The Master of Warlock: A Virginia War Story

by George Cary Eggleston

  V

  _AT THE OAKS_

  When Baillie Pegram rode into The Oaks grounds on that third Friday ofApril, 1861, the first person he encountered was none other than Agatha.She was gowned all in white, except that she had tied a cherry-colouredribbon about her neck. She was wholly unbonneted, and was armed with alittle gardening implement--hoe on one side and miniature rake on theother. She was busy over a flower-bed, and the young man, rounding acurve in the shrubbery, came upon her, to the complete surprise of both.

  The situation might have been embarrassing but for the ease and perfectself-possession with which the girl accepted it. She greeted hervisitor, to his astonishment, without any of the hauteur that had markedher demeanour on the occasion of their last previous meeting. Here atThe Oaks she felt herself under the entirely adequate protection of heraunts. She had therefore no occasion to stand upon the defensive. Outthere at the bridge she had been herself solely responsible for herconduct, and dependent upon herself for the maintenance of her dignity.Here Mr. Baillie Pegram was the guest of her people, while out there hehad been a person casually and unwillingly encountered, and not on anyaccount to be permitted any liberty of intercourse. Besides all theseconclusive differences of circumstance, there was the additional factthat Agatha was in revolt against authority, and very strongly disposedto maintain her perfect freedom of innocent action. So she gave hervisitor a garden-gloved hand as he dismounted, and slowly walked withhim toward the house.

  "I attended an opera once," she chattered, "when I was a very littlegirl. I remember that I thought the basso a porpoise, and the tenor aconceited popinjay, and the prima donna a fat woman, but I fellcompletely in love with the haymakers in the chorus. So whenever I gogardening I find myself instinctively trying to make myself look as likethem as I can. That, I suppose, is why I tied a red ribbon about myneck this morning."

  Here Baillie Pegram missed an opportunity to make a particularly gallantand flattering speech. To any other woman, under like circumstances, hewould have said something of her success in making a charminglyattractive picture of herself. But there was much of reverence in hisadmiration for Agatha, and he felt that a merely complimentary speechaddressed to her would be a frivolous impertinence. So instead he asked:

  "Do you often go out gardening?"

  "O, yes, always when the weather permits, and sometimes when it forbids.At Willoughby I've often gone out in a waterproof to train my flowersand vines. I'm just going away from The Oaks, and I've been digging up ahideously formal bed which the gardener's soul delights in, and sowingmixed portulaca instead of the priggish plants. Portulaca smiles at you,you know, when you get up soon enough in the morning to see it in itsglory. But I'll never see the smiles in this case."

  "But why not?"

  "Why, I'm leaving The Oaks on Saturday, you know,--or rather you do notknow,--and I'm not coming back for a long, long time."

  "May I again presume to ask why not?"

  "O, well, I must go to my grandfather. If I don't he'll enlist or join acompany, or get a commission, or whatever else it is that a man doeswhen he makes a soldier out of himself. You see I'm the only person whocan manage my grandfather."

  "But surely, at his age--"

  "O, yes, I know. He's over eighty now, but you don't know him very well,or you'd understand. He was a soldier under Jackson at New Orleans, anda colonel in the Mexican War, and he'll go into this war, too, if Idon't go home and tell him he mustn't. I'm going to-morrow morning."

  Manifestly the girl wanted to chatter. Women often do that when they areanxious to avoid serious conversation. If men never do it, it is onlybecause they lack the intellectual alertness necessary. They hem andhaw, and make stupid remarks about the weather instead, and succeed onlyin emphasising the embarrassment which a woman would completely buryunder charming chatter.

  "You haven't seen my aunts yet, I suppose?" Miss Agatha presently asked.

  "No. I'm just arriving at The Oaks. I dine here, you know, on the thirdFriday of every month."

  "Yes--so I've heard. I don't think the aunties expected you to-day.They'll be glad to see you, of course, but I think they thought you werestill in Richmond."

  Baillie wondered if this was a covert rebuke to him for having venturedupon the premises while Agatha was still there. The girl was notaltogether an easy person to understand. In any case her remark revealedthe fact that the question of his coming had been discussed in the houseand decided in the negative. It was with some embarrassment, therefore,that he presented himself to those formidable personages, The Oaksladies, and tried to treat his own coming quite as a matter of course.But if his presence was in any wise unwelcome to them, there was nothingin their demeanour to suggest the fact. They expressed no surprisewhatever, and only a placid, well-bred self-congratulation that absencehad not deprived them of the pleasure of his company at dinner, as theyhad feared that it might. Then one of them added:

  "It is unfortunate that Agatha is to dine at The Forest to-day, with ourcousins, the Misses Blair. By the way," tinkling a bell, "it is time toorder the carriage, and for you to change your gown, Agatha, dear."

