remarked Delaven, in a low tone, to the girl, “but the lads and lassies of Ireland have to my mind found a better.”
Evilena looked up inquiringly.
“Well, don’t you mean to tell me what it is?” she asked, as he appeared to have dropped the subject. He laughed at the aggrieved tone she assumed.
“Whist! There are mystical rites due to the telling, and it goes for nothing when told in a crowd.”
“You have got clear away from Kenneth,” she reminded him, hastily. “Did you mean that he was––well, in love with this magnificent Marquise?”
Low as she tried to speak, the words reached Loring, who listened, and Delaven, glancing across, perceived that he listened.
“In love with the Marquise? Bless your heart, we were all of course.”
“But my brother?” insisted Evilena.
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“Well, now he might have been the one exception––in fact he always did get out of the merely social affairs when he could, over there.”
“Showed his good sense,” decided Loring, emphatically. “I don’t approve of young people running about Europe, learning their pernicious habits and customs; I’ve had my fill of foreign places and foreign people.”
Mrs. Nesbitt opened her lips with a shocked expression of protest, and as promptly closed them, realizing the uselessness of it. Evilena laughed outright and directed an eloquent glance towards the only foreigner.
“Me, is it?” he asked, doubtingly. “Oh, don’t you believe it. I’ve been here so long I’m near a Southerner myself.”
“How near?” she asked, teasingly.
“Well, I must acknowledge you hold me at arms length in spite of my allegiance,” he returned, and in the laugh of the others, Mr. Loring’s tirade against foreigners was passed over.
It was only a few hours since Pluto arrived with the letter from Mobile telling of the early arrival of Mrs. McVeigh and her guest. Noting that the letter had been delayed and that the ladies might even now be in Savannah, Judge Clarkson proposed starting at once to meet them, but was persuaded to wait until morning.
Pluto was also told to wait over––an invitation gladly accepted, as visits to Loringwood were just now especially prized by the neighboring darkies, for the two runaways were yet subjects of gossip and speculation, and Uncle Nelse scattered opinions in the quarters on the absolute foolishness in taking such risks for freedom, and dire prophesies of the repentance to follow.
That his own personal feeling did not carry conviction to his listeners was evidenced by the sullen silence of many173who did not think it wise to contradict him. Pluto was the only person to argue with him. But this proved to be the one subject on which Pluto could not be his natural good-natured self. His big black eyes held threatening gleams, rebellious blood throbbed through every vein of his dark body. He championed the cause of the runaways; he knew of none who had left a good master; old man Masterson was unreasonable as Matthew Loring; he did not blame them for leaving such men.
“I got good a mistress––good a master as is in all Carolina,” he stated, bluntly, “but you think I stay here to work for any of them if it wan’t for my boy?––my Rose’s baby? No, I wouldn’t! I’d go North, too! I’d never stop till I reached the men who fight against slave states. You all know what keeps me here. I’d never see my boy again. I done paid eighteen dollars towards Rose’s freedom when she died. Then I ask Mr. Jean Larue if he wouldn’t let that go on the baby. He said yes, right off, an’ told me I could get him for hundred fifty dollars;thatwhy I work ’long like I do, an’ let the other men fight fo’ freedom But I ain’t contented so long as any man can sell me an’ my child.”
None of the other blacks made any verbal comment on his feelings or opinions, but old Nelse easily saw that Pluto’s ideas outweighed his own with them.
“I un’stan’ you to say Mahs Jean Larue promise he keep yo’ boy till such time as the money is raised?” he asked, cautiously.
“That’s the way it was,” assented Pluto. “I ain’t been to see him––little Zekal––for nigh on two months now. I’m goen’, sure, soon as Mrs. McVeigh come home an’ get settled. It’s quite a jaunt from our place to Mahs Larue’s––thirty good mile.”
