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“The offer is made by a law firm in New Orleans, Hart & Logan,” continued Clarkson. “But the real purchaser is evidently some client of theirs.”
“Well, I certainly hope the client will prove a pleasant personage if he is to locate at Loringwood,” remarked Mrs. McVeigh. “Some one in New Orleans? Possibly we know them.”
“I am led to believe that the property is desired for some educational institution,” said Clarkson, handing the letter to Loring, who could not decipher two lines of the fine script, but refrained from acknowledging it.
“I must say the offer pleases me greatly.” He nodded his head and uttered a sigh of satisfaction; “a school or seminary, no doubt, I like that; so will Gertrude. Speak to her, and then write or telegraph the acceptance, as they prefer. This is remarkably quick work; I feared it would be a long while before a purchaser could be found. This is most fortunate.”
“Then I congratulate you, Mr. Loring,” said Mrs. McVeigh, who was grateful to the Judge for bringing news likely to make the entertainment of the invalid an easier affair. “But your fortunate offer from New Orleans dispels a hope I had that my friend, Madame Caron, might buy it. She seemed quite impressed with it. I was just saying so to Gertrude.”
“Yes, we’ve all been hearing considerable about this charming foreigner of yours, who is daring enough to cross to a war-ridden country to pay visits.”
“She owns a fine property in New Orleans, but left there in disgust when the Yankees took possession. I was delighted to find her in Mobile, and persuaded her to come along and see plantation life in our country. We met her219first in Paris––Kenneth and I. He will be delightfully surprised to find her here.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” but Loring’s assent was not very hearty; he remembered those first comments on her at Loringwood. “Dr. Delaven, also, was among her Parisian acquaintances, so you will have quite a foreign colony at the Terrace.”
“I was much pleased with that fine young fellow, Dr. Delaven,” remarked the Judge, “and really consider you most fortunate to secure his services––a very superior young man, and possessed, I should say, of very remarkable talent, and of too gay a heart to be weighed down with the importance of such special knowledge, as is too often the case in young professional men––yes, sir; a very bright young man.”
Mrs. McVeigh, hearing laughter, had stepped out on the veranda, and smiled in sympathy with the couple who appeared on the step. The very talented young man just mentioned was wreathed in blossoms and wild vines; he carried Aunt Sajane’s parasol, and was guided by reins formed of slender vines held in Miss Evilena’s hands; the hat he wore was literally heaped with flowers, and he certainly did not appear to be weighed by the importance of any special knowledge at that moment. At sight of the Judge, Evilena dropped her improvised lines and ran to him.
“Oh, Judge, it is right kind of you to come over early today. Aunt Sajane is coming, she was down to the river with us; she laughed too much to walk fast. We were getting wild flowers for decorating––and here is Dr. Delaven.”
“Yes, I’m one of the things she’s been decorating,” and he entered from the veranda, shook hands with Clarkson, and stood for inspection. “Don’t I look like a lamb decked220for the sacrifice? But faith it was the heart of a lion I needed to go into the moccasin dens where she sent me this day. The blossoms desired by your daughter were sure to grow in the wildest swamps.”
“I didn’t suppose a bog-trotter would object to that,” remarked the girl, to Loring’s decided amusement.
“Lena!” and at the look of horror on her mother’s face she fled to the veranda.
“Ah––Mrs. McVeigh, I’m not hurt at all, but if she had murthered me entirely your smile would give me new life again; it’s a guardian angel you are to me.”
“You do need assistance,” she replied, endeavoring to untwine the vines twisted about his shoulders, “now turn around.”
He did, spinning in top fashion, with extended arms, while Evilena smiled at the Judge from the window. His answering smile grew somewhat constrained as his hostess deliberately put her pretty arm half way around the young man’s shoulder in her efforts to untangle him.
“I say, Judge, isn’t it in fine luck I am?––the undoing of Delaven!”
But the Judge did not respond. He grew a trifle more ceremonious as he turned from the window.
“Mistress McVeigh, I shall step out on the lawn to meet my sister and Miss Loring, and when you have concluded your present task, would you permit me to see the autumn roses you were cultivating? As a lover of flowers I certainly have an interest in their progress.”
“Autumn roses––humph!” and Loring smiled in a grim way only discernible to Delaven, who had grown so accustomed to his sardonic comments on things in general that they no longer caused surprise.
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“Of course, Judge; I’ll show them to you myself,” and Mrs. McVeigh let fall the last of the vines and joined him at the window––“so charming of you to remember them at all.”
“Don’t you want to go along and study the progress of autumn roses?” asked Evilena, peering around the window at Delaven, who laughed at the pretended demureness and timidity with which she invested the question.
“Not at this moment, my lady. Autumn roses, indeed!––while there’s a wild flower in sight––not for the O’Delavens!”