  Baillie Pegram happened to catch sight of the young girl's face as thesewords were spoken, and he read there enough of surprise to convince himthat if it had been previously arranged for her to drive to The Forestfor dinner, she at least had heard nothing of the matter until now. Butwhether the surprise reflected in her face was one of pleasure or thereverse, she gave him no chance to guess. She merely glanced at the talland slowly ticking clock, and said:

  "I'll go at once, auntie. I did not know it was so late. Excuse theabruptness of my leave-taking, Mr. Pegram, and let me say good-bye, forI leave for Willoughby to-morrow morning."

  It was all an admirable bit of acting--the more admirable, Bailliethought, for the reason that the scene had been suddenly extemporisedand not rehearsed--for he was satisfied that Agatha at least had beencompletely surprised by the announcement that she was to dine at TheForest that day.

  Unfortunately the acting was destined to be wasted, for almostimmediately after Agatha's departure for her chamber, a carriage droveup, and Baillie gallantly assisted Miss Blair herself to alight from it.She greeted her cousins of The Oaks effusively in the ceaseless speechwith which it was her practice to meet and greet her friends.

  "Isn't it good of me, Cousin Sarah and Cousin Jane? I had a positiveheadache to-day, but I was determined to drive over and dine with you,so as to bid Agatha good-bye. Where is the dear child? You see we heardonly this morning that she had changed her plans and was going to leaveus to-morrow. So I just had to come and dine"--and so forth, through aspeech that fortunately gave The Oaks ladies time a-plenty in which tocollect their wits and avoid all appearance of discomfiture.

  "You are always so good and thoughtful," said Miss Sarah, as soon asMiss Blair left a little hole in her conversation. "We knew you'd wantto see Agatha before she left, and we were just planning to send her toyou for dinner. In fact she's gone up to dress. But this is so muchbetter, particularly as we have Mr. Baillie Pegram with us, too. This ishis regular day, you know, and he is always so mindful of hisengagements. We had feared we should miss seeing him to-day, as he wasaway in Richmond; but he got home in time, and he never fails us whenwithin reach. He has an admirable habit of punctuality which the otheryoung men of our rather lax time might emulate with advantage."

  Here was Baillie Pegram's opportunity, but he missed it. If he hadpossessed one-half or one-tenth the tact that Agatha had shown fifteenminutes before, he would have protested that, much to his regret, hecould not remain to dinner that day, as he had a guest of his own atWarlock, and had ridden over only to make his apologies and express hisregret. But Baillie Pegram, not being a woman, did not think of theright thing to say until it was one full minute too late, wherefore, ofcourse, it would not do for him to say it at all.

  What a pity it is that men can't be women--sometimes! Just for lack ofthat tact which is instinctive in a woman, the master of War
lock wasdoomed to dine that day under a sense of intrusion on his part, whichcertainly did not contribute to his enjoyment of the dinner or thecompany. But he had only himself to blame, and, like the resolute fellowthat he was, he determined to bear the consequences of his blunderingstupidity with the best grace he could. He professed the keenest delightin the unexpected pleasure of having Miss Blair for his fellow guest,adding, with an obeisance to The Oaks ladies, "Though of course oneneeds no other company than that of our hostesses themselves, to makethe day of a dinner at The Oaks altogether delightful."

  Obviously the young man was improving in tactfulness under the stimulusof circumstances.

  When dinner was served half an hour later, he gave his arm to MissSarah, and entered the stately but gloomy old dining-room, with itshigh-backed, carved mahogany chairs, its stained-glass cathedralwindows, and its general atmosphere of solemnity and depression, withsuch grace as a resolute spirit could command. He managed to taste thedishes as they were served, and to carve without a mishap of any kind,but in the matter of conversation he was certainly not brilliant, thoughhe had the approaching war for his theme.

  After the old English custom which survived in Virginia, the wine--arich old Madeira--was not served until the dessert was removed. Then itcame on with the cigars. The ladies sipped a single glass each, androse, whereupon the young man gallantly held open the great door, bowingas the womankind took their departure.

  When they had gone, there being no gentleman present except himself,young Pegram was left alone with the wine, the cigars, a single waxcandle for cigar-lighting purposes,--and Henry. Henry was the perfectlytrained butler of the establishment, a butler taught from childhood, byhis late master, to comport himself always with the dignity of adiplomat who has dined. He stood bolt upright behind the young man'schair, eager to anticipate every want, and anticipating them all withouta false movement or any suggestion of hurry. Henry had presided asbutler in his late master's establishment when that master kept "openhouse" as a distinguished senator in Washington, and it was theserving-man's boast that he "knew what a gentleman wants and when hewants it."

  But Henry's very propriety became irksome to Baillie Pegram presently.It reminded him of his own lack of any ease except a forcibly assumedone. "Henry feels himself in his proper place," the young man reflected."I do not."

