CHAPTER IX.
THE CONFESSION.
"What d'ye spy, Tom?" called out another officer on the deck, to theone whose attitude most interested Harry.
"I thought I made out some kind of craft steering through the bushesyonder," was the answer.
"I see nothing."
"Neither do I, now. 'Twasn't human craft, anyhow, so it doesn'tsignify," and the officers looked elsewhere.
Harry lay low in the thicket, awaiting the departure of the vessel orthe arrival of darkness. On the deck there was no sign of weighinganchor. As night came, the vessel's lights were slung. The sky waspartly clear in the west, and stars appeared in that direction, butthe east was overcast, so that the rising moon was hid. The atmospheregrew colder.
When Harry could make out nothing of the vessel on the dark water,save the lights that glowed like low-placed stars, he crawled from thebushes and up the bank to the terrace. He then rose and proceeded,with the aid of his stick, aching from having so long maintained acramped position, and from the suddenly increased cold. Before him, ashe continued to ascend, rose the house, darkness outlined againstdarkness. No sound came from it, no window was lighted. This meantthat the British officers had left, for their presence would have beenmarked by plenitude of light and by noise of merriment. Harry stoppedon the terrace, and stood in doubt how to proceed. What had beenthought of his disappearance? Where would he be supposed to have gone?Had provision been made for his possible return? Perhaps he shouldfind a guiding light in some window on the other side of the house;perhaps a servant remained alert for his knock on the door. His onlycourse was to investigate, unless he would undergo a night of muchdiscomfort.
As he was about to approach the house, he was checked by a sight sovaguely outlined that it might be rather of his imagination than ofreality, and which added a momentary shiver of a keener sort than healready underwent from the weather. A dark cloaked and hooded figurestood by the balustrade that ran along the roof-top. As Peyton looked,his hand involuntarily clasping his sword-hilt, and the stories of theghosts that haunted this old mansion shot through his mind, the figureseemed to descend through the very roof, as a stage ghost is loweredthrough a trap. He continued to stare at the spot where it had stood,but nothing reappeared against the backing of black cloud. Wonderingmuch, Harry presently went on towards the house, turned the southwestcorner, and skirted the south front as far as to the little porch inits middle. Intending to reconnoitre all sides of the house before heshould try one of the doors, he was passing on, after a glance at thesouth door lost in the blacker shadows of the porch, when suddenly thefan-window over the door seemed to glow dimly with a wavering light.He placed his hand on one of the Grecian pillars of the porch, andwatched. A moment later the door softly opened. A figure appeared,beyond the threshold, bearing a candle. The figure wore a cloak with ahood, but the hood was down.
"All is safe," whispered a low voice. "The officers went hours ago. Iknew you must have escaped from the house, and were hiding somewhere.I saw you a minute ago from the roof gallery."
Peyton having entered, Elizabeth swiftly closed and locked the doorbehind him, handed him the candle with a low "Good night," and fledsilently, ghostlike, up the stairs, disappearing quickly in thedarkness.
Harry made his way to his own room, as in a kind of dream. She herselfhad waited and watched for him! This, then, was the effect wrought inthe proudest, most disdainful young creature of her sex, by thatfeeling which he had, by telling and acting a lie, awakened in her.The revelation set him thinking. How long might such a feeling last?What would be its effect on her after his departure? He had read, andheard, and seen, that, when these feelings were left to pine awayslowly, the people possessing them pined also. And this was the returnhe was about to give his most hospitable hostess, the woman who hadsaved his life! Yet what was to be done? His life belonged to hiscountry, his chosen career was war; he could not alter completely hisdestiny to save a woman some pining. After all, she _would_ get overit; yet it would make of her another woman, embitter her, changeentirely the complexion of the world to her, and her own attitudetowards it. He tried to comfort himself with the thought of herengagement to Colden, of which he had not learned until after themischief had been done. But he recalled her manner towards Colden, anda remark of old Mr. Valentine's, whence he knew that the engagementwas not, on her side, a love one, and was not inviolable. Yet it wouldbe a crime to a woman of her pride, of her power of loving, to allowthe deceit, his pretence of love, to go as far as marriage. Adisclosure would come in time, and would bring her a bitter awakening.The falsehood, natural if not excusable in its circumstances, andbroached without thought of ultimate consequence, must be stopped atonce. He must leave her presence immediately, but, before going, mustdeclare the truth. She must not be allowed to waste another day of herlife on an illusion. Aside from the effect on her heart, of thecontinuance of the delusion, it would doubtless affect her outwardcircumstances, by leading her to break her engagement with Colden. Animmediate discovery of the truth, moreover, by creating such arevulsion of feeling as would make her hate him, would leave her heartin a state for speedy healing. This disclosure would be a devilishlyunpleasant thing to make, but a soldier and a gentleman must meetunpleasant duties unflinchingly.
