CHAPTER XL
A CONFUSION IN COVENANTS
During the next morning Harry Sheraton galloped down to the villageafter the morning's mail. On his return he handed me two letters. Onewas from Captain Matthew Stevenson, dated at Fort Henry, and informed methat he had been transferred to the East from Jefferson Barracks, incompany with other officers. He hinted at many changes in thedisposition of the Army of late. His present purpose in writing, as heexplained, was to promise us that, in case he came our way, he wouldcertainly look us up.
This letter I put aside quickly, for the other seemed to me to have amore immediate importance. I glanced it over, and presently foundoccasion to request a word or so with Colonel Sheraton. We withdrew tohis library, and then I handed him the letter.
"This," I explained, "is from Jennings & Jennings, my father's agents atHuntington, on whose advice he went into his coal speculations."
"I see. Their advice seems to have been rather disastrous."
"At first it seemed so," I answered, "but now they advise me by no meansto allow foreclosure to be completed if it can be avoided. The lands areworth many times the price paid for them."
"I see--and they have some sort of an offer as well--eh?"
"A half loaf is better than no bread," I assented. "I think I ought togo out there and examine all this in detail."
"But one thing I don't understand about this," began Colonel Sheraton,"your father's partner, Colonel Meriwether, was on joint paper with him.What did he say to you when you saw him?"
"Nothing," I replied. "We did not discuss the matter."
"What? That was the sole reason why you went out to see him!"
"Other matters came up," said I. "This was not brought up at all betweenus."
Colonel Sheraton looked at me keenly. "I must admit, Mr. Cowles," saidhe, slowly weighing his words, that of late certain things have seemedmore than a little strange to me. If you will allow me so to expressmyself, there is in my own house, since you came, a sort of atmosphereof indefiniteness. Now, why was it you did not take up these matterswith Colonel Meriwether? Certainly they were important to you; and underthe circumstances they have a certain interest to myself. What are youtrying to cover up?"
"Nothing from you of a business nature, sir; and nothing from Miss Graceof any nature which I think she ought to know."
He turned on me swiftly. "Young man, what do you propose to do in regardto my daughter? I confess I have contemplated certain plans in yourbenefit. I feel it is time to mention these matters with you."
ON HIS WAY BACK HOME JOHN FINDS HIS MOTHER AND GRACE, WHOHAVE COME TO MEET HIM]
JOHN'S MOTHER HEARS THAT HIS MISSION HAS BEEN A FAILURE"I'VE FAILED. MOTHER!"]
"It is time," I answered. "But if you please, it seems to me Miss Graceand I should first take them up together. Has she spoken to you in anyway that might lead you to think she would prefer our engagement to bebroken?"
"No, sir. There has only been a vagueness and indefiniteness which I didnot like."
"Had my affairs not mended, Colonel Sheraton, I could not have blamedany of you for breaking the engagement. If conditions prove to bepractically the same now as then, it is she who must decide her courseand mine."
"That is perfectly honorable. I have no criticism to offer. I have onlyher happiness at heart."
"Then, if you please, sir, since I am rather awkwardly situated here, Ishould like very much to see Miss Grace this morning."
He bowed in his lofty way and left me. Within a half hour a servantbrought me word that Miss Grace would see me in the drawing-room.
She was seated in a wide, low chair near the sunny window, half hid bythe leafy plants that grew in the boxes there. She was clad in loosemorning wear over ample crinoline, her dark hair drawn in broad bandsover the temples, half confined by a broad gold comb, save two longcurls which hung down her neck at either side. It seemed to me she wasvery thin--thinner and darker than ever. Under her wide eyes were heavycircles. She held out her hand to me, and it lay cold and lifeless in myown. I made some pleasant talk of small matters as I might, and soon asI could arrived at the business of the letter I had received.
"Perhaps I have been a little hurried, after all, in classing myself asan absolute pauper," I explained as she read. "You see, I must go outthere and look into these things."
"Going away again?" She looked up at me, startled.
"For a couple of weeks. And when I come back, Miss Grace--"
So now I was up to the verge of that same old, definite question.
She sat up in the chair as though pulling herself together in somesudden resolve, and looked me straight in the face.
"Jack," she said, "why should we wait?"
"To be sure," said I. "Only I do not want you to marry a pauper if anyact of my own can make him better than a pauper in the meantime."
"You temporize," she said, bitterly. "You are not glad. Yet you came tome only last spring, and you--"
"I come to you now, Miss Grace," I said.
"Ah, what a difference between then and now!" she sighed.
For a time we could find nothing fit to say. At last I was forced tobring up one thing I did not like to mention.
"Miss Grace," said I, seating myself beside her, "last night, or ratherthis morning, after midnight, I found a man prowling around in theyard."