  It was not the young man's habit to take more than a glass or two ofwine after dinner, and on this occasion he had no relish even for thatsmall allowance. Yet he sat with it for a sufficient time to show properrespect for the hospitality of the house. He held his glass up betweenhim and the stained-glass windows, and went through all the motions ofwatching the play of colours through the amber liquid, quite as if hisrelish for it had been that of a confirmed _bon vivant_. Finally helighted a fresh cigar, and said to Henry: "It is quite warm. I thinkI'll finish my cigar out among the shrubbery. Please say to the ladiesthat I'll join them within half an hour."

  He was not destined, however, to fulfil this promise. For, as he passedout into the shrubbery, he encountered Miss Agatha by an accident whichthat young lady had in all probability arranged with the utmost care, aswomen do sometimes. She very much wanted speech with Baillie.

  "I want to thank you, Mr. Pegram," she said, eagerly, "for not making ascene. It was very hard on you--the situation, I mean--and you havespared me at every point. Perhaps you had better take your leave now asquickly as you can."

  But the young man's courage had completely come back to him, withsomething of the dare-devil spirit added to it: as the soldier beset,sometimes comes to relish danger for its own sake, and deliberatelyinvites more of it, so Baillie Pegram, knowing perfectly that he hadcompletely outraged the proprieties, as The Oaks ladies interpretedthem, was minded to outrage them still further. Having braved thesituation to this point, he was determined to brave it out to theend--whatever the end might be. So to the girl's suggestion, heanswered:

  "But the day is not over yet, and the piazzas of The Oaks fortunatelyinclude one with a western aspect. Let us sit there and enjoy thesunset. We'll join the ladies later."

  The girl consented, willingly enough. She was already in revolt, for onething, and she knew that her aunts would not venture again to censureher severely, after what had happened.

  "But you must not misunderstand me, Mr. Pegram," she said, as the twoseated themselves in the great oaken chairs fabricated on the plantationduring colonial times. "I have declared my independence so far as toinsist upon my right to treat you with courtesy upon occasion. But youmust not suppose that I have forgotten the gulf that lies between us,and especially you must not interpret my attitude to mean that I amdisloyal to the memory of my poor father."

  "I quite understand," he answered, meditatively and sadly. "You and Iare privileged, by your good pleasure, to treat each other with formalcourtesy, but I must not in any way presume upon that privilege beyondits intention."

  The girl sat silent, looking wistfully out into the glow that hadfollowed the sunset. Finally she said:

  "I suppose that is it. It is a hard situation to deal with--for me."

  "And for me," the youth replied.

  "Yes, for you, too, I suppose. But neither of us is responsible. We mustrecognise conditions and do the best we can."

  "I quite understand. You give me leave hereafter to behave like agentleman toward you, whenever circumstances shall happen to force anysort of intercourse upon us; but beyond that you remind me that there iswar between your house and mine, and between me and thee. It is not atreaty of peace that you offer, or even a protocol looking to peace; itis only an amenity of war, like a cartel for the exchange of prisoners,or a temporary truce, for the burial of the dead who have fallen betweenthe lines."

  This statement of the case did not at all satisfy the bewildered girl'smind, but there was no opportunity to correct it, for at that moment amaid came with a formally polite message to the effect that if Mr.Pegram and Miss Ronald had _quite_ finished their conversation in theporch, the Misses Ronald and Miss Blair were waiting to receive them inthe library.

  "After all," Agatha thought, afterward, "I do not know that I could havebettered his definition of the situation. But it isn't one that I like."

  All skies seemed serene as the two miscreants entered the library,Baillie making all that was necessary of apology by saying:

  "Pardon us, good ladies, I pray you. We have lingered too long in theporch, but you will graciously attribute our fault to the unusual beautyof the sunset. Sunsets mean so much, you know. They suggest the end ofpleasant things and the coming of a darkness to which we do not know thedawn. I cannot help thinking that the sunset that Miss Ronald and I havebeen witnessing is typical. Our beautiful Virginia life is at itssunset. A night-time of war and suffering is approaching, and we cannotknow of the day that must follow."

  At this point Miss Blair relieved the situation by giving theconversation a thoroughly practical and commonplace turn.

  "Why, Mr. Pegram," she exclaimed, "you surely do not doubt the outcomeof the war? You confidently expect the triumph of our righteous cause?"

  "Well, I hope for it. But the size and the number of the guns will havesomething to do with the result, and our enemies can put four or fivemen and four or five guns to our one in the field. It is a dark nightthat must follow our sunset. We can only do our best, and leave theresult to God. Ladies, I bid you good night, and good-bye; for I fear Ishall see none of you again soon. I shall be off soldiering almost atonce."