Ailsa Paige: A Novel

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XII

  In February the birds sang between flurries of snow; but the end ofthe month was warm and lovely, and robins, bluebirds, and cardinalsburst into a torrent of song. The maples' dainty fire illuminedevery swamp; the green thorn turned greener; and the live-oakssprouted new leaves amid their olive-tinted winter foliage, evergreen.

  Magnolia and laurel grew richer and glossier; azaleas were budding;dog-wood twigs swelled; and somewhere, in some sheltered hollow, aspray of jasmine must have been in bloom, because the faint andexquisite scent haunted all the woodlands.

  On the 17th the entire army was paraded by regiments to cheer forthe fall of Fort Donnelson.

  About mid-February the Allotment Commission began its splendid workin camp; and it seemed to Ailsa that the mental relief it broughtto her patients was better than any other medicine--that is, betterfor the Union patients; for now there were, also, in the wards, anumber of Confederate wounded, taken at various times during theskirmishing around Fairfax--quiet, silent, dignified Virginians,and a few fiery Louisianians, who at first, not knowing what toexpect, scarcely responded to the brusque kindness of the hospitalattendants.

  The first Confederate prisoner that Ailsa ever saw was brought inon a stretcher, a quiet, elderly man in bloody gray uniform,wearing the stripes of a sergeant.

  Prisoners came more often after that. Ailsa, in her letters toCelia Craig, had mentioned the presence of Confederate wounded atthe Farm Hospital; and, to her delight and amazement, one day latein February a Commission ambulance drove up, and out stepped CeliaCraig; and the next instant they were locked tightly in eachother's arms,

  "Darling--darling!" sobbed Ailsa, clinging desperately to Celia,"it is heavenly of you to come. I was so lonely, so tired anddiscouraged. You won't go away soon, will you? I couldn't bearit--I want you so--I need you----"

  "Hush, Honey-bud! I reckon I'll stay a while. I've been a weekwith Curt's regiment at Fortress Monroe. I had my husband tomyse'f fo' days, befo' they sent him to Acquia Creek. And I've hadmy boy a whole week all to myse'f! Then his regiment went away.They wouldn't tell me where.' But God is kinder. . . . You arecertainly ve'y pale, Honey-bee!"

  "I'm well, dearest--really I am, I'll stay well now. Is Curt allright? And Stephen? And Paige and Marye?--and Camilla?"

  "Everybody is well, dear. Curt is ve'y brown and thin--the dearfellow! And Steve is right handsome. I'm just afraid some prettyminx--" She laughed and added: "But I won't care if she's a rebelminx."

  "Celia! . . . And I--I didn't think you liked that word."

  "What word, Honey-bell?" very demurely.

  "Rebel!"

  "Why, I reckon George Washington wore that title without reproach.It's a ve'y good title--rebel," she added serenely. "I admire itenough to wear it myse'f."

  Quarters were found for Mrs. Craig. Letty shyly offered to move,but Celia wouldn't have it.

  "My dear child," she said, "I'm just a useless encumbrance 'roundthe house; give me a corner where I may sit and look on and--he'peverybody by not inte'fering."

  Her corner was an adjoining section of the garret, boarded up,wall-papered, and furnished for those who visited the Farm Hospitalon tour of inspection or to see some sick friend or relative, orescort some haggard convalescent to the Northern home.

  Celia had brought a whole trunkful of fresh gingham clothes andaprons, and Ailsa could not discover exactly why, until, on the dayfollowing her arrival, she found Celia sitting beside the cot of awounded Louisiana Tiger, administering lemonade.

  "Dearest," whispered Ailsa that night, "it is very sweet of you tocare for your own people here. We make no distinction, however,between Union and Confederate sick; so, dear, you must be verycareful not to express any--sentiments."

  Celia laughed. "I won't express any sentiments, Honey-bee. Ireckon I'd be drummed out of the Yankee army." Then, graver: "IfI'm bitter--I'll keep it to myse'f."

