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diff --git a/76784-0.txt b/76784-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6fd30c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/76784-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11569 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76784 *** + + + + + + THE FAIR MISSISSIPPIAN + + +[Illustration: HONORIA] + + + + + THE FAIR + MISSISSIPPIAN + _A NOVEL_ + + + BY CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK + +[Illustration: [Logo]] + + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + =The Riverside Press Cambridge= + 1908 + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY MARY N. MURFREE + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + _Published October 1908_ + + + + + THE FAIR MISSISSIPPIAN + + + + + CHAPTER I + + +The simplest fact of this life of ours is subject to manifold and +diverse interpretations. It was the faithful belief of Edward Desmond, +and his inward protest, that he did not care for money. He had the true +scholar’s disdain of the froth and fret of fashion that can but scantily +disguise the mental shallowness of society. He was not fond of luxury. +He had an ardor for hard work and a passionate ambition for achievement. +He desired but a modest competence and the opportunity for mental +development along the lines which his expanding capacities gave promise +of compassing. Nevertheless, at twenty-four years of age, his elaborate +education at length complete, in the prime of his intellectual powers, +tingling with the consciousness of ability, he found that he had become +suddenly solicitous in small matters of social precedence; he +experienced a pained deprecation of the presence of wealth; he winced +with a sensitive realization of poverty; he had acquired a wavering yet +proud self-assertion, consciously futile. + +The change had been wrought in a time of grievous tragedy, full of +poignancies scarcely to be adequately appreciated by the practical +world. For less sensitive men have suffered more bitter woes. It was a +trite tragedy, with no traits of dramatic potentialities. On the sudden +death of his father ensued the revelation of a shattered estate, the +usual frantic, useless effort to avert total wreck, final defeat +culminating in the forced sale of an old home with all its +appurtenances. The memories, the dreams, the traditions, the broken +hopes that had hallowed the old chattels were too immaterial even for +the cormorant-like comprehensiveness of the inventories, and these +sanctities were all that was left for the heir. + +His friends, however, took an optimistic view. When the struggle was +over,—brief, but hopeless and conclusive,—they found solace in the +completeness of his equipment; his education was at length finished; he +had returned to his Maryland home only the previous June from an +elaborate course of study abroad; the world was before him. As to the +profession of the law for which he had been destined, they cheerfully +argued that the preliminary training and the necessary library would be +expensive, success uncertain,—and he must needs live pending its +delay,—the tardy emoluments disproportioned to the labor and ability +involved. Since there seemed no vacancy in the professorial ranks of the +small western colleges, where they had hoped he might find a chair, they +spoke of him as having fallen upon his feet when the unusual brilliancy +of his scholastic record brought him the offer of the tutorship of the +three sons in a wealthy family, dwelling in the isolation of a secluded +Mississippi plantation, the opportunity coming at the ultimate crisis of +the painful financial emergency. For although the salary was small, in +comparison with the allowance which the generosity of his father had +heretofore afforded an only son, his prospective earnings would have +abashed the honoraria of a fledgeling lawyer’s professional labors, even +had he already attained admission to the bar. Thus, followed by few +regrets, the last month of the year found him arrived at the scene of +his pedagogical work. + +“It is Mrs. Faurie’s chief desire that her sons shall be adequately +prepared for college. She is a great believer in individual instruction +by a thoroughly competent educator, who can discern and—ah—strengthen +the weaknesses, and—ah—develop special capacities in the mind of +youth,—ah, yes! She fears that our frequent and extended tours abroad +have cultivated their powers of superficial observation and love of +travel at the expense of their love of study, and—ah—capacity to absorb +theories and to concentrate their thoughts, and to take an interest in +books, and—ah—that is the reason,—_one_ of the reasons,”—with a bow and +smile,—“why we esteem ourselves so fortunate,—so _very_ fortunate to +have you with us.” Nothing could be more suave than the old gentleman +beaming upon him from the foot of the table, but Edward Desmond, after +an effort at a receptive and grateful smile, looked down at his fork and +turned it aimlessly in his hand, without a word in response. + +He had had full range of the pastures, and the harness galled him. Yet +logically he could not find aught of fault in this smooth courtesy and +tone of appreciation. It so became even a quasi-employer, though +conscious of his magnanimity and sense of _noblesse oblige_. The fact +that Desmond had grown gradually aware that Mr. Stanlett was but basking +in the reflection of his niece’s splendors, and, although having some +indeterminate income of his own, was content to spend the evening of his +days in her embellished entourage, scarcely mitigated his secret +displeasure. He felt that the old gentleman assumed a patronage which he +had no right to exercise. Yet this resentment was inconsistent with his +own theory that mere money had no title to homage from him. Thus Mr. +Stanlett’s patronage, poor, should not have been less acceptable than +Mr. Stanlett’s patronage, rich. Mrs. Faurie had not hastened to make +Desmond welcome, but indeed he had been in the house only for an hour or +so, and Mr. Stanlett’s urbanity was surely expansive enough to atone. He +gave the newcomer his choice of excuses in Mrs. Faurie’s behalf: first +the fatigue of a long drive, and again he mentioned a sore throat as her +reason for not joining the group at the dinner-table. “She will see you +later in the evening,” Mr. Stanlett promised. + +If the lady did not choose to appear at her own board for any reason +which might seem to her good and sufficient, Desmond was in no position +to cavil, but the old gentleman’s inadvertences in the matter gave him +an impression of insincerity about the methods of the household which +grated on his exacting and sensitive mood. Even the manners of the +domestics, smooth, and deft, and obsequious in the extreme, were +incongruous with the veiled scorn of the stranger, as a man of scant +means, which he subtly detected in their eyes, for, the servitors of +wealth and large pretensions, they had slight toleration of poverty out +of their own rank of life. He perceived, too, the relish which Joel, the +antiquated negro butler, took in the elaboration of the details of the +daily dinner service, especially the old-fashioned custom of removing +the cloth with each successive course, which was so deftly accomplished, +revealing the fresh one spread below, that it seemed a prandial miracle. +Mr. Stanlett, however, apologized in some sort. + +“We keep up the old style, you see. My niece says she despairs of ever +inducing Joel to condescend to one cloth for the table at dinner, though +she brought some very fancy centrepieces and such gimcracks from Paris +expressly to stimulate his ambition for novelty.” + +Desmond felt little drawn toward his prospective pupils, one seated +beside him and the other two opposite. They were of a type with which he +had scant sympathy. They were younger, too, than he had reason to expect +from the amount of the salary and his own scholastic pretensions, and +his consequence seemed further diminished in that he should be called +upon to teach in effect mere children. While they were not handsome of +feature, they were extremely handsomely built and tall for their +respective ages; but he perceived with disapproval that they lacked +muscle. They were very apt and delicate in all the usages of the table, +and in their elegant nicety of attire “mamma’s darling” was writ large. +They all had good eyes, and they held up their heads in a frank, +gentlemanlike way; but their cosmopolitan air, their easy assurance, +their ready phrasings far beyond their years, though evidently the +superficial result of their travels and their precocious relations with +the world, did not serve to commend them to one who loved a boy for his +crude boyishness. These seemed little men of the world, and they sat +smug and silent and looked at their great-uncle with faces of filial +gravity when, under the influence of too much old port, he began to show +traits of the ridiculous, albeit in a genteel and refined fashion. Yet +Desmond admitted to himself that he would not have thought it becoming +that they should laugh. The clear pallor of the old gentleman’s lean +face grew delicately flushed. His white hair was sparse on his long +head, showing its bony structure. He had a white mustache, and a +factitious idea of youth was suggested by the gleam of a very natural +set of false teeth beneath it. Presently he began to hum, as if +absent-minded, and at length he sang out:— + + “My girl so fair, my friend so rare, + With these what mortal could be richer? + Give me but these,—a fig for care, + My sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher.” + +It was the echo of what had been a very pretty tenor voice in its prime, +and its resonant vibrations reached and roused a parrot asleep in a +cage, hanging in a broad, deep bay-window. The bird suddenly fluffed its +feathers and sent out a sharp, harsh cry; then, twisting on its perch +and swinging inverted by one claw, it sang with a painfully realistic +imitation and with all the taunting effect of mockery:— + + “My sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher.” + +It was too much for the decorum of the youngest of the three boys. He +broke into an irresistible puerile cackle, and the old man, catching +suddenly to his senses and his sobriety, flushed deeply, the crimson +stealing through his sparse white hair and all along his polished white +scalp. + +The eldest of the boys, a lad of fourteen, came at once to the rescue +with the tact of a Chesterfield, as smooth as cream. + +“The idea of Polly remembering your old ‘pitcher-song,’ Uncle +Clarence,—that’s quite a compliment. And after so long an absence.” + +“Very true,—very true,” said the old gentleman, readily reassured. +“Pretty Polly,”—smiling blandly at the accomplished fowl. “Want a +cracker?” + +“My pitcher,” repeated Polly, as if with the intention of prompting the +nature of the refreshment. + +“Why, we have been away—let me see—my memory fails me about these little +details. How long were we in Europe this time, Reginald?—how long is it +since Polly heard that song?” + +“Eighteen months, Uncle Clarence. I shouldn’t have thought Polly capable +of such an effort. May we be excused, sir?” + +“Certainly—by all means.” Then, turning to Desmond, “I don’t care to see +young boys linger at the table after the cloth is drawn and the bottle +is stirring over the mahogany.” + +The disaffected Desmond thought a continuance here might prove a +salutary object-lesson as to the pernicious effects of vinous +indulgence, and his eyes followed with no great favor the little +gentlemen as, prettily bowing, they nattily made their exit. Somehow he +was reassured to hear a clumsy shuffling of feet in the hall as, to +judge by auricular evidence, they engaged in a scuffle outside the +closed door. Suddenly one of them was thrown with a great bang against +it,—then an abrupt and awe-stricken silence ensued. + +“Eighteen months,” Mr. Stanlett repeated. “I did not realize the length +of our absence. In truth,” he added, with a spark of mischief kindling +the wine in his eyes, “we stayed as long as we could,—as long as our +money held out. My niece, Mrs. Faurie, said that she had run the full +length of her tether. You see, Mr. Desmond,”—his voice had a +confidential intonation,—“by the provisions of the will,”—he spoke as if +it were the sole and singular testamentary document in human +experience,—“Mrs. Faurie has a large income,—a very large income,—but +she cannot go beyond it,—she cannot touch the principal.” + +Desmond flushed haughtily. He had had such close dealings with debts and +financial distresses and sheer poverty of late, nay, of rivings and +wrestings of possessions that seemed so inalienably his own as to give +their seizure the taint of robbery, that he had scant appetite to digest +the prosperity of others, and he was devoid of the vulgar vice of +curiosity which might otherwise have stimulated his interest. His dark +blue eyes were on the vast, murky spread of the Mississippi River, seen +through the window beyond a group of pecan trees, and the Arkansas bank +opposite, a dim line of dark gray against the fainter gray of the low +and clouded sky. His closely cut chestnut hair showed the contour of his +shapely head. His tall, strong figure, for he had a record in college +athletics as well as less esteemed branches of learning, had a supple +grace that lent an air of distinction to the well-fitting suit of gray +he wore, for at Great Oaks Plantation no one affected evening dress for +daily dinner. So quiet was Desmond that his attitude expressed an +attention which he did not really accord,—in fact, it was divided by a +fear that in Mr. Stanlett’s garrulity he was liable to trench too far on +the private affairs of the family. However, the old gentleman occupied +the position of host or employer, according to the viewpoint; he was +treated with filial deference by the youthful Fauries; he had received +the tutor with a happy blending of hospitality and authority, and +Desmond hardly knew how he might decorously evade disclosures of +bibulous candor which he was neither entitled nor expected to hear. + +“No, sir,” Mr. Stanlett repeated, “by the will she cannot touch the +principal, but she has a large income,—a fixed sum, thirty thousand +dollars chargeable on the whole estate, and in addition the yield of +this Great Oaks Plantation, which varies according to the season,—a very +large income,—_so long as she remains a widow_. Yes, sir!—a widow she +is, and a widow she must continue! Mr. Faurie was a very arbitrary man +in point of temper—where are those boys?—and had a grudging against any +other man’s getting a chance to spend his money. Notwithstanding the +losses occasioned by the Civil War and the various fluctuations in +values since, Faurie was worth little short of a million dollars when he +died. He had a very level head. He made a remarkable will, a good, safe, +sound, able document.” Mr. Stanlett had an evident relish of the +provisions of that will,—a great respect for it. + +“She could dissent,—she could break it, I suppose.” Desmond forced +himself to speak. He was not to have the typical tutor’s mental privacy, +apparently. By reason of the magnanimity his employers intended to +affect, treating him according to his former worldly station and as an +equal, a friend, an honored man of letters, he was to have the trial of +participating in their social life as at a Barmecide feast, really +sharing naught, a mere figment of fraternity and festivity. + +“Break the will!” Mr. Stanlett skirled in dismay. “Impossible!—after +nearly seven years’ acquiescence. But if she could, she would only get +what the will gives her anyhow in the event of a second marriage,—simply +her dower rights in Tennessee,—one fourth of the personalty, a +life-interest in a third of the realty situated there, including his +town residence in Nashville,—just what the law would allow her had he +died intestate,—and in the Mississippi estate a child’s part in fee +simple, for ‘dower,’ you know, is abolished in this State, and the law +always follows the location of the realty. But, in fact, she has seemed +perfectly satisfied with the arrangement,—as indeed well she might be! I +fancy, too, that she has had about enough of matrimony. She likes her +own way, and Mr. Faurie was a self-willed, proud, dictatorial—are those +boys gone?—And what are _you_ doing there, Joel?” glimpsing the butler, +standing stiffly near the sideboard. “Gimme the brandy decanter. Have +some cognac, Mr. Desmond. Light those candles, Joel,—and take yourself +off. Want to wait on the table _all_ night?” + +Then as the door closed noiselessly on the accomplished old +servant,—“That nigger has got ears as long as a mule’s,” Mr. Stanlett +commented in parenthesis, quaffed from his glass, sucked in his thin +lips with extreme relish, and continued his confidences. + +“No,—my niece’s position under the will cannot dispose her greatly to a +second experiment in the holy estate of matrimony. Mr. Faurie was +considerably her senior,—in fact, he was quite an old bachelor, you +might say, when they were married. How much older he was _I_ never knew, +for _she_ would not tolerate any mention of the disparity in +years,—though Faurie himself, who was a very stylish, impressive man, +was too vain and arrogant to care one whit for it. Why,”—lowering his +voice sepulchrally,—“when he died, I couldn’t mention his age in +preparing the newspaper announcements because _I never knew it_.” + +He looked hard at Desmond and nodded his head significantly. “Now, don’t +you know that people thought _that_ was funny?” + +He paused to light a cigar, having pushed the tray over to Desmond. +“Yes,” he resumed puffingly, “as my niece says, we stayed in Europe as +long as our money lasted. We had a fine time, went everywhere, saw +everything, were fêted and made much of to our hearts’ content,—could +have married into the nobility more than once, for”—the candle-light +illumined the freakish slyness and glee in his senile smile—“people over +there don’t know how the will is fixed in regard to a second marriage. +No! pledge you my honor! They only saw the royal way in which Mrs. +Faurie _can spend_ money. Now,” he broke out into a chirping laugh of +relish of the incongruity, “my niece says that she doesn’t know how she +can make both ends meet till her next year’s income begins to accrue. +Ha! ha! We are to stay down here in the swamp till the hot weather runs +us out, and then we shall go down to the Gulf coast, find some cheap +little place near Biloxi or Pass Christian, and ah—ah”—he waved the +cloud of cigar smoke from above his venerable head—“and I for one wish +that time were come. You see plantation life is a sort of syncope at +best,—that is, hereabouts. Further down the river, though, things are +livelier. In Louisiana, now, the people are of a different disposition: +they go about, visit each other; they make festival occasions; they are +of French extraction; they have the light heart and the happy hand. +Nothing can subdue the old Gallic _gaieté de cœur_, not even the swamp +country. But all this upper region of ours was settled by people from +Tennessee, Virginia, and Kentucky,—about the time that the mania for +raising cotton in the bottom lands of Mississippi took hold on the +progressive planters of the Border States. We have got our inherited +English temperament to reckon with, our seriousness, our stolidity, our +inability to be amused by a trifle, like a kitten with a string, or a +Creole. And, too, it is a matter of neighborhood,—we are only a few +hundred miles from Memphis, counting by the crankings of the river, all +our associations are with the Border States, and we are out of earshot +of the lively Creoles. I am afraid you will find it very dull here, Mr. +Desmond, way down in the swamp.” He had evidently forgotten the fact +that his companion was not a guest. + +“I am not here for pleasure, you know,” Desmond reminded him. + +“True,—oh, yes,—very true,—the boys,—their education. But you are so +like”—Desmond thought that he was about to say “one of ourselves,” but +perhaps he was supersensitive—“ah—so very like a collegian yourself, +that I forget you occupy the reverend position of tutor. The boys have a +good start in the modern languages—that is, they can gabble fast +enough—their mother’s wanderings made them regular polyglots—they had +native teachers at every stoppage; but I reckon you will find them poor +shakes in the rudiments of natural science, mathematics, rhetoric, +Latin, and so forth, and I suppose that in spite of their colloquial +glibness, they know little of the construction of the foreign languages. +Mrs. Faurie is very anxious for their solid advancement. And she is +determined to make this enforced quiet recruit both her fortune and +their education. So glad to have you here, Mr. Desmond,—so glad to have +you with us.” + +He hesitated, waved the smoke from his white head, and once more filled +his glass from the decanter. It was a small liqueur glass, but its size +was not commensurate with the potations to which it ministered, for it +was easily replenished, and of course he drank his Cognac neat. Desmond +began to have a shrewd idea, partly because the tiny glass had been +intended for a mere sip of Curaçoa, that had Mrs. Faurie been present at +dinner, the bibulous exercises would have been much curtailed. He was +experiencing some embarrassment in thus lingering over the potations, +for he had arrived only that afternoon, and had never met Mrs. Faurie, +having been employed by Mr. Keith, the guardian of her sons. Desmond was +solicitous lest the breach of etiquette and good manners be imputed to +his connivance. Perhaps Mr. Stanlett’s proclivity was known to his +niece, but he must seldom have such complete immunity from remonstrance +and caution. While the old gentleman’s vinous indulgence and senile +impairments would suggest that his preferences might with impunity be +set aside in such an emergency, the evident appreciation and deference +with which he was treated implied that he was a person to be reckoned +with. Desmond dared not himself propose to quit the table: the gaucherie +would undoubtedly offend the old gentleman as an intentional disrespect. +Yet the tutor really felt that by thus lingering he jeopardized all his +prospects with that far more important personage, the lady of Great Oaks +and the head of the family. Distasteful as was his position to him, he +valued it exceedingly the moment it was threatened, as the only +opportunity that had offered at his utmost need. He had been positively +penniless at the crisis of his disasters. Even had he completed his law +course, he must have had means to live while he waited for a practice to +accrue. He had no commercial experience or aptitudes. He had no +available business connections. Perhaps few people realize the +difficulty of leaping into a paying position at a vault, instead of +growing and climbing up with it from the ground. All values seem +accessible only _per ambages_. A moment earlier he had been recoiling +from the employment, the situation he liked so ill, and now he was +asking himself if he were desirous of standing behind a dry goods +counter in a village store, that he could afford to make his entry into +Mrs. Faurie’s household under circumstances so inauspicious,—carousing +over the dinner-table with a man, not his host, obviously superannuated, +in a sort irresponsible, unable perhaps to justify his own dereliction, +much less the infringement of decorum by the tutor. The village +store,—quotha! No refuge awaited him there. He did not know insertion +from indigo. He had fallen into his niche, his proper place, and with a +sudden sense of prizing its values, he quitted his chair. Not to leave +the room abruptly and at once, however. The crisis had called his tact +into play. He walked toward the mantelpiece as if to scrutinize the +picture above it and thus pave the way to an easy withdrawal. + +“Take the candle to it,—take the candle to it. That is Faurie himself +when he was about sixteen,—do not know how long ago it was painted, +though! But the length of that rifle is a dead give-away,” cried Mr. +Stanlett, from the table, his glass in his hand. + +As Desmond lifted one of the candles, the light revealed a large +oil-painting executed in the florid portrait style of the middle +nineteenth century,—a crowded canvas it was, showing a fair, vigorous +young stripling leaning on his gun, a horse and foliage in the distance, +a deer, with only the fine head visible, gray and antlered, lying at the +sportsman’s feet;—the frame, inclosing all, very handsome. There were +some other pieces in the room, which was large, square, and high-ceiled, +all suggestive of game, and the fact that the late Mr. Faurie may have +been a bon-vivant. One, a dainty water-color sketch of a piscatorial +subject, the catfish of the Mississippi, bore the marks of the hand of a +clever amateur. + +The wall-paper was dimly pictorial, after the style of even an earlier +day, a mélange of forest boughs and boles of great trees through which a +shadowy outline of the figures of a chase sped, with deer, hounds, +horsemen, huntsmen, and horns, of “elfland faintly blowing.” A great, +dark, mahogany press showed through small diamonded panes rows of silver +vessels, glistering in the dusk, which neither the flicker of the candle +nor the twilight glimmer from the great windows could annul. Several of +the large cups bore inscriptions, and he thought they looked at the +distance like trophies captured by some winner of the turf. As Desmond +turned to ask the question, he perceived that the old man had sunk back +in his tall armchair, his delicate face, still in slumber, keenly +outlined against the cushion of its head-rest in the clear, refined +light of the candle close at hand, his white hair gleaming frostily. + +Desmond stood uncertain for a moment. He saw through the bay-window that +the night was falling fast without. But for the flicker of the moon, he +might not have known how the great Mississippi rippled and sparkled +under the currents of the wind. The passing of the first steamboat that +he had yet seen he marked by her chimney-lamps, red and green, swinging +high in the air, and their reflection, ruby and emerald, gemming the +water. As she sheered, she showed the long line of her side-lights, like +a string of yellow topazes. She did not turn nor approach, but sounded +her whistle as if for a landing, and he wondered at this. The boat was +saluting the place by way of compliment, for it was known that the queen +was in residence, so to speak, and Mrs. Faurie shipped much cotton from +the contemned and avoided plantation in the old way by water, for the +almost omnipresent railroads were still distant from Great Oaks Landing. +Presently the lights were quenched, the craft had passed beyond his +view, the moon was overcast, and only the gray night was visible from +the window. Desmond seized his opportunity for escape. He placed the +candle he held upon the table, and with a noiseless step and a furtive, +apprehensive eye, as if the exacting old gentleman might rouse to +displeasure and reproach at a mere rustle, he quitted the room, leaving +his companion, his empty glass still poised in his hand, asleep in his +chair. + +The mansion at Great Oaks Plantation was as ill-lighted by night as are +most residences dependent still on candle and kerosene. Unless, indeed, +some festival occasion demanded extra brilliancy, only the gleam from +the chandelier in the main hall guided the exit from the dining-room +through a cross-hall, the entry, so called. Desmond had not the +necessity for wariness that might have befitted the steps of Mr. +Stanlett, but he paused in the dim entry, marking the subdued glow at +the intersection with the main hall, then carefully directed his steps +thither. Even thus he ran over the “bike” of one of the boys, +inadvertently placed where it might most opportunely trip the +unsuspecting pedestrian in these glooms, and threw it upon the floor +with a tremendous clatter. To his vexation he heard a door open in the +hall beyond and a feminine voice call out unintelligibly, whether in +inquiry or warning or commiseration he did not accurately discern in his +confusion. He hastily set the wheel out of harm’s way against the wall, +and with a swift, prompt step advanced up the lighted hall toward the +open door, which he perceived led into the parlor where he had been +received earlier in the afternoon. A large lamp on a high, old-fashioned +pedestal stood on a round, marble-topped centre table; a wood fire +blazed with a white light in the great chimney-place, and the brass +andirons and fender glittered responsively; an old-fashioned crimson +velvet carpet was on the floor, and long crimson satin damask curtains +hung over lace draperies at the windows. In the midst of this atmosphere +of glow and warmth the lady of Great Oaks stood with expectant mien, +awaiting him. + +Somehow she was so different from his mental image, from what he was +prepared to see, that he was disconcerted for a moment. He had imagined +a middle-aged frump favored by fortune, portly, puffy, rubicund, +overfed, overdressed, bursting with self-importance, smiling in creases, +of husky voice and fixed opinions, and laying down the law. This was a +woman seemingly as young as himself; tall, slender, regal, with rich +brown hair in a high pompadour roll, an exquisitely white, delicate +complexion, luminous gray eyes, with a marvelous capacity for +expression, a clear, coercive glance delivered from beneath long black +eyelashes, and finely drawn black eyebrows, perfectly straight. She wore +a gown of thick, creamy lace, some fabric rich of effect though not of +commensurate cost, one of the pretty fads of the day, and about her slim +waist was twisted a soft, silken sash in Roman stripes of pink and azure +and amber, the long ends hanging knotted at one side. The sentiment of +youth that clung about her presence was oddly incongruous with her +assured address, replete with authority and the manner of seniority. + +“This is Mr. Desmond,” she said, in a clear, dulcet, vibratory voice, as +she advanced and held out her hand. “So sorry not to have met you at +dinner! But I am sure the rest did what they could for you. We are all +so glad to have you here.” + +He seated himself in the fauteuil she indicated, and she sank down into +one on the opposite side of the table in the blended light of lamp and +fire. She fixed her disconcerting eyes full upon him, as if utterly +unaware of their bewildering beauty, gravely scrutinizing him, evidently +“sizing him up,” taking her impressions of his mental quality and +personal fitness for the position. + +“There are many places on the river which are very attractive. But we +are differently situated. We are so far from any neighbors,—quite +isolated. It really seems a godsend that you are willing to come to us +in the swamp.” + +As she talked on her homely themes, he was irritated to be so +tongue-tied, but somehow he could not reconcile the situation; and as +she looked straight at him from beneath those level brows, he gazed +spellbound at her. + +“My three big babies are too old for the nest, I know, and in fact they +are toppling out. But I can’t bear to send them off as yet, and I have +great faith in home influence and individual teaching.” + +Desmond thought if he could but shut his eyes for one moment; he could +see the kind of frump whom her sage, staid discourse would befit. + +“I think they can be prepared here for college, right here in the swamp +with me,—and then—why, we shall see what we shall see. And now, +good-night. I will not detain you.” She touched a bell, and as the brisk +young footman’s black face appeared in the door,—“See that the lamp is +lighted in Mr. Desmond’s room, and that the fire is burning well.” + + + + + CHAPTER II + + +Desmond, dismissed, felt cut through and through. It was no failure of +courtesy, but the note of indifference, of complete self-absorption, +impressed him; yet how could he expect Mrs. Faurie to be interested in +her sons’ tutor except from her own viewpoint. To his apprehension it +was as if in some psychic magic he had shifted his identity. He did not +recognize himself in this null, unassertive personality. So lately he +had been the centre of fond hopes, the pride of his father’s life. He +was an object of mark at his university; his scholarship had been worthy +the respect of the faculty. He recalled the words of their glowing +commendations with a sort of pained wonder that they had ever been +addressed to him. The president himself had not deemed it ill-advised to +say, “With your equipment and your fine talents, we must expect great +things of your future. Your name will reflect credit on our Alma Mater; +I confidently believe it will stand high on the scroll.” His classmates +rejoiced in his exceptional record, so far removed he was from envy or +detraction. His popularity was unbounded, for he had an attractive +personality and all the effervescence of cheery youth and +good-fellowship, and his notability made him a lion in the social +circles of the college town. His reputation followed him wherever he and +his multitude of young friends had a connection; and he had enjoyed all +the prestige of actual achievement, so amply did the flowering promise +herald the rich fruition. + +How small was that microcosm of college life, how far removed from the +actualities of the great uninstructed, prosperous world, blundering on +in suave content, with its crass ignorance of all but money values, he +learned only when the blow fell and he must needs have work, and work at +once, for his daily bread. He might look in vain for market quotations +on Greek. There was no corner in Old Saxon,—modern slang could better +turn the trick on ’Change. The opportunities that lay in the line of +pedagogy were already overcrowded; and thus instead of that road to the +stars, to worthy achievement, for which he had so long and so +laboriously prepared, for which he was so preëminently fitted, he was to +trudge the by-paths of hopeless poverty; to be