And the O’Delaven’s bright Irish eyes had so quizzical a smile in them the girl blushed and was covered with confusion as with a mantle, and gathering the blossoms in her arms seated herself ostentatiously close to Mr. Loring’s chair while she arranged them, and Delaven might content himself with a view of one pink ear and a delicious dimple in one cheek, which he contemplated from the lounging chair back of her, and added to his occupation by humming, very softly, a bit of the old song:
“Ten years have gone by and I have not a dollar;Evilena still lives in that green grassy hollow;And though I am fated to marry her never,I’m sure that I’ll love her for ever and ever!”
“For ever and ever! I say, Miss Evilena, how do you suppose the fellow in the song could be so dead sure of himself, for ever and ever?”
“Probably he wasn’t an Irishman,” suggested the girl, bending lower over the blossoms that he might not see her smiling.
“Arrah, now, I had conjured up a finer reason than that entirely; it had something to do with the charms of your222namesake, but I’ll not be telling you of it while you carry a nettle on your tongue to sting poor harmless wanderers with.”
His pondrous sigh was broken in on by her laughter, and the beat of hoofs on the drive. While they looked at each other questioningly the voice of Judithe was heard speaking to Pluto, and then humming the refrain of Evilena’s favorite, “Bonnie Blue Flag,” she ran up to the veranda where Mrs. McVeigh met her.
“Oh, what a glorious gallop I had. Good morning, Judge Clarkson. How glad I am that you came right over soon as you got home. You are to us a recruit from the world whom we depend on to tell us all about doings there, and it is so good of you.”
“It argues no virtue in a man, Madame, that he comes where beauty greets him,” and the Judge’s bow was a compliment in itself.
“Charming––is it not, Madame McVeigh? Truly your Southern men are the most delightful in the world.”
“Ah, Madame,” and Delaven arose from his chair with a lugubrious countenance, “for how am I to forgive you for adopting the fancy that Ireland is out of the world entirely?”
Judithe laughed frankly and put out her hand; she was exceedingly gay and gracious that morning; there was a delightful exhilaration in her manner, and it was contagious. Matthew Loring half turned in his chair and peered out at the speaker as she turned to Delaven.
“Not out of the world of our hearts, Dr. Delaven, and for yourself, you really should not have been born up where the snow falls. You really belong to the South––we need you here.”
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“Faith, it was only a little encouragement I was needing, Marquise. I’ll ask the Judge to prepare my naturalization papers in the morning.”
“Other friends have arrived during your ride, Judithe,” and her hostess led her into the sitting room. “Allow me to present our neighbor, Mr. Loring, of the Loringwood you admired so greatly.”
“And with such good reason,” said Judithe, with gracious bend of her head, and a charming smile. “I have looked forward to meeting you for some time, Mr. Loring, and your estate really appealed to me––it is magnificent. After riding past it I was conscious of coveting my neighbor’s goods.”
“It is our loss, Madame, that you did ride past,” and Loring really made an effort to be cordial and succeeded better than might have been expected. He was peering at her from under the heavy brows very intently, but she was outlined against the flood of light from the window, and it blurred his vision, leaving distinct only the graceful, erect form in its dark riding habit. “Had you entered the gates my niece would have been delighted to entertain you.”
“What a generous return for my envy,” exclaimed Judithe. “The spirit of hospitality seems ever abroad in your land, Mr. Loring.”
He smiled, well pleased, for his pride in his own country, his own state, was very decided. He lifted the forgotten rose from the arm of his chair.
“I will have to depend on our friend, the Judge, to present you fine phrases in return for that pretty speech, Madame; I can only offer a substitute,” and to Evilena’s wide-eyed astonishment he actually presented the rose to the Marquise.
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“She simply has bewitched him,” protested the girl to Delaven, later. “I never knew him to do so gallant a thing before. I could not have been more surprised if he had proposed marriage to her before us all.”
Delaven confessed he, too, was unprepared for so much amiability, but then he admitted he had known men to do more astonishing things than that, on short notice, for a smile from Madame Judithe.
She accepted the rose with a slight exclamation of pleasure.
“You good people will smother me with sweets and perfumes,” she protested, touching her cheek with the beautiful flower; then, as she was about to smell it, they were astonished to see it flung from her with a faint cry, followed by a little laugh at the consternation of the party.
“How unpardonable that I discover a worm at the heart of your first friendly offering to me, Mr. Loring;” and her tones were almost caressing as she smiled at him; “the poor, pretty blossom, so lovely, and so helpless in the grasp of its enemy, the worm.”
Pluto had entered with a pitcher of water which he placed on the stand. He had witnessed the episode of the rose, and picked it up from where it had been tossed.
“Margeret told me to see if you wanted anything, Mr. Loring,” he said, gently, and Mr. Loring’s answer was decided, brusque and natural.
