CHAPTER XLI
ELLEN OR GRACE
Presently once more I departed. My mother also ended her visit atDixiana, preferring to return to the quiet of her two little whitewashedrooms, and the old fireplace, and the sooty pot-hooks which our people'sslaves had used for two generations in the past.
As to what I learned at Huntington, which place I reached after somedays of travel, I need say no more than that I began to see fullyverified my father's daring and his foresight. The matter of the coalland speculation was proved perfectly feasible. Indeed, my conferencewith our agents made it clear that little remained excepting thequestions of a partition of interests, or of joint action betweenColonel Meriwether and my father's estate. The right of redemption stillremained, and there offered a definite alternative of selling a part ofthe lands and retaining the remainder clear of incumbrance. We wroteColonel Meriwether all these facts from Huntington, requesting hisimmediate attention. After this, I set out for home, not ill-pleasedwith the outlook of my material affairs.
All these details of surveying and locating lands, of measuring shaftsand drifts, and estimating cubic yards in coal, and determining thestatus of tenures and fees, had occupied me longer than I hadanticipated. I had been gone two days beyond a month, when finally,somewhat wearied with stage travel, I pulled up at Wallingford.
As I approached the little tavern I heard much laughing, talking,footfalls, hurrying, as men came or went on one errand or another. Alarge party had evidently arrived on a conveyance earlier than my own. Ileaned against the front rail of the tavern gallery and waited for somestable-boy to come. The postmaster carried away his mail sack, theloungers at the stoop gradually disappeared, and so presently I began tolook about me. I found my eyes resting upon a long figure at the fartherend of the gallery, sitting in the shade of the steep hill which camedown, almost sharp as a house roof, back of the tavern, and so cut offthe evening sun. It was apparently a woman, tall and thin, clad in aloose, stayless gown, her face hid in an extraordinarily long, greensun-bonnet. Her arms were folded, and she was motionless. But now andthen there came a puff of smoke from within the caverns of thesun-bonnet, accompanied with the fragrant odor of natural leaf, whosepresence brooked no debate by the human nose. I looked at this strangeragain and yet again, then slowly walked up and held out my hand. No onein all the world who could counterfeit Mandy McGovern, even so far away,and under conditions seemingly impossible for her presence!
Mandy's pipe well-nigh fell from her lips. "Well, good God A'mighty! Ifit ain't you, son!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," I smiled.
"They told me you-all lived somewheres around here."
"Aunt Mandy," I interrupted. "Tell me, what in the world are you doinghere?"
"Why, me and the folks just come down to look around. Her and her Pa wascomin', and I come, too."
"_Who_ came with you, Aunt Mandy?"
"Still askin' fool questions like you didn't know! Why, you know who itwas. The Colonel's ordered to jine his rigiment at Fort Henry. Gal comealong o' him, o' course. I come along with the gal, o' course. My boyand my husband come along with me, o' course."
"Your son, Andrew Jackson?"
"Uh-huh. He's somewheres 'round, I reckon. I see him lickin' a nigger afew minutes ago. Say, that boy's come out to be the fightenest feller Iever did see. Him allowin' he got that there Injun, day we had the fightdown on the Platte, it just made a new man out'n him. 'Fore long hewhupped a teamster that got sassy with him. Then he taken a rock andlammed the cook 'cause he looked like he was laffin' at him. Not longatter that, he killed a Injun he 'lowed was crawlin' 'round ourplace--done kilt him and taken his skulp 'fore I had time to explain tohim that like enough that Injun was plum peaceful, and only comin' in toget a loaf o' bread."
"Bread? Aunt Mandy, where was all this?"
"Where d'ye suppose it was unlessen at our _ho_tel? My man and me seenthere was a good openin' there on the trail this side o' the south fork,and we set up a hotel in a dugout. Them _emigrants_ would give youanything you aste for a piece o' pie, or a real baked loaf o' bread. Wemay go back there some time. We could make our pile in a couple o'years. I got over three hundred dollars right here in my pocket."