the drudging, futureless +stipendiary in a rich, frivolous household, teaching three mollycoddle +boys, buried in the seclusion of the Mississippi bottom lands, as if +translated to another sphere. + +With these thoughts Desmond lay long awake that night. He mechanically +watched the flicker of the fire on the light paper of the walls of the +large, airy room, giving out here and there a sparkle of gilt from the +scroll design, till it dulled gradually, and at length faded to a +pervasive dusky red glow. He was not used to a bed with the +old-fashioned tester and four posts, and when he was about to fall +asleep, he was roused by the unaccustomed sense of something poised +above his head, or standing solemnly sentinel, surrounding him as he +lay. He was not sorry when the room grew too dark for aught to be seen +but the gray night looking in between the long white curtains at the +tall windows. Yet the hours brought incidents even in the monotony. He +was apprised that he was on the side of the house nearest the river when +he saw through the small panes the sudden distant glare of a steamboat’s +electric search-light, making a rayonnant halo in the dim glooms of the +riparian midnight, and heard the husky, remonstrant tones of her +whistle, and the impact of “the buckets” on the water as the wheels +revolved. He was not yet sufficiently familiar with the plan of the +house to have otherwise known of his proximity to the bank; but after +the boat had passed and the last vague echo of the stroke of the paddles +on the water had died away, he was impressed by the silence of the night +and the absolutely noiseless flow of the swift currents of the great +river. It dismayed him in some sort, the sense of that mighty, +irresistible, mute, moving force of nature out there in the still night, +as changeful as life, as inexorable as fate, as ceaseless as eternity. +He had felt small, reduced in worldly esteem, robbed of every prospect, +and he had no heart to hope. With this expression of silent, majestic +immensity brought to his contemplation, he seemed infinitely minute in +the scheme of creation. So long had it rolled its waves from the far +north to the Gulf; nations had risen on its banks and passed away, and +strangers had come anew to die and be succeeded in turn by foreign faces +still, and what mattered it what an atom such as he might suffer, or +hope, or grieve to lose. + +He could not sleep; he had desisted from the conscious effort; he had +resigned himself to the wakefulness embittered by such thoughts as +these. It had grown dark, quite dark,—the windows, vague parallelograms +in the gloom, more distinguished by his memory of the features of the +room than by actual sight,—when he heard a sound that somehow thrilled +his every nerve. Hardly a sound,—it was rather a sibilance. But for the +intense stillness of the house he could not have noticed it,—a mere +rustle. + +“What is it?” he asked himself, intent and curious. For when it vaguely +came again, it conveyed the sense of motion; it suggested a varying +distance. Once more his straining senses caught the sound,—very soft it +was. Furtive, was it, he wondered, for he had identified it as the +lisping note of a sliding foot on a velvet carpet. At first he thought +it within his own room, but as it receded at regular intervals, he +realized it as a step on the stair without. He began to appreciate that +the head of his bed was against the wall, on the other side of which +this stair ascended to the upper story, for his room was on the ground +floor of the great, rambling house. He thus caught the vague vibration +of motion, as well as the susurrus of the impact of the step on the pile +of the carpet; otherwise he might not have distinguished so cautious, so +very silent a transit. It had peculiar features of mystery. It receded +into absolute quiet, then, approaching anew, seemed to pass. + +A long interval ensued while he lay still, the interest of his surmise, +the doubt, the surprise, solacing his wakeful mood. Suddenly he started +with a thrill that sought out some nerve of superstition which had +contrived to coexist with all the logic of his mental training. It was +coming again, softly, very softly, its sibilant passage scarcely to be +discriminated even in the silence of the night, ascending once more the +padded velvet stair. Then Desmond fancied that he heard a long-drawn +breath, a stifled sigh. He lifted himself on his elbow, listening +intently. The furtive step receded and yet receded, till it had won the +distance that the ear might not reach. A long interval of absolute +silence once more ensued. Then abruptly, again, a muffled step +descending, softly, secretly. + +With a sudden thought Desmond sprang to his feet. His first idea of the +passing of some member of the family to the upper regions of the house +on some domestic errand, for extra coverings or for medicine or lamps, +was annulled by the amazing silence and secrecy of the recurrent +demonstration. Its repetition implied purpose. Its furtiveness suggested +malignity. He reflected that, so far as he knew, the inmates of the +house, with one feeble old man and three young boys, were all inadequate +to cope with the intrusion of burglars or other marauders. He flung the +door of the bedroom open and stood in the hall, his pistol in his hand. + +“Who is there?” he called out, his voice ringing through the darkness +like a clarion. + +There was not a sound in response, not a stir. + +“Speak up,” he threatened, “or I’ll fire.” The metallic click of the +weapon as he cocked it was of coercive intimations. + +Still not a sound, not a stir. No scurrying footstep to be out of harm’s +way,—no premonition of the attack for which he was prepared, shifting +his posture each time after he spoke, to escape a shot that might be +aimed at the sound of his voice in the darkness. Nothing—the hall was +absolutely vacant, silent. + +He stood irresolute for a moment. He scarcely dared turn to secure a +light lest the lurking intruder escape in the interval of his absence. +Yet when he heard a stir in a room farther down the hall, the sound of +bare feet bouncing out of bed, the opening of a door heralding a +trickling of candle-light into the gloom, he was all at once ashamed of +the commotion he had aroused and its apparent lack of justification. + +As the light advanced along the hall, he was pleased to see that it was +held in the hand of Reginald Faurie, the eldest of the three boys; the +old man was too feebly irresponsible to be trusted, and he was glad that +he had not aroused Mrs. Faurie. But as the young fellow held the candle +high in his hand, the light showing his tousled auburn hair and his pink +and white striped pajamas, the expression of his face, distinct in the +glow, was not such as to ingratiate the future pupil with the tutor. It +was of half-repressed mirth; yet Reginald paused once, and looked over +his shoulder into the shadow with the half shudder of a qualm of cold +fright. He showed no disposition to search for the cause of the +disturbance, however, and he cut short Desmond’s excited attempt at +explanation as of no importance. + +“Let me in here with you for a moment,” Reginald said. “Don’t want to +wake up the kids! Yes,—yes,”—with a mature air of patronage,—“I know +exactly what you heard,—old Slip-Slinksy, as we boys call him, going up +and down stairs.” + +The coolness with which he shut the door, placed the candle on the high, +white, painted mantelpiece, and sought to stir the fire was proof +positive that there was no intruder to be reckoned with. Desmond yielded +reluctantly. But it was the house of a stranger, and he was unused to +his surroundings. He stood in his bath-robe, which he had flung on at +the first alarm, and leaned on the high back of a chair, while Reginald +set the blazes to flaring in the great fireplace, then dropped down on +the rug and put the pointed toes of his bedroom slippers against the +brass fender, evidently preparing to elucidate the mystery. + +“I know you’ll think I’m loony,—I hate to give myself away! But you are +one of the solid, scientific, investigating kind, I’m sure. You will +make inquiries, I know, and I don’t want mamma to learn that old +Slip-Slinksy is at his queer tricks again. She is not a bit +superstitious,—no sort of a crank,—but it is a creepy, inexplicable kind +of thing that one doesn’t like to have in one’s house, and it would make +her hate the plantation worse than ever; and as she has got to stay at +Great Oaks for a while, I think she had better not hear about this +demonstration to-night.” + +“But who is it?” asked Desmond, mystified. + +“Nobody,—just nothing at all!” + +Desmond walked around the chair, and, seating himself in the renewed +radiance of the fire, drew the folds of his bath-robe close about him. +He bent the brows of prospective authority upon Reginald, and the lad +sought to explain. + +“What is a ghost but nothing at all!—its emptiness is what gets on your +nerves. You can take your gun, as you did to-night, to the wicked man +when he gets gay or out of place,—as long as he is alive. But once a +deader, and he _has got you_. I’d like to hear your learned chemical +analysis of a ghost. It is compounded of a winter night’s imaginings! +It’s an untimely shiver! It’s the tremors of hearing a storm coming down +the Mississippi River and making all the boats tie up for the night! +It’s old Slip-Slinksy doing nothing but going upstairs and coming down +again. I don’t know what on earth started it, but that is our ghost, and +we have got it for keeps.” + +“Fudge!” exclaimed Desmond, contemptuously. + +“_You_ heard it,” said the boy, significantly. “I did not.” + +Desmond _had_ heard the strange manifestation, knowing naught of it +hitherto. He remembered the unearthly thrill its first intimations had +sent through every startled fibre. “But it must have some natural +explanation, of course.” + +“I am sure I hope so,” rejoined Reginald. “But the natural explanation +has defied us so far. We have done our little possible to solve the +mystery. We have examined the walls and roof; we have taken up the +carpets; we have lurked in wait for it, and rushed out upon it as you +did to-night,—and found nothing,—as you did. I, for one, would take +mighty kindly to any sort of a natural explanation. A ghost—no matter +how much you give him the cold shoulder—doesn’t make for happiness in +the home, and”—he shuddered—“he is apt to give you the cold shoulder.” + +“Is it an old affair?” asked Desmond. + +“We can’t exactly fix just when the manifestation began. It _always_ +butts in immediately after we come home. Then there will be a long +interval. Presently it starts up again,—every few nights. Then we may +have another long exemption. You would think this old house like any +other happy old home. But in the midst of the preparation for departure +it is sure to begin again,—if anybody is fool enough to lie awake to +listen for it. Of course I don’t know what the ghost may do while we are +away,—in our long absences he may run riot all over the place. At all +events, we can get no caretaker to sleep in the house. I shouldn’t be +surprised if its reputation of being haunted protects it from +depredators, river pirates,—and such cattle. Anyhow, we leave only the +ghost in charge, and there is not a thing stirred when we come back. +Only the dust over all, and a sense of mystery.” + +“Of course there must be some natural explanation,” Desmond protested +anew. + +“So glad you think so,” said Reginald, politely. “But you will not +mention it to mamma.” + +“Certainly not; but is the demonstration always the same?” + +“Always the same,—a step going up and coming down the stair;—going up +and presently coming down the stair, just as you heard it. It is up to +you to explain it. It is no tradition as far as you are concerned; you +were all unconscious and without expectation.” + +A sudden wind had sprung up without. It came down the great channel of +the Mississippi in chilly gusts, with a thrill of dawn in its reviving +stir. It shook the silence. Myriads of undiscriminated voices were rife +in the air. The boughs of the great oaks of the grove without clashed +and fell still again. The evergreen leaves of the Cherokee rose hedges, +fencing the place for miles, kept up a rippling stir in the section +close at hand. A draft became perceptible at the nearest window, and +Desmond, looking toward it, saw through the parted curtains that the +clouds were riven asunder and a clear, chill star was scintillating in a +deep abyss of darkness. The night was wearing on,—not far from day—not +far from a frosty dawn. + +“And nothing has ever been seen,” said Desmond, drawing the cord of his +robe closer. + +Reginald stirred the fire; then resumed his easy posture before it, his +eyes upon the blaze. “I beg pardon,” he rejoined, somewhat unwillingly; +“but I did not say that.” + +“I misunderstood you, then,” said the tutor. He sought to laugh, but he +had himself heard too much that he could not explain to make his +ridicule effective. “But there must be some natural explanation.” + +“Well,—we can’t get at it,—that’s all,” said Reginald, somewhat nettled +by the ridicule. “You see I am not stuffing you. I have not the least +disposition to trot out our ghost to—to lord it over you. I do not +expect you to bow down and admire him. I am not trying to make prestige +on his account. You and he struck up an acquaintance without any +introduction from me. And the apparition on the stairs is so logical and +in keeping that it bears out the sound of the step,—and that is what +troubles us,—especially mamma. She is not superstitious, but she is a +very sensitive organization,—and she always hated this dull old +plantation, and this gruesomeness that it has developed does not +recommend it the least little bit.” + +“But about the apparition?” Desmond asked eagerly, even while he was +ready to rally himself that he should entertain so primitive a +curiosity. + +“Why, it came about the most natural way in the world,” declared +Reginald. “There was a wedding over at Dryad-Dene, Colonel Kentopp’s +plantation,—Mrs. Kentopp’s sister, I think,—a great wedding, all in the +old style. The Kentopps are up-to-date people,—make a point of keeping +up with the procession, unless some fashionable antique craze takes hold +on them. Just at that time the imitation of the big old country wedding +was all the go. So instead of having the ceremony at our little +neighborhood church, and taking the next train or packet for the wedding +tour, the marriage was at the mansion, in the style of fifty years ago. +They invited the country; and the relatives and the friends came in +their dozens, if you please. Of course the Kentopps couldn’t put them +all up, so some of the guests were entertained by their neighbors, and +there were many dinners and dances and such functions in the +vicinity—houses five miles apart, mostly—to compliment the happy couple. +We took our part, of course. We were just returned from Europe, Asia, +Africa, and Oceanica” (with a pert little fling), “and the house was +jammed. I don’t know if you have noticed that there isn’t a regular +second story to this old bungalow. The rooms above are in a half +story,—mighty near _all_ dormer window. We don’t use those rooms unless +we are hard put to it. But on this occasion they were full,—even cots +and pallets on the floor. Well, in the bedroom on the left hand side as +you ascend the stairs were a lady and three children. They were nearly +related to the bridegroom, but strangers to us,—they had never been here +before—and one of the kids took advantage of the opportunity to make +himself conspicuous by getting exceedingly ill. My mother suggested +that, to have help near at hand in the night, the nurse should sleep on +a pallet in the hall. The nurse was cheerful and agreed; there was a +big, bright moon, and all the dormer windows were very festive. About +midnight this lady was awakened by the nurse, who came and asked leave +to draw her pallet into the bedroom, because she could not sleep for the +continual passing up and down the stairs,—tip, tip, tip,—slyly slipping +up and slyly slipping down.” He paused to listen apprehensively, then +recommenced. “The good lady’s nerves were racked with anxiety, I dare +say, for she declared that it was very ill-bred in the other guests not +to let the house get quiet, when there was illness and a chance that her +child would die. Then she told the nurse to return to her pallet,—that +the room was too crowded already with herself and the three children, +and the sick boy needed air. After a time the nurse, an intelligent, +patient, reasonable woman, came back, declaring that she was afraid. +There was something strange in this passing. It was not the other +guests. The people were all still, asleep; the house was as silent as +death; but yet—slip, slip, slip—something shuffling along so silently, +so slyly,—she was fit to scream. She was once more rebuked and sent to +her place. Presently she did scream! The moon had traveled over the +house and the beams began to fall through the window over the staircase, +and there she saw what had been going up and down the stops,—a man in +fancy dress, she declared,—my uncle thinks it was some antique costume—” + +“Did he see the apparition, too?” + +“Sure! the whole house came running, scared to death,—in just what they +had on,—a beautiful lot they were, too! but the thing had vanished. Only +the nurse and her mistress, who, being awake, had run out instantly upon +the alarm, saw it distinctly. They both said that it was a man in fancy +dress, with powdered hair. My uncle had just opened his door on the +lower floor, and, looking upward at the landing, his view was +indistinct, but his impression was the same.” + +Desmond pondered for a moment. “Did it never occur to any of them that +it was some wag of the house-party frightening the nurse for a freak.” + +“I have heard of making a long arm, but I can’t imagine making a long +enough leg to keep a footstep going up and down a staircase, when none +of our guests have been in the county, or even in the State, for four or +five years.” + +“It is strange,” said Desmond, at last. “But all the same I am sure that +there must be some reasonable natural explanation,—if it could be +found.” + +“I wish I shared your belief, or disbelief,” said Reginald. He looked up +doubtfully at the candle burning low now on the mantelpiece. It was not +the regulation bedroom light, but in a tall, silver candlestick, that +offered no protection against the drops which its guttering state sent +dripping down its sides. The fire was sinking; the room had taken on a +shadow and a sense of gloom; the wind suddenly rose in a shrill skirl; +then one could hear some slight débris of leaves or twigs skittering +across the grass as if in a weird dance without. Any suggestion of +uncanny footsteps was in jeopardy to the maintenance of equilibrium. +Desmond, fatigued from his journey and his vigils, was growing +heavy-eyed and disposed to slumber. For some time he had been sensible +of the increasing chill of the air, and was beginning to canvass the +propriety of himself terminating the interview, and in his character of +tutor authoritatively bidding the boy to betake himself to his own +bedroom instead of awaiting his exit as a guest. But Reginald suddenly +resumed. “I wish I could agree with you that there is a natural +explanation,—if we could light upon it. I believe in its supernatural +quality enough to wonder how I mustered the courage to come through the +hall when I heard you call. I was afraid that if you spoke again, mamma +would be roused. I don’t see how I am to get back. I am something of a +man in the daytime, but a regular baby about it at night,—and—if you +don’t mind—I’ll just climb over there in the back of the bed and stay +with you till the rising bell. Oh, thanks, muchly. You have saved my +reason, if not my life. Suppose—oh, just suppose—I was to meet old +Slip-Slinksy in the hall,—and he was to—to—to blow out the candle.” + + + + + CHAPTER III + + +The breakfast-table showed little correlation to a haunted house. It was +surrounded with bright and smiling faces when Desmond, to his chagrin a +trifle tardy, opened the door. The sunshine lay among the potted plants +blooming in wire stands at the two casements opposite the great +bay-window, and through its broad outlook one could see the immense +shining expanse of the king of rivers, with a golden glister on its +ripples, and in the distance a line of tender brownish gray to denote +the growth of cottonwood fringing the farther banks against the blue +sky. The sylvan hunt on the wall-paper, in the medley of scrolls and +fantastic tracery, had a realistic effect of motion as the sunshine and +shadow shifted over it through the stirring boughs of the great live-oak +tree close without. A fire of light wood glowed on the hearth, more it +might seem for gladsome cheer than needed warmth, this balmy day of the +southern winter, and old Joel, the butler, was holding on a silver tray +a large, low basket of ripe figs and brilliant hothouse flowers, while +Mrs. Faurie read a note that had come with the fruit. She paused for a +moment and glanced up as the tutor entered. + +“Good-morning, Mr. Desmond. I hope you rested well.” Then, rustling the +missive, she read aloud: “‘Congratulations on the date’—what the +mischief is the date, Uncle Clarence?—the 5th of December?—Heavens and +earth! The cruel woman! She is reminding me of my birthday.” She tossed +the note aside with a gesture of mock desperation. “Let me give you some +coffee, Mr. Desmond,—I can swallow my mortification later,—or will you +have chocolate?” + +As she sat at the head of the table, moving the pieces of the large +old-fashioned silver service, that glittered with polish, but showed +here and there an indentation that bespoke the battering proclivity of +years of daily usage, the light from the several windows was full on her +face. Her complexion was more than ever like a white rose in its +softness and delicacy thus displayed. Her fine, long throat was shown by +the surplice cut of her plain white lawn blouse, of which the sleeves +reached only to the elbow of her softly rounded arms, with their slim, +dainty hands; her skirt was of plain pleated black voile, and her brown +hair was rolled straight up from her forehead. Nothing could be more +homelike, more simple; but the effect of her eyes as she looked at him +from under her long lashes, her level brows slightly drawn, had a +vaguely bewildering effect on Desmond. He had seen charming women +heretofore, but none to parallel her loveliness. His mind was acclimated +to the idea, the tradition of incomparable beauty, but not in these +close relations. To breakfast with Helen of Troy, to receive a cup of +chocolate from the hand of Diana herself, to reply to a word of simple +inquiry and assured authority from the embodiment of the ideal that +poets have sung and painters have limned in all ages, was disconcerting. +Had she seemed herself more aware of her preëminent endowment, had she +been self-conscious, he could have better adjusted himself to its +continual contemplation; but he had the sentiment of a unique discovery, +of perceiving somewhat unknown, unnoted. + +“I can’t see any cause for mortification; it seems to me a very pretty +compliment, mamma.” Reginald had taken the note up with some anxiety and +was perusing it with a clearing brow. + +“A compliment!—to be reminded of my dreadful age.” + +“Ah, Honoria, you are absurd, my dear,” Mr. Stanlett protested, with an +air of concern. “Thirty-four is still young,—still young, my dear.” + +“Oh, how can you mention it, Uncle Clarence? Let me forget the exact +number! I feel one foot in the grave! I am the prey of time!” + +She cast up her beautiful eyes in an affectation of distress; then, +catching the serious regards of the youngest boy fixed upon her, +dubiously, uncertain of her mood, she looked at him intently for a +moment, and burst into a ripple of smiles, to which, reassured, he +responded with a callow chuckle, infinitely alluring. + +“But we will have the basket in the centre of the table,” she continued. +“All of you who have the heart can eat a fig. I’ll bet there are just +thirty-four of them.” + +The two younger boys strained over the table to count. + +“Dead to rights, mamma,” said Rufus, the tenyear old, who enjoyed the +preëminence of “baby.” “Just thirty-four figs.” + +“A very pretty compliment, mamma,” protested Reginald again. “For my +part, I am obliged to Mrs. Kentopp, and I am ashamed that I did not +remember the date myself.” + +“Oh, ho! You bet I did!” said Rufus, with a triumphant nod. + +Mrs. Faurie put down her spoon, and cast a look across the silver +service so replete with maternal affection, so embellishing to her proud +beauty, that it seemed indeed a pity that the face on which it was +bestowed should be so round, so freckled, so jocosely creased, so +facetiously winking. + +“What have you got for me, Chubby?” she asked. Her look was angelic. + +“You’ll see,—you’ll see!” He smiled widely. The dentist had been at work +on that smile, and had eliminated two teeth, and the interval interfered +with the happiest expression of filial affection. + +The other two brothers, though manifestly disconcerted and deprecatory, +looked at him with the quizzical contempt with which an elder boy cannot +refrain from tormenting his junior. “Chub, don’t be such a chump,” +Horace admonished him. “You ought to be ashamed to give mamma a birthday +offering of some of the trash that you have collected in your European +_towers_,”—with a leer to emphasize the taunting mispronunciation,—“a +last year’s calendar or a cigarette tag.” + +“’Tain’t no old European bibelot!” Chubby declared, his round cheeks no +longer distended with happy smiles. His eyes were grave and flashing +fire,—he was consciously on the defensive. He breathed hard and deep. + +“Oh, to be sure,—some of his chiffons from the Rue de la Paix,—souvenir +de Paree,” Reginald twitted him, with a nettling laugh. + +“’Tain’t,—it’s brand-new,” Chub protested. + +“Where did you get it?” the other two asked in a breath. + +“I bought it with my own money,”—there was an intonation of pride in +this assertion. + +“But where?—bloated capitalist!” asked Reginald, really curious, for +there was scant opportunity to spend money at Great Oaks Plantation, +forty miles distant from any town larger than a hamlet or a railroad +way-station. + +“Where do you reckon?”—with temper. Then with a gush of pride, “From the +trading-boat,—that’s where!” + +Desmond could not understand why the two elder boys stared at each other +for a moment, then collapsed into inextinguishable laughter, scarlet in +the face, nerveless, well-nigh helpless. Even Mr. Stanlett laughed with +merry relish, and Chub looked from one to another, pitiably crestfallen. +A “shanty-boat,” that had been tied up at the landing, was not of the +usual type of trading-boat, offering provender and provisions and +assortments of merchandise in localities remote from railway and packet +connection, but a mere travesty on this mercantile craft, hardly more, +indeed, than a raft, drifting with the current, bearing a little cabin +in which the owner lived, and from which he sold a medley of +stock,—pins, needles, stale candies, tobacco, whiskey, snuff, ribbons, +plated jewelry,—such as might meet the needs or strike the taste of the +humbler dwellers about the river-side, or the backwoods population among +the bayous, along the sluggish current of which it was sometimes poled. + +“Oh,—oh, mamma,—the _trading-boat_!” cried Reginald, barely recovering +the power of speech. + +But Horace was altogether beyond words. + +“It _is_ a trading-boat!” Chub protested. “Anyhow, they have lots of +things to sell. They pole and row along the bayous and lakes, and they +get towed by a steamboat once in a while, and go up any of the rivers +they like. Then they drift down again. They have been selling along all +the rivers in the State of Mississippi,—they _told_ me so.” + +“They must have been well able, then, to pay the considerable privilege +tax to the State,” Mr. Stanlett commented dryly. + +“Did it occur to you to inquire into that question, Chubby?” asked +Reginald, still gasping with merriment. + +“Ha! I’ll engage that the very word ‘license’ would make that boat’s +crew cast off in a trice!” exclaimed Mr. Stanlett, with a significant +nod. “That ‘trading-boat’ would be swallowed up from sight in the +twinkling of an eye.” + +“But we have no right to take that for granted, Uncle Clarence,” Mrs. +Faurie remonstrated. “Their trade along the bayous and bogues and lakes, +where no other boats come, may be considerable and aggregate enough to +justify the tax. The swampers in such out-of-the-way places have no +other way to buy goods.” + +“Ah, well,—perhaps so,—I’m not a collector. We will be charitable and +hope for the best. And they may have some exemption from the tax.” + +The proud Chub, suddenly brought down, was near to tears. + +Mrs. Faurie, all unmindful of the ridicule, was looking at him with eyes +aglow. “With your money, Chubby,—your own little money?—and you always +so hard up,—you dear little spendthrift! And you really remembered my +birthday, and bled your precious nickels to commemorate it! Where is my +present? I can’t wait to see it! I’ll value it above everything I have +in the world. I’ll always treasure it as beyond price,—my lovely +Chubby’s gift.” + +And then it developed that “lovely Chubby,” intent on surprise, had been +seated throughout the meal with the present in a paper bag poised on his +knee under his napkin. He was reassured in some sort by the cessation of +the laughter of the fraternal torments. He was too young and too +ingenuous to realize that it was only a momentary respite that they +might better view the pomp of the presentation. Their physical condition +might have alarmed one unused to view the ecstasies of adolescent mirth +when the paper bag parted to disclose a large, round, wooden apple, +highly tinted with the colors of nature, the upper section of which +opened to reveal within an assortment of needles, pins, a cake of wax, a +brass thimble, a bodkin, and an emery masquerading as a realistic +strawberry. + +“An apple,—oh, ye gods and little fishes!” cried Horace. + +“An apple,—presented to mamma,—my prophetic soul! Didn’t I say it must +be a souvenir of Paris,—to the fairest?” exclaimed Reginald, convulsed. + +“Ah, ha,—very good,—classical allusion,” said Mr. Stanlett, +appreciatively. He cast a glance of pride at the tutor, as if calling +his attention to this point of precocity. + +Mrs. Faurie silently examined every detail with deliberate gravity, +while the two elder sons went from one spasm into another of mute +laughter, deeming the episode too funny for words, and the breathless +Chub looked seriously and expectantly at her. + +“Very useful, no doubt,” said Mr. Stanlett, taking his cue from the +gravity of her manner. “Valuable,—always ready,—needle-case.” + +But when Mrs. Faurie lifted her eyes, Desmond could but note how +brilliant they were with unshed tears. + +“Come here, Chubby,” she said, with a break in her voice. “I can’t wait +to hug you!” + +He was a big boy for ten years of age, and looked bigger in his mother’s +lap. She had pushed her chair a trifle back from the table, and as he +sat enthroned and cherished beyond his fellows, some qualm of jealousy +terminated their convulsions of mirth. + +“You have not touched your plate, mamma,” said one. “I have heard of +people living on bread and cheese and kisses, but I never saw its +demonstration before. Sweet Chub,—lovely breakfast food!” + +“You two must quit that thing of calling Rufus ‘Chub,’” remonstrated Mr. +Stanlett. + +“Yes,” said Chub, whisking around in his mother’s lap, and facing the +party from behind the silver service; “makes me feel like a fish,—chub +and dace always mentioned together.” + +“Chub is a first-rate item on a bill of fare; serve him out, mamma,” +suggested Horace. + +“I am coming down myself,” said Chub, with a final exasperating hug and +kiss. + +“And—quite a coincidence!