“Yes, I do; I want to go to my room; get my stick. Mistress McVeigh, if you have no objection to me breaking up your party, I would like to have Judge Clarkson go along; we must settle these business matters while I am able.”
“At your service, sir, with your permission, Madame,” and the Judge glanced at Mrs. McVeigh, who telegraphed a most willing consent as she passed out on the veranda after225Evilena and Delaven. Judithe stood by the little side table, slowly pulling off her gauntlets, when she was aware that the colored man Pluto was regarding her curiously, and she perceived the reason. He had looked into the heart of the rose, and on the floor where it had fallen, and had found no living thing to cause her dread of the blossom.
He dropped his eyes when she looked at him, and just then a bit of conversation came to him as the Judge offered his arm to Loring and assisted him to rise.
“I certainly am pleased that you feel like looking into the business matters,” Clarkson was saying, “and the Rhoda Larue settlement cannot be postponed any longer; Colonel McVeigh may be back any time now, and we must be ready to settle with him.”
Loring made some grumbling remark in which “five thousand dollars” was the only distinguishable thing, and then they passed out, and Pluto followed, leaving the Marquise alone, staring out of the window with a curious smile; she drew a deep breath of relief as the door closed.
CHAPTER XX.
Mrs. McVeigh entered the sitting room some time after and was astonished to find her still there and alone.
“Why, Judithe, I fancied you had gone to change your habit ages ago, and here you are, plunged in a brown study.”
“No––a blue and green one,” was the smiling response. “Have you ever observed what a paintable view there is from this point? It would be a gem on canvas; oh, for the talent of our Dumaresque!”
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“Your Dumaresque,” corrected Mrs. McVeigh. “I never can forgive you, quite, for sending him away; oh, Helene wrote me all about it––and hewassuch a fine fellow.”
“Yes, he was,” and Judithe gave a little sigh ending in a smile; “but one can’t keep forever all the fine fellows one meets, and when they are so admirable in every way as Dumaresque, it seems selfish for one woman to capture them.”
Mrs. McVeigh shook her head hopelessly over such an argument, but broke a tiny spray of blossom from a plant and fastened it in the lapel of Judithe’s habit.
“It is not so gorgeous as the rose, but it is at least free from the pests.”
Judithe looked down at the blossom admiringly. “I trust Mr. Loring will forgive my panic––I fear it annoyed him.”
“Oh, no––not really. He is a trifle eccentric, but his invalidism gains him many excuses. There is no doubt but that you made a decided impression on him.”
“I hope so,” said Judithe.
Margeret entered the room just then, and with her hand on the door paused and stared at the stranger who was facing her. Judithe, glancing up, saw a pair of strange dark eyes regarding her. She noticed how wraith-like the woman appeared, and how the brown dress she wore made the sallow face yet more sallow. A narrow collar and cuffs of white, and the apron, were the only sharp tones in the picture; all the rest was brown––brown hair tinged with grey rippling back from the broad forehead, brown eyes with a world of patience and sadness in them and slender, sallow-looking hands against the white apron.
She looked like none of the house servants at the Terrace––in fact Judithe was a trifle puzzled as to whether she was a servant at all. She had not a feature suggesting colored227blood, was much more Caucasian in appearance than Louise.
It was but a few seconds they stood looking at each other, when Margeret made a slight little inclination of her head and a movement of the lips that might have been an apology, but in that moment the strange woman’s face fairly photographed itself on Judithe’s mind––the melancholy expression of it haunted her afterwards.
Mrs. McVeigh, noticing her guest’s absorbed gaze, turned and saw Margeret as she was about to leave the room.
“What is it, Margeret?” she asked, kindly, “looking for Miss Gertrude?”
“Yes, Mistress McVeigh; Mr. Loring wants her.”
“I think she must have gone to her room, she and Mistress Nesbitt went upstairs some time ago.”
Margeret gently inclined her head, and passed out with the noiseless tread Evilena had striven to emulate in vain that day at Loringwood.
“One of Miss Loring’s retainers?” asked Judithe; “I fancied they only kept colored servants.”
“Margeretiscolored,” explained Mrs. McVeigh, “that is,” as the other showed surprise, “although her skin does not really show color, yet she is an octoroon––one-eighth of colored ancestry. She has never been to the Terrace before, and she had a lost sort of appearance as she wandered in here, did she not? She belongs to Miss Loring’s portion of the estate, and is very capable in her strange, quiet way. There have been times, however, when she was not quite right mentally––before we moved up here, and the darkies rather stand in awe of her ever since, but she is entirely harmless.”
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“That explains her peculiar, wistful expression,” suggested Judithe. “I am glad you told me of it, for her melancholy had an almost mesmeric effect on me––and her eyes!”
