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diff --git a/22906.txt b/22906.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d41b95 --- /dev/null +++ b/22906.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4660 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, A War-Time Wooing, by Charles King + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: A War-Time Wooing + A Story + + +Author: Charles King + + + +Release Date: October 6, 2007 [eBook #22906] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WAR-TIME WOOING*** + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 22906-h.htm or 22906-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/9/0/22906/22906-h/22906-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/9/0/22906/22906-h.zip) + + + +--------------------------------------------------------+ + | Transcriber's note: | + | | + | In this text version the lower case "i" with macron | + | is represented by [=i] | + +--------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + + +A WAR-TIME WOOING + +A Story + +by + +CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U. S. A. + +Illustrated + + + + + + + +New York +Harper & Brothers, Franklin Square +Copyright, 1888, by Harper & Brothers. +All rights reserved. + + + +[Illustration: "_Colonel Putnam raises to the light of the first lantern +a hairy, bushy object._"--[See p. 50.]] + + +ILLUSTRATIONS. + + + "COLONEL PUTNAM RAISES TO THE LIGHT OF + THE FIRST LANTERN A HAIRY, BUSHY + OBJECT" _Frontispiece_ + + "THE VIRGINIANS KNEW A BRAVE MAN WHEN + THEY SAW ONE" _Facing page_ 8 + + "THE WHOLE TROOP IS HURRIEDLY SADDLING" " 70 + + "THEN BATHES, WITH COLOGNE, THE WHITE + TEMPLES AND SOFT, RIPPLING, SUNNY + HAIR" " 90 + + "BACK COME THOSE DAREDEVILS OF STUART'S" " 110 + + "A CAVALRY ORDERLY MAKES HIS APPEARANCE + AT THE DOOR" " 136 + + "THEN A YOUNG SOLDIER, IN HIS STAFF UNIFORM, + TAKES THREE SPRINGING STEPS, + AND IS AT HER SIDE" " 172 + + "DRAWS FORTH HER PRECIOUS PICTURE AND + LAYS IT AT A RIVAL'S FEET" " 194 + + + + +A WAR-TIME WOOING. + + + + +I. + + +After months of disaster there had come authentic news of victory. All +Union-loving men drew a long breath of relief when it was certain that +Lee had given up the field and fallen back across the Potomac. The +newsboys, yelling through the crowded streets in town, and the evening +trains arriving from the neighboring city were besieged by eager buyers +of the "extras," giving lists of the killed and wounded. Just at sunset +of this late September day a tall young girl, in deep mourning, stood at +a suburban station clinging to the arm of a sad, stern-featured old man. +People eyed them with respect and sympathy, not unmixed with rural +curiosity, for Doctor Warren was known and honored by one and all. A few +months agone his only son had been brought home, shot to death at the +head of his regiment, and was laid in his soldier grave in their shaded +churchyard. It was a bitter trial, but the old man bore up sturdily. He +was an eager patriot; he had no other son to send to the front and was +himself too old to serve; it had pleased God to demand his first-born in +sacrifice upon his country's altar, and though it crushed his heart it +could not kill his loyalty and devotion. His whole soul seemed with the +army in Virginia; he had nothing but scorn for those who lagged at home, +nothing but enthusiastic faith in every man who sought the battle-front, +and so it happened that he almost welcomed the indications that told him +his daughter's heart was going fast--given in return for that of a +soldier lover. + +For a moment it had dazed him. She was still so young--so much a child +in his fond eyes--still his sweet-faced, sunny-haired baby Bess. He +could hardly realize she was eighteen even when with blushing cheeks she +came to show him the photograph of a manly, gallant-looking young +soldier in the uniform of a lieutenant of infantry. Strange as the story +may seem to-day, there was at the time nothing very surprising about its +most salient feature--she and her hero had never met. + +With other girls she had joined a "Soldiers' Aid Society;" had wrought +with devoted though misguided diligence in the manufacture of +"Havelocks" that were bearers of much sentiment but no especial benefit +to the recipients at the front; and like many of her companions she had +slipped her name and address into one of these soon-discarded cap +covers. As luck would have it, their package of "Havelocks," +"housewives," needle-cases, mittens (with trigger finger duly provided +for), ear-muffs, wristlets, knitted socks, and such things, worn by the +"boys" their first winter in Virginia, but discarded for the regulation +outfit thereafter, fell to the lot of the--th Massachusetts Infantry, +and a courteous letter from the adjutant told of its distribution. +Bessie Warren was secretary of the society, and the secretary was +instructed to write to the adjutant and say how gratified they were to +find their efforts so kindly appreciated. More than one of the girls +wished that _she_ were secretary just then, and all of them hoped the +adjutant would answer. He did, and sent, moreover, a photographic group +of several officers taken at regimental headquarters. Each figure was +numbered, and on the back was an explanation setting forth the names of +the officers, the item which each had received as his share, and, where +it was known, the name of the fair manufacturer. The really useful +items, it would seem, had been handed to the enlisted men, and the +officers had reserved for themselves only such articles as experience +had proved to be of no practical value. The six in the picture had all +chosen "Havelocks," and opposite the name of Bessie Warren was that of +Second Lieutenant Paul Revere Abbot. Reference to the "group" again +developed the fact that Mr. Abbot was decidedly the handsomest soldier +of the party--tall, slender, youthful, with clear-cut and resolute +features and a decidedly firm, solid look about him that was +distinguishable in a group of decidedly distinguished-looking men. There +followed much laughing talk and speculation and theory among the girls, +but the secretary was instructed to write another letter of thanks, and +did so very charmingly, and mention was made of the circumstance that +several of their number had brothers or cousins at the front. Then some +of the society had happened, too, to have a photograph taken in the +quaint uniform, with cap and apron, which they had worn at a recently +given "Soldiers' Fair," and one of their number--not Miss Warren--sent +a copy of this to the camp of the--th Massachusetts. Central figure in +this group was Bessie Warren, unquestionably the loveliest girl among +them all, and one day there came to her a single photograph, a still +handsomer picture of Mr. Paul Revere Abbot, and a letter in a hand +somewhat stiff and cramped, in which the writer apologized for the +appearance of the scrawl, explained that his hand had been injured while +practising fencing with a comrade, but that having seen her picture in +the group he could not but congratulate himself on having received a +"Havelock" from hands so fair, could not resist the impulse to write and +personally thank her, and then to inquire if she was a sister of Guthrie +Warren, whom he had known and looked up to at Harvard as a "soph" looks +up to a senior; and he enclosed his picture, which would perhaps recall +him to Guthrie's mind. + +Her mother had been dead many years, and Bessie showed this letter to +her father, and with his full consent and with much sisterly pride wrote +that Guthrie was indeed her brother; that he, too, had taken up arms for +his country and was at the front with his regiment, though nowhere near +their friends of the--th Massachusetts (who were watching the fords of +the Potomac up near Edward's Ferry), and that she had sent the +photograph to him. + +One letter seemed to lead to another, and those from the Potomac +speedily became very interesting, especially when the papers mentioned +how gallantly Lieutenant Paul Abbot had behaved at Ball's Bluff and how +hard he had tried to save his colonel, who was taken prisoner. Guthrie +returned the photograph to Bess, with a letter which the doctor read +attentively. He remembered Paul Abbot as being a leader in the younger +set at Harvard, and was delighted to hear of him "under the colors," +where every Union-loving man should be--where, as he recalled him, he +knew Abbot must be, for he belonged to one of the oldest and best +families in all Massachusetts; he was a gentleman born and bred, and +would make a name for himself in this war. Guthrie only wished there +were some of that stamp in his own regiment, but he feared that there +were few who had the stuff of which the Abbots were made--there were too +many ward politicians. "But I've cast my lot with it and shall see it +through," wrote Guthrie. Poor fellow! poor father! poor loving-hearted +Bessie! The first volley from the crouching gray ranks in those dim +woods back of Seven Pines sent the ward politicians in mad rush to the +rear, and when Guthrie Warren sprang for the colors, and waved them high +in air, and shouted for the men to rally and follow him, it was all in +vain--all as vain as the effort to stop the firing made by the chivalric +Virginia colonel, who leaped forward, with a few daring men at his back, +to capture the resolute Yankee and his precious flag. They got them; but +the life-blood was welling from the hero's breast as they raised him +gently from the silken folds. The Virginians knew a brave man when they +saw one, and they carried him tenderly into their lines and wrote his +last messages, and that night they sent the honored body back to his +brigade, and so the stricken father found and brought home all that was +left of the gallant boy in whom his hopes were centred. + +For a time Bessie's letters languished after this, though she had +written nearly every week during the winter and early spring. Lieutenant +Abbot, on the other hand, appeared to redouble his deep interest. His +letters were full of sympathy--of a tenderness that seemed to be with +difficulty repressed. She read these to her mourning father--they were +so full of sorrow for the bitter loss that had befallen them, so rich +with soldierly sentiment and with appreciation of Guthrie's heroic +character and death, so welcome with reminiscence of him. Not that he +and Abbot had met on the Peninsula--it was the unhappy lot of the +Massachusetts--th to be held with McDowell's corps in front of +Washington while their comrades were doing sharp, soldierly work down +along the Chickahominy. But even where they were, said these letters, +men talked by the hour of how Guthrie Warren had died at Seven +Pines--how daring Phil Kearney himself had ridden up and held forth-- + + "The one hand still left," + +and asked him his name just before the final advance on the thicket. One +letter contained a copy of some soldierly verses her Massachusetts +correspondent had written--"Warren's Death at Seven Pines"--in which he +placed him peer with Warren who fell at Bunker Hill. The verses thrilled +through her heart and soul and brought a storm of tears--tears of +mingled pride and love and hopeless sorrow from her aging father's +eyes. No wonder she soon began to write more frequently. These +letters from Virginia were the greatest joy her father had, she told +herself, and though she wrote through a mist that blurred the page, she +soon grew conscious of a strange, shy sense of comfort, of a thrilling +little spring of glad emotion, of tender, shrinking, sensitive delight, +and by the time the hot summer was waning and August was at hand this +unseen soldier, who had only shared her thoughts before, took complete +and utter control. Why tell the old, old story in its every stage? It +was with a new, wild fear at heart she heard of Stonewall Jackson's leap +for the Rapidan, of the grapple at Cedar Mountain where the +Massachusetts men fought sternly and met with cruel loss. Her father +raged with anxiety when the news came of the withdrawal from the +Peninsula, the triumphant rush of Lee and Longstreet on Jackson's trail, +of the ill-starred but heroic struggle made by Pope along the banks of +Bull Run. A few days and nights of dread suspense and then came tidings +that Lee was across the Potomac and McClellan marching to meet him. Two +more letters reached her from the marching--th Massachusetts, and a +telegram from Washington telling her where to write, and saying, "All +well so far as I am concerned," at which the doctor shook his head--it +sounded so selfish at such a time; it grated on his patriotic ear, and +it wasn't such as he thought an Abbot ought to telegraph. But then he +was hurried; they probably only let him fall out of ranks a moment as +they marched through Washington. And then the newspapers began to teem +with details of the fierce battles of the last three days of August, and +he forgave him and fathomed the secret in his daughter's breast as she +stood breathing very quickly, her cheek flushing, her eyes filling, and +listening while he read how Lieutenant Abbot had led the charge of +the--th Massachusetts and seized the battle-flag of one of Starke's +brigades at that bristling parapet--the old, unfinished railway grade to +the north of Groveton. Neither father nor daughter uttered a word upon +the subject. The old man simply opened his arms and took her to his +heart, where, overcome with emotion, mingling pride and grief and +anxiety and tender, budding love, she burst into tears and hid her +burning face. + +[Illustration: "_The Virginians knew a brave man when they saw one._"] + +Then came the news of fierce fighting at South Mountain, where the--th +Massachusetts was prominent; then of the Antietam, where twice it +charged through that fearful stretch of cornfield and had but a handful +left to guard the riddled colors when nightfall came, and then--silence +and suspense. No letters, no news--nothing. + +Her white, wan face and pleading eyes were too much for the father to +see. Though no formal offer of marriage had been made, though the word +"love" had hardly been written in those glowing letters, he reasoned +rightly that love alone could prompt a man to write day after day in all +the excitements and vicissitudes of stirring campaign. As for the +rest--was he not an Abbot? Did not Guthrie know and honor him? Was he +not a gallant officer as well as a thoroughbred gentleman? No time for +wooing now! That would come with peace. He had even given his consent +when she blushingly asked him if she might--"Well, _there!_ read it +yourself," she said, putting the closely written page into his hands. It +was an eager plea for her picture--and the photograph was sent. He chose +the one himself, a dainty "vignette" on card, for it reminded him of the +mother who was gone. It was fitting, he told himself, that his +daughter--her sainted mother's image, Guthrie's sister--should love a +gallant soldier. He gloried in the accounts of Paul Abbot's bravery, and +longed to meet him and take him by the hand. The time would come. He +could wait and watch over the little girl who was drawing them together. +He asked no questions. It would all be right. + +And now they stood together at the station waiting for the evening cars +and the latest news from the front. It lacked but a few minutes of train +time when, with sad and sympathetic face, the station-agent approached, +a fateful brown envelope in his hand. The doctor turned quickly at his +daughter's gasping exclamation, + +"_Papa!_ Mr. Hardy has a telegram!" + +Despite every effort his hand and lip trembled violently as he took it +and tore it open. It was brief enough--an answer to his repeated +despatches to the War Department. + +"Lieutenant Paul R. Abbot, dangerously wounded, is at field hospital +near Frederick, Maryland." + +The doctor turned to her pale, pleading face, tears welling in his eyes. + +"Be brave, my little girl," he murmured, brokenly. "He is wounded, but +we can go to him at once." + +Nearly sunset again, and the South Mountain is throwing its dark shadow +clear across the Monocacy. The day has been warm, cloudless, beautiful, +and, now that evening is approaching, the sentries begin to saunter out +from the deeper shade that has lured them during the afternoon and to +give a more soldierly tone to the picture. There are not many of them, +to be sure, and this is evidently the encampment of no large command of +troops, despite the number of big white tents pitched in the orchard, +and the score of white-topped army-wagons, the half-dozen yellow +ambulances, and the scraggy lot of mules in the pasture-lot across the +dusty highway. The stream is close at hand, only a stone's-throw from +the picturesque old farmhouse, and the animated talk among the groups of +bathers has that peculiarly blasphemous flavor which seems inseparable +from the average teamster. That the camp is under military tutelage is +apparent from the fact that a tall young man in the loose, ill-fitting +blue fatigue-dress of our volunteers, with war-worn belts and a +business-like look to the long "Springfield" over his shoulder, comes +striding down to the bank and shouts forthwith, + +"You fellows are making too much noise there, and the doctor wants you +to dry up." + +"Tell him to send us some towels, then," growls one of the number, a +black-browed, surly-looking fellow with ponderous, bent shoulders and a +slouching mien. Some of his companions titter encouragingly, others are +silent. The sergeant of the guard flushes angrily and turns on the +speaker. + +"You know very well what I mean, Rix. I'm using your own slang in +speaking to you because you wouldn't comprehend decent language. It +isn't the first time you've been warned not to make such a row here +close to a lot of wounded and dying men. Now I mean business. Quit it or +you'll get into trouble." + +"What authority have _you_ got, I'd like to know," is the sneering +rejoinder. "You're nothing but a hospital guard, and have no business +interfering with us. I ain't under no doctor's orders. You go back to +your stiffs and leave live men alone." + +The sergeant is about to speak, when the bathers, glancing up at the +bank, see him suddenly face to his left and raise his hand to his +shouldered rifle in salute. The next instant a tall young officer, +leaning heavily on a cane and with his sword-arm in a sling, appears at +the sergeant's side. + +"Who is the man who questions your authority?" he asks, in a voice +singularly calm and deliberate. + +There is a moment's awkward silence. The sergeant has the reluctance of +his class to getting a fellow-soldier into a scrape. The half-dressed +bathers stand uncomfortably about the shore and look blankly from one to +another. The man addressed as Rix is busily occupied in pulling on a +pair of soldier brogans, and tying, with great deliberation, the leather +strings. + +Casting his clear eyes over the group, as he steps forward to the edge, +the young officer speaks again: + +"You're here, are you, Rix. That leaves little doubt as to the man even +if I were not sure of the voice. I could hear your brutal swearing, sir, +loud over the prayers the chaplain was saying for the dead. Have you no +sense of decency at all?" + +"How'n hell did I know there was any prayin' going on?" muttered Rix, +bending his scowling brows down over his shoe and tugging savagely at +the string. + +"What was that remark, Rix?" asks the lieutenant, his grasp tightening +on the stick. + +No answer. + +"Rix, drop that shoestring; stand attention, and look at me," says the +officer, very quietly, but with setting teeth that no man fails to note. +Rix slowly and sullenly obeys. + +"What was the remark you made just now?" is again the question. + +"I said I didn't know they were praying," growls Rix, finding he has to +face the music. + +"That sounds very little like your words, but--let it go. You knew very +well that men were dying here right within earshot when you were making +the air blue with blasphemy, and when better men were reverently silent. +It is the third time you have been reprimanded in a week. I shall see to +it that you are sent back to your company forthwith." + +"Not while Lieutenant Hollins is quartermaster you won't," is the +insubordinate reply, and even the teamsters look scared as they glance +from the scowling, hanging face of Rix to the clear-cut features of the +officer, and mark the change that sweeps over the latter. His eyes seem +to flash fire, and his pallid face--thin with suffering and loss of +blood--flushes despite his physical weakness. His handsome mouth sets +like a steel-trap. + +"Sergeant, get two of your men and put that fellow under guard," he +orders. "Stay where you are, Rix, until they come for you." His voice is +low and stern; he does not condescend to raise it for such occasion, +though there is a something about it that tells the soldier-ear it can +ring with command where ring is needed. + +"I'd like to know what I've done," mutters Rix, angrily kicking at the +pebbles at his feet. + +No answer. The lieutenant has walked back a pace and has seated +himself on a little bench. Another officer--a gray-haired and +distinguished-looking man, with silver eagles on his shoulders--is +rapidly nearing him and reaches the bank just in time to catch the next +words. He could have heard them farther back, for Rix is in a fury now, +and shouts aloud: + +"If you knew your own interests--knew half that I know about your +affairs, Lieutenant Abbot--you'd think twice before you ordered me under +arrest." + +The lieutenant half starts from the bench; but his self-control is +strong. + +"You are simply adding to your insubordination, sir," he says, coldly. +"Take your prisoner, sergeant. You men are all witnesses to this +language." + +And muttering much to himself, Teamster Rix is marched slowly away, +leaving an audience somewhat mystified. The colonel stands looking after +him with a puzzled and astonished face; the men begin slowly to edge +away, and then Mr. Abbot wearily rises and--again he flushes red when he +finds his superior officer facing him at not three paces distance. + +"What on earth does that mean, Abbot?" asks the colonel. "Who is that +man?" + +"One of the regimental teamsters, sir. He came here with the wounded, +and there appears to have been no opportunity of sending him back now +that the regiment is over in the Shenandoah. At all events, he has been +allowed to loaf around here for some time, and you probably heard him +swearing." + +"I did; that's what brought me out of the house. But what does he mean +by threatening you?" + +"I have no idea, sir; or, rather, I have an idea, but the matter is of +no consequence whatever, and only characteristic of the man. He is a +scoundrel, I suspect, and I wonder that Hollins has kept him so long." + +"Do you know that Hollins hasn't turned up yet?" + +"So I heard this morning, colonel, and yet you saw him the night of the +battle, did you not?" + +"Not the night after, but the night before. We left him with the wagons +when we marched to the ford. I was knocked off my horse about one in the +afternoon, just north of the cornfield, and they got me back to the +wagons with this left shoulder all out of shape--collar-bone broken; and +he wasn't there then, and hadn't been seen since daybreak. Somebody said +he was so cut up when you were hit at the Gap. I didn't know you were +such friends." + +"Well, we've known each other a long time--were together at Harvard and +moved in the same set; but there was never any intimacy, colonel." + +"I see, I see," says the older officer, reflectively. "He was a stranger +to me when I joined the regiment and found him quartermaster. He was +Colonel Raymond's choice, and you know that in succeeding to his place +I preferred to make no changes. But I say to you now that I wish I had. +Hollins has failed to come up to the standard as a campaign +quartermaster, and the men have suffered through his neglect more than +once. Then he stayed behind when we marched through Washington--a thing +he never satisfactorily explained to me--and I had serious thoughts of +relieving him at Frederick and appointing you to act in his stead. Now +the fortune of war has settled both questions. Hollins is missing, and +you are a captain or will be within the month. Have you heard from +Wendell?" + +"His arm is gone, sir; amputated above the elbow; and he has decided to +resign. Foster commands the company, but I shall go forward just as soon +as the doctor will let me." + +"We'll go together. He says I can stand the ride in ten days or two +weeks, but neither of your wounds has healed yet. How's the leg? That +must have been a narrow squeak." + +"No bones were touched, sir. It was only that I lost so much blood from +the two. It was the major who reported me to you as dangerously wounded, +was it not?" + +"Yes; but when he left you there seemed to be very little chance. You +were senseless and exhausted, and with two rifle bullets through you +what was to be expected? He couldn't tell that they happened to graze no +artery, and the surgeon was too busy elsewhere." + +"It gave them a scare at home," said Abbot, smiling; "and my father and +sister were on the point of starting for Washington when I managed to +send word to them that the wounds were slight. I want to get back to the +regiment before they find out that they were comparatively serious, +because the family will be importuning the Secretary of War to send me +home on leave." + +"And any man of your age, with such a home, and a sweetheart, ought to +be eager to go. Why not go, Abbot? There will be no more fighting for +months now; McClellan has let them slip. You could have a fortnight in +Boston as well as not, and wear your captain's bars for the first time. +I fancy I know how proud Miss Winthrop would be to sew them on for you." + +The colonel is leaning against the trunk of a spreading oak-tree as he +speaks. The sun is down, and twilight closing around them. Mr. Abbot, +who had somewhat wearily reseated himself on the rude wooden bench a +moment before, has turned gradually away from the speaker during these +words, and is gazing down the beautiful valley. Lights are beginning to +twinkle here and there in the distance, and the gleam of one or two tiny +fires tells of other camps not far away. A dim mist of dust is rising +from the highroad close to the stream, and a quaint old Maryland +cabriolet, drawn by a venerable gray horse, is slowly coming around the +bend. The soldiers grouped about the gateway, back at the farmhouse, +turn and look curiously towards the hollow-sounding hoof-beats, but +neither the colonel nor his junior officer seems to notice them. Abbot's +thoughts are evidently far away, and he makes no reply. The surgeon who +sanctions his return to field duty yet a while would, to all +appearances, be guilty of a professional blunder. The lieutenant's face +is pale and thin; his hand looks very fragile and fearfully white in +contrast with the bronze of his cheek. He leans his head upon his hand +as he gazes away into the distance, and the colonel stands attentively +regarding him. He recalls the young fellow's gallant and spirited +conduct at Manassas and South Mountain; his devotion to his soldier duty +since the day he first "reported." If ever an officer deserved a month +at home, in which to recuperate from the shock of painful wounds, surely +that officer was Abbot. The colonel well knows with what pride and +blessing his revered old father would welcome his coming--the joy it +would bring to the household at his home. It is an open secret, too, +that he is engaged to Genevieve Winthrop, and surely a man must want to +see the lady of his love. He well remembers how she came with other +ladies to attend the presentation of colors to the regiment, and how +handsome and distinguished a woman she looked. The Common was thronged +with Boston's "oldest and best" that day, and Colonel Raymond's speech +of acceptance made eloquent reference to the fact that of all the grand +old names that had been prominent in the colonial history of the +commonwealth not one was absent from the muster-roll of the regiment it +was his high honor to command. The Abbots and Winthrops had a history +coeval with that of the colony, and were long and intimately acquainted. +When, therefore, it was rumored that Genevieve Winthrop was to marry +Paul Abbot "as soon as the war was over," people simply took it as a +matter of course--they had been engaged ever since they were trundled +side by side in the primitive baby-carriages of the earliest forties. +This reflection leads the colonel to the realization of the fact that +they must be very much of an age. Indeed, had he not heard it whispered +that Miss Winthrop was the senior by nearly a year? Abbot looked young, +almost boyish, when he was first commissioned in May of '61, but he had +aged rapidly, and was greatly changed. He had not shaved since June, and +a beard of four months' growth had covered his face. There are lines in +his forehead, too, that one could