Before the Dawn: A Story of the Fall of Richmond

by Joseph A. Altsheler

  CHAPTER XXVI

  CALYPSO

  It was announced that the presidential reception on the followingevening would be of special dignity and splendour, and it was thoughtthe part of duty by all who were of consequence in Richmond to attendand make a brave show before the world. Mr. Davis, at the futile peaceconference in the preceding July, had sought to impress upon theNorthern delegates the superior position of the South. "It was true," hesaid, "that Sherman was before Atlanta, but what matter if he took it?the world must have the Southern cotton crop, and with such an asset theSouthern Republic must stand." He was not inclined now to withdraw inany particular from this position, and his people stood solidly behindhim.

  Prescott, as he prepared for the evening, had much of the same spirit,although his was now a feeling of personal defiance toward a group ofpersons rather than toward the North in general.

  "Are you going alone?" asked his mother.

  "Why, yes, mother, unless you will go with me, and I know you won't.Whom else could I ask?"

  "I thought that you might take Miss Catherwood," she replied withoutevasion.

  "No chance there," replied Prescott, with a light laugh.

  "Why not?"

  "Miss Catherwood would scorn a humble individual like myself. The'Beautiful Yankee' looks far higher. She will be escorted to-night bythe brilliant, the accomplished, the powerful and subtle gentleman, theHonourable James Sefton."

  "You surprise me!" said his mother, and her look was indeed full ofastonishment and inquiry, as if some plan of hers had gone astray.

  "I have heard the Secretary's name mentioned once or twice in connectionwith hers," she said, "but I did not know that his attentions hadshifted completely from Helen Harley. Men are indeed changeablecreatures."

  "Are you just discovering that, at your age, mother?" asked Prescottlightly.

  "I believe Lucia Catherwood too noble a woman to love a man like JamesSefton," she said.

  "Why, what do you know of Miss Catherwood?"

  His mother did not answer him, and presently Prescott went to thereception, but early as he was, Colonel Harley, the two editors andothers were there before him. Colonel Harley, as Raymond termed it, was"extremely peacocky." He wore his most gorgeous raiment and in additionhe was clothed about with vanity. Already he was whispering in the earof Mrs. Markham, who had renewed her freshness, her youth and herliveliness.

  "If I were General Markham," said Raymond cynically, "I'd detail a guardof my most faithful soldiers to stand about my wife."

  "Do you think she needs all that protection?" asked Winthrop.

  "Well, no, _she_ doesn't need it, but it may save others," repliedRaymond with exceeding frankness.

  Winthrop merely laughed and did not dispute the comment. The nextarrival of importance was that of Helen Harley and General Wood. ColonelHarley frowned, but his sister's eyes did not meet his, and the look ofthe mountaineer was so lofty and fearless that he was a bold man indeedwho would have challenged him even with a frown. Helen was all in white,and to Prescott she seemed some summer flower, so pure, so snowy and sogentle was she. But the General, acting upon Prescott's advice, hadevidently taken his courage in his hands and arrayed himself as one whohoped to conquer. His gigantic figure was enclosed for the first timesince Prescott had known him in a well-fitting uniform, and his greatblack mane of hair and beard had been trimmed by one who knew hisbusiness. The effect was striking and picturesque. Prescott rememberedto have read long ago in a child's book of natural history that theblack-maned lion was the loftiest and boldest of his kind, and GeneralWood seemed to him now to be the finest of the black-maned lions.

  There was a shade of embarrassment in the manner of Helen Harley whenshe greeted Prescott. She, too, had recollections; perhaps she hadfancied once, like Prescott, that she loved when she did not love. Buther hesitation was over in a moment and she held out her hand warmly.

  "We heard of your return from the South," she said. "Why haven't youbeen to see us?"

  Prescott made some excuse about the pressure of duty, and then, bearinghis friend's interest in mind, spoke of General Wood, who was now inconversation some distance away with the President himself.

  "I believe that General Wood is to-night the most magnificent figure inthe South," he said. "It is well that Mr. Davis greets him warmly. Heought to. No man under the rank of General Lee has done more for theConfederacy."

  His voice had all the accent of sincerity and Helen looked up at him,thanking him silently with her eyes.

  "Then you like General Wood," she said.

  "I am proud to have him as a friend and I should dislike very much tohave him as an enemy."

  Richmond in its best garb and with its bravest face was now arrivingfast, and Prescott drifted with some of his friends into one of thesmaller parlours. When he returned to the larger room it was crowded,and many voices mingled there. But all noise ceased suddenly and then inthe hush some one said: "There she comes!" Prescott knew who was meantand his anger hardened in him.