  "I know, dear. . . . And--your sympathies would never leadyou--permit you to any--indiscretion."

  "You mean in talking--ahem!--treason--to sick Confederates? Idon't have to, dear."

  "And. . . you must never mention anything concerning what you seeinside our lines. You understand that, of course, don't you,darling?"

  "I hadn't thought about it," said Celia musingly.

  Ailsa added vaguely: "There's always a government detective hangingaround the hospital."

  Celia nodded and gazed out of the open window. Very far away thepurple top of a hill peeped above the forest. Ailsa had told herthat a Confederate battery was there. And now she looked at it insilence, her blue eyes very soft, her lips resting upon one anotherin tender, troubled curves.

  Somewhere on that hazy hill-top a new flag was flying; soldiers ofa new nation were guarding it, unseen by her. It was the firstoutpost of her own people that she had ever seen; and she looked atit wistfully, proudly, her soul in her eyes. All the pain, all thesolicitude, all the anguish of a Southern woman, and a wife of aNorthern man, who had borne him Northern children deepened in hergaze, till her eyes dimmed and her lids quivered and closed; andAilsa's arms tightened around her.

  "It is ve'y hard, Honey-bud," was all she said.

  She had Dr. West's permission to read to the sick, mend theirclothing, write letters for them, and perform such little officesas did not require the judgment of trained nurses.

  By preference she devoted herself to the Confederate sick, but shewas very sweet and gentle with all, ready to do anything any sickman asked; and she prayed in her heart that if her husband and herson were ever in need of such aid. God would send, in mercy, somewoman to them, and not let them lie helpless in the clumsy hands ofmen.

  She had only one really disagreeable experience. Early in March agovernment detective sent word that he wished to speak to her; andshe went down to Dr. West's office, where a red-faced, burly mansat smoking a very black cigar. He did not rise as she entered;and, surprised, she halted at the doorway.

  "Are you Mrs. Craig?" he demanded, keeping his seat, his hat, andthe cigar between his teeth.

  "Are you a government detective?"

  "Yes, I am."

  "Then stand up when you speak to me!" she said sharply. "I reckona Yankee nigger has mo' manners than you display."

  And the astonished detective presently found himself, hat in hand,cigar discarded, standing while Mrs. Craig, seated, repliedindifferently to his very mild questions.

  "Are you a Southerner, Mrs. Craig?"

  "I am."

  "Your husband is Colonel Estcourt Craig, 3rd New York Zouaves?"

  "He is."

  "You have a son serving in that regiment?"

  "Yes."

  "Private soldier?"

  "Yes."

  "You are not a volunteer nurse?"

  "No."

  "Your sister-in-law, Mrs. Paige, is?"

  "Yes."

  "Now, Mrs. Craig"--but he could not succeed in swaggering, with hercalm, contemptuous eyes taking his measure--"now, Mrs. Craig, isit true that you own, a mansion called Paigecourt near Richmond?"

  "I do."

  "It was your father's house?"

  "It was my father's home befo' he was married."

  "Oh. Who owns your father's house--the one he lived in after hewas married?"

  "Mrs. Paige."

  "She is your sister-in-law? Your brother inherited this house?And it is called Marye Mead, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "It is not occupied?"

  "No."

  "Is Paigecourt--your own house--ah--occupied?"

  "It is."

  "By an overseer?"

  "By a housekeeper. The overseer occupies his own quarters."

  "I see. So you hold slaves."

  "There are negroes on the plantations. Mr. Paige, my father, freedhis slaves befo' I was married."

  The man looked surprised and incredulous.

  "How did your father come to do that? I never heard of a Southernslave owner voluntar
ily freeing his slaves."

  "A number of gentlemen have done so, at va'ious times, and fo'va'ious reasons," said Celia quietly. "Mr. Paige's reason was apersonal matter. . . . Am I obliged to give it to you?"