"But I don't quite understand about the man--your husband--"
"Yep, my lastest one. Didn't you know I married ole man Auberry? He's'round here somewheres, lookin' fer a drink o' licker, I reckon.Colonel Meriwether 'lowed there'd be some fightin' 'round these partsafore long. My man and my son 'lowed the West was gettin' right quietfor them, and they'd just take a chanct down here, to see a little lifein other parts."
"I hadn't heard of this last marriage of yours, Aunt Mandy," I ventured.
"Oh, yes, me and him hooked up right soon atter you and the gal gotlost. Don't see how you missed our place when you come East. We donetook at least six bits off'n every other man, woman or child that comethrough there, east or west, all summer long. You see I was tired ofthat lazy husband o' mine back home, and Auberry he couldn't see nothin'to that woman o' his'n atter he found out how I could bake pie andbread. So we both seem' the chanct there was there on the trail, we doneset up in business. Say, I didn't know there was so many people in thewhole world as they was of them emi_grants_. Preacher come along in awagon one day--broke, like most preachers is. We kep' him overnight,free, and he merried us next mornin' for nothin'. Turn about's fairplay, I reckon."
I scarcely heard her querulous confidences. "Where is ColonelMeriwether?" I asked her at last.
"Inside," she motioned with her pipe. "Him and the gal, too. But say,who's that a-comin' down the street there in that little sawed-offwagon?"
I looked. It was my fiancee, Grace Sheraton!
By her side was my friend, Captain Stevenson, and at the other end ofthe seat was a fluttering and animated figure that could be no one elsebut Kitty. So then I guessed that Stevenson and his wife had come onduring my absence and were visiting at Dixiana. No doubt they haddriven down now for the evening mail.
Could anything have lacked now to set in worse snarl my already tangledskein of evil fortune! Out of all the thousand ways in which we severalactors in this human comedy might have gone without crossing eachother's paths, why should Fate have chosen the only one to bring us thustogether?
Kitty seemed first to spy me, and greeted me with an enthusiastic wavingof her gloves, parasol, veil and handkerchief, all held confusedly,after her fashion, in one hand. "P-r-r-r-t!" she trilled,school-girl-like, to attract my attention meanwhile. "Howdy, you man! Ifit isn't John Cowles I'm a sinner. Matt, look at him, isn't he old, andsour, and solemn?"
Stevenson jumped out and came up to me, smiling, as I passed down thesteps. I assisted his vivacious helpmeet to alight. I knew that all thistangle would presently force itself one way or the other. So I onlysmiled, and urged her and her husband rapidly as I might up the stepsand in at the door, where I knew they would immediately be surprised andfully occupied. Then again I approached Grace Sheraton where she stillsat, somewhat discomfited at not being included in these plans, yet notunwilling to have a word with me alone.
"You sent me no word," began she, hurriedly. "I was not expecting youto-day; but you have been gone more than two weeks longer than you saidyou would be." The reproach of her voice was not lost to me.
Stevenson had run on into the tavern after his first greeting to me, andpresently I heard his voice raised in surprise, and Kitty's excitedchatter. I heard Colonel Meriwether's voice answering. I heard anothervoice.
"Who is in there?" asked Grace Sheraton of me, curiously. I looked herslowly and fully in the face.
"It is Colonel Meriwether," I answered. "He has come on unexpectedlyfrom the West. His daughter is there also, I think. I have not yet seenher."
"That woman!" breathed Grace Sheraton, sinking back upon her seat. Hereye glittered as she turned to me. "Oh, I see it all now--you have beenwith them--_you have met her again!_ My God! I could kill you both--Icould--I say I could!"
"Listen," I whi
spered to her, putting a hand on her wrist firmly. "Youare out of your head. Pull up at once. I have not seen or heard fromeither of them. I did not know they were coming, I tell you."