  Miss Catherwood was looking unusually well, and even those who haddubbed her "The Beautiful Yankee" added another superlative adjective. Aspot of bright red burned in either cheek and she held her head veryhigh. "How haughty she is!" Prescott heard some one say. Her height,her figure, her look lent colour to the comment.

  Her glance met Prescott's and she bowed to him, as to any other man whomshe knew, and then with the Secretary beside her, obviously proud of thelady with whom he had come, she received the compliments of her host.

  Lucia Catherwood did not seem to be conscious that everybody was lookingat her, yet she knew it well and realized that the gaze was a singularmixture of curiosity, like and dislike. It could not well be otherwise,where there was so much beauty to inspire admiration or jealousy andwhere there were sentiments known to be different from those of all theothers present. A mystery as tantalizing as it was seductive, togetherwith a faint touch of scandal which some had contrived to blow upon hername, though not enough really to injure her as yet, sufficed to give aspice to the conversation when she was its subject.

  The President engaged her in talk for a few minutes. He himself, clad ina grayish-brown suit of foreign manufacture, was looking thin and old,the slight stoop in his shoulders showing perceptibly. But he brightenedup with Southern gallantry as he talked to Miss Catherwood. He seemed tofind an attraction not only in her beauty and dignity, but in heropinions as well and the ease with which she expressed them. He held herlonger than any other guest, and Mr. Sefton was the third of three,facile, smiling, explaining how they wished to make a convert of MissCatherwood and yet expected to do so. Here in Richmond, surrounded bytruth and with her eyes open to it, she must soon see the error of herways; he, James Sefton, would vouch for it.

  "I have no doubt, Mr. Sefton, that you will contribute to that end,"said the President.

  She was the centre of a group presently, and the group included theSecretary, Redfield, Garvin and two or three Europeans then visiting inRichmond. Prescott, afar in a corner of the room, watched her covertly.She was animated by some unusual spirit and her eyes were brilliant; herspeech, too, was scintillating. The little circle sparkled withlaughter and jest. They undertook to taunt her, though with good humour,on her Northern sympathies, and she replied in like vein, meeting alltheir arguments and predicting the fall of Richmond.

  "Then, Miss Catherwood, we shall all come to you for a writtenprotection," said Garvin.

  "Oh, I shall grant it," she said. "The Union will have nothing to fearfrom you."

  But Garvin, unabashed at the general laugh on himself, returned to thecharge. Prescott wandered farther away and presently was talking to Mrs.Markham, Harley being held elsewhere by bonds of courtesy that he couldnot break. Thus eddies of the crowd cast these two, as it were, upon arock where they must find solace in each other or not at all.

  Mrs. Markham was a woman of wit and beauty. Prescott often had remarkedit, but never with such a realizing sense. She was young, gra
ceful, andwith a face sufficiently supplied with natural roses, and above all keenwith intelligence. She wore a shade of light green, a colour thatharmonized wonderfully with the green tints that lurked here and therein the depths of her eyes, and once when she gazed thoughtfully at herhand Prescott noticed that it was very white and well shaped. Well,Harley was at least a man of taste.

  Mrs. Markham was pliable, insinuating and complimentary. She wassmitten, too, by a sudden mad desire. Always she was alive with coquetryto her finger tips, and to-night she was aflame with it. But this quiet,grave young man hitherto had seemed to her unapproachable. She used tobelieve him in love with Helen Harley; now she fancied him in love withsome one else, and she knew his present frame of mind to be vexedirritation. Difficult conquests are those most valued, and here she sawan opportunity. He was so different from the others, too, that, weariedof easy victories, all her fighting blood was aroused.

  Mrs. Markham was adroit, and did not begin by flattering too much nor byattacking any other woman. She was quietly sympathetic, spoke guardedlyof Prescott's services in the war, and made a slight allusion to hisdifference in temperament from so many of the careless young men whofought without either forethought or present thought.

  Prescott found her presence soothing; her quiet words smoothed away hisirritation, and gradually, without knowing why, he began to have abetter opinion of himself. He wondered at his own stupidity in nothaving noticed before what an admirable woman was Mrs. Markham, how muchsuperior to others and how beautiful. He saw the unsurpassed curve ofher white arm where the sleeve fell back, and there were wonderful greentints lurking in the depths of her eyes. After all, he could not blameHarley--at least, for admiration.