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Aunt Chloe poured him out some more rye and corn-meal coffee and insisted on him having more sweet potato pie. She swept an admonishing glance towards the others as she did so. “I did heah some time ago one o’ the Larue’s gwine way down to the Mexico country,” she remarked, carelessly. “I don’t reckon though it is this special Larue. I mind they did have such a monstrous flock o’ them Larue boys long time back; some got killed in this heah war what’s maken’ trouble all roun’. How much you got paid on yo’ little boy, Pluto?”
“Most thirty dollars by time I make next trip over. Takes mighty long time to save money these days, quarters scarcer than dollars use to be.”
His entertainers agreed with him; then the little maid Raquel entered to say Pluto was wanted by Miss Sajane soon as his lunch was over.
And as he walked across the grounds Evilena pointed him out to Delaven.
“That is our Pluto,” she said, with a certain note of pride in her tone; “three generations of his family belonged to us. Mama can always go away feeling the whole plantation is safe so long as Pluto is in charge. We never do have trouble with the folks at the quarters as Mr. Loring does. He is so hard on them I wonder they don’t all run away; it would be hard on Gertrude, though––lose her a lot of money. Did you know Loringwood is actually offered for sale? Isn’t it a shame? The only silver lining to the cloud is that then Gertrude will have to move to The Pines––I don’t mean to the woods”––as he turned a questioning glance on her. “I mean to Gertrude’s plantation joining ours. It is a lovely place; used to belong to the Masterson tracts, and was part of the wedding dowery of that Miss Leo Masterson Uncle Nelse told of––Gertrude’s175mother, you know. It is not grand or imposing like Loringwood, but I heard the Judge say that place alone was enough to make Gertrude a wealthy woman, and the loveliest thing about it is that it joins our plantation––lovely for Gertrude and Kenneth, I mean. Look here, Doctor Delaven, you roused my curiosity wonderfully with that little remark you made about the beautiful Marquise; tell me true––were they––did Ken, even for a little while, fall in love with her?”
She looked so roguishly coaxing, so sure she had stumbled on some fragment of an adventure, and so alluringly confident that Delaven must tell her the rest, that there is no telling how much he might have enlightened her if Miss Loring had not entered the room at that moment through a door nearest the window where they stood.
Her face was serene and self possessed as ever. She smiled and addressed some careless remark to them as she passed through, but Delaven had an uncomfortable feeling that she had overheard that question, and Evilena was too frightened to repeat it.
CHAPTER XVI.
The warm summer moon wheeled up that evening through the dusk, odorous with the wild luxuriance of wood and swamp growths. A carriage rolled along the highway between stretches of rice lands and avenues of pines.
In the west red and yellow showed where the path of the sun had been and against it was outlined the gables of an imposing structure, dark against the sky.
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“We are again close to the Salkahatchie,” said Mrs. McVeigh, pointing where the trees marked its course, “and across there––see that roof, Marquise?––that is Loringwood. If the folks had got across from Charleston we would stop there long enough to rest and have a bit of supper. But the road winds so that the distance is longer than it looks, and we are too near home to stop on such an uncertainty. Gertrude’s note from Charleston telling of their safe arrival could say nothing definite of their home coming.”
“That, no doubt, depends on the invalid relative,” suggested her guest; “the place looks very beautiful in this dim light; the cedars along the road there are magnificent.”
“I have heard they are nearly two hundred years old. Years ago it was the great show place of the country, but two generations of very extravagant sportsmen did much to diminish its wealth––generous, reckless and charming men––but they planted mortgages side by side with their rice fields. Those encumbrances have, I fancy, prevented Gertrude from being as fond of the place as most girls would be of so fine an ancestral home.”
“Possibly she lacks the gamester blood of her forefathers and can have no patience with their lack of the commercial instinct.”
“I really do believe that is just it,” said Mrs. McVeigh. “I never had thought of it in that way myself, but Gertrude certainly is not at all like the Lorings; she is entirely of her mother’s people, and they are credited with possessing a great deal of the commercial instinct. I can’t fancy a Masterson gambling away a penny. They are much more sensible; they invest.”