not detect a year before. Why should +not the young fellow have a few weeks' leave, thinks the colonel. The +regiment is now in camp over beyond Harper's Ferry, greatly diminished +in numbers and waiting for its promised recruits. It is evident that +McClellan has no intention of attacking Lee again; he is content with +having persuaded him to retire from Maryland. Nothing will be so apt to +build up the strength and spirits of the new captain as to send him home +to be lionized and petted as he deserves to be. Doubtless all the +languor and sadness the colonel has noted in him of late is but the +outward and visible sign of a longing for home which he is ashamed to +confess. + +"Abbot," he says again, suddenly and abruptly, "I'm going back to +Frederick this evening as soon as the medical director is ready, and I'm +going to get him to give you a certificate on which to base application +for a month's leave Don't say no. I understand your scruples, but go you +shall. You richly deserve it and will be all the better for it. Now your +people won't have to be importuning the War Department; the leave shall +come from this end of the line." + +The lieutenant seems about to turn again as though to thank his +commander when there comes an interruption--the voice of the sergeant of +the guard close at hand. He holds forth a card; salutes, and says: + +"A gentleman inquiring for Colonel Putnam." + +And the gentleman is but a step or two behind--an aging man with silvery +hair and beard, with lines of sorrow in his refined and scholarly face, +and fatigue and anxiety easily discernible in his bent figure--a +gentleman evidently, and the colonel turns courteously to greet him. + +"Doctor Warren!" he says, interrogatively, as he holds forth his hand. + +"Yes, colonel, they told me you were about going back to Frederick, and +I desired to see you at once. I am greatly interested in a young +officer of your regiment who is here, wounded; he is a college friend of +my only son's, sir--Guthrie Warren, killed at Seven Pines." The colonel +lifts his forage cap with one hand while the other more tightly clasps +that of the older man. "I hear that the reports were exaggerated and +that he is able to be about. It is Lieutenant Abbot." + +"Judge for yourself, doctor," is the smiling reply. "Here he sits." + +With an eager light in his eyes the old gentleman steps forward towards +Abbot, who is slowly rising from the bench. He, too, courteously raises +his forage cap. In a moment both the doctor's hands have clasped the +thin, white hand that leans so heavily on the stick. + +"My dear young friend!" he says. "My gallant boy! Thank God it is not +what we feared!" and his eyes are filling, his lip is trembling +painfully. + +"You are very kind, sir," says Abbot, vaguely, "I am doing quite well." +Then he pauses. There is such yearning and--something he cannot fathom +in the old man's face. He feels that he is expected to say still +more--that this is not the welcome looked for. "I beg a thousand +pardons, sir, perhaps I did not catch the name aright. Did you say +Doctor Warren?" + +"Certainly, B--Guthrie Warren's father--you remember?" and the look in +the sad old eyes is one of strange perplexity. "I cannot thank you half +enough for all you have written of my boy." + +And still there is no sign of recognition in Abbot's face. He is +courteous, sympathetic, but it is all too evident that there is +something grievously lacking. + +"I fear there is some mistake," he gently says; "I have no recollection +of knowing or writing of any one of that name." + +"Mistake! Good God! How can there be?" is the gasping response. The +tired old eyes are ablaze with grief, bewilderment, and dread +commingled. "Surely this is Lieutenant Paul Revere Abbot--of the--th +Massachusetts." + +"It certainly is, doctor, but--" + +"It surely is your photograph we have: surely you wrote to--to us all +this last year--letter after letter about my boy--my Guthrie." + +There is an instant of silence that is almost agonizing. The colonel +stands like one in a state of shock. The old doctor, trembling from +head to foot, looks with almost piteous entreaty; with anguish and +incredulity, and half-awakened wrath, into the pale and distressed +features of the young soldier. + +"I bitterly grieve to have to tell you, sir," is the sorrowful answer, +"but I know no such name. I have written no such letters." + +Another instant, and the old man has dropped heavily upon the bench, and +buried his face in his arms. But for the colonel he might have fallen +prone to earth. + + + + +II. + + +An hour after sundown and the rattling old cabriolet has two occupants +as it drives back to town. Colonel Putnam comes forth with the old +gentleman whom he had so tenderly conducted to the farmhouse but a few +moments after the strange scene out on the bank, and is now his escort +to Frederick. The sergeant of the guard has been besieged with +questions, for several of the men saw the doctor drop upon the bench and +were aware of the melodramatic nature of the meeting. Lieutenant Abbot +with a face paler than before, with a strange look of perplexity and +smouldering wrath about his handsome eyes, has gone over to his own +tent, where the surgeon presently visits him. The colonel and his +civilian visitor are closeted together over half an hour, and the latter +looks more dead than alive, say the men, as he feebly totters down the +steps clinging to the colonel's arm. + +"What did you say was the name of the officer who was killed--his son?" +asks one of the guards as he stands at the entrance to the tent. + +"Warren--Guthrie Warren," answers the sergeant, briefly. "I don't know +whether the old man's crazy or not. He said the lieutenant had been +writing to him for months about his son, and the lieutenant denied +having written a line." + +"He lied then, by----!" comes a savage growl from within the tent. +"Where is the old man? Give me a look at him!" and the scowling face of +Rix makes its sudden appearance at the tent-flop, peering forth into the +fire-light. + +"Be quiet, Rix, and go back where you belong. You've made more than +enough trouble to-day," is the sergeant's low-toned order. + +"I tell you I only want to see the old man," answers the teamster, +struggling, "Don't you threaten me with that bayonet, Drake," he growls +savagely at the sentry, who has thrown himself in front of the opening. +"It'll be the worse for you fellows that you ever confined me, no matter +by whose order; but as for that stuck-up prig, by----! you'll see soon +enough what'll come of _his_ ordering me into the guard-tent." + +His voice is so hoarse and loud with anger that the colonel's attention +is attracted. He has just seated Doctor Warren in the vehicle, and is +about to take his place by his side when Rix's tirade bursts upon his +ear. The words are only partially distinguishable, but the colonel steps +promptly back. + +"What is the matter with your prisoner, sergeant? Is he drunk or crazy, +that he persists in this uproar?" + +"I don't think it either, sir," answers the sergeant; while Rix, at +sight of his commanding officer, pops his head back within the tent, and +shuts the narrow slit. "He's simply ugly and bent on making trouble." + +"Well, stop it! If he utters another insubordinate word, have him bucked +and gagged at once. He is disgracing the regiment, and I won't tolerate +it. Do you understand?" + +"I do, sir." + +The colonel turns abruptly away, while the prisoner, knowing his man, +keeps discreetly out of sight, and correspondingly silent. At the gate +the older officer stops once more and calls to a soldier who is standing +near. + +"Give my compliments to Lieutenant Abbot, and say that I will be out +here again to-morrow afternoon. Now, doctor, I am with you." + +The old gentleman is leaning wearily back in his corner of the cab; a +strange, stunned, lethargic feeling seems to have come over him. His +eyes are fixed on vacancy, if anything, and the colonel's attempt at +cheeriness meets no response. As the vehicle slowly rattles away he +makes an effort, rouses himself as it were from a stupor-like condition, +and abruptly speaks: + +"You tell me that--that you have seen Lieutenant Abbot's mail all summer +and spring and never saw a--our postmark--Hastings?" + +"I have seen his mail very often, and thought his correspondents were +all home people. I am sure I would have noticed any letters coming +frequently in one handwriting, and his father's is the only masculine +superscription that was at all regular." + +"My letters--our home letters--were not often addressed by me," +hesitates the doctor. "The postmark might have given you an idea. I had +not time--" but he breaks off, weakly. It is so hard for him to +prevaricate: and it is bitter as death to tell the truth, now. And +worse--worse! What is he to tell--_how_ is he to tell her? + +The colonel speaks slowly and sadly, but with earnest conviction: + +"No words can tell you how I mourn the heartlessness of this trick, +doctor; but you may rest assured it is no doing of Abbot's. What earthly +inducement could he have? Think of it! a man of his family and +connections--and character, too. Some scoundrel has simply borrowed his +name, possibly in the hope of bleeding you for money. Did none of the +letters ever suggest embarrassments? It is most unfortunate that you did +not bring them with you. I know the writing of every officer and many of +the men in the regiment, and it would give me a clew with which to work. +Promise me you will send them when you reach home." + +The Doctor bows his head in deep dejection. "What good will it do? I +thought to find a comrade of my boy's. Indeed! it must be one who knew +him well!--and how can I desire to bring to punishment one who +appreciated my son as this unknown writer evidently did. His only crime +seems to have been a hesitancy about giving his own name." + +"And a scoundrelly larceny of that of a better man in every way. No, +doctor. The honor of my regiment demands that he be run down and brought +to justice; and you must not withhold the only proof with which we can +reach him. Promise me!" + +"I--I will think. I am all unstrung now, my dear sir! Pray do not press +me! If it was not Mr. Abbot, who could it have been? Who else could have +known him?" + +"Why, Doctor Warren, there are probably fifty Harvard men in this one +regiment--or were at least," says the colonel, sadly, "up to a month +ago. Cedar Mountain, Bull Run, South Mountain, and Antietam have left +but a moiety. Most of our officers are graduates of the old college, and +many a man was there. I dare say I could have found a dozen who well +knew your son. In the few words I had with Abbot, he told me he +remembered that there had been some talk among the officers last July +after your son was killed. Some one saw the name in the papers, and said +that it must have been Warren of the class of '58, and our Captain +Webster, who was killed at Manassas, was in that class and knew him +well. Abbot said he remembered him, by sight, as a sophomore would know +a senior, but had never spoken to him. Anybody hearing all the talk +going on at the time we got the news of Seven Pines could have woven +quite a college history out of it--and somebody has." + +"Ah, colonel! There is still the fact of the photograph, and the letters +that were written about Guthrie all last winter--long before Seven +Pines." + +The colonel looks utterly dejected, too; he shakes his head, mournfully. +"That troubles Abbot as much as it does me. Fields, gallant fellow, was +our adjutant then, and he and Abbot were close friends. He could hardly +have had a hand in anything beyond the photograph and letter which, you +tell me, were sent to the Soldier's Aid Society in town. I remember the +young fellows were having quite a lot of fun about their Havelocks when +we lay at Edwards's Ferry--but Fields was shot dead, almost the first +man, at Cedar Mountain, and of the thirty-five officers we had when we +crossed the Potomac the first time, only eleven are with the--th to-day. +Abbot, who was a junior second lieutenant then, is a captain now, by +rights, and daily expecting his promotion. I showed you several letters +in his hand, and they, you admit, are utterly unlike the ones you +received. Indeed, doctor, it is impossible to connect Abbot with it in +any way." + +The doctor's face is covered by his hands. In ten minutes or less he +must be at _her_ side. What can he tell his little girl? What shall he +say? What possible, probable story can man invent to cover a case so +cruel as this? He hardly hears the colonel's words. He is +thinking--thinking with a bursting heart and whirling brain. For a time +all sense of the loss of his only son seems deadened in face of this +undreamed-of, this almost incredible shadow that has come to blight the +sweet and innocent life that is so infinitely dear to him. What can he +say to Bessie when he meets those beautiful, pleading, trusting, anxious +eyes? She has borne up so bravely, silently, patiently. Their journey +has been trying and full of fatigue, but once at Frederick he has left +her in the hands of a sympathetic woman, the wife of the proprietor of +the only tavern in which a room could be had, and, promising to return +as soon as he could see the lieutenant, he has gone away on his quest +with hopeful heart. A soldier claiming to be of the--th Massachusetts +told them that very morning at the Baltimore station that Mr. Abbot was +well enough to be up and about. It is barely nine o'clock now. In less +than an hour there will be a train going back. All he can think of is +that they must go--go as quick as possible. They have nothing now to +keep them here, and he has one secret to guard from all--his little +girl's. No one must know, none suspect that. In the bitterness of +desolation, still stunned and bewildered by the cruelty of the blow that +has come upon them, his mind is clear on that point. If possible no one, +except those people at the tavern, must know she was with him. None must +suspect--above all--none must suspect the bitter truth. It would crush +her like a bruised and trodden flower. + +"If--if it had been a correspondence where there was a woman in the +case," begins the colonel again--and the doctor starts as though stung, +and his wrinkled hands wring each other under the heavy travelling-shawl +he wears--"I could understand the thing better. Quite a number of +romantic correspondences have grown up between our soldiers and young +girls at home through the medium of these mittens and things; they seem +to have lost their old significance. But you give me to understand +that--that there was none?" + +"The letters were solely about my son, all that ever came to me," said +the doctor, nervously. + +"That seems to complicate the matter. If it were a mere flirtation by +letter, such as is occasionally going on, _then_ somebody might have +borrowed his name and stolen his photograph; but I don't see how he +could have secured the replies--the girl's letters--in such a case. No. +As you say, doctor, that wasn't apt to be the solution, though I'm at a +loss to account for the letters that came from you. They were addressed +to Lieutenant Abbot, camp of the--th Massachusetts, you tell me, and +Abbot declares he has never heard from any one of your name, or had a +letter from Hastings. He would be the last man, too, to get into a +correspondence with a woman--for he is engaged." + +The doctor starts again as though stung a second time. Was there not in +one of those letters a paragraph over which his sweet daughter had +blushed painfully as she strove to read it aloud? Did it not speak of an +entanglement that once existed; an affair in which his heart had never +been enlisted, but where family considerations and parental wishes had +conspired to bring about a temporary "understanding"? The cabriolet is +bouncing about on the cobblestones of the old-fashioned street, and the +doctor is thankful for the physical jar. Another moment and they draw +up at the door of the old Maryland hostelry, and the colonel steps out +and assists his companion to alight. + +"Let me take you to your room now, doctor; then I'll have our staff +surgeon come over and see you. It has been a shock which would break a +younger man--" + +But the old gentleman has nerved himself for the struggle. First and +foremost--no one must follow him to his room--none suspect the trial +there awaiting him. He turns sadly, but with decision. + +"Colonel, I cannot thank you now as you deserve; once home, I will +write, but now what I need is absolute rest a little while. I am +stunned, bewildered. I must think this out, and my best plan is to get +to sleep first. Forgive me, sir, for my apparent discourtesy, and do not +take it amiss if I say that for a few moments--for the present--I should +like to be alone. We--we will meet again, sir, if it rest with me, and I +will write. Good-night, colonel. Good-night, sir." + +And he turns hurriedly away. For a moment the soldier stands uncertain +what to do. Then he enters the hallway determined to bespeak the best +offices of the host in behalf of his stricken friend. There is a broad +stairway some distance back in the hall, and up this he sees the doctor +slowly laboring. He longs to go to his assistance, but stands +irresolute, fearing to offend. The old gentleman nears the top, and is +almost on the landing above, when a door is suddenly opened, a light, +quick step is heard, and in an instant a tall, graceful girl, clad in +deep black--a girl whom the colonel sees is young, beautiful, and very +pale--springs forward into view, places her hands on the old man's +shoulders, and looks eagerly, imploringly, into his face. What she asks, +what she says, the colonel cannot hear; but another moment solves all +doubt as to his proper course. He sees her clasped to the doctor's +breast; he sees them clinging to each other one instant, and then the +father, with sudden rally, bears her pale and probably fainting from his +sight. A door shuts with muffled slam, and they are gone; and with the +intuition of a gentleman Colonel Putnam realizes why his proffer of +services would now be out of place. + +"And so there is a woman in the case, after all," he thinks to himself +as he steps forth into the cool evening air. "And it is for her sake +the good old man shrinks from dragging the matter into the light of +day--his daughter, probably; and some scoundrel has been at work, and in +my regiment." + +The colonel grinds his teeth and clinches his fists at this reflection. +He is a husband and father himself, and now he understands some features +in the old doctor's trouble which had puzzled him before. He strolls +across the street to the sidewalk under the quaint old red-brick, +dormer-windowed houses where lights are still gleaming, and where groups +of people are chatting and laughing in the pleasant air. Many of them +are in the rough uniform of the army--teamsters, drivers, and slightly +wounded soldiers out on pass from the neighboring field hospitals. The +old cabriolet is being trundled off to some neighboring stable after a +brief confabulation between the driver thereof and the landlord of the +tavern, and the colonel is about hailing and tendering the Jehu another +job for the morrow, when he sees that somebody else is before him; and, +bending down from his seat, the driver is talking with a man who has +come out from the shadow of a side porch. There is but little light in +the street, and the colonel has turned on reaching the curb, and is +seeking among the windows across the way for one which may possibly +prove to be the young lady's. He is interested in the case more than +ever now, but the windows give no sign. Some are lighted, and occasional +shadows flit across them, but none that are familiar. Suddenly he hears +a sound that brings him back to himself--the tramp of marching feet, and +the sudden clash of arms as they halt; a patrol from the +provost-marshal's guard comes quickly around a corner from the soft dust +of a side street, and the non-commissioned officers are sharply halting +all neighboring men in uniform, and examining their passes. Several +parties in army overcoats shuffle uneasily up the street, only to fall +into the clutches of a companion patrol that pops up as suddenly around +the next corner beyond. "Rounding up the stragglers," thinks the +colonel, with a quiet smile of approval, and, like the soldier he is, he +finds time to look on a moment and watch the manner in which the work is +done. The patrol seems to have possessed itself of both sides of the +street at the same instant, and "spotted" every man in blue. These are +bidden to stand until their papers are examined by the brace of young +officers who appear upon the scene, belted and sashed, and bearing small +lanterns. Nor are uniforms alone subject to scrutiny. Ever since Second +Bull-Run there has been much straggling in the army, and not a little +desertion; and though a fortnight has passed since Antietam was fought, +the provost-marshal's men have not yet finished scouring the country, +and a sharp lookout is kept for deserters. Those civilians who can +readily establish their identity as old residents of the town have no +trouble. Occasionally a man is encountered whom nobody seems to know, +and, despite their protestations, two of those characters have been +gathered in by the patrol, and are now on their way to the office. The +colonel hears their mingled complaint and blasphemy as they are marched +past him by a file of the guard, and then turns to the nearest of the +officers-- + +"Lieutenant, did you note the man who ran back from where that cab is +standing?" + +The officer of the patrol looks quickly up from the "pass" he is +examining by the light of his lantern, and at sight of Colonel Putnam +his hand goes up to the visor of his cap. + +"No, colonel; was there one? Which way did he go?" + +"Straight back to the shadow of the porch; just a minute ago. What +attracted my attention to him was the fact that he was deep in talk with +the driver when your men rounded the corner, and did not seem to see or +hear them. Then I turned to look at that corporal yonder, as he crossed +to halt a man on the east side, and at sound of his voice this fellow at +the cab started suddenly and ran, crouching in the shadow, back to the +side of the tavern there. It looks suspicious." + +"Come with me, two of you," says the lieutenant, quickly, and, followed +by a brace of his guard, he crosses the street, and his lantern is seen +dancing around the dark gallery. The colonel, meantime, accosts the +driver: + +"What took that man away so suddenly? Who is he?" + +"I don't know, sir. I never seen him afore. He stopped me right here to +ask who the gentleman was I was drivin'. I told him your name, 'cause I +heard it, and he started then kinder queer, but came back and said 'twas +the citizen he meant; and the boss here had just told me that was Doctor +Warren, and that his daughter was up-stairs. Then the feller jumped like +he was scared; the guard had just come round the corner, and when he +saw them he just put for the barn." + +"Is there a barn back there?" asks the colonel. The driver nods assent. +A moment's silence, and then the colonel continues: "I want to see you +in the morning. Wait for me here at the hotel about nine o'clock. +Meantime say nothing about this, and you'll lose nothing by holding your +tongue. What was his face like--this man I mean?" + +"Couldn't see it, sir. It was dark, and he had a beard all over it, and +wore a black-felt hat--soft; and he had a cloak something like yours, +that was wrapped all over his shoulders." + +"Remember, I want to see you here in the morning; and hold your tongue +till then." + +With that the colonel hastens off on the trail of the searching-party. +He sees the lantern glimmering among some dark buildings beyond the +side-gallery, and thither he follows. To all appearances the spot is +almost a _cul de sac_ of wooden barns, board-fences, and locked doors, +except for a gateway leading to the yard behind the tavern. The search +has revealed no trace of the skulker, and the lieutenant holds his lamp +aloft as he examines the gate and peers over the picket fence that +stands barely breast-high and bars them out. + +"May have gone in here," he mutters. "Come on!" + +But the search here only reveals half a dozen avenues of escape. The man +could have gone back through several doors into the building itself, or +eastward, through some dilapidated yards, into a street that was +uninfested by patrols, and dark as the bottom of a well. "It is useless +to waste further time," says the lieutenant, who presently rejoins the +colonel behind the tavern, and finds him staring up at the rear windows. +To him the young officer, briefly and in low tone, reports the result of +his search. + +"I presume there is nothing else I can do just here, is there, colonel?" +he asks. The colonel shakes his head. + +"Nothing that I can think of, unless you look through the halls and +office." + +"We are going there. Shall I light you back to the street?" + +"Er--ah--no! I think I'll wait here--just a moment," says the colonel, +and, marvelling not a little, the subaltern leaves him. + +No sooner is he gone, followed by his men, than Colonel Putnam steps +back to the side of an old chain-pump that he has found in the course of +his researches, and here he leans for support. Though his shoulder has +set in shape, and is doing fairly well, he has had two rather long +drives this day, and one fatiguing experience; he is beginning to feel +wearied, but is not yet ready to go to his bed. That was Doctor Warren's +shadow, bent and feeble, that he saw upon the yellow light of the +window-shade a moment ago, and he is worried at the evidence of +increasing weakness and sorrow. Even while he rests there, irresolute as +to what he ought to do--whether to go and insist on his right, as a man +and a father, to be of some comfort to another in his sore trial, or to +respect that father's evident wish to conceal his daughter's interest in +the trouble that had come upon them--he is startled to see another +shadow, hers; and this shadow is in hat and veil. Whither can they be +going at this hour of the night? 