V
THE MAJOR LOSES HIS TEMPER
When Betty reached home the dark had fallen, and as she entered the houseshe heard the crackling of fresh logs from the library, and saw her mothersitting alone in the firelight, which flickered softly on her pearl-graysilk and ruffles of delicate lace.
She was humming in a low voice one of the old Scotch ballads the Governorloved, and as she rocked gently in her rosewood chair, her shadow flittedto and fro upon the floor. One loose bell sleeve hung over the carved armof the rocker, and the fingers of her long white hand, so fragile that itwas like a flower, played silently upon the polished wood.
As the girl entered she looked up quickly. "You haven't been wandering offby yourself again?" she asked reproachfully.
"Oh, it is quite safe, mamma," replied Betty, impatiently. "I didn't meet asoul except free Levi."
"Your father wouldn't like it, my dear," returned Mrs. Ambler, in the tonein which she might have said, "it is forbidden in the Scriptures," and sheadded after a moment, "but where is Petunia? You might, at least, takePetunia with you."
"Petunia is such a chatterbox," said Betty, tossing her wraps upon a chair,"and if she sees a cricket in the road she shrieks, 'Gawd er live, MissBetty,' and jumps on the other side of me. No, I can't stand Petunia."
She sat down upon an ottoman at her mother's feet, and rested her chin inher clasped hands.
"But did you never go walking in your life, mamma?" she questioned.
Mrs. Ambler looked a little startled. "Never alone, my dear," she repliedwith dignity. "Why, I shouldn't have thought of such a thing. There was apath to a little arbour in the glen at my old home, I remember,--I think itwas at least a quarter of a mile away,--and I sometimes strolled there withyour father; but there were a good many briers about, so I usuallypreferred to stay on the lawn."
Her voice was clear and sweet, but it had none of the humour which gavepiquancy to Betty's. It might soothe, caress, even reprimand, but it couldnever jest; for life to Mrs. Ambler was soft, yet serious, like a continuedprayer to a pleasant and tender Deity.
"I'm sure I don't see how you stood it," said Betty, sympathetically.
"Oh, I rode, my dear," returned her mother. "I used to ride very often withyour father or--or one of the others. I had a brown mare named Zephyr."
"And you never wanted to be alone, never for a single instant?"
"Alone?" repeated Mrs. Ambler, wonderingly, "why, of course I read my Bibleand meditated an hour every morning. In my youth it would have beenconsidered very unladylike not to do it, and I'm sure there's no better wayof beginning the day than with a chapter in the Bible and a littlemeditation. I wish you would try it, Betty." Her eyes were upon herdaughter, and she added in an unchanged voice, "Don't you think you mightmanage to make your hair lie smoother, dear? It's very pretty, I know; butthe way it curls about your face is just a bit untidy, isn't it?"
Then, as the Governor came in from his day in town, she turned eagerly tohear the news of his latest speech.
"Oh, I've had a great day, Julia," began the Governor; but as he stooped tokiss her, she gave a little cry of alarm. "Why, you're frozen through!" sheexclaimed. "Betty, stir the fire, and make your father sit down by thefender. Shall I mix you a toddy, Mr. Ambler?"
"Tut, tut!" protested the Governor, laughing, "a touch of the wind is goodfor the blood, my dear."
There was a light track of snow where he had crossed the room, and as herested his foot upon the brass knob of the fender, the ice clinging to hisriding-boot melted and ran down upon the hearth.
"Oh, I've had a great day," he repeated heartily, holding his plump whitehands to the flames. "It was worth the trip to test the spirit of Virginia;and it's sound, Julia, as sound as steel. Why, when I said in myspeech--you'll remember the place, my dear--that if it came to a choicebetween slavery and the Union, we'd ship the negroes back to Africa, andhold on to the flag, I was applauded to the echo, and it would have doneyou good to hear the cheers."
"I knew it would be so, Mr. Ambler," returned his wife, with conviction."Even if they thought otherwise I was sure your speech would convince them.Dr. Crump was talking to me only yesterday, and he said that he had heardboth Mr. Yancey and Mr. Douglas, and that neither of them--"
"I know, my love, I know," interposed the Governor, waving his hand. "Ihave myself heard the good doctor commit the same error of judgment. But,remember, it is easy to convince a man who already thinks as you do; andsince the Major has gone over to the Democrats, the doctor has grownWhiggish, you know."
Mrs. Ambler flushed. "I'm sure I don't see why you should deny that youhave a talent for oratory," she said gravely. "I have sometimes thought itwas why I fell in love with you, you made such a beautiful speech the firstday I met you at the tournament in Leicesterburg. Fred Dulany crowned me,you remember; and in your speech you brought in so many lovely things aboutflowers and women."
"Ah, Julia, Julia," sighed the Governor, "so the sins of my youth arerising to confound me," and he added quickly to Betty, "Isn't that some onecoming up the drive, daughter?"
Betty ran to the window and drew back the damask curtains. "It's the Major,papa," she said, nodding to the old gentleman through the glass, "and hedoes look so cold. Go out and bring him in, and don't--please don't talkhorrid politics to-night."