The cedar avenues had been left a mile behind, and they had entered again the pine woods where even the moon’s full radiance could only scatter slender lances of light. The177Marquise leaned back with half-shut slumberous eyes, and confessed she was pleased that it would be later, instead of this evening, that she would have the pleasure of meeting the master and mistress of Loringwood––the drive through the great stretches of pine had acted as a soporific; no society for the night so welcome as King Morpheus.
The third woman in the carriage silently adjusted a cushion back of Madame’s head. “Thank you, Louise,” she said, yawning a little. “You see how effectually I have been mastered by the much remarked languor of the South. It is delightfully restful. I cannot imagine any one ever being in a hurry in this land.”
Mrs. McVeigh smiled and pointed across the field, where some men were just then running after a couple of dogs who barked vociferously in short, quick yelps, bespeaking a hot trail before them.
“There is a living contradiction of your idea,” she said; “the Southerners are intensity personified when the game is worth it; the game may be a fox chase or a flirtation, a love affair or a duel, and our men require no urging for any of those pursuits.”
They were quite close to the men now, and the Marquise declared they were a perfect addition to the scene of moonlit savannas backed by the masses of wood now near, now far, across the levels. Two of them had reached the road when the carriage wheels attracted attention from the dogs, and they halted, curious, questioning.
“Why, it’s our Pluto!” exclaimed Mrs. McVeigh; “stop the carriage. Pluto, what in the world are you doing here?”
Pluto came forward smiling, pleased.
“Welcome home, Mrs. McVeigh. I’se jest over Loringwood on errend with yo’ all letters to Miss Lena an’ Miss Sajane. Letters was stopped long time on the road someway;178yo’ all get here soon most as they did. Judge Clarkson––he aimen’ to go meet yo’ at Savannah––start in the mawning at daybreak. He reckoned yo’ all jest wait there till some one go fo’ escort.”
“Evilena is at Loringwood, you say? Then Miss Loring and her uncle have got over from Charleston?”
“Yes, indeedy!––long time back, more’n a week now since they come. Why, how come you not hear?––they done sent yo’ word; IknowMiss Lena wrote you, ’cause she said so. Yes’m, the folks is back, an’ Miss Sajane an’ Judge over there this minute; reckon they’ll feel mighty sorry yo’ all passed the gate.”
“Oh, but the letter never reached me. I had no idea they were home, and it is too far to go back I suppose? How far are we from the house now?”
“Only ’bout a mile straight ’cross fields like we come after that ’possum, but it’s a good three miles by the road.”
“Well, you present my compliments and explain the situation to Miss Loring and the Judge. We will drive on to the Terrace. Say I hope to see them all soon as they can come. Evilena can come with you in the morning. Tell Miss Gertrude I shall drive over soon as I am rested a little––and Mr. Loring, is he better?”
“Heap better––so Miss Gertrude and the doctor say. He walks roun’ some. Miss Gertrude she mightily taken with Dr. Delaven’s cure––she says he jest saved Mahs Loring’s life over there in France.”
“Dr. Delaven!” uttered the voice of the Marquise, in soft surprise––“ourDr. Delaven?” and as she spoke her hand stole out and touched that of the handsome serving woman she called Louise; “is he also a traveller seeking adventure in your South?”
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“Did I not tell you?” asked Mrs. McVeigh. “I meant to. Gertrude’s note mentioned that her uncle was under the care of our friend, the young medical student, so you will hear the very latest of your beloved Paris.”
“Charming! It is to be hoped he will visit us soon. This little woman”––and she nodded towards Louise––“must be treated for homesickness; you observe her depression since we left the cities? Dr. Delaven will be an admirable cure for that.”
“Your Louise will perhaps cure herself when she sees a home again,” remarked Mrs. McVeigh; “it is life in a carriage she has perhaps grown tired of.”
“Madame is pleased to tease me as people tease children for being afraid in the dark,” explained Louise. “I am not afraid, but the silence does give one a chill. I shall be glad to reach the door of your house.”
“And we must hasten. Remember all the messages, Pluto; bring your Miss Lena tomorrow and any of the others who will come.”