All the time she was changing her dress for lunch those haunting eyes, and even the tones of her voice, remained with her.
“Those poor octoroons!” and she sighed as she thought of them, “the intellect of their white fathers, and the bar of their mothers’ blood against the development of it––poor soul, poor soul––she actually looks like a soul in prison. Oh!”––and she flung out her hands in sudden passion of impotence. “What can one woman do against such a multitude? One look into that woman’s hopeless face has taken all the courage from me. Ah, the resignation of it!”
But when she appeared among the others a little later, gowned in sheer white, with touches of apple green here and there, and the gay, gracious manner of one pleased with the world, and having all reason to believe the world pleased with her, no one could suspect that she had any more serious problem to solve than that of arranging her own amusements.
Just now the things most interesting to her were the affairs of the Confederacy. Judge Clarkson answered all her questions with much good humor, mingled with amusement, for the Marquise, despite her American sympathies, would get affairs hopelessly mixed when trying to comprehend political and military intricacies; and then the gallant Judge would explain it all over again. Whether from Columbia or Charleston, he was always in touch with the latest returns, hopes, plans of the leaders, and possibilities of the Southern Confederacy, together with all surreptitious assistance from foreign sources, in which Great Britain came229first and Spain close behind, each having special reasons of their own for widening the breach in the union of states.
From Mobile there came, also, through letters to Mrs. McVeigh, many of the plans and possibilities of the Southern posts––her brother being stationed at a fort there and transmitting many interesting views and facts of the situation to his sister on her more Northern plantation.
Thus, although they were out of the whirl of border and coast strife, they were by no means isolated as regards tidings, and the fact was so well understood that their less fortunate neighbors gathered often at the Terrace to hear and discuss new endeavors, hopes and fears.
“I like it,” confessed Judithe to Delaven, “they are like one great family; in no country in the world could you see such unanimous enthusiasm over one central question. They all appear to know so many of the representative people; in no other agricultural land could it be so. And there is one thing especially striking to me in comparison with France––in all this turmoil there is never a scandal, no intrigues in high places such as we are accustomed to in a court where Madame, the general’s wife, is often quite as much of a factor in the political scene as the general himself; it is all very refreshing to a foreigner.”
“Our women of the South,” said the Judge, who listened, “are more of an inspiration because they are never associated in our minds with any life but that of the home circle and its refining influences. When our women enter the arena, it is only in the heart and memory of some man whose ideals, Madame, are higher, whose ambitions are nobler, because she exists untouched by the notoriety attaching itself to the court intrigues you mention, the notoriety too often miscalled fame.”
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“Right you are, Judge,” said Delaven, heartily. “After all, human nature is very much alike whether in kingdom or republic, and men love best the same sort of women the world over.”
Matthew Loring entered the room just then, leaning on the arm of Gertrude, whose fair hair made harmony with the corn-colored lawn in which she looked daintily pretty, and as the two ladies faced each other the contrasted types made a most effective picture.
“You have not met the Marquise de Caron?” he asked of Gertrude; and then with a certain pride in this last of the Lorings, he continued: “Madame la Marquise, allow me to present my niece, Miss Loring.”
The blue eyes of the Carolina girl and the mesmeric amber eyes of the Parisian met, with the slight conventional smile ladies favor each other with, sometimes. There was decided interest shown by each in the other––an interest alert and questioning. Judithe turned brightly to Loring:
“In your democratic land, my dear sir, I have dispensed with ‘La Marquise.’ While here I am Madame Caron, very much at your service,” and she made him a miniature bow.
“We shall not forget your preference, Madame Caron,” said Gertrude, “it is a pretty compliment to our institutions.” Then she glanced at Delaven, “did we interrupt a dissertation on your favorite topic, Doctor?”
“Never a bit; it’s yourself is an inspiration to continue the same topic indefinitely,” and he explained the difference Madame Caron had noticed in political matter with and without the feminine element.
“For all that, therearewomen in the political machines here, also,” said Loring, testily––“too many of them, secret agents, spies, and the like. Gertrude, what was it Captain Masterson reported about some very dangerous person of231that sort in New Orleans?––a woman whose assistance to the Yankees was remarkable, and whose circle of acquaintances was without doubt the very highest––did he learn her name?”
“Why, no, Uncle Matthew; don’t you remember he was finding fault withoursecret agents because they had not established her identity––in fact, had only circumstantial evidence that it was a woman, though very positive evidence that the person belonged to the higher social circle there.”
“Faith, I should think the higher circle would be in a sorry whirl just then––not knowing which of your neighbors at dinner had a cup or dagger for you.”