"Oh, I say, Cowles," sang out Stevenson, at that moment running out,flushed and laughing. "What do you think, here's my Colonel come andcaught me at my leave of absence! He's going across the mountains, overto his home in Albemarle. We're all to be at Henry together. But Isuppose you met them--"
"No, not yet," I said. "I've just got in myself."
We both turned to the girl sitting pale and limp upon the seat of thewagonette. I was glad for her sake that the twilight was coming.
The courage of her family did not forsake Grace Sheraton. I saw herforce her lips to smile, compel her face to brighten as she spoke toCaptain Stevenson.
"I have never met any of the Meriwethers. Will you gentlemen presentme?"
I assisted her to alight, and at that time a servant came and stood atthe horse's head. Stevenson stepped back to the door, not having as yetmentioned my presence there.
There came out upon the gallery as he entered that other whose presenceI had for some moments known, whom I knew within the moment I mustmeet--Ellen!
Her eyes fell upon me. She stepped back with a faint exclamation,leaning against the wall, her hands at her cheeks as she stared. I donot know after that who or what our spectators were. I presume Stevensonwent on into the house to talk with Colonel Meriwether, whom I did notsee at all at that time.
The first to speak was Grace Sheraton. Tall, thin, darker than ever, itseemed to me, and now with eyes which flickered and glittered as I hadnever seen them, she approached the girl who stood there shrinking. "Itis Miss Meriwether? I believe I should know you," she began, holding outher hand.
"This is Miss Grace Sheraton," I said to Ellen, and stopped. Then I drewthem both away from the door and from the gallery, walking to theshadows of the long row of elms which shaded the street, where we wouldbe less observed.
For the first time in my life I saw the two together and might comparethem. Without my will or wish I found my eyes resting upon Ellen.Without my will or wish, fate, nature, love, I know not what, madeselection.
Ellen had not as yet spoken. "Miss Sheraton," I repeated to her finally,"is the lady to whom I am engaged to be married."
The vicious Sheraton temper broke bounds. There was more than half asneer on my fiancee's face. "I should easily know who this lady is," shesaid.
Ellen, flushed, perturbed, would have returned to the gallery, but Iraised my hand. Grace Sheraton went on. "An engagement is little. Youand he, I am advised, lived as man and wife, forgetting that he and Iwere already pledged as man and wife."
"That is not true!" broke in Ellen, her voice low and even. She at leasthad herself in hand and would tolerate no vulgar scene.
"I could not blame either of you for denying it."
"It was Gordon Orme that told her," I said to Ellen.
She would not speak or commit herself, except to shake her head, and tobeat her hands softly together as I had seen her do before when indistress.
"A gentleman must lie like a gentleman," went on Grace Sheraton,mercilessly. "I am here to congratulate you both."
I saw a drop of blood spring from Ellen's bitten lip.
"What she says is true," I went on to Ellen. "It is just as Gordon Ormetold your father, and as I admitted to you. I was engaged to be marriedto Miss Sheraton, and I am still so engaged."
Still her small hands beat together softly, but she would not cry out,she would not exclaim, protest, accuse. I went on with the accusationagainst myself.
"I did not tell you. I had and have no excuse except that I loved you. Iam here now for my punishment. You two shall decide it."
At last Ellen spoke to my fiancee. "It is true," said she. "I thoughtmyself engaged to Mr. Cowles. I did not know of you--did not know thathe had deceived me, too. But fortunately, my father found us before itwas too late."
"Let us spare ourselves details," rejoined Grace Sheraton. "He haswronged both of us."
"Yes, he has done wrong," I heard Ellen say. "Perhaps all men do--I donot want to know. Perhaps they are not always to blame--I do not want toknow."
The measure of the two women was there in those words, and I felt it.
"Could you want such a man?" asked Grace Sheraton, bitterly. I saw Ellenshake her head slowly. I heard her lips answer slowly. "No," she said."Could you?"
I looked to Grace Sheraton for her answer, and as I looked I saw astrange and ghastly change come over her face. "My God!" she exclaimed,reaching out a hand against a tree trunk to steady herself, "Yourleavings? No! But what is to become of me!"