  They passed into one of the smaller rooms and Prescott's sense ofsatisfaction increased. Here was one woman, and a woman of beauty andwit, too, who could appreciate him. They sat unnoticed in a corner andgrew confidential. Once or twice she carelessly placed her hand upon hiscoat sleeve, but let it rest there only for a moment, and on eachoccasion he noticed that the hand and wrist were entirely worthy of thearm. It was a small hand, but the fingers were long, tapering and verywhite, each terminating in a rosy nail. Her face was close to his, andnow and then he felt her light breath on his cheek. A thrill ran throughhis blood. It was very pleasant to sit in the smile of a witty andbeautiful woman.

  He looked up; Lucia Catherwood was passing on the arm of a Confederategeneral and for a moment her eyes flashed fire, but afterward becamecold and unmoved. Her face was blank as a stone as she moved on, whilePrescott sat red and confused. Mrs. Markham, seeming not to notice,spoke of Miss Catherwood, and she did not make the mistake ofcriticizing her.

  "The 'Beautiful Yankee' deserves her name," she said. "I know of noother woman who could become a veritable Helen of Troy if she would."

  "If she would," repeated Prescott; "but will she?"

  "That I do not know."

  "But I know," said Prescott recklessly; "I think she will."

  Mrs. Markham did not reply. She was still the sympathetic friend,disagreeing just enough to incite triumphant and forgiving opposition.

  "Even if she should, I do not know that I could wholly blame her," shesaid. "I fancy that it is not easy for any woman of great beauty toconcentrate her whole devotion on one man. It must seem to her that sheis giving too much to an individual, however good he may be."

  "Do you feel that way about it yourself, Mrs. Markham?"

  "I said a woman of great beauty."

  "It is the same."

  Her serenity was not at all disturbed and her hand rested lightly on hisarm once more.

  "You are a foolish boy," she said. "When you pay compliments, do not paythem in such blunt fashion."

  "I could not help it; I had too good an excuse."

  She smiled slightly.

  "Southern men are clever at flattery," she said, "and the Northern men,they say, are not; perhaps on that account those of the North are moresincere."

  "But we of the South often mean what we say, nevertheless."

  Had Prescott been watching her face, he might have seen a slight changeof expression, a momentary look of alarm in the green depths of theeyes--some one else was passing--but in another instant her face was ascalm, as angelic as ever.

  She spoke of Helen Harley and her brave struggle, the evident devotionof General Wood, and the mixed comment with which it was received.

  "Will he win her?" asked Prescott.

  "I do not know; but somebody should rescue her from that selfish oldfather of hers. He claims to be the perfect type of the true Southerngentleman--he will tell you so if you ask him--but if he is, I preferthat the rest of the world should judge the South by a false type."

  "But General Wood is not without rivals," said Prescott. "I have oftenthought that he had one of the most formidable kind in the Secretary,Mr. Sefton."

  He awaited her answer with eagerness. She was a woman of penetratingmind and what she said would be worth considering. Regarding him againwith that covert glance, she saw anxiety trembling on his lips and shereplied deliberately:

  "The Secretary himself is another proof why a woman of beauty should notconcentrate all her devotion on one man. You have seen him to-night andhis assiduous attention to another woman. Captain Prescott, all men arefickle--with a few exceptions, perhaps."

  She gave him her most stimulating glance, a look tipped with flame,which said even to a dull intelligence--and Prescott's was not--that hewas one of the few, the rare exceptions. As her talk became moreinsinuating her hand touched his arm and rested there ten seconds whereit had rested but five before. Again he felt her breath lightly on hischeek and he noticed how finely arched and seductive was the curve ofher long yellow lashes. He had felt embarrassed and ashamed when LuciaCatherwood saw him there in an attitude of devotion to Mrs. Markham, butthat sensation was giving way to stubbornness and anger. If Lucia shouldturn to some one else why might not he do the same?

  Yielding himself to the charms of a perfect face, a low and modulatedvoice and a mind that never mistook flippancy and triviality for wit, hemet her everywhere on common ground, and she wondered why she had notseen the attractions of this grave, quiet young man long before! Surelysuch a conquest--and she was not certain yet that it was achieved--wasworth a half-dozen victories of the insipid and over-easy kind.

  An hour later Prescott was with Lucia for a few minutes, and although noone else was within hearing, their conversation was formal andconventional to the last degree. She spoke of the pleasure of theevening, the brave show made by the Confederacy despite the pressure ofthe Northern armies, and her admiration for a spirit so gallant. He paidher a few empty compliments, told her she was the shining light amonglesser lights, and presently he passed out. He noticed, however, thatshe was, indeed, as he had said so lightly, the star of the evening. Thegroup around her never thinned, and not only were they admiring, butwere anxious to match wits with her. The men of Richmond applauded, asone by one each of them was worsted in the encounter; at least, they hadcompany in defeat, and, after all, defeat at such hands was rather moreto be desired than victory. When Prescott left she was still a centre ofattraction.