“The daggers were only figurative,” said the Judge, “but they were none the less dangerous, and the shame of it! each innocent loyal Southerner convinced that a traitor had been made as one of themselves––trusted as is the nature of Southerners when dealing with friends, just as if, in this Eden-like abode, Mistress McVeigh should be entertaining in any one of us, supposed to be loyal Southerners, a traitor to his country.”
“How dreadful to imagine!” said Judithe, with a little gesture of horror, “and what do they do with them––those dangerous serpents of Eden?”
“It isn’t nice at all to hear about, Madame Caron,” spoke Aunt Sajane, who was, as usual, occupied with the unlovely knitting. “It gave me chills to hear Phil Masterson say how that spy would be treated when found––not even given time for prayers!”
“Captain Masterson is most loyal and zealous, but given to slight extravagancies in such matters,” amended the Judge. “No woman has ever suffered the extreme penalty of military law for spy work, in this country, and especially232would it be impossible in the South. Imprisonment indefinitely and the probable confiscation of all property would no doubt be the sentence if, as in this suspected case, the traitoress were a Southern woman of means. But that seems scarcely credible. I have heard of the affair mentioned, but I refuse to believe any daughter of the South would so employ herself.”
“Thank you, Judge,” said Gertrude, very prettily; “any daughter of the South would die of shame from the very suspicion against her.”
“Who is to die?” asked Mrs. McVeigh, coming in; “all of you, and of hunger, perhaps, if I delay tea any longer. Come right on into the dining room, please, and let me hear this discussion of Southern daughters, for I chance to be a daughter of the South myself.”
Captain Philip Masterson, from an adjoining plantation, arrived after they were seated at the table, and was taken at once into the dining room, where Judithe regarded with interest this extremist who would not allow a secret agent of the North time for prayers. He did not look very ferocious, though his manner had a bluntness not usual in the Southern men she had met––a soldier above and beyond everything else, intelligent, but not broad, good looking with the good looks of dark, curly hair, a high color, heavy mustache, which he had a weakness for caressing as he talked, and full, bold eyes roaming about promiscuously and taking entire advantage of the freedom granted him at the Terrace, where he had been received as neighbor since boyhood. He was a cousin of Gertrude’s, and it was not difficult to see that she was the first lady in the county to him, and the county was the center of Philip Masterson’s universe.
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He was stationed at Charleston and was absent only for some necessary business at Columbia, and hearing Judge Clarkson was at the Terrace he had halted long enough to greet the folks and consult the Judge on some legal technicality involved in his journey.
Pluto, who had seen that the Captain’s horse had also been given refreshment, came thoughtfully up the steps, puzzling his head over the perfect rose cast aside on a pretense. It puzzled him quite as much as the problem of Louise; and the only key he could find to it was that this very grand lady knew all about the identity of Louise, and knew why she had hurried away so when old Nelse recognized her.
He wished he had that picture of Margeret, brought by Rosa from Georgia. But it was still with a lot of Rosa’s things over at the Larue plantation, with the child. He counted on going over to see the boy in a week at the furthest.
As he reached the top of the steps he could see Margeret through the open window of the sitting room. Her back was towards him, and she was so absorbed in regarding the party in the dining room that he approached unnoticed, and she turned with a gasp as of fear when he spoke:
“You’re like to see more gay folks like that over here than you have at Loringwood,” he remarked. “I reckon you glad to move.”
“No,” she said, and went slowly towards the veranda; then she turned and looked at him questionably, and with an interest seldom shown for anyone.
“You––you heard news from Larue plantation?” she asked, hesitatingly.
“Who, me? No, I aint had no news. I aint”––then he stopped and stared at her, slowly comprehending what news234mightcome from there. “Fo’ God’s sake, tell me! My Zekal; my––”
She lifted her finger for silence and caught his arm.
“They hear you––they will,” she said, warningly, “come in here.”
She opened the door into the library and he followed; she could feel his hand tremble, and his eyes were pleading and full of terror. The light chatter and laughter in the dining room followed them.
“Sick?” and his eyes searched her face for reply, but she slowly shook her head and he caught his breath in a sob, as he whispered: “Daid! My baby, oh––”
“Sh-h! He’s alive––your boy. It’s worse than that, maybe––and they never let you know! Mr. Larue had gone down to Mexico, and the overseer has published all his slaves to be sold––all sold, and your child––your little boy––”
“God A’mighty!”
He was silent after that half-whispered ejaculation. His face was covered with his hands, while the woman stood regarding him, a world of pity in her eyes.
“They can’t sell Zekal,” he said, at last, looking up. “Mahs Larue tole me plain he give me chance. I got some o’ the money, that eighteen dollah I paid on Rosa’s freedom––that gwine be counted in––then I got most nine dollah ’sides that yet, an’ I gwine Mahs Jean Larue an’ go down my knees fo’ that boy, I will! He only pickaninny, my Zekal, an’ I promise Rosa ’fore she died our boy gwine be free; so I gwine Mahs Larue, I––”
Margeret shook her head.