—the waffles are coming in,” jeered Horace. + +“And now,” said Chub, once more settled in his place at table, and +feeling in fine fettle and high favor, “I move that, being mamma’s +birthday, we have a holiday.” + +Desmond was altogether unused to being so set aside and passed over and +made of scant account. He was aware that he could not expect aught else +in a family life in which he had no part; nevertheless, he felt all the +uneasiness incident to a false position and a new experience. He had +scarcely spoken a word since he had entered the room. He could not +expect the conversation to be guided with a special consideration of him +in this circle of family privacy, and he had submitted to eat his +breakfast among them, but not of them, with what grace he might. Chub’s +last remark, however, trenched upon his own peculiar province, and he +spoke uninvited and to the point: “And I move that we have no holiday.” + +Chub glanced up, his eyes both grieved and indignant. “Oh, why?” he +said,—a phrase that is in more frequent use in remonstrance than any +other in the English language by all American youth under twenty years +of age,—a plea to which Desmond then and there resolved that he would +never reply. There ensued a moment of awkward silence. + +Horace suddenly answered for him. “Because, Chub, we have to be +classified, you know. Mr. Desmond might be expecting you to read Greek, +if he started you without examination, you know.” + +“Don’t look so downcast, Chubby,” said Mrs. Faurie, with a caressing +intonation; and Desmond was aware that, but for the pose of supporting +his authority, the coveted holiday would have been granted without +another moment’s consideration. “Mr. Desmond is not such an ogre.” + +Chubby wagged his head with a sorrowful monition of experience and +forecast. “Tutors are all alike—when it comes to ogreing.” + +Despite her partiality, Mrs. Faurie evidently thought this hardly civil. +She came hastily to the rescue. “And we have all the preliminaries to +arrange; this must be a busy day.” Then, obviously with a lingering hope +for Chubby’s release, for his appealing look was very touching, “But +perhaps it might be best to begin to-morrow. I should think it would be +well for you to look about you a little before going to work, Mr. +Desmond,—familiarize yourself with your surroundings.” She ended with a +rising inflection that required an answer, and her evident bias would +seem to dictate its import. It was short, succinct. + +“Nothing whatever is gained, Mrs. Faurie, by the waste of time,” he +said, “and much is lost by the bad precedent.” + +She was rising from the table. “Then we will at once consider the choice +of a schoolroom,” she said, as she preceded the party out of the +dining-room. At the intersection of the entry with the main hall she +paused; here was an outer door which opened on a broad veranda, from +which the glittering Mississippi could be seen through the vistas of the +trees. This veranda ran quite around the front portion of the house, and +passed through it, dividing the main building from the two wings. At one +point this airy structure widened, the flooring extending into a +roofless circular space, built around the great trunk of a live oak, +that made a dense canopy of evergreen boughs above it, and let fall +drooping shady branches all about it. The balustrade of the veranda was +fitted with a circular bench, and one could scarcely imagine a more +attractive bower. + +“This would make a fine schoolroom,” suggested Chub, and Desmond was +irritated to observe that Mrs. Faurie actually seemed to consider it. + +“The less there is to distract the attention, the better,” he said +promptly. + +“The passing of a steamboat,—or a squirrel, would put Chub out of the +game for the day, I suppose,” she conceded, with evident reluctance. + +“We could come in if it rained,” persisted Chub. + +“We could if we had enough sense,” said Horace; “I have always +understood that it required sense to know enough to come in out of the +rain.” + +Desmond was feeling more interest in his unwelcome vocation as he +followed Mrs. Faurie into the main hall. He was apprehensive lest some +puerile folly of his pupils and the facile leniency of their mother +jeopardize the practicability of his mission, and his vocation be riven +from him when he had come to depend solely upon it. He looked about the +place critically, noting facts that might have escaped him otherwise in +a cursory, uninterested survey. The house bore little or indeed no token +of the extensive wanderings of its inmates in foreign lands. There were +a few good paintings on the walls, but their frames were old and +tarnished and in several instances marred, and he fancied they were +trophies of the travels of previous generations. Other canvases were +devoted to the portraits of the family, some evidently painted by +brushes of distinction, and others only redeemed from the imputation of +being daubs by the facility and freedom with which the likeness had been +caught, the art subordinate to the lifelike portrayal. The ornaments, +clocks, vases, were rich and represented the expenditure of money, but +were obviously the haphazard aggregations of years and successive +owners, and with no system of collection or interest of suggestion. He +divined that Mrs. Faurie cared too little for life in the mansion house +of the hated plantation to spend time, or thought, or money on its +decoration. Hence, in lieu of rich oriental rugs and polished floors, +the old velvet carpets still did service, being of good quality, +seemingly imperishable, covering every inch of the wood; the old satin +damask curtains, with lace beneath, draped the windows as of yore. The +furniture of carved rosewood, and especially that of ponderous mahogany, +was better in countenance in view of the modern craze for ancient +relics, but its owner valued it no whit more for the fashion. There was +nowhere the museum-like effect to be seen so often in the home of a +traveled proprietor. Except for a casual mention, no one could imagine +that any of the household had sojourned in Japan, or journeyed on camels +in remote deserts, or voyaged on the Nile and the Ganges. It was an old +house, distinctly of its locality, in a fat, luxurious country, replete +with the suggestions of decorous antecedents; and one might seem +ungrateful to be so loath to come to it, and so eager to be gone again, +as was Mrs. Faurie. The sons had evidently lost all sense of preference, +small citizens of the world. Home was with each other and their mother; +and it hardly mattered if it were in Rome, or in the light of the +midnight sun, or on the banks of the great Mississippi. + +Desmond had felt himself somewhat expatriated in surroundings so foreign +to the world of letters, of art, of public interest, of intellectual +activity, until he came into the library. Unconsciously he drew a long +breath of relief. On every hand he knew were friends. He was not sorry +to see that the books were old and evidently long undisturbed. They bore +the marks of some previous owner’s loving care. They were all under +glass, the shelves built into the walls; below, extending up three feet +from the floor, were solid doors betokening cabinets, fitted with locks, +and doubtless containing treasures of old files of newspapers, +pamphlets, magazines. These were all collections of elder members of the +house of Faurie, and little troubled by the present generation. Two big +globes, one terrestrial, the other celestial, could indeed give to the +experienced young travelers of to-day only the information how very +little was known of the world at the time of the construction of these +microcosms. + +There was a great fireplace, vacant now, the room being out of use, with +the usual glittering brasses of andirons and fender. The sun streamed in +at the tall windows at the eastern side; on the other,—for the apartment +was in one of the wings separated from the main building by the +veranda,—one could look out through the vistas of gigantic trees at the +great embankment of the levee in the foreground, the splendid scroll of +the Mississippi emblazoning the middle distance, and far, far away the +low line of the forests at the horizon meeting the blue sky. The windows +were draped only by some old-time lambrequins, short and of a +grape-blue, and below were suspended the slatted shades called Venetian +blinds. A heavy mahogany desk, with innumerable pigeon-holes, and a wide +writing-shelf, covered with grape-blue leather, looked tempting and +scholarly. A long table with drawers was in the centre of the floor, and +on each side some chance hand had arranged chairs high and stiff and +ready for writing or reading. + +“This seems made for us. Could you spare this room?” Desmond asked, +feeling nevertheless the assurance of the demand. + +She hesitated. Though she cared little for Great Oaks, the incongruity +struck her. This was indeed a fine room to devote to the uses of pupils +and pedagogue, and it might be that all that Chub would ever learn would +not be worth the wear and tear that his acquisitions here would cost it. + +“But why not?” she asked in turn. “Certainly the parlors are ample for +so little company as we see here.” + +“And we shall keep regular hours; the room can be at the service of the +family in the evenings”; he rather pressed the point. “The library is +separate from the rest of the building, and less liable to interruption, +out of earshot of anything that may be going forward in the household; +the books are all at hand; the atmosphere is inspiring.” + +“By all means, then,” she assented. + +But later, when she mentioned the decision to her uncle, he looked +dismayed, and she half regretted her compliance. + +“He selected the library as a schoolroom!” exclaimed Mr. Stanlett. +“Well, he _is_ moderate!” + +“He showed the first vestige of emotion that I think it is possible for +him to entertain when he saw the books,” she said. “I want him to be +satisfied at Great Oaks,—if anybody _can_ be satisfied in the +Mississippi swamp.” + +“What sort of impression does he make upon your mind?” asked Mr. +Stanlett, solicitously. + +“I think he is an iceberg; he lowers the temperature whenever he +approaches.” + +But the value of the library as an educational influence was not +immediately apparent, and Desmond, who had never taught, was destined to +find that there is far more requisite for success than the equipment for +instruction. The poignancy of the relinquishment of his dear ambitions, +his sensitive appreciation of his reduction to an unsuitable, subsidiary +position in the esteem of the world, the tingling sense of personal +isolation, of humiliation in a sort, as of an unwelcome, disregarded, +yet necessary supernumerary in the family circle, so apart themselves as +to render his presence always felt,—he thought these elements of his +poverty a sufficient handicap on satisfaction in the present and hope +for the future. He might have been still further dismayed at the outset +to realize that education is a cooperative function, and the receptivity +of the student is as essential as the radiation of the professor. He had +been himself so eager in the acquisition of knowledge, so earnest, so +alertly intelligent, his mind assimilating as by an involuntary process +the pabulum that the curriculum set forth in courses, that he did not +readily grasp the idea of a different point of view. He was totally +unaware of the luxury of mental inaction, the atrophy of the industrial +muscles, the dead levels of the lack of ambition, of supine content with +the least achievement compatible with the least exertion. He had given +his instructors no occasion to seek to stimulate his aspirations to the +goal of his best possibilities, and he had not even turned the eye of +casual contemplation upon their labors as they herded their unwilling +and loitering flocks along the dusty approaches to learning, fain to be +content with such progress as their charges could be prevailed upon to +make. + +Even in the preliminaries for instruction in the big, luxurious room, +friction supervened. A fresh fire blazed on the hearth, the places at +the table were assigned, the box of schoolbooks was unpacked, and the +stationery deposited in appropriate drawers. Chub’s joy in the +acquisition of a fountain pen it was necessary to moderate, and his plea +to inaugurate his scholastic labors by experimenting with a writing +lesson was tabooed. + +“You are not here to do what you wish, but what is best for you,” +Desmond said finally, and Chub cast the pen from him on the table with +an air of permanent repudiation and a sullen pout of disaffection. + +For a time Horace, with the puerile mania to be stirring something, must +needs turn in his chair and with a meddlesome finger revolve again and +again the terrestrial globe that stood near by, contemplating not its +charted surface, but merely its pleasing semblance to a big ball, and +its satisfactory poise that so slight a touch would compass the +revolution of the earth. Twice Desmond politely requested him to desist. +Horace was still for a little while, but soon his careless mood had lost +the memory of the command, the world was briskly awhirl anew, and in his +lazy consciousness he was scarcely aware of his own agency in the fact. + +Desmond hesitated. He gazed at the forgetful Horace for a moment, then +he commented: “I hope that you are fond of the study of geography. If +you turn that globe again, you shall map out every country on it and +chart every body of water, working all the afternoons while the others +are out of school till you practically own the earth and the boundaries +thereof. Are you a pretty expert cartographer?” + +Horace, amazed and insulted, grew round-eyed and red. “Mamma would not +permit it,” he said stiffly. + +“We shall see. This is _my_ schoolroom, and what I say here—goes!” + +“Now, Horace, I hope that you have got it!” Reginald exclaimed in +reproach. + +Horace was motionless, mutinous in dubitation. Then with a fling he +turned his back upon the allurements of the world and joined the silent +and pouting Chub in fixedly regarding the grape-blue leather cover +inlaid in the table, and spotted here and there with the ink of old-time +chirographers. + +Desmond himself had his distractions. He was interested in the old +sand-box, full of metal filings, formerly used instead of blotters to +dry the ink on the page. He was surprised when a bronze bust on the +table revealed an inkstand, as the helmet of the head of Pallas was +lifted,—a series of inkstands, it contained, for different tints, and +his set and joyless face relaxed as he refilled them. “This is a quaint +fancy,—this inkstand,” he said. + +Then he must needs be quick to check Reginald’s intention to throw into +the fire a bundle of carefully made quill pens of a bygone date. These +came from a small drawer, evidently long disused, that had a trick of +sticking. There were also some wafers here, for the sealing of letters, +and a stick of sealing-wax. + +Desmond sought to inaugurate a more agreeable topic than had hitherto +distinguished the incidents of the morning. He took these relics of the +past as a suggestion. He said that it ought to be peculiarly pleasant to +them to work here, where those of their own blood had read, and written, +and thought out the problems of their day; and that this was home in the +truest sense, a oneness of mind and heart and effort. They should have a +sentiment to retain the inkstand, sand-box, and bunch of quills, these +tokens of the mental activity of their forbears, hallowed by their +usage; and the stiff, unnoticed, forgotten drawer of the table, where +these writing-materials had been found, might cause them to think how +yesterday always leaves a trace on to-day, and to take heed that it is +not a vain regret nor the disaster of the waste of time. + +They listened in blank silence and unresponsiveness. Desmond, somewhat +taken aback, for he had had a purpose of talking to his pupils to mould +the form of their thought, to fashion their habit of phrasing, to direct +their outlook and give the values of viewpoint, to accomplish their +improvement insensibly even in their leisure hours, felt a disposition +to recur to the line and rule of the text-book. “Let them learn, then, +just what is set down for them,” he said, disappointed with the first +experiment. + +But even thus his expectations were so suddenly dashed that he had a +sense of helplessness,—an incapacity to reach that volition of mind that +makes it a motive power. Words were all ineffective, argument thrown +away. Already he began to perceive that he might teach in vain if they +would not, and therefore could not, learn. His heart sank within him as +he noted the look of dull disinclination, desolation indeed, with which +Reginald turned the leaves of the Greek Reader. + +“What is the use of the classics, Mr. Desmond?” he asked in a tone of +dreary protest. “Nobody speaks the languages any more. Why, when I was +in Greece last winter, even I could see that what I had learned of +ancient Greek was miles away from modern Hellenic. And I spoke Italian, +not Latin, in Rome. As to Greek literature,—why, we have the finest +translations,—better than any I can ever make. Now what gentleman ever +sits down to read Euripides in the original? Now, honestly, Mr. Desmond, +what good has Greek ever been to you?” + +This was indeed a home-thrust,—the contrast of his splendid and complete +intellectual armament and the field of its employment. + +“It has given me the distinguished opportunity of teaching you.” + +There was dead silence for a few moments as the group sat around the +table. The two sullen youngsters, apprehending rather the tone of the +retort than its full significance, lifted their lowering eyes and looked +in blank wonder from one of the speakers to the other. Reginald +continued to turn the volume listlessly in his hand, but a scarlet flush +was suffusing his face, and stealing to the roots of his auburn hair. +Presently he said, with the air of venturing a suggestion, “It must be a +language particularly rich in satire; it must cultivate the faculties +for sarcasm, at all events.” + +The work got under way at length, and perhaps progressed as +satisfactorily as if there had been a more genial understanding. Each +faction was cautious, being uncertain of the other, and hence +experiments were not in favor. There was much of the genuine gentleman +in Reginald; he was averse to occasioning needless inconvenience or +annoyance to others, and had he no further reason, he would have exerted +himself to curb the vagaries of his wandering attention, so little +accustomed to concentration. But he had, too, a proper pride. Without +the opportunity of cramming for the examination, the disadvantages of +his erratic training and the irregular development of his immature mind +were to be discerned without palliation. This, however, gave token how +solid an intellectual endowment he possessed. As he struggled with the +questions and bent every faculty to the endeavor to do himself as little +discredit as he might, Desmond felt somewhat encouraged. There was good +material here, if it could be disengaged from the tangle of puerile +folly, superficial observation, false standards, and a total lack of the +habit of application. + +The other two promised less well, and Desmond had with them far less +sympathy and less patience. Horace, still swelling with wrath for the +indignity of the geographical threat, was merely biding his time, and +temporizing with his tyrant till the close of the diurnal session should +permit him to bear his tale of woe to his mother, who he doubted not +would avenge him summarily. But Chub had capitulated. He adopted +propitiatory tactics. Now and again he quitted his place and came around +and stood beside Desmond’s chair, with a plump and pleading hand on his +arm, and explained carefully that he could not really hope to master +fractions because they had a peculiar effect on his head. He thought it +would be much better to review long division, until his health was fully +confirmed,—he was a crackerjack at long division. He would like to show +Mr. Desmond what he could do; he could cover a slate with figures to +beat the band. And would Mr. Desmond make those two boys quit laughing +at him, and agree that he might skip fractions altogether. He had heard +people say that fractions were of no use,—upon his word of honor, he +had. + +“Some small people like unto yourself, I dare say,” Desmond retorted. + +Chub was always so disappointed and surprised when he was sent back to +his place, his errand fruitless, to bend the round integer of his head +over the tantalizing fractions on his slate, so eagerly abounding in +renewed hope as he came out again with his plump paw to be laid +persuasively on Desmond’s arm, as he stood by the tutor’s chair, +advancing his enlightened views,—all of which tended to eliminate study +from the scheme of things at Great Oaks mansion,—that it began to be +very obvious that this was the pupil most difficult to contend with and +for whose idiosyncrasies Desmond would have least toleration. For +scholastic attainment was a very large and noble endeavor in Desmond’s +mind, despite the reasons he had latterly perceived to minimize its +worldly utilities. And to this effect did Mrs. Faurie express herself +that evening at dinner when they were all grouped around the table. + +“I should judge from the children’s report, Mr. Desmond, that you have +all had a rather serious time of it, to-day. And that is just what I +desire,—that you should maintain your authority,”—she cast her beautiful +coercive eyes on each of the youthful faces, shown in the candle-light +intently regarding her—“and that they should exert themselves to do +their duty.” + +They seemed to accept the fiat as law according to their several +interpretations of duty,—Reginald with a sort of manly serenity, Horace +as reduced to order, and the little Chub as so distressful and helpless +and a-weary of the world that Mrs. Faurie could not refrain from +reaching out her long fan, and with its downy tip touching him playfully +under his chin to bring out his dimples and win from him once more a +smile. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + +The insubordination of the youthful students at Great Oaks was happily +at an end, but their educational problems remained. These promised +Desmond food for much thought for an indefinite time, and roused him to +an ingenuity of expedients to secure the best efforts of the young +scholars themselves. For a time success swayed in the balance +indeterminate. Sometimes it seemed impossible to break to habits of +application, to harness the attention of these wildly roving minds. He +did not love the spectacle of wounded pride, but the heroic treatment of +bluff ridicule had the happiest effect. + +“For a fellow to have passed through the Suez Canal, to have seen the +Assouan Dam, and the Sault Canal, and the Segovia Aqueduct, and the +Ganges Canal, and the Solani Aqueduct, and have no more conception of +the principles of hydraulics than a mule shipped in a stock-car has of +the motive powers of a steam-engine! You didn’t notice?—neither does the +mule.” + +Reginald was letter perfect the next day in such elementary exposition +as the text-book on Natural Philosophy afforded concerning locks, dams, +jetties, and the varied utilities of controlled waters; and Desmond, +with a touch of self-reproach, called him into the library that evening +after dinner, and made himself very gay and entertaining with stories of +college life, details of hazing, rushes, athletics, such as had but a +bitter flavor to his memory now, though likely to please the fancy of a +destined collegian. Once or twice afterward Reginald dropped in again, +his eyes bright and expectant; but the tutor had no immediate cruelties +to atone for, and was dreary and sad himself, and of no mind to lacerate +his sensibilities with reminiscences of happier days. He gave himself up +to such solace as he could find in a book, and Reginald, quick of +apprehension, sat on the other side of the table, a book in his own +hands, albeit his attention wandered now and again to the black panes of +the windows, where he could see the moon in the sky and a brilliant and +shattered luminary fallen below, which he knew was the lunar reflection +in the Mississippi River. The very touch of a book Desmond considered +salutary, and thus he did not rebuke Reginald’s failure of attention. + +In truth, Desmond felt that he needed his evenings apart. He worked so +hard with his difficult and unmalleable material during the day that he +was likely to forget his disappointments, his perverted destiny, his +many feuds with Fate. But he had not ceased when alone to set them in +order before him, to canvass futile ways and means for a counter-stroke, +to ponder with rancor on men who had made settlement of the financial +difficulties impossible, and others who had found profit in pushing him +to the wall. He would have his revenge, he resolved; he would pay them +back in their own coin, some day,—some day,—and suddenly he would feel +the sting of his own sharp ridicule as he would bitterly laugh aloud and +demand of his utter helplessness how this might betide. Though it was +now little more than a year since his father had died at the critical +moment of a business enterprise of magnitude, which wrecked in its +collapse his other interests, it had been already demonstrated that, had +he lived, it would have succeeded signally,—indeed, in the hands into +which it had gone, it was more than justifying the confidence of its +projector. Desmond, who could not retain a single share for the lack of +means, meditated ruefully on the sums spent in completing his course of +study according to his father’s directions, before the condition of the +decedent’s estate was definitely ascertained, and how these funds might +have been applied to more utilitarian purposes. He was often too +depressed, too distrait, too irritated by the untoward results of the +day’s labor, to care to read; but a book in the hand was a protection +from the intrusion of the family on the polite theory of not seeming to +exclude him from their social life. He had been sent for once or twice +in the evening to join a game at cards with Mr. Stanlett, Mrs. Faurie, +and Reginald; but afterward, when he saw the boy’s figure appear on the +veranda without and flit away softly from the library window, he was +glad that the report that he was busy with books and papers had +protected him from that irksome interruption. His leisure was not of +pleasant flavor with his embittered memories, but it was his own bit of +time with himself, and if he had come to be not a merry man, he could +make no compact with a new identity. Sometimes he had a sudden thought, +an abstract thought, as unsolicited, as unexpected, as beneficent as an +angel’s visit, and he wrote. So late the light burned from the library +windows night after night, so consecutively, that the pilots of the +river craft came to reckon that stellular gleam among their nocturnal +bearings betokening the Great Oaks mansion. + +Desmond soon began to take little note of other interests save indeed +his pedagogic duties. He had begged off several times when guests, +strangers of course to him, had come to dine. He was writing something, +he once told Mrs. Faurie, confidentially; then he was offended by the +eager alacrity with which she had excused his presence at the table, and +the promptness and deftness with which the brisk waiter had served his +dinner alone in the library. He did not write at all, that night. He +smoked pipe after pipe of his own strong tobacco, instead of Mr. +Stanlett’s fine mild cigars sent in with the dinner tray, although he +esteemed it in the nature of “breaking training” as much now as when he +was a star “half-back” on a crack Eleven. He meditated much and long +over the bitter problems of the various degrees of want and woe +expressed in poverty absolute and poverty relative, and in what actual +wealth consists, and if the rich are not often paradoxically the poor, +and if the poor,—but he felt that the converse was a more difficult +proposition to be maintained, to demonstrate that the poor are ever by +any fortuitous circumstance to be considered the rich. + +The winter was wearing away,—the passing of time marked only by the +gradual development of approximate symmetry in the minds of the pupils; +the slow budding of the trees of the grove, that had been the favored +haunt of deer some fifty years earlier, before the marauding currents of +the river had carried away the point called formerly “Faurie’s Landing,” +amounting to near a thousand acres, thus bringing the mansion house +forward on the banks of the stream, within half a mile of the levee, +indeed; the adding of page after page to the record of the thought that +had come to him in the deserted library in the midnight;—when there +suddenly befell one of those incidents in which he played an important +part, that were as links in a chain of events, fettering the lives and +fortune of all in the house and many besides. This, the first of these +significant happenings, came about in the simplest way, its importance +all unrecognized at the time. + +It was morning, and in the library his pupils sat at their books, when +there sounded a sudden tap at the door. Desmond turned, frowning, and +looked over his shoulder. In response to his summons the footman +entered, his face irradiated by subdued excitement; he presented +formally, however, the compliments of Mrs. Faurie, who would be glad to +see Mr. Desmond and his pupils in the parlor, Colonel and Mrs. Kentopp +having arrived. + +Chubby sprang up with a whoop. It would be difficult to say whom he +would not have welcomed with like enthusiasm to rescue him from the +grisly lessons. + +Desmond rebuked him sternly, while the young servant looked on in amaze. + +“Say to Mrs. Faurie that Mr. Desmond and his pupils beg to be excused, +as the hours for lessons are not over.” + +It is impossible to describe the look of wall-eyed remonstrance with +which the footman hearkened to this message, and to emphasize his own +opinion of it he closed the door so slowly that Desmond was sorely +tempted to bound up and kick it to after him. + +Chub, on the verge of tears, was tempestuous in argument,—his mother had +sent for him, he plained, and he was not allowed to go,—in the midst of +which a second tap at the door heralded the footman, with a change of +face if not of heart. Mrs. Faurie begged Mr. Desmond’s pardon for the +interruption, but would be glad if Mr. Desmond would shorten the study +hours by ten minutes in order to meet Colonel and Mrs. Kentopp in the +parlor before luncheon. + +“Hi, Bob, they goin’ to stay to lunch?” cried Chub, hilariously. “Did +the children come?” + +Bob’s grin of assent was petrified on his face. + +“Take your seat, Rufus,” said Desmond, sharply. “You must want to do +some extras for penance.” Then to Bob, “Shut—that—door!” + +A great gush of talk and laughter issued from the parlor as Desmond +approached it before luncheon. It scarcely seemed as if so limited a +coterie could keep astir so cheery a conversational breeze, but Mrs. +Kentopp was vivacity itself. She was about thirty-eight years of age, of +medium height, but very slight. She impressed him at first as somewhat +haggard, but he soon perceived that this was the effect of the dye or +blondine, which heightened the natural tint of her light hair to a +golden hue, that required special freshness of complexion to accord with +this embellishment. This disparagement was obviated when she laughed, +for a becoming flush came and went in her cheeks, and her light blue +eyes danced. She was handsomely gowned in pastel-blue cloth, heavily +braided, with a hat of the same shade trimmed with the breast of the +golden pheasant. She wore long tan gloves on a hand so small and soft +that Desmond almost thought the fingers boneless, for despite her air of +condescension, she shook hands with him in the cordial southern fashion +on informal occasions. + +“You have not given us the opportunity to welcome you earlier to this +benighted region, Mr. Desmond,” she said, laughing always. “Misery loves +company!” + +Her husband was tall, portly, fair, and flushed, with a bright, round, +brown eye, dark hair, and a clean-shaven, square face. He was dressed in +sedulous conformity to the dictates of the most recent fashion of +gentleman’s garb, and this dudish suggestion was queerly accented by his +peculiarly open and genial manner and his ringing, hearty voice. He +strode quite across the room, and most cordially clasped the stranger’s +hand. But Desmond appreciated that it was a very keen, searching, and +business-like glance that Colonel Kentopp bent upon him, singularly +unrelated to his jovial, haphazard manner and joyous tones. Desmond felt +that it held an element of surprise, and that he was altogether +different, for some reason, from what Colonel Kentopp had expected to +see. Mrs. Kentopp, too, turned after a moment and seriously surveyed him +through her gold-handled lorgnette, as he was replying to the civilities +addressed to him by her husband. Concerning the newcomers Desmond made +his own cursory deductions, almost mechanically, for they did not +interest him in the least. He fancied that Colonel Kentopp rather valued +himself upon his amiability and popularity, and was even prone to make +it evident that his two children, a girl and a boy, were fonder of him +than of their mother. They came in ever and anon from the veranda, where +they raced and chased with Chubby, to acquaint him with some juvenile +news, some change of moment to them, such as they had fed the parrot, or +that Chubby had a Shetland pony, and they hung upon him, one on either +side, their cheeks against his hair, their arms around his neck. Their +neglected mother seemed no whit disconcerted by her supersedure in their +affections, and talked on blithely to Mrs. Faurie and Mr. +Stanlett—especially to the old gentleman, with whom Mrs. Kentopp +exchanged many compliments and affected to hold a very gay flirtation. + +At the lunch-table Desmond would have felt quite apart from the +occasion, since they were all old friends and had many subjects in +common of which he knew naught, but that Colonel Kentopp, with his +genius for geniality, persisted in drawing him out, making him talk, +appealed again and again directly to him, and would not suffer him to be +ignored by Mrs. Kentopp, who seemed disposed now to flaunt her +condescension and now to give him the cold shoulder, albeit ever and +anon she fixed upon him a surprised, contemplative gaze that temporarily +stilled her brilliant, laughing face. Desmond could not imagine and he +did not care in what respect he did not meet their expectations, and +although he responded in good form to Colonel Kentopp’s lead, he was not +sorry when the meal, unusually prolonged, was over at last, and he was +free for the afternoon. + +He betook himself, as soon as the party had scattered sufficiently, to +the library, where he sank down in one of the easy chairs to rest, not +his bodily frame, but his tired mind and heart. He had not wished to +seem to hold aloof from the family by withdrawing to his own room, yet +he felt intrusive with them and their friends, who were no friends of +his. He found the library a neutral ground; in some sort it befitted him +and his calling. The quiet solaced him; the atmosphere of the books was +always friendly; the traces of the scholastic labors were all effaced, +shut up in the deep abysses of the drawers of the table; the fire glowed +upon the hearth. He was more and more at ease as he rested, and the slow +hours of the afternoon wore on. The shadows began to slant on the level +reaches of the long vistas under the oaks; the sunlight had that dreamy, +burnished splendor that embellishes the southern winter; it loitered +slow, content, its progress imperceptible. All was still; not a sound +reached his ear save the distant chatter of paroquets flitting about the +pecan trees as if still in search of nuts. He could see from where he +lounged in the great armchair the long stretch of the Mississippi River, +the light reddening the hue of its murky floods, the ripples tipped with +a sparkle like gold; he noted as often before the peculiar conformation +of its surface, the curving centre rising apparently so much higher than +the margins, which slanted downward still toward the interior after the +manner of the banks of deltaic rivers; the opposite shores were merely +distinguishable as a line of soft, tender green. Here and there a trio +of white sea-gulls poised, then winged away, and again darted down +toward the water, evidently roving hundreds of miles up from the Gulf +intent on fishing. He was not reading; his mind seemed quiescent, blank. +The intensity of his emotions, the dull discouragements of his position, +had worn on him more than he was aware. He was mentally resting. He had +no conscious thought, no recognized intellectual process, when suddenly +he gave a start to perceive a figure standing at the French window that +came down to the floor of the veranda. It was Mrs. Faurie. She opened +one of the long sashes from outside, and entered without ceremony. + +“Why, how cosy you look in here!” she exclaimed. “‘There are none so +deaf as those who will not hear.’ No wonder you did not answer.” + +“Were you calling me?” he asked, with an apologetic cadence. He had +started to rise, but Mrs. Faurie had herself sunk into a chair, and he +resumed his seat. + +She was looking about her with an intent, bright interest. “I think that +we never quite appreciated this old room. What a scholarly look your +rearrangement has brought into it! That old telescope,—why, you have +mounted it again! How nice to put it in the centre of the bay-window—it +is just the right height for observations of the sky, and can sweep it +in three directions. Somebody yanked it off its stand long ago to read +the names on passing steamboats from the veranda.” + +As she leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair and turned her +beautifully poised head, he could not keep his eyes from her. She +embodied to his mind the poetic ideal of all the beauties of fable or +history. She was as a flout to the commonplace aspect of the day, to her +associates, her surroundings, her own words and identity, and to +himself. He could not accustom his eyes to such peculiar and preëminent +perfection. Her charms seemed heightened at the moment by the +embellishments of dress; for since luncheon she had made a toilet for +the afternoon, of a richness which she had not hitherto affected,—a note +of compliment to her guests. She was younger of aspect; her face seemed +that of some radiant girl, though proud, assured, dominant. Her gown was +of gray silk, quiet in tone and not heavy of texture, the brocaded +pattern being a plume shading from darker gray to a tip of white. She +wore on her richly tinted brown hair a velvet picture-hat of the same +gray hue, with a line of vivid white about the brim, and apparently the +ostrich plume of gray, that the brocaded gown simulated, coiled about +the crown, its white tip drooping to her shoulder. And against this +neutral background the splendor of her beauty glowed, her complexion so +exquisite, her lips scarlet, her gray eyes so full and fine and lordly +in their expression, and with those imperious brows so delicately drawn +above. Somehow he could not hold his own before them. Never heretofore +had eyes challenged him that he dared not meet. Her evident +unconsciousness of the impression her beauty must make upon him added to +his embarrassment. It was like talking to one in a mask or under a +disguise. He could not speak to mother of hobbledehoys, householder, +butterfly of fashion, while these incongruous characters were blended +into the personality of Juno, or the ideal of the moon, or a muse of +poetry. He was glad that she busied those radiant glances in scanning +the sombre old room, and his chance bedizenment of it with such cast-off +gear as had come to his hand. + +“Are the lenses of the telescope all right? Well, that’s a blessing! And +you have brought out that old geological cabinet.” + +“It contains some quite valuable specimens,” said Desmond. He deprecated +his tone; it seemed to him as if he were making excuses. “A few are +genuinely rare.” + +Mrs. Faurie nodded her comprehension. “So I suppose; an uncle of Mr. +Faurie’s had quite a fad in that direction.” + +“Mr. Stanlett?” asked Desmond, surprised. + +“No,—Mr. Stanlett is my uncle. This was a relative of Mr. Faurie’s, with +quite literary tastes; and oh,—that old screen!—I had forgotten it +completely,—skeleton leaves mounted between plates of crystal.” + +“There is nothing so symmetrical, to my mind, in all nature as the +various tree-forms,” Desmond commented; “those outlines are grace +itself, both in the denuded shape of the leaf and the tracery of the +veins. Their preparation is exquisitely done.” + +“They look like lace!” she remarked. “If you are fond of tree-forms, you +ought to have a beautiful time in the woods at Great Oaks”—she drew a +deep sigh. “We have little else to offer as entertainment; but we are +long on wilderness! Will the children study botany?” + +“Perhaps,—as a reward of merit,—when they shall have learned something +in the indispensable branches.” + +Mrs. Faurie hastily changed the subject. “I am glad that you find enough +interest in these things to resurrect them. I remember now that they +were in that big old mahogany press in the alcove.” + +She rose suddenly, opened the door of the press, and looked in, her head +poised inquiringly. There seemed nothing to attract her explorations, +and she returned to her chair. + +“That’s where you found the frames for those old steel engravings; the +arrangement of them is very inspiring, much better than that ragged old +portfolio, which I see you have relegated to the press, where it ought +to be. I wonder what used to be in those frames; but they are the very +thing for steel engravings.” For between the bookshelves and the row of +cupboards below, a blank space of paneled wood had received a series of +small framed portraits of the great men in the world of letters and +scientific achievement. The pictures were unharmed by time, save for +spotted and yellowed margins, but the suggestion of antiquity better +accorded with the old and worn fittings of the place than fresher +equipment. + +“What did you find of interest in the cupboards of the bookcases?” + +“They are locked,” said Desmond, a trifle out of countenance to have +tried doors obviously closed against intrusion. + +“Why, how odd! There must be lots of things in them which would interest +you.” As if she could not trust the vigor of his experiment, she rose +once more and flitted across the room, trying first one, then another of +the small doors. They were without knobs, and only a key that might fit +could open them. She had evidently broken a nail in her efforts to draw +the doors ajar by the moulding, and she was looking somewhat ruefully at +her dainty fingers as she returned. Not to remain seated at ease while +she labored to open the obdurate cabinets, Desmond had followed her +about the room, making similar efforts wherever the door seemed a less +close fit; and as she took her chair by the fire he resumed his place +near her, listening attentively as she talked on. “I remember that there +are many old English periodicals there,—the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine,’ the +‘London Magazine,’ the ‘Annual Register,’ all from the beginning of +their issue, and a thousand old scientific and literary pamphlets. Why +should they be locked up? Perhaps Uncle Clarence may have the key; if +not, we may find one about the house that will fit, or on that little +trading-boat where Chubby bought my apple, don’t you know?”—with an +animated glance. “It has been off on the bayous and lakes since then, +and it dropped down the river to-day and tied up at our landing—it may +have a bunch of keys among its treasures of junk. We must try that +expedient, at all events. I know you would enjoy exploring those nooks, +and you might find something that would interest you. What are you +writing?—something for publication?” + +He drew back in surprise, embarrassed, half flattered, protesting. “Oh, +no,—only jotting down a few thoughts that struck me,—of no value to the +public,—for my own entertainment, or rather my own satisfaction,—a sort +of argument, pro and con, on some questions of political economy that +were never clear to my own mind, never justified to my own point of +view. It is in a sort a dialogue, thoughts that, expressed otherwise, +would bore the life out of any interlocutor.” + +“But why don’t you arrange to write something for publication while you +are here, Mr. Desmond?—not history, for of course this library is too +general in selection to afford you the data requisite, but—something +else; why won’t questions of political economy do? something—I don’t +know what,—but something for publication and permanent interest.” + +“Why, I couldn’t,” said Desmond, flushing painfully, so close had she +come to his grief for the relinquished ambitions of achievement. “I am +not capable of that kind of thing. Besides, I came here to teach—” + +“Surely you don’t have to sit up o’ nights to prepare for Chubby’s +lessons! And you can’t work the boys all day; you have to let them +stretch their muscles in the afternoon. You think that more consecutive +time would be necessary,—more concentration—well, perhaps,—I am not up +to such things myself. Such ideas as I have are originated in the +twinkling of an eye. At all events, you have made this a mighty pleasant +place to read and rest and jot down any vagrant ideas that may be +roaming around when your day’s work is done.” + +She lay back in her chair and let her eyes rove smilingly about the +changes in the aspect of the room. “I shouldn’t be surprised if you will +have to share the library now. I dare say that all the rest of us will +want to ‘butt in,’ as the boys say.” She laughed with a mischievous +relish of the grotesque phrase and its unseemliness on her dainty lips. + +On the low marble mantelpiece were figures in bronze of two of the +muses, Clio and Calliope, evidently costly and of some artistic merit, +and Desmond had crossed on the wall above them two long swords, that had +stood in a corner of the room, genuine relics of warfare that had seen +grim service, and in their way carved out records in both history and +poetry. An oil painting, a spirited battle-piece, was still above, the +scarlet uniforms giving an intense note of color among the prevailing +tints of grape-blue with which the room was furnished. Desmond had not +inquired as to its subject, and the signature of the painter was not +familiar to him. Its execution did not rise above a respectable +mediocrity, save for the central figure, a commanding officer, who, with +raised hat and mounted on a white charger, seemed galloping down the +line of troops and straight out of the picture at the spectator. + +All these details did Mrs. Faurie successively scan as she sat languidly +pulling on a pair of long gray gloves; all were brought into new +significance, into added harmony, in the readjustment of the room. She +seemed at great leisure, and it was some time before she spoke again. + +“You give a very beguiling aspect to scholastic labor. I don’t think +that I should mind learning a thing or two, myself, from you here.” + +She looked at him with a smile touching the curving lines of her lips. +His cheek flushed. He lifted his head as he returned her look. It was a +fine head, and was well poised on his broad shoulders. That wonderful +magnetic smile of hers was addressed to him, and he must needs have been +more than human had he not responded to its subtle, unconscious +flattery. He had been so reduced in pride, in the esteem of the specious +world, so thwarted, agonized, deprived, humiliated, that this look of +interest, of rallying mirth, of alluring charm, was singularly suave to +his sensitive perceptions. For a moment his face was as it used to be; +his dark blue eyes had a serene light, confident, spirited; they were +smiling in their turn. His expression was lifted out of its wonted cold +constraint,—it was earnest, ardent; and he seemed to Colonel Kentopp, +pausing at the window on the veranda, as handsome a man as could be +found between Lake Itasca and the Balize; he was stricken with amaze by +the mutual expression of the two. + +“It would be my place and privilege to sit at your feet, Mrs. Faurie,” +said Desmond. + +Perhaps because she was acclimated to the language of admiration and +missed it sorely at Great Oaks, perhaps because she was so genuinely +pleased with the tutor as a tutor that she could but approve him as a +man, she cast upon him a warm radiance from her beautiful eyes, and +broke out laughing and flushing as a much younger woman might have done. + +“What a pretty speech, Mr. Desmond,—and how pitifully insincere! What +under heaven could you hope to learn from me?” + +He had not seen before that exquisite dimple in her cheek, for she +seldom laughed with such exuberant mirth, or perhaps he might not have +answered with such definite aplomb. + +“I should learn those higher things beyond the ken of books,” he +declared. + +Before the fire was quenched in Desmond’s eyes, the pose of his head +shifted, the flush on his cheek faded, while yet the whole changed +aspect of the man was patent, Colonel Kentopp conceived it beneath his +dignity to stand on the veranda and look in the library window at what +seemed to him singularly like a flirtation between his hostess and the +tutor of her sons. He forthwith laid his hand on the window-catch, and +as it clicked in opening, Mrs. Faurie turned and burst into a peal of +silvery laughter while he slowly and ponderously entered. + +“How funny!” she exclaimed. “Where is our walk on the levee? Have all +our party fallen by the way or dispersed? I took upon me the mission to +find Mr. Desmond, and I suppose the rest sent you to find me.” + +Colonel Kentopp could not smooth out the frown that would gather and be +dissipated to corrugate his brow anew as he listened. She seemed all +joyous unconsciousness and insouciance, yet this might be affected. He +could not judge whether she was merely carrying off the awkwardness of +having been so absorbed in the tutor’s conversation as to forget her +waiting guests and her own errand, which was to invite him to join the +party in a walk along the levee, or whether she was genuinely interested +as she called Colonel Kentopp’s attention to the changes by which Mr. +Desmond had so enhanced the attractions of the library. Colonel Kentopp, +who was as far removed from the possibility of the appreciation of any +literary point as a man of intelligence and education can well be, +surveyed with blank assent the details which she indicated to him. + +“I thought,” he could not refrain from saying, “that you always declared +that you did not care _un sou marqué_ how things look at Great Oaks +Plantation.” + +“But this is not ‘things’—it is thought; it was done with an idea,—an +inspiration. There never was a duller and a dowdier old room, and now it +is replete with suggestion, with charm, with all the allurements of +learning; and miracle of all, without the expenditure of a cent of +money.” + +“Take care, Mrs. Faurie,” said Colonel Kentopp, laughing in that +mirthless, rallying way in which privileged friends give themselves the +pleasure of saying a disagreeable thing in the guise of jest; “after all +your open-handed career, you may become a miser yet.” + +“Heaven send the day!” she exclaimed. And long, long afterward Desmond +remembered the phrase and her look as she uttered the words. “It might +be better for me and mine if the open hand had been always the close +fist.” Then she broke off suddenly,—“Why, there is Mrs. Kentopp.” + +For that lady was coming in, laughing very much, which always started +her pink flush to justify her blonded hair, and declaring that she had +almost gone to sleep on the sofa in the parlor, while they neglected her +and kept her waiting. If Colonel Kentopp had had scant appreciation of +the esthetic value of the changes that Desmond had wrought in the aspect +of the library, Mrs. Kentopp’s glacial, superficial glance at its +details implied absolute disregard. It might have been a lesson to +reduce the vanity of those purblind insects denominated men of science, +who grope about the hidden meanings of the universe, who seek to +“unclench from the granite hand of Nature her mighty secrets,” to bring +near the stars, to revive the dead life of the rocks, to discern the +brush that paints the flower and leaf, to descry whence comes the +fashion of the cloud, to find out the paths of the trackless oceans, +could they have appraised the degree of Mrs. Kentopp’s contempt for +their objects as her eyes rested upon the insignia afforded by the +telescope, the geological cabinet, the skeleton leaves, the epitome of +history and poetry above the mantelpiece. Her flout of intentional +inattention was so patent, her air of minimizing, almost ridiculing the +importance of the tutor and all which to him pertained, that it became +obvious to the other two that the afternoon walk was in order, and they +were presently sauntering down the veranda, while Desmond ran for his +hat. + +To Desmond’s surprise, he was not in the slightest degree mortified, nor +intimidated, nor crushed by Mrs. Kentopp’s manner, as she had doubtless +intended he should be. He was noting the fact that, despite their +apparent intimacy, these people did not call each other by their +Christian names after the manner of their sort elsewhere. It had never +been the custom in this region, where a certain formality of the old +regime still lingers, and he felt a kind of special gratitude that he +was not called upon to endure to hear Mrs. Faurie address Colonel +Kentopp as “Tom,” and his wife as “Annetta,” and their responsive +familiarity to her as “Honoria.” + +The four walked abreast along the winding avenue under the boughs of the +dense trees of the grove, which was perfectly clear of undergrowth and +as level as a floor. Now and again the colonnades formed by the great +boles parted to show beautiful open, grassy vistas amongst the gigantic +growths that had given the place its name; but the eye could reach no +limits of the forest, save on one side where the river had come +“cranking in and cut a monstrous cantle out.” The party struck off +presently into a byway, which at length brought them into the road at +the base of the levee. Here they climbed the great embankment covered +with Bermuda grass. The short, dense growth was evidently feeling the +spring of the year in its thick mat of roots that held the earth +together, being an almost impervious network of innumerable, interlacing +fibres, and of special utility because of its imperviousness in times of +“fighting water.” As they took their way along the broad path upon the +summit, they could view from the elevation, of peculiar advantage in so +flat a country, a vast circuit of the surrounding landscape. The water +was high and the river was still on the rise. The space outside the +levee seemed to Desmond to have shrunken very perceptibly since he had +seen it a few days before. This strip varied greatly in width; now it +looked at the distance as if it might measure a mile or more, and at +certain points it showed only a few hundred yards, with here and there +marshy intimations and disconnected pools where the water stood and +reflected the light like oval mirrors. The sun, down-dropping, vermilion +red, had turned all the currents of the great stream to crimson, and as +it sunk lower and lower the shadows began to gloom in the dense woods on +the hither shore, albeit there was still a line of gilding sunlight +glinting along the forest summits. + +It was all very quiet; not a craft was visible on the currents; the vast +river was absolutely mute. Despite the fact that this is one of the +great highways of the world, a natural channel from boreal to +subtropical climes, designed, one might fancy, to bring man near his +brother man, without reference to his own ingenuity of device,—in +conquering the wilderness, harnessing the steam, annulling time, and +obliterating distance,—it could have seemed no lonelier were theirs the +first of human eyes to rest upon it. There was no trace, no suggestion +of man’s presence, save the great embankment of the levee along the +river-side, now and again receding so far inland as to elude the sight, +and the newly arrived “shanty-boat” lying at the landing. + +This craft held the degree of comparison with the usual trading-boat of +these waters that a junk-shop bears to a warehouse. Desmond’s attention +was first attracted to the humble and grotesque nondescript vessel when +Chub, nimbly footing it in his trim little knickerbockers and +well-filled stockings and natty Paris shoes, to overtake the group, +joined his mother; he began to bang upon her, his arm about her waist, +his head lolling against her arm, begging and pleading with her to buy +him a bicycle,—a beautiful second-hand wheel,—which the amphibious +trader had assured him was as good as new. + +“But you have your own wheel,” she remonstrated. “You actually want +another? You would have to be a quadruped to ride both.” + +“And a long-eared one at that!” Colonel Kentopp declared, somewhat +nettled; for his own small son had come up on the other side, casting up +lustrous, anxious eyes, beseeching that if Chub did not secure this +treasure, dear, _dear_ papa would open his heart and purse and bestow it +upon him; for woe to tell! he had no bicycle whatever,—he had only a +tricycle, and a bitter blow it was to his pride when Chub rode a safety +and he could only accompany him, bowed to the earth, as it were, on a +humiliating three-wheeler. + +“My wheel?—Gracious! my wheel is all out of whack!” cried the tumultuous +Chub. “Just look at it, mamma,—that is all I ask. Just go down to the +trading-boat and look at the wheel,—a—beautiful—second-hand—bike!” + +“But, Chubby, it would be out of the question for you to own two wheels +and both already used—” + +“Mine’s got a punctured tire,” wailed Chub. + +“Gimme second choice,—if Chub don’t make it; lemme have it, papa dear,” +beguiled the Kentopp hopeful. + +It had been Desmond’s firm determination, rigidly observed so far, that +he would have no concern with his pupils other than scholastic. He would +consider the trend of the conversation in their presence, as indeed is +necessary always in association with young persons, that the equilibrium +of their moral, political, or religious convictions be not shaken till +they are of sufficient age and discretion to exercise a sober and +independent judgment. He would direct their thoughts to subjects of +value in their general reading. He would impart information or correct +mistaken impressions in the course of casual chat. He would in moments +of recreation narrate details of special interest or amusement, and thus +further incidentally the judicious development of their mental +faculties. But with the problems of their control outside the +schoolroom, their sports, their manners, their moral training, he would +not tax himself. This was in a manner interference, however salutary, +and might be resented by those in actual authority, resulting in anarchy +for the youths, and their last estate would be worse than their first. +He thus argued that he did not stand in _loco parentis_; he was simply a +machine for the furtherance of learning, a paid purveyor of wisdom, and +when his day’s work was ended his responsibility ceased for the day. +Therefore he was surprised at himself when he stepped forward briskly, +as Mrs. Faurie, with a somewhat doubtful and disconsolate air, yielded +so far as to agree to examine the treasure, and turned to the descent of +the levee on the outer side. + +“Let me go and examine the wheel, Mrs. Faurie, and report its condition +to you; I understand these machines better, probably, than you do.” + +She turned back with a wave of the hand,—a fine, free gesture at arm’s +length. “A rescue!” she exclaimed. “I was just wondering if I could +survive the unmitigated boredom of the tires, and the bell, and the +handle-bar, and the pedals, and the saddle. Is the date set for your +canonization, Mr. Desmond? Go, by all means, and add another to your +deeds of grace.” + +But Chub emitted a disconcerted whine. “I don’t wish you to go, Mr. +Desmond,” he plained, with the unwitting insolence of juvenile +sincerity. + +Desmond was not out of countenance; he even sustained the furtive sneer +in Mrs. Kentopp’s face. “Just as it happens, I don’t care in the least +what you wish.” + +“Now, there it is, mamma. I want the bike, and Mr. Desmond doesn’t care +what I want; _he says so_.” + +“It ought to be little trouble to teach the logical ideas of the clever +Chub to shoot straight,” commented Colonel Kentopp. + +“Well, then,” Mrs. Faurie could not resist, “suppose I go, too. Mr. +Desmond can instruct me as to the perfection of the tires and the bell +and the handle-bar, and the tumbling guaranty, warranted to give the +best headers in the market,”—she was looking down with her gracious +maternal smile at Chub, as in his tumultuous callowness he clamored and +clung about her skirts (“Oh, rats! mamma, it’s got no tumbling +guaranty,” he interposed),—“and in the mean time I can meditate on the +price.” + +“But, mamma, it is cheap, it is dirt cheap, it is dog cheap.” + +“What is the price?” Desmond demanded. + +When Chub responded, the tutor might have had a salutary monition of the +discretion of his resolution to keep apart from the affairs of his +pupils outside the schoolroom. “You just wait and see,” said Chub, +sullenly. + +“Come!” cried Mrs. Faurie, her foot poised on the verge of the outer +descent of the levee, her skirts held daintily clear of the grass with +her left hand, her right about the shoulders of the enterprising Chub. +She looked back with bright expectation at the Kentopps as they stood +motionless. + +“Thank you, no,” said Colonel Kentopp. “We will await you here. I shan’t +put myself in temptation’s way. To be dragooned into buying a crippled +bike from such a trading-boat as that would be the final blow to my +paternal authority.” + +He and his wife looked gravely after the pedestrians while standing +together on the summit of the levee. The sparkle and suavity of their +countenances, addressed to the exigencies of society, were dying out. +They both seemed years older in a moment. Mrs. Kentopp’s haggard pallor +was unrelieved by the flush that was wont to come and go as she laughed, +and a certain pendulous effect of the cheeks became noticeable in the +immobile contemplativeness of her expression. Her husband was more +saturnine than one could have imagined from his arrogations of bonhomie. +He had a spark of irritation in his eyes, too sharply flashing to have +been kindled merely by the persistence of his little son, now picking +his way after the group bound toward the trading-boat, now pausing +irresolute. + +“Mr. Stanlett is certainly in his dotage!” Colonel Kentopp exclaimed +acridly. “I never could have imagined him guilty of such folly as to +bring that man here.” + +“Why, what is the matter with the man?”—his wife had a short, crisp +tone, level and direct, and all devoid of the little aspirations and +sudden rising inflections and exclamatory interludes which interspersed +the tenor of her usual discourse. + +“The matter,—why, he is as handsome as a picture! He has the dignity of +a lord, and I never saw a man who seemed more highly bred.” + +“Well,”—she drawled, “don’t you consider those facts advantages? A +stranger in one’s house is always a nuisance, but it is better that a +tutor or governess should be as genteel as possible.” + +“Great Scott! Annetta, how can you be so dense? He is a man whom Honoria +Faurie might very well elect to fall in love with and marry.” + +Mrs. Kentopp laughed in derision,—not her breathy, flushing, becoming +laughter, but a simple cackle of scorn. “Why, he is young enough to be +her son.” + +“He is ten years younger,—that is all.” + +“_All!_ Ten years is enough. No doubt she seems an old lady to him.” + +“You wouldn’t think so if you had caught a glimpse of his face as I saw +them talking together in the library. They would make a very comely +married couple.” + +“Why, Tom Kentopp, you are wild! She would have to give up that big +income if she married, thirty thousand dollars of it every year are as +certain as taxes, chargeable on the whole estate, and the Great Oaks +crops besides,—and take instead only her dower rights in Tennessee,—just +a life-interest in a third of the real property, with that old Nashville +residence, in a locality that is awfully unfashionable nowadays,—she has +never lived there since Mr. Faurie’s death,—and a fourth of the +Mississippi property. And such a sacrifice for such a man,—a penniless +tutor! Why, if it were not way down here in the swamp, he would seem +hardly of more consequence than a courier.” + +“Exactly; it is a mighty lonesome country for a pretty widow, and he is +a mighty fine man.” + +Mrs. Kentopp grew grave. “I never was more surprised than when he came +into the parlor. I expected to see a little lean, wizened body, like the +man they had last,—little Mr. ——, Mr. ——, I have forgotten the little +animal’s name. This man is not at all what a tutor should be in +appearance; he carries himself as if he owned the world. And his look of +cool, assured gravity is positively insulting. I don’t think that he +gave himself the trouble to fetch out a smile throughout luncheon.” + +“He was not amused, perhaps,” Colonel Kentopp suggested. + +“But he should be amused when his betters choose to be merry,” the lady +retorted. + +“It would be a deuced unpleasant thing for us,” her husband resumed the +matrimonial speculation. “As long as Mrs. Faurie is in the world among +her peers, and the value of that large and certain income is forever in +her mind, with the bliss of spending it, and living like a princess, I +am not afraid. Besides, the lords and counts would back out the instant +the settlements would reveal the awful trap that Faurie set for his +successor. But this man, this Desmond, would be mighty well satisfied +with the division that gives her a life-interest in one third of the +Tennessee real estate and a fourth part of the personalty there, and a +fourth absolutely of everything in Mississippi. It would be a long sight +better than tutoring. He would be mighty glad for another fellow to be +hired to teach Chub,—especially with Chub’s own money. Mrs. Faurie is at +no expense on her sons’ account—except such as is voluntary; she gives +them those costly foreign trips, for instance.” + +“But _she_,—she wouldn’t be satisfied with that provision;—she would not +give up her income for any man living.” + +“This is a very exceptional man, and this is the jumping-off place of +all creation,” persisted Kentopp. + +Mrs. Kentopp’s shallow eyes scanned the far reaches of the Mississippi. +The sun was no longer visible, but the vermilion reflection was still +red upon the rippling waters, for the afterglow was in the sky. “I don’t +see how Honoria Faurie manages so badly as to come to the end of her +income in this way; it is positively ridiculous,” she said, with a sort +of petulance. + +Colonel Kentopp bit off the end of his cigar and spat it forth with an +expression that suggested it might be bitter, but his thought was +wormwood. “Oh, she even anticipates her income as far as she can,—she +spends at such a clip! She bought her steam yacht with her _savings_, +Chub told me.” He smiled derisively. “It is in dock now; it ought to +have been chartered while she is on dry land.” + +“And her automobile is another extravagance; why couldn’t she hire a +touring-car for the little time that she is rusticating while abroad?” + +“Princesses don’t stoop to such economies, that is, abroad. Economy +befits the swamp. I have nothing to say against the diamonds, although I +think she might well have been satisfied with the Faurie family +jewels,—nor yet those wonderful emeralds, for such ‘savings’ have an +intrinsic value. But it does seem a most mischievous mischance that she +should have to _faire maigre_ here in the swamp just at this time, with +such a hero of romance as Mr. Stanlett has introduced as tutor.” + +“Mr. Stanlett never saw him till he was engaged and had arrived. I heard +him say that the whole matter was arranged by correspondence through Mr. +Keith, the boys’ guardian. It seems that he and the tutor had some +mutual friends. I understand that this fellow has an exceptional +collegiate record,—though if he has, I should think he could get a +better place. But why should his presence here concern us, do you +think?” + +“Because if there were a prospect that the Faurie property might come on +the market for division, as the result of her marriage, at any +reasonably early day, we should never be able to sell Dryad-Dene +Plantation to Jack Loring. He evidently much prefers Great Oaks.” + +Her face lowered heavily. “I was just beginning to think of that,” she +said, now dully out of sorts. + +“There are actual advantages,” he argued. “Dryad-Dene Plantation is +subject to overflow, and Great Oaks rarely goes under unless their cross +levee breaks. Our lands are cut up with bayous and sloughs, while Great +Oaks has thousands of acres as level as a floor and as dry as a bone. +And then the old house, the groves and the glades. Loring is as new as +yesterday, himself, but he wants a place reeking of ancestors and +aristocratic traditions.” + +“I don’t see why; it is his one merit that he grew in a single night! It +is Jack that has shot up so surprisingly this time, and not the +beanstalk,” said Mrs. Kentopp, sourly. + +“He isn’t going to stay new. That is the reason he does not locate +somewhere else. The Great Oaks air of the _ancien régime_, its +shabbiness and out-at-elbows look of romantic poverty, the ruin of +princes, on account of that woman’s grudging neglect, when it is really +bursting with richness and luxury, would fill his bill exactly. Loring +would be furnished with all manner