“I remember, sure. Glad I was first to see yo’ all back––good night.”
The other colored men in the background had lost all interest in the ’possum hunt, and were intent listeners to the conversation. Old Nelse, who had kept up to the rest with much difficulty, now pushed himself forward for a nearer look into the carriage. Mrs. McVeigh did not notice him. But he startled the Marquise as he thrust his white bushy head and aged face over the wheel just as they were starting, and the woman Louise drew back with a gasp of actual fear.
“What a stare he gave us!” she said, as they rolled away from the group by the roadside. “That old man had eyes180like augers, and he seemed to look through me––may I ask if he, also, is of your plantation, Madame?”
“Indeed, he is not,” was Mrs. McVeigh’s reassuring answer. “But he did not really mean to be impertinent; just some childish old ‘uncle’ who is allowed special privileges, I suppose. No; you won’t see any one like that at the Terrace. I can’t think who it could be unless it is Nelse, an old free man of Loring’s; and Nelse used to have better manners than that, but he is very old––nearly ninety, they say. I don’t imagine he knows his own age exactly––few of the older ones do.”
Pluto caught the old man by the shoulder and fairly lifted him out of the road as the carriage started.
“What the matter with yo’, anyway, a pitchen’ yo’self ’gainst the wheel that-a-way?” he demanded. “Yo’ ain’t boun’ and sot to get run over, are yo’?”
Some of the other men laughed, but Nelse gripped Pluto’s hand as though in need of the support.
“Fo’ God!––thought I seen a ghost, that minute,” he gasped, as the other men started after the dogs again; “the ghost of a woman what ain’t dead yet––the ghost o’ Retta.”
“Yo’ plum crazy, ole man,” said Pluto, disdainfully. “How the ghost o’ that Marg’ret get in my mistress carriage, I like to know?––’special as the woman’s as live as any of us. Yo’ gone ’stracted with all the talken’ ’bout that Marg’ret’s story. Now,Iain’t seen a mite of likeness to her in that carriage at all, I ain’t.”
“That ’cause yo’ ain’t nevah see Retta as she used to be. I tell yo’ if her chile Rhoda alive at all I go bail she the very likeness o’ that woman. My king! but she done scairt me.”
“Don’t yo’ go talk such notions to any other person,” suggested Pluto. “Yo’ get yo’self in trouble when yo’ go tellen’181how Mrs. McVeigh’s company look like a nigger, yo’ mind! Why, that lady the highest kind o’ quality––most a queen where she comes from. How yo’ reckon Mrs. McVeigh like to hear such talk?”
“Might’nt a’ been the highest quality one I meant,” protested Nelse, strong in the impression he had received; “it wa’ the othah one, then––the one in a black dress.”
All three occupants of the carriage had worn dark clothes, in the night all had looked black. Nelse had only observed one closely; but Pluto saw a chance of frightening the old man out of a subject of gossip so derogatory to the dignity of the Terrace folks, and he did not hesitate to use it.
“What other one yo’ talken’ ’bout?” he demanded, stopping short, “my Mistress McVeigh?”
“Naw!––think me a bawn fool––you? I mean theothaone––the number three lady.”
“This here moonlight sure ’nough make you see double, ole man,” said Pluto, with a chuckle. “Yo’ better paddle yo’self back to your own cabin again ’stead o’ hunten’ ghost women ’round Lorin’wood, ’cause there wan’t only two ladies in that carriage––twoliveladies,” he added, meaningly, “an’ one o’ them was my mistress.”
“Fo’ Gawd’s sake!”
The old man appeared absolutely paralyzed by the statement. His eyes fairly bulged from their sockets. He opened his lips again, but no sound came; a grin of horror was the only describable expression on his face. All the superstition in his blood responded to Pluto’s suggestion, and when he finally spoke it was in a ghostly whisper.