“He’s gone, I tell you––gone to Mexico, more miles away than you could count; sold to the sugar plantation and left the colored folks for lawyer and overseer to sell. They all to be sold––a sale bill came to Loringwood yesterday. Men235like overseers and lawyers never take account of one little pickaninny among a hundred. One same as another to them––one same as another!”
Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands, rocking from side to side, overcome by memories of what had been. Pluto looked at her and realized from his own misery what hers had been. Again the laughter and tinkle of tea things drifted in to them; some one was telling a story, and then the laughter came more clearly. Pluto listened, and his face grew hard, brutish in its sullen hate.
“And they can laugh,” he muttered, sullenly, “while my baby––my Rosa’s baby––is sold to the traders, sold away where I nevah can find him again; sold while the white folks laugh an’ make merry,” and he raised his hand above his head in a fury of suppressed rage. “A curse on every one of them! a curse––”
Margeret caught his arm with a command to silence.
“Hush! You got a kind master––a kind mistress. The people who laugh at that table are not to blame on account of Rosa’s master, who holds your child.”
“You stand up fo’ the race that took yo’ chile from yo?” he demanded, fiercely. “That held yo’ a slave when yo’ was promised freedom? That drove yo’ wild fo’ years with misery? The man is in that room who did all that, an’ yo’ stan’ up fo’ him along of the rest?”
He paused, glowering down at her as if she, too, were white enough to hate. When she spoke it was very quietly, almost reprovingly.
“My child died. What good was freedom to me without her? Where in all this wide world would I go with my freedom if I had it? Free and alone? No,” and she shook her head sadly, “I would be like a child lost from home––helpless.236The young folks laughing there never hurt me––never hurt you.”
The people were leaving the dining room. Captain Masterson, who had time for but a brief call, was walking along the veranda in low converse with the Judge. Judithe had separated herself from the rest and walked through the sitting room into the library, when she halted, surprised at those two facing each other with the air of arrested combat or argument. She recovered her usual manner enough to glance at the clock, and as her eyes crossed Margeret’s face she saw traces of tears there.
“It is time, almost, for the mail up from Pocotaligo today, is it not, Pluto?” she said, moving towards a book-case. Receiving no reply, she stopped and looked at him, at which he recovered himself enough to mutter, “Yes, mist’ess,” and turned towards the door, his trembling tones and the half-groping movement as he put his hand out before him showed he was laboring under some emotion too intense for concealment, and involuntarily she made a gesture of command.
“Wait! You have grief––some sad misfortune?” and she glanced from his face to that of Margeret, questioningly. “Poor fellow––is it a death?”
“No death, and nothing to trouble a white lady with,” he said, without turning, and with hopeless bitterness in his voice; “not fit to be told ’long side o’ white folks merry-maken’, only––only Rosa, my boy’s mother, died yeah ago ovah on Larue plantation, an’ now the chile hisself––my Rosa’s baby––gwine to be sold away––gwine to be sold to the traders!”
His voice broke in a sob; all the bitterness was drowned in the wave of grief under which his shoulders heaved, and his broken breaths made the only sound in the room, as237Judithe turned questioningly to Margeret, who bent her head in confirmation of his statement.
“But,” and the questioner looked a trifle bewildered, “a little child, that would not mean a great expense, surely if your mistress, or your master, knew, they would help you.”
Margeret shook her head, and Pluto spoke more calmly.
“Not likely; this war done crippled all the folks in money; that why Mahs Jean Larue sell out an’ go ovah in Mexico; that why Loren’wood up fo’ sale to strangers; that why Judge Clarkson done sell out his share in cotton plantation up the river; ain’tnobodygot hundreds these days, an’ lawyers won’t take promises. I done paid eighteen dollars on Rosa when she died, but I ain’t got no writin’,” he went on, miserably, “that was to go on Zekal, an’ I have ’nigh onto nine dollars ’sides that. I gwine take it ovah to Mahs Larue nex’ week, sure, an’ now––an’––now––”
His words were smothered in a sigh; what use were words, any way? Judithe felt that Margeret’s eyes were on her face as she listened––wistful, questioning eyes! Would the words be of no use?
“The Jean Larue estate,” she said, meditatively, seating herself at the table and picking up a pen, “and your wife was named Rosa?”
“Yes’m.” He was staring at her as a man drowning might stare at a spar drifting his way on a chance wave; there was but the shadow of a hope in his face as he watched with parted lips the hand with the pen––and back of the shadow what substance!
“And she is dead––how long?”
“A yeah gone now.”
“And Mr. Larue asks how much for her child?”