of aristocratic hereditaments, and in +ten years people would forget that he was not born at Great Oaks. His +people were natives of this region, and his name is familiar in +Deepwater Bend; he would rather own Great Oaks than anything else his +millions can buy. Let him once hear of that prince-in-disguise-looking +tutor, of fine family and exceptional cultivation, in constant +association with the beautiful Mrs. Faurie! He is not precipitate at +best. He will wait till the division of the Faurie estate consequent +upon a second marriage puts Great Oaks up at auction to the highest +bidder.” + +Mrs. Kentopp’s face seemed in anxiety to suffer somewhat of a collapse. +How, it might be impossible to describe, but now her blonde hair showed +that much of it near her face was false, when its naturalness of +arrangement had rendered this suspicion impossible hitherto. She was one +of the women not pretty, but who contrive to compass that reputation by +assuming the pose, the conscious attire, the bridling expression. As she +looked now, the coquettishness of her equipment was a painful commentary +upon her appearance, haggard with disappointment and foreboding. For the +Kentopps had scant affinity with this secluded life in the Mississippi +bottom, and they had not had such resources as Mrs. Faurie for shaking +its mud—one cannot say its dust—from their feet for indefinite periods +of absence. The sale of Dryad-Dene Plantation, with its elaborate +industrial equipment and beautiful modern residence, would make possible +the dream of their lives,—its transmutation into a handsome town house +in New Orleans and a summer cottage on the Gulf coast, with lands enough +somewhere at the minimum price to rent out to tenants to make cotton, as +lands are created to do, to furnish an income for the absentees. But +purchasers for a property of such value as Dryad-Dene are rare, and the +_ci-devant_ swamper, Loring, who had grown very rich by speculation, was +one of the few men who cared to invest in so inconvertible an asset as a +fine house and large plantation in Deepwater Bend. A species of +self-assertion it was to him, perchance. Here where he was born, as poor +as poverty, though of genteel and respectable parentage, he could, as a +bit of luxury, own the finest estate around which the river curved, and +in the scene of his early privations have its magnates in hot +competition to place their splendid holdings in the best light for his +somewhat supercilious appraisement. + +“It would be idiotic,—it would positively be ridiculous—and she ten +years older,” Mrs. Kentopp declared bitterly. + +Suddenly, like the lightning-change effect of a performer on the stage, +she resumed her wonted aspect as if by magic. Her cheeks rounded out; +her flush came and went; her lips were again curving and plump with +distending smiles over her white teeth; her eyes were all a-sparkle; and +she was waving the end of her long feather boa in a response of +exaggerated mirth to a fancied greeting from the door of the +“shanty-boat” far below. Mrs. Faurie was issuing thence, lifting one of +her delicate hands, gloved to the elbow in gray kid; but the gesture was +one of protest. She was not looking at her guests, but after a loutish, +grotesque, thick-set man, of amphibious suggestions, who was springing +with great leaps up the bank with an open knife in his hand. With this +he so swiftly cut die rope that held the boat to a gnarled old tree, +that the craft, feeling the impulse of the current, began to move from +the shore before Mrs. Faurie could step from the gang-plank of the deck +to the ground. As it was, the ripples ran over her feet, and she +exclaimed aloud in agitation and sudden fright. She was safely on the +bank when Desmond, still on the deck, sprang lightly across the +ever-widening interval of water, now almost impracticable, swinging Chub +ashore with a hand under each of the boy’s arms. As the boatman came +running down the bank Desmond paused, and meeting him at the margin, +struck him between the eyes a blow so fair and furious that the fellow +was weltering saurian-like in the water before he scarcely realized that +he had been felled. Perhaps the deficiencies of his craft, with no +propelling power, constrained his attention; perhaps the vigor of the +blow tamed his rancorous rage. He made no effort at reprisal, though +Desmond lingered on the bank, but struck out swimming after his boat, +and turned, only when once more safe on deck and out of Desmond’s reach, +to gaze lowering and askance across the water, with a look at once +vengeful, amazed, and dismayed. + +“What can have happened?” exclaimed Mrs. Kentopp, watching the scene +from afar with wondering eyes. “Mr. Paragon is a muscular Christian, it +seems.” + +“He is very injudicious,” said Colonel Kentopp, gravely. “These +water-side vagrants are often dangerous rascals,—river pirates. Their +good-will is safer than their grudges.” + + + + + CHAPTER V + + +The errand within the cabin of the shanty-boat had not proved swift or +easy of dispatch. When Desmond and Mrs. Faurie had approached the dingy +and plebeian craft along the muddy bank, he once more urged that she +should wait without and permit him to make the preliminary examination. + +“The boat is clean!” cried Chub, on the defensive. “It is as clean as +any other old place. Mr. Desmond is so particular. It _isn’t_ damp. Its +smell is just doolicious.” + +Chub continued insistent, and Mrs. Faurie once more yielded. + +Oakum, tar, and the peculiar and distinctive odor of junk were the +blended perfumes thus lauded which floated out to them from the open +door of the cabin. The boat was gently oscillating on the current, +teetering as if with the instinct of dance, for the river was at flood +height, and even thus close to the shore the encroaching waters were +deep. As Mrs. Faurie and Desmond made their way along the gang-plank to +the deck, she glanced over her shoulder at the great cable that held the +craft to the bank, passed again and again around the girth of a tree. “I +hope she is tied up fast and hard; I should object of all things to go +floating down the Mississippi River, the involuntary guest of such a +trading-boat, impossible to land except by the uncovenanted grace of the +current.” + +The cabin seemed dark at first, by contrast with the pellucid atmosphere +without. A formless hodgepodge of barrel and box, of bunk and junk, it +presented, until the eye was sufficiently accustomed to its comparative +obscurity to discern such degree of symmetry as informed its +arrangement. One end was dedicated to the domestic life of the +proprietor; holding the cooking apparatus, expressed in a monkey stove +that furnished heat as well, a tier of bunks on either side, a few +broken-backed chairs grouped around a table, a gaunt, pale woman in a +tattered gray woolen skirt and a man’s ragged red sweater, with a mass +of dull, straight brown hair “banged” across her freckled forehead and +hanging unkempt down upon her shoulders. She held in her arms a wan, +puny baby, bent on sucking its thumb, and giving the universe only such +attention as it could spare from that absorbing occupation. Knowing this +habit to be an infringement of juvenile etiquette, the woman had tried +to effect a diversion the instant she saw the flutter of Mrs. Faurie’s +gray silk gown at the door. But a house cannot be set in order for +distinguished inspection on the spur of the moment, and still less can a +neglected infant’s conduct be immediately brought up to standard. A +piercing, heart-rending wail made the air hideous, and as the released +thumb, all curiously translucent and blanched and reduced in size, went +back into the child’s mouth, Mrs. Faurie, entering, whirled around and +saw both the effort to save appearances and its failure. + +She shook her head in indignant rebuke. “That will never do!” she said +imperiously. “You ought not to let the child spoil its hand. That is a +bad habit, and keeps it from being bright. It just sogs away over that +old thumb, and you don’t care so long as it is quiet and doesn’t worry +you.” + +The woman rose with a belligerent toss of the head. “Mighty easy to +talk!—mighty easy! But you just wait, young lady, till you gits some +childern of yer own, an’ see if you won’t be sorter lax todes anythink +that will keep ’em from yellin’, when yer head is achin’ fit ter bust. I +been havin’ chills and ager all winter.” + +“_Some children of my own!_” Mrs. Faurie drew herself up, majestic and +boastful. “I have _three_ of my own,—nearly as tall as I am—_three_! +This”—pulling Chub forward—“is my baby,—and doesn’t suck his thumb, and +never did. And that reminds me,” she continued, as the forlorn river +nymph stared amazed at this rich and brilliant apparition of health, and +wealth, and beauty, and transcendent youth that might have seemed +immortal, feeling the contrast God knows how poignantly, “there are a +lot of baby clothes left over up at my house—I am Mrs. Faurie and live +close by;—they will fit that fellow out for a year or two to come. I +will send them down to you this evening if you will promise to put some +pepper on that child’s thumb to keep it out of his mouth.” + +The woman murmured her thanks, but she did not feel her gratitude so +acutely, rags and dirt being the natural concomitants of her life, as +her interest in this resplendent personage, and the error as to her age +and state of life. “Lord!”—she smiled broadly, showing the devastations +of a mouth whence many aching teeth had been “rotted out with bluestone” +in default of a dentist’s care—“I thought you was just a girl,—turned +twenty, mebbe; and this”—she pointed at Desmond—“was your courtin’ +beau.” + +Mrs. Faurie for once looked embarrassed. “Oh, no,” she recovered herself +swiftly; “I’m getting middle-aged now. And where is the bicycle, +Chubby?” + +The other end of the cabin was fitted up as a store, with shelves about +the walls and a sort of counter. Here were displayed toys and gewgaws of +imitation jewelry and beads, some bolts of coarse cloth, a glitter of +tinware, some earthen and wooden bowls, an assortment of candies and +canned goods, tobacco, fine cut and plug, snuff, and some boxes of cheap +cigars. Incongruously enough, among these things was a fine, fresh +bicycle, with pneumatic tires, evidently perfectly new. + +Desmond looked sharply across the counter as the sodden, amphibious, +nondescript animal that the raftsman seemed, hardly frog, hardly fish, +hardly water-rat, yet partaking of the characteristics of all three, +eyed the party furtively from his place among his medley of wares. His +straight red hair was pulled forward in wisps on his brow as if it had +been wet in a ducking and matted there. His big black hat was on the +back of his head. His freckled, red, mottled face had a sort of soaked, +bloated suggestion. He hesitated for a very perceptible interval before +he named the price, and Mrs. Faurie exclaimed in surprise:— + +“Ten dollars! Why, Chubby, you told me that the price was five”; for +Chub had waxed confidential with his mother as they had approached, her +opposition withdrawn. + +Chubby’s earnest, eager countenance scarcely showed above a pile of +cigar boxes on the counter over which he peered. He was genuinely +surprised, yet not willing to seek to take advantage of any mistake that +he might have made. + +“I understood you to say that you would sell the wheel for five +dollars”; he addressed the boatman directly, with a sober but +unflinching gaze. + +The trader’s broad face did not change, but there was a furtive gleam in +his quick, sharply glancing, rodent-like eye, which sought to measure +Chub’s simplicity. “No, sport, I said ten,” he declared, with a smile +showing teeth singularly sharp and closely set together in his wide +mouth, appearing as if he had more than the ordinary complement. + +Another man in the background, big and raw-boned, but young, leaning +against the door of a cubby-hole at the rear, which from some +obstruction, apparently hastily thrust within, would not shut fast, +seemed to bear witness to this statement. He grimaced affirmatively at +Chub with the familiarity of previous acquaintance. He had a large face, +which seemed somehow out of drawing, as if swollen here and there, and +with uninflamed red spots. One eye and one eyebrow were higher than the +other, and he had a half-witted or mentally weak appearance, suddenly +confirmed when he abruptly licked out a large red tongue in grotesque +triumph in the conclusion of the dicker, as Chub responded:— + +“Well, ten dollars is cheap anyhow,—dirt cheap,—dog cheap. We will buy +it at ten, won’t we, mamma?” + +The proprietor had taken Desmond’s measure the instant he entered the +cabin. Silently gazing at one another across the counter, both knew as +well as if the fact had been put into words that the price had been +doubled to meet his scrutiny. It would have been still further advanced +had the trader better understood the quality of the wheel. + +“Why, ten is _very_ cheap,” Mrs. Faurie began. + +“We cannot buy it at ten,” Desmond interrupted swiftly,—“in fact, not at +any price.” + +Mrs. Faurie turned toward him in angry surprise, her eyes blazing. He +met them without flinching. “You must take my word for it!” he said +sternly. “Chubby shall not have it! It is useless to discuss prices.” + +Desmond had laid his hand on Mrs. Faurie’s arm and was about to lead her +forth, when the flatboat-man in sudden fury flung the machine down +behind the counter with a great clatter of the spokes and pedals. + +“No, no!” he vociferated to Chubby, the insurgent, who was hopefully +emptying his pockets and counting his cash; “_you_ can’t buy it at any +price. Clear out!—the whole bunch of ye. I’m about to cast off. I’ll +souse any stowaways in your old Mississippi bilge-water. I’ll cut the +rope and see how ye’ll get ashore then! I’ll land you all in the Gulf of +Mexico!” As he voiced his frenzied, disconnected, incoherent threats he +suddenly ran past the group, sprang from the deck, and with deer-like +swiftness sped up the bank, his open knife in his hand. + +Within the cabin Mrs. Faurie started back in dismay as the half-witted +creature left the door he had held closed, now showing within the cubby +a glimpse of coarse bagging, intimating a surreptitious cotton bale, the +corner of which had prevented the slipping of the bolt. He jumped up and +down before the group with a capering step and a wild and foolish eye, +now to the right as they pushed toward the door, and as they turned +aside, now to the left, evidently with the intention of preventing or +delaying their exit. Even the woman pushed a chair in front of Mrs. +Faurie so suddenly that her knees struck painfully against it. “Take a +seat, lady,” she said mockingly. “Oh, _do_ take a seat!” + +Desmond scarcely could credit his senses. It was like a disordered scene +of a dream. His logical faculties grasped but the one idea of flight. +“Make haste,” he cried out to Mrs. Faurie. “Get off the boat even if you +jump into the water.” For he felt that the craft was already loosed and +moving from the bank. + +“For God’s sake, hurry!” he adjured her. + +Then as the great gawk of an idiot sprang again in front of them, +Desmond seized him, with an effort to sway him back and forth and fling +him from his feet; but the river man was as strong and heavier, with a +stolidity and lack of expectancy that seemed to add sensibly to his +weight and immovableness; and when he was finally thrown, it was after a +series of struggles that carried them locked and swaying together around +the room, both coming down at last with a tremendous crash, bringing +with them not only the stove-pipe but the monkey stove itself. This +spewed forth a cataract of live coals over the floor, and as the clouds +of soot and smoke circled about the rafters, obscuring still further the +dingy quarters, the woman exclaimed loudly and resentfully her fears of +fire in notes of woe and injury, and left off such schemes of hindrance +as she had furthered to run for a bucket of water from the shelf. A coal +had touched the gigantic idiot, and he was bleating like some great calf +in a wide open-mouthed blare of sound till admonished by her to lend his +aid in extinguishing the fire. + +In the midst of the confusion Desmond seized Chub, and though doubting +if he could compass the space as the current swung the boat ever farther +and farther from the bank, he leaped ashore. The flatboat-man was at the +moment running down the bank for the purpose of reëmbarking. Despite the +limit on his time which the receding craft imposed, he suddenly swerved +from his intention, and made a swift lunge at Desmond, intending to stab +him in the back. The attack was not altogether unexpected. Desmond, on +the alert, sprang lightly aside, and, being unarmed, struck the boatman +with his clenched fist, the blow landing between the eyes. + +It was a short, sharp fracas and an easy victory. Desmond was a trained +boxer, and here he had light and air and elbow-room, which he had lacked +in the wrestle within the cabin. There was not a word spoken between the +two; but after the boatman had dragged himself out of the water where he +was tossed, to his jeopardy of drowning in the suction, and regained the +deck, Desmond, breathless and agitated, took his way up the bank to +rejoin Mrs. Faurie, muttering to himself, and now and again pausing to +look back over his shoulder at the progress of the boat. + +“He ought to be apprehended. If Kentopp had a pistol and had been +nearer, we might together have held them both. Perhaps the miscreant +might be stopped by a shot if we can get a rifle at Great Oaks mansion; +but no,—he’ll be too far down the river by that time. The boat is +crossing in the current; he is going to try to get screened behind the +towhead, and then the boat will hug the Arkansas shore, and it will be +too dark and far to risk a shot. Is there no chance to overhaul him? Is +there no telegraph station nearer than Fairglade, Mrs. Faurie?” + +But Mrs. Faurie, pale and bewildered, did not reply directly. “Why, Mr. +Desmond, that man tried to abduct us all! What could have been his +object?” + +“Nefarious enough, no doubt; but I don’t understand it at all.” +Desmond’s eyes had now a more definite expression of heed, yet she was +aware that she only shared his attention. + +“And upon my word, Mr. Desmond, I don’t understand your high-handed +interference,” she exclaimed. “What was the matter with the bicycle? It +seemed a very good wheel. It was your refusal to allow us to buy it that +made all the difficulty.” + +“The wheel was too good,” said Desmond,—“too good entirely for the +price. It was perfectly new and obviously stolen. It was worth fifty +dollars at least, and was offered at five. Chubby is no fool to mistake +a price. The trader doubled the price when he saw me. But the rise was +not enough.” + +“Oh, how fortunate that you were with us! I know nothing of the value of +these things. No, Chubby, you must never buy from a doubtful source an +article far below its value; it implies that you profit by a fraud that +you understand.” Then looking over her shoulder, “How distant they are +down the river. Mr. Desmond, _look_ how fast the current is running. Do +you suppose they were afraid that we would report the suspicious bargain +bicycle?” + +There was something evidently more than this. No mere effort to avoid +the imputation of receiving stolen goods would justify such violence, +Desmond was reflecting. The Great Oaks party were to be drowned, as if +by accident, before the eyes of their friends; or they were to be +carried off by a similar unlucky chance apparently, and among some +trackless network of sloughs and bayous and lakes of the swamp country, +of which such craft is the only voyager, the rickety flatboat would be +sunk, with all on board save only the murderous crew, surviving not to +tell the tale, and disappearing without a trace,—or was the whole +demonstration the expression only of the wild, ungovernable rage of the +miscreant, that such a clue to some terrible and heinous crime had been +thus fortuitously discovered? + +Desmond could not judge, and he looked with a sense of baffled mystery +at the craft as it swung along in midstream, smoke issuing not only from +the stove-pipe, evidently once more in place, but from the windows and +door as well. There was in this obviously no menace, for the proprietor +was seated upon the deck at large leisure, manipulating an old violin in +a style of very jaunty bravado. The strains floated far on the +transmitting medium of the water, and the tune was easily +distinguishable as again and again the catgut reiterated “A hot time,—a +hot time in the old town to-night.” Desmond was of the opinion that the +incident should be forthwith reported to the authorities. But Mr. +Stanlett, hearing the details with some concern, demurred to the +proposition. + +“You cannot be certain that the bicycle was stolen,—at any rate, by that +particular flatboat-man. He may have bought it among a lot of stolen +stuff, to be sure, but offered it for sale again, not knowing its value +or suspecting its history,—a _bona-fide_ purchaser himself.” + +Desmond listened in surprise, for Mr. Stanlett had not impressed him as +of a particularly charitable nature nor lenient in his judgments. + +They were sitting around the hearth in the front parlor after dinner; +the fire was blazing in cheery wise, more in accord with the chill of +the night and the record of the calendar than the springlike atmosphere +of the day just closing in. The Kentopps were staying overnight, and the +topic had been for some time up for discussion, after the manner of +those whose lives are leisurely affairs and of little distraction. It +had come in with the cigars, for the gentlemen had been sociably +permitted to bring them into this sanctum after the service of the +coffee. + +“We want to hear you talk,” said Mrs. Kentopp, with a pretty _moue_. + +“Yes, indeed,” cried Mrs. Faurie; “a man never has an idea in his head +unless he has a cigar in his mouth. There is some obscure psychological +connection between facility of cerebration and blowing rings, and some +day when I am not too busy, I’ll think it out.” + +“As to the boatman’s casting off in that hasty way,” said Mr. Stanlett, +pursuing the subject, “that is not an infrequent trick with better +craft. Why, in my time I have been inadvertently left at a wayside +landing ten miles from a habitation,—no joke in this country way back in +the fifties,—and I have been carried off halfway to Vicksburg before I +knew that the boiler had steam up. It is a pity that you floored the +men. You overrated the provocation. Rough river rats can’t be expected +to show drawing-room manners. That is one disadvantage of college +athletics,—it makes a gentleman as handy with his fists as a +professional bruiser.” + +When Mrs. Faurie interposed to protest her fright and danger, the temper +of the party who did not participate in the turmoil within the cabin +made it seem as if she were ambitious of the pose of heroine. + +“Why, my dear,” Mr. Stanlett reasoned with her, “you said yourself that +the man who danced about and sought, as you supposed, to detain your +party was a poor simpleton, a weak-minded creature; he doubtless meant +no offense, though perhaps they were all nettled at Mr. Desmond’s +refusal to buy the bicycle when he had heard it priced.” + +“I should have asked no questions about the bicycle, and therefore +should have been told no lies,” said Mrs. Kentopp, with airy +recklessness. “I should have taken the bicycle at the very cheap asking +price, and in my innocent ignorance suffered no qualms of conscience. A +little learning of the law is a dangerous thing.” + +“Quite right, quite right, madam,” commented Mr. Stanlett. “Really, I +feel that we have no obligations in the premises, and our riparian +situation here, so isolated, renders it peculiarly necessary for us to +be on our guard against collision with the rougher river element.” + +Colonel Kentopp waved away the smoke that had thickened about his +massive head. “Very true, very true!” he said, with a definiteness of +assent welcome indeed to the old gentleman, who had spoken with some +hesitation, for no man likes to express a fear that others may decline +to entertain. Relieved of the imputation of timorousness, Mr. Stanlett +went on with decision:— + +“These water-rats, many of them really river pirates, enjoy such +immunity that I wonder that they are not more daring and enterprising +than they are. I should not like to provoke personal animosity and +possible reprisal for injuries, real or fancied, among them.” + +“That is just how our house at Dryad-Dene is so much more safely +situated than you are here at Great Oaks. Why,”—Colonel Kentopp leaned +forward with dilated eyes and lowered voice,—“a handful of marauders +could loot Great Oaks mansion any foggy night; and once an oar’s length +or two off the landing, they would be as completely lost in the mist and +their pursuit as impracticable as if they were in the desert of Sahara.” + +Mr. Stanlett looked uncomfortable. + +“Yes, indeed,” declared Mrs. Kentopp, dimpling, “a bit inland,—as Great +Oaks mansion used to be in the old time, before the bank caved in and +the river carried off the whole point,—and this place would be Paradise! +I sometimes wish that the river would make another grab at it and take +it off—off—away down to the Gulf of Mexico!” + +“Thank you for your very queer wishes,” began Mrs. Faurie. + +“Only that you might move inland and rebuild near us,—we are _so_ far +apart as it is,” said Mrs. Kentopp, with her head askew and her sweetest +smile. + +“Never because of river pirates. What are our peace officers for, if we +are not to take our ease under our own vine and fig tree?” retorted Mrs. +Faurie. + +“Ah, but evil is inherently stronger than good. Hence the difficulty in +the administration of the law and the conservation of the peace,” said +Colonel Kentopp, magisterially. “Otherwise, of course, the cause of +right and justice would have a clear walk-over. It is unfortunately far +easier to conceal a crime than to detect it,—though skill and practice +and persistence in ferreting out misdeeds go a long way and ultimately +triumph in most instances, no doubt. But then, think of that affair last +fall at Whippoorwill Landing,—nefarious business,—the malefactors still +at large! Two men killed inside a good trig house,—big, healthy, hearty +fellows. I knew Patton well,—used to keep a store in Arkansas;—and not a +sign nor a clue yet as to how or why,—both wiped off the face of the +earth,—touched off as lightly as the ash of this cigar,” suiting the +action to the word, then shaking his head solemnly. + +“Oh, oh! raw head and bloody bones! Not another word! You will give the +whole house awful dreams,” cried Mrs. Kentopp. “Come, Mr. Stanlett, let +us show this worshipful company what bridge whist really is.” + +She rose with a great rustle of silk skirts and whisked away to the +centre table, where she opened a drawer with an affectation of busy and +sly peering, and thence produced a pack of cards. Desmond could not +understand why Colonel Kentopp should look so disconcerted and annoyed. +He had an air of positive concern as he said with pointed emphasis, +“Choose some other game, Annetta, that perhaps we play better,”—with a +heavy attempt at mirth. “We are too many for bridge. _I_ would sit out +willingly, but I know that Mrs. Faurie will not permit me in my quality +as guest,—distinguished stranger!—and Mr. Desmond being ‘home-folks’ +here.” + +“Bridge mote it be,” Desmond responded lightly, perceiving that Mrs. +Kentopp, usurping the initiative of her hostess, had arranged the party +expressly for his exclusion as if he were of no consideration, and +caring little or naught what the tutor might think or feel; and to his +surprise, Desmond cared naught for her demonstration. “I have letters to +write,—I hear the packet passes near daylight to-morrow. I was just +about to ask to be excused.” + +The straight, level brows above Mrs. Faurie’s fine eyes were drawn into +something like a frown. It was inconsistent with her high-bred sense of +courtesy that this exclusion should have been suggested. She would not +willingly have ignored the gentleman, poor and proud, whose dignity +should have been the more jealously regarded because of its jeopardy in +his subsidiary position. As Desmond, on his way to the library, passed +on the veranda without, he glanced through the window at the group, now +settled at the table, a cheery scene, with the glow of the old-fashioned +crimson curtains and velvet carpet, the sheen of gilt-framed mirrors, +the elusive flicker of the fire, the rich dresses of the two women. He +could but note that the frown was not altogether effaced from those +level brows, somewhat formidable of expression in their _rapprochement_, +and he discerned that Mrs. Kentopp had found it necessary to be even +more resolutely alluring in her sparkle and flushing laughter and +insistent gayety than her wont. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + +Desmond’s conviction that the matter of the bicycle was eminently fit +for report to the authorities was shared by the party who was most +intimately concerned, the flatboat-man himself. The jovial pose which +Jedidiah Knoxton conserved that afternoon while he sat on a coil of rope +on the deck and sawed on the fiddle, as the friendly current carried him +farther and farther toward the centre of the stream, had no relation to +the attitude of his mind. It was dismayed, intimidated, as he now +reflected upon the episode and its possible consequences. He did not +welcome the realization that his thought was shared by his wife, as he +noted that she was standing with the child in her arms, staring with a +sort of dull, apprehensive, quelled contemplation at the receding scene, +for it seemed to move instead of the craft,—the bight of the great river +bend, where the roiled water gave token of the path of the boat; the +strip of level territory outside the levee; the immense, green, +serpentine embankment where the group of “quality folks” stood dwindling +till they seemed but a bunch of bright-hued fabric; the heavy, tangled +growths of a stretch of swamp country to the north, and to the south, +with no apparent limits to their extent, the seigneurial groves of Great +Oaks. + +And here could be seen the mansion itself, with its score of red +chimneys, its long, low white façade, each remove showing its many +appanages,—now a wing and then, swinging into view, an ell, and +straggling away the kitchen and offices, and dove-cote, and dairy and +bell-tower, and stables, and orchards and vineyards; farther still was +the village-like cluster of buildings for hired hands and tenants, +formerly the “quarter” for slaves; and yet beyond appeared the +steam-gin, the saw-and-grist mill, the potato-houses, the sheds for +cows, and the work animals, mules, and horses; then thousands of acres +of cotton-fields, orderly and neat as a flower border, already ploughed +and bedded up, ready for the planting of the great staple,—a +principality indeed, the realm of the rich and powerful and learned;—and +was it wise to excite the just wrath, and the dangerous suspicion, or +even to court the notice of those whose stake in the country was so +large, whose hand was so heavy, whose ascendency was so complete! + +“Mighty fine folks, Jedidiah,” she said at length, still staring at the +moving landscape. Her voice reached him even amidst the discordant +sawings and scrapings of the horsehair and catgut. His hat was thrust +back; his red forelock tossed to and fro as his head wagged in unison +with his raucous performance. He did not speak, and presently, still +eyeing the receding scene, she said, “Mighty rich folks, Jedidiah!” Her +voice was pitched high, and its penetrating quality made itself +insistent throughout the hubbub of the “hot time in the old town.” The +discordant strain ceased suddenly. The bow, still held after the +fiddler’s fashion, was shaken at her in emphasis as he drawled +malignantly:— + +“Ye-es,—an’ if this fallin’ weather in the upper country holds a week +longer, I can take a cool thirty thousand dollars outer that sucker’s +pocket with three strokes of a spade; an’ by gum, I’ll do it, too!—if I +gits a chanst.” + +He lifted his hand to the abrasions of his bruised and swollen face, +which he had hitherto disregarded with an assumption of hardihood as +naught. The last building of the “quarter” was disappearing in the +distance, glistening with whitewash,—it was said on the river that the +manager at Great Oaks whitewashed all creation when he was informed that +Mrs. Faurie was returning from abroad, _even the under side of the +horse-block_!