“I––I done been a looken’ for it,” he gasped, “take me home––yo’! It’s a sure ’nough sign! Last night ole whippo’will flopped ovah my head. Three nights runnen’ a hoot owl hooted ’fore my cabin. An’ now the ghost of a182woman what ain’t dead yet, sot there an’ stare at me! I ain’t entered fo’ no mo’ races in this heah worl’, boy; I done covah the track fo’ las’ time; I gwine pass undah the line at the jedge stan’, I tell yo’. I got my las’ warnen’––I gwine home!”
CHAPTER XVII.
Pluto half carried the old man back to Loringwood, while the other darkies continued their ’possum hunt. Nelse said very little after his avowal of the “sign” and its relation to his lease of life. He had a nervous chill by the time they reached the house and Pluto almost repented of his fiction. Finally he compromised with his conscience by promising himself to own the truth if the frightened old fellow became worse.
But nothing more alarming resulted than his decision to return at once to his own cabin, and the further statement that he desired some one be despatched at once for “that gal Cynthy,” which was done according to his orders.
The women folk––old Chloe at their head––decided Uncle Nelse must be in some dangerous condition when he sent the command for Cynthia, whom he had divorced fifty years before. The rumors reached Dr. Delaven, who made a visit to Nelse in the cabin where he was installed temporarily, waiting for the boatmen who were delegated to row him home, he himself declining to assist in navigation or any other thing requiring physical exertion.
He was convinced his days were numbered, his earthly labors over, and he showed abject terror when Margeret entered with a glass of bitters Mrs. Nesbitt had prepared183with the idea that the old man had caught a chill in his endeavor to follow the dogs on the oppossum hunt.
“I told you all how it would be when I heard of him going,” she asserted, with all a prophet’s satisfaction in a prophecy verified. “Pluto had to just about tote him home––following the dogs at his age, the idea!”
But for all her disgust at his frivolity she sent the bitters, and Delaven could not comprehend his shrinking from the cup-bearer.
“Come––come, now! You’re not at all sick, my man; what in the wide world are you shamming for? Is it for the dram? Sure, you could have that without all this commotion.”
“I done had a vision, Mahs Doctor,” he said, with impressive solemnity. “My time gwine come, I tell you.” He said no more until Margeret left the room, when he pointed after her with nervous intensity. “It’s that there woman I seen––the ghost o’ that woman what ain’t dead––the ghost o’ her when she was young an’ han’some––that’s what I seen in the McVeigh carriage this night, plain as I see yo’ face this minute. But no suchlivewoman wa’ in that carriage, sah. Pluto, he couldn’t see but two, an’Isaw three plain as I could see one. Sure as yo’ bawn it’s a death sign, Mahs Doctor; my time done come.”
“Tut, tut!––such palaver. That would be the queerest way, entirely, to read the sign. Now, I should say it was Margeret the warning was for; why should the likeness of her come to hint of your death?”
Nelse did not reply at once. He was deep in thought––a nervous, fidgety season of thought––from which he finally emerged with a theory evidently not of comfort to himself.
“I done been talken’ too much,” he whispered. “I talk on an’ on today; I clar fo’got yo’ a plum stranger to we all.184I tell all sorts o’ family things what maybe Mahs Duke not want tole. I talked ’bout that gal Retta most, so he done sent a ghost what look like Retta fo’ a sign. Till day I die I gwine keep my mouth shut ’bout Mahs Duke’s folks, I tell yo’, an’ I gwine straight home out o’ way o’ temptations.”
So oppressed was he with the idea of Mahs Duke’s displeasure that he determined to do penance if need be, and commenced by refusing a coin Delaven offered him.
“No, sah; I don’ dar take it,” he said, solemnly, “an’ I glad to give yo’ back that othar dollar to please Mahs Duke, only I done turned it into a houn’ dog what Ben sold me, and Chloe––she Ben’s mammy––she got it from him, a’ready, an’ paid it out fo’ a pair candlesticks she been grudgen’ ole M’ria a long time back, so I don’ see how I evah gwine get it. But I ain’t taken’ no mo’ chances, an’ I ain’t a risken’ no mo’ ghost signs. Jest as much obliged to yo’ all,” and he sighed regretfully, as Delaven repocketed the coin; “but I know when I got enough o’ ghosts.”