He lay a long time awake, disturbed by thoughts of the task beforehim. When he did sleep, it was to dream that the task was in progress,then that it was finished but had to be begun anew, then thatcountless obstacles arose in succession to hinder him in it. Dawnfound him little refreshed in mind, but none the worse in body. Hefound, on arising, that he could walk without aid from the stick, andhe required no help in dressing himself. Looking towards the river, hesaw the British vessel heading for New York. But that sight gave himlittle comfort, thanks to the ordeal before him, in contemplatingwhich he neglected to put on his sword and scabbard, and so descendedto breakfast without them.
That meal offered no opportunity for the disclosure, the aunt beingpresent throughout. Immediately after breakfast, the two ladies wentfor their customary walk. While they were breasting the wind, betweentwo rows of box in the garden, Miss Sally spoke of Major Colden'sintention to return for Elizabeth at the end of a week, and said,"'Twill be a week this evening since you arrived. Is he to come foryou to-day or to-morrow?"
"I don't know," said Elizabeth, shortly.
"But, my dear, you haven't prepared--"
"I sha'n't go back to-day, that is certain. If Colden comes beforeto-morrow, he can wait for me,--or I may send him back without me, andstay as long as I wish."
"But he will meet Captain Peyton--"
"It can be easily arranged to keep him from knowing Captain Peyton ishere. I shall look to that."
Miss Sally sighed at the futility of her inquisitorial fishing. Notknowing Elizabeth's reason for saving the rebel captain, she had onceor twice thought that the girl, in some inscrutable whim, intended todeliver him up, after all. She had tried frequently to fathom herniece's purposes, but had never got any satisfaction.
"I suppose," she went on, desperately, "if you go back to town, youwill leave the captain in Williams's charge."
"If I go back before the captain leaves," said Elizabeth, therebydashing her amiable aunt's secretly cherished hope of affording thewounded officer the pleasure of her own unalloyed society.
Elizabeth really did not know what she would do. Her actions, onColden's return, would depend on the prior actions of the captain. Noone had spoken to Peyton of her intention to leave after a week'sstay. She had thought such an announcement to him from her might seemto imply a hint that it was time he should resume his wooing. That hewould resume it, in due course, she took for granted. Measuring hissupposed feelings by her own real ones, she assumed that her lovelessbetrothal to another would not deter Peyton's further courtship. Shebelieved he had divined the nature of that betrothal. Nor would he behindered by the prospect of their being parted some while by the war.Engagements were broken, wars did not last forever, those who loved
each other found ways to meet. So he would surely speak, before theirparting, of what, since it filled her heart, must of course fill his.But she would show no forwardness in the matter. She therefore avoidedhim till dinner-time.
At the table he abruptly announced that, as duty required he shouldrejoin the army at the first moment possible, and as he now feltcapable of making the journey, he would depart that night.
Miss Sally hid her startled emotions behind a glass of madeira, intowhich she coughed, chokingly. Molly, the maid, stopped short in herpassage from the kitchen door to the table, and nearly dropped thepudding she was carrying. Elizabeth concealed her feelings, and toldherself that his declaration must soon be forthcoming. She left it tohim to contrive the necessary private interview.
After dinner, he sat with the ladies before the fire in the eastparlor, awaiting his opportunity with much hidden perturbation.Elizabeth feigned to read. At last, habit prevailing, her aunt fellasleep. Peyton hummed and hemmed, looked into the fire, made two orthree strenuous swallows of nothing, and opened his mouth to speak. Atthat instant old Mr. Valentine came in, newly arrived from the Hill,and "whew"-ing at the cold. Peyton felt like one for whom a briefreprieve had been sent by heaven.
All afternoon Mr. Valentine chattered of weather and news and oldtimes. Peyton's feeling of relief was short-lasting; it was supplantedby a mighty regret that he had not been permitted to get the thingover. No second opportunity came of itself, nor could Peyton, whofound his ingenuity for once quite paralyzed, force one. Supper wasannounced, and was partaken of by Harry, in fidgety abstraction; byElizabeth, in expectant but outwardly placid silence; by Miss Sally,in futile smiling attempts to make something out of her lastconversational chances with the handsome officer; and by Mr.Valentine, in sedulous attention to his appetite, which still had thevigor of youth.