—but the flatboat-man’s wife still stood staring, some +vague premonition of trouble in her mind. Jedidiah, the frog-like +suggestions of his face emphasized as he crouched his body forward, his +legs doubled up among the coils of rope, stared, too, blinkingly. The +light in the sky was a keen saffron gleam now; it dazzled his eyes; he +was thinking hard, eagerly, fearfully, maliciously. + +The next moment the whole world seemed resonant and rocking with a wild, +pervasive turbulence,—a steamer was rounding the point, and the little +helpless, drifting leaf of a boat lay directly in her course. How he +should not have heard the respiration of her engines, like that of an +immense breathing creature which she resembled, he never knew, or how he +had not felt the vibrations of the water pouring like a cataract over +the great wheel at her stern,—for formidable as she moved upon the +currents, loftily as she towered in her white, glistening presence, her +chimneys seeming to vie with the forest heights of Great Oaks, she was +not one of the fine packets plying between the cities. She was destined +for one of the smaller tributaries, and the Mississippi made only a part +of her course. But she looked to the flatboat-man like the scourge of +God. She was materialized Fate! She was Terror, Doom, and Death in one +to the wretched man whom momently she threatened to run down. He could +never have described what he felt as now and again she lifted anew her +frightful voice and spoke to him,—he could only feel,—spoke of warning, +of smug and exact compliance with the law, of due notification of the +death that she must presently mete out to him. He seemed all apart from +the straining wretches that toiled, one at the pole and two at the +rowlocks, as the two men and the woman strove against the current to +bring the raft aside from the path of the domineering monster that bore +straight down upon them,—for as far as consciousness was concerned, he +could not have moved a muscle. It was a matter of instinct which +controlled his labor, a mechanical effort, with which heart and brain +had no part. He began to tremble when he perceived that the steamboat +was slightly sheering to the left. Then for the first time he was +sufficiently in command of his faculties to realize that the pilot’s +bell was continually jangling, that the throbs of the engines were +disjointed, feebler, that there was a desperate effort making to back, +to sheer, to change the course. + +It was all useless,—too late! He saw as his frenzied muscles still +strove against the impossible that the guards were filled with people, +passengers, calling out undistinguished words of commiseration, of +encouragement; the roustabouts stood on the lower deck, scarcely higher +out of the river than himself in his humble craft level with the +surface, and roared out advice. + +Suddenly with a wild scream the woman despaired. She rose, dropping her +oar, and held up the child at arm’s length, with a gesture of appeal, +toward the captain, who was standing on the hurricane deck. He waved his +hand in encouraging response, and then the sheer was sufficient for +Jedidiah to see that the yawl was unslung and sliding from the davits, +and that the Flora F. Mayberry proposed to have the credit of humanely +picking up their carcasses, after she had sent to the bottom their +floating home and all their pitiful store of goods and chattels. + +For this was the aspect the episode took to his mind when, almost within +the suction of the steamer, the flatboat struck a swift swirl of +current, made, heaven only knows how. Some obstruction on the bottom may +have caused it,—the smokestack of an old sunken boat, long since +forgotten; a tree of former swamp growths, too deeply whelmed to be +known to snag-boats or river charts, barely sufficient to turn a ripple. +With the vast strength of the Mississippi River currents the deflecting +ripple swung the flatboat around like a leaf in an eddy, and, as safe as +if he had miles of sea-room, Jedidiah Knoxton stood on his raft, with +his face corrugated and lined with rage, and his mouth stretched wide +and distorted, and shook his fist at the towering steamer, and called +out frenzied curses upon the craft and her captain, and passengers, and +crew, and consigned them all to hell, a deep and fiery hole in his +version. Meantime the passengers, their sympathy reacting, laughed and +sneered; the deck-hands yelled out gibes of derision and responsive +defiance; the captain shrugged his shoulders in silent contempt and +ordered the yawl once more to its place. + +The woman, her arms akimbo, the baby, wailing unheeded now on the +dancing, teetering floor, looked bitterly after the greater craft as she +passed, the water playing in cascades of white foam over the wheel at +her stern, her moving chimneys seeming to describe scrolls of mystic +import among the clouds, punctuated here and there by the faint spark of +a star. + +“It is allus the way, Jedidiah,” she said. She could scarcely get her +breath as yet, and her voice had a catch like a sob. “It is allus the +way! The big folks is safe, an’ high, an’ dry, while us pore folks take +water, an’ skim the edge of hell.” + +His pride, if he might have claimed such an endowment, his +self-sufficiency, had been grievously cut down by the incident; but +since it had not culminated in death or disaster, it had seemed to +resolve itself into a flout, an injury, a wanton insult. This view was +confirmed in an illogical sort by the evident revulsion of the sentiment +of the passengers and crew, their sympathy naturally enough checked, +however, by his rage and futile venom as he volleyed his curses at them. + +“Not _allus_ so safe an’ sound,” he protested, “the rich folks ain’t. +Them galoots up there at Whippoorwill Landing didn’t skim the edge of +hell,—that’s true; they went teetotally in,—kerplunk!” + +The woman had been wringing out her hair and shaking out her skirts, all +damp with the spray of the stern wheel of the steamer and the churning +wake of her passage in which the raft yet rocked. An awed stillness +though fearful delight came over her face at his words, and she softly +drew near, and sat down on a coil of the ropes with the baby in her +arms. The child had ceased to cry aloud bewailing his desertion, but as +if silence were too great a boon to accord, he kept up a sort of +absent-minded whimpering or crooning, reciting in some sort a theme of +woe, learned by rote, the significance of which had been forgotten or +was uncomprehended. + +“Yes, sir!” Jed Knoxton exclaimed with hearty satisfaction, “_they_ got +the butt end of the club, sure! Providence was right after them at a +two-forty clip!” He sneered as he laughed. “I tell you the way it was +meted out to _them_, you might have thought they was pore folks, fur +sure.” + +“I never could make out how ’t was they never suspicioned nothing,—how +it was so easy done,” she speculated. + +There was not a soul within a mile of the boat, yet he glanced fearfully +over his shoulder before he answered. His brother, the idiot, had gone +back into the cabin, and now and again a long-drawn snore and at times a +sputtering gasp told that he had sought his bunk for the night. The +broad Mississippi stretched silent and deep, vacant on either hand, so +broad that they could only see the line of the hither shore a mile away +as they drifted along on the swift current. There was no other craft in +view; no motion save the long, elastic undulations of the waves, here +and there crisping into ripples when a flaw of the chill night breeze +struck the water. Sometimes they were tipped with a shifting +scintillation, the reflection of a star, and again only a sense of a +dark, transparent lustre betokened the depths. A world, it was, and all +to themselves; yet he looked over his shoulder, fearfully. + +“They got into the store by purtendin’ to be customers,—that’s how.” + +“But stores don’t keep open past midnight,” she remonstrated. + +He ducked his red head and chuckled into the bosom of his checked +hickory shirt. It seemed so funny,—so very funny! “Of course ’twas outer +business hours; but they was ailin’—oh, my, how ailin’ they was! Becburn +give out that he had ptomaine pizenin’;—when they landed in the skiff, +an’ came up the bank, Danvelt told me that they hallooed the store bold +as brass, same as if they was in earnest. An’ them two, the proprietor +of the store and his clerk, they took it all in, for gospel sure. +Becburn _had_ swallowed something mighty nigh as bad,—a power o’ +ipecac,—and he was jus’ a-vomitin’ an’ retchin’ as he come,—an’ sure +enough them suckers opened the door, to give him something to ease him +off!” He paused again to laugh silently, holding his head down. “That +light-haired, slim fellow, Oscar Patton, the clerk, he said that common +kitchen sody was the antidote; an’ all bar’foot as he was, he run into +the back room to git a box,—they dealt with him there.” + +The child still crooned its plaint, though forgetting its sorrow; the +woman’s face was illumined by the light of the moon, only a mere segment +of pearl, but all else was so dark,—the silent river running like the +stream of Time, the glooms of the forest crowning the nearer banks +towering dimly into the night, the opposite shore lost in distance,—that +its lineaments were easily discerned by one familiar with them. Even one +not accustomed might have noted the peculiar slant of the eyes, the +snake-like contour of the countenance, the long, serpentine curve of the +throat,—she seemed not out of place clinging to the slimy timbers of a +raft in the midst of the murky Mississippi. She listened in cold-blooded +interest to this tale of a deed of dread, but now and again she +shuddered. + +“The t’other fellow, Ackworth, was harder to kill, they say. He got his +chanst and fit. He got on to the game, whenst he heard Patton yell out +‘Oh, my God!’ an’ drap to the floor. Ackworth made a break for the +drawer of the counter then,—he had just been pourin’ out a glass of +whiskey for the sufferer from ptomaine; Becburn declares now he ain’t +responsible for nothin’ ’bout it all, for he done nothin’ but turn +himself wrong side out with that ipecac!—an’ when Ackworth laid holt of +the knob of the drawer, they knowed there was a pistol in it, an’ they +jumped on him. Ben Danvelt jes’ held him by the nape o’ the neck, an’ +though he got the drawer open, they pushed him down an’ shut his head up +in it. He couldn’t git a purchase on himself to pull his head outer it. +Tom Turfin stabbed him twicet, while the t’others held him thar with his +head in the drawer,—stabbed him twicet in the back just under the +shoulder-blade. He wasn’t dead, though, when they let the drawer loost +an’ he drapped,—he died hard. Tom say that he wriggled an’ writhed on +the floor like a wum. He only spoke once; he lifted up his voice an’ he +says, says he, ‘My blood shall be a testimony against you.’ An’ his +mouth was full of it, then. But Ben Danvelt he spoke up,’ Incompetent +testimony in this court.’ He’s a funny feller, full of his jokes! Then +he let Ackworth have the knife agin,—right in the throat, this time. An’ +they got no more o’ his jaw then. A slick job, it was,— done right.” + +The progress was swift down the great, pulsing river; they could see the +dark forests upon the bank all a-journeying northward as so elastically, +so noiselessly, they swung along toward the south. Now and again the +braided currents carried the craft close in shore, and they could smell +the dank, rich vernal odor of the earth, the pungent tang of herb and +tree; once in a deep, oozy tangle where a bayou went sluggishly forth +into the woods, an outlet from the Mississippi, they heard a sudden +resounding splash in the water. The woman started nervously, and with a +sharp exclamation let her snuff-brush drop from her mouth into her lap. + +“Shucks, Jocelinda,” the man sneered, “don’t you know a ’gator takin’ to +water yit?” + +The ripples of the great saurian’s stir as he swam along the marge were +perceptible now in the moonlight as the boat shot past, down and down +the stream, and they seemed far away and faint the sound when they heard +the alligator’s resonant call to his mate in the lagoon, and presently +another roar hardly more than some dull blast of a distant horn, so fast +the river swept them on. + +“It ain’t seemin’ no slick job to me,” Jocelinda commented at length, +“else it would never have been found out.” + +“Oh, _you_’d have done it mighty different, wouldn’t you, now?” he +sneered. “_You_ are up to all sorts o’ tricks.” + +“I can kindle a fire that won’t go out,” Jocelinda declared. + +“But the fire didn’t go out; ’twas _put out_,—that’s whut! The light gin +the alarm so denied quick. That old hussy, the Swamp Lily, came scootin’ +down the river a full day behind time; an’ headin’ for the landin’, the +pilot seen the store afire. He sounded the whistle fit to wake the +dead,—waked all the swamp country for miles around. The old boat jes’ +sot there on the water a-pipin’ an’ a-blowin’ as if she’d bust. Then all +the galoots round about got inter their breeches an’ boots an’ run to +the landing to help put it out. The Swamp Lily sent out all the +deck-hands, an’ the Mississippi River had a leetle water to spare,—no +reason why they couldn’t throw the water on the fire an’ put it out. +_You_ couldn’t kindle a fire that the Mississippi River can’t squench, +hey, ‘smart Aleck’?” + +“But then the folks found the bodies right there,” she objected. + +“Ye-es,” he drawled. “They had their own reasons for not having walked +off.” + +“An’ so the folks found the bodies fresh killed, an’ seen that the store +had been stripped of mighty nigh all the goods an’ all the money in the +cash drawer.” + +“Ye-es, the boys loaded up all they could kerry on the steam-launch an’ +set the shebang afire. But for the accident of the Swamp Lily comin’ +along out of turn, the whole caboodle would have been ashes and cinders +before the sun had riz. They would have thought the proprietor an’ his +clerk was burned by accident, or in tryin’ to save something, or was +drunk an’ didn’t wake. I ‘member Danvelt said he thought that Ackworth +had the name of takin’ a glass too much once in a while.” + +“’Twas a big fire,” she remarked, as if making a concession. “It lighted +up the whole country. The river shone like a stream of flames in the +fog,—just seemed to split the world in two.” + +“_’Twas_ a big fire—an’ a slick job, too,” he protested. “They got away +with the goods an’ some cash,—consid’ble spondulix,—an’ nobody ain’t +’spicioned ’em yit. ’Twas way last fall, too.” + +“Them bodies ought not to have been found,” she argued dolorously. She +felt that it was the one disparagement to the artistic achievement. + +He did not reply. They were now passing between a small island and the +shore. The water, thus compressed in volume, ran with still more +turbulent rapidity. He was not sure how their voices might carry on the +still air and the transmitting medium of the silent river. They were too +near the land on either hand to risk such words as might phrase the +thoughts of their dark hearts. The island was in progress of swift +building. At no distant day it would be the shore. The great, restless +river—now sweeping away hundreds of acres, that melted into nothingness +in the floods; now cutting channels through points of land in an +inconceivably short time, transmogrifying them into islands far from +their ancient affiliations—was here filling up with silt the shallows +and rifts and chasms into solid continuity with the bank. This island +was what is locally called “a towhead,” a spit of white sand, sparsely +covered with brush; and one might imagine so desolate a loneliness could +shield no human being who could lend the ear of comprehension to a +chance word floating over the water. But Jedidiah Knoxton and his wife +Jocelinda kept their dubious counsels, till once more they swung along +between distant banks of the deep and lonely river below and the +unpeopled skies above. + +“Jed, warn’t that bicycle one of the Ackworth stock?” she queried, in a +mere whisper. + +“Ax me no questions an’ I’ll tell you no lies,” he retorted gruffly. + +“I allus believed them was ’spensive things,—heap mo’ ’spensive than you +knowed. I b’lieve Danvelt let you have ’em jus’ to let you git tracked +by ’em,” she suggested, “ter keep s’picion off ’n him.” + +“Shet yer mouth, Jocelinda,” he vociferated furiously, “else I’ll break +it in.” + +“Why, _you_ had nothin’ to do with thar trick,” she expostulated. “I +ain’t taxin’ _you_ with nothink.” + +She was quiescent for a time, as if knowing that her silence would +stimulate him to speech. The surest way to reopen the discussion was +paradoxically to close it. The child was sleeping now, and once and +again she patted its back, as it lay on her breast, with a fragmentary +“Bye-oh, Bye-oh.” + +“Them things ain’t labeled,” Knoxton recommenced, as if there had been +no cessation of the discussion. “They are as common as crayfish. Folks +are wheelin’ all over the country.” + +“Not at no five dollars, Jed,—nor yit ten. I tole you that I priced them +jiggermarees whenst I was in Vicksburg, an’ some was as high as fifty +dollars.” + +“An’ I tole you that the store folks was stuffin’ you,” he cried, with a +sort of turbulence that was akin both to rage and woe. “A tacky body +like you to go pricin’ wheels an’ such fixin’s!—they was makin’ game of +you.” + +“Mebbe so, mebbe so,”—she yielded a facile acquiescence, apparently +without sensitive vanity; “but I _did_ see this evening that ten dollars +was a power too low. That man wouldn’t let Mrs. Faurie risk herself with +it,—rich as she is! He knowed it war new and stole.” + +“Well, damn Mr. Faurie,—that is all I have got to say,” the flatboat-man +cried, his hand going up to his bruised face tingling with pain as his +rancor roused at the recollection of the incident. Then tremulous with a +nervous rage, that yet contended with a cold chill of fear, “But if this +wheel was to be tracked to me, what would ail me not to split on Danvelt +and Turfin and the others?” + +“I reckon they are too far by this time to be caught; it all happened +last October, and here it is nigh the spring o’ the year agin. I reckon +they think that nobody would believe you. The law would have you safe by +the laig, an’ the goods found on your boat. ’Twas only a blind if +anybody took after them.” + +There was a long silence. The boat was again approaching the shore of +its own accord, it seemed, yielded as it was to the whim of the current. +The dark forests were coming down to the verge of the stream with +beckoning, sheltering suggestions in their wild, tangled glooms. Her +breath was short, so ardently she hoped what she dared not say. He +divined her hope, but with that perverse sense of domination, so +characteristic of the domestic tyrant, he would say naught to encourage +it. He pursued the subject. “If I believed that, I’d sink the wheels in +the river without more ado,” he declared. + +“They are too light,” she protested. “I dunno how them cur’ous +injer-rubber rims might make ’em float.” + +Again there were no words between them for a time, while the river clove +through the night as silent as the stars vibrating above in the sky. The +moon was sinking toward the western bank. A vague sense of yearning, of +wistful sadness, pervaded the lunar light that began to suffuse the +summits of the great, gloomy, primeval forests. This glister seemed to +respond to the slow down-dropping of the weary one who had finished her +course through the skies,—no joyous welcome this, but replete with +solemnity, with weird silence, with aloof suggestions such as might +typify the down-dropping into a grave. The wind had grown more chill. +Jocelinda wrapped closer a ragged petticoat of red flannel, which the +baby wore about its shoulders like a mantle. The touch of the fabric +reminded her of the infant’s wardrobe which Mrs. Faurie had promised +her,—not that she cared for such comforts and means of tidy array; it +would have been far too much trouble to keep the child clothed and +tended in many whole and clean garments. The recollection merely brought +to her mind a collocation of ideas that had earlier occurred to her. “I +don’t believe that man was Mr. Faurie!” she said suddenly. + +It was an unlucky topic. The very name roused Knoxton’s rancor. “What +for no?” he exclaimed, in a sudden gust of anger. His knowledge that the +bicycle had been instantly recognized as stolen goods; the possibility +that his possession of the machine might connect his identity with the +miscreants who had plundered the store at Whippoorwill Landing, and +murdered the proprietor and clerk; the fear that this was their +nefarious intention in shunting off on him these costly wares so easily +detected, so rare among the humbler population among whom his trade lay, +so incongruous with his stock of goods and character of custom, filled +him with a bewildered dismay. His was not a trained mind to think +consecutively, to deduce correct conclusions; he blundered upon his +convictions; his plans were founded on impulse, inclination. Ignorance +is not compatible with a just and accurate foresight. His resolves, +taken in a tumult of angry volition, he would seek to execute without +due regard to feasibility or perception of sequences, and he had no +sense of justice and could maintain no poise of temper. “What for no?” +he reiterated, striking at his wife with the rope’s end. + +Thong-like it curled around her body, the end lashing her arm, bare to +the elbow, with force enough to raise a welt. Experience had ripened +such wisdom as she possessed, and in self-defense she forbore to +exasperate further her brutal husband. She said naught of the smart of +the lash, but recanted hastily. “I just took up the idee that he was +somebody else. I thought that old man Faurie was dead. Ain’t this his +widder?” + +“Widder?—rats! old Faurie’s widder? That slim, handsome, high-steppin’ +gal! She is his son’s wife,—she ’lowed to you that her name was Mrs. +Faurie.” + +“Mebbe so; they hev been gone to Europe so long I lost the run of ’em,” +the woman meekly admitted. + +“Naw, that ain’t it,” Jedidiah sneered. “Ye are grudgin’ her them good +looks an’ brash, high-handed ways; draggle-tailed vixens like you can’t +stand for other women to be young an’ sniptious.” He spat moodily into +the Mississippi. “That was young Faurie an’ his brand-new wife—the old +man is dead long ago. I’m thinkin’ the brat mus’ be his leetle brother. +I remember that there was a new baby at Great Oaks mansion about ten +year ago; I noticed it ’cause the old plantation bell was rung like mad +for rejoicing, like it had an ager fit, an’ the Swamp Lily an’ other +boats whistled a salute when they passed, though such is agin the +regulations.” + +“I hedn’t never been hereabouts in them days,” she stipulated, by way of +excuse for her lack of readiness to confirm these vagrant and erratic +recollections of his wandering experiences as he floated down the river +with his store of goods, or poled his craft laboriously in and out of +the bogues and bayous. “I lived then over in the Arkansas.” She held her +head down for a moment. A scene had arisen before her mind best +discerned with eyes closed: a little cabin in a bit of clearing in the +dense, dark woods; a filthy, miry dooryard; the fowls and hogs and lean +old mule, all clustered about the rickety porch; a stationary home on +dry land,—all seemed paradise at this instant to the amphibious nomad, +for the rope’s end stung, and her indurated sensibilities had yet some +nerve a-tingle to the coarse taunt and the bitter fling. + +“Why, any fool but _you_ would know. Didn’t _she_ say that she was Mrs. +Faurie? And didn’t he tell the brat he shouldn’t have the wheel at no +price? And didn’t he tell her she must take his word for it? And didn’t +he grab the woman by the elbow and the cub by the collar, like they +belonged to him, an’ start them off the boat, him looking as fierce as +Judgment Day? An’ ain’t that the Faurie plantation, Great Oaks, where we +was tied up? Answer me that,—answer me,—answer me,—ye tongue-tied +slut,—or I’ll cut yer tongue out.” + +“Oh, laws, Jed,” said Jocelinda, her nerve shaken and very near to +tears. “I ’lowed that she was a widder lady. She spoke of her kids. I +’lowed that boy was one of ’em. I hearn her say that—” + +“Ye _’lowed_ an’ ye _hearn_ like a dod-rotted fool. That man is Faurie +and owns Great Oaks! An’ ye can bet yer immortal soul I’ll give _him_ +somethink to think about soon that’ll make him forgit he ever seen a +bike or a tradin’-boat, air one.” + +He had risen from the coil of rope and was stepping about elastically on +the deck as if he intended to pole the craft in to the shore. She +silently followed his example, first placing the child in the centre of +the coil of rope, and taking her turn at the work with strength and +activity as muscular as if she were a man. Perhaps an infusion of +cheerfulness aided her exertions, for they were making for a bayou that +the river sent sluggishly wandering down with scant impetus from its +currents through the swamps and the heavy glooms of a cypress slough, +and she welcomed the sense of added safety in the deep seclusions of the +wilderness. Before the Faurie party, with the utmost expedition which +the isolated situation of Great Oaks Plantation permitted them, could +contrive to notify the authorities of any suspicion they might have +entertained, the shanty-boat would have quitted the thoroughfares of the +river, leaving not a trace. The story of the imminent danger of being +run down by the Flora P. Mayberry would suggest some similar disaster as +a reason for the disappearance of the flatboat-man and his craft. The +bicycles—there were only three—could be hidden, destroyed, buried in the +deep, murky, marshy tangles of the lagoons. Here it would be scarcely +possible that the fugitives should be seen or followed,—a succession of +cypress brakes, of swampy pools, a network of bayous and sloughs with +scarcely a dry acre for miles, the land of no value and impracticable, +the locality the deepest solitude, the aquatic growths of an +impenetrable density. She had not expected to sleep that night with so +grateful a sense of security, for it was not long before the boat was +tied up in a jungle of young cottonwood trees, awaiting the passing of +the hours till dawn should bring the light necessary for the navigation +of such tortuous ways. But she was up and ready at the first glimmer, +her energies recruited as much by the surcease of suspense as by the +physical rest. + +As the gray day began to break, dim and clouded, it might seem to a +sophisticated sense a desolate scene, for even such symmetry as the +sluggish bayou possessed was obliterated; and now the boat was poled +along a stream-like channel, and now it threaded a series of lakelets +connected by narrow straits, full of half submerged growths, and again +it seemed almost aground in a slough where the medium was mud rather +than water. These lakelets were of an inky blackness, and in their midst +stood forlorn forests of gigantic cypress; upon the dark, mirror-like +surface of the water the white boles of the trees, long ago deadened by +a permanent inundation from some freak of the changeful river, were +reflected with weird distinctness and a spectral effect. The boat was as +if afloat in a world of dead vegetation, the duplication of the lifeless +trees below, the ghostly white forest towering above. Now and again a +sharp bit of steering became necessary to keep the craft clear of the +cypress-knees, as the conical, protruding excrescences of the roots are +called, rising considerably above the surface of the water. Hanging moss +depended in vast masses and heavy festoons from the bare white boughs +far, far above, and served to deepen the gloom of the eerie effect of +the scene. More than once the voyagers saw an alligator lying half +embedded in ooze and mud, looking as lifeless as the log it resembled; +but one had awakened apparently from the period of hibernation, and was +swimming down the centre of the black lake. Jedidiah Knoxton, watching +his approach, was dubious which course he might take, in meeting the +boat, in the narrow passage. + +“He don’t understand the code of signals nohow,” he demurred. +“’Twouldn’t be no good to whistle if I could.” + +The alligator solved the problem as far as he was concerned by diving +suddenly, and doubtless embedded himself in the refuge of the mud. The +question as to where he might come up again presented another doubt to +the mind of Jed Knoxton, but he prodded boldly with his pole, and +presently they had passed, the huge saurian still invisible. + +There were other tokens of the spring besides the awakening of the +alligators from their wintry torpors. Birds were flitting through the +air; frogs were all a-croak about the logs; the slimy, nondescript +medley of vegetation and muck was here and there pierced by tender +spears of delicate yet intense green, the folded leaves and shoots of +the swamp lily. Suddenly the first ray of the sun struck upon a wide +expanse of silver sheen in the distance,—it was a lake evidently miles +in length, of the peculiar horseshoe contour characteristic of the +lacustrine waters of the region, surrounded by dense and gloomy forests, +and fringed with saw-grass. This thick, prickly growth, so heavily +notched as to suggest its name, caught Jed Knoxton’s attention. It was a +keen glint of green at this season, almost as intense as light itself. +Jed Knoxton stood still and held his hand above his eyes as he gazed; +then he turned to scan some landmark which he identified toward the +west, and again he shifted toward the east. + +“I done los’ my bearin’s somehow in the swamp,” he muttered. “I been +polin’ todes the north ‘stead o’ south. An’ damn that old corkscrew of a +river. We drifted thirty miles las’ night to make five miles o’ +distance.” + +He still stood absorbed and pondering when his wife issued from the +little cabin on the deck. “What’s the matter, Jed?” she asked +apprehensively. Smoke was curling from the stove-pipe thrust through the +roof, and the sizzling of frying pork came with its pungent odor from +the open door. She held in her hand a long iron spoon coated with meal +batter while she fixed expectant and anxious eyes upon him. + +“Jes’ as well, jes’ as well!” he muttered. + +“What is it, Jed; what you studyin’ about?” she persisted. + +“We made no distance las’ night scarcely on that twisted sarpient of a +river,” he said. “It is blamed like that old joke of the fool +drummers,—travel fifty mile down the Mississippi, an’ then take your +gripsack an’ walk half a mile back to where you started from.” He +grinned in surly mirth. “Then I done shortened it some more by missin’ +my way in the swamp.” He looked about in dull speculation, as if he were +wondering anew how this mischance should have betided him, and she +dreaded lest he might fail, in considering this problem, to disclose the +intention evidently slowly forming in his mind. But for him its interest +was paramount. It struck her as a blow in the face might have done when +she heard it voiced anew, for she had hoped that time and distance had +combined to obliterate it, and it boded ill, she knew. “We ain’t more’n +five miles from the edge of Great Oaks Plantation,—I know it by the +earmarks o’ that old White Deer Lake. An’ it’s just as well,—_just as +well_—p’intedly convenient, in fac’. I’m goin’ to give Mr. Faurie of +Great Oaks Plantation something to study about that will make him forgit +there was ever sech a thing as a bike or a tradin’-boat, air one.” + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + +The ensuing days were bland and soft, and the Faurie family life +gravitated insensibly to the wide verandas of the Great Oaks mansion, +where much time was spent in futile chat, and where one could take the +air without the exertion of exercise and be out-of-doors without the +trouble of quitting the house. It was a fine illustration of the best +method of _dolce far niente_. The favorite rendezvous was beneath the +canopy of live-oak boughs on the extension of the veranda just outside +the library windows, and here Desmond often joined the group, saying to +himself that it had an air of churlish avoidance to hold himself aloof +when they were all so near. In these days he heard no little of Mrs. +Faurie’s plaints of the limited capacities of Great Oaks for rational +entertainment. + +“Nothing to do,—nothing to say,—nothing to see. ‘Oh, give me to drink of +mandragora, that I may sleep away this gap of time!’” she exclaimed, as +she reclined languidly in her garden chair. + +There was something to see in the Great Oaks avenues,—the sward was rich +and fresh, and all the vague, sparse, spring foliage of the trees sent +out a glitter now of gold and now of green. Hyacinths, pink and white +and blue, shook their fairy bells in a parterre near the house, and the +trellises in the old-fashioned garden were delicately sprayed with +green, lace-like leafage. There was much to see in the vast, murky +floods of the Mississippi River; the opposite banks had wholly +disappeared in the encroachments of the water on the swampy Arkansas +shore, and as its limits were beyond the reach of vision, its aspect was +that of some great inland sea. When Desmond remarked on the phenomenon, +Mr. Stanlett stated, with the pride which the dwellers on the banks of +the river take in its arbitrary and monarchical exhibitions of power, +that sometimes here, in high water, it measured sixty miles wide, and +always in the Bend its average depth was not less than one hundred and +eighty feet. + +“And just beyond the point the lead-line often marks scant four feet on +the sandbars,” Mrs. Faurie interpolated iconoclastically. + +The words suggested a lurking danger to the larger craft visible, the +possibility of getting aground even in such a vast welter of waters. A +great tow of coal was in midstream, bound from Pittsburgh to New +Orleans, the steamboat pushing before her a score of broad, laden +barges, ranged elliptically about her prow, and gliding slowly and +majestically down the current. Seen above the summit of the dense +forests in the distance, against the bland, blue sky, a whorl of black +smoke uncoiling from lofty chimneys announced the approach of the +steamer of the regular packet line rounding the point; and the upward +course of a snag-boat had its own suggestion of yet another of the +jeopardies of the navigation of the great, lawless river. + +“Talking about something to drink,” said Mr. Stanlett, a bit uneasily, +“I had a queer experience yesterday. I was out riding, and when that +sudden shower came up, I was pretty far from home and got soaking wet. +And—you know my rheumatism—I stopped at the first house I could reach; +it was Jessop’s shack, and I went in to dry off by his fire. +Well,—Jessop is a friendly fellow, and would have me take a drink to +keep from catching my death of cold. You know he is only an Irish +wood-chopper,—makes a scanty living by furnishing wood from anybody’s +land who will give it to him for the clearing, and selling it to anybody +who will buy it; but I accepted because I don’t like to refuse a +civility from such a person,—and, bless my soul! it was French +brandy,—good sound Cognac. He was mightily surprised when I told him so. +He said he knew that it was a tipple to which he was unaccustomed, but +it cost the same as ‘bust-head whiskey’; he said it was all the same to +him so long as it fired up all right,—‘made drunk come.’ He bought it +from that shanty-boat.” + +Desmond looked up significantly at Mr. Stanlett, who resumed: “You are +right, sir,—stolen, no doubt! I fear from the Whippoorwill Landing +stock. I remember that though Ackworth kept a general assortment of +goods, he had a limited class of fine custom. Some rich people live near +Whippoorwill Landing, and they preferred to give him their orders +instead of dealing elsewhere. Ackworth was of the gentry himself,—came +of good people,—broken up by the Civil War. He put what he had left into +this store; he had been in the Confederate army, though one of the +youngest veterans—distinguished himself—was very popular—and as the +planters round about gave him all their custom instead of sending to +Memphis or New Orleans, he kept in stock such choice grades of articles +as they would require. I fear this brandy was stolen and that bicycle +also; I wish that I had taken your view and given notice of our +suspicions to the police authorities.” + +“To be quite candid, I did not think it prudent to abide by the theory +of non-action,” said Desmond. “I wrote that evening,—and the mail-boat +took the letter next morning.” + +Mrs. Faurie sat up straight in her chair and looked about her with +widening eyes,—that a tutor in her house should take the initiative in +its direction! Mr. Stanlett’s delicate face flushed. Even through his +sparse silver hair one could see the polished scalp, all roseate. He +said nothing, however, looking down at his cigar as he flipped off the +ash. + +Desmond noticed their evident attitude of mind both with humiliation and +indignation. Then he roused himself,—for his paltry salary they did not +buy his identity, annul his personality. + +“The responsibility was mine,” he said icily, more in self-assertion and +in response to their offended silence, their mien of rebuke of his +presumption, than because of any sense of obligation to give account of +his motives. “It was I who discovered the quality of the article offered +at a mere fraction of its value. Knowing that it must have been stolen, +I did not feel justified, as far as I was concerned, in remaining +silent.” + +“There is a grave responsibility in unwarranted interference,” remarked +Mr. Stanlett, dryly. + +“And in bringing down suspicion on innocent people, perhaps,” Mrs. +Faurie said, with cold reproach. + +“If the proprietor of the trading-boat came honestly by a wheel, +perfectly new and a favorite make, which he is able to offer for sale at +five dollars, he will have no difficulty in making the fact clear. It is +not my prerogative to judge.” + +“I should be sorry to provoke the enmity of a rude, lawless man such as +that, by putting upon him an unnecessary affront and hardship,” Mr. +Stanlett coldly urged. He had no longer his genial drawl of leisure and +luxury. His intonation was crisp, clear-cut. + +“As I understand it, a heinous and brutal murder was committed only last +fall at Whippoorwill Landing,” Desmond said, his pride pulsing in his +temples, his own restiveness under expressed displeasure showing +haughtily in his flushed face. “To have knowledge—or such grounds of +suspicion as amount to knowledge—of stolen merchandise being vended +through the country at fantastic prices and yet say nothing, in my +opinion comes perilously near conniving at the escape of the +villains,—accessory after the fact.” + +Mrs. Faurie turned and surveyed the tutor with wide eyes and a look of +such affronted amazement that even he quailed before them. Desmond was +impressed with the fact, noted by him for the first time, but doubtless +often perceived before by others, that the very rich are fearless of the +ordinary operations of disaster. The ægis of great possessions +overshadows them. The law is their ally, for their protection; the +imputation that by their negligence, or assumptions, or bravado, or +inconsiderateness it could be arrayed against them is in itself a +ridiculous impossibility, a sort of grotesque parody on fact, a +distortion of the powers of established order. All other menace is +likewise abated in their favor. The dangers of travel are minimized for +them; the distresses of sickness are mitigated; every ill that flesh is +heir to is softened and alleviated and embellished till they are +scarcely to be identified with the woes, savage and hideous, that rack +the multitude; and death itself is so bedizened and beautified and +exalted that it ceases to be the great leveler. Mrs. Faurie’s +astonishment that anything that she or hers thought proper to do could +be liable to misconstruction, to question, to disparagement, was beyond +words. + +Mr. Stanlett, however, stared at him with a sort of dawning +comprehension in his watery blue eyes. “Upon my word, I never thought of +it in that light!—ridiculous aspersion—impossible, though, as far as we +are concerned; but, I believe,—in respect to the law, the bare facts of +the case,—silence might aid the murderers, shedding the goods of which +they stripped that store among the flatboat-men, woodcutters, ditchers, +and niggers.” + +“Then Mr. Desmond was right?” asked Mrs. Faurie, seriously. + +“Yes,—yes,—though I deprecate anything that tends to draw upon this +house the enmity of the wretches.” + +“The law is its best protection,” declared Desmond. “To make them feel +the power of the law is the real resource. To let them and their fences +and pals get away with impunity is to invite depredations.” + +“Yes, yes,—true, true!” said Mr. Stanlett. “But you take a good deal on +yourself, Mr. Desmond.” + +“It was imposed upon me by good conscience and good citizenship.” + +“Ah, well, now,—I don’t know about good conscience,” said Mr. Stanlett, +drawing hard at his cigar, but with renewed satisfaction. “Batting the +eye is necessary sometimes. It won’t do to see so much, and deduce so +correctly, and act so promptly. Let sleeping dogs lie.” + +“Do you call these sleeping dogs?” + +“So far as we are concerned they are. Quiet, peace, security,—we have +them all at Great Oaks.” + +“And a dullness that has no parallel outside the grave,” declared Mrs. +Faurie, once more falling back in her graceful reclining posture. She +had never seemed to Desmond so beautiful as to-day. She wore the +daintiest of afternoon dresses, of delicate lavender broadcloth, and the +dazzling purity of her complexion was even more radiantly asserted in +the full light. Her gray eyes, with their dense, long black lashes, +seemed more expressive in their petulant, slumberous disaffection. From +her white brow her hair rose in the usual pompadour effect, but its rich +brown tint was heightened by the broad illumination of out-of-doors, and +her lips had all the lustre of wet coral. Into the meshes of the lace of +her high “transparent collar” and chemisette, that showed the gleam of +her snowy white neck and throat, was thrust a set of stick-pins of +amethyst. She held some wands thickly studded with pink almond blooms in +her hand. “Great Oaks leads the field for monotony,” she said +disconsolately. “It might be a gentle distraction to be called upon to +defend the mansion against river pirates.” + +She suddenly sat up straight, her eyes dilating and brightening, her +infrequent flush, an incomparable tint, mounting into her cheeks. “Think +how it would sound in the deep midnight,—if the old plantation bell +should boom out on the air, up the river and down the river, and across +the Bend, calling on all who ever stood on the pay-roll of Great Oaks +Plantation, or owed it a good turn, or wished it well, to lend a hand at +its utmost need. I can hear it now! It would sound so far! It would +shake the moss on the cypress trees in the White Deer Swamp, where +ghosts have been seen. It would rouse the gangs at the engineering work +who are trying to raise the river on jackscrews, or sinking a revetment +mat, or building a dyke at the point, or whatever they are up to over +yonder in the chute. It would even start up the loafers from the +card-tables at the old Shin-Plaster Landing, way down on the Arkansas +side, where everybody says they gamble half the night. And the Swamp +Lily would be climbing up the current, and old Captain Cleek—who dropped +me into the Mississippi River once when I was a baby and he was a mud +clerk, and my parents were leaving the steamboat in midstream to make +the landing in a yawl, and who has always declared he owed me indemnity +for a ducking—would signal to head for the shore with every pound of +steam that his engines can carry.” + +Mr. Stanlett moved uneasily, and now and again cast a furtive, anxious +glance at her sparkling, girlish face. This badinage was far from +appealing to him. He had sought once or twice to interrupt, but in the +very desperation of idleness and lack of interest she found a sort of +entertainment in the picture that she had conjured up, and persisted:— + +“What would you two do? All out here in the grove where it is so +egregiously dark of a moonless night—we shan’t have this function on +till the moon changes—there would appear occasionally a sudden, +funnel-shaped flare of light and a sharp report,”—she put her hands over +her ears for a moment as if to shut out the sound,—“and Mr. Desmond +would be winning his spurs, and Uncle Clarence would be wanting to show +how worthy he is of his, already won, and the babies would be telling +each other, and everybody else, how wrong and wicked and purblind I was +never to let them learn to shoot so that they might now fill the +marauders full of lead; and I—why I—would just open the door a bit ajar, +and—‘Gentlemen,’”—with the most gracious bow and an airy waving of the +hand,—“‘the goods and chattels in this house are somewhat antique, but +with a lot of wear in them yet. They are racy of the soil, and the trail +of the European serpent is over none of them. They are all at your +service. As to the people,—Mr. Stanlett is a man wise in counsel, gentle +in manner, and a genial companion at dinner; Mr. Desmond will teach you +“to speak Greek as naturally as pigs squeak”; and you are welcome to +_both_ of them until I can ransom them, which I will do as soon as I can +save something from my next year’s income!—all for the slight +consideration that you will give me and my squabs a free passage down to +Natchez on the Swamp Lily,—and no questions asked!’” She paused +breathless, triumphant. “Now, Uncle Clarence, don’t you think that would +wake us up?” + +He turned to throw his cigar stub over his shoulder into the grass. The +wind was stirring the long, drooping branches of the live oak above +their heads, and little, fluttering ripples ran through the folds of the +skirt of her gown. “I think that we may have yet something to disturb +us, not so sensational, but sufficiently perturbing. There is no +necessity to ‘raise the river on jackscrews.’ Colonel Kentopp thinks we +are going to have an overflow in Deepwater Bend. The river is at flood +height, and in several localities above, the water is standing against +the levee. There have been recent rains all through the upper country. +He says that since the rise, the work of the River Commission on the +other side has had the effect of throwing a water of overwhelming weight +against the levee above his place, and if it breaks at Ring-fence +Plantation, where it was always liable to crevasses, considerable +territory in the Bend must go under too.” + +“So poor Colonel Kentopp makes his moan! We never go under on account of +the cross levee. I am mighty sorry for his anxiety; an overflow, +especially if it were not general, would hurt the sale of Dryad-Dene, +and he has been negotiating that place so long with that rich Mr. +Loring. For my part, I believe that man will need only so much land as +he can lie down in,—he will be dead before he makes up his mind to buy,” +Mrs. Faurie prophesied. + +She gazed silently out for a time at the tawny sweep of the Mississippi +at flood height, beyond the vivid variant tints of the bourgeoning +spring growths. “I wish the Mississippi River were drained. Such a +torment as it has been. What a queer thing its channel would be, though. +Just think of it! Boats unnumbered, of all sizes and pretensions, from +the first little stern-wheeler to the floating palaces of the days of +the Robert E. Lee and the Great Republic. Then the bones of all the +people that have gone down in the fires and collisions and swampings and +sinkings to their watery graves! The nations, the races, they are all +represented there, and who knows what prehistoric people! And in modern +times the English, the French, the Spaniard,—De Soto, himself, must be +there yet. He could not be swept with the current down to the Gulf, for +he was buried in his armor, encased in a hollow log, and he must be +lying still, oh, very still, the great wanderer! bound to one restricted +spot,—the great explorer! under tons and tons of the ooze and mud of the +Mississippi, that he came so far to find, and that has held him fast so +long! Yes,—the bottom of the Mississippi River must be a strange sight +indeed.” + +“Might try a diving-bell; that would put an end to the dullness!” +suggested Reginald, who had come up and was leaning over the high back +of her chair as she talked. Now and again his eyes wandered to the +tennis-court at one side of the house, where Horace and Chubby were +playing a match, running very nimbly, but serving the balls badly enough +from the standpoint of his superior expertness. Mrs. Faurie did not +reply. Her eyes were fixed on a mounted figure approaching through the +grove, presently identified as a groom from Colonel Kentopp’s place. +Dismounting at the foot of the steps, he presented a note with the +request for an answer. + +“An answer?” said Reginald, who had run down the flight of steps to +receive it. “Then you had better ride around to the kitchen and wait.” + +As the groom rode off and Reginald turned to ascend the steps he +remarked: “From the Kentopps, mamma,” holding up the envelope, showing +the elaborate crest. Then, as she extended her hand, he continued in the +accents of an extreme but half-suppressed surprise: “It is addressed to +Mr. Desmond.” + +The tutor looked up in blank amaze, the expression deepening on his face +as, after a request for permission, he read the contents. The note was +from Mrs. Kentopp, in a tone of the suavest urbanity and the most +friendly and informal cordiality, begging that he would give Colonel +Kentopp and herself the pleasure of his company at Dryad-Dene for the +week-end. “We have some very charming young friends staying with us whom +we wish you to meet, and especially we wish to give them the pleasure of +knowing you. I have selected the week-end, thinking that this will not +much conflict with your schoolroom duties with the little Faurie +torments. So I beseech you to let us have you Thursday evening, Friday, +Saturday, and Sunday. We will return you, with no disparagement of your +wisdom, early Monday morning, though we don’t intend to be very serious +and staid at Dryad-Dene either.” + +He could not command the muscles of his face in his surprise as he read, +and his disconcerted doubt and dismay were so patent that Mrs. Faurie +cried out gleefully:— + +“Have mercy on our curiosity! What are the Kentopps doing to you?” + +Without a word he handed her the note. Her brilliant eyes scanned the +lines with a brightening interest over all her face. “Why, how perfectly +delightful! A dance after dinner Thursday evening—Mercy! in Lent?—oh, I +remember,—it is Mi-Carême. Will they have enough?—Yes, with Miss +Allandyce and the Mayberrys and Miss Dennis and Rupert Regnan and those +two young gentlemen who were landed from the Primrose last night, and +Miss Kelvin, and she suggests others whose names she does not +mention,—and a camp hunt on Friday and Saturday,—‘the young ladies are +wild to go!’—Oh, I know they are, and I will bet everything that they do +go, and spoil the fun for the men.—No shooting Sunday,—but only the +sylvan pleasures of the camp; for if the ladies don’t go earlier, they +will then join the hunters for a day in the woods. How delightful! How +perfectly delightful! But,”—a shadow crossed her face, quizzical, but +nevertheless a shadow—“how very strange that she doesn’t invite me!” + +“I was thinking of that,” Desmond remarked. “It must be an oversight.” + +“How can it be?—‘Cordial remembrances to dear Mrs. Faurie.’” + +“I don’t understand it,” he said helplessly. + +“I do,” Mrs. Faurie declared; “she is relegating me to my proper place +as an old woman. This entertainment is given for the young people; ‘gay +youth loves gay youth.’” + +Desmond flushed. “I think it an extreme impertinence on the part of the +Kentopps.” + +“Well,—in a way. I shouldn’t take up much room,—and oh, how I should +have enjoyed it,—the days are so long!” + +“If you will excuse me, I will step into the library and answer the +note,” said Desmond, rising slowly from his chair. + +“Do; and I am sure that you will have a charming time,—it will be a +delightful break in the monotony for you.” + +Desmond stood aghast. “I have not the most remote idea of accepting.” He +had his hand on the back of his chair, and he leaned slightly upon it as +he looked down at her. His expression seemed reflected upon her face. + +“But, my dear child, you must accept,” she exclaimed in dismay. “I +wouldn’t have you miss it for any consideration.” + +“I don’t think an acceptance is appropriate—with you excluded.” + +She laughed lightly. “Can’t you see that it is a party of young people, +and that it is only my incurable frivolity that makes me frenzied to go +to it? You are the only member of the household of the appropriate age +for such volatile amusements. The children are too young for society +such as this, and Uncle Clarence and I are too old. I insist upon it. I +will not have it otherwise. Go write your acceptance, or I will do it +for you.” + +Still he leaned on the back of his chair, and still he looked at her +doubtfully. Rarely indeed since his advent at Great Oaks had his face +shown its natural lines of expression. It was frank, gentle, almost +appealing now, without the cool constraint, the aloof dignity, the +critical reserve, it generally wore. “The Kentopps did not particularly +attract me,—and, to be candid, I think that I perceived that I was not +acceptable to Mrs. Kentopp. It would be distasteful to me to go.” + +Mrs. Faurie remembered suddenly Mrs. Kentopp’s pointed exclusion of +Desmond in her proposition for a game at cards, her manner of airy, +unseeing indifference. + +“But you must perceive from this note that there was nothing +intentional,—it is cordiality and consideration itself. Mrs. Kentopp’s +manners are so affected and she is so self-absorbed that it is easy to +take her amiss. One should not be too exacting; we must take the people +in this world as we find them.” + +Obviously, however, he was not placated, and she resumed with a note of +decision: “Now, I make this a personal matter. As a favor to _me_ I hope +that you will accept this invitation. The Kentopps are exceedingly civil +to you,—and you have no excuse. They would think a declination very +strange. And, besides, I want you to have the little bit of +entertainment that you can get from a neighborhood visit, while you are +consigned to this slough of despond yclept Great Oaks Plantation. I only +wish I had an invitation, too,—” She dropped her hands in her lap with a +gesture of mock despair, then she laughed out gayly at herself. + +“Couldn’t you go without it,” he suggested. “There seems such an +established friendship between the families, formality might be +dispensed with.” + +“If the note had been addressed to me,—perhaps. If I had been charged +with the transmission of the message to you, I might have stretched a +point and interpreted it as inclusive. But no!—I am expressly and of set +purpose excluded. I am out of the game! There is nothing for me but to +sit down in the chimney-corner and just be old.” + +She turned her radiant face up toward him, the most apt interpretation +of beauty in its fullest expression he had ever imagined, the bloom of +perfect development upon it, the rare ripe fulfillment of the promise of +first youth. She was apart from the idea of time. There were more lines +about Chubby’s eyes, from much crinkling with laughter; her fair, smooth +lids showed naught but the form of their perfect design. Reginald had a +vertical crease between his brows, from a frown of perplexity he +sometimes wore in moments of cogitation; but his mother’s face was as +free from the trace of care as of age, and morning itself looked out of +her eyes. + +The point of exclusion was so preposterous an incident,—it was so +jejune, and lacking in social tact and appropriateness, that Desmond, +try as he might, could not interpret it. He did not give over his +impressions of Mrs. Kentopp, for all her fair words now; he did not +easily forgive or forget, but the ground of offense was untenable. It +was infinitely unpalatable to accept, yet it was not practicable to +decline, and he was as little in a holiday mood as ever in his life +when, two days later, the Kentopps’ phaeton, which had been sent for +him, rolled up to the porte-cochère of the mansion at Dryad-Dene +Plantation. + +If Great Oaks were reminiscent of the past, it might seem that +Dryad-Dene was a respecter only of the morrow. It could hardly be said +to be up-to-date,—it was an earnest of the future. Certainly it was the +most modern house in all that portion of Mississippi; and but that the +surrounding woods, with the peculiarity of harboring no shoots nor +underbrush, betokened the locality, one could scarcely have identified +the vicinage. The river was out of sight; the levee, unseemly, +utilitarian, suggestive of jeopardy in its promise of protection, held +its serpentine course far beyond the range of the windows of Dryad-Dene. +There were no forest trees immediately about the house; the grounds were +laid off in the formal Italian style, with conventional walks in the +midst of a fine green turf embellished with cone-shaped evergreens and +other ornamental shrubs, white stone vases, terraces with stone copings +and steps; and pleasing though the effect was to the eye, it was as +foreign to all suggestions of Mississippi as if it had been hundreds of +miles from the dominant old river. Only when its beauty might compensate +for its old-fashioned savor was aught brought into use of merely +domestic suggestions. These walks were covered with tiny, fine white +shells, brought up by steamer in hogsheads from the Gulf coast; and +charming as was their aspect, this entailed not more expense than +ordinary gravel, which must needs have been imported also, for there was +not a pebble to be found in all this stoneless region. A crystalline +glitter from one side betokened the slanting glass sashes of the +conservatory, and great ornamental plants—palms and Japanese +tree-ferns—were ranged on either side of the stone flight of steps of +the main entrance, as well as the porte-cochère. The house was of brick, +with stone facings, the roof of fantastic device, of many peaks and +gables; a tower was at the eastern corner; a deep loggia, an oriel +window, a balcony, embellished the façades elsewhere, breaking up every +suggestion of regularity in the architectural effect. + +The large reception hall, into which Desmond was ushered, had a fire +blazing in a deep chimney-place, so huge as to be of mediæval +suggestion, and a grand staircase in massive oak, descending in devious +turns, with here a landing below a great, stained glass window, and here +a niche in which was a marble bust on a tall pedestal; on the lowest +step was lolling a young lady, a cup of tea in her hand and a +riding-crop across her knee. There were several other figures turning at +gaze as he entered; in fact, the apartment seemed full of people to +Desmond, coming into an unaccustomed entourage from the brighter light +without. It was a moment or two before his dazed sight disintegrated the +group. Most of the party were sipping tea, as they stood about, their +whips under their arms, for they were in riding costume. Two ladies sat +chatting in the high-backed antique chairs on either side of the fire. A +little beyond, in a deep bay-window, was a tea-table, a rich gleam of +color with its choice ware and lustre of silver, where Mrs. Kentopp, in +a blue-and-white striped silk tea-gown, long and flowing, was handling +the sugar-tongs, while a tall, blond youth was holding out his cup +toward her, apparently facetiously dickering for an extra lump. She +suddenly caught sight of Desmond, and sent the sugar-bowl falling to the +tray and scattering its treasures as she rose precipitately. + +“There, now!” she exclaimed, “I said I heard horses’ hoofs, and this +greedy thing said I didn’t,”—for the young man had possessed himself of +the tongs and was sweetening his tea to his own taste. “I can’t hear the +phaeton’s wheels for the rubber tires.” + +She swept toward Desmond, the skirt of her gown trailing behind her, and +the white lace which veiled its front from yoke to hem all shimmering +above the broad blue-and-white stripes of the silk foundation. “Mr. +Desmond,” she cried, “how good of you to come!” She pressed his hand +cordially, and turned about to the group with her most coquettish air, +her fluffy flaxen curls above her forehead somewhat more deeply tinted +in the glow of the fire and the light through the ruby “jewels” of the +stained glass window. “This is the Mr. Desmond with whom we all fell in +love over at Great Oaks,” she exclaimed joyously. + +“Is it the regulation thing to fall in love with Mr. Desmond?” one of +the young ladies asked, as Mrs. Kentopp, having concluded her flaring +collective introduction, began to mention the names of the guests +nearest at hand. + +Miss Allandyce was standing beside the tall newel-post, and he noted in +surprise that she wore the dark cloth “cross-saddle riding-breeches” +affected by progressive horsewomen, with boots to the knee and a +riding-coat, in lieu of the habit in which he was accustomed to see fair +equestrians. The costume was not utterly unknown to his observation, but +never should he have expected to see it here, and affected by a lady +with the unmistakable southern accent. She was tall and thin, though of +a large frame, and wore her masculine gear as successfully as a big, +bony boy might have done. She was not without charm; her gauntleted +hands were small, her boots were shapely and slender and displayed a +high instep. She had a Derby hat in one hand, while she held her crop +under her arm, and nibbled at a sandwich from the other. She had a fair, +frank, freckled face; her auburn hair was packed high on her head to be +well out of the way of the Derby, and amidst the mass two or three +fleecy short curls escaped from a richly tinted tortoise-shell comb. She +seemed much at ease, and moved about with great freedom among the +petticoats, though there was no other costume similar to her attire. The +delusive draperies of a divided skirt, which one of the party wore, came +to the floor, and were even fuller and much less graceful than the +familiar riding-habit of the girl who sat upon the step, and who was of +the type so usual in that country,—the woman who looks like a white +rose, with dark eyes and hair and very fair, delicate skin; who spends +the summer-time resting indoors, with a novel, taking care of her +complexion; who would as soon consign herself and her complexion to +Tophet as bathe in the sea, or climb a mountain, or walk out without a +veil or a mask of chamois after April. She had an oval face, her lips +were red, and her high silk hat had all the chic which the contrast with +exceeding femininity is expected to afford. + +“Can I bow upward?” she asked, with a ripple of lazy laughter. “Is it +polite to bow when you are sitting on the floor?” + +“You are perfectly horrid, Gertie,—the idea of pretending to be so worn +out as all that by a little horseback exercise!” Mrs. Kentopp declared, +with an assumed air of pettish displeasure. “Please don’t speak to Miss +Kelvin, I beg of you, Mr. Desmond. Remember that I haven’t introduced +you.” + +“I am saving up for the dance this evening, Mr. Desmond,” the young lady +declared. “You ought to be glad that you did not get here in time for +the drag-hunt. We have had a run after an old bag, that we made believe +was a fox,—and I never knew before how many bones I had to ache.” + +“Would you ache any less if you had had a fox instead of an anise-seed +bag?” Mrs. Kentopp reproached her. “Let me give you some tea, Mr. +Desmond”; and with all her silken train a-flutter she whisked back to +the tea-table. + +“Yes, indeed,—glory would have sustained me,” Gertrude Kelvin declared. +“I was ahead of the hounds, Mr. Desmond,” she protested, still in her +soft collapse on the lowest step of the stairs. “The field was nowhere. +I can’t say that I was in at the death, for there was nothing to die; +but if I could have had the brush, I should have been forever happy. +Nobody could call me lazy any more! I can’t say that I captured the +bag—Is that sportsmanlike, Mr. Desmond?” + +“Did the hounds run well?” asked Desmond, seeking to seem interested, +now equipped with a cup of tea and a sandwich, and free to stand about +at a distance from Mrs. Kentopp. + +“Oh,—they did that!” exclaimed Miss Gertrude Kelvin, wagging her head +and widening her eyes to express great speed; “and I was in—with the bag +to hold!” + +“Oh, the hounds make me mad,—they are so easily deceived! I hate a +fool!” Miss Allandyce came up in a gentlemanly fashion near Desmond and +Miss Kelvin, looking down at that young lady, who was secretly a bit out +of countenance at her proximity in this novel attire. She said no more, +and Miss Allandyce went on presently, moving one of her handsome feet +with a heel and toe alternation, to which she was accustomed with her +skirts, but which now had a style of brazen indifference in the mind of +the young lady clumped up in her habit at the foot of the stairs. “It is +a pretty good pack, though.” + +“Colonel Kentopp’s kennels, or do they belong to a neighborhood hunt?” +asked Desmond. + +Both girls opened wide eyes to horrify and impress him. + +“Neither!” replied Miss Kelvin, significantly. + +“Isn’t that ridiculous?” exclaimed the strong-minded Allandyce, whirling +half around on her heel. “The pack belongs to an old wood-chopper named +Sloper,—and ‘the quality’ _borrow_ his dogs.” + +“Isn’t that low?” Miss Kelvin cast up her dark eyes from her humble +posture. “_He_ is all right—for a wood-chopper! Is he Irish,—or Scotch? +He has a queer accent.” + +“Plain Mississippi,—without any foreign frills,” replied Miss Allandyce. + +“He lives all alone,—got no relatives,—and keeps such a lot of dogs for +company, he says. They are just friends of his,—guests, a permanent +house-party, and oh!—think of it!—when they all ask together to be +helped first at breakfast.” + +“And the neighborhood planters object to it, for he won’t take a cent, +and they don’t want him in the run; but if they borrow his dogs, they +have to invite him and treat him as a guest for the time being. So about +a year ago they thought they would make up a good pack—” explained Miss +Allandyce. + +“Went at it in great style—” interpolated Miss Kelvin. + +“Imported dogs,—English—” + +“Colonel Kentopp bought some beauties—” + +“Great price—” + +“Oh,—oo—oo—!” said Miss Kelvin, but beyond that enigmatic syllable she +could not express her sentiments. + +“Oh,—oo—oo!” echoed Miss Allandyce. + +Their eyes filled with tears of laughter, as one looked down and the +other looked up. + +“Well, how did they run?” asked Desmond. + +Miss Kelvin in her lowly posture took refuge in the safety of silence. +She began to manifest renewed interest in her sandwich, and proceeded to +eat it up on both sides of its bit of encircling ribbon. + +Perhaps even the assumption of manly attire imparts a degree of courage. +Miss Allandyce chose a bolder course. She walked first to the tea-table +and put down her cup,—Desmond realizing too late that the influence of +her boyish aspect had prevented him from offering that service. As she +came back, her Derby in her hand and flecking her boots with her +riding-whip, she looked over her shoulder once or twice to make sure of +Mrs. Kentopp’s distance. Then she said: “I’ll tell you, but you must +never mention it to her, and above all things never to the colonel,—he +is a sweet dear and I love him! His English hounds ran like fun; they +gave tongue like a bell,—the most mellow, searching, thrilling, musical +sound you ever heard,—and the first staked-and-ridered rail fence they +came to—” + +“They could as easily have climbed a tree, the poor foreigners!” giggled +Miss Kelvin, sly in her corner. + +“Such a fence as our swamp dogs would just scramble over,” explained +Miss Allandyce; “but the imported English hounds ran hither and thither, +squeaking and wheezing, and Colonel Kentopp—” + +“They say his language was awful!”