Pluto had grace enough to be a trifle uneasy at the intense despondency caused by his fiction in what he considered a good cause. The garrulity of old Nelse was verging on childishness. Pluto was convinced that despite the old man’s wonderful memory of details in the past, he was entirely irresponsible as to his accounts of the present, and he did not intend that the McVeigh family or any of their visitors should be the subject of his unreliable gossip. Pride of family was by no means restricted to the whites. Revolutionary as Pluto’s sentiments were regarding slavery, his self esteem was enhanced by the fact that since he was a bondman it was, at any rate, to a first-class family––regular quality folks, whose honor he would defend under any circumstances, whether bond or free.
185
His clumsily veiled queries about the probable result of Uncle Nelse’s attack aroused the suspicions of Delaven that the party of hunters had found themselves hampered by the presence of their aged visitor, who was desirous of testing the ability of his new purchase, the hound dog, and that they had resorted to some ghost trick to get rid of him.
He could not surmise how the shade of Margeret had been made do duty for the occasion, her subdued, serious manner giving the denial to any practical joke escapades.
But the news Pluto brought of Mrs. McVeigh’s homecoming dwarfed all such episodes as a scared nigger who refused to go into details as to the scare, and in his own words was “boun’ an’ sot” to keep his mouth shut in future about anything in the past which he ever had known and seen, or anything in his brief earthly future which he might know or see. He even begged Delaven to forget immediately the numerous bits of history he, Nelse, had repeated of the Loring family, and Delaven comforted him by declaring that all he could remember that minute was the horse race and he would put that out of his mind at once if necessary.
Nelse was not sure it was necessary to forgetthat, because it didn’t in any way reflect discredit on the family, and he didn’t in reason see why his Mahs Duke should object to that story unless it was on account of the high-flier lady from Philadelphia what Mahs Duke won away from Mr. Jackson without any sort of trouble at all, and if Mahs Duke was hovering around in the library when Miss Evilena and Mahs Doctor listened to that story, Mahs Duke ought to know in his heart, if he had any sort of memory at all, that he, Nelse, had not told half what he might have told about that Northern filly and Mahs Duke. And taking it all in all Nelse didn’t see any reason why Delaven need186put that out of his remembrance––especially as it was mighty good running for two-year-olds.
Evilena had peeped in for a moment to say good-bye to their dusky Homer. But the call was very brief. All her thoughts were filled with the folks at the Terrace, and dawn in the morning had been decided on for the ten-mile row home, so anxious was she to greet her mother, and so lively was her interest in the wonderful foreigner whom Dr. Delaven had described as “Beauty’s self.”
That lady had in the meantime arrived at the Terrace, partaken of a substantial supper, and retired to her own apartments, leaving behind her an impression on the colored folks of the household that the foreign guest was no one less than some latter day queen of Sheba. Never before had their eyes beheld a mistress who owned white servants, and the maid servant herself, so fine she wore silk stockings and a delaine dress, had her meals in her own room and was so grand she wouldn’t even talk like folks, but only spoke in French, except when she wanted something special, at which time she would condescend to talk “United States” to the extent of a word or two. All this superiority in the maid––whom they were instructed to call “Miss”––reflected added glory on the mistress, who, at the supper table, had been heard say she preferred laying aside a title while in America, and to be known simply as Madame Caron; and laughingly confessed to Mrs. McVeigh that the American Republic was in a fair way to win her from the French Empire, all of which was told at once in the kitchen, where they were more convinced than ever that royalty had descended upon them. This fact did not tend to increase their usefulness in any capacity; they were so overcome by the grandeur and the importance of each duty assigned to them that the wheels of domestic machinery at the Terrace that evening187were fairly clogged by the eagerness and the trepidation of the workers. They figuratively––and sometimes literally––fell over each other to anticipate any call which might assure them entrance to the wonderful presence, and were almost frightened dumb when they got there.