  "I think you had better," said the detective, watching her.

  "Ve'y well. Mr. Paige happened to find among family papers aletter written by General Washington to my grandfather, in whichhis Excellency said;

  "'I never mean to possess another slave, it being now among myfirst wishes to see slavery, in this country, abolished by law.'That is why my father freed his slaves."

  The detective blinked; then, reddening, started toward the door,until he suddenly remembered his rudiments of manners. So hehalted, bowed jerkily, clapped the hat on his head and the cigarinto his mouth, and hastily disappeared.

  When Celia scornfully informed Ailsa what had happened, the latterlooked worried.

  "You see," she said, "how easily trouble is created. Somehow theGovernment has learned about your coming here."

  "Oh, I had to have a pass."

  "Of course. And somebody has informed somebody that you ownPaigecourt, and that you hold slaves there, and therefore you mightbe a suspicious person. And they told that detective to find outall about you. You see, dear, for Curt's sake and Stephen's sakeas well as for your own, you will have to be particularly careful.You see it, don't you?"

  "Yes," said Celia, thoughtfully, "I----"

  The sudden thunder of a field battery drowned her voice. Ailsa ranto the door and looked out, and a soldier shouted to her the newsof the _Monitor's_ combat with the _Merrimac_. Battery afterbattery saluted; regiment after regiment blackened the hill-tops,cheering. At dusk gigantic bonfires flamed.

  That evening Hallam came unexpectedly.

  Now Ailsa had neither worn her ring and locket since hersister-in-law had arrived at the Farm Hospital, nor had she toldher one word about Hallam.

  Since her unhappy encounter with Berkley, outraged pride had aidedto buoy her above the grief over the deep wound he had dealt her.She never doubted that his insolence and deliberate brutality hadkilled in her the last lingering spark of compassion for the memoryof the man who had held her in his arms that night so long--so longago.

  Never, even, had she spoken to Letty about him, or betrayed anyinterest or curiosity concerning Letty's knowing him. . . . Notthat, at moments, the desire to ask, to know had not burned her.

  Never had she spoken of Berkley to Hallam. Not that she did notcare to know what this private in Colonel Arran's regiment oflancers might be about. And often and often the desire to knowleft her too restless to endure her bed; and many a night she roseand dressed and wandered about the place under the yellow stars.

  But all fires burn themselves: to extinction; a dull endurance,which she believed had at last become a God-sent indifference,settled on her mind. Duties helped her to endure; pride, anger,helped her toward the final apathy which she so hopefully desiredto attain. And still she had never yet told Celia about Hallam andhis ring; never told her about Berkley and his visit to the FarmHospital that Christmas Eve of bitter memory.

  So when, unexpectedly, Hallam rode into the court, dismounted, andsent word that he was awaiting Ailsa in Dr. West's office, shelooked up at Celia in guilty consternation.

  They had been seated in Celia's room, mending by candle-light, andthe steward who brought the message was awaiting Ailsa's response,and Celia's lifted eyes grew curious as she watched hersister-in-law's flushed face.

  "Say to Captain Hallam that I will come down, Flannery."

  And when the hospital steward had gone:

  "Captain Hallam is a friend of Colonel Arran, Celia."

  "Oh," said Celia drily, and resumed her mending.

  "Would you care to meet him, dear?"

  "I reckon not, Honey-bud."

  A soldier had found a spray of white jasmine in the woods thatafternoon and had brought it to Ailsa. She fastened a cluster inthe dull gold masses of her hair, thickly drooping above each ear,glanced at her hot cheeks in the mirror, and, exasperated, went outand down the stairs.

  And suddenly, there in the star-lit court, she saw Berkley leaningagainst one of the horses, and Letty Lynden standing beside him,her pretty face uplifted to his.

  The shock of it made her falter. Dismayed, she shrank back,closing the door noiselessly. For a moment she stood leaningagainst it, breathing fast; then she turned and stole through tothe back entrance, traversed the lower gallery, and came into Dr.West's office, offering Hallam a lifeless hand.