Almost as soon as the ladies had gone from the dining-room, Peytonrose and left the octogenarian in sole possession. In the parlor Harryfound no one but Molly, who was lighting the candles.
"What, Molly?" said he, feeling more and more nervous, and thinking toretain, by constant use of his voice, a good command of it for thedreaded interview. "The ladies not here? They left Mr. Valentine andme at the supper-table."
"They are walking in the garden, sir. Miss Elizabeth likes to take theair every evening."
"'Tis a chill air she takes this evening, I'm thinking," he said,standing before the fire and holding out his hands over the cracklinglogs.
"A chill night for your journey," replied Molly. "I should think you'dwait for day, to travel."
Peyton, unobservant of the wistful sigh by which the maid's speech wasaccompanied, replied, "Nay, for me, 'tis safest travelling at night. Imust go through dangerous country to reach our lines."
"It mayn't be as cold to-morrow night," persisted Molly.
"My wound is well enough for me to go now."
"'Twill be better still to-morrow."
But Peyton, deep in his own preoccupation, neither deduced aught fromthe drift of her remarks nor saw the tender glances which attendedthem. While he was making some insignificant answer, the maid, inmoving the candelabrum on the spinet, accidentally brushed therefromhis hat, which had been lying on it. She picked it up, in greatconfusion, and asked his pardon.
"'Twas my fault in laying it there," said he, receiving it from her."I'm careless with my things. I make no doubt, since I've been here,I've more than once given your mistress cause to wish me elsewhere."
"La, sir," said Molly, "I don't think--_any_ one would wish youelsewhere!" Whereupon she left the room, abashed at her own audacity.
"The devil!" thought Peyton. "I should feel better if some one didwish me elsewhere."
As he continued gazing into the fire, and his task loomed more andmore disagreeably before him, he suddenly bethought him thatElizabeth, in taking her evening walk, showed no disposition for aprivate meeting. Dwelling on that one circumstance, he thought forawhile he might have been wrong in supposing she loved him. But thenthe previous night's incident recurred to his mind. Nothing short oflove could have induced such solicitude. But, then, as she sought nolast interview, might he not be warranted in going away and leavingthe disclosure to come gradually, implied by the absence of furtherword from him? Yet, she might be purposely avoiding the appearance ofseeking an interview. The reasons calling for a prompt confession cameback to him. While he was wavering between one dictate and another, incame Mr. Valentine, with a tobacco pipe.
Like an inspiration, rose the idea of consulting the octogenarian. Aman who cannot make up his own mind is justified in seeking counsel.Elizabeth could suffer no harm through Peyton's confiding in this sageold man, who was devoted to her and to her family. Mr. Valentine'svery words on entering, which alluded to Peyton's pleasant visit asElizabeth's guest, gave an opening for the subject concerned. A veryfew speeches led up to the matter, which Harry broached, afterannouncing that he took the old man for one experienced in matters ofthe heart, and receiving the admission that the old man _had_ enjoyeda share of the smiles of the sex. But if the captain had thought, inseeking advice, to find reason for avoiding his ugly task, he wasdisappointed. Old Valentine, though he had for some days feared apossible state of things between the captain and Miss Sally, hadobserved Elizabeth, and his vast experience had enabled him tointerpret symptoms to which others had been blind. "She has actedtowards you," he said to Peyton, "as she never acted towards anotherman. She's shown you a meekness, sir, a kind of timidity." And heagreed that, if Peyton should go away without an explanation, it wouldmake her throw aside other expectations, and would, in the end, "cuther to the heart." Valentine hinted at regrettable things that hadensued from a jilting of which himself had once been guilty, and urgedon Peyton an immediate unbosoming, adding, "She'll be so took abackand so full of wrath at you, she won't mind the loss of you. She'llabominate you and get over it at once."
The idea came to Peyton of making the confession by letter, but thishe promptly rejected as a coward's dodge. "It's a damned unpleasantduty, but that's the more reason I should face it myself."
At that moment the front door of the east hall was heard to open.
"It's Miss Elizabeth and her aunt," said Valentine, listening at thedoor.
"Then I'll have the thing over at once, and be gone! Mr. Valentine, alast kindness,--keep the aunt out of the room."
Before Valentine could answer, the ladies entered, their cheeksreddened by the weather. Elizabeth carried a small bunch of belatedautumn flowers.
"Well, I'm glad to come in out of the cold!" burst out Miss Sally,with a retrospective shudder. "Mr. Peyton, you've a bitter night foryour going." She stood before the fire and smiled sympathetically atthe captain.