  Prescott, full of bitterness and having no other way of escape from hisentanglement, asked to be sent at once to his regiment in the trenchesbefore Petersburg, but the request was denied him, as it was likely, sohe was told, that he would be needed again in Richmond. He said nothingto his mother of his desire to go again to the front, but she saw thathe was restless and uneasy, although she asked no questions.

  He had ample cause to regret the refusal of the authorities to accede tohis wish, when rumour and vague innuendo concerning himself and Mrs.Markham came to his ears. He wondered that so much had been made of amere passing incident, but he forgot that his fortunes were intimatelyconnected with those of many others. He passed Harley once in thestreets and the flamboyant soldier favoured him with a stare so insolentand persistent that his wrath rose, and he did not find it easy tor
efrain from a quarrel; but he remembered how many names besides his ownwould be dragged into such an affair, and passed on.

  Helen Harley, too, showed coldness toward him, and Prescott began tohave the worst of all feelings--the one of lonesomeness andabandonment--as if every man's hand was against him. It begot pride,stubbornness and defiance in him, and he was in this frame of mind whenMrs. Markham, driving her Accomack pony, which somehow had survived along period of war's dangers, nodded cheerily to him and threw him awarm and ingratiating smile. It was like a shaft of sunshine on a wintryday, and he responded so beamingly that she stopped by the sidewalk andsuggested that he get into the carriage with her. It was done with suchlightness and grace that he scarcely noticed it was an invitation, therequest seeming to come from himself.

  It was a small vehicle with a narrow seat, and they were compelled tosit so close together that he felt the softness and warmth of her body.He was compelled, too, to confess that Mrs. Markham was as attractive bydaylight as by lamplight. A fur jacket and a dark dress, bothclose-fitting, did not conceal the curves of her trim figure. Her cheekswere glowing red with the rapid motion and the touch of a frostymorning, and the curve of long eyelashes did not wholly hide a pair ofeyes that with tempting glances could draw on the suspecting and theunsuspecting alike. Mrs. Markham never looked better, never fresher,never more seductive than on that morning, and Prescott felt, with asudden access of pride, that this delightful woman really liked him andconsidered him worth while. That was a genuine tribute and it did notmatter why she liked him.

  "May I take the reins?" he asked.

  "Oh, no," she replied, giving him one more of those dazzling smiles."You would not rob me, would you? I fancy that I look well driving and Ialso get the credit for spirit. I am going shopping. It may seem strangeto you that there is anything left in Richmond to buy or anything to buyit with, but the article that I am in search of is a paper of pins, andI think I have enough money to pay for it."

  "I don't know about that," said Prescott. "My friend Talbot gave fivehundred dollars for a paper collar. That was last year, and papercollars must be dearer now. So I imagine that your paper of pins willcost at least two thousand dollars."

  "I am not so foolish as to go shopping with our Confederate money. Icarry gold," she replied. With her disengaged hand she tapped a littlepurse she carried in her pocket and it gave forth an opulent tinkle.

  She was driving rapidly, chattering incessantly, but in such a gay andlight fashion that Prescott's attention never wandered from herself--thered glow of her cheeks, the changing light of her eyes and theoccasional gleam of white teeth as her lips parted in a laugh. Thus hedid not notice that she was taking him by a long road, and that one ortwo whom they passed on the street looked after them in meaning fashion.

  Prescott was not in love with Mrs. Markham, but he was charmed. Hers wasa soft and soothing touch after a hard blow. A healing hand wasoutstretched to him by a beautiful woman who would be adorable to makelove to--if she did not already belong to another man, such an oldcurmudgeon as General Markham, too! How tightly curled the tiny ringletson her neck! He was sitting so close that he could not help seeing themand now and then they moved lightly under his breath.

  He remembered that they were a long time in reaching the shop, but hedid not care and said nothing. When they arrived at last she asked himto hold the lines while she went inside. She returned in a few minutesand triumphantly held up a small package.

  "See," she said, "I have made my purchase, but it was the last they had,and no one can say when Richmond will be able to import another paper ofpins. Maybe we shall have to ask General Grant."

  "And then he won't let us," said Prescott.

  She laughed and glanced up at him from under the long, curlingeyelashes. The green tints showed faintly in her eyes and weresingularly seductive. She made no effort to conceal her high goodhumour, and Prescott now and then felt her warm breath on his cheek asshe turned to speak to him in intimate fashion.