She sprang up as though shocked, her face gray, her eyes full of terror.
"You have told!" she exclaimed, "My father knows that Captain Orme--"
It was my own turn to feel surprise, which perhaps I showed.
"I have told no one. It seemed to me that first I ought to come to youand ask you about this. Why was Orme there?"
She stared at me. "He told me he would come back some time," sheadmitted at length. All the while she was fighting with herself,striving, exactly as Orme had done, to husband her powers for animpending struggle. "You see," she added, "he has secret business allover the country--I will own I believe him to be in the secret serviceof the inner circle of a number of Southern congressmen and businessmen. He is in with the Southern circle--of New Orleans, ofCharleston--Washington. For this reason he could not always choose hishours of going and coming."
"Does your father know of his peculiar hours?"
"I presume so, of course."
"I saw a light at a window," I began, "whose window I do not know,doubtless some servant's. It could not have been a signal?"
"A _signal_? What do you mean? Do you suspect me of putting out a beaconlight for a cheap night adventure with some man? Do you expect me totolerate that sort of thing from you?"
"I ask you to tolerate nothing," I said. "I am not in the habit ofsuspecting ladies. But I ask you if you can explain the light on thatside of the house."
"Jack," she said, flinging out a hand, "forgive me. I admit that CaptainOrme and I carried on a bit of a flirtation, after he came back--afterhe had told me about you. But why should that--why, he did not know youwere here."
"No," said I, dryly, "I don't think he did. I am glad to know that youfound something to amuse you in my absence."
"Let us not speak of amusements in the absence of each other," she saidbitterly. "Think of your own. But when you came back, it was all as itwas last spring. I could love no other man but you, Jack, and you knowit. After all, if we are quits, let us stay quits, and forgive, andforget--let us forget, Jack."
I sat looking at her as she turned to me, pleading, imploring in herface, her gesture.
"Jack," she went on, "a woman needs some one to take care of her, tolove her. I want you to take care of me--you wouldn't throw me over forjust a little thing--when all the time you yourself--"
"The light shone for miles across the valley," said I.
"Precisely, and that was how he happened to come up, I do not doubt. Hethought we were still up about the place. My father has always told himto make this his home, and not to go to the tavern. They are friendspolitically, in many ways, as you know."
"The light then was that of some servant?"
"Certainly it was. I know nothing of it. It was an accident, and yet youblame me as though--why, it was all accident that you met Captain Orme.Tell me, Jack, did you quarrel? What did he tell you?"
"Many things. He is no fit man for you to know, nor for any woman."
"Do I not know that? I will never see him again."
"No, he will never come back here again, that is fairly sure. He haspromised that; and he asked me to promise one thing, by the way."
"What was that?"
"To keep my promise with you. He asked me to marry you! Why?"
Infinite wit of woman! What chance have we men against such weapons? Itwas coquetry she forced to her face, and nothing else, when sheanswered: "So, then, he was hard hit, after all! I did not know that.How tender of him, to wish me married to another than himself! Theconceit of you men is something wondrous."
"Mr. Orme was so kind as to inform me that I was a gentleman, andlikewise a very great ass."
"Did you promise him to keep your promise, Jack?" She put both her handson mine as it lay on the chair arm. Her eyes looked into mine straightand full. It would have taken more imagination than mine to suspect theslightest flickering in their lids. "Jack," she murmured over and overagain. "I love you! I have never loved any other man."
"So now," I resumed, "I have come to you to tell you of all thesethings, and to decide definitely and finally in regard to our nextplans."
"But you believe me, Jack? You do promise to keep your promise? You dolove me?"
"I doubt no woman whom I wed," I answered. "I shall be gone for two orthree weeks. As matters are at this moment it would be folly for eitherof us to do more than let everything stand precisely as it is until wehave had time to think. I shall come back, Miss Grace, and I shall askyour answer."
"Jack, I'm sure of that," she murmured. "It is a grand thing for a womanto have the promise of a man who knows what a promise is."
I winced at this, as I had winced a thousand times at similar thrustsunconsciously delivered by so many. "No," said I, "I think Orme isright. I am only a very stupid ass."
She reached out her hand. I felt her fingers close cold and hard onmine, as though loth to let me go. I kissed her fingers and withdrew,myself at least very glad to be away.
I retired presently to my room to arrange my portmanteaus for an earlyjourney. And there, filling up one-half of the greater valise, was aroll of hide, ragged about its edge. I drew it out, and spread it flatupon the bed before me, whitened and roughened with bone, reddened withblood, written on with rude stylus, bearing certain words which all thetime, day and night, rang, yes, and sang, in my brain.
"_I, John Cowles--I, Ellen Meriwether--take thee, for better, forworse--till death--_" I saw her name, _E-l-l-e-n._
The Way of a Man Page 40