Mrs. McVeigh apologized for them and amused her guest with the reason:
“They have actually never seen a white servant in their lives, and are eaten up with curiosity over the very superior maid of yours, her intelligence places her so high above their ideas of servitors.”
“Yes, she is intelligent,” agreed the Marquise, “and much more than her intelligence, I value her adaptability. As my housekeeper she was simply perfect, but when my maid grew ill and I was about to travel, behold! the dignity of the housekeeper was laid aside, and with a bewitching maid’s cap and apron, and smile, she applied for the vacant position and got it, of course.”
“It was stupid of me not to offer you a maid,” said Mrs. McVeigh, regretfully; “I did not understand. But I could not, of course, have given you any one so perfect as your Louise; she is a treasure.”
“I shall probably have to get along with some one less perfect in the future,” said the other, ruefully. “She was to have had my yacht refurnished and some repairs made while I was here, and now that I am safely located, may send her back to attend to it. She is worth any two men I could employ for such supervision, in fact, I trust many such things to her.”
“Pray let her remain long enough to gain a pleasant impression of plantation life,” suggested Mrs. McVeigh, as they rose from the table. “I fancied she was depressed by the monotony of the swamp lands, or else made nervous by188the group of black men around the carriage there at Loringwood; they did look formidable, perhaps, to a stranger at night, but are really the most kindly creatures.”
Judithe de Caron had walked to the windows opening on the veranda and was looking out across the lawn, light almost as day under the high moon, a really lovely view, though both houses and grounds were on a more modest scale than those of Loringwood. They lacked the grandeur suggested by the century-old cedars she had observed along the Loring drive. The Terrace was much more modern and, possibly, so much more comfortable. It had in a superlative degree the delightful atmosphere of home, and although the stranger had been within its gates so short a time, she was conscious of the wonder if in all her varied experience she had ever been in so real a home before.
“How still it all is,” remarked Mrs. McVeigh, joining her. “Tomorrow, when my little girl gets back, it will be less so; come out on the veranda and I can show you a glimpse of the river; you see, our place is built on a natural terrace sloping to the Salkahatchie. It gives us a very good view.”
“Charming! I can see that even in the night time.”
“Three miles down the river is the Clarkson place; they are most pleasant friends, and Miss Loring’s place, The Pines, joins the Terrace grounds, so we are not so isolated as might appear at first; and fortunately for us our plantation is a favorite gathering place for all of them.”
“I can quite believe that. I have been here two––three hours, perhaps, and I know already why your friends would be only too happy to come. You make them a home from the moment they enter your door.”
“You could not say anything more pleasing to my vanity, Marquise,” said her hostess, laughingly, and then checked189herself at sight of an upraised finger. “Oh, I forgot––I do persist in the Marquise.”
“Come, let us compromise,” suggested her guest, “if Madame Caron sounds too new and strange in your ears, I have another name, Judithe; it may be more easily remembered.”
“In Europe and England,” she continued, “where there are so many royal paupers, titles do not always mean what they are supposed to. I have seen a Russian prince who was a hostler, an English lord who was an attendant in a gambling house, and an Italian count porter on a railway. Over here, where titles are rare, they make one conspicuous; I perceived that in New Orleans. I have no desire to be especially conspicuous. I only want to enjoy myself.”
“You can’t help people noticing you a great deal, with or without a title,” and Mrs. McVeigh smiled at her understandingly. “You cannot hope to escape being distinguished, but you shall be whatever you like at the Terrace.”
They walked arm in arm the length of the veranda, chatting lightly of Parisian days and people until ten o’clock sounded from the tall clock in the library. Mrs. McVeigh counted the strokes and exclaimed at the lateness.
“I certainly am a poor enough hostess to weary you the first evening with chatter instead of sending you to rest, after such a drive,” she said, in self accusation. “But you are such a temptation––Judithe.”
They both laughed at her slight hesitation over the first attempt at the name.
“Never mind; you will get used to it in time,” promised the Marquise, “I am glad you call me ‘Judithe.’”
Then they said good night; she acknowledged she did feel sleepy––a little––though she had forgotten it until the clock struck.