  She drove back by a road not the same, but as long as before, andPrescott found it all too short. His gloom fled away before her flow ofspirits, her warm and intimate manner, and the town, though under grayNovember skies, became vivid with light and colour.

  "Do you know," she said, "that the Mosaic Club meets again to-night andperhaps for the last time? Are you not coming?"

  "I am not invited."

  "But I invite you. I have full authority as a member and an official ofthe club."

  "I'm all alone," said Prescott.

  "And so am I," said she. "The General, you know, is at the front, and noone has been polite enough yet to ask to take me."

  Her look met his with a charming innocence like that of a young girl,but the lurking green depths were in her eyes and Prescott felt a thrilldespite himself.

  "Why not," was his thought. "All the others have cast me aside. Shechooses me. If I am to be attacked on Mrs. Markham's account--well, I'llgive them reason for it."

  The defiant spirit was speaking then, and he said aloud:

  "If two people are alone they should go together and then they won't bealone any more. You have invited me to the club to-night, Mrs. Markham,now double your benefaction and let me take you there."

  "On one condition," she said, "that we go in my pony carriage. We needno groom. The pony will stand all night in front of Mr. Peyton's houseif necessary. Come at eight o'clock."

  Before she reached her home she spoke of Lucia Catherwood as one comesto a subject in the course of a random conversation, and connected hername with that of the Secretary in such a manner that Prescott felt athrill of anger rise, not against Mrs. Markham, but against Lucia andMr. Sefton. The remark was quite innocent in appearance, but itcoincided so well with his own state of mind in regard to the two thatit came to him like a truth.

  "The Secretary is very much in love with the 'Beautiful Yankee,'" saidMrs. Markham. "He thought once that he was in love with Helen Harley,but his imagination deceived him. Even so keen a man as the Secretarycan deceive himself in regard to the gossamer affair that we call love,but his infatuation with Lucia Catherwood is genuine."

  "Will he win her?" asked Prescott. Despite himself, his heart throbbedas he waited for her answer.

  "I do not know," she replied; "but any woman may be won if a man onlyknows the way of winning."

  "A Delphic utterance, if ever there was one," he said, and laughedpartly in relief. She had not said that Mr. Sefton would win her.

  He left Mrs. Markham at her door and went home, informing his mother byand by that he was going to a meeting of the Mosaic Club in the evening.

  "I am to take a lady," he said.

  "A very natural thing for a young man to do," she replied, smiling athim. "Who is it to be, Miss Catherwood or Miss Harley?"

  "Neither."

  "Neither?"

  "No; I am in bad grace with both. The lady whom I am to have the honour,the privilege, etc., of escorting is Mrs. Markham."

  Her face fell.

  "I am sorry to hear it," she said frankly.

  Prescott, for the first time since his childhood, felt some anger towardhis mother.

  "Why not, mother?" he asked. "We are all a great family here together inRichmond. Why, if you trace it back you'll probably find that every oneof us is blood kin to every other one. Mrs. Markham is a woman of witand beauty, and the honour and privilege of which I spoke so jestinglyis a real honour and privilege."

  "She is a married woman, my son, and not careful enough of her actions."

  Prescott was silent. He felt a marked shyness in discussing suchquestions with his mother, but his obstinacy and pride remained even inher mild presence. A few hours later he put on his cloak and went out inthe twilight, walking swiftly toward the well-kept red brick house ofGeneral Charles Markham. A coloured maid received him and took him intothe parlour, but all was well-ordered and conventional. Mrs. Markhamcame in before the maid went out and detained her with small dutiesabout the room.

 
; Prescott looked around at the apartment and its comfort, even luxury.Report had not wronged General Markham when it accused him of having aquarter-master's interest in his own fortunes. It was not her fault thatshe became it all wonderfully well, but even as he admired her hewondered how another would look in the midst of this dusky red luxury;another with the ease and grace of Mrs. Markham herself, with the sameair of perfect finish, but taller, of more sumptuous build and with anobler face. She, too, would move with soundless steps over the dark redcarpet, and were she sitting there before the fire, with the glow of thecoals falling at her feet, the room would need no other presence.

  "A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Wise Man," she said.

  "My reward should be greater," he said, fibbing without conscience,"because I was thinking of you."

  "In that event we should be starting," she said lightly. "Ben Butler andthe family coach are at the door, and if you deem yourself capable ofit, Sir Knight, I think that I shall let you drive this evening."

  "He would be a poor captain who could not guide a vessel with such aprecious cargo," said Prescott gallantly.