"I'll not, daughter, on my word, I'll not," declared the Governor, and hewore the warning as a breastplate when he went out to meet his guest.
The Major, in his tight black broadcloth, entered, with his blandest smile,and bowed over Mrs. Ambler's hand.
"I saw your firelight as I was passing, dear madam," he began, "and Icouldn't go on without a glimpse of you, though I knew that Molly waswaiting for me at the end of three cold miles."
He put his arm about Betty and drew her to him.
"You must borrow some of your sister's blushes, my child," he said; "itisn't right to grow pale at your age. I don't like to see it," and then, asVirginia came shyly in, he held out his other hand, and accused her ofstealing his boy's heart away from him. "But we old folks must give placeto the young," he continued cheerfully; "it's nature, and it's humannature, too."
"It will be a dull day when you give place to any one else, Major,"returned the Governor, politely.
"And a far off one I trust," added Mrs. Ambler, with her plaintive smile.
"Well, maybe so," responded the Major, settling himself in an easy chairbeside the fire. "Any way, you can't blame an old man for fighting for hisown, as my friend Harry Smith put it when he lost his leg in the War of1812. 'By God, it belongs to me,' he roared to the surgeon, 'and if itcomes off, I'll take it off myself, sir.' It took six men to hold him, andwhen it was over all he said was, 'Well, gentlemen, you mustn't blame a manfor fighting for his own.' Ah, he was a sad scamp, was Harry, a sad scamp.He used to say that he didn't know whether he preferred a battle or adinner, but he reckoned a battle was better for the blood. And to thinkthat he died in his bed at last like any Christian."
"That reminds me of Dick Wythe, who never needed any tonic but a fight,"returned the Governor, thoughtfully. "You remember Dick, don't you,Major?--a hard drinker, poor fellow, but handsome enough to have steppedout of Homer. I've been sitting by him at the post-office on a spring day,and seen him get up and slap a passer-by on the face as coolly as he'd takehis toddy. Of course the man would slap back again, and when it was overDick would make his politest bow, and say pleasantly, 'Thank you, sir, Ifelt a touch of the gout.' He told me once that if it was only a twinge, hechose a man of his own size; but if it was a positive wrench, he struck outat the biggest he could find."
The Major leaned back, laughing. "That was Dick, sir, that was Dick!" heexclaimed, "and it was his father before him. Why, I've had my own blowswith Taylor Wythe in his day, and never a hard word afterward, never aword." Then his face clouded. "I saw Dick's brother Tom in town thismorning," he added. "A sneaking fellow, who hasn't the spirit in his wholebody that was in his father's little finger. Why, what
do you suppose hehad the impudence to tell me, sir? Some one had asked him, he said, what heshould do if Virginia went to war, and he had answered that he'd stay athome and build an asylum for the fools that brought it on." He turned hisindignant face upon Mrs. Ambler, and she put in a modest word of sympathy.
"You mustn't judge Tom by his jests, sir," rejoined the Governor,persuasively. "His wit takes with the town folks, you know, and I hear thathe's becoming famous as a post-office orator."
"There it is, sir, there it is," retorted the Major. "I've always said thatthe post-offices were the ruin of this country--and that proves my words.Why, if there were no post-offices, there'd be fewer newspapers; and ifthere were fewer newspapers, there wouldn't be the _Richmond Whig_."
The Governor's glance wandered to his writing table.
"Then I should never see my views in print, Major," he added, smiling; anda moment afterward, disregarding Mrs. Ambler's warning gestures, he plungedheadlong into a discussion of political conditions.
As he talked the Major sat trembling in his chair, his stern face flushingfrom red to purple, and the heavy veins upon his forehead standing out likecords. "Vote for Douglas, sir!" he cried at last. "Vote for the biggesttraitor that has gone scot free since Arnold! Why, I'd sooner go over tothe arch-fiend himself and vote for Seward."
"I'm not sure that you won't go farther and fare worse," replied theGovernor, gravely. "You know me for a loyal Whig, sir, but I tell youfrankly, that I believe Douglas to be the man to save the South. Cast himoff, and you cast off your remaining hope."
"Tush, tush!" retorted the Major, hotly. "I tell you I wouldn't vote tohave Douglas President of Perdition, sir. Don't talk to me about yourloyalty, Peyton Ambler, you're mad--you're all mad! I honestly believe thatI am the only sane man in the state."
The Governor had risen from his chair and was walking nervously about theroom. His eyes were dim, and his face was pallid with emotion.
"My God, sir, don't you see where you are drifting?" he cried, stretchingout an appealing hand to the angry old gentleman in the easy chair.
"Drifting! Pooh, pooh!" protested the Major, "at least I am not driftinginto a nest of traitors, sir."
And with his wrath hot within he rose to take his leave, very red andstormy, but retaining the presence of mind to assure Mrs. Ambler that theglimpse of her fireside would send him rejoicing upon his way.