'Tis nearly ten o'clock. Yes, surely; +there is the doctor's bent shadow once more, and he has thrown on an +outer coat of some kind. Then they are going back by the night train. +They shrink from having it known that she was here at all; that she was +in any way interested. And the doctor wants to make his escape without +the pang of seeing or being seen again by those who witnessed his utter +shock and distress this day. So be it! thinks the colonel. God knows I +would not intrude on the sanctity of his sorrow or her secret. Later, +when they are home again, the matter can be looked into so far as +getting specimens of this skulking felon's handwriting is concerned, and +no one need know, when he is unearthed, that it was a young girl he was +luring under the name of another man. So be it! They may easily elude +all question now. Night and the sacred mantle of their evident suffering +will shield them from observation or question. + +The colonel draws deeper into the shade of the barn. It seems a +sacrilege now to be thus spying upon their movements, and he is ashamed +of the impulse that kept him there. He decides to leave the yard and +betake himself to his lodgings, when he is suddenly aware of a dark +object rising from under the back porch. Stealthily and slowly the +figure comes crouching out into the open yard, coming towards where the +colonel stands in the shadow of the black out-buildings; and then, when +close by the pump where he stood but a moment before, it rises to its +full height, and draws a long breath of relief. It is a man in a soft +black-felt hat, with a heavy, dark beard, and wearing one of the biggest +of the great circular capes that make a part of the officer's overcoat, +and are most frequently worn without the coat itself, unless the weather +be severe. + +The colonel is unarmed; his pistols are over at the room he temporarily +occupies in town; he is suffering from recent injury, and one arm is +practically good for nothing, but he loses no time in lamenting these +points. The slight form of the girl approaches the window at this very +instant as though to pick up some object on the sill, then disappears, +and the light vanishes from the room. From the figure at the pump he +hears a stifled exclamation of surprise, but no articulate word; and +before the figure has time to recover he stands close beside it and his +voice breaks the stillness of the night. + +"Your name, sir, and your regiment? I am Colonel Putnam." + +He has laid his hand on the broad shoulder under the cloak and plainly +feels the start and thrill with which his words are greeted. He even +fancies he can hear the stifled word "God!" The man seems stricken +dumb, and more sharply the colonel begins his stern query a second time, +but gets no farther than "Your name," when, with a violent wrench, the +stranger is free; he makes a spring, trips over some loose rubbish, and +goes crashing to earth. + +"The guard!" yells the colonel, as he throws himself upon him, but the +man is up in an instant, hurls off his antagonist, and, this time, leaps +off into the darkness in comparative safety. But he has left a clew +behind. As the soldiers of the provost guard come running around into +the yard and the windows are thrown up and eager heads peer forth in +excited inquiry, Colonel Putnam raises to the light of the first lantern +a hairy, bushy object that he holds in his hand; it is a false beard, +and a big one. + +"By Jove!" says the lieutenant. "It must be some rebel spy." + + + + +III. + + +Daybreak, and the broad expanse of valley opening away to the south is +just lighting up in chill, half-reluctant fashion, as though the night +had been far too short or the revels of yester-even far too long. There +is a swish and plash of rapid running waters close at hand, and here and +there, where the stream is dammed by rocky ridge, the wisps of fog rise +slowly into air, mingling with and adding to the prevailing tone of +chilly gray. Through these fog-wreaths there stands revealed a massive +barrier of wooded and rock-ribbed heights, towering aloft and shutting +out the eastern sky, all their crests a-swim in floating cloud, all +their rugged foothills dotted with the tentage of a sleeping army. Here, +close at hand on the banks of the rushing river, a sentry paces slowly +to and fro, the dew dripping from his shouldered musket and beading on +his cartridge-box. The collar of his light-blue overcoat is muffled up +about his ears, and his forage cap is pulled far down over his blinking +eyes. As he paces southward he can see along the stream-bed camps and +pale-blue ghosts of sentries pacing as wearily as himself in the wan and +cheerless light. Trees are dripping with heavy charge of moisture that +the faintest whiff of morning air sends showering on the bank beneath; +and a little deluge of the kind coming suddenly down upon this +particular sentry as he strolls under the spreading branches serves to +augment the expression of general weariness and disgust, which by no +means distinguishes him from his more distant fellows, but evokes no +further comment than a momentary huddling of head and shoulders into the +depths of the blue collar, and the briefest possible mention of the last +place of all others one would be apt to connect with cooling showers. +Facing about and slouching along the other way the sentry sees a picture +that, had he poetry or love of the grand and beautiful in his soul, +would a thousand-fold compensate him for his enforced vigil. Every +moment, as the timid light grows bolder with its reinforcement from the +east, there opens a vista before his eyes that few men could look upon +unmoved. To his right the brawling Shenandoah, swift and swirling, goes +rushing through its last rapids, as though bent on having one final +"hurrah" on its own account before losing its identity in the welcoming +waters of the Potomac. Hemming it in to the right--the east--and +shutting out the crimson dawn are the massive bulwarks of the Loudon +Heights climbing towards the changing heavens. Westward, less bold and +jagged, but still a mighty barrier in almost any other companionship, +are the sister heights of Bolivar, scarred and seamed with earth-work +and rifle-pit, and bristling with _abattis_ and battery. Down the +intervening valley plunges the Shenandoah and winds the macadam of the +highway, its dust subdued for the time being; while, straight away to +the front, mist-wreathed at their base from the sleeping waters of the +winding canal, cloud-capped at their lofty summit from the bank of vapor +that hovers along the entire range, rock-ribbed, precipitous, +magnificent in silent, stubborn strength, the towering heights of +Maryland span the scene from east to west, and stand superb, the +background to the picture. All as yet is sombre in tone, black, dark +green, and brown and gray. The mist hangs heavy over everything, and the +twinkle of an occasional camp-fire is but the sodden glow of ember +whose life is long since burned out. But, see! Through the deep, jagged +rift where runs the Potomac, along the rock-bound gorge through which in +ages past the torrent burst its way, there creeps a host of tiny shafts +of color--the skirmishers, the _eclaireurs_, of the irresistible array +of which they form but the foremost line--the coming army of the God of +Day. Here behind the frowning Loudon no such light troops venture; but, +skilled riders as they are, + + "Spurring the winds of the morning," + +they pour through the rocky gap, and now they find their lodgment on +every salient of the grim old wall beyond the broad Potomac. Here, +there, everywhere along the southern face are glinting shafts or points +on rocks or ridge. Seam and shadow take on a purplish tinge. The hanging +mass of cloud beams with answering smile upon its earthward face as gold +and crimson and royal purple mantle the billowy cheeks. Now the rocks +light up with warmer glow, and long, horizontal shadows are thrown +across the hoary curtain, and slowly the gorgeous cloud-crests lift away +and more and more the heights come gleaming into view. Now there are +breaks and caverns here and there through the shifting vapors, and +hurried little glimpses of the cliffs beyond, and these cloud-caves grow +and widen, and broad sheets of yellow light seem warming up the dripping +wall and changing into mist the clinging beads of dew. And now, far +aloft, the fringe of firs and stunted oaks is seen upon the summit as +the sun breaks through the shimmering veil, and there, fluttering +against the blue of heaven, circled in fleecy frame of vapor, glowing, +waving in the sky, all aflame with tingeing sunshine, there leaps into +view the "Flag of the Free," crowning the Maryland heights and shining +far up the guarded valley of the Shenandoah. A puff of smoke juts out +from the very summit across the stream; the sentry eyes it with a sigh +of reviving interest in life; five, ten, twenty seconds he counts before +the boom of the salute follows the sudden flash and wakes the echoes of +the opposite cliffs. + +Listen! Up on the westward heights, somewhere among those frowning +batteries, a bugle rings out upon the air-- + + "I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up, + I can't get 'em up in the mo--orning," + +it merrily sings, and the rocks of Loudon echo back the spirited notes. +Farther up the valley a distant drum rattles, and then, shrill and +piercing, with hoarse, rolling accompaniment, the fifes of some infantry +regiment burst into the lively trills of the _reveille_. Another camp +takes up the strain, off to the left. Then the soft notes of the cavalry +trumpets come floating up from the water-side, and soon, regiment after +regiment, the field-music is all astir and the melody of the initial +effort becomes one ringing, blaring, but most effectually waking +discord. Loud in the nearest camp the little drummers and fifers are +thumping away at "Bonnie Lass o' Gawrie." Over by the turnpike the rival +corps of the--th Connecticut are pounding out the cheerful strains in +which Ireland's favored bard declared he would "Mourn the hopes that +leave," little dreaming that British fifes and drums would make it +soldier music--"two-four time"--all the world over. Halfway across the +valley, where the Bolivars narrow it, an Ohio regiment is announcing to +the rest of the army, within earshot, that it wakes to the realization +that its "Name it is Joe Bowers," tooted and hammered in "six-eight +time" through the lines of "A" tents; and a New York Zouave organization +turns out of its dew-dripping blankets and cordially blasphemes the +musicians who are expressing as their conception of the regimental +sentiment, "Oh, Willie, we have missed you." And so the chorus goes up +and down the Shenandoah, and the time-worn melodies of the earliest +war-days--the days before we had "Tramp, tramp," and "Marching through +Georgia" (which we never _did_ have in Virginia), and even lackadaisical +"When this crew-el war is o-ver," are the matins of the soldiers of the +Union Army. + +At last the uproar dies away. Here in the neighboring camp the sergeants +are rapidly calling the rolls, and some companies are so reduced in +number that no call over is necessary--a simple glance at the baker's +dozen of war-worn, grisly looking men is sufficient to assure the +sergeant of the presence of every one left to be accounted for. In this +brigade they are not turning out under arms just now, as is the custom +farther to the front. It has been cruelly punished in the late battle, +and is accorded a resting-spell pending the arrival of recruits from +home. One first sergeant, who still wears the chevrons of a corporal, in +making his report to his company commander briefly says: + +"Rix came back last night, sir; returned to duty with his company." + +"Hello, Hunnewell!" sings out the officer addressed, calling to the new +adjutant, who is hurriedly passing by. "What does this mean? Are the +wagons back?" + +"No," says the adjutant, halting short with the willingness of a man who +has news to tell. "Some of the provost-marshal's men came up last night +from Point of Rocks and fetched Rix with them, and letters from the +colonel. Both he and Abbot made complaint of the man's conduct, and had +him relieved and sent up here under guard. Heard about Abbot?" + +"No--what?" + +"He's appointed major and assistant adjutant-general, and goes to staff +duty; and the colonel will be back this week." + +"Does he say who's to be quartermaster?" asks the lieutenant with eager +interest, and forgetting to record his congratulations on the +good-fortune that has befallen his regimental comrade. + +"No," says Mr. Hunnewell, with some hesitancy. "There's a hitch there. +To begin with, does anybody know that a vacancy exists?" + +"Why, Hollins has been missing now ever since the 18th of September, +and he must be either dead or taken prisoner." + +The adjutant looks around him, and, seeing other officers and men within +earshot, though generally occupied with their morning ablutions, he +comes closer to his comrade of the line and the two who have joined him, +and speaks with lowered voice. + +"There is some investigation going on. The colonel sent for such books +and papers of Hollins's as could be found about camp, and an order came +last night for Captain Dodge to report at once at Frederick. He was +better acquainted with Hollins than any one else--among the officers +anyway--and he knew something about his whereabouts the other times he +was missing. This makes the third." + +"Three times and out, say I," answers one of the party. "I heard some +talk at division headquarters when I was up there last night: the +general has a letter that Colonel Raymond wrote soon after he was +exchanged, but if it be anything to Hollins's discredit I wonder he did +not write to Putnam. He wouldn't want his successor to be burdened with +a quartermaster whom he knew to be--well--shady, so to speak." + +"That's the one thing I never understood about Abbot," says the captain, +sipping the cup of coffee that a negro servant had just brought to him. +"Some more of that, Belshazzar; these gentlemen will join me. How he, +who is so blue-blooded, seems to be on such terms of intimacy with +Hollins is what I mean," he explains. "It was through him that Hollins +was taken into companionship from the very start. He really is +responsible for him. They were class-mates, and no one else knew +anything of him--except vaguely." + +"Now there's just where you wrong Abbot, captain," answers Mr. +Hunnewell, very promptly, "and I want to hit that nail on the head right +here. I thought just as you did, for a while; but got an inkling as to +the real state of the case some time ago. It wasn't Abbot who endorsed +him at all, except by silence and sufferance, you may say. Hollins was +at his tent day and night--always following him up and actually forcing +himself upon him; and one night, after Hollins had that first scrape, +and came back under a cloud and went to Abbot first thing to intercede +with the colonel, I happened to overhear a piece of conversation between +them. Abbot was just as cold and distant as man could possibly be. He +told him plainly that he considered his course discreditable to the +whole regiment, and especially annoying to him, because, said Abbot, +'You have virtually made me your sponsor with every man who showed a +disposition to repel you.' Then Hollins made some reply which I did not +fully catch, but Abbot was angry, and anybody could have heard his +answer. He told Hollins that if it had not been for the relationship to +which he alluded he could not have tolerated him at all, but that he +must not draw on it too often. Then Hollins came out, and I heard him +muttering to himself. He fawned on Abbot while he was in the tent, but +he was scowling and gritting his teeth when he left; and I heard him +cursing _sotto voce_, until he suddenly caught sight of me. Then he was +all joviality, and took me by the arms to tell me how 'Paul, old boy, +has been raking me over the coals. We were chums, you know, and he +thinks a heap of me, and don't want the home people to know of my +getting on a spree,' was the way he explained it. Now, if you remember, +it was Hollins who was perpetually alluding to his intimacy with the +Abbots. Paul himself never spoke of it. What Palfrey once told me in +Washington may explain it; he said that Hollins was distantly related to +the Winthrops, and that there was a time when he and Miss Winthrop were +quite inseparable--you know what a handsome fellow he was when he first +joined us?" + +"Well," answers the captain, with the half-way and reluctant withdrawal +of the average man who has made an unjust statement, "it may be as you +say, but all the same it was Abbot's tacit endorsement or tolerance that +enabled Hollins to hold a place among us as long as he has. If he has +been sheltered under the shadow of Abbot's wing, and turns out to be a +vagabond, so much the worse for the wing. All the same, I'm glad of +Abbot's promotion. Wonder whose staff he goes on?" + +"Lieutenant," says a corporal, saluting the group and addressing his +company commander, "Rix says he would like to speak with the major +before breakfast. He was for going to headquarters alone just now, but I +told him he must wait until I had seen you." + +The lieutenant glances quickly around. There, not ten paces away--his +forage cap on the back of his head, his hulking shoulders more bent +than ever, hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face--stands, or +rather slouches, Rix. He looks unkempt, dirty, determinedly ugly, and +very much as though he had been in liquor most of the week, and was +sober now only through adverse circumstances over which he had no +control. + +"What do you want of the major, Rix?" demands the lieutenant, with +military directness. + +"Well, I _want_ him--'n that's enough," says the ex-teamster, with +surly, defiant manner, and never changing his attitude. "I want t' know +what I'm sent back here for, like a criminal." + +"Because you look most damnably like one," says the officer, +impulsively, and then, ashamed of having said such a thing to one who is +powerless to resent, he tempers the wrath with which he would rebuke the +man's insubordination, and, after an instant's pause, speaks more +gently. + +"Come here, Rix. Stand up like a man and tell me your trouble. If you +have been wronged in any way I'll see that you are righted; but +recollect what and where you are." + +"I'm a man, by God! Good as any of you a year ago; better'n most of you +five years ago; an' now I'm ordered about by boys just out of their +teens. I'm not under Abbot's orders. Lieutenant Hollins is my officer; +he'll fix me all right. Where's _he_, lieutenant? He's the man I want." + +"Rix, you will only get into more trouble if you don't mend your +manners," says the lieutenant, half agreeing with the muttered comment +of a comrade, that the man had better be gagged forthwith, but +determined to control his own temper. "As to Lieutenant Hollins, he has +not been heard of since Antietam. Nobody knows what's become of him." + +The effect of this announcement is startling. Rix turns ghastly white; +his bloodshot eyes stare fearfully at his informant, then blink savagely +around on one after another of the party. His fingers twitch nervously, +and he clutches at his throat. + +"Are--are you sure, lieutenant?" he gasps, all his insolence of manner +gone. + +"Sure, sir. He hasn't been seen or heard of since--" + +"Why, my God! He told me back there at Boonsboro' that he would ride +right over to camp--time I was going back with the colonel through the +Gap." + +"Boonsboro'! Why, man, that was several days after the battle that you +went back with the colonel's ambulance! Then you've seen him since we +have. Where was it?" + +But Rix has recovered his wits, such as they are. He has made a damaging +admission, and one that places him in a compromising position. He +quickly blurts forth a denial. + +"No, no! It wasn't then. I misremembered. 'Twas when we went over the +first time. He says to me right there at Boonsboro'--" + +"You're lying, Rix," interposed the senior officer of the party, who has +been an absorbed listener. "You didn't go through Boonsboro' at all, +first time over. We followed the other road, and you followed us. It +must have been when you went back. Now what did the quartermaster say?" + +But Rix sets his jaws firmly, and will tell no more. Twice he is +importuned, but to no purpose. Then the captain speaks again. + +"We need not disturb the commanding officer until breakfast-time, but +there is no doubt in my mind this man can give important evidence. I +will take the responsibility. Have Rix placed in charge of the guard at +once." + +And when the corporal reappears it is with a file of men, armed with +their Springfields. Between them Rix is marched away, a scared and +haggard-looking man. + +For a moment the officers stand in silence, gazing after him. Then the +captain speaks. + +"That man could tell a story, without deviating a hair's-breadth from +the truth, that would astonish the commonwealth of Massachusetts, or I +am vastly mistaken in him. Does anybody know his antecedents?" + +"He was our first quartermaster-sergeant, that's all I know of him," +answers Mr. Hunnewell; "but he was in bad odor with the colonel, I +heard, long before Cedar Mountain. He would have 'broken' him if it had +not been for Hollins's intercessions." + +"I mean his antecedents, before the outbreak of the war, not in the +regiment. Where did Hollins get him? _Why_ did he get him, and have him +made quartermaster-sergeant, and stick to him as he did for months, +after everybody else was convinced of his worthlessness? There is +something I do not understand in their relations. Do you remember, when +we were first camped at Meridian Hill, Hollins and Rix occupied the same +tent a few days, and the colonel put a stop to it? Hollins was furious, +and tried to raise a point against the colonel. He pointed to the fact +that in half the regiments around us the quartermaster was allowed to +have his sergeant for a tent-mate if he wanted to; and if Colonel +Raymond had any objections, why didn't he say so before they left the +state? He had lived with him a whole month in camp there, and the +colonel never said a word. I confess that some of us thought that Rix +was badly treated when he was ordered to pitch his tent elsewhere, but +the colonel never permitted any argument. I heard him tell Hollins that +what was permissible while we were simply state troops was not to be +considered precedent for his action when they were mustered into the +national service. In his regiment, as in the well-disciplined regiments +of any state, the officers and enlisted men must live apart." + +"But Hollins claimed that Rix was a man of good birth and education, and +that he was coaching him for a commission," interposes one of the group. + +"That was an afterthought, and had no bearing on the case anyway. I know +that in this, as in some other matters, there were many of us who chafed +a little at the idea of regular army discipline among us, but we know +now the colonel was right. As for Rix, he turned out to be a drunkard +before we got within rifle-range of Virginia." + +"Yet he was retained as quartermaster-sergeant." + +"Because Hollins shielded him and kept him out of the way. I tell you," +puts in the captain, testily, "Colonel Raymond would have 'broken' him +if he had not been taken at Ball's Bluff. Putnam didn't like to +overthrow Raymond's appointee without his full knowledge and consent, +and so he hung on till after we got back to Alexandria. Even then +Hollins had him detailed as driver on plea that his lame foot would +prevent his marching. But Hollins is gone now and Mr. ex-Q. M. Sergeant +Rix is safely jugged. Mark my words, gentlemen, he'll be needed when +Hollins's papers are overhauled." + +"Hullo! What's up now?" suddenly demands the adjutant. "Look at +headquarters." + +From where they stand the broad highway up the valley is plainly visible +for a mile or more, and to the right of the turnpike, on a little rising +ground, are pitched the tents of the division commander and his staff. +Farther away, among some substantial farm-buildings, are to be seen the +cavalrymen of the regular service who are attached, as escort and +orderlies, to the headquarters of the Second Corps, and a dozen of these +gentry are plainly visible scurrying about between their little tents +and the picket-line, where their horses are tethered. It is evident that +the whole troop is hurriedly saddling and that orderlies are riding off +beyond the buildings, each with one or more led horses--the "mounts" of +the staff. Here, close at hand, among the tents of the Massachusetts +men, the soldiers have risen to their feet, and with coffee steaming +from the battered tin cup in one hand and bread or bacon clutched in the +other they are gazing with interest, but no sign of excitement, at the +scene of evident action farther to the front. A year ago such signs of +preparation at headquarters would have sent the whole regiment in eager +rush for its arms and equipments, but it has learned wisdom with its +twelve-month of campaigning. Not a shot has been heard up the valley. It +can be no attack there. Yet something unquestionably has happened. Yes, +the escort is "leading out." See! far up on the heights, to the west, +the men are thronging on the parapets. They have a better view from +there of what is going on at Sumner's headquarters. Next, shooting +around the building on the low rise to the right front, there comes a +staff-officer at rapid gallop. Down the slope he rides, over the low +stone wall his charger bears him, and down the turnpike he speeds, +heedless of the shouts of inquiry that seem to greet him from the camps +that flank the road. Sharp to his right he turns, at a little lane a +quarter-mile away, and disappears among the trees. "Going to the cavalry +camps," hazards the adjutant, and determines that he had better get over +to the major's tent--their temporary commander--and warn him +"something's coming." Another minute, quick, pealing, spirited, there +rings on the air the sound of a trumpet, and the stirring call of "Boots +and saddles!" startles the ear of many a late sleeper among the +officers. The sun is not yet shining in the valley; the dew is sparkling +on every blade and leaf: but the Second Corps is all astir, and there is +a cheer in the cavalry camp that tells of soldierly doings close at +hand. A light battery is parked just across the highway, and as the aide +reappears, spurring from the lane out into the pike again, the officers +see how its young commander has vaulted into saddle and is riding +down to intercept him so that not a minute be lost if the guns are +needed. They are. For though the aide comes by like a shot, he has +shouted some quick words to the captain of the battery, and the latter +waves his jaunty forage cap to his expectant bugler, standing, clarion +in hand, by the guard-fire. "Boots and saddles!" again; and--drivers and +cannoneers--the men drop their tin cups and plates, and leap for the +lines of harness. Down comes the aide full tilt as before. Captain Lee +runs to the roadside and hails him with familiar shout: + +"What's up, Win?" + +[Illustration: "_The whole troop is hurriedly saddling._"] + +And gets no further answer than + +"Tell you as I come back." + +Meantime other aides have been scurrying to and fro; and far and near, +up and down the Shenandoah and out across the valley, where the morning +sunshine triumphs over the barring Loudon, the same stirring call rings +out upon the air. "Boots and saddles!" everywhere, and nowhere the +long-roll or the infantry assembly. + +"Back to your breakfast, boys," says a tall and bearded sergeant. +"Whatever it is, it don't amount to shucks. The infantry isn't called +for." + +But that it amounts to more than "shucks," despite the footman's +epigram, is presently apparent when the staff-officer comes more slowly +back, easing his panting horse. The major has by this time turned out, +and in boots and overcoat is striding over to the stone wall to get the +news. + +"What is it, Win?" he asks. + +And the aide-de-camp, bending low from the saddle and with grave face, +replies, + +"Stuart again, by Heaven! He whipped around our right, somewhere near +Martinsburg, last night, and is crossing at Williamsport now." + +"_What!