  "You forget that you are a part of the cargo."

  "But I don't count. Again it was you of whom I was thinking."

  She settled herself in the phaeton beside him--very close; it could notbe otherwise--and Ben Butler, the Accomack pony, obedient to the will ofPrescott, rattled away through the street. He recalled how long she hadbeen in reaching the shop by day, and how long also in returning, andnow the spirit of wickedness lay hold of him; he would do likewise. Heknew well where the house of Daniel Peyton stood, having been in it manytimes before the war, but he chose a course toward it that bent like thecurve of a semicircle, and the innocent woman beside him took no notice.

  The night was dark and frosty, with a wind out of the northwest thatmoaned among the housetops, but Prescott, with a beautiful woman by hisside, was warm and cozy in the phaeton. With her dark wrap and the darkof the night around them she was almost invisible save her face, inwhich her eyes, with the lurking green shadows yet in them, shone whenshe looked up at him.

  Ben Butler was a capable pony and he paid habitual deference to thewishes of his mistress--the result of long training. As he progressed ata gentle walk Prescott scarcely needed one hand for his guidance. It wasthis lack of occupation that caused the other to wander into dangerousproximity to the neat and well-gloved fingers of Mrs. Markham, whichwere not far away in the first place.

  "You should not do that," she said, removing her hand, but Prescott wasnot sorry--he did not forget the thrill given him by the pleasantcontact, and he was neither apologetic nor humble. The lady was not tooangry, but there appeared to Prescott a reproachful shadow--that ofanother woman, taller and nobler of face and manner, and despite hismanhood years he blushed in the darkness. A period of constraintfollowed; and he was so silent, so undemonstrative that the lady gavehim a glance of surprise. Her hand strayed back to its former place ofeasy approach, but Prescott was busy with Ben Butler, and he yieldedonly when she placed her hand upon his arm, being forced by a suddenjolt of the phaeton to lean more closely against him. But, fortunatelyor unfortunately, they were now in front of the Peyton house, and lightswere shining from every window.

  Prescott stepped out of the phaeton and tied Ben Butler to thehitching-post. Then he assisted Mrs. Markham to the ground and togetherthe two entered the portico.

  "We are late," said Prescott, and he felt annoyance because of it.

  "It does not matter," she said lightly, feeling no annoyance at all.

  He knew that their late entrance would attract marked notice to them,and now he felt a desire to avoid such attention; but she would make ofit a special event, a function. Despite Prescott's efforts, shemarshaled himself and herself in such masterly fashion that every eye inthe room was upon them as they entered, and none could help noticingthat they came as an intimate pair--or at least the skilful lady made itseem so.

  These two were the last--all the members of the club and their guestswere already there, and despite the bond of fellowship and union amongthem many eyebrows were lifted and some asides were spoken as Mrs.Markham and Prescott arrived in this fashion.

  Lucia Catherwood was present--Raymond had brought her--but she took nonotice, though her bearing was high and her colour brilliant. Some onehad prepared her for this evening with careful and loving hands--perhapsit was Miss Grayson. All the minute touches that count for so much werethere, and in her eyes was some of the bold and reckless spirit thatPrescott himself had been feeling for the last day or two.

  This little company had less of partisan rancour, less of sectionalfeeling, than any other in Richmond, and that night they made thebeautiful Yankee their willing queen. She fell in with their spirit:there was nothing that she did not share and lead. She improvisedrhymes, deciphered puzzles and prepared others of her own that rivaledin ingenuity the best of Randolph or Caskie or Latham or McCarty or anyof the other clever leaders of this bright company. Prescott saw the witand beauty of Mrs. Markham pale before this brighter sun, and theSecretary seemed to be the chosen favourite of Miss Catherwood. Hewarmed under her favouring glance, and he, too, brought forth amplemeasure from the store of his wit.

  Harley was there in splendid uniform, as always, but somber andbrooding. Prescott clearly saw danger on the man's brow, but a threat,even one unspoken, always served to arouse him, and he returned withrenewed devotion to Mrs. Markham. His growing dislike for Harley wastinctured with a strain of contempt. He accused the man's vanity andselfishness, but he forgot at the same moment that he was falling intothe same pit.