  They talked of everything--every small detail concerning theirpersonal participation in the stirring preparations which weregoing on all around them; gossip of camp, of ambulance; politicalrumours, rumours from home and abroad; and always, through herbrain, ran the insistent desire to know what Berkley was doing inhis regiment; how he stood; what was thought of him; whether theColonel had yet noticed him. So many, many things which she hadsupposed no longer interested her now came back to torment her intoinquiry. . . . And Hallam talked on, his handsome sun-bronzed faceaglow, his eager eyes of a lover fastened on her and speaking toher a different but silent language in ardent accompaniment to hisgaily garrulous tongue.

  "I tell you, Ailsa, I witnessed a magnificent sight yesterday.Colonel Rush's regiment of lancers, a thousand strong, rode intothe meadow around Meridian Hill, and began to manoeuvre at fullspeed, not far away from us. Such a regiment! Every man ahorseman; a thousand lances with scarlet pennons fluttering in thesunlight! By ginger! it was superb! And those Philadelphians ofthe 6th Pennsylvania Lancers can give our 8th Lancers a thousandkeener points than the ends of their lance blades!"

  "I thought your regiment was a good one," she said surprised.

  "It is--for greenhorns. Every time we ride out past some of thesedirty blue regiments from the West, they shout: 'Oh my! Freshfish! Fresh fish!' until our boys are crazy to lay a lance buttacross their ragged blouses."

  "After all," said Ailsa, smiling, "what troops have really seen waryet--except the regiments at Bull Run--and those who have beenfighting in the West?"

  "Oh, we _are_ fresh fish," laughed Hallam. "I don't deny it. ButLord! what an army we _look_ like! It ought to scare the Johnniesinto the Union again, just to look at us; but I don't suppose itwill."

  Ailsa scarcely heard him; she had caught the sound of regular andsteady steps moving up and down the wooden walk outside; and shehad caught glimpses, too, of a figure in the starlight, of twofigures, Berkley and Letty, side by side, pacing the walk together.

  To and fro, to and fro, they passed, until it seemed as though shecould not endure it. Hallam laughed and talked, telling her aboutsomething or other--she did not know what--but all she listened towas the steady footsteps passing, repassing.

  "Your orderly--" she scarce knew what she was saying--"is thesame--the one you had Christmas Eve?"

  "Yes," said Hallam. "How did you know?"

  "I re--thought so."

  "What wonderfully sharp eyes those violet ones of yours are, Ailsa!Yes, I did take Ormond with me on Christmas Eve--the surly brute."

  "Or--Ormond?"

  "That's his rather high-flown name. Curious fellow. I likehim--or try to. I've an odd idea he doesn't like me, though.Funny, isn't it, how a man goes out of his way to win over a nobodywhom he thinks doesn't like him but ought to? He's an odd crab,"he added.

  "Odd?" Her voice sounded so strange to her that she tried again."Why do you think him odd?"

  "Well, he is. For one thing, he will have nothing to do withothers of his mess or troop or squadron, except a ruffianly troopernamed Burgess; consequently he isn't very popular. He could be.Besides, he rides better than anybody except the drill-master atWhite Plains; he rides like a gentleman---and looks like one, withthat infernally cool way of his. No, Ormond isn't very popular."

  "Because he--looks like a gentleman?"

  "Because he has the bad breeding of one. Nobody can find outanything about him."
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  "Isn't it bad breeding to try?"

  Hallam laughed. "Technically. But a regiment that elects itsofficers is a democracy; and if a man is too good to answerquestions he's let alone."

  "Perhaps," said Ailsa, "that is what he wants."

  "He has what he wants, then. Nobody except the trooper Burgessventures to intrude on his sullen privacy. Even his own bunky haslittle use for him. . . . Not that Ormond isn't plucky. That'sall that keeps the boys from hating him."