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“Hundred ’n’ fifty dollar––this what hesaid, but, God knows, lawyers got hold o’ things now, maybe even more ’n that now, an’ anyway––”
His words sounded vague and confused in his own ears, for she was writing, and did not appear to hear.
“Where is this Larue place?” she asked, glancing up. “I heard of a Jean Larue plantation across in Georgia––is this it?”
“No’m,” and he turned an eager look of hope towards Margeret at this pointed questioning, but her expression was unchanged; she only looked at the strange lady who questioned and showed sympathy.
“No, mist’ess, this Mahs Jean Larue did stay on they Georgy plantation till five yeah back, then they move ovah to Callina again; that how I come to meet up with Rosa. Larue place down river towards Beaufort––a whole day’s walken’.”
“What did you say this child was named?” she asked, without ceasing the movement of the pen over the white paper.
“His name Ezekal, but we ain’t nevah call him anything but Zekal––he’s so little yet.”
“And when is this sale to be?”
Pluto looked helplessly towards Margeret.
“Tomorrow week, Madame Caron,” she said, speaking for the first time, though her steady gaze had almost made Judithe nervous. It had a peculiar, appealing quality, which Judithe, with a little grimace, assured herself was so appealing it was compelling; it left her no choice but to do what she was doing and for which she could take no credit whatever to herself––the wistful eyes of the pale-faced bondwoman did it all.
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“In a week there is plenty of time to arrange it,” she said, turning kindly to Pluto. “You can rest in peace about your Rosa’s boy. I will attend to it at once, and the traders shall never have him.”
Margeret drew a sharp, inward breath of relief.
“Yo’ meanyou’llbuy him in?” and Pluto’s voice was scarcely more than a whisper. “Yo’ mean I’ll have a chance, maybe, to buy him back some day?”
“Not ‘some day,’ my good fellow,” and Judithe folded the paper she had been writing; “from the day he is bought from the Larue estate he will have his freedom. He will never be bought or sold again.”
The man stared at her, helplessly. No hope of his had ever reached so high asthat! He tried to speak––failed––and his face was covered by his sleeve, as he went slowly out of the room.
“Don’t––don’t you think Pluto ain’t thankful, Madame Caron,” said the soft tones of Margeret, and they were not quite steady tones, either. Judithe did not look up for fear she should see tears in the melancholy, dark eyes; “that black boy just so thankful he can’t speak. He’ll worship you for what you’ve done for him, and well he may.”
There was a soft rustle beside her––the presence of lips on her hand, and then Judithe was alone in the room, and stronger than when she had entered it so short a while since, braced by the certainty that here, at least, she had been of use––practical use her own eyes could see, and all the evening a bird sang in her heart, and the grateful touch of the bondwoman’s lips gave her more pleasure than she could remember through the same tribute of any courtier.
240CHAPTER XXI.
When Pluto brought her mail, an hour later, he tried to express more clearly in words the utter happiness showing through every feature of his dark face, but she stopped him with a little gesture.
“I see you are glad––no need to tell it,” she remarked, briefly; “if you want to thank me do it by helping any of your people whom you find in trouble. There are many of them, no doubt.”
And when Mrs. McVeigh thanked her for doing what she could not have done on such short notice, Judithe put the question aside quite as lightly.
“The man is a very good groom,” she remarked. “I enjoyed my ride the more today for having him along to answer all my curious questions of the country. I meant to give him ‘backsheesh,’ as the Orientals call it, so why not select what the fellow most wants––even though it be a pickaninny?”
“Well, he certainly is singing your praises down in the cook-house. I even heard several ‘hallelujas’ from Aunt Dilsey’s particular corner. Judge Clarkson has endorsed the check and will send a white man horseback with it to Larues in the morning. Pluto starts tonight on foot across country––says he can’t sleep, any way––he’s so happy. The women are arguing already as to which shall have the special care of Zekal. Altogether, you have created a sensation in the household, and we all love you for it.”
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“What further recompense to be desired? It really is not worth so much of praise.”
“Kenneth will not think so when he comes home,” and Kenneth’s mother slipped her arm around the girl’s shoulder affectionately, not noticing how her careless expression changed at mention of the name.
“Oh! Will he, then, be interested in such small things as pickaninnies?” and her light words belied the look in her eyes.
“Will he? Well, I should think so! You have done just what he would want done––what he would do if it were possible. For two generations the McVeighs have neither bought nor sold slaves”––Judithe’s eyes shot one disdainful flash––“just kept those inherited; but I’m sure that boy of mine would have broken the rule for his generation in this case, and he’ll be so grateful to you for it. Pluto was his playmate and respected monitor as a child, and Pluto’s Zekal certainly will have a place in his affections.”