"You wish him?" asked Ellen. "You are entirely free. But now, if youplease, I see no reason why I should trouble you both. Please, now, Ishall go."
But Grace Sheraton sprang to her side as she turned. I was amazed at herlook. It was entreaty on her face, not anger! She held out her hands toEllen, her face strangely distorted. And then I saw Ellen's face alsochange. She put out her hand in turn.
"There," she said, "time mends very much. Let us hope--" Then I saw herthroat work oddly, and her words stop.
No man may know the speech with which women exchange thought. I saw thetwo pass a few paces apart, saw Grace Sheraton stoop and whispersomething.
It was her last desperate resource, a hazard handsomely taken. It won,as courage should, or at least as much as a lie may win at any time; forit was a bitter, daring, desperate shaming lie she whispered to Ellen.
As Ellen's face turned toward me again I saw a slow, deep scorn invadeit. "If I were free," she said to me, "if you were the last man onearth, I would not look at you again. You deceived me--but that was onlya broken word, and not a broken life! This girl--indeed she may ask whatwill become of her!"
"I am tired of all these riddles," I broke out, my own anger nowarising, and myself not caring to be made thus sport of petticoats.
"Your duty is clear," went on my new accuser, flashing out at me. "Ifyou have a trace of manhood left, then let the marriage be atonce--to-morrow. How dare you delay so long!" She choked in her ownanger, humiliation, scorn--I know not what, blushed in her own shame.
Orme was right. I have always been a stupid ass. It took me moments tograsp the amazing truth, to understand the daring stroke by which GraceSheraton had won her game. It had cost her much. I saw her standingthere trembling, tearful, suffering, her eyes wet. She turned to me,waiting for me to save her or leave her damned.
I would not do it. All the world will say that I was a fool, that I wasin no way bound to any abhorrent compact, that last that any man couldtolerate. Most will say that I should have turned and walked away fromboth. But I, who have always been simple and slow of wit, I fear, andperhaps foolish as to certain principles, now felt ice pass through allmy veins as my resolution came to me.
I could not declare against the woman who had thus sworn against me.With horror I saw what grotesque injustice was done to me. I broke outinto a horrible laughter.
I had said that I had come for my punishment, and here it was for me totake. I had told Orme that one day I would pay him for my life. Here nowwas Orme's price to be paid! If this girl had not sinned with me, shehad done so by reason of me. It was my fault; and a gentleman pays forhis fault in one way or another. There seemed to me, I say, but one wayin which I could pay, I being ever simple and slow of wit. I, JohnCowles, without thinking so far as the swift consequences, must now actas the shield of the girl who stood there trembling, the girl who hadconfessed to her rival her own bitter sin, but who had lied as to heraccomplice in her sin!
"It is true," I said, turning to Ellen. "I am guilty. I told you Ideserved no mercy, and I ask none. I have not asked Miss Sheraton torelease me from my engagement. I shall feel honored if she will nowaccept my hand. I shall be glad if she will set the date early as maybe."
Night was now coming swiftly from the hills.
Ellen turned to pass back toward the doo
r. "Your pardon!" I exclaimed toGrace Sheraton, and sprang after Ellen.
"Good-by," I said, and held out my hand to her. "Let us end all theseheroics, and do our best. Where is your husband? I want to congratulatehim."
"My husband!" she said in wonder. "What do you mean?"
Night, I say, was dropping quickly, like a shroud spread by a mightyhand.
"Belknap--" I began.
"Ah," she said bitterly. "You rate me low--as low as I do you!"
"But your father told me himself you two were to be married," I brokeout, surprise, wonder, dread, rebellion now in every fiber of my bodyand soul.
"My father loves me dearly," she replied slowly. "But he cannot marry meuntil I wish. No, I am not married, and I never will be. Good-by."
Again I heard my own horrible laughter.
Night had fallen thick and heavy from the mountains, like a dark, blackshroud.
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