  "_Is_ he plucky?"

  Hallam said; "We were on picket duty for three days last week. TheColonel had become sick of their popping at us, and asked fortwelve carbines to the troop. On the way to the outposts theammunition waggon was rushed by the Johnnies, and, as our escorthad only their lances, they started to scatter--would havescattered, I understand, in spite of the sergeant if that manOrmond hadn't ridden bang into them, cursing and swearing andwaving his pistol in his left hand.

  "'By God!' he said, 'it's the first chance you've had to use thesedamned lances! Are you going to run away?'

  "And the sergeant and the trooper Burgess and this fellow Ormondgot 'em into line and started 'em down the road at a gallop; andthe rebs legged it."

  Ailsa's heart beat hard.

  "I call that pluck," said Hallam, "a dozen lancers without acarbine among them running at a company of infantry. I call that aplucky thing, don't you?"

  She nodded.

  Hallam shrugged. "He behaved badly to the sergeant, who saidwarmly: ''Tis a brave thing ye did, Private Ormond.' And 'Is it?'said Ormond with a sneer. 'I thought we were paid for doing suchthings.' 'Och, ye sour-faced Sassenach!' said Sergeant Mulqueen,disgusted; and told me about the whole affair."

  Ailsa had clasped her hands in her lap. The fingers weretightening till the delicate nails whitened.

  But it was too late to speak of Berkley to Hallam now, too late toask indulgence on the score of her friendship for a man who hadmutilated it. Yet, she could scarcely endure the strain, theovermastering desire to say something in Berkley's behalf--to makehim better understood--to explain to Hallam, and have Hallamexplain to his troop that Berkley was his own most reckless enemy,that there was good in him, kindness, a capacity for betterthings----

  Thought halted; was it _that_ which, always latent within herbruised heart, stirred it eternally from its pain-weary repose--thebelief, still existing, that there was something better in Berkley,that there did remain in him something nobler than he had everdisplayed to her? For in some women there is no end to thecapacity for mercy--where they love.

  Hallam, hungry to touch her, had risen and seated himself on theflat arm of the chair in which she was sitting. Listlessly sheabandoned her hand to him, listening all the time to the footstepsoutside, hearing Hallam's low murmur; heard him lightly venturingto hint of future happiness, not heeding him, attentive only to thefootsteps outside.

  "Private Berk--Ormond--" she calmly corrected herself--"has had nosupper, has he?"

  "Neither have I!" laughed Hallam. And Ailsa rose up, scarlet withannoyance, and called to a negro who was evidently boundkitchenward.

  And half an hour later some supper was brought to Hallam; and thenegro went out into the star-lit court to summon Berkley to thekitchen.

  Ailsa, leaving Hallam to his supper, and wandering aimlesslythrough the rear gallery, encountered Letty coming from the kitchen.

  "My trooper," said the girl, pink and happy, "is going to have_such_ a good supper! You know who I mean, dear--that Mr.Ormond----"

  "I remember him," said Ailsa steadily. "I thought his name wasBerkley."

  "It is Ormond," said Letty in a low voice.

  "Then I misunderstood. Is he here again?"

  "Yes," ventured Letty, smiling; "he is escort to--your Captain."

  Ailsa's expression was wintry. Letty, still smiling out of hervelvet eyes, looked up confidently into Ailsa's face.

  "Dear," she said, "I wish you could ever know how nice he is. . . .But--I don't believe I could explain----"

  "Nice? Who? Oh, your trooper!"

  "You don't mistake me, do you?" asked the girl, flushing up. "Ionly call him so to you. I knew him in New York--and--he is somuch of a man--so entirely good----"

  She hesitated, seeing no answering sympathy in Ailsa's face,sighed, half turned with an unconscious glance at the closed doorof the kitchen.

  "What were you saying about--him?" asked Ailsa listlessly.