  The men presently withdrew for a few moments into the next room, wherethe host had prepared something to drink, and a good-natured, noisycrowd was gathered around the table. The noisiest of them all wasHarley, whose manner was aggressive and whose face was inflamed, as ifhe had made himself an undisputed champion at the bowl. The Secretarywas there, too, saying nothing, his thin lips wrinkled in a slight smileof satisfaction. He was often pleased with himself, rarely more so thanto-night, with the memory of Lucia Catherwood's glorious brow and eyesand the obvious favour that she showed him. He was a fit mate for her,and she must see it. Wisdom and love should go together. Truly, allthings were moving well with him, he repeated in his thought. Prescottwas following the very course he would have chosen for him, kneeling atMrs. Markham's feet as if she were a new Calypso. The man whom he knewto be his rival was about to embroil himself with everybody.

  If he wanted more evidence of his last inference, Harley of the inflamedface and threatening brow was quick to furnish it. When Prescott came inHarley took another long draught and said to the crowd:

  "I have a pretty bit of gossip for you, gentlemen."

  "What is it?" asked Randolph, and all looked up, eager to hear any freshand interesting news.

  "It's the story of the spy who was here last winter," replied Harley."The romance, rather, because that spy, as all of you know, was a woman.The story will not down. It keeps coming up, although we have a greatwar all about us, and I hear that the Government, so long on a blindtrial, has at last struck the right one."

  "Indeed," said Randolph, with increased interest. "What is it? Theanswer to that puzzle has always bothered me."

  "They say that the spy was a woman of great beauty, and she found itimpossible to escape from Richmond until an officer of ours, yielding toher claims, helped her through the lines. I'll wager that he took fullpay for his trouble."

  "His honour against hers," said some one.

  Harley laughed coarsely.

  Prescott became deathly white. He would have fought a duel then withHarley--on the instant. All the Puritan training given him by his motherand his own civilized instincts were swept away by a sudden overwhelmingrush of passion.

  His colour came back and none noticed its momentary loss, all eyes beingon Harley. Prescott glanced at Mr. Sefton, but the Secretary remainedcalm, composed and smiling, listening to Harley with the same air
ofinterested curiosity shown by the others. Prescott saw it all with aflash of intuition; the Secretary had given Harley a hint, just a vaguegeneralization, within the confines of truth, but without anynames--enough to make those concerned uneasy, but not enough to put thepower in any hands save those of the Secretary. Harley himself confirmedthis by continuing the subject, though somewhat uncertainly, as if hewere no longer sure of his facts.

  It occurred to Prescott that he might borrow this man's own weapons andfight him with the cold brain and craft that had proved so effectiveagainst himself, Robert Prescott. But when he turned to look at theSecretary he found Mr. Sefton looking at him. A glance that was amingling of fire and steel passed between the two; it was also a lookof understanding. Prescott knew and the Secretary saw that he knew. Inthe bosom of James Sefton respect rose high for the young man whom hehad begun to hold rather cheap lately. His antagonist was entirelyworthy of him.

  Harley rambled on. He looked uncertainly now and then at Prescott, as ifhe believed him to be the traitorous officer and would provoke him intoreply; but Prescott's face was a perfect mask, and his manner carelessand indifferent. The suspicions of the others were not aroused, andHarley was not well enough informed to go further; but his look wheneverit fell on Robert was full of hatred, and Prescott marked it well.

  "What do you think of a fellow who would do such a thing?" asked Harleyat last.

  "I've a pretty good opinion of him," said Raymond quietly.

  "You have?" exclaimed Harley.

  "I have," repeated Raymond; "and I'm willing to say it before a man highin the Government, like Mr. Sefton here. Are all the powers of theConfederate Government to be gathered for the purpose of making war onone poor lone woman? Suppose we whip Grant first and bother about thewoman afterward. I think I'll write an editorial on the Government'slack of chivalry--that is, I will when I get enough paper to print iton, but I don't know when that will be. However, I'll keep it in mindtill that time arrives."

  "I think you are wrong," said the Secretary smoothly, as one whodiscusses ethics and not personalities. "This man had his duty to do,and however small that duty may have been, he should have done it."

  "You generalize, and since you are laying down a rule, you are right,"said Raymond. "But this is a particular case and an exception. We owesome duties to the feminine gender as well as to patriotism. The greatershouldn't always be swallowed up in the lesser."

  There was a laugh, and Winthrop suggested that, as they were talking ofthe ladies, they return to them. On the way Prescott casually joined theSecretary.

  "Can I see you in the office to-morrow, Mr. Sefton?" he asked.

  "Certainly," replied the Secretary. "Will three in the afternoon do?Alone, I suppose?"

  "Thank you," said Prescott. "Three in the afternoon and alone will do."

  Both spoke quietly, but the swift look of understanding passed oncemore. Then they rejoined the ladies.

