XX
_TWO HOME-COMINGS_
News of Agatha's safe return to Virginia had been sent to Colonel Archerby a courier, on the morning of her arrival at Stuart's headquarters,and the octogenarian promenaded up and down the porch all the next day,during her homeward journey.
He had greatly grieved to have his "ladybird" undertake her lateperilous enterprise at all. But with him at least Agatha was accustomedto have her way, and moreover the spirit of the old soldier was strongwithin him still, so that he was intensely in sympathy with Agatha'scourageous purpose to render such service as a woman might to the causethat both had at heart.
But Agatha had a harder task before her now. Remembering theheart-broken tone in which he had bidden her good-bye on the formeroccasion, and easily imagining the suffering he must have enduredduring her absence, both from loneliness and from apprehension for hersafety, she thought with something like terror of her new necessity ofleaving him again, almost in the very hour of his joy at her return. Forit was her resolute purpose to set out again within a very few days,--assoon, indeed, as she could feel confidence that her preliminary letterswould reach their destination before her own arrival there.
There were other matters that troubled her, too. She must tell herChummie the reason for her second journey, and that would be adistressing thing for her to do. She must tell him frankly--for shewould never in the least trifle with truth, especially in dealing withhim--that she had learned to love Baillie Pegram, and that she had ineffect put it out of possibility that Baillie Pegram should ever ask forknowledge of that fact.
To a woman of her sensitively proud nature, such a confession, even toher grandfather, seemed almost shameful. She shrank from the verythought of it, and flushed crimson every time it came to her mind duringthat long day's ride. Yet not for one moment did she falter in herdetermination to undergo the ordeal. Not for one moment did sheentertain a thought of evading the painful confession, or in any waydisguising the truth. So much was due to her grandfather, and never inher life had she cheated him of his dues as Chummie. It was due toherself also. To shrink from a duty because of its painfulness would becowardice, and there was no touch or trace of that most detestableweakness in her soul.
"Anyhow," she resolved, "I'll let him have one whole day of joy before Igrieve him with the news that I must go away again. And in telling himof my first journey I'll say as little as I can about the dangersencountered and the hardships endured; I'll make as much of a frolic ofit as I can in the telling. Surely there will be no untruthfulness inthat."
That day's journey was a long one, but the start was early, and BailliePegram's horse was a willing one, as that energetic young man's horseswere apt to be, while as for the troopers of the escort, they and theirhorses were accustomed to follow at any pace their leader might set. Itwas barely three o'clock in the afternoon, therefore, when the cavalcadearrived at Willoughby, and Agatha threw herself into the old gentleman'sarms.
"Oh, Agatha!"
"Oh, Chummie!"
That at first was all that the two could say. When Colonel Archer foundvoice he greeted the troopers and bade them leave their horses to thecare of his servants. For the men were of that class, socially, to whichColonel Archer belonged, and there was no thought at that time inVirginia of treating a gentleman otherwise than as a gentleman, merelybecause he happened to be a private soldier.
"You will be my guests for the night," the host said, quite as if thatsettled the matter. But the sergeant had orders which he mustobey,--orders which Stuart, with his unfailing foresight, had probablygiven, to make sure that the presence of his men at Willoughby overnightmight not spoil an occasion of tender affection.
"Thank you very cordially, Colonel Archer," answered the sergeant; "butwe are under orders to move on toward Loudoun County to-night. We arepermitted to rest the horses for three hours only. After that we mustmarch about a dozen miles before sleeping, so that we may complete alittle scouting expedition into Loudoun to-morrow. Our orders on thatpoint are peremptory."
"Well, Ladybird, we'll have the gentlemen to dinner at any rate. As soonas I heard of your coming I went out with my gun, and brought back twobig wild turkeys, as fat as butter. I thought you might come underescort, so I've had them put both the birds on the spit. I'll wager yougentlemen haven't seen a wild turkey this fall."
So he ran on with his hospitable greetings, managing in his joyousnervousness to upset two of the glasses which he had ordered a servantto bring with the decanters, for the troopers' refreshment. Agathamanaged presently to get a word with him aside.