  "Nothing--" said Letty timidly--"only, isn't it odd how matters arearranged in the army. My poor trooper--a gentleman born--is beingfed in the kitchen; your handsome Captain--none the less gentlyborn--is at supper in Dr. West's office. . . . They might easilyhave been friends in New York. . . . War is so strange, isn't it?"

  Ailsa forced a smile; but her eyes remained on the door, behindwhich was a man who had held her in his arms. . . . And who mightthis girl be who came now to her with tales of Berkley's goodness,kindness--shy stories of the excellence of the man who had killedin her the joy of living--had nigh killed more than that? What didthis strange, dark-eyed, dark-haired girl know about hisgoodness?--a girl of whom she had never even heard until she sawher in Dr. Benton's office!

  And all the while she stood looking at the closed door, thinking,thinking.

  They were off duty that night, but Letty was going back to a NewHampshire boy who was not destined to live very long, and whosefather was on the way from Plymouth to see his eldest son--hiseldest son who had never fought a battle, had never seen one, hadnever even fired his musket, but who lay dying in the nineteenthyear of his age, colour corporal, loved of his guard and regiment.

  "Baily asked for me," she said simply. "I can get some sleepsitting up, I think." She smiled. "I'm happier and--better forseeing my trooper. . . . I am--a--better--woman," she saidserenely. Then, looking up with a gay, almost childish toss of herhead, like a schoolgirl absolved of misdemeanours unnumbered, shesmiled wisely at Ailsa, and went away to her dying boy from NewHampshire.

  The closed door fascinated Ailsa, distressed, harrowed her, tillshe stood there twisting her hands between desire and pallidindecision.

  Leaden her limbs, for she could not stir them to go forward or toretire; miserably she stood there, swayed by fear and couragealternately, now rigid in bitter self-contempt, now shivering lesthe fling open the door and find her there, and she see the mockerydarkening his eyes----

  And, "Oh-h!" she breathed, "is there nothing on earth but thisshame for me?"

  Suddenly she thought of Celia, and became frightened. SupposeCelia had gone to the kitchen! What would Celia think of herattitude toward the son of Constance Berkley? She had never toldCelia that she had seen Berkley or that she even knew of hiswhereabouts. What would Celia think!

  In her sudden consternation she had walked straight to the closeddoor. She hesitated an instant; then she opened the door. AndBerkley, seated as he had been seated that Christmas Eve, all aloneby the burning candle, dropped his hands from his face and lookedup. Then he rose and stood gazing at her.

  She said, haughtily: "I suppose I am laying myself open tomisconstruction and insult again by coming here to speak to you."

  "Did you come to speak to me, Ailsa?"

  "Yes. Celia Craig is here--upstairs. I have never told her thatyou have even been in this place. She does not know you are herenow. If she finds out----"

  "I understand," he said wearily. "Celia shall not be informed ofmy disgrace with you--unless you care to tell her."

  "I do not care to tell her. Is there any reason to distress herwith--such matters?"

  "No," he said. "What do you wish me to do? Go out somewhere--"He glanced vaguely toward the darkness. "I'll go anywhere youwish."

  "Why did you come--again?" asked Ailsa coldly.

  "Orders--" he shrugged--"I did not solicit the detail; I could notrefuse. Soldiers don't refuse in the army."

  She stood looking at the floor for a moment. Then: "Why have youchanged your name?"
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  "It's not a permanent change," he said carelessly.

  "Oh. You wish to remain unrecognised in your regiment?"

  "While my service lasts."

  Her lips formed the question again; and he understood, though shehad not spoken.

  "Why? Yes, I'll tell you," he said with a reckless laugh. "I'lltell you why I wear a new name. It's because I love my oldone--and the mother who bore it--and from whom I received it! Andit's because I won't risk disgracing it. You have asked, and_that's_ why! Because--_I'm afraid in battle_!--if you want toknow!--afraid of getting hurt--wounded--killed! I don't know whatI might do; I don't _know_! And if the world ever sees PrivateOrmond running away, they'll never know it was Constance Berkley'sson. And _that's_ why I changed my name!"