But Peyton was heedful of none but Elizabeth, who had laid her flowerson the spinet and was taking off her cloak. Peyton quickly, with an"Allow me, Miss Philipse," relieved her of the wrap, which in hisabstraction he retained over his left arm while he continued to holdhis hat in his other hand. After receiving a word of thanks, he added,"You've been gathering flowers," and stood before her in muchembarrassment.
"The last of the year, I think," said she. "The wind would have tornthem off, if aunt Sally and I had not." And she took them up from thespinet to breath their odor.
Meanwhile Mr. Valentine had been whispering to Miss Sally at thefireplace. As a result of his communications, whatever they were, theaunt first looked doubtful, then cast a wistful glance at Peyton, andthen quietly left the room, followed by the old man, who carefullyclosed the door after him.
While Elizabeth held the flowers to her nostrils, Peyton continued tostand looking at her, during an awkward pause. At length she replacedthe nosegay on the spinet, and went to the fireplace, where she gazedat the writhing flames, and waited for him to speak.
Still laden with the cloak and hat, he desperately began:
"Miss Philipse, I--ahem--before I start on my walk to-night--"
"Your walk?" she said, in slight surprise.
&
nbsp; "Yes,--back to our lines, above."
"But you are not going to _walk_ back," she said, in a low tone. "Youare to have the horse, Cato."
Peyton stood startled. In a few moments he gulped down his feelings,and stammered:
"Oh--indeed--Miss Philipse--I cannot think of depriving you--especiallyafter the circumstances."
She replied, with a gentle smile:
"You took the horse when I refused him to you. Now will you not havehim when I offer him to you? You must, captain! I'll not have so finea horse go begging for a master. I'll not hear of your walking. Onsuch a night, such a distance, through such a country!"
"The devil!" thought Harry. "This makes it ten times harder!"
Elizabeth now turned to face him directly. "Does not my cloakincommode you?" she said, amusedly. "You may put it down."
"Oh, thank you, yes!" he said, feeling very red, and went to lay thecloak on the table, but in his confusion put down his own hat there,and kept the cloak over his arm. He then met her look recklessly, andblurted out:
"The truth is, Miss Philipse, now that I am soon to leave, I havesomething to--to say to you." His boldness here forsook him, and hepaused.
"I know it," said Elizabeth, serenely, repressing all outward sign ofher heart's blissful agitation.
"You do?" quoth he, astonished.
"Certainly," she answered, simply. "How could you leave without sayingit?"
Peyton had a moment's puzzlement. Then, "Without saying what?" heasked.
"What you have to say," she replied, blushing, and lowering her eyes.
"But what have I to say?" he persisted.
She was silent a moment, then saw that she must help him out.
"Don't you know? You were not at all tongue-tied when you said it theevening you came here."
Peyton felt a gulf opening before him. "Good heaven," thought he, "sheactually believes I am about to propose!"
Now, or never, was the time for the plunge. He drew a full breath, andbraced himself to make it.
"But--ah--you see," said he, "the trouble is,--what I said then isnot what I have to say now. You must understand, Miss Philipse, that Iam devoted to a soldier's career. All my time, all my heart, my verylife, belong to the service. Thus I am, in a manner, bound no less onmy side, than you--I beg your pardon--"
"What do you mean?" She spoke quietly, yet was the picture ofopen-eyed astonishment.
"Cannot you see?" he faltered.
"You mean"--her tone acquired resentment as her words came--"that I,too, am bound on _my_ side,--to Mr. Colden?"
"I did not say so," he replied, abashed, cursing his heedless tongue.He would not, for much, have reminded her of any duty on her part.
She regarded him for a moment in silence, while the clouds ofindignation gathered. Then the storm broke.
"You poltroon, I _do_ see! You wish to take back your declaration,because you are afraid of Colden's vengeance!"
"Afraid? I afraid?" he echoed, mildly, surprised almost out of hisvoice at this unexpected inference.
"Yes, you craven!" she cried, and seemed to tower above her commonheight, as she stood erect, tearless, fiery-eyed, and clarion-voiced."Your cowardice outweighs your love! Go from my sight and from myfather's house, you cautious lover, with your prudent scruples aboutthe rights of your rival! Heavens, that I should have listened to sucha coward! Go, I say! Spend no more time under this roof than you needto get your belongings from your room. Don't stop for farewells!Nobody wants them! Go,--and I'll thank you to leave my cloak behindyou!"
"'GO, I SAY!'"]
Silenced and confounded by the force of her denunciation, he stupidlydropped the cloak to the floor where he stood, and stumbled from theroom, as if swept away by the torrent of her wrath and scorn.
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