Such burning topics went like strong wine to his head, and like strong wineleft a craving which always carried him back to them in the end. He wouldquarrel with the Governor, and make his peace, and at the next meetingquarrel, without peace-making, again.
"Don't, oh, please don't talk horrid politics, papa," Betty would implore,when she saw the nose of his dapple mare turn into the drive between thesilver poplars.
"I'll not, daughter, I give you my word I'll not," the Governor wouldanswer, and for a time the conversation would jog easily along the wellworn roads of county changes and by the green graves of many a long deadjovial neighbour. While the red logs spluttered on the hearth, they wouldsip their glasses of Madeira and amicably weigh the dust of "my friend DickWythe--a fine fellow, in spite of his little weakness."
But in the end the live question would rear its head and come hissing fromamong the quiet graves; and Dick Wythe, who loved his fight, or PlaintainDudley, in his ruffled shirt, would fall back suddenly to make way for thewrangling figures of the slaveholder and the abolitionist.
"I can't help it, Betty, I can't help it," the Governor would declare, whenhe came back from following the old gentleman to the drive; "did you seeMr. Yancey step out of Dick Wythe's dry bones to-day? Poor Dick, an honestfellow who loved no man's quarrel but his own; it's too bad, I declare it'stoo bad." And the next day he would send Betty over to Chericoke to strokedown the Major's temper. "Slippery are the paths of the peacemaker," thegirl laughed one morning, when she had ridden home after an hour ofpersuasion. "I go on tip-toe because of your indiscretions, papa. Youreally must learn to control yourself, the Major says."
"Control myself!" repeated the Governor, laughing, though he looked alittle vexed. "If I hadn't the control of a stoic, daughter, to say nothingof the patience of Job, do you think I'd be able to listen calmly to histirades? Why, he wants to pull the Government to pieces for his pleasure,"then he pinched her cheek and added, smiling, "Oh, you sly puss, why don'tyou play your pranks upon one of your own age?"
Through the long winter many visits were exchanged between Uplands andChericoke, and once, on a mild February morning, Mrs. Lightfoot drove overin her old coach, with her knitting and her handmaid Mitty, to spend theday. She took Betty back with her, and the girl stayed a week in the queerold house, where the elm boughs tapped upon her window as she slept, andthe shadows on the crooked staircase frightened her when she went up anddown at night. It seemed to her that the presence of Jane Lightfoot stillhaunted the home that she had left. When the snow fell on the roof and thewind beat against the panes, she would open her door and look out into thelong dim halls, as if she half expected to see a girlish figure in a muslingown steal softly to the stair.
Dan was less with her in that stormy week than was the memory of hismother; even Great-aunt Emmeline, whose motto was written on the iviedglass, grew faint beside the outcast daughter of whom but one paleminiature remained. Before Betty went back to Uplands she had grown to knowJane Lightfoot as she knew herself.
When the spring came she took up her trowel and followed Aunt Lydia intothe garden. On bright mornings the two would work side by side among theflowers, kneeling in a row with the small darkies who came to theirassistance. Peter, the gardener, would watch them lazily, as he leaned uponhis hoe, and mutter beneath his breath, "Dat dut wuz dut, en de dut er deflow'r baids warn' no better'n de dut er de co'n fiel'."
Betty would laugh and shake her head as she planted her square of pansies.She was working feverishly to overcome her longing for the sight of Dan,and her growing dread of his return.
But at last on a sunny morning, when the lilacs made a lane of purple tothe road, the Major drove over with the news that "the boys would not beback again till autumn. They'll go abroad for the summer," he addedproudly. "It's time they were seeing something of the world, you know. I'vealways said that a man should see the world before thirty, if he wants tostay at home after forty," then he smiled down on Virginia, and pinched hercheek. "It won't hurt Dan, my dear," he said cheerfully. "Let him get aglimpse of artificial flowers, that he may learn the value of our ownbeauties."
"Of Great-aunt Emmeline, you mean, sir," replied Virginia, laughing.
"Oh, yes, my child," chuckled the Major. "Let him learn the value ofGreat-aunt Emmeline, by all means."
When the old gentleman had gone, Betty went into the garden, where thegrass was powdered with small spring flowers, and gathered a bunch of whiteviolets for her mother. Aunt Lydia was walking slowly up and down in themild sunshine, and her long black shadow passed over the girl as she kneltin the narrow grass-grown path. A slender spray of syringa drooped downupon her head, and the warm wind was sweet with the heavy perfume of thelilacs. On the whitewashed fence a catbird was calling over the meadow, andanother answered from the little bricked-up graveyard, where the gate wasopened only when a fresh grave was to be hollowed out amid the periwinkle.
As Betty knelt there, something in the warm wind, the heavy perfume, or theold lady's flitting shadow touched her with a sudden melancholy, and whilethe tears lay upon her lashes, she started quickly to her feet and lookedabout her. But a great peace was in the air, and around her she saw onlythe garden wrapped in sunshine, the small spring flowers in bloom, and AuntLydia moving up and down in the box-bordered walk.
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