  "W-what?" she faltered. Then, revolted. "It is not true! You are_not_ afraid!"

  "I tell you I am," he repeated with a mirthless laugh. "Don't yousuppose I ought to know? I want to get out of bullet range everytime I'm shot at. And--if anybody ever turns coward, I prefer thatit should be trooper Ormond, not trooper Berkley. And that is thetruth, Ailsa."

  She was scarcely able to suppress her anger now. She looked athim, flushed, excited, furious.

  "Why do you say such untruthful things to me! Who was it thatfairly kicked his fellow troopers into charging infantry withnothing but lances against bullets?"

  Amazed for a second, he burst into an abrupt laugh that rangharshly in the room.

  "Who told you such cock-and-bull stories, Ailsa?"

  "Didn't you do it? _Isn't_ it true?"

  "Do what? Do what the Government pays me for doing? Yes, Ihappened to come up to the scratch that time. But I was scared,every inch of me--if you really want the truth."

  "But--you _did_ it?"

  He laughed again, harshly, but apparently puzzled by her attitude.

  She came nearer, paler in her suppressed excitement.

  "Private Ormond," she faltered, "the hour that you fail under fireis the hour when I--shall be able to--forget--you.Not--until--then."

  Neither moved. The slow, deep colour mounted to the roots of hishair; but she was white as death.

  "Ailsa."

  "Yes."

  And suddenly he had dropped to one knee, and the hem of her graygarb was against his lips--and it was a thing of another age thathe did, there on one knee at her feet, but it became him as it hadbecome his ancestors. And she saw it, and, bending, laid her slimhands on his head.

  After a long silence, her hands still resting on his dark hair, shefound voice enough to speak.

  "I know you now."

  And, as he made no answer:

  "It is there, in you--all that I believed. It was to thatI--yielded--once."

  She looked intently down at him.

  "I think at last you have become--my champion. . . . Notmy--destroyer. Answer me, Philip!"

  He would not, or could not.

  "I take you--for mine," she said. "Will you deny me?"

  "No, Ailsa."

  She said, steadily: "The other--the lesser happiness is tobe--forgotten. Answer."

  "It--must be."

  She bent lower, whispering: "Is there no wedlock of the spirit?"

  "That is all there ever was to hope for."

  "Then--_will_ you--Philip?"

  "Yes. Will _you_, Ailsa?"

  "I--will."

  He rose; her fingers slipped from his hair to his hands, and theystood, confronted.

  She said in a dull voice: "I am engaged to--be--married to CaptainHallam."

  "I know it."

  She spoke again, very white.

  "Can you tell me why you will not marry me?"

  "No, I cannot tell you."

  "I--would love you none the less. Don't you believe me?"

  "Yes, I do now. But I--cannot ask that of you."

  "Yet--you would have--taken me without--marriage."

  He said, quietly:

  "Marriage--or love to the full, without it--God knows how right orwrong that may be. The world outlaws those who love withoutit--drives them out, excommunicates, damns. . . . It may be Goddoes, too; but--_I--don't--believe it_, Ailsa."

  She said, whiter still: "Then I must not think of--what cannot be?"

  "No," he said dully, "it cannot be."

  She laid her hands against his lips in silence.

  "Good night. . . . You won't leave me--too much--alone?"

  "May I write to you, dear?"

  "Please. And come when--when you can."

  He laughed in the utter hopelessness of it all.

  "Dear, I cannot come to you unless--_he_ comes."

  At that the colour came back into her face.

  Suddenly she stooped, touched his hands swiftly with her lips--thevery ghost of contact--turned, and was gone.

  Hallam's voice was hearty and amiable; also he welcomed her with asmile; but there seemed to be something hard in his eyes as he said:

  "I began to be afraid that you'd gone to sleep, Ailsa. What thedeuce has kept you? A sick man?"