"It is three o'clock, Chummie--an hour before dinner. I'll have timeenough to boil myself a little. Think of it, Chummie, I haven't had ahot bath for a whole week!" Then turning to her escort she excusedherself until the dinner-hour.
This was an unhappy circumstance, as Agatha learned when she came down,fresh-faced, to the dinner. For, left alone with the troopers, the oldgentleman naturally asked them concerning the details of her coming intoStuart's lines, and as the story of her dash through the canister firewas echoing throughout the army, the young fellows grew enthusiastic intheir minute descriptions of her peril and her heroism. When Agathareappeared, therefore, the old gentleman was all a-tremble. He met herat the foot of the stairway, and a little scene followed, which told thegirl not only that he knew all that had been most harrowing in herexperiences, but that the knowledge of it would make her coming absencecruelly hard for him to bear.
At dinner he found himself too tremulous to carve, and, for the firsttime in his life, he relinquished that most hospitable of all a host'soffices to the younger men.
"Never mind, Ladybird," he said, cheerily, as he saw how greatlytroubled she was, "it will pass presently, and you shall find me quitemyself again in the morning. We're going after the birds, you know, youand I. I haven't allowed a partridge to be killed on the plantation thisfall, so that you might be sure of a good day's sport with Chummie."
Thus it came about that as the old man and the young woman sat in thefirelight that evening, after the troopers were gone, Agatha changed herpurpose and told him of Baillie Pegram. Delicately, but with perfectcandour, she told the whole of the truth.
"I learned to like him very much while I was in Richmond last Christmas,and I was not to blame for that, was I, Chummie? He was so kind to me,so good in a thousand little ways, so gentle in all his strength that hereminded me of you, more than anybody else ever did. I used often tothink that he was very much the sort of man you must have been when youwere in your twenties. There was no reason, that I knew of, why I shouldnot like him. He was a gentleman, the representative of one of the bestfamilies in the State, a man of the highest character, well-educated,travelled, intellectual, and of charming manners. He did more thananybody else--or everybody else for that matter--to make the time passpleasantly for me. You see how it was, don't you, Chummie?"
The old gentleman nodded his head with a smile, and answered:
"I see how it was, Ladybird. Go on. Tell me all about it."
"Then one day there came a letter from The Oaks. It wasn't just ascolding letter. It was something much worse than that. For if my auntshad scolded me, I shouldn't have stood it."
"What would you have done, Ladybird?" asked the grandfather, with a lookof pleased and loving pride upon his countenance.
"I should have come back to Willoughby and you."
"And right welcome you would have been. But go on. What did the oldcats--psha! I didn't mean that; I thought I heard a cat yowling as Ispoke--what did the good ladies of The Oaks say to you?"
"O, they wrote very kindly and sorrowfully. They were shocked to knowthat I had permitted something like intimacy to grow up between myselfand a young man without consulting them as to the proprieties of thesituation. But how could I have done that, Chummie? You see I didn't sitdown and say, 'I'm going to be intimate with this young man if my auntsapprove.' The friendship just grew, quite naturally, like the grass on alawn. I didn't think about it
at all, and I don't see why I should. Imet Mr. Pegram in all the best houses; everybody was fond of him, andeverybody spoke of him in the highest terms. Why should I think--"
"You shouldn't, Ladybird. I should have been ashamed of you if you had.Only a vain or morbidly self-conscious girl would have thought in such acase. And only--there goes that confounded cat again--only elderlygentlewomen of secluded lives and a badly perverted sense of proprietywould ever have thought of such a thing. But continue, my child. Isuppose they told you about that idiotic old quarrel--"
"Yes, Chummie--they told me and they didn't tell me. They never wouldsay what it was all about, or how much there was in it. Indeed, theytold me I was guilty of a great irreverence in even asking concerningit. They said it should be quite enough for a well-ordered young womanto know that these people were my father's enemies. As Mr. BailliePegram never knew my father, I couldn't understand why he and I shouldbe enemies, but when I said something like that, I saw that the auntieswere terribly shocked. I suppose I'm not a 'well-ordered' young lady,Chummie."