Judithe picked up one of several letters, over which she had glanced, and remarked that she would expect a visitor within a week––possibly in a day or two, the master of her yacht, which from a letter received, she learned had reached Savannah before Louise. A storm had been encountered somewhere along the southern coast, and he would submit the list of damages––not heavy, yet needing a certain amount of refitting.
“Fortunate Louise did go down,” she said, with a certain satisfaction, as she laid down the communication. “She will be perfectly happy, even hobbling around with a cane, if she is only buying things; she delights in spending money;” then, after a pause, “I presume Col. McVeigh’s return is still uncertain?”
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“Yes, rather; yet I fancy each morning he will come before night, and each night that he may waken me in the morning. I have been living in that delightful hopefulness for a week.”
Lena called them and they went out to the rustic seat circling the great live oak at the foot of the steps. The others were there, and the Judge was preparing to drive the three miles home with his sister. Now that the invalid was better, and the wanderer returned from Mobile, Aunt Sajane bethought herself of the possible sixes and sevens of her own establishment, and drove away with promises of frequent visits on both sides.
Long after the others had retired for the night Judithe’s light burned, and there was little of the careless butterfly of fashion in her manner as she examined one after another of the letters brought her by the last mail, and wrote replies to some she meant to take to the office herself during her early morning ride; it was so delightful to have an errand, and Pluto had shown her the road. After all the others were done she picked up again the communication she had shown to Mrs. McVeigh––the report from the yacht master, and from the same envelope extracted a soft silken slip of paper with marks peculiar––apparently mere senseless scratches of a thoughtless pen, but it was over that paper and the reply most of the evening was spent. It was the most ancient method of secret writing known to history, yet, apparently, so meaningless that it might pass unnoticed even by the alert, or be turned aside as the ambitious scrawlings of a little child.
Each word as deciphered she had pencilled on a slip of paper, and when complete it read:
“Courant brings word McV. is likely to be of special interest. If he travels with guard we can’t interfere on road243from coast, and you will be only hope. A guard of Federals will be landed north of Beaufort and await your orders. Messenger will communicate soon as movements are known. You may expect Pierson. We await your orders or any suggestions.”
There was no signature. Her orders or suggestions were written in the same cipher, and required much more time and thought than had been given to the buying and freeing of Pluto’s pickaninny, after which she destroyed all unnecessary writings, and retired with the satisfied feeling of good work done and better in prospect, and in a short time was sleeping the calm, sweet sleep of a conscienceless child.
She rode even further next morning than she had the preceding day, when Pluto was her guide, and she rode as straight east as she could go towards the coast. When she met colored folk along the road she halted, and spoke with them, to their great delight. She asked of the older ones where the road led to, and were the pine woods everywhere along it, and what about swamps and streams to ford, etc., etc. Altogether, she had gained considerable knowledge of that especial territory by the time she rode back to the Terrace and joined the rest at the late breakfast. She had been in the saddle since dawn, and recounted with vivacity all the little episodes of her solitary constitutional; the novelty of it was exhilarating. That it appeared a trifle eccentric to a Southerner did not suggest itself to her; all her eccentricities were charming to the McVeigh household, and Delaven lamented he had not been invited as proxy for Pluto, and amused the breakfast party by anecdotes of hunting days in Ireland, and the energy and daring of the ladies who rode at dawn there.
Several times during the day Judithe attempted to have a tete-a-tete with Mrs. McVeigh, and learn more about Miss244Loring’s silent maid, who was the first person she saw on her return from the ride that morning. The absolute self-effacement of an individual whose repose suggested self-reliance, and whose well shaped head was poised so admirably as to suggest pride, made the sad-faced servant a fascinating personality to any one interested in questions concerning her race. No other had so won her attention since she made compact with Kora in Paris.
But Mistress McVeigh was a very busy woman that day. Pluto’s absence left a vacancy in the establishment no other could fill so intelligently. Miss Loring had promptly attached herself as general assistant to the mistress of the house. Delaven noticed how naturally she fell into the position of an elder daughter there, and, remembering Evilena’s disclosures at Loringwood, and Matthew Loring’s own statement, he concluded that the wedding bells might sound at any time after Kenneth’s return, and he fancied they had been delayed, already, three years longer than suited the pleasure of her uncle.
Delaven, as well as Judithe, was attracted by the personality of Margeret. In the light, or the shadow, of the sad story he had listened to, she took on a new interest, an atmosphere of romance surrounded her. He pictured what her life must have been as a child, amid the sunshine of Florida, the favorite of her easy-living, easy-loving Greek father, the sole relic of some pretty slave! As she walked silently along the halls of the Terrace, he tried to realize Nelse’s description of her gayety, once, in the halls of Loringwood. And when he observed the adoring eyes with which she regarded the Marquise after the pickaninny episode, he understood it was another child she was thinking of––a child who should have been freed, and was not, and the feelings of Pluto were as her own.