  "Y-es; he is--better--I think."

  "That's good. I've only a minute or two left, and I wanted tospeak--if you'll let me--about----"

  "Can't you come again next week?" she asked.

  "Well--of course, I'll do my best. I wanted to speak----"

  "Don't say everything now," she protested, forcing a smile,"otherwise what excuse will you have for coming again?"

  "Well--I wished to-- See here, Ailsa, will you let me speak aboutthe _practical_ part of our future when I come next time?"

  For a moment she could, not bring herself to the deception; but thememory of Berkley rendered her desperate.

  "Yes--if you will bring back to Miss Lynden her trooper friend whenyou come again. Will you?"

  "Who? Oh, Ormond. Yes, of course, if she wishes----"

  But she could not endure her own dishonesty any longer.

  "Captain Hallam," she said with stiffened lips, "I--I have justlied to you. It is not for Miss Lynden that I asked; it is formyself!"

  He looked at her in a stunned sort of way. She said, forcingherself to meet his eyes:

  "Trooper Ormond is your escort; don't you understand? I desire tosee him again, because I knew him in New York."

  "Oh," said Hallam slowly.

  She stood silent, the colour racing through her cheeks. She_could_ not, in the same breath, ask Hallam to release her. It wasimpossible. Nothing on earth could prevent his believing that itwas because she wished to marry Berkley. And she was never tomarry Berkley. She knew it, now.

  "Who is this Private Ormond, anyway?" asked Hallam, handsome eyesbent curiously on her.

  And she said, calmly: "I think you did not mean to ask me that,Captain Hallam."

  "Why not?"

  "Because the man in question would have told you had he not desiredthe privilege of privacy--to which we all are entitled, I think."

  "It seems to me," said Hallam, reddening, "that, under thecircumstances, I myself have been invested by you with someprivileges."

  "Not yet," she returned quietly. And again her reply implieddeceit; and she saw, too late, whither that reply led--where shewas drifting, helpless to save herself, or Berkley, or this man towhom she had been betrothed.

  "I've got to speak now," she began desperately calm. "I must tellyou that I cannot marry you. I do not love you enough. I amforced to say it. I was a selfish, weak, unhappy fool when Ithought I could care enough for you to marry you. All the fault ismine; all the blame is on me. I am a despicable woman."

  "Are you crazy, Ailsa!"

  "Half crazed, I think. If you can, some day, try to forgive me--Ishould be very grateful."

  "Do you mean to tell me that you--you are--have been--in love withthis--this broken-down adventurer----"

  "Yes. From the first second in my life that I ever saw him. Nowyou know the truth. And you will now consider me worthy ofthis--adventurer----"

  "No," he repli
ed. And thought a moment. Then he looked at her.

  "I don't intend to give you up," he said.

  "Captain Hallam, believe me, I am sorry----"

  "I won't give you up," he repeated doggedly.

  "You won't--release me?"

  "No."

  She said, with heightened colour: "I am dreadfully sorry--andbitterly ashamed. I deserve no mercy, no consideration at yourhands. But--I must return your ring--" She slipped it from herfinger, laid it on the table, placed the chain and locket beside it.

  She said, wistfully: "I dare not hope to retain your esteem--I darenot say to you how much I really desire your forgiveness--yourfriendship----"

  Suddenly he turned on her a face, red, distorted, with rage.

  "Do you know what this means to me? It means ridicule in myregiment! What kind of figure do you think I shall cut after this?It's--it's a shame!--it's vile usage. I'll appearabsurd--_absurd_! Do you understand?"

  Shocked, she stared into his inflamed visage, which anger andtortured vanity had marred past all belief.

  "Is _that_ why you care?" she asked slowly.

  "Ailsa! Good God--I scarcely know what I'm saying----"

  "I know."

  She stepped back, eyes darkening to deepest violet--retreated,facing him, step by step to the doorway, through it; and left himstanding there.