  Prescott had not spoken to Lucia Catherwood in the whole course of theevening, but now he sought her. Some of the charm which Mrs. Markham solately had for him was passing; in the presence of Lucia she seemed lessfair, less winning, less true. His own conduct appeared to him inanother light, and he would turn aside from his vagrant fancy to the oneto whom his heart was yet loyal. But he found no chance to speak to heralone. The club by spontaneous agreement had chosen to make her itsheroine that night, and Prescott was permitted to be one of the circle,nothing more. As such she spoke to him occasionally as she would toothers--chance remarks without colour or emphasis, apparently directedtoward him because he happened to be sitting at that particular point,and not because of his personality.

  Prescott chafed and sought to better his position, wishing to have anindividuality of his own in her regard; but he could not change thecolourless role which she assigned him. So he became silent, speakingonly when some remark was obviously intended for him, and watched herface and expression. He had always told himself that her dominantcharacteristic was strength, power of will, endurance; but now as helooked he saw once or twice a sudden droop, faint but discernible, as iffor a flitting moment she grew too weak for her burden. Prescott felt agreat access of pity and tenderness. She was in a position into whichno woman should be forced, and she was assailed on all sides by danger.Her very name was at the mercy of the Secretary, and now Harley with hisfoolish talk might at any time bring an avalanche down upon her. Hehimself had treated her badly, and would help her if he could. He turnedto find Mrs. Markham at his elbow.

  "We are going in to supper," she said, "and you will have to take me."

  Thus they passed in before Lucia Catherwood's eyes, but she looked overthem and came presently with Raymond.

  That was a lean supper--the kitchens of Richmond in the last year of thewar provided little; but Prescott was unhappy for another reason. He wasthere with Mrs. Markham, and she seemed to claim him as her own beforeall those, save his mother, for whom he cared most. General Wood andHelen Harley were across the table, her pure eyes looking up withmanifest pleasure into the dark ones of the leader, which could shine sofiercely on the battlefield but were now so soft. Once Prescott caughtthe General's glance and it was full of wonder; intrigue and the crossplay of feminine purposes were unknown worlds to the simple mountaineer.

  Prescott passed from silence to a feverish and uncertain gaiety, talkingmore than any one at the table, an honour that he seldom coveted. Someof his jests and epigrams were good and more were bad; but all passedcurrent at such a time, and Mrs. Markham, who was never at a loss forsomething to say, seconded him in able fashion. The Secretary, listeningand looking, smiled quietly. "Gone to his head; foolish fellow," waswhat his manner clearly expressed. Prescott himself saw it at last andexperienced a sudden check, remembering his resolve to fight this manwith his own weapons, while here he was only an hour later behaving likea wild boy on his first escapade. He passed at once from garrulity tosilence, and the contrast was so marked that the glances exchanged bythe others increased.

  Prescott was still taciturn when at a late hour he helped Mrs. Markhaminto the phaeton and they started to her home. He fully expected thatHarley would overtake him when he turned away from her house and seek aquarrel, but the fear of physical harm scarcely entered into his mind.It was the gossip and the linking of names in the gossip that troubledhim.

  Mrs. Markham sat as close to him as ever--the little phaeton had grownno wider--but though he felt again her warm breath on his cheek, nopulse stirred.

  "Why are you so silent, Captain Prescott?" she asked. "Are you thinkingof Lucia Catherwood?"

  "Yes," he replied frankly, "I was."

  She glanced up at him, but his face was hidden in the darkness.

  "She was looking very beautiful to-night," she said, "and she wassupreme; all the men--and must I say it, all of us women,too--acknowledged her rule. But I do not wonder that she attracts themasculine mind--her beauty, her bearing, her mysterious past, constitutethe threefold charm to which all of you men yield, Captain Prescott. Iwish I knew her history."

  "It could be to her credit only," said Prescott.

  She glanced up at him again, and now the moonlight falling on his faceenabled her to see it set and firm, and Mrs. Markham felt that there hadbeen a change. He was not the same man who had come with her to themeeting of the club, but she was not a woman to relinquish easily aconquest or a half-conquest, and she called to her aid all the art of astrong and cultivated mind. She was bold and original in her methods,and did not leave the subject of Lucia Catherwood, but praised her,though now and then with slight reservations, letting fall the inferencethat she was her good friend and would be a better one if she could.Such use did she make of her gentle and unobtrusive sympathy thatPrescott felt his heart warming once more to this handsome andaccomplished woman.

  "You will come to see me again?" she said at the door, letting a littlehand linger a few moments in his.

  "I fear that I may be sent at once to the front."

  "But if you
are not you will come?" she persisted.

  "Yes," said Prescott, and bade her good-night.