_ Why, we've got three corps over there about Antietam yet." + +"Yes; and he'll go around them, just as he did round us, and be up in +Pennsylvania to-morrow. Where are your wounded?" + +"Some over near Keedysville; the others, those we lost at South +Mountain, somewhere near Frederick. The colonel and Abbot were there at +last accounts. Why?" + +"Because it will be just like him to go clean around us and come down +the Monocacy. If he should, they are gone, sure." + + + + +IV. + + +Two days after the excitement in Frederick consequent upon the escape of +the supposed spy Colonel Putnam was chatting with the provost-marshal +and the landlord of the tavern where Doctor Warren had paid his brief +visit. They were discussing a piece of news that had come in during the +morning. From the very first the proprietor of the old tavern had +scoffed at the theory of there being anything of a Southern spy about +the mysterious stranger. He was a Southern man himself, and, though +hardly an enemy to the Union, he had that personal sympathy for a host +of neighbors and friends which gave him something of a leaning that way. +He did not believe, he openly said, that anything on earth could whip +the South so long as they kept on their own soil; but things looked +black for their cause when they crossed the Potomac. Maryland had not +risen in tumultuous welcome as Lee hopefully expected. The worn, ragged, +half-* starved soldiers that had marched up the valley in mid-September +had little of the heroic in their appearance, despite the fame of their +exploits; and in their hunger and thirst they had made way, +soldier-fashion, with provender for which they could not pay. The host +himself had suffered not a little from their forays, and while his +sentiments were broadly Southern his business instincts were +emphatically on the side of the greenbacks of the North. He had found +the Union officers men of means, if not of such picturesquely martial +attributes as their Southern opponents; and while he would not deny his +friendship for many a gallant fellow in the rebel gray, neither would he +rebuff the blue-coat whose palm was tinged with green. He liked the +provost-marshal because that functionary had twice rescued his bar from +demolition at the hands of a gang of stragglers. He admired Colonel +Putnam as a soldier and a gentleman, but he was enjoying a triumph over +both of them; he had news to tell which seemed to sustain his theory and +defeat theirs as to the identity of the man who left his beard behind +him. + +"I am told you knew this Doctor Warren, colonel," he was saying, "and up +to this time I had not spoken of him for reasons which--well, because +he had reasons for asking me to make no mention of his being here. Now, +if he was a Doctor Warren, from the North, and a loyal man, what would +he be doing with a spy?" + +"I did not know he saw him at all," said Colonel Putnam, quickly. + +"Nor do I; but I do believe that he was here purposely to meet him; that +he, the man you tried to arrest, was here at this house to meet your +friend who followed you out to camp. If Doctor Warren is a loyal man, as +you doubtless believe him, he would have no call to be here to get +papers from a man who could only meet him in disguise. I'm told the +doctor made himself all clear to you as to who he was." + +Colonel Putnam's face is a study. He is unquestionably turning pale, and +his eyes are filled with a strange, introspective, puzzled look. He is +startled, too. + +"Do you mean to tell me he _did_ have communication with the doctor?" he +asks. + +"My wife is ready to swear to it," replies mine host. "Her story is +simply this: She had come down-stairs just as the doctor returned. She +had been sitting with the young lady, who was very nervous and ill at +ease while he was away, and had gone into the kitchen at the back of the +house to get her a cup of tea. She was startled by a rap at the door, +and in walks a man wrapped up in a big military cape. He wore spectacles +and a full black beard, and he took off his hat, and spoke like a +gentleman. He said he desired to see either Doctor Warren or the young +lady at once on business of the utmost importance, and asked her if she +would conduct him up by a rear stairway. My wife told him to go around +to the office, but he replied that he expected that, and hastened to +tell her that it was because there were Union officers in the hallway +that he could not go there. There were personal reasons why he must not +be seen; and she said to him that a man who looked like an officer and +spoke like a gentleman ought not to be afraid to go among his fellows; +and he said he was not an officer, and then asked her, suddenly, if she +was a friend to the North or the South; and before she could answer they +both saw lights dancing about out there in the yard, and he was +startled, and said 'twas for him they were searching, and begged her, as +she was a woman, not to betray him; he was the young lady's lover, he +said in explanation, and had risked much to meet her. And my wife's +heart was touched at that, and she showed him a place to hide; and when +she went up she heard the young lady sobbing and the old man trying hard +to comfort her; and she knocked, but they begged to be left undisturbed +until they called, and she went down and told the man; and he was +fearfully nervous and worried, she said, especially when told about the +crying going on; and he wrote a few lines on a scrap of paper, gave it +to her with a little packet, and she took them up to the doctor; and +they were just coming out of their room at the moment, and the doctor +put the papers in his pocket, and said to her and to me that he begged +us to make no mention of his daughter's being there to any one--there +were reasons. And her face was hidden in her veil, and he seemed all +broken down with anxiety or illness, and said they must have a carriage +or something to take them at once to the railway. They probably went +back to Baltimore that night, but the doctor took the packet in his +pocket; and the man whom you saw come up from under the back piazza, +colonel, was the man who sent it him." + +The provost-marshal is deeply interested. Colonel Putnam sits, in a +maze of perplexity, silent and astounded. + +"The doctor was well known to you, was he not, Putnam?" asked the +marshal. + +The colonel starts, embarrassed and troubled. + +"No. I never saw him before." + +"He brought letters to you, didn't he?" + +"No letters. In fact, it wasn't me whom he came to see at all." + +"Whom did he want, then?" + +"Mr. Abbot," answers the colonel, briefly, and with growing +embarrassment. + +"Oh! Abbot knew him, did he?" + +"No; he didn't. That is the singular part of it. The more I recall the +interview the more I'm upset." + +"Why so?" + +"Because he said he had come to see an old friend of his son's whom he +mourned as killed at Seven Pines. He named Abbot, and said he had been +in correspondence with him for a year. As luck would have it, Abbot was +sitting right there beside me, and I said at once, 'Here's your man,' or +something like it; and then Abbot didn't know him at all; declared he +had never written a line to him; never heard of him. The old gentleman +was completely floored. He vowed that for a whole year he had been +receiving letters from Lieutenant Paul Revere Abbot, and now had come to +see him because he was reported severely wounded." + +"Did he show you any of the letters?" + +"Why, no! He said there were none with him. He--I declare I do not know +what excuse he _did_ give," says the colonel, in dire distress of mind. + +The provost-marshal's eyes are glittering, and his face is set and +eager. He thinks intently one moment, and then turns on the silent +colonel and their perplexed landlord. + +"Keep this thing perfectly quiet, gentlemen; I may have to look further +into it; but at this moment, colonel, circumstances point significantly +at your friend, the doctor. Do you see nothing suspicious in his +conduct? His confident claim of a year's correspondence with an officer +of your regiment was possibly to gain your friendship and protection. As +ill-luck for him and good-luck for us would have it, he named the wrong +man. Abbot was there, and could deny it on the spot. The old man was +floored, of course; but his only way of carrying the thing through was +to play the martyr, and tell the story that for a year somebody had been +writing to him daily or weekly over the name of Abbot. What a very +improbable yarn, Putnam! Just think for yourself. What man would be apt +to do that sort of thing? What object could he have? Why, the doctor +himself well realized what a transparent fiction it must appear, and +away he slips by the night train the moment he gets back. And now our +friend, the landlord, throws further light upon the matter. He was here +to meet that night visitor, perhaps convey valuable information to him, +but was frightened by the blunder he had made, and got away as speedily +as possible, and without seeing the owner of the beard, although a +packet of papers was duly handed to him from that mysterious party. +Doctor Warren may turn out a candidate for the fortress of that name in +your own harbor, colonel." + +And, thinking it all over, Putnam cannot make up his mind what to say. +There is something in his impression of the doctor that utterly sets at +naught any belief that he was acting a part. He was so simple, so +direct, so genuine in his manner and in his distress. On the other +hand, analyzing the situation, the colonel is compelled to realize that +to any one but himself the doctor's story would appear unworthy of +credence. He is in this uncomfortable frame of mind when a staff-officer +comes to see him with some papers from the quartermaster-general that +call for an immediate investigation of the affairs of the missing +Lieutenant Hollins, and for two or three days Colonel Putnam is away at +the supply depot on the railway. It is there that he learns the pleasant +news that his gallant young comrade has been promoted to a most +desirable staff position, and ordered to report for duty in Washington +as soon as able to travel. He writes a line of congratulation to Abbot, +and begs him to be sure and send word when he will come through, so that +they may meet, and then returns to his patient overhauling of the +garbled accounts of the quondam quartermaster. + +No answer comes from Abbot, and the colonel is so busy that he thinks +little of it. The investigation is giving him a world of insight into +the crookedness of the late administration, and has put him in +possession of facts and given rise to theories that are of unusual +interest, and so, when he hears that Abbot was able to leave the +hospital and ride slowly in to the railway and so on to Baltimore, he +merely regrets not having seen him, and thinks little of it. + +But the provost-marshal has been busily at work; has interviewed Abbot +and cross-examined the landlady. He has found an officer who says that +the night of the escapade at Frederick his horse was taken from in front +of the house of some friends he was visiting in the southern edge of the +town, and was found next morning by the pickets clear down at the bridge +where the canal crosses the Monocacy; and the pickets said he looked as +though he had been ridden hard and fast, and that no trace of rider +could be found. Inquiry among patrols and guards develops the fact that +a man riding such a horse, wearing such a hat and cape as was described, +but with a smooth face and spectacles, had passed south during the +night, and claimed to be on his way to Point of Rocks with despatches +for the commanding officer from General Franklin. He exhibited an order +made out for Captain Hollister, and signed by Seth Williams, +adjutant-general of the army in the field. No such officer had reached +Point of Rocks, and the provost-marshal becomes satisfied that on or +about the 4th or 5th of October this very party who was prowling about +the town of Frederick has gotten back into Virginia, possibly with +valuable information. + +When, on the evening of the 10th, there comes the startling news that +"Jeb" Stuart, with all his daring gray raiders at his back, has leaped +the Potomac at Williamsport, and is galloping up the Cumberland Valley +around McClellan's right, the provost-marshal is convinced that the bold +dash is all due to information picked up under his very nose in the +valley of the Monocacy. If he ever had the faintest doubt of the justice +of his suspicions as to "Doctor Warren's" complicity, the doubt has been +removed. Already, at his instance, a secret-service agent has visited +Hastings, and wires back the important news that the doctor left there +about the 25th of September, and has not returned. On the 11th he is +rejoiced by a telegram from Washington which tells him that, acting on +his advices, Doctor Warren had been found, and is now under close +surveillance at Willard's. + +Then it is time for him to look out for his own movements. Having leaped +into the Union lines with all his native grace and audacity, the +cavalier Stuart reposes a few days at Chambersburg, placidly surveying +the neighborhood and inviting attack. Then he rides eastward over the +South Mountain, and the next heard of him he is coming down the +Monocacy. McClellan's army is encamped about Sharpsburg and Harper's +Ferry. He has but few cavalry, and, at this stage of the war, none that +can compete successfully with Stuart. Not knowing just what to do +against so active and calmly audacious an opponent, the Union general is +possibly too glad to get rid of him to attempt any check. To the vast +indignation and disappointment of many young and ardent soldiers in our +lines, he is apparently riding homeward unmolested, picking up such +supplies as he desires, paroling such prisoners as he does not want to +burden himself with, and exchanging laughing greetings with old friends +he meets everywhere along the Monocacy. At Point of Rocks, whither our +provost-marshal and Colonel Putnam are driven for shelter, together with +numerous squads of convalescents and some dozen stragglers, there is +arming for defence, and every intention of giving Jeb a sharp fight +should he attempt to pick up supplies or stragglers from its sturdy +garrison. Every hour there is exciting news of his coming, and, with +their glasses, the officers can see clouds of dust rising high in air +far up the valley. Putnam has urgent reason for wanting to rejoin his +regiment at once. What with the information he has received from the two +or three officers whom he has questioned, and the papers themselves, he +has immediate need of seeing the ex-quartermaster sergeant, Rix. But he +cannot go when there is a chance for a fight right here. Stuart may dash +in westward, and have just one lively tussle with them to cover the +crossing of his valuable plunder and prisoners below. Of course they +have not men enough to think of confronting him. Just in the midst of +all the excitement there comes an orderly with despatches and letters +from up the river, and one of them is for Putnam, from the major +commanding the regiment. It is brief enough, but exasperating. "I +greatly regret to have to report to you, in answer to your directions +with regard to Rix, that they came too late. In some utterly +unaccountable way, though we fear through collusion on part of a member +or members of the guard, Rix made his escape two nights ago, and is now +at large." + + + + +V. + + +To say that Paul Abbot was made very happy over his most unexpected +promotion would be putting it mildly. He hates to leave the old +regiment, but he has done hard fighting, borne several hard knocks, is +still weak and shaky from recent wounds; and to be summoned to +Washington, there to meet his proud father, and to receive his +appointment as assistant adjutant-general from the hands of the most +distinguished representative "in Congress assembled" of his +distinguished state, is something to put new life into a young soldier's +heart. Duties for him there are none at the moment: he is to get strong +and well before again taking the field, and, for the time being, he is +occupying a room at Willard's adjoining that of his father. His arm is +still in a sling; his walk is still slow and somewhat painful; he has +ordered his new uniform, and meantime has procured the staff +shoulder-straps and buttons, and put them on his sack-coat; he has had +many letters to write, and much pleasant congratulation and compliment +to acknowledge; and so the three or four days succeeding his arrival +pass rapidly by. One afternoon he returns from a drive with his father; +they have been out to visit friends in camp, and talk over home news, +and now he comes somewhat slowly up the stairs of the crowded hotel to +the quiet of the upper corridors. He smiles to himself at the increasing +ease with which he mounts the brass-bound steps, and is thankful for the +health and elasticity returning to him. He has just had the obnoxious +beard removed, too; and freshly shaved, except where his blond mustache +shades the short upper lip, with returning color and very bright, clear +eyes, the young major of staff is a most presentable-looking youth as he +stops a moment to rest at the top of the third flight. His undress +uniform is decidedly becoming, and all the more interesting because of +the sling that carries his wounded arm. And now, after a moment's +breathing-spell, he walks slowly along the carpeted corridor, and turns +into the hallway leading to his own room. Along this he goes some twenty +paces or more, when there comes quickly into view from a side gallery +the figure of a tall, slight, and graceful girl. She has descended some +little flight of stairs, for he could hear the patter of her slippered +feet, and the swish of her skirts before she appeared. Now, with rapid +step she is coming straight towards him, carrying some little glass +phials in her hand. The glare of the afternoon sun is blazing in the +street, and at the window behind her. Against this glare she is revealed +only _en silhouette_. Of her features the young soldier can see nothing. +On the contrary, as he is facing the light, Major Abbot realizes that +every line of his countenance is open to her gaze. Before he has time to +congratulate himself that recent shaving and the new straps have made +him more presentable, he is astonished to see the darkly-outlined figure +halt short: he sees the slender hands fly up to her face in sudden panic +or shock; crash go the phials in fragments on the floor, and the young +lady, staggering against the wall, is going too--some stifled +exclamation on her lips. + +Abbot is quick, even when crippled. He springs to her side just in time +to save. He throws his left arm around her, and has to hug her close to +prevent her slipping through his clasp--a dead weight--to the floor. She +has fainted away, he sees at a glance, and, looking about him, he finds +a little alcove close at hand; he knows it well, for there on the sofa +he has spent several restful hours since his arrival. Thither he +promptly bears her; gently lays her down; quickly opens the window to +give her air; then steps across the hall for aid. Not a soul is in +sight. His own room is but a few paces away, and thither he hastens; +returns speedily with a goblet of ice-water in his hand, and a slender +flask of cologne tucked under his arm. Kneeling by the sofa, he gently +turns her face to the light, and sprinkles it with water; then bathes, +with cologne, the white temples and soft, rippling, sunny hair. How +sweet a face it is that lies there, all unconscious, so close to his +beating heart! Though colorless and marble-like, there is beauty in +every feature, and signs of suffering and pain in the dark circles about +the eyes and in the lines at the corners of the exquisite mouth. Even as +he clumsily but most assiduously mops with his one available hand and +looks vaguely around for feminine assistance, Major Abbot is conscious +of a feeling of proprietorship and confidence that is as unwarranted, +probably, as it is new. 'Tis only a faint, he is certain. She will come +to in a moment, so why be worried? But then, of course, 'twill be +embarrassing and painful to her not to find some sympathetic female face +at hand when she does revive; and he looks about him for a bell-rope: +none nearer than the room, and he hates to leave her. At last comes a +little shivering sigh, a long gasp. Then he holds the goblet to her lips +and begs her to sip a little water, and, somehow, she does, and with +another moment a pair of lovely eyes has opened, and she is gazing +wildly into his. + +"Lie still one minute," he murmurs. "You have been faint; I will bring +your friends." + +But a little hand feebly closes on his wrist. She is trying to speak; +her lips are moving, and he bends his handsome head close to hers; +perhaps she can tell him whom to summon. + +But he starts back, amazed, when the broken, half-intelligible, almost +inaudible words reach his ears, + +"Paul! Papa--said--you were killed. Oh! he will be so glad!" + +And then comes a burst of tears. + +[Illustration: "_Then bathes, with cologne, the white temples and soft, +rippling, sunny hair._"] + +Abbot rises to his feet and hurries into the hall. He is bewildered by +her words. He feels that it must be some case of mistaken identity, +but--how strange a coincidence! Close by the fragments of the phials he +finds a door key and the presumable number of her room. Only ten steps +away from the little flight of stairs he finds a corresponding door, +and, next, an open room. Looking therein, he sees a gentle, matronly +woman seated by a bedside, slowly fanning some recumbent invalid. She +puts her fingers on her lips, warningly, as she sees the uniform at her +door. + +"Do not wake him, it is the first sound sleep he has had for days," she +says. "Is this the army doctor?" + +"No," he whispers, "a young lady has just fainted down in the next +corridor. Her room adjoins this. Do you know her?" + +"Oh, Heaven! I might have known it. Poor child, she is utterly worn out. +This is her father. Will you stay here just a few moments? His son was a +soldier, too, and was killed--and so was her lover--and it has nearly +killed the poor old gentleman. I'll go at once." + +Still puzzling over his strange adventure, and thinking only of the +sweet face of the fainting girl, Abbot mechanically takes the fan the +nurse has resigned and slowly sweeps the circling flies away. The +invalid lies on his right side with his face to the wall; but the soft, +curling gray hair ripples under the waves of air stirred by the languid +movement of the fan. The features have not yet attracted his attention. +He is listening intently for sounds from the corridor. His thoughts are +with the girl who has so strangely moved him; so strangely called his +name and looked up into his eyes with a sweet light of recognition in +hers--with a wild thrill of delight and hope in them, unless all signs +deceive him. The color, too, that was rushing into her face, the sudden +storm of emotion that bursts in tears; what meant all this--all this in +a girl whom never before had he seen in all his life? Verily, strange +experiences were these he was going through. Only a week or so before +had not that gray-haired old doctor shown almost as deep an emotion on +meeting him at Frederick? And was he not prostrated when assured of his +mistake, and was it not hard to convince him that the letters to which +he persistently referred were forgeries? Some scoundrel who claimed to +know his son was striving to bleed him for money, probably, and using, +of all others, the name of Paul Abbot. And this poor old gentleman here +had also lost a son, and the sweet, fragile-looking girl a lover! How +peacefully the old man sleeps, thinks Abbot, as he glances a moment +around the room. There are flowers on the table near the open window; +books, too, which, perhaps, she had tried to read aloud. The window +opens out over Pennsylvania Avenue, and the hum and bustle of thronging +life comes floating up from below; a roar of drums is growing louder +every minute, and presently bursts upon the ear as though, just issuing +from a neighboring street, the drummers were marching forth upon the +avenue. Abbot glances at his patient, fearful lest the noise should wake +him, but he sleeps the sleep of exhausted nature, and the soldier in his +temporary nurse prompts him to steal to the window and look down upon +the troops. They are marching south, along Fourteenth Street--a regiment +going over to the fortifications beyond the Long Bridge, and, after a +glance, Abbot steps quickly back. On the table nearest the window lies a +dainty writing-case, a woman's, and the flap is down on a half-finished +letter. On the letter, half disclosed, is the photograph of an officer. +It is strangely familiar as Abbot steps towards it. Then--the roar of +the drums seems deafening; the walls of the little room seem turning +upside down; his brain is in some strange and sudden whirl; but there in +his hands he holds, beyond all question--his own picture--a photograph +by Brady, taken when he was in Washington during the previous summer. He +has not recovered his senses when there is an uneasy movement at the +bed. The gray-haired patient turns wearily and throws himself on the +other side, and now, though haggard and worn with suffering, there is no +forgetting that sorrow-stricken old face. In an instant Major Abbot has +recognized his visitor of the week before. There before him lies Doctor +Warren. Who--_who_ then is _she_? + + + + +VI. + + +Sitting by the open window and looking out over the bustling street +Major Abbot later in the evening is trying to collect his senses and +convince himself that he really is himself. "It never rains but it +pours," and events have been pouring upon him with confusing rapidity. +Early in the summer he had noted an odd constraint in the tone of the +few letters that came from Miss Winthrop. That they were few and far +between was not in itself a matter to give him much discomfort. From +boyhood he had been accustomed to the household cry that at some time in +the future--the distant future--Viva Winthrop was to be his wife. He had +known her quite as long as he had been conscious of his own existence, +and the relations between the families were such as to render the +alliance desirable. Excellent friends were the young people as they grew +to years of discretion, and, in the eyes of parents and intimate +acquaintances, no formal betrothal was ever necessary, simply because +"it was such an understood thing." For more than a year previous to the +outbreak of the war, however, Miss Winthrop was in Europe, and much of +the time, it was said, she had been studying. So had Mr. Hollins, who +withdrew from Harvard in his second year and read law assiduously in the +office of Winthrop & Lawrence, and then went abroad for his health. They +returned on the Cunarder in the early part of April, and Mrs. Winthrop +was ill from the time she set foot on the saloon deck until they sighted +the State House looming through the fog, and nothing could have been +more fortunate than that Mr. Hollins was with them--he was so attentive, +so very thoughtful. When he wasn't doing something for her he was +promenading with Viva on deck or bundling that young lady in warm wraps +and hedging her in a sunny corner. Pity that Mr. Hollins was so poor and +rather obscure in his family--his immediate family--connections. His +mother was Mr. Winthrop's first cousin, and she had been very fond of +Mr. Winthrop when she was a child, and he had befriended her son when a +friend was needed. She died years ago, and no one knew just when her +husband followed her. He was a person no one ever met, said Mrs. +Winthrop, a man who had a singular career, was an erratic genius, and +very dissipated. But he was a very fascinating person, she understood, +in his younger days, and his son was most talented and deserving, but +entirely out of the question as an intimate or associate. Viva would not +be apt to see anything of him after their return; but the question never +seemed to occur to her, how much had the daughter been influenced by +their frequent companionship abroad? It really mattered nothing. Viva +was to marry Revere Abbot, as Mrs. Winthrop preferred to call him, and +such was distinctly the family understanding. Miss Winthrop had been +home but a few weeks when all the North was thrilled by the stirring +call for volunteers, and the old Bay State responded, as was to be +expected of her. In the --th Massachusetts were a score of officers, as +has been said, whose names were as old as the colony and whose family +connections made them thoroughly well known to each other at the +earliest organization of the command. That Paul Abbot should be among +the first to seek a commission as a junior lieutenant was naturally +expected. Then with all possible hesitancy and delicacy, after a +feminine council in the family, his mother asked him if he did not think +there ought to be some distinct understanding about Viva Winthrop before +he went away to the front. The matter was something that he had thought +of before she went to Europe, but believed then that it could wait, Now +that she had returned, improved both physically and intellectually, Mr. +Abbot had once or twice thought that it would not be long before he +would be asked some such question as his mother now propounded, but +again decided that it was a matter that could be deferred. They had met +with much hearty cordiality, and called each other Paul and Viva, as +they had from babyhood, and then she had a round of social duties and he +became absorbed in drills, day and night, and they saw very little of +each other--much less than was entirely satisfactory to the parental +councils, and these were frequent. While the masters of the households +of Abbot and Winthrop seldom interchanged a word on the subject, they +had their personal views none the less; and, as to the mothers, their +hearts had long been set upon the match. Miss Winthrop had abundant +wealth in her own right. Paul Abbot's blood was blue as the doctrines +of the Puritans. Without being a beauty in face or form, Miss Winthrop +was unquestionably distinguished-looking, and her reputation for a +certain acerbity of temper and the faculty of saying cutting things did +not materially lower her value in the matrimonial market. There was, +however, that constantly recurring statement, "Oh, she's engaged to Paul +Abbot," and that, presumably, accounted for the lack of those attentions +in society which are so intangible when assailed, and yet leave such a +void when omitted. Mrs. Abbot put it very plainly to Paul when she said: + +"Everybody considers her as virtually engaged to you and expects you to +look after her. That is why I say it is due to her that you should +arrive at some understanding before your orders come." + +Paul had come up from camp that day--a Saturday afternoon--and he stood +there in the old family gathering room, a very handsome young soldier. +He had listened in silence and respect while his mother spoke, but +without much sign of responsive feeling. When she had finished he looked +her full in the face and quietly said: + +"And is there any other reason, mother?" + +Mrs. Abbot flushed. There was another reason, and one that after much +mental dodging both she and Mrs. Winthrop had been compelled to admit to +each other within a very few days. Mr. Hollins was constantly finding +means to come over to the city and see Miss Winthrop, and the ladies +could not grapple with the intricacies of a military problem which +permitted one officer to be in town three or four days a week and kept +the others incessantly drilling at camp. Mrs. Abbot, motherlike, had +more than once suggested to her son that he ought to be able to visit +town more frequently, and on his replying that it was simply impossible, +and that none of the officers could leave their duties, had triumphantly +pointed to Mr. Hollins. + +"But he is quartermaster," said Paul, "and has to come on business." + +"He manages to combine a good deal of pleasure with his business," was +the tentative response, and Abbot knew that he was expected to ask the +nature of Mr. Hollins's pleasures. He was silent, however, much to his +mother's disappointment, for he had heard from other sources of the +frequency with which Mr. Hollins and Miss Winthrop were seen together. +Finding that he would not ask, Mrs. Abbot was compelled to suppress the +inclination she