"No! Thank God you're not. You are just a sweet, wholesome, lovablegirl--and that is very different from what those old--ladies call a'well-ordered' young woman."
"Well, anyhow," the girl resumed, "I obeyed my instructions. I wrote toMr. Pegram, telling him there could be no friendship between him and me,and do you know, Chummie, they blamed me more for that than for all therest. They said it was 'unladylike' and a lot more things, for me towrite to him at all. But I never could find out what they thought Iought to have done. I couldn't break off the acquaintance withouttelling him I must do so, could I?"
"_You_ couldn't, and I'm glad you couldn't. A 'well-ordered' young ladywould have done it easily. She would have told a lot of lies about notbeing at home when he called, or having a headache when he wanted tosee her. You couldn't do that because you are honest and truthful, andthat's the best thing about you, except your love for your old Chummie,and even that wouldn't be of much account if I couldn't trust its truthand sincerity. Go on, child. I didn't mean to interrupt."
"O, but you must interrupt. That's the only way I know what you'rethinking. Well, I went to The Oaks sometime later, and while there Iwent out one morning for a ride by myself. My poor horse broke his leg,as I told you in a letter, and Mr. Baillie Pegram happened along, andwas very kind in helping me out of my trouble. He insisted that I shouldride his mare home. I tried all I could to refuse, but he showed me thatI simply could not help myself, and so I took the mare,--the same onethat was killed under him at Manassas. That time the aunties didactually scold me, or pretty nearly that. So I rebelled, and made up mymind to come back to you at once. Mr. Pegram dined at The Oaks on theday before I started, and he and I had a long talk, but of course itcould not change the situation. That was the last I saw of him untilthe day before the battle of Manassas, when he took a red feather out ofmy hat and wore it in the battle. He was terribly wounded in the fight,but he sent the feather back to me as he had promised to do. I hadquoted to him or let him quote to me the Indian's defiance, 'There iswar between me and thee.' It was after that that he insisted upon takingthe feather and wearing it through the battle."
The girl paused, but her grandfather said nothing for a whole minute.Perhaps he felt that she needed the pause before speaking further. Atlast he said, very low and gently:
"Tell me about yesterday morning."
She did so, sparing herself at no point. She told of Baillie's outburst,and of the declaration of his love. She told, too, of her chillinganswer, and her perversity in so managing the conversation as to preventa recurrence to the subject. Finally she broke down, saying withstreaming eyes:
"Oh, Chummie! I have ruined his life--and my own!"
"I don't know so well about that. He may recover, you know."
"Yes, I know. But what then?" At that she laid her head upon the oldman's breast and let herself become a little child again, in anabandonment of grief. And with a childlike confidence and candour shesaid at last:
"Oh, Chummie! Don't you understand? He can never know. He will alwaysthink of me as hard and cold and unresponsive. After what I said to himyesterday morning, he cannot again tell me--why, Chummie, it was as badas if I had slapped him in the face!"
The old man caressed her till her agitation subsided. Then, speaking ina tone of wisdom which irresistibly carried conviction with it, he said:
"You are wholly wrong, Agatha. Baillie Pegram is much too brave andtrue, and much too generous a man to let this matter rest where it is.If he recovers, as I pray God he may, be very sure he will come to youagain and tell you calmly what he blurted out without meaning to do so,under stress of a trying situation. You must go to sleep now, littlegirl. You are very weary and greatly overwrought. And we must be up withthe sun to-morrow on account of the birds. Good night, dear. You mustnever leave me again while I live."
There was unsteadiness in his step, as he gallantly ushered her throughthe doorway, and as he returned to the room to extinguish the solitarylamp. Then a heaviness came over him, and he sat down again in his easychair before the fire. The logs had ceased to blaze and crackle now, butthe old man sat still. The logs fell into a mass of glowing coals aftera time, and slowly the coals ceased to glow. One by one they went out.Still he did not move.
There were only ashes in the great fireplace when the morning came andAgatha found her Chummie still sitting there where the fire of his lifehad so gently gone out.
The Master of Warlock: A Virginia War Story Page 20