felt to have her suspicions dragged to light. She wished +he had more curiosity, or jealousy, or something; but in its absence she +could only say, + +"Well, I wish you were quartermaster, that's all." + +And now that he _had_ asked her if there were no other reason, there was +something in his placid tone she did not like. A month agone she wanted +him to know of Mr. Hollins's evident attentions to Genevieve because it +would probably, or possibly, spur him into some exertion on his own +account. Now that she felt sure he had heard of it, and it had not +spurred him, she was as anxious to conceal the fact that, both to Mrs. +Winthrop and herself, these attentions were becoming alarming. If he did +_not_ care for Viva, the chances were that so soon as he found that +public attention had been drawn to her acceptance of such devotions, +Paul would drop the matter entirely, and that would be a calamity. +Knowing perfectly well, therefore, what was in his mind when he asked +the question, Mrs. Abbot parried the thrust. Though she flushed, and +her voice quivered a little, she looked him straight in the face. + +"There is, Paul. I--think she has a right to expect it of you; +that--that she does expect it." + +Abbot looked with undisguised perplexity into his mother's face. + +"You surprise me very much, mother; I cannot, see how Viva would betray +such an idea, even if she had it; it is not like her." + +"Women see these things where men cannot," was the somewhat sententious +reply. "Besides, Paul--" + +"Well, mother, besides--?" + +"Mrs. Winthrop has told me as much." + +That evening, before returning to camp, Lieutenant Abbot went round the +square--or what is the Bostonian equivalent therefor--and surprised Miss +Winthrop with a call. He told her what he had not told his mother, that +Colonel Raymond that morning received a telegram from Washington saying +that on the following Tuesday they must be in readiness to start. + +"We have been good friends always, Viva," he said; "but you have been +something more to me than that. I did not mean to make so sudden an +avowal, but soldiers have no time to call their own just now, and every +hour has been given up to duty with the regiment. Now this sharp summons +comes and I must go. If I return, shall we--" (he had almost said, +"shall we fulfil our manifest destiny, and make our parents happy?" but +had sense enough to realize that she was entitled to a far more personal +proposition). He broke off nervously. + +"You have always been so dear to me, Viva. Will you be my wife?" + +She was sitting on the sofa, nervously twisting the cords of a fan in +and out among her slender white fingers. Her eyes were downcast and her +cheeks suffused. For an instant she looked up and a question seemed +trembling on her lips. She was a truthful woman and no coward. There was +something she was entitled to know, something the heart within her +craved to know, yet she knew not how to ask, or, if she did, was too +proud to frame the words, to plead for that thing of all others which a +woman prizes and glories in, yet will never knowingly beg of any +man--his honest and outspoken love. She looked down again, silent. + +His tone softened and his voice quivered a little as he bent over her. + +"Has any one else won away the heart of my little girl-love?" he asked. +"We were sweethearts so long, Viva; but have you learned to care for +some other?" + +"No. It--it is not that." + +"Then cannot you find a little love for me left over from the childish +days? You were so loyal to me then, Viva--and it would make our home +people so happy." + +"I suppose it might--them." + +"Then promise me, dear; I go so soon, and--" + +She interrupted him now, impetuously. Looking straight up into his eyes, +she spoke in low, vehement tone, rapidly, almost angrily. + +"On this condition, Paul; on this condition. You ask me to be your wife +and--and I suppose it is what is expected of us--what you have expected +all along, and are entitled to an answer now. Promise me this, if ever +you have a thought for another woman, if ever you feel in your heart +that perhaps another girl would make you happier, or if--if you feel the +faintest growing fancy for another, that you will tell me." + +He smiled gravely as he encircled her in his arm. She drew back, but he +held her. + +"Why, Viva, I have never had a thought for any other girl. I simply +thought you might care for some one more than you did for me. It is +settled, then--I promise," and he bent and softly kissed her. + +They met again--twice--before the regiment took the cars. It had been +settled that no announcement of the engagement should be made, but there +are some secrets mothers cannot keep, and there were not lacking men and +women to obtrude premature "congratulations" even on the day she came +with mothers, sisters, cousins, and sweethearts by the score to witness +the presentation of colors and say adieu. That afternoon the regimental +quartermaster returned from the city after a stay of thirty-six hours, +thirty of which were unauthorized, and it was rumored that Colonel +Raymond was very angry and had threatened extreme measures. It was this +prospect, possibly, that shrouded Mr. Hollins's face in gloom, but most +people were disposed to think that he had taken the engagement very much +to heart. There were many who considered that, despite the fact of his +lack of fortune, birth, and "position," Mr. Hollins had been treated +very shabbily by the heiress. There were a few who said that but for his +"lacks" she would have married him. What she herself said was something +that caused Mr. Abbot a good deal of wonderment and reflection. + +"Paul, I want you to promise me another thing. Mr. Hollins has very few +friends in the regiment. He is poor, sensitive, and he feels it keenly. +He is our kinsman, though distant, and he placed me under obligations +abroad by his devotion to mother, and his courtesy to me when we needed +attention. He thinks you dislike him, as well as many of the others. +Remember what he is to us, and how hard a struggle he has had, and be +kind to him--for me." + +And though his college remembrances of Mr. Hollins were not tinged with +romance, Paul Abbot was too glad and proud in the thought of going to +the front--too happy and prosperous, perhaps, to feel anything but pity +for the quartermaster's isolation. He made the promise, and found its +fulfilment, before they had been away a fortnight, a very irksome thing. +Hollins fairly lived at his tent and better men kept away. Gradually +they had drifted apart. Gradually the feeling of coldness and aversion +had become so marked that he could not conceal it; and finally, after +one of the frequent lapses of which the quartermaster was guilty, there +had come rupture of all social relations, and the only associate left to +Mr. Hollins was the strange character whom he had foisted upon the +regiment at its organization--the quondam quartermaster-sergeant, Rix. + +But in all the marching and fighting of the battle summer of '62, these +things were of less account than they had been during the inaction of +the winter and early spring, until, at the Monocacy, Mr. Abbot's +curiosity was excited by the singular language used by Rix when ordered +under guard. What could such a man as he have to do with the affairs, +personal or professional, of the officers of the regiment? It was rabid +nonsense--idle boasting, no doubt; and yet the new-made major found that +melodramatic threat recurring to his mind time and again. + +Another thing that perplexed him was the fact already alluded to, that +during the winter Viva's letters, never too frequent or long, had begun +to grow longer as to interval and shorter as to contents. He made +occasional reference to the fact, but was referred to the singular +circumstance that "he began it." Matters were mended for a while, then +drifted into the old channel again. Then came the stirring incidents of +June; the sharp, hard marches of July and August; the thrilling battles +of Cedar Mountain and Second Bull Run; and he felt that his letters were +hardly missed. Then came the dash at Turner's Gap; his wounds, rest, +recovery, and promotion. But there was silence at home. He had not +missed _her_ letters before. Now he felt that they ought to come, and +had written more than once to say so. + +And now, alone in his room, he is trying to keep cool and clear-headed; +to fathom the mystery of his predicament before going to his father and +telling him that between Genevieve Winthrop and himself there has arisen +a cloud which at any moment may burst in storm. + +Her letter--the first received since Antietam--he has read over time and +again. It must be confessed that there is a good deal therein to anger +an honest man, and Abbot believes he is entitled to that distinction: + + "You demand the reason for my silence, and shall have it. I did not + wish to endanger your recovery, and so have kept my trouble to + myself, but now I write to tell you that the farce is ended. You + have utterly broken your promise; I am absolved from mine. The fact + that you could find time to write day after day to Miss Warren, + and neglect me for weeks, would in itself be justification for + demanding my release from an engagement you have held so lightly. + But that you should have sought and won another's love even while + your honor was pledged to me, is _more_ than enough. I do not ask + release. I break the bond--once and for all. + + "You will have no place to receive your letters at the front. They, + with your ring, and certain gifts with which you have honored me + from time to time, will be found in a packet which is this day + forwarded to your mother. + + "GENEVIEVE WINTHROP." + +Abbot is seated with his head buried in his hands. That name again! the +girl who fainted at sight of him! the old man who was prostrate at his +denial on the Monocacy! the picture of himself in _her_ desk! and now, +this bitter, insulting letter from the woman who was to have been his +wife! Rix's words at the field hospital!--what in Heaven's name can it +all mean? What network of crime and mystery is this that is thrown +around him? + +There is a sudden knock at the door--a negro waiter with a telegram: + + + "POINT OF ROCKS, MD., _Oct._ --, 1862. + + "Major PAUL R. ABBOT, + Willard's Hotel, Washington: + + "Hollins still missing; believed to have followed you to + Washington. Use every effort to secure arrest. + + "PUTNAM." + + + + +VII. + + +There is an air of unusual excitement about the War Department this +bright October day. It is only a month since the whole army seemed +tramping through the streets on its way to the field of the Antietam; +only three weeks since the news was received that Lee was beaten back +across the Potomac, and every one expected that McClellan would be hot +on his trail, eager to pursue and punish before the daring Southerners +could receive accessions. But though two corps managed to reoccupy +Harper's Ferry and there go into camp, the bulk of the army has remained +where Lee left it when he slipped from its grasp, and McClellan's cry is +for reinforcements. Three weeks of precious time slip by, and then--back +come those daredevils of Stuart's, riding with laugh and taunt and jeer +all around the Union forces; and there is the mischief to pay here in +Washington, for if he should take a notion to pay the capital a visit on +his homeward trip, what would the consequences be? Of course there +are troops--lots of them--all around in the fortifications. The trouble +is, that we have so few cavalry, and, after all, the greatest trouble is +the old one--those fellows, Stuart and Jackson, have such a consummate +faculty of making a very little go a great way. All that is known of +Stuart's present move is, that he is somewhere up the Cumberland Valley; +that telegraphic communication beyond McClellan's headquarters is +broken, and that it is more than likely he will come hitherwards when he +chooses to make his next start. + +[Illustration: "_Back come those daredevils of Stuart's._"] + +Going to the War Department to make inquiries for the provost-marshal, +and show him Putnam's telegram, Major Abbot finds that official too busy +to see him, "unless it be something urgent," says the subaltern, who +seems to be an aide-de-camp of some kind. + +"I have come to show him a despatch received last night--late--from +Point of Rocks." + +"You are Major Abbot, formerly--th Massachusetts, I believe, and your +despatch is about the missing quartermaster, is it not?" + +"Yes," replies Abbot, in surprise. + +"We have the duplicate of the despatch here," says the young officer, +smiling. "You would know Hollins at once, would you not?" + +"Yes, anywhere, I think." + +"One of the secret-service men will come in to see you this morning if +you will kindly remain at your room until eleven or twelve o'clock. +Pardon me, major, you saw this Doctor Warren at Frederick, did you not?" + +"Yes. The evening he came out to the field hospital." + +"Did he impress you as a man who told a perfectly straight story, and +properly accounted for himself?" + +"Why--You put it in a way that never occurred to me before," says the +major, in bewilderment. "Do you mean that there was anything wrong about +him?" + +"Strictly _entre nous_, major--something damnably wrong. He was all +mixed up on meeting you, we are told. He claimed to have known and been +in correspondence with you, did he not?" + +"Yes; he did. But--" + +"That is only one of several trips he made. There are extraordinary +rumors coming in about spies around Frederick, and there seems to be an +organized gang. It is this very matter the general is overhauling now, +and he gave orders that he should be uninterrupted until he had finished +the correspondence. Will you wait?" + +"Thank you, no. I believed it my duty to show him this despatch, but he +knows as much as, or more than, I do. May I ask if you have any inkling +of Hollins's whereabouts." + +"Not even a suspicion. He simply dropped out of sight, and no man in the +army appears to have set eyes on him since the night before Antietam. +Colonel Putnam is investigating his accounts at Point of Hocks, and is +most eager to get him." + +Major Abbot turns away with a heavy weight at heart. All of a sudden +there has burst upon him a complication of injustice and mystery, of +annoyance and perplexity that is hard to bear. In some way he feels that +the disappearance of the quartermaster is a connecting link in the chain +of circumstance. He associates him, vaguely, with each and every one of +the incidents which have puzzled him within the month past--with Rix, +with Doctor Warren's coming, with that cold and bitter letter from Miss +Winthrop, and finally with the shock and faintness that overcame this +fair young girl at sight of him. + +To his father he has shown Miss Winthrop's letter, and briefly sketched +the visit of Doctor Warren, and the sudden meeting with his daughter the +evening previous. Mr. Abbot is in a whirl of indignation over the +letter, which he considers an insult, but is all aflame with curiosity +about the doctor and the young lady. He has been preparing to return to +Boston this very week, but is now determined to wait until he can see +these mysterious people, who are so oddly mixed up in his son's affairs. +It is with some difficulty that the major prevails upon him not to write +to Miss Winthrop, and overwhelm her with reproaches. That letter must be +answered only by the man to whom it was written, says Abbot, and it is +evident that he does not mean to be precipitate. He has much to think +of, and so drives back to Willard's and betakes himself to his room, +where his father awaits him, and where they are speedily joined by an +official of the secret service, who has a host of singular questions to +ask about Hollins. Some of them have a tendency to make the young major +wonder if he really has been the possessor of eyes and ears, or powers +of discernment, during the past winter. Then come some inquiries about +Rix. Abbot is forced to confess that he knows nothing of his +antecedents, and that he was made quartermaster-sergeant at Hollins's +request, at a time when nobody had a very adequate idea of what his +duties might be. + +"Who had charge of the distribution of the regimental mail all winter +and spring?" asks the secret-service man, after looking over some +memoranda. + +"The quartermaster, ordinarily. The mail-bag was carried to and from the +railway about thrice a week, while we were at Edward's Ferry in the +fall. Rix looked after it then, and when we came down in front of +Washington the matter still remained in his hands. There was never any +complaint, that I can remember." + +"Did any of your officers besides Mr. Hollins have civilian dress or +disguise of any kind?" + +"I did not know that he did--much less any of the others." + +"He wore his uniform coming to the city, but would soon turn out in +'cits,' and in that way avoided all question from patrols. As he gambled +and drank a good deal then, we thought, perhaps, it was a rule in the +regiment that officers must not wear their uniforms when on a lark of +any kind; but he was always alone, and seemed to have no associates +among the officers. What use could he have had for false beard and wig?" + +"None whatever that I know of." + +"He bought them here, as we know, and, presumably, took them down to +camp with him. If he has deserted, he is probably masquerading in that +rig now. I tell you this knowing you will say nothing of it, Major +Abbot, and because I feel that you have had no idea of the real +character of this man, and it is time you had." + +Abbot bows silently. If the detective only knew what was going on at +home, how much the more would he deem the missing quartermaster a +suspicious character. + +Then there comes a knock at the door, and, opening it, Major Abbot finds +himself face to face with the nurse whom he had seen the previous +afternoon in Doctor Warren's room. She looks up into his face with a +smile that betokens a new and lively interest. + +"The doctor left us but a few minutes ago," she says, "and he tells me +my patient is on the mend. Of course, we have said nothing to him as yet +about Miss Bessie's fainting yesterday, but--I thought you might be +anxious to know how they are." + +"I am indeed," says Abbot, cordially, "and thank you for coming. How is +Miss Warren to-day?" + +"She keeps her room, as is natural after one has been so agitated, and, +of course, she does not like to speak of the matter, and has forbidden +my telling the doctor--her father, I mean. But he will be sitting up +to-morrow, probably, and--I thought you might like to see them. He is +sleeping quietly now." + +"Yes, I want very much to see him, as soon as he is well enough to talk, +and, if the young lady should be well enough to come out into the parlor +this afternoon or take the air on the piazza, will you let me know?" + +The nurse's smiles of assent are beaming. Whether she, too, has seen +that photograph Abbot cannot tell. That she has had the feminine +keenness of vision in sighting a possible romance is beyond question. +The secret-service official is at Abbot's side as he turns back from the +door. + +"I shall see you again, perhaps to-morrow," he says; "meantime there is +a good deal for us to do," and before the nurse has reached the sick +man's door, she is politely accosted by the same urbane young man, and +is by no means sorry to stop and talk with somebody about her sad-faced +old patient and his wonderfully pretty daughter. + +It was Abbot's purpose to devote a little time that afternoon to +answering the letter received but yesterday from Miss Winthrop. It needs +no telling--the fact that there had never been a love-affair in their +engagement; and no one can greatly blame a woman who is dissatisfied +with a loveless match. Viva Winthrop was not so unattractive as to be +destitute of all possibility of winning adorers. Indeed, there was +strong ground for believing that she fully realized the bliss of having +at least one man's entire devotion. Whatsoever evil traits may have +cropped out in Mr. Hollins's army career, _she_ had seen nothing of +them, and knew only his thoughtful and lover-like attentions while they +were abroad, and his assiduous wooing on his return. Paul Abbot had +never asked for her love--indeed, he had hardly mentioned the word as +incidental to their engagement. Nevertheless, yielding to what she had +long been taught to consider her fate, she had accepted the family +arrangement--and him--and was the subject of incessant and enthusiastic +congratulation. Abbot's gallant service and distinguished character as +an officer had won the hearty admiration of all the circle in which she +lived and moved and had her being, and she was thought an enviable girl +to have won the love of so brave and so promising a man. A little more +reserved and cold than ever had Miss Winthrop become, and the smile with +which she thanked these many well-wishers was something wintry and weary +in the last degree. If he had only loved her, there might have bloomed +in her heart an answering passion that would have filled her nature, and +made her proudly happy in her choice. But that he had never had for her +anything more than a brother-and-sister, boy-and-girl sort of +affection--a kind, careless, yet courteous tenderness--was something she +had to tell herself time and again, and to hear as well from the letters +of a man whose letters she should have forbidden. + +Even in his astonishment at the charge brought against him, and in his +indignation at the accusation of deceit, Paul Abbot cannot but feel that +allowances must be made for Viva Winthrop. He meant to marry her, to be +a loyal and affectionate husband; but he had not loved her as women +love to be loved, and she was conscious of the lacking chord. That she +had been deceived and swindled, too, by some shameless scoundrel, and +made to believe in her _fiance's_ guilt, was another thing that was +plain to him. She had probably been told some very strong story of his +interest in this other girl. Very probably, too, Hollins was the +informer and, presumably, the designer of the plot. Who can tell how +deep and damnable it was, since it had been carried so far as to induce +the Warrens to believe that he was the writer of scores of letters from +the front? Then again, ever since he had raised that fainting girl in +his arms, especially ever since the moment when her lovely eyes were +lifted to his face and her sweet lips murmured his name, Paul Abbot has +been conscious of a longing to see her again. Not an instant has he been +able to forget her face, her beauty, her soft touch; the wave of color +that rushed to her brow as he met her at her father's door when the +nurse brought her, still trembling, back to the old man's bedside. He +had murmured some hardly articulate words, some promise of coming to +inquire for her on the morrow, and bowed his adieu. But now--now, he +feels that not only Genevieve, but that Bessie Warren, too, has been +made a victim of this scoundrel's plottings, and, though longing to see +her and hear her speak again, he knows not what to say. It was hard +enough to have to deny himself to the poor old doctor when he came out +to the Monocacy. _Could_ he look in her face and tell her it was all a +fraud; that some one had stolen and sent her his picture? some one had +stolen and used his name, and, whatsoever were the letters, all were +forgeries? No! He must wait and see Doctor Warren, and let her think him +come back to life--let her think they _were_ his letters--rather than +face her, and say it was all a lie. Yet he longs to see her once again. + +But to Viva he must write without further delay. Her letter +unquestionably frees him, and does it with a brusqueness that might +excuse a man for accepting the situation without a word. If the +engagement has ever been irksome to him it is now at an end, and he is +in no wise responsible. Giving him no opportunity for denial, she has +accused him of breach of faith and cast him off. Wounded pride, did he +love her deeply, might now impel him to be silent. A sense of indignity +and wrong might drive many a man to turn away at such a juncture, and +leave to the future the unravelling of the plot. There are moments, it +must be confessed, when Major Abbot is so stung by the letter that he is +half disposed to take it as final, and let her bear the consequences of +discovery of the fraud; but they are quickly followed by others in which +he is heartily ashamed of himself for such a thought. Right or wrong, +Viva Winthrop is a woman who has given her life into his hands; a woman +who has been reared in every luxury only to be denied the one luxury a +woman holds most precious of all. He has not been a devoted lover any +more than he has been disloyal; and now that trouble has come to her, +and she is deceived, perhaps endangered, Major Abbot quietly decides +that the only obvious course for a gentleman to follow is to crush his +pride under foot and to act and think for her. And this, after several +attempts, is what he finally writes her: + + "Your letter came last night, dear Viva, and I have thought long + over it before answering. It is all my fault that this constraint + has hung over your letters. I have seen it for months, and yet made + no effort until lately to have it explained. Long ago, had I done + so, you would probably have given me the reason, and I could have + assured you of the error into which you were led. Now it seems + that you and I are not the only ones involved. + + "Neither to Miss Warren nor any other girl have I written since our + engagement; but her father has been to see me, and tell me that + many letters purporting to come from me have been received, and I + have hardly time to recover from that surprise when your indignant + charge is added. Taken together, the two point very strongly to a + piece of villainy. You could never have believed this of me, Viva, + without proofs; and I feel sure that letters must have been sent to + you. Now that we are pushing every effort to detect and punish the + villain who has wrought this, and I fear other wrongs, such letters + will be most important evidence, and I conjure you to send them to + me by express at once. Father would come for them, but I need him + here. I do not seek to inquire into your personal correspondence, + Viva, but letters that bear upon this matter are of vital weight. + + "As to my dismissal, may I not ask you to reconsider your words, + and, in the light of my assurance that I am innocent of the sin + with which you have charged me, permit me to sign myself, as ever, + lovingly and faithfully yours? PAUL." + +It is no easy letter to write. He wants to be calm and just, and that +makes it sound cold and utterly unimpassioned. Beyond doubt she would be +far happier with a fury of reproaches, cutting sarcasm, and page after +page of indignant denial. He also wants to be tender when he thinks of +what he has not had to lavish on her in the past, and that prompts him +to the little touch of sentiment at the close--a touch that is perhaps +unwarranted by the facts in the case. There is a third matter, one that +he does not want to mention at all, a name he hates to put on any page +addressed to her; but he knows that it is due her she should be told the +truth, and at last, just as sunset is coming, he adds a postscript: + + "I feel that I must tell you that Mr. Hollins has been missing ever + since Antietam, under circumstances that cloud his name with grave + suspicion. It is no longer concealed that his conduct and character + have left him practically friendless in the regiment, and that he + could not long have retained his position. He is not worthy the + friendship you felt for him, Viva; of that I am certain." + +He is still pondering over this when his father comes in for a word or +two. + +"I am going over to call at Doctor Warren's room and ask how he is. +Possibly he may be able to see me. Have you written to--" + +And he stops. He does not feel like saying "Viva" to or of the girl who +has so misjudged his boy. + +Abbot holds up the letter and its addressed envelope. + +"Yes, and it must go at once or miss the mail." + +"I'll post it for you, then, as I have to go to the office a moment," +is the answer, and the elder stands looking at his son, while the latter +quickly scans the last page, then folds and encloses it. Paul smiles +into his father's eyes as he hands it, and the letter-bearer goes +briskly away. + +His footsteps have hardly become inaudible when there is a tap at the +door, and behold! the nurse. + +"You told me you would like to know when Miss Warren came out, major. +She is on the veranda now." + + + + +VIII. + + +Throwing over his shoulders the cape of his army overcoat, Major Abbot +hastens from his room in the direction of the little gallery or veranda +at the side of the house. Evening is just approaching, and the lights +are beginning to twinkle on the broad avenue below. He has not yet had +time to determine upon his course of conduct. If, as he begins to +suspect, it is Bessie Warren who received all those guileful letters, +his will be a most difficult part to play. He longs to speak with her as +well as to see her, but at this moment he knows not what may be expected +of him, and, rather than have to inflict mortification or pain upon so +sweet a girl, he is almost ready to wish that it had been his privilege +to write to her. The fact that her father was so overcome at his denial, +the fact that she fainted at sight of him, the fact that her first words +on reviving were to the effect that her father had told her Paul Abbot +was dead--all seemed to point to the conclusion that she had received +love-letters, and that she had become deeply interested in her unseen +correspondent. It would be no difficult matter to act the lover, and +endorse anything these letters might have said to such a girl, thinks +Abbot, as he hastens along the carpeted corridor, but then there is his +letter to Viva; there is the fact that he has virtually declined to +release her. It is this thought that suddenly "gives him pause," and, at +the very moment that he comes to the doorway leading to the veranda, +causes him to stop short and reflect. + +There is a little sitting-room opening off this hallway. One or two +couples are chatting and gossiping therein, but Abbot steps past them to +the window and gazes out. As he expected, there is a view of one end of +the veranda, and there she stands, looking far out into the gathering +night. + +A sweeter, lovelier face one seldom sees; so delicate and refined in +every feature, so gentle and trusting in its expression. Her deep +mourning seems only to enhance her fragile beauty, and to render more +observable the grace of her slender form. She leans against the iron +trellis-work, and one slim white hand sweeps back the sunny hair that +is playing about her temple. Her thoughts are not so very far away. He +is standing in the shadow of a curtained niche in a room whose light +comes mainly from the flickering coal-fire in the grate, for the October +evening is chill. She stands where the light from the big lamps at the +corner is sufficient to plainly show her every look and gesture. Abbot +marks that twice or thrice, as footsteps are heard in the hall, she +glances quickly towards the doorway; then that a shade of disappointment +gathers on her brow as no one comes. Then, once or twice, timidly and +furtively, she casts shy, quick glances aloft and towards the front of +the building. It requires little calculation to tell Major Abbot that +those glances are towards the window of his room. Then can it be that +she is there, waiting him, impatient of his coming? + +Whether or no, this is no place for him. He has no business here spying +upon her. He has had his look; has seen again the sweet face that so +fascinated him. Now, though he could gaze indefinitely, he feels that he +should either go forth and meet her openly or, perhaps better, retire +and avoid her entirely. Before he can summon courage to go he turns for +one last look, and his course is decided for him. + +A footstep, somewhat slow, either from a disposition to saunter on the +part of the promenader or possible languor and weakness, is coming along +the hallway. She hears it, too, and he sees how her white hands clasp +the rail of the balcony, and how she turns her bonnie head to listen. +Nearer it comes; he cannot see who approaches, because that would +involve his stepping back and losing sight of her; and as it nears the +doorway he marks her eager, tremulous pose, and can almost see the +beating of her heart. She has not turned fully towards the hall--just +partially, as though a sidelong glance were all she dared give even in +her joyous eagerness. Then a form suddenly darkens the portal, and just +as suddenly a shadow of keen disappointment clouds her face. She turns +abruptly, and once more gazes wistfully down the street. + +The next thing Abbot sees is that the man is at her side; that he has +accosted her; that she is startled and annoyed; and that although in +totally different garb, her caller is no less a person than the +secret-service official who visited him that morning. What on earth can +that mean? + +Whatever the conversation, it is very brief. Obedient to some suggestion +or request, though not without one more quick glance at his window, +Abbot sees her turn and enter the house. Quickly she passes the doorway +and speeds along the hall. Regardless of the opinions and probable +remarks of the gossipers in the sitting-room, Major Abbot hastens to the +entrance and gazes after her until the graceful form is out of sight. +Then he turns and confronts the sauntering detective-- + +"I did not know you knew Miss Warren," he says. + +"I don't," is the answer. "Neither do you, do you?" + +"Well, we never met before yesterday, but--" + +"You never wrote to her, did you, or to her father?" + +"Never, and yet I think there is a matter connected with it all that +will require explanation." + +"So do I. One of the worst points against the old gentleman is that very +bad break he made in claiming that you had been a constant correspondent +of his and of his daughter's." + +"_One_ of the worst! Why, what is he accused of?" + +"Being a rebel spy--not to put too fine a point upon it." + +Abbot stands aghast a moment. + +"Why, man, it's simply impossible! I tell you, you're all wrong." + +"Wish you'd tell my chief that," answers the man, impassively. "I don't +like the thing a particle. They've got points up at the office that I +know nothing about, and, probably, have more yet, now; for the package +of papers was found upon him just as described from Frederick." + +"What papers?" + +"Don't know. They've taken them up to the office. That's what makes the +case rather weak in my eyes; no man would carry a packet of implicating +papers in the pocket of his overcoat all this time. Such a package was +handed to him as he left the tavern there by the landlord's wife, and +she got it from the rebel spy who escaped back across the Potomac the +next morning. He's the man your Colonel Putnam so nearly captured. +Doctor Warren broke down on the back trip, it seems, and was delirious +here for some days; but even then I should think he would hardly have +kept these papers in an overcoat pocket, unless they were totally +forgotten, and _that_ would look vastly like innocence of their +contents, which is what he claimed." + +"Do you mean that he knows it? Has he been accused?" asks Abbot. + +"Certainly. That's what I came down here for; he wanted his daughter. He +is perfectly rational and on the mend now, and as the physicians said he +would be able to travel in a day or two, it was decided best to nail +him. There are scores of people hereabouts who'll stand watching better +than this old doctor, to my thinking; but we are like you soldiers, and +have our orders." + +"Was my father up there when he was notified of his arrest," asks Abbot. + +"No; Mr. Abbot has gone over to Senator Wilson's. He was met by a +messenger while standing in the office a while ago." + +The major tugs his mustache in nervous perplexity a moment. He needs to +see the doctor. He cannot rest satisfied now until he has called upon +him, assured him of his sympathy, his faith in his innocence, and his +desire to be of service. More than that, he longs to tell him that he +believes it in his power to explain the whole complication. More and +more it is dawning upon him that he has had an arch-enemy at work in +this missing Hollins, and that his villainy has involved them all. + +"Can I see Dr. Warren?" he suddenly asks. + +"I don't know. I am not directly in charge, but I will ask Hallett, who +is up at the room now." + +"Do; and come to my room and let me know as soon as you can." + +In less than five minutes the officer is down at his door. + +"I declare I wish you _would_ come up. It seems more than ever to me +that there's a blunder somewhere. The old man takes it mighty hard that +he should be looked upon as a spy by the government he has suffered so +much for. He says his only son was killed; captain in a New York +regiment." + +"Yes, and I believe it. I knew him at college." + +"Well, if that don't beat all! And now that pretty girl is all he has +left, and she's breaking her heart because she don't know how to comfort +him." + +"Come on," says Abbot. "I know the way." + +And, for a lame man, he manages to make marvellous time through the +hallway and up that little flight of stairs. The room door is open as +before. A man is pacing restlessly up and down the hall. There is a +sound of sobbing from within, and, never stopping to knock, Paul Abbot +throws off his cloak and enters. + +She is bending over the bedside, mingling entreaty and soothing words +with her tears; striving to induce her raging old father to lay himself +down and take the medicine that the panic-stricken nurse is vainly +offering. The doctor seems to have but one thought--wrath and +indignation that he, the father of a son who died so gallantly, should +have been accused of so vile a crime; he has but one desire, to rise and +dress, and confront his accusers. If ever man needed the strong arm of a +son to rest on at this moment, it is poor old Warren. If ever woman +needed the aid and presence of a gallant lover, it is this sweet, +half-distracted Bessie; and if ever man looked thoroughly fit to fill +all requirements, it is the self-same young major of staff who comes +striding in and grasping the situation with a soldier's glance. + +Heaven! How her eyes light and beam at sight of him! How even through +her tears, the flush of hope and joy springs to her cheek. How eagerly, +trustfully, she turns to him, as though knowing all must now be well. + +"Oh, papa! here is Mr. Abbot," she exclaims, and says it as though she +felt that nothing more could ever be needed. + +He steps between her and the staring eyes of the old gentleman; bends +quickly down over him. + +"Yes, doctor. Paul Abbot, whom you thought killed," and he gives him a +significant glance; a glance that warns him to say no word that might +undeceive her. "I have just had news of this extraordinary charge. I've +come to you, quick as legs can carry me, to tell you that you are to lie +perfectly still, and rest this burden with me. Don't stir; don't worry; +don't say one word. I'm going straight to the provost-marshal's to tell +them what I know, and explain away this whole thing. A most +extraordinary piece of scoundrelism is at the bottom of it all, but I am +beginning to understand it, fully. Doctor, will you trust me? Will you +let me try and be Guthrie to you to-night; and promise me to lie still +here until I come back from the provost-marshal's?" + +"Do, father!" implores Bessie, bending over him, too. + +There is a look of utter bewilderment in the doctor's haggard face, but +he says no word. For a moment he gazes from one to the other, then drops +back upon the pillow, his eyes fixed on Abbot's face. + +"I am all unstrung, weak as a child," he murmurs; "I cannot understand; +but do as you will." + +There are voices in the hall; the clink of spurs and sabre; and a +cavalry orderly makes his appearance at the door. + +"I was to give this to Major Abbot, instantly," he says, saluting and +holding forth an envelope. Abbot takes and tears it open. The message is +brief enough, but full of meaning: + +"Your presence necessary here at once to explain the papers found on +Doctor Warren. Looks like a case of mistaken identity." + +It is signed by the young officer whom he met on the occasion of his +last visit. + +[Illustration: "_A cavalry orderly makes his appearance at the door_"] + +"I thought so, doctor!" he says, triumphantly. "They are shaky already, +and send for me to come. Depend upon it I'll bring you glad tidings in +less than no time, and have an end to these mysteries. Now try and +rest." + +Then he turns to her. Can he ever forget the trust, the radiance, the +restfulness in the shy, sudden look she gives him? His heart bounds with +the sight; his pulse throbs hard as he holds forth his hand, and, for +the first time, her soft warm palm is clasped in his. + +"Don't worry one bit, Miss Bessie; we'll have this matter straightened +out at once." + +Then there is a pressure he cannot resist; a shy, momentary answer he +cannot mistake; and, with his veins all thrilling, Paul Abbot goes forth +upon his mission, leaving her looking after him with eyes that plainly +say, "There walks a demi-god." + +At the office he is promptly ushered into the presence of three or four +men, two of them in uniform. + +"Major Abbot, here is a packet of letters in a lady's hand, addressed to +you. They were found on Doctor Warren, in the very pocket where he +placed the package that was given him at Frederick. Have you lost such, +or can you account for them?" + +"I can account for them readily," answers Abbot, promptly. "They are +mine, written by Miss Warren, and were stolen from me, as I believe; was +there no explanation or address?" + +"Nothing but this," is the answer, and the speaker holds forth a wrapper +inside which is written these words: + +"For your daughter. Ruined though I am, I can never forgive myself for +the fearful wrong I have done her. Tell her it was all a lie. He never +wrote, and she will never know the man who did." + +Abbot stands staring at the paper, his hands clinching, his mouth +setting hard. No word is spoken for a moment. Then, in answer to a +courteous question, he looks up. + +"It is as I thought. His villainy has involved others besides me. Doctor +Warren is no more spy than I am. This writing is that d----d scoundrel +Hollins's, who deserted from our regiment." + + + + +IX. + + +It is late that evening when Major Abbot returns to Willard's. He has +found time to write a brief note to the doctor, which it was his +intention to send by the orderly who bears the official order releasing +the Warrens from surveillance. It suddenly occurs to him, however, that +she may see the note. If so, what will be her sensations on finding that +the handwriting is utterly unlike that in which all her letters had come +to her. Abbot tears it into shreds, and contents himself with a message, +saying that he is compelled to see the adjutant-general on immediate +business, but will soon be with them. + +It is true that the adjutant-general has business with Major Abbot, but +it is some time before audience is obtained. There is still a whirl of +excitement over Stuart's movements, and it is ten o'clock before the +young officer is able to see his chief. The general is courteous, but a +trifle formal and cold. Staff officers, he says, are now urgently +needed, and he desires to know how soon the major will feel able to +resume duty. + +"At once, sir," is the answer. + +"But you are still far from strong, and--I do not mean office duty here; +we have abundance of material for that sort of work." + +"Neither do I, sir. I mean duty at the front. I can sit around +headquarters in the field as comfortably as I can anywhere, and, to the +best of my observation, the duty performed by the adjutant-general at +corps or division headquarters is not such as involves much physical +exertion." + +The general smiles benignantly upon the younger officer, and with the +air of a man who would say, "How little you know of the importance and +responsibilities of the labors to which we are assigned; but you will +soon understand." + +"But can you ride yet?" he asks. + +"I can; if a forward movement is in contemplation; and every day will +bring me strength," answers Abbot. "In brief, general, if you have a +post for me at the front I can go at once." + +"One other thing. Have you any idea of the whereabouts of Mr. Hollins of +your old regiment, or can you give us any idea as to where he would be +likely to go? He has forwarded his resignation, dated Keedysville, +Maryland, September 18. It was post-marked Baltimore, October 8, and +came direct. Of course it cannot be accepted. What is needed is some +clew as to his movements. Could he or would he have gone back to Boston? +Had he anything to draw him thither?" + +Abbot reflects a moment. "I can form no idea where he has gone," he +answers. + +"It was proposed to send an officer of your regiment back to confer with +the police authorities, Major Abbot, and there are reasons why I prefer +you should go. A few days' visit at your old home may not be +unacceptable, and you can probably render valuable service. I have been +told that there is reason to believe that Lieutenant Hollins is lurking +somewhere around Boston at this very minute, and that is the first duty +on which you are needed. Your instructions can be written later. Now can +you go in the morning?" + +There is a moment's silence. This is not the duty which Major Abbot +expected, nor is it at all what he desires. He wonders if his father has +not been in collusion with the senator, and, between the two, if some +pretext has not been devised to get him home for a few days. It looks +vastly that way. + +"I confess that my hopes were in the opposite direction, general. I had +visions of immediate employment at the front, when you spoke." + +The bureau official is evidently pleased. He likes the timber the +younger soldier is made of, and his grim, care-worn face relaxes. + +"Major Abbot, you shall have your wish, and, depend upon me, the moment +there is prospect of a forward move you shall join a division at the +front. Your old colonel will have one this very week if it can be +managed here, and he will be glad of your services; but I tell you, +between ourselves, that I do not believe McClellan can be made to budge +an inch from where he stands until positive orders are given from here. +You go--not on leave, but on duty--for a week, and then we'll have work +for you in the field. I have promised it." + +Then the bewildered young major is notified that his father is waiting +for him at the senator's, and thither he drives, half determined to +upbraid them both; but the delight in the old gentleman's face is too +much for him. It is nearly eleven when they reach Willard's, and, +before he will consent to pack his soldier kit, Paul Abbot goes at once +to the Warrens' room, and his father follows. + +The secret-service man has gone. The physician is there and the nurse, +both conversing with their patient, when the two gentlemen appear. Major +Abbot presents his father and looks around the room somewhat +disappointedly. Despite his excitement of the day, and possibly because +of it, Doctor Warren seems in higher spirits and better condition than +Abbot has imagined it possible for him to be. The two old gentlemen +shake hands, and Mr. Abbot speedily seats himself by the side of the +invalid, and frees himself of his impressions as to the extraordinary +charges that had been preferred, and his satisfaction at their speedy +refutation. The local physician, in low tones, is assuring Major Abbot +that a day or two will restore their patient to strength sufficient to +journey homewards, and that he believes the "set back" of the early +evening will be of no avail if he can get him to sleep by midnight. +Abbot hastily explains that he leaves at daybreak for Boston, and had +only come in fulfilment of a promise. Then he accosts his father. + +"I know we have both a great deal to say to Doctor Warren, father, but +it is a pleasure only to be deferred. We must say good-night, so that he +can sleep, and will meet in New York next week." + +Doctor Warren looks up inquiringly. He is far from willing to let them +go, but the physician interposes. They say their adieux and still Abbot +hesitates; his eyes wander to the door which communicates with Bessie's +room, and, as though in answer, it opens and she softly enters. + +"I am so glad you have come," he says, in low, eager tone. "Let me +present my father," and the old gentleman bows with courtly grace and +comes forward to take her hand. She is a lovely picture to look at, with +the sweet, shy consciousness in her face. The very gaze in Abbot's eyes +has sent the color to her brows, and he holds her hand until he has to +transfer it to his father's out-stretched palm. + +"The doctor tells us we must not stay, Miss Bessie," he continues, "but +I could not go without a word. I am ordered to Boston by first train in +the morning, but shall see you--may I not--in New York?" + +Brave as she is, it comes too suddenly--this news that she must part +with her knight just as he has done her such loyal service, and before +she has even thanked him by look or word. All the radiance, all the +bright color fades in an instant, and Paul Abbot cannot but see it and +divine, in part at least, the reason. He has in his pocket letters from +her own fair hand, that he knows were written for him, and yet that he +has no right to see. He reads in her lovely eyes a trust in him, a pain +at this sudden parting, that he thrills in realizing, yet should steel +his heart against or be no loyal man. But he cannot go without a word +from her, and it is a moment before she can speak: + +"Is--is it not very sudden? I shall never thank you enough for what you +have done for father--for _us,_ this evening. What would we have done +without you?" + +"That is nothing. There is no time now--but next week--New York--I may +see you there, may I not?" + +May he not? What man can look in her eyes and ask less? He holds her +hand in close pressure one instant and hastens from the room. + + * * * * * + +Forty-eight hours later he is in the presence of the woman who had +promised to be his wife. The evening has seemed somewhat long. She was +out when he called at an earlier hour, but was to be found at a +dinner-party in the neighborhood. Major Abbot feels indisposed to meet +her in presence of "society," and leaves word that he will return at ten +o'clock. He finds her still absent and has to wait. Mr. Winthrop is at +his club; Mrs. Winthrop has begged to be excused--she had retired early +with a severe headache. She does not want to see me, thinks Abbot, and +that looks as though Viva were obdurate. It is a matter that has served +to lose its potency for ill, and the major is angered at himself because +of a thrill of hope; because of the thought of another face that _will_ +intrude. It is nearly eleven o'clock when he hears the rumble of +carriage wheels at the door. He steps to the front window and looks out +upon the pavement. Yes, there is the old family carriage drawn up in +front in the full glare of the gas lamp. The footman is opening its door +and Viva Winthrop steps quickly forth, glances up and down the street as +though expectant of some one's coming, and turns quickly to speak to +some one in the carriage. Abbot recognizes the face at the open window +as that of an old family friend nodding good-night. The footman still +stands, but Viva speaks to him; he touches his hat respectfully, but in +some surprise, and then springs to his perch; the two ladies nod and +exchange cordial good-nights again, and away goes the carriage, leaving +Miss Winthrop standing on the sidewalk, where she is still searchingly +looking up and down and across the street. As though in answer there +comes springing through the dim light the hulking, slouching, +round-shouldered figure of a big man. He is across the street and at her +side in a few vigorous leaps, and away as quick as he came. No word has +been interchanged, no sign on his part. He has handed her a small white +parcel. She has placed in his hand a dark roll of something that he +eagerly seizes and makes off with. It all happens before Abbot has time +to realize what is going on, then she scurries up the stone steps and +rings the bell. His first impulse is to go and open the door himself, +but that will produce confusion. She will have no time to dispose of +that packet, and Major Abbot will not take advantage of what he has +inadvertently seen. He hears the old butler shuffling along the marble +hallway, and his deferential announcement. + +"Mr. Abbot is in the parlor, Miss Winthrop." + +And then he steps forward under the chandelier to meet her. + +It is a moment before she enters. Evidently his coming is a shock for +which she is unprepared. She comes in with swiftly changing color and +lips that tremble despite the unflinching courage of her eyes. + +"This is indeed a surprise," she says, as she gives him her hand. +"Why--when did you come, and how did you come, and how well you look for +a man who has had so much suffering--I mean from your wounds," she +finishes, hurriedly. It is all said nervously and with evident purpose +of simply talking to gain time and think. "Won't you sit down? You must +be so fatigued. Take this chair, it's so much more comfortable than that +one you are getting. Have you seen mamma! No? Why? Does she know you are +here? Oh, true; she did speak of a headache before I went out. Mrs. +Laight and I have been to dinner at the Farnham's and have just +returned. Why didn't you come round there--they'd have been so delighted +to see you? You know you are quite a hero now." + +He lets her run on, sitting in silence himself, and watching her. She +continues her rapid, nervous talk a moment more, her color coming and +going all the time, and then she stops as suddenly. "Of course you can +answer no questions when I keep chattering like a magpie." + +She is seated now on the sofa facing him, as he leans back in one of +those old-fashioned easy-chairs that used to find their way into some +parlors in the _ante-bellum_ days. When silence is fully established, +and she is apparently ready to listen, he speaks: + +"I came to-night, Viva, and to see _you_. Did you get my letter?" + +"Your last one, from Washington? Yes. It came yesterday." + +"I have come to see the letters." + +"What letters?" + +"Those which you must have received or been shown in order to make you +believe me disloyal to you." + +"I have no such letters." + +"Did you send them to me, Viva?" + +"No." + +"What did you do with them?" + +She hesitates, and colors painfully; then seeks to parry. + +"How do you know I ever saw any letters? + +"Because nothing less could explain your action; nor does this justify +it. Still, I am not here to blame you. I want to get at the truth. What +did you do with them?" + +"They--went back." + +"When? Before or after you got my letter?" + +No answer for a moment, then: + +"Why do you ask that? What possible difference can it make? They were +shown me in strict confidence. I had long believed you cared more for +another girl than you did for me, and these letters proved it." + +"I do not admit that, Viva," is the grave, almost stern reply. "But do +you mean that, after receiving my letter, you returned those that I +asked for--that I had a right to see?" + +"They were called for; and they were not mine to do as I chose with." + +"Will you tell me how and by whom they were called for?" + +He has risen now, and is standing under the chandelier, drawn to his +full height. + +"I do not wish to speak of it further. I have told the person that you +denied the truth of them, and that is enough." + +"I am sorry that you mentioned me to the person, or weighed my +statements in any such scale." + +"Paul Abbot!" she breaks in impetuously, rising too. "You say you never +wrote to this girl, and I believe you; but tell me this: have you never +seen her? do you not at this moment care for her infinitely more than +you do for me?" + +He considers a moment. It is a leading question; one he had not +expected; but he will not stoop to the faintest equivocation. Still, he +wants her to understand. + +"Listen, Viva. Up to the time of your letter's coming she was a stranger +to me. Now I have met her. She and her father were in the same hotel +with us at Washington; and she, too, has been victimized by forged +letters as you have." + +"Enough, enough! Why not end it where it is? You know well that if you +cared for me _that_ would be the first assurance. Granted that we have +both been cheated, fooled, tricked, why keep up the farce of a loveless +engagement? That, at least, must end _now_." + +"Even if it should, Viva, I am not absolved from a duty I owe you. It +is my conviction that you have been drawn into a correspondence with a +man against whom it is my solemn right and duty to warn you at once. You +have no brother. For Heaven's sake be guided by what I say. Whatever may +have been his influence in the past, you can never in the future +recognize Mr. Hollins. If not captured by this time, he is a disgraced +exile and deserter." + +"He is nothing of the kind! You, and imperious men like you, denied to +him the companionship of his brother officers, and his sensitive nature +could not stand it. He has resigned and left the service, that is all." + +"You are utterly mistaken, Viva. What I tell you is the solemn truth. +For your name's sake I implore you tell me what has been his influence +in the past. I well know he can be nothing to you in the future, Viva. +You are not in communication with him now, are you?" + +A ring at the bell. The old butler comes sleepily shuffling along the +hall again, and appears at the parlor with a telegram. "They sent it +after you, sir," is the explanation. Abbot, with curious foreboding, +opens, and hurriedly reads the words, + +"Rix also deserted; is believed to have gone to Boston." + +"Viva!" he exclaims, "the man you gave that packet to was Rix, another +deserter. My God! Do you _know_ where Hollins is?" + +But Viva Winthrop has fallen back on the sofa, covering her face with +her hands. + + + + +X. + + +Major Abbot's stay in Boston is but brief. He had a hurried conference +with the police late at night, after his painful interview with Miss +Winthrop, and there is lively effort on part of those officials to run +down the bulky stranger to whom she had intrusted that packet. There has +been a family conference, too, between the elders of the households of +Abbot and Winthrop, and the engagement is at an end. Coming in suddenly +from his club, Mr. Winthrop entered the parlor immediately after the +receipt of the telegram, and he is overwhelmed with consternation at the +condition of affairs. He has insisted on a full statement from Viva's +lips, and to her mother the story has been told. She withholds no point +that is at all material, for her pride has been humbled to the dust in +the revelation that has come to her. She is not the first woman, nor is +she at all liable to be the last, to undertake the task of championing a +man against the verdict of his associates, and the story is simple +enough. With his sad, subdued manner, his air of patient suffering, and +his unobtrusive but unerring attentions, Mr. Hollins had succeeded in +making a deep impression while they were abroad. Not that her heart was +involved; she protests against that; but her sympathy, her pity, was +aroused. He had never inflicted his confidences upon her, but had deftly +managed to rouse her curiosity, and make her question. By the time they +returned to America she believed him to be a sensitive gentleman, poor, +talented, struggling, and yet burdened with the support of helpless +relatives, too distant of kin for her father's notice. She had come back +all aflame with patriotic fervor, too; and his glowing words and +soldierly longings had inspired her with the belief that here was a man +who only needed a start and fair treatment to enable him to rise to +distinction in his country's service. Through her father's influence he +was commissioned in the--th, then being organized, and in her friendship +she had sought to make his path easy for him. But he was certainly deep +in her confidence even then, and shrewd enough to take advantage of it. +He had frequently written before, and it was not unnatural he should +write after the regiment left for the front--letters which intimated +that he was far from content among his associates, which hinted at +distress of mind because he daily saw and heard of things which would +cause bitter sorrow to those who had the right to command his most +faithful services. He had shown deep emotion when informed of her +engagement to Mr. Abbot, and it was hard to confess this. It soon became +apparent to her that he desired her to understand that he deeply loved +her, and was deterred only by his poverty from seeking her hand. Then +came letters that were constructed with a skill that would have excited +the envy of an Iago, hinting at other correspondences on part of Mr. +Abbot and of neglects and infidelities that made her proud heart sore. +Still there were no direct accusations; but, taken in connection with +the long periods of apparent silence on his part and the unloverlike +tone of his letters when they reached her, the hints went far to +convince her that she had promised her hand to a careless and +indifferent wooer. This palliated in her mind the disloyalty of which +she was guilty towards him, and at last, in the summer just gone, she +had actually written to Mr. Hollins for proofs of his assertions. For a +long time--for weeks--he seemed to hold back, but at last there came +three letters, written in a pretty, girlish hand. She shrank from +opening them, but Mr. Hollins, in his accompanying lines, simply bade +her have no such compunction. They had been read by half a dozen men in +camp already, and the girl was some village belle who possibly knew no +better. She did read, just ten lines, of one of them, and was shamed at +her act as she was incensed at her false _fiance_. The ten lines were +sweet, pure, maidenly words of trust and gratitude for his praise of her +heroic brother; and in them and through them it was easy for the woman +nature to read the budding love of a warm-hearted and innocent girl. + +This roused her wrath, and would have led to denunciation of him but for +the news of his wounds and danger. Then came other letters from Hollins, +hinting at troubles in which he was involved; and then, right after +Antietam, he seemed to cease to write for a fortnight, and his next +letter spoke of total change in all his prospects--resignation from the +service, serious illness, possibly permanently impaired health, and then +of suffering and want. A foul accusation had been trumped up against +him by enemies in the regiment; he was alleged to have stolen letters +belonging to officers. In part it was true. He had bribed a servant to +get those three letters which he sent her, that she might be saved from +the fate that he dreaded for her. It was for her sake he had sinned; and +now he implored her to keep his secret, and to return to him all his +letters on that subject, as well as those he had sent as proofs. He dare +not trust them to the mails, but a faithful friend, though a poor man +like himself, would come with a note from him, and he would be a trusty +bearer. The friend had come but the morning of Abbot's arrival. He +humbly rang at the basement door; sent up a note; and, recognizing +Hollins's writing, she had gone down and questioned him. He sadly told +her that the quartermaster was in great trouble. "His enemies had +conspired against him;" his money accounts were involved, and there lay +the great difficulty. Mr. Hollins would never forgive him, said the man, +if he knew he was hinting at such a thing, but what he needed to help +him out of his trouble was money. It made her suspicious, but she reread +the note. "He is devoted to me, and perfectly reliable. I have cared +for him and his sister from childhood. Do not fear to trust the letters, +or anything you may write, to him." + +Mr. Hollins was too proud ever to ask for money and could not +contemplate the possibility of its being asked in his behalf, she +argued. But if anything she might write was to be trusted to the +messenger, surely she could trust his statements, and so she questioned +eagerly. The bearer thought a thousand dollars might be enough to +straighten everything, and she bade him be at the front of the house +that night by half after ten, to bring her a little packet he spoke of +as having received from Hollins--her own letters to him--and the money +would be ready. There was something about the man's face and carriage +that was familiar. She could not tell where she had seen him, but felt +sure that she had, and it seemed to her that it was in uniform. But he +denied having ever been in service, and seemed to shrink into shadow as +though alarmed at the idea. During the day she got the money from the +bank and gave it, as Abbot saw, and then when the telegram came it all +flashed across her--the messenger was indeed Rix. Rix was a deserter +beyond all peradventure. Then, doubtless, she was all wrong and Abbot +all right as to the real status of Mr. Hollins. No wonder she was +overwhelmed. + +But in all her self-abasement and distress of mind Viva Winthrop was +clear-headed on the question of the dissolution of that engagement. "He +does not love me and I do not deserve that he should," was her epitome +of the situation. "It will cause him no sorrow now, and it must be +ended." And it was. He called and asked to see her, if she felt well +enough to receive him; he acquiesced in her decision, but he wanted to +part as friends. She begged to be excused, explaining that she had not +left her rooms since the night of his arrival, which was true. And now, +with a heart that beats more joyously despite the major's proper and +conscientious effort to believe that he is not happier in his freedom, +he is hastening back to the front, for his orders have come. + +Two things remain to be attended to before reporting for duty. He makes +every effort to find Hollins's hiding-place, but without avail. Miss +Winthrop tells him that beyond the postmark, Baltimore, there is not a +clew in any of the letters, and that they have ceased coming entirely. +Rix made no mention beyond saying that he was in Baltimore among people +who would guard him, and Rix himself has gone--no man can say whither. + +The other matter is one to which he hastens with eager heart. Twice he +has written to Doctor Warren since their parting at Washington, and he +has asked permission to call upon them at Hastings before returning. His +orders come before any reply. He therefore writes to Hastings the day +before he leaves home, begging that a telegram be sent to meet him at +the Metropolitan, the war-time rendezvous of army men when in New York +on leave, and his face is blank with disappointment when the clerk tells +him that no telegram has been received. He has a day at his disposal, +and he loses no time, but goes up the river by an afternoon train, and +returns by the evening "accommodation" with uneasy heart. Doctor Warren +and Miss Bessie had not yet come back was the news that met him at the +pretty little homestead. The doctor had been ill in Washington, and when +he was well enough to start the young lady was suddenly taken down. +Abbot is vaguely worried. He anxiously questions the kindly old +housekeeper, and draws from her all that she knows. She is looking for +letters any moment; but the last one was from Willard's, four days +since, saying they would have to stay. Miss Bessie was suddenly taken +ill. Won't the gentleman come in? and she will get the letter. He takes +off his cloak and forage cap, and steps reverently into the little +sitting-room, wherein every object is bathed in the sunshine of late +afternoon, and everywhere he sees traces of her handiwork. There on the +wall is Guthrie's picture; there hangs his honored sword and the sash he +wore when he led the charge at Seven Pines. With the soldier-spirit in +his heart, with the thrill of sympathy and comradeship that makes all +brave men kin, Abbot stands before that silent presentment of the man he +knew at college, and slowly stretches forth his hand and reverently +touches the sword-hilt of the buried officer. He is not unworthy; he, +too, has led in daring charge, and borne his country's flag through a +hell of carnage. They are brothers in arms, though one be gathered +already into the innumerable host beyond the grave. They are comrades in +spirit, though since college days no word has ever passed between them, +and Abbot's eyes fill with emotion he cannot repress as he thinks how +bitter a loss this son and brother has been to the stricken old father +and fragile sister. Ah! could he but have known, that day on the +Monocacy; could he but have read the truth in the old man's eyes, and +accepted as a fact his share of that mysterious correspondence rather +than have unwillingly dealt so cruel a blow! His lips move in a short, +silent prayer, that seems to well up from his very heart; and then the +housekeeper is at his side, and here is the doctor's letter. It is too +meagre of detail for his anxiety. He reads it twice, but it is all too +brief and bare. He is recalled to himself again. The housekeeper begs +pardon, but she is sure this must be Mr. Abbot, whose letters were so +eagerly watched for all the time before they went away. She had heard in +the village he was killed, and she is all a-quiver now, as he can see, +with excitement and suppressed feeling at his resurrection. Yes, this is +Mr. Abbot, he tells her, and he is going straight to Washington that he +may find them. And she shows him pictures of Bessie in her girlhood, +Bessie at school, Bessie in the bonnie dress she wore at the Soldiers' +Fair. Yes, he remembers having seen that very group before, at Edwards's +Ferry, before Ball's Bluff. She prattles about Bessie, and of Bessie's +going for his letters, and how she cried over them. He is all sympathy, +and bids her say on as he moves about the room, touching little +odds-and-ends that he knows must be hers; and he is loath to go, but +eager too, since it is to carry him back to her. He writes a few lines +on a card to tell them of his visit and his orders, should they fail to +meet; he begs the doctor to write, and warns him that he must expect +frequent letters; and then, with one long look about the sunlit, +love-haunted room, with one appeal for brotherly sympathy in his parting +gaze at Guthrie Warren's picture, he strides back to the station, and by +sunrise of another day is hurrying to Washington. In his breast-pocket +he carries the compact little wad of letters, all addressed to himself, +all written in her own delicate and dainty hand, yet sealed from his +eyes as securely as though locked in casket of steel. Though he longs +inexpressibly to read their pages and to better know the gentle soul +that has so suddenly come into his life, they are not his to open. What +would he not give for one moment face to face with the man who had lured +and tricked her--and with his name! + +They are not at Willard's, says the clerk, when Major Abbot arrives and +makes his inquiries. The doctor paid his bill that morning and they were +driven away, but he does not think they left town. Yes, telegrams and +letters both had come for the doctor, and the young lady had been +confined to her room a few days, and was hardly well enough to be +journeying now. Abbot's orders require him to report at the War +Department on the following day, and he cannot go to rest until he has +found their hiding-place. Something tells him that she has at last +discovered the fraud of which she has been made the victim, and he longs +to find her--longs to tell her that if the real Paul Abbot can only be +accepted in lieu of the imaginary there need be no break in that strange +correspondence; he is ready to endorse anything his fraudulent double +may have written provided it be only love and loyalty to her. + +It is late at night before he has succeeded in finding the hack driver +who took them away, and by him is driven to the house wherein they have +sought refuge. All distressed as he is at thought of their fleeing from +him, Paul Abbot finds it sweet to sit in the carriage which less than +twelve hours ago bore her over these self-same dusty streets. He bids +the hackman rein up when he gets to the corner, and wait for him. Then +he pushes forward to reconnoitre. Lights are burning in many rooms, but +the neighborhood is very silent. Far down an intersecting avenue the +band of some regiment is serenading a distinguished senator or +representative from the state from which they hail, and Abbot can hear +the cheers with which the great man is greeted as he comes forth to +tender his acknowledgments, and invite the officers and such of his +fellow-citizens as may honor him, to step in and "have something." It is +a windy night in late October. The leaves are whirling in dusty spirals +and shutters bang with unmelodious emphasis, and all the world seems +dreary; yet, to him, with love lighting the way, with the knowledge that +the girl he has learned to worship is here within these dull brick +walls, there is a thrill and vigor in every nerve. No light burns in the +hallway; none in the lower floor of the number to which he has been +directed. He well knows it is too late to call, even to inquire for +them, but the army has moved, and at last is pushing southward again, +feeling its way along the Blue Ridge, and he so well knows that the +morrow must send him forward to resume his duties. If he cannot see +_her_, it will be comfort, at least, to see her father. He is half +disposed to ring and ask for him when a figure comes around a +neighboring corner and bears slowly down upon him. The night lamps are +dull and flickering and the stranger is a mere shadow. Where Major Abbot +stands enveloped in the cloak-cape of his army overcoat there is no +light at all. Whoever may be the approaching party he has the +disadvantage of being partially visible to a watcher whose presence he +cannot be aware of until close at hand. When he has come some yards +farther Abbot is in no doubt as to his identity, and steps forward to +greet him. + +"Doctor Warren, I am so glad to have found you, for I must hurry after +the army to-morrow, and only reached Washington this evening. Tell me, +how is Miss Bessie?" + +The doctor is startled, as a matter of course, but there is something in +the young soldier's directness that pleases him. Perhaps he is pleased, +too, to know that his own views are correct, and that the moment Paul +Abbot reached Washington he has come in search of them. He takes the +proffered hand and holds it--or, rather, finds his firmly held. + +"Bessie has been ill, but is better, major; and how did you leave them +all at home? I have just been taking a walk of two or three blocks +before turning in. Fresh air is something I cannot do without. How did +you find us?" + +"By hunting up your hackman. I was grievously disappointed at not +finding you at Hastings, where I went first, or here at Willard's. Did +you not get my letters and telegrams?" + +"They were forwarded, and came last night." + +"Then you moved this morning to avoid me, doctor. Does it mean that I am +to be punished for another man's crime? Guthrie's picture had no such +unfriendly welcome for me, and I do not believe you want to hide her +from me. Tell me what it is that makes Bessie avoid me of her own +accord. Has she heard the truth about the old letters?" + +Doctor Warren is silent a moment, looking up into the young soldier's +face. Then he more firmly grasps his hand. + +"I do _not want_ to avoid you, Abbot, but it is only natural that now +she should find it hard to meet you. Three days after you left she +caught me fairly, and finding that the letter in my hand was yours, she +noted instantly the difference between the writing and that of the +letters that came to her at home. Something else had roused her +suspicions, and I had to tell her that there had been trickery, and she +would have no half-way explanation. She probed and questioned with a wit +as keen as any lawyer's. She made me confess that that was why I told +her Paul Abbot was dead when I got back to her at Frederick. He was dead +to us. And so, little by little, it all came out, and she was simply +stunned for a while. It made her too ill to admit of our travelling, and +she made me tell her when you were expected back, and bring her here. In +a day or two we will start homeward." + +"And meantime I shall have had to start for the front. Doctor Warren, +give her this little package--her own letters. Tell her that I have read +no line of one of these, but that, until I can win for myself letters in +her dear hand there will be no peace or happiness for me. These are the +letters that were sent to you at Frederick, with a few remorseful lines, +from the scoundrel who wrought all the trouble. His original motive was +simply to injure me, in the hope that he might profit by it. He sought +to break an engagement of marriage that existed between me and Miss +Winthrop, of Boston. Before he succeeded in making this breach it is my +belief that he had become so touched and charmed by the letters she +wrote that even his craven heart was turned to see its own baseness. He +had every opportunity of tampering with our mail. He felt, when I was +left wounded at the Monocacy, that that would end the play; and then, in +his despair and remorse, he deserted. He was around Frederick a day or +two in disguise, and sought to see you and her. Failing in that, he sent +you by the landlady the packet that was afterwards taken from your +overcoat by the secret-service men; and the next thing he came within an +ace of being captured by his own colonel. Escaping, he was believed to +be a rebel spy, and so implicated you. It was to search for him I was +sent to Boston. There Miss Winthrop formally broke our engagement, and I +would be a free man to-day, doctor, but for your daughter; and now it is +not freedom I seek, but a tie that only death can break. You came to +Paul Abbot when you thought him sorely wounded, and she came with you. +Now that he is sore stricken he comes to you. If it will pain her I will +ask no meeting now, but don't you think I owe her a good many letters, +doctor? Won't you let me pay that debt?" + +It is a long speech for Abbot, but his heart is full. The old +gentleman's sad face seems to thaw and beam under the influence of his +frank avowal and that winning plea. Abbot has held forth his other hand, +and there the two men stand, both trembling a little, under the +influence of a deep and holy emotion, clasping each other's hands and +looking into each other's face. They are at the very door-step of the +old-fashioned boarding-house which was so characteristic a feature of +the capital in the war-days. The door itself is but a few arms'-lengths +away, and all of a sudden it softly opens, and, with a light mantle +thrown over her shoulders, a tall, slender, graceful girl comes forth +upon the narrow porch. + +"Is that you, papa? I heard your step, and wondered why you remained +outside. Was the door locked?" + +There is an instant of silence. Then a young soldier, in his staff +uniform, takes three quick, springing steps, and is at her side. The +doctor seems bent on further search for fresh air, for he turns away +with a murmured word to his trembling companion, and Bessie Warren +finds it impossible to retreat. Major Abbot has seized her hand, and is +saying--she hardly hears, she hardly knows, what. But it is all so +sudden; it is all so sweet. + +[Illustration: "_Then a young soldier in his staff uniform takes three +springing steps, and is at her side._"] + + + + +XI. + + +Cold and gray in the mist of the morning the long columns have filed +down from the heights, and are massed at the water's edge. It is chill +December, and the frost has eaten deep into the ruddy soil of Virginia, +but the Rappahannock flows swiftly along, uncrusted by the ice that +fetters Northern streams, yet steaming in the biting air. Fog-wreaths +rise from the rippling surface, and all along the crowded shore the +clouds hang dense and heavy. Nowhere can one see in any direction more +than a dozen yards away; all beyond is wrapped in swirling, eddying +fog-bank. Here in the thronging ranks, close at hand, men speak in low +tones as they stamp upon the frozen ground or whip their mittened hands +across the broad blue chests to restore circulation and drive the ache +and numbness away. Here and there are some who have turned their light +blue capes up over their heads, and take no part in the low-toned chat. +Leaning on their muskets, they let their thoughts go wandering far +away, for all men know that bloody work is coming. The engineers are +hammering at their bulky pontoons now, and down at the water's edge the +clumsy boats are moored, waiting for chess and balk carriers to be told +off, and the crews to man the heavy sweeps. Up on the heights to the +rear, planted thickly on every knoll and ridge, are the black-mouthed +guns, and around them are grouped the squads of ghostly, grisly, +fog-dripping cannoneers. One may walk along that line of heights for +mile after mile, and find there only grim ranges of batteries and +waiting groups of men. All is silence; all is alertness; all is fog. +Back of the lines of unlimbered cannon, sheltered as far as possible +from returning fire, the drivers and horses and the heavy-laden caissons +are shrouded in the mist-veil, and the staff officers, groping to and +fro, have to ask their way from battery to battery, or go yards beyond +their real objective point. Little fires are burning here and there, and +battery-lanterns are flickering in the gloom. Out on the face of the +stream, too, one can see from the northern shore weird, dancing lights, +like will-o'-the-wisps, go twinkling through the fog; and far across +the waters, from time to time, there is heard the sudden crack of rifle. +The Southern pickets are beginning to catch faint glimpses of those +lights, and are opening fire, for vigilant officers are there to +interpret every sound and sight, and with the first break of the wintry +dawn they grasp the meaning of the murmur that has come for hours from +the upper shore. "The Yanks are laying bridges" is the word that goes +from mouth to mouth, and long before the day is fairly opened the +nearing sounds and the will-o'-the-wisp lights out there in the fog tell +the shivering pickets that the foe is more than half-way across. +Daybreak brings strong forces into line along the southern bank, all +eyes straining through the fog. Out to the front the ping! ping! of the +rifles has become rapid and incessant, and by broad daylight all the +river bank and the walls of the buildings that command a view of it are +packed with gray riflemen ready for work the instant those bridge-heads +loom into view. When seven o'clock comes, and the fog thins just a +little, there are the bridge-ends, sure enough, poking drearily into +space, but the only signs of the builders are the motionless forms in +blue that are stretched here and there about the boats or planks, only +faintly visible through the mist; the working parties have been forced +to give it up. Back they come, what is left of them, and tell their tale +among the sympathizing blue overcoats in the wearying ranks, and +officers ride away up the slopes, and there are moments of suspense and +question, and then the thud of sponge-staff and rammer among the +batteries, and a sudden flash and roar, tearing the mists asunder; +another, another; and then, up and down along the line of heights, the +order goes, and gun after gun belches forth its charge of shot and +shell, and back from the walls of Fredericksburg comes the direful echo +and the crash of falling roof or gable. "Depress those muzzles!" is the +growling order. "The whole bank is alive with rebs, and we must shell +'em out before those bridges can be finished." The elevating screws are +spun in their beds, the shell fuzes cut down to the very edge. Some guns +are so near the river that they are rammed with grape and canister; and +so, for an hour, the thundering cannonade goes on, and the infantry +crouch below, and swear and shiver, and once in a while set up a cheer +when occasion seems to warrant it. And then, covered by this furious +fog-bombardment, the engineers again push forward their +bridge-builders, and cram their pontoons, and launch them forth upon the +stream. It is all useless. No sooner do they reach the bridge-end when +down they go by the dozens before the hot fire of a thousand Southern +rifles. So dense is the fog that the gunners cannot aim. Shot, shell, +and canister go shrieking through roof and wall, and ripping up streets +and crossings; but the plucky riflemen hug the shore in stern +determination, and again the bridges are abandoned. + +And so a cold and cheerless morning ebbs away; and at last, towards +noon, there comes relief. The sun bursts through the clouds, and licks +up the fog-bank. The mist-veil is withdrawn, and there stands +Fredericksburg, with shattered roof and spire, backed by a long line of +gun-bristling heights, and there are the unfinished bridges jutting +helplessly out two thirds across the water. A number of the heavy +pontoons are still moored close to shore, and while all along under the +bank the regiments are ranging into battle order, two or three of them +are tumbling into those clumsy arks, cramming them with armed men, and +then pushing off into the stream. Failing in working across a narrow +causeway, the "Yanks" are taking to their boats and sending over a +flotilla. It is a daring, desperate feat, but it tells. Despite the +fierce resistance, despite the heavy loss that befalls them, animated by +the cheers of their comrades, they push ahead, answering the fire as +well as they can, and at last, one after another, the boats are grounded +on the southern shore, and, though sadly diminished in numbers, the men +leap forth and go swarming up the bank, driving the gray pickets to +cover. Others hurry across and reinforce them; then more and more, until +they are strong enough to seize the nearest buildings and hold the +approaches, and then the working parties leap forward; the bridge is +finished with a will, and the comrades of their brigade come tramping +cheerily across. Three splendid regiments are they which made that +daring venture, mere companies in numbers as compared with their early +strength, and one of them is the--th Massachusetts, now led by a +captain. Colonel Putnam stands at his side at this moment of triumph and +partial rest. He commands the brigade that has done this brilliant work, +and now is receiving the thanks sent over from corps headquarters; and +the mounted officer, the first one across the bridge, who bears the +general's congratulations, is his young chief-of-staff, Major Abbot. + +There has been fierce fighting through the streets, stubborn resistance +on part of the occupants of the town, and determined effort on part of +the thronging force of Union men who are constantly gaining accessions +as the brigades come marching over. Just at sunset, with the town fully +in their possession, there is sudden turmoil and excitement among the +blue-coats gathered around an old brick building near the western edge. +There is rushing to and fro; then savage exclamations, shouts of "Kill +him!" "Hang him!" "Run him down to the creek and duck him!" and the +brigade commander, with Major Abbot and one or two other mounted +officers, has quite as much as he can do to rescue from the hands of an +infuriated horde of soldiers a bruised, battered, slouching hulk of a +man in a dingy Confederate uniform. He implores their protection, and it +is only when they see the piteous, haggard, upturned face, and hear the +wail of his voice, that Putnam and Abbot recognize the deserter, Rix. +Abbot is off his horse and by his side in an instant. Sternly ordering +back the men who had grappled and were dragging him, the major holds +Rix by the coat-collar and gazes at him in silent amaze. + +"In God's name, how came you here, and in this garb?" he finally asks. + +Weak with sickness, suffering, and the horrible fright he has undergone, +the bully of former days simply shudders and cringes now. He crouches at +Abbot's feet, gazing fearfully around him at the circle of vengeful, +powder-blackened faces. + +"Don't let them touch me, Mr. Abbot! Oh, for God's sake help me. I'm +'most dead, anyhow. I can't talk now. We're 'most starved, too, and +Mr. Hollins is dying." + +"Hollins!" exclaims Abbot, almost losing his hold on the collar and +dropping the limp creature to earth. "What do you mean? where?" + +"In there; in the bedroom up-stairs. Oh, major, don't leave me here; +these men will murder me!" he implores, clutching the skirts of Abbot's +heavy overcoat; but Colonel Putnam signals "Go on," and, leaving his +abject prisoner, Abbot hastens up the stairs of the old brick house, and +there, in a low-ceilinged room, stretched upon the bed, with wild, +wandering eyes and fevered lips, with features drawn and ghastly, lies +the man who has so bitterly sinned against him, and whom he has so +often longed to meet eye to eye--but not this way. + +And it is an awful look of recognition that greets him, too. Shot +through and through as he is, tortured with thirst and suffering, +praying for help and longing for the sight of some friendly face, it +seems a retribution almost too cruel that, in his extreme hour, the man +sent by Heaven to minister to his needs should be the one he has so +foully wronged, the one of whom he lives in dread. He covers his eyes +with a gesture of dismay, and turns fearfully to the wall. There is a +moment of silence, broken only by the rattle of the window in its casing +as it shudders to the distant boom of the guns far down the line. Then +Abbot steps to the bedside and places his gauntleted hand upon the +shoulder of the stricken man. + +"Hollins! How are you wounded? Have you seen a surgeon?" + +No answer for a moment, and the question is gently repeated. + +"Shot through the body--rifle-ball. There was a surgeon here last night, +but he's gone." + +"Lie still then until I get one. I would bring Doctor Thorn, but he has +too much to do with--too much to do just now." He comes near saying +"with our own men," but checks himself in time. He cannot "kick the man +that is down" with such a speech as that, and it is not long before he +reappears, and brings with him a surgeon from one of the arriving +regiments. Colonel Putnam, too, comes up the stairs, but merely to take +a look at the situation, and place a guard over both the wounded man and +his strange, shivering companion, Rix. Some of the soldiers are sent for +water, and others start a fire in the little stove in the adjoining +room. The doctor makes his examination, and does what he can for his +sinking patient, but when he comes out he tells Abbot that Hollins has +not many hours to live, "and he wants to see you," he adds. "Did you +know him?" + +There is a strange scene in the cramped little room of the quaint old +house that night. By the light of two or three commissary candles and +the flickering glare from the fire one can see the features of the +watchers and of the fast-dying man. Abbot sits by the bedside; Colonel +Putnam is standing at the foot, and the adjutant of the--th +Massachusetts has been reading aloud from his notes the statement he +has taken down from the lips of the former quartermaster. One part of it +needs verification from authority not now available. Mr. Hollins avers +that he is not a deserter to the enemy as appearances would indicate, +but a prisoner paroled by them. + +The statement, so far as it bears upon his official connection with the +regiment, is about as follows: + +"I had personal reasons for going back to the Monocacy--reasons that +could not be explained to the satisfaction of a commanding officer. I +_had_ to see Mr. Abbot to explain a wrong I had done him, and avert, if +possible, the consequences. I left without permission, and rode back, +but found all the roads picketed, and I was compelled to hide with a +farmer near Boonsboro' until Rix reached me. He had been my clerk, and +was an expert penman. He fixed the necessary papers for me, and, with +the aid of certain disguises I had, it was not so hard to get around. I +meant to resign, but feared that, if offered through the regular +channels, it would be refused, and I be brought to trial because of the +condition of my accounts. Then I found that I was too late to undo the +wrong I had done, and it was while trying to make partial amends that I +came so near being captured by Colonel Putnam at Frederick. It made me +desperate. That night I took the first horse I could find, and rode down +the valley, believing all was lost, and that I must get away from that +part of the country. Money found me a hiding-place when my papers would +no longer serve. Then money bribed a messenger to carry word of my +condition to Rix, who had been sent to the regiment at Harper's Ferry. +He got away and joined me, and made out some more papers for me, and +then started, by night and alone, to get home, where he said he had +money. Mine was about gone by that time, and here I lay in hiding until +Stuart came sweeping down the Monocacy on his way back to Virginia, and +I was glad to be captured and carried along. I gave him my proper name +and rank, and when Rix came back the army had left that part of the +country, and he followed me into Virginia. He said he would be shot, +anyway, if captured; and the next I heard of him--I being then a +prisoner in Richmond--was that he had enlisted in a Virginia regiment, +and was dying here in Fredericksburg. He had been devoted to me, and +needed me. I gave my parole, and was allowed to come here to nurse him. +He was recovering and able to be about when the bombardment opened, and +I was shot at the river bank, whither I had gone to bid him good-bye, +and was carried here. The rest that I have to say is for Major Abbot +alone to hear." + +Putnam and the adjutant, after a few questions, withdraw; and at last, +with even the soldier nurse excluded, the dying man is alone with the +one officer of his regiment who had striven to befriend him, and whom he +has so basely rewarded. + +"There is no time for lamenting or empty talk of forgiveness and +remorse. It is time you heard the truth, Abbot. I always envied you at +college. I envied every man who had birth or wealth or position. I had +some brains, but was poor, burdened with the care of a vagabond brother +who was well-nigh a jail-bird, and whose only talent was penmanship. He +would have been a forger then if it hadn't been for me. For me he +afterwards became one. You know who I mean now--Rix. Mr. Winthrop gave +me opportunities, and I worked. I had little money, though, but time and +again I was called to his house, saw his daughter, and I was ambitious. +When she went abroad I followed; was as discreetly attentive as my wit +could make me--and when I failed to make the impression I hoped, and we +returned, I learned the reason--she was engaged to you. It made me +determine that I would undermine it. You did not love her, nor she you. +It was a family match, and not one that would make either of you happy. +My life in the regiment was a hell, because they seemed to--seemed to +know me for what I was. And you simply tolerated me. It made a devil of +me, Abbot, and I vowed that proud girl should love me and turn from you +if I had to hang for the means that brought it about. I was +quartermaster at Edwards's Ferry, and Rix was the man who fetched and +carried the mails. 'Twas easy enough to abstract her letters or yours +from time to time, but the case needed something more than that. Neglect +would not rouse her; jealousy might. One day there came the picture of +those girls at Hastings (Abbot's hands begin to clinch; he has listened +coldly up to this point), and I saw the group that was sent to them, and +the pretty letter written by their secretary, Miss Warren. Then came her +letter saying she was Guthrie Warren's sister. I knew him well at +college, and an idea occurred to me. I took your picture, wrote a note, +and had Rix copy it, and sent it in your name. When the answer came Rix +and I were on the lookout for it, and got it, and wrote again and again. +I had matter enough to work on with my knowledge of Warren, and then his +death intensified the interest. I don't care to look in your face now, +Abbot, for I'm not a fearless man; nothing but a beaten, broken, +cowardly scoundrel; but I began trying on that sweet and innocent +country girl the arts against which your _fiance_ my highbred kinswoman, +had been proof; I was bound to punish _her_ pride. But I found my pretty +correspondent as shy, as maidenly and reserved, with all her sister-love +and pride, as the other was superior. It was game worth bringing down, +by Heaven! and I grew desperate. I was drinking then, and getting +snarled up in my accounts, and you had turned a cold shoulder on me; and +then came the campaign and Rix's break and more difficulties, and I was +at my wit's end to keep the letters from you; and just before Second +Bull Run came Miss Winthrop's letters challenging me to prove that you +did not care for her, and I sent her three of Miss Warren's letters. +But, worse than that, I had been wooing another in your name; and, +because she would not betray an undue interest, I became more engrossed; +became more warmly interested; and soon it was not for the sake of +showing your _fiance_ a love-letter from another woman, but to satisfy +the cravings of my own heart. I began more and more to strive to win +this dainty, innocent, pure-minded girl. Aye, sir, I was wooing over +your name; but 'twas _I_ who loved; yes, loved her, Abbot. _Now_, what +think you of me and what I suffered?" + +He pauses a moment, choked and quivering. He motions with his hand to +the cup of stimulant the doctor has left him. Abbot coldly hands it to +him, and finds that he must raise him from the pillow before he can +swallow. He is stirred to his inmost soul with wrath and indignation +against this ruthless traitor, even when the fates have laid him low. It +is hard to touch him gently, but he steps to his side and does what he +can, bidding him use no exertion and be calm as possible. A few painful, +hurried breaths, and then Hollins goes on again. + +"Though not once had she confessed her love, I felt I was gaining. She +sent me her photograph. It is here, on my breast; I have carried it day +and night." Abbot's muscles grew rigid again and his stern face sets +with a sterner look. "But I was in constant worry about my affairs and +the coming of those letters. Then when you were wounded and left behind +at South Mountain I felt that the crisis had come. I _had_ to get back +there. Something told me she would hasten to you. They came, and I had +the agony of seeing him--her father--returning from his visit to you; +Rix told me of it afterwards. Then I strove madly to see her; to tell +her the truth, though I knew she would only despise and spurn me. I +scrawled a note confessing my crime, but sending no name; gave it to the +woman to give to the doctor, and then tore myself away. I was the rebel +spy the colonel nearly caught, and from that time I have been a +fugitive; and now--a chance shot ends it all. Rix has been faithful to +me, poor devil, and I came here to do what I could for him. _Voila +tout!_ Abbot, don't let them shoot him. He isn't worth it. Give me more +of that brandy." + +He lies back on the grimy pillow, breathing fast and painfully. Abbot +stands in silence a moment. Then his voice, stern and constrained, is +heard in question: + +"Have you any messages, Hollins? Is there any way in which I can serve +you?" + +"It seems tough--but the only friend I have to close my eyes is the man +I plotted against and nearly despoiled of his lady-love," mutters +Hollins. Either he is wandering a little bit or the brandy is potent +enough to blur his sense of the nearness of death. "I wanted to tell you +the truth--not that I look for forgiveness. I know your race well +enough. You'll see fair play, but love and hate are things you don't +change in much. I've no right to ask anything of you, but--who _is_ +there? My God! I believe your wife that is to be was about the only +friend I had in the world--except Rix. He brought me back the letters, +and says she was so good to him. I hope he didn't ask her for money. He +swears he didn't, but he's such a liar! We both are, for that matter. +I'm glad, though, now, that my lies didn't hurt you. They didn't, did +they, Abbot? You're still engaged?" + +"I--am engaged." + +"Oh, well; if I only hadn't brought that damnable sorrow to that poor +child, and if I could only feel that they wouldn't shoot Rix, it +wouldn't be so bad--my going now. What _will_ they do with Rix?" + +"He must stand trial for desertion, I fancy. The men nearly lynched him +as it was." + +"I know, and you saved him. Isn't it all strange?" Here for over a year +we two have been plotting against you, and now, at the last, you're the +only friend we have. "Where is he?" + +"Down below, under guard. You shall see him whenever you feel like it. +Is there any one else you want to see, Hollins?" + +"Any one--any one? Ah, God! Yes, with a longing that burns. It is _her_ +face. It is she--Bessie!" His hand steals feebly into his breast, and he +drags slowly forth a little packet of oiled silk. This he hugs close to +his fluttering heart, and his eyes seek those of the young soldier +standing there so strong, so self-reliant and erect. His glance seems +envious, even now, with the fast-approaching angel's death-seal dimming +their light, and the clammy dew gathering on his brow. + +"It was your picture I sent her, just as you seem to stand there now. It +was I who won her, but she thinks I looked like you." + +"Pardon me, Hollins," breaks in Abbot, with a voice that trembles +despite every effort at self-control, and trembles, too, through the +very coldness of the tone. "Colonel Putnam is not far off. There are +others whom you might like to see; and shall I send Rix to you?" + +"No--not now--no use. Promise me this, Abbot. No matter where or how I'm +buried--never mind coffin, or the flag, or the volleys, or the prayers; +I don't deserve--They won't help me. _You_ see to it, will you, that +this is buried on my heart? It's her picture, and some letters. +Promise." + +Abbot slowly bows his head. + +"I promise, Hollins, if it will comfort you." + +"If there were only some way--some way to tell her. I loved her so. She +might forgive when she knew how I died. You may see her, Abbot. Stop! +take these three letters; they're addressed to you, anyway. Take them to +her, by and by, and tell her, will you? but let the picture go with me." + +The clutching fingers of one hand clasp about the slim envelope that +contains the little photograph; the fingers of the other hand are +plucking nervously at the blanket that is thrown over the dying man. +There is another moment of silence, and then Abbot again asks him if he +will have his brother brought to him. Hollins nods, and Abbot goes to +the door and whispers a few words to the orderly. When he returns a +feeble hand gropes its way towards him, and Hollins looks up +appealingly. + +"I'm so much weaker. I'm going fast. Would you shake hands, Abbot? What! +Then you bear me no ill-will?" + +"I do not, Hollins." + +The clouding eyes seem to seek his wistfully, wonderingly. + +"And yet--I wronged you so." + +"Do not think of me. That--all came right." + +"I know--I know. It is _her_ heart I may have broken--Bessie's. My God! +What could she have thought when he came back to her--after seeing you?" + +"He told her her lover was dead. I made inquiries." + +"Thank God for that! But all the same--she is sorrowing--suffering--and +it's all my doing. I believe I could die content, almost happy, if I +knew she had not--if I knew--I had not--brought her misery." + +"Are you sure, Hollins?" + +"Sure! Heaven, yes! Why, Abbot? Do you--do _you_ know?" + +"She seems happy, Hollins. She is to be married in the spring; I don't +know just when." + +[Illustration: "_Draws forth her precious picture and lays it at a +rival's feet._"] + +There is another moment of intense silence in the little room. Outside +the muffled tramp of the night patrols and the gruff challenge of +sentries fall faintly on the ear. Within there is only the quick +breathing of the sinking man. There is a long, long look from the dying +eyes; a slow movement towards the well-nigh pulseless heart. Then comes +the sound of heavy feet upon the stair, and presently the uncouth form +of Rix is at the threshold, a piteous look in his haggard face. Abbot +raises a hand in warning, and glances quickly from the prisoner at the +door to the frame whence fast is ebbing the imprisoned soul. The hand +that had faintly clasped his is slowly creeping up to the broad and +brawny chest, so feeble now. Far across the rippling waters of the +Rappahannock the notes of a bugle, prolonged and distant, soft and +solemn, float upon the still night air. 'Tis the soldiers' signal +"Lights Out!"--the soldiers' rude yet never-forgotten lullaby. An +instant gleam as of recognition hovers in the glazing eyes. Then follow +a few faint gasps; then--one last gesture as the arm falls limp and +nerveless; but it draws forth her precious picture and lays it at a +rival's feet. + +THE END. + + + * * * * * + + + BY AMELIE RIVES. + + A BROTHER TO DRAGONS, AND OTHER OLD-TIME TALES. Post 8vo, Cloth, + Extra, $1 00. + + VIRGINIA OF VIRGINIA. A Story. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Extra, + $1 00. + + One is permitted to discover qualities of mind and a proficiency + and capacity in art from which something new and distinctively the + work of genius may be anticipated in American literature.--_Boston + Globe._ + + Miss Rives has imagination, breadth, and a daring and courage + oftenest spoken of as masculine. Moreover, she is exquisitely + poetical, and her ideals, with all the mishaps of her delineations, + are of an exalted order.--_N. Y. Star._ + + It was little more than two years ago that Miss Rives made her + first literary conquest, a conquest so complete and astonishing as + at once to give her fame. How well she has sustained and added to + the reputation she so suddenly won, we all know, and the permanency + of that reputation demonstrates conclusively that her success did + not depend upon the lucky striking of a popular fancy, but that it + rests upon enduring qualities that are developing more and more + richly year by year.--_Richmond State._ + + It is evident that; the author has imagination in an unusual + degree, much strength of expression, and skill in delineating + character.--_Boston Journal._ + + There are few young writers who begin a promising career with so + much spontaneity and charm of expression as is displayed by Miss + Rives.--_Literary World_, Boston. + + The trait which the author seems to take the most pleasure in + depicting is the passionate loyalty of a girl to her lover or of a + young wife to her husband, and her portrayal of this trait has + feeling, and is set off by an unconventional style and brisk + movement.--_The Book Buyer_, N. Y. + + There is such a wealth of imagination, such an exuberance of + striking language in the productions of this author, as to attract + and hold the reader.--_Toledo Blade._ + + Miss Rives is essentially a teller of love stories, and relates + them with such simple, straightforward grace that she at once + captures the sympathy and interest of the reader.... There is a + freshness of feeling and a mingling of pathos and humor which are + simply delicious.--_New London Telegraph._ + + + HARPER & BROTHERS _will send either of the above works by + mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States or Canada, + on receipt of the price._ + + * * * * * + + A STRANGE MANUSCRIPT FOUND IN A COPPER CYLINDER. + + A Romance. Richly Illustrated by GILBERT GAUL. 12mo, Cloth, Extra, + $1 25. + + The writer of this book, whose name is still kept from the public, + is in every way qualified to rank with Mr. Haggard. Indeed, his + clever analysis of Kosekin social laws is far more able, from a + strictly literary point of view, than anything Mr. Haggard has ever + done--_N. Y. Herald._ + + A story of remarkable power and originality, as weird and as wild + as the most extravagant of Rider Haggard's romances, but better + fiction and better literature in every way.... The book is well + worth the reading, not only for the strangeness of the story, but + for the fancy and poetic sentiment that pervade it, for the + brilliancy of the invention that has been brought to bear upon it, + and for the immense vividness and animation of the descriptive + narrative.--Saturday _Evening Gazette_, Boston. + + In close connection with the author's fanciful creations there is + noticeable a fine play of irony and humor, which lends a special + charm to the story. The latter is full of movement, and even in the + more exciting passages the exaggeration necessarily employed has no + effect in wearying the reader's attention.--_N. Y. Sun._ + + Written in an inviting manner, it preserves throughout a lively + pictorial charm and dramatic interest. The theme is original in the + extreme.... Withal the book is marvellously entertaining. Mr. + Gaul's illustrations are unusually fine, as we should + expect.--_Brooklyn Times._ + + It surpasses the best of Haggard's works in literary tone, and its + fine dramatic construction and peculiar power of diction will + readily be acknowledged by all readers.... Taking it altogether, + this book is the most remarkable piece of fiction the new year has + yet seen, and a revelation of the identity of the author would be + welcomed.--_Boston Commonwealth._ + + A book original in conception and most powerful and dramatic in + development. It is to be regretted that the author has not seen fit + to reveal his name.--_Washington Post._ + + It is not possible for any one, much less a youth of either sex, to + read "A Strange Manuscript" without feeling that wonderful charm + that stole over us all when children upon the perusal of our + favorite adventures. The cathedral clock may chime the + fast-speeding hours, and the midnight taper burn to its socket, but + this rare volume will remain before the eager eyes until the last + page is finished.--_Hartford Post._ + + + _The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of + the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price._ + + * * * * * + + NARKA, THE NIHILIST. + + By KATHLEEN O'MEARA. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. + + + "The scenes and incidents of Miss O'Meara's tale are purely + Russian, and the time is the present period of which Tolsto[=i] + treats. Naturally they suggest the marvellously realistic pictures + of the author of 'Anna Karenina,' although it would be very unjust + to the younger novelist to compare her work with his. Tolsto[=i] is + always introspective; he deals rather with character than with the + incidents which develop character. 'Narka' portrays an involved and + ingenious complication of events which hold the interest of the + absorbed reader until the end is reached. Tolsto[=i]'s stories, + even when he has a story to tell, are simply the intuitive + outgrowth of the thoughts and actions of the real men and women he + draws. His _dramatis personae_ make his plots, while Miss O'Meara's + plots, on the other hand, make her men and women.... Narka Larik, a + low-born Russian Jewess, is a peculiar product of Russian soil and + of autocratic Russian rule. She is possessed of a beautiful person, + a glorious voice, and a strong moral and mental constitution; she + is suspicious, as all Muscovites are, a thorough and consistent + hater, a devoted friend, truthful to a degree; and she calmly + swears on the holy image of the blessed St. Nicholas to an utter + falsehood in order to screen her lover and to aid his cause.... The + scenes are laid among that curious mixture of Oriental magnificence + and barbaric discomfort, of lavish expenditure and shabby + makeshift, to be found in a Russian castle, with its splendid + vastness, the immensity of its grounds, the immensity of the + forests on all sides of it, and the general scale of immensity on + which everything about it, and within it, is invariably conducted. + Add to these Russian prisons, Paris _salons_, French convents, the + lyric stage at Milan, Socialists, Nihilists, priests, patriots, and + vivisectionists, and it will readily be seen how strong and + effective a story can be made by a woman so gifted in the telling + of stories, the weaving of plots, and the study of character as + Miss O'Meara has already proved herself to be. Narka Larik is a + better woman morally than Anna Karenina, intellectually she is the + superior of Katia, and she is quite worthy to stand by the side of + these two illustrious countrywomen of hers as the exponent of all + that is true and womanly in modern Russian life." + + + _The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the + United States or Canada, on receipt of the price._ + + * * * * * + + H. RIDER HAGGARD'S STORIES. + + + There are color, splendor, and passion everywhere; action in + abundance; constant variety and absorbing interest. Mr. Haggard + does not err on the side of niggardliness; he is only too affluent + in description and ornament.... There is a largeness, a freshness, + and a strength about him which are full of promise and + encouragement, the more since he has placed himself so unmistakably + on the romantic side of fiction; that is, on the side of truth and + permanent value.... He is already one of the foremost modern + romance writers.--_N.Y. World._ + + Mr. Haggard has a genius, not to say a great talent, for + story-telling.... That he should have a large circle of readers in + England and this country, where so many are trying to tell stories + with no stories to tell, is a healthy sign, in that it shows that + the love of fiction, pure and simple, is as strong as it was in the + days of Dickens and Thackeray and Scott, the older days of Smollett + and Fielding, and the old, old days of Le Sage and Cervantes.--_N. + Y. Mail and Express._ + + That region of the universe of romance which Mr. Haggard has opened + up is better worth a visit than any that has been explored for many + a long year.--_St. James's Gazette_, London. + + There is a charm in tracing the ingenuity of the author, and a + sense of satisfaction in his firm grasp of his subject. There is no + uncertainty at all, no groping after material, but one vivid scene + follows another until the reader says to himself, "Here, at last, + is a novelist who is not attempting to spread out one dramatic + situation so thin that it can be made to do duty for an entire + volume; a man of resource, imagination, and invention."--_Chicago + Herald._ + + SHE. Illustrated. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 cents; Paper, 25 cents; 4to, + Paper, 25 cents. + + KING SOLOMON'S MINES. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 cents; 4to, Paper, 20 + cents. + + MR. MEESON'S WILL. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 cents; Paper, 25 cents. + + JESS. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 cents; 4to, Paper, 15 cents. + + DAWN. With One Illustration. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 cents. + + THE WITCH'S HEAD. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 cents. + + ALLAN QUATERMAIN. Illustrated. 16mo, Half Cloth, 75 cents; Paper, 25 + cents. + + MIAWA'S REVENGE. 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