—Miss Kelvin had crumpled herself up +very small. + +“I never see him so decorous in church without thinking of it,” said +Miss Allandyce, and the two exchanged a glance of extreme relish. + +“The hounds climbed the fence at last?” asked Desmond, impatient for the +sequel. + +There was a moment of silent and speechless mirth. Then Miss Allandyce +said, in a husky voice and with eyes full of tears, “Colonel Kentopp and +the huntsman dismounted and _lifted_ the imported English hounds over +the fence,—and by that time the fox had run to Issaquena County!” + +“Why, what a gay time you are having over there! What’s the fun? Don’t +keep the joke to yourselves,” called out Mrs. Kentopp, in the midst of +their laughter. But she did not approach the group, and presently the +two recovered their composure. + +“I wonder,—I have often wondered what did ever become of those imported +hounds,” speculated Miss Allandyce. + +“Perfect dears, too.” + +“So handsome! But they were seen here no more, and whenever ‘the +quality’ have a run, they borrow old man Sloper’s house-party, and put +the old wood-chopper up on as good a horse as there is in the county.” + +“They don’t indulge in riding to hounds about Great Oaks, do they, Mr. +Desmond?” asked Miss Kelvin, still resting her bones. + +“Not since I have been there,” replied Desmond. + +“How long will you be at Great Oaks?” asked Miss Allandyce. + +“Why, I hardly know,” replied Desmond, slightly embarrassed. + +“Oh, they make it so delightful to guests, I don’t wonder you can’t say +when you will get your visit out,” Miss Kelvin remarked. + +A sudden illumination broke in upon Desmond’s mind. Mrs. Kentopp had not +acquainted her house-party with their fellow guest’s vocation. + +“But I am not a guest at Great Oaks,” said Desmond, quickly. “I am the +tutor.” + +An appalled astonishment was on the face of both young girls for an +instant. Miss Kelvin remained silent, but Miss Allandyce rejoined in a +tone which obviously sought to keep the key of the previous chat, “Oh, +yes,—Mrs. Faurie has three children,—what a charming household it is +there!” Then she drew a tiny watch from her fob and said in a low tone +to Miss Kelvin: “I wonder that Mrs. Kentopp doesn’t let us go and dress. +I shall be a fright if I don’t have at least an hour.” + +“We have to dance, too, in our dinner-gowns,” Miss Kelvin murmured a +trifle absently. + +Desmond silently upbraided his folly in yielding to the insistence that +had brought him here. Despite his gentle breeding, the position of his +family, the opportunities of wealth that he had hitherto enjoyed, his +culture, he felt that he was at a disadvantage in general society. His +poverty, his station as a private tutor,—to small boys, mere +children,—rendered his presence an incongruity among frivolous people +who could not know and could not appreciate him fairly. He had no +opportunity to make his value and quality felt. It was only in some +cultured coterie capable of going deeper than the shallow appraisement +of fashion that he could ever hope to find again his level. He could not +forgive himself that he had laid himself liable to this misapprehension, +and for his life he could not imagine why Mrs. Kentopp had given her +guests no intimation of his position, to avoid such a contretemps as he +had encountered. For their own sake, and for hers, they would have been +civil in any event. Had she intended to pass him off as a man of their +world, of wealth and leisure and luxury? And why, indeed? For his own +part he had no desire to pose in a guise that must coerce their respect. +But the malapropos incident had made him feel out of place, as if he +were a presuming aspirant, patronized by the Kentopps, and foisted upon +their guests’ society without warrant. Neither of the young ladies had +spoken again, both apparently absorbed in their eagerness to be off to +dress, and the negligence of Mrs. Kentopp, still flirting at the +tea-table, to give them the opportunity. + +Suddenly Colonel Kentopp entered and rushed forward with an enthusiastic +extended hand. “Why, my dear sir,” he exclaimed heartily, “I didn’t know +that you had yet arrived. Glad to see you! How well you are looking! The +sight of you is good for sore eyes.” His left hand had crept up to +Desmond’s shoulder, which he patted affectionately as he spoke. “Wish +you could have been with us on the run to-day,—great time!—But what are +you all dawdling around here for? It is time to dress for dinner. The +Mayberrys and Timlocks will be here long before you are ready. Joyce, +keep those sweet nothings that you are whispering into my spouse’s ear +for a season of more leisure.” And he advanced upon the tea-table, where +Mrs. Kentopp was mildly carousing, so to speak, in a flirtation with a +man almost young enough to have been her own son. She broke out into a +peal of her affected, coquettish laughter, and Desmond in their midst +looked on with as unresponsive a pulse, with as alien and unrelated a +mien, as if among some mystic crew of Comus. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + +The room to which Desmond was assigned was never intended for an +unimportant guest. As he looked about him, he could not understand the +incongruity. The Kentopps were neither of them such people as value a +man for his own sake, regardless of wealth or station; they had no fine +perceptions that could discriminate the higher attributes; they were +devoid of that gift of generosity which belittles self to make the more +of greater worth; they could not even understand a lofty poise of mind, +and it amazed him that they should seem to strain after it,—to ignore +the trivial incident of the vital fact. + +It was a spacious, airy apartment at one of the corners of the building, +and the sharp angle was decorated with a dainty oriel window, though +large enough to hold a fauteuil, a writing-desk, and a shelf of books; +from this outlook one might see down a deep bosky dell artificially +beautified, with a tangle of vines and interlacing shrubs, amongst which +was visible here and there an elusive face, with the pointed ears of the +fauns and elves of garden statuary. There were no trees of tall growth, +and hence he caught a repeated glimpse of jets of leaping water among +the leafage, and in the stillness he could hear the splashing of a +fountain. At the end of a pleached alley was a rustic pavilion, +evidenced by its conical roof, and in the opposite direction a life-size +figure in marble on a pedestal had suggestions befitting the classic +ideal of sylvan nymphs. The new fad of an old dial was illustrated in a +shadowy nook where the sun might make scant register of time. This, +Desmond was sure, was the “dene” which gave the place its name. The +preciousness of its design affronted him, despite its prettiness. In his +unconsciousness he did no homage to the ingenuity of Kentopp, who, after +the burning of his simple farmhouse, inherited from his father, at the +other end of the place, had utilized this desirable building-site +despite the proximity of an old “bear wallow,”—the swampy depression +thus drained, civilized, and made ornamental and even poetic. Any +declivity or acclivity was rare in this level region, and the “dene” was +greatly admired; its original status was wholly forgotten in the success +of the landscape gardener’s achievement, save when some blunt yeoman +neighbor sought a rift in the armor of the Kentopps’ satisfaction and +the relish of a crude joke by directing a note or other paper-writing to +“Kentopp Bear Wallow” instead of “Dryad-Dene.” + +As Desmond turned from the window and again surveyed the room, he was +struck anew by the elaborate aspect of its appointments. A +reclining-chair invited to lounging, with foot-rest and book-holder. +There was the daintiest of toilet tables draped with lace, instead of +the heavy old mahogany bureau such as the gentry of Deepwater Bend were +accustomed to use; and in place of the immemorial mahogany four-poster +was a brass bedstead, also canopied and covered with lace, and furnished +with a duvet of delicate, embroidered blue silk. The polished floor had +rugs in which this azure hue predominated; an open door gave on a +bath-room tiled in blue and white, and the cut-glass candlesticks among +the other crystal accessories of the toilet table held faint blue wax +tapers,—never intended for use, however, for a flood of gas-light +illumined the room, and made his preparations an easy matter, in +contrast with the usual labors of dressing in the country for a festive +occasion by the light of a kerosene lamp, however decorated. + +Desmond had earlier experienced a natural youthful gratulation that his +evening clothes, relic of his London visit the previous June, seeming a +thousand years ago and in a different state of existence, were so fresh +and unworn, and a specially handsome garb. He could at least appear to +personal advantage and be no discredit to his entertainers. Now he did +not care! He fretfully adjusted the diamond studs, a gift that he had +not parted with in all the exigencies of the financial stress he had +known, and the choice and fine sleeve-links, also mementos of happier +days. He would as soon wear jeans, he said to himself, as he stood, tall +and conspicuously imposing, before the long mirror, tying his cravat +with a touch that grudged its practiced deftness, for in his +undergraduate days he had been something of a dude, despite the +roughening influences of the “Gridiron.” He called out in a peremptory +tone when a tap fell upon the door, and as it opened admitting a young +gentleman, one of the guests of the house, the leisurely drawl with +which he entered upon his mission received an impetus from the imperious +gravity and challenge of the eyes fixed upon him. + +“Mrs. Kentopp requested that as I was going by—Great Scott! they do you +immensely proud.” He was young, and blond, and of slight figure, and had +already a tendency to baldness. He was not tall, but very erect, +deported himself with conscious chic, and spoke with a superficial, +negligent enunciation. It was with an air of surprised amusement that he +paused to look about the room. “They haven’t put me up half so fine. I +feel slighted,” with an airy laugh. “Well,—Mrs. Kentopp asked that as I +was going by I would stop for you, to—to”—he was beginning to feel the +influence of Desmond’s eyes—“to show you where the drawing-rooms are +located.” + +“Lest I should lose my way without chart or compass,” Desmond commented. + +“Well,—they seemed actually to try to twist things when this house was +planned,—nothing is where you would expect to find it,” said Mr. +Herndon. + +“I am beholden to you, then, for towing me to a safe harbor,” said +Desmond. + +Young Herndon had recovered his equanimity. “Kentopp is such an +incorrigible dawdle that she dare not trust him. But I have a special +virtue of promptness,—among my many other virtues. My friends say that I +will die some day twenty minutes before my time comes.” + +Notwithstanding this vaunted promptitude, there were several gentlemen +already in the large drawinging-rooms when the two entered. The glitter +of gas and crystal from the chandeliers, the gloss of the floors, the +richness of the oriental rugs, the gilded chairs and sofas, upholstered +in cream and terra-cotta satin brocade, the glow, deep yet delicate, of +costly pictures, the scattered ornaments, vases of Venetian glass and +choice porcelain, tall urns of Persian ware, Chinese curios in carved +ivory,—there was not a suggestion of home but the great fire blazing +behind a brass fender and andirons, and this was so bedizened by a +modern “high-art” mantel, that the leaping hickory flames had much ado +to make the domestic note heard in the bizarre medley; and indeed the +fire itself was a mere matter of ornament, for the house was heated by a +furnace fed by Pittsburgh coal, even more convenient in this riparian +locality than wood which must be hewn, and incredibly cheap by reason of +the low rates of water-carriage as compared with railway freightage. +Neither of the Kentopps had yet appeared, and as Desmond entered the +room, though maintaining his manner of proud composure, he was grateful +for the fact. Their overwhelming cordiality daunted him in the +realization of its superficiality. He fumbled vainly for his identity in +the midst of their soft deceits and unimagined intention, beyond his +ken, but unmistakable. He could meet their guests, to whom he was not +even conventionally beholden, on a level as man to man, and he would +make no concessions. He would maintain his sense of his own dignity. + +In the sensitiveness and self-consciousness incident to an unaccustomed +and in a degree a false position, he did not reflect that beyond his +name he was wholly unknown to the party, and that the momentary interval +after his appearance was instinct only with uncertainty and a +preliminary effort to “place him” in evolving some suitable phrase +introductory to conversation with a stranger. He interpreted the silence +as cool, critical, not to say supercilious, and he had no mind humbly to +await his adjustment to such place in the coterie as the sense of the +meeting, so to speak, might consign him. He walked to one side of the +hearth, and stood for a moment as if in contemplation of the group. Then +singling out one, a man of mature years, conventional of aspect, with a +long, thin face and a most unenthusiastic expression, he remarked, “I +think I have not met you earlier.” + +“And what of that?” was in the countenance of all the amazed group, as +Desmond held the centre of the stage,—even in the impassive, wooden +countenance of the gentleman whom he had addressed. + +“Mr. Loring, Mr. Desmond.” The youthful Herndon was no reluctant +scholar; as he often remarked, when he had had a thing demonstrated to +him forty thousand times, he had learned it. He had now mastered the +fact that the tutor, for whatever reason placed in the position of +Colonel Kentopp’s guest, was by no means disposed to interpret this as +patronage, nor to capitulate to good-fellowship on anything short of the +full honors of war. “Mr. Loring has just arrived,” Herndon further +explained. + +As they shook hands Desmond’s next remark brought a sudden gleam of +expression into the wooden grooves of Mr. Loring’s immobile face. “I +have heard you mentioned at Great Oaks Plantation,” he said, recalling +vaguely Mrs. Faurie’s account of the dilatory methods of the prospective +purchaser of Dryad-Dene. + +“Great Oaks? Are you visiting at Great Oaks? Charming old place.” + +“I am living there. I am the tutor of the Faurie boys.” + +Mr. Loring could not control the surprise in his face, for this princely +presence was not to his mind the way the tutor of unlicked cubs should +look. It was no intentional discourtesy, for he said with more animation +than an article so apparently manufactured might be expected to show: +“Do you intend to make teaching your regular profession?” He could but +think that there must be something unexplained. This was some friend of +the Fauries, perhaps taking a pose for a freak; there was some lure that +had induced a pretended lodging in a humble position at Great Oaks. + +“My present intention,—certainly.” + +Nevertheless, Mr. Loring did not for one moment relegate this imposing +personage to the situation of a mere pedagogic drudge for small boys, +because, if it were true, what did he here? The Fauries, with their +ancient traditions and high standards, might annul and obliterate all +worldly differences in their intercourse with a poor gentleman, refined +and intellectual, but never the recent and purse-proud Kentopps. + +And here suddenly they both were, overflowing with cordial greetings and +exclamatory apologies and with elaborate rustlings and bows. Colonel +Kentopp showed such a glittering expanse of white shirt front over his +broad bosom that the sight of so much linen suggested undress; and his +wife showed so much collar-bone and sternum independent of fabric and +almost of flesh that she suggested no dress at all. She wore, however, a +ruby-tinted brocade, and a fine pendant of rubies and diamonds swung +from a delicate chain about her throat. Her hair had a deeper hue of +blondine than usual, and she wore in it a cluster of ruby-tinted ostrich +tips, at the base of which a very large diamond scintillated. + +But diamonds were all at a discount in comparison with those that +glimmered like dewdrops in the dark masses of Gertrude Kelvin’s hair. +They were not many nor of great size, but they were set artfully to +quiver and glitter at every movement of her head, and the midnight of +her hair gave them a stellular brilliancy. She was attired in a gown of +delicate green tissue over silk of the same shade, and the exquisite +whiteness of her shoulders and arms and face, heightened by the dainty +tint of the dress, seemed worth some deprivation of the garish light of +the summer sun and outdoor joys. + +“Come, Mr. Desmond, you will take out Miss Kelvin,” said Mrs. Kentopp, +busied in arranging her party. Then in an aside to Mr. Loring behind her +fan of ruby-tinted ostrich plumes: “He was just dying with suspense!” +She played her blue eyes at him significantly, and Mr. Loring was thus +given to understand that Mr. Desmond’s lure in Deepwater Bend was Miss +Kelvin. + +“But how old man Kelvin will cut up if there is really no money,” he +thought sagely. + +In slow and stately wise they filed out in couples to the dining-room; +and even if the predilections of Mr. Loring were already engaged by the +traditions of the _ancien régime_, he must needs have admitted to +himself that the entourage at Dryad-Dene was most attractive, +embellished by this glittering company, which set off the house in its +gala aspect to the greatest advantage. + +The dining-room was large, and its appointments betokened that its +owners gave serious heed to the problems and the pleasures of the table. +“My house was built around my refrigerator,” Mrs. Kentopp was fond of +saying; and Colonel Kentopp might have added, with a significance not +altogether literal, that his house was built over his cellar. For the +Kentopps, though not sages of wisdom, were quite indisposed to depend +largely upon the attractions of their personality and the feast of +reason and the flow of soul to commend their entertainments. The wines +were choice and had been long in bottle, and distance and +inaccessibility worked no impairment upon the menu. All the delicacies +of the season, and many out of season, graced the successive courses, +and the decorations of rare exotics—the spring flowers were left to +bloom in their thousands out-of-doors—had indeed scant affinity with the +backwoods. + +“These are from our own hothouses,” Mrs. Kentopp was saying, in reply to +a comment. “Yes,—we have the world at command at Dryad-Dene. This is the +newly discovered site of the Garden of Eden, between the waters of the +Mississippi and Bogue Humma-Echeto; they used to be called the Pishon +and the Gihon rivers, you know.” She held her head down and looked up +under the rims of her eyelids to emphasize the felicity of her remark. +“If there is any little item that we haven’t got, the Mississippi River +on one side and the railroad on the other will bring it to us.” + +Mr. Loring sat at her right hand and was subject to all her +beguilements. Opposite at a little distance was Desmond, between Miss +Kelvin and Miss Allandyce, with Herndon on the farther side. Desmond had +been presented to the Mayberry and Timlock contingent, but he had taken +only a vague impression of pink and blue draperies and blonde hair and +roseate smiles, with the usual complement of attendant cavaliers; for in +the place to which he had been assigned he was absorbed in an effort, +more or less successful, to explain to Miss Allandyce a reason for not +recognizing her that should be something less blunt than the statement +that her riding-costume had quite disguised her at their earlier meeting +in the afternoon. + +“I have heard that the cultivation of the powers of memory is considered +important in modern education,” she twitted him. “I should think your +pedagogical laurels would wilt after this. How can you urge upon Chub +Faurie the value of such discipline of the faculty of—of—” + +“Observation,” suggested Miss Kelvin, on his other hand. + +“Yes,—observation and—and tabulation of traits as to enable you to +recognize an object—” + +“In the landscape—” prompted Miss Kelvin. + +“Yes—in the landscape—an object with a red head, after the lapse of an +interval of time,—an hour, say—” + +“Arithmetically, sixty minutes, to be exact,” Miss Kelvin urged her on. + +Desmond had no sense of amusement as he realized that he had tabulated +her equestrian garb in his mind and would never forget it. The +predicament he was in was far too critical for that. He made a gallant +struggle for a diversion of interest. “I saw no object with a red head,” +he stipulated. “I should never tabulate it as red, but auburn.” + +“Then you would be most discourteous; for red heads are very +fashionable, and mine is treated with chemicals at stated intervals to +make it seem redder than it is,” she said gravely, assuming an air of +staid and offended decorum. + +He wondered in his desperation whether it would be permissible to tell +her frankly that she was not half so gentlemanly in her gown of white +silk. A necklace of seed pearls of fantastic device hung about her +delicate white neck. Her short sleeves had a fall of lace that met the +tops of her long white kid gloves, which she had slipped off her hands +without disturbing the upper section, tucking the fingers beneath her +bracelets. She wore a comb of seed pearls in her auburn hair, and she +looked very handsome. He had an idea, curious enough to him, that she +did not in the least grasp the reason of his failure to recognize her, +his apparent lapse of memory, but that Miss Kelvin had divined it in an +instant, and had a mischievous delight in his plight. Although Miss +Kelvin would not have alluded to the riding-costume her friend +affected,—for she thought it a horrifying, strong-minded notion, worthy +of the woman who wants to vote, who engages in business, who preaches, +who practices medicine and law, and its adoption by a southerner an +apostasy, abominably uncharacteristic,—her eyes dwelt upon him with a +luminous mirth, and now and then, as she caught his glance, she burst +into a ripple of involuntary laughter. + +Her recurrent observation of him, her smiles in response to his glance +as oysters and soup, and fish and entrée, successively filed past him, +almost untouched, were remarked by Mr. Loring, and these apparently +tender passages between the two were interpreted to further Mrs. +Kentopp’s plan even more than she had anticipated. She had expected to +artfully give Mr. Loring such an idea of mutual interest as their +propinquity might suggest, aided by some crafty phrases of her own. But +she had not dared to hope for these bright glances from Gertrude, for +her half-suppressed delighted laughter, for the attitude of the girl, +leaning half across Desmond to whisper and prompt Miss Allandyce to +further jocose upbraidings of the mischance. Gertrude seemed, indeed, +throwing herself at his head; and to her demonstration he ardently +responded, now and again turning to take her counsel in a low voice how +he might best plead his excuses, often misadvised to his detriment and +setting Selina Allandyce off on a new score of rebukes and reproaches. +For they found the tutor great fun. After the first shock of +disappointment, they resigned themselves with a good grace to his +impecunious state and ineligibility. He was too handsome a man to view +with indifference, and too interesting, for his manner attracted no less +than his presence. There was something, too, below the surface of his +talk, and while they did not discriminate its quality, they were aware +of its submergence there. + +As the gay chat grew in interest and animation, Mrs. Kentopp in her +elation could not leave the aspect of the trio to produce its own +impression; she must needs give it a nudge. + +“Love’s young dream,” she murmured sentimentally to Mr. Loring, her head +held down, the iris of her eyes under the upper lids. “‘There’s nothing +half so sweet in life.’” + +Mr. Loring for some time had seemed quite attentive to the champagne and +the roast, but he was not altogether absorbed. + +“Not so young, I take it, as far as the gentleman is concerned,” he +replied discerningly. + +“Oh,—oh,”—Mrs. Kentopp could hardly contradict this conclusion fast +enough. “Why, _he_ is just a boy,—a collegian,—graduated last June,—just +twenty-four.” + +“Rather old for a collegian,” commented Mr. Loring, dryly. + +“Took a very elaborate course, all sorts of elective extras as well as +the regular curriculum. Has a degree from _two_ great universities.” + +“One is more than enough,” sneered Mr. Loring, who had matriculated with +much brilliancy on ’Change. + +“Oh, yes,—he is a mere boy!” Mrs. Kentopp emphasized her insistence. + +“He looks fully thirty,” said Mr. Loring, wondering why olives were not +always “pitted,”—otherwise it seemed more decent to swallow the pits, if +the possibilities of appendicitis did not hinder. + +“Oh, he has had so much sorrow,”—and Mrs. Kentopp conjured an appealing +sadness into her eyes and shook her flaxen head as she bent it to look +down in token of sympathetic woe. + +“Hasn’t turned his hair gray,” said Mr. Loring. “He is the +finest-looking man I ever saw.” + +“Oh, do you think so?” asked Mrs. Kentopp, with a surprised and negative +tendency. + +“Certainly; he has a noble head, and a very fine and impressive face. +They must be long on looks at Great Oaks. I always thought Mrs. Faurie +the most beautiful woman in the world.” + +“‘The most beautiful woman in the world!’”—one of the Mayberry group +caught the words and tossed them back. “I know just whom you are talking +about.” + +The attention became concentrated. Mrs. Kentopp sought to divert it. “I +want you to observe the mould of the sorbet,” she interrupted, +bespeaking notice for the red ices. “Somebody said that this looks like +a melon and ought not to be striped this deep red. Do you think it is a +melon?” + +“Why, no,” said Desmond. “It is a pomegranate.” + +“There,—what did I tell you?” She clapped her hands in juvenile glee, as +she spoke across the length of the table to her husband. + +“The first time I ever tasted a real pomegranate was down at Great +Oaks,” said Miss Mayberry. “They have them in their old-fashioned garden +yet. You have got the flavor, too,” she added, as she daintily tasted +the ice. + +“And who do you say is the most beautiful woman in the world?” queried +Mr. Loring, his inelastic countenance reluctantly crinkling in his +smile, sure of her answer. + +“Mrs. Faurie, of course! I have always heard her called that, and +everywhere as well as at home. I remember when we were at Vevey we met +some Italians,—high-class people who knew the Berkeleys,—oh, they were +very agreeable,—and one day we were talking at random of pictures and +pose and elements of beauty, and one of the gentlemen, who was quite an +art connoisseur, said that he believed he knew the most beautiful woman +in all the world. He had met her in Chamouni, doing Mont Blanc, and that +sort of thing; and when he said that she lived in Paris, Madame Honoria +Faurie, we all screamed! He didn’t even know that she was an American.” + +“But she has gone off a good deal in her looks of late,” Mrs. Kentopp +suggested. + +“I hoped that I would meet her here to-night,” said Mr. Loring, without +even ordinary tact; everything connected with Great Oaks, the embodiment +of his ideal, for which his soul sighed, was interesting to him. “Is +Mrs. Faurie not well?” He fixed his eyes on Desmond and asked the +question directly across the table. + +“Oh, yes,—quite well,” Desmond replied, a trifle embarrassed. + +There was a pause. The general attention was apparently required by the +game course, which was just being served. The inference was too plain. +Mrs. Faurie, it seemed, had not cared to honor the diversion at +Dryad-Dene with the distinction of her presence. For who could imagine +Mrs. Kentopp’s purblind folly in failing to invite her! + +The tact of all the party seemed to have suffered a collapse. “I suppose +that Mrs. Faurie has gone so much, and seen so much, and had so much, +that she does not care for our neighborhood gatherings,” said Gertrude +Kelvin at length. + +“She finds Great Oaks as dull as the grave,” snapped Mrs. Kentopp, the +pendulous tendency of her cheeks reasserted without the dimpling breadth +of laughter. “Doesn’t she, Mr. Desmond?” + +He was a little at a loss. “She complains of its monotony,” he said. + +“The idea!” exclaimed Mr. Loring, indignantly; “one of the finest places +in the whole Mississippi River country. From Memphis to the Balize you +couldn’t find its superior. To my mind it is the loveliest place I ever +saw. I wish it was mine! Monotony! I’d like to own that kind of +monotony.” + +From the foot of the table Colonel Kentopp, in all his pose of +geniality, with his glass of Chambertin in his hand, lowered upon Mrs. +Kentopp. + +The woman rallied first from the contretemps. “The land I know is fine +and there is a deal of it, and the outbuildings are good and stanch, but +the old mansion is a rattle-trap,—so out of repair, and built on any +kind of an old plan. It has no style about it, no modern improvements +and embellishments and—” + +“It simply crystallizes the past,” Mr. Loring declared solemnly. “It is +an epitome of the old South,—its comfort, its space, its disregard of +ostentation; its broad acres about it can keep the tally of its values; +it takes you back a hundred years; it has yesterday in every line. I +wish it was mine!” + +He talked on and on, the taciturn man, over the salad and the sweets, +the theme unvaried, throughout the service of the dessert with the +notable ancient Madeira, till at last his voice was lost in a silken +rustle. Mrs. Kentopp had given the signal for rising, and the young +girls were presently flitting along the big square hall, still visible +from the dining-room, making a picture that enhanced the charming +setting which should have appealed to any man with an eye for beauty, +who did not cultivate a distorted squint backward toward the exploded +past instead of the sophisticated present. + +The ballroom was in the third story,—another intimation of the intensely +modern spirit of Dryad-Dene. There was all out-of-doors to build on, and +surely there was scant reason to economize space when the value of land +was contemplated by the quarter section instead of the running foot. The +destined use and cost of building materials alone might limit the size +of any structure in Deepwater Bend. But though there was no need to +climb stairs, there was much that was picturesque in this airy ballroom, +and it was indeed a great contrast to the long, low wing devoted to the +same purpose at Great Oaks, with its green shutters closed, the spiders +weaving in the corners, and the wide, smooth spaces of its polished +flooring devoted to the humble purposes of miscellaneous storage; for +there was not a dance at Great Oaks mansion in all the quiet years while +Mrs. Faurie had been the admired cynosure in palatial assemblages in +many foreign capitals. + +Here the decorated ceiling had a fine pitch, and all the architectural +embellishments of the house below culminated on this level; the cupola +of the tower gave a circular alcove to the ballroom, and on the opposite +side the French windows issued upon a long, flat roof that, furnished +with a balustrade, offered a charming promenade between the waltzes for +the young people under the white, palpitating stars and in close +familiarity with the gentle night wind. It offered also every +opportunity to the overheated dancers for pneumonia and influenza; but +as they gave this fact no heed, it might scarcely be considered one of +the choice advantages of the ballroom. The hothouses had sent hither +their offering of palms and banana trees and ferns for a tasteful scheme +of decoration, and an Italian band, brought up from New Orleans for the +occasion, tossed lilting melodies from behind a leafy screen. The +stringed vibrations found in Desmond’s heart a thrilling response of +poignant memory, reviving in contrast with the present all the happy +past, the cherished prospects, the vanished faces, the hallowed home. +But he was young, and his pulses were astir with vitality and vigor. The +rhythm, the motion, the sweet, swinging melody, imparted their own +jubilant effects, and he could but enjoy with his muscles all the +buoyancy of his stalwart young frame, while with a curious duality his +heart’s sorrows were unassuaged and his mental indifference and +aloofness were no self-deceit. It was perhaps the mental attitude of +many a reveler in joyous scenes that awoke no sense of mirth, but it had +no parallel among the dancers at Dryad-Dene. The young ladies were all +a-weary of the dull season spent at the abominated plantations; it was +too late for New Orleans, being mid-Lent, indeed, and yet too early for +the White Sulphur Springs or the Gulf coast. + +“How delicious!” Gertrude Kelvin exclaimed. “I should have thought I had +forgotten how to ‘two-step,’—I have scarcely stood on my feet since +Mardi-Gras.” For it was with the charming white rose that Desmond found +himself chiefly awhirl. He danced specially well, and more than once, as +the music recommenced, she looked from a chatting group toward him, with +so bright and expectant a smile that he was fain to ask the pleasure +once more. And indeed it was no great constraint. She was as light, as +airy, as poetic of movement, swinging as rhythmically as a blossom on a +bough, with as little suggestion of effort. Her delicate green tissue +draperies floated diaphanous in the breeze of their motion; her white +arms and neck were fairer still in the moony gleams of the shades of the +gas-jets; her ethereal pallor took on no unbecoming flush with the +exertion; her movement was as devoid of the idea of fatigue as the +flitting of a butterfly or the noiseless winging here and there of one +of the white moths that, allured by the lights, came in, now and then, +from out of the night. The sparkle of the diamonds in her hair flashed +into his eyes occasionally as her head was poised so close to his +shoulder, for she was tall despite her small and feminine ways, and they +made a pretty couple to look at, as Mrs. Kentopp did not omit to point +out to Mr. Loring when at length he came into the apartment. + +He had been loitering at the table over Kentopp’s good wine and fine +cigars with his martyrized host, although the younger men had earlier +joined the ladies, who had had coffee in the drawing-rooms, and together +they had trooped up to the ballroom at the first long-drawn, plangent +cadence of the violins. Mrs. Kentopp had a freshened, elated mien as she +surveyed the scene, standing in the ballroom door beneath the vines of +an elaborate hanging-basket, with the most feathery of trailing ferns, +and plying her fan of ruby ostrich plumes, though she felt the cool +breeze from the widely opened windows. + +“A handsome couple; that will be a match,” she commented, smiling +sentimentally. + +“No doubt,—no doubt,” replied Mr. Loring. He smelled very strong of +tobacco: when the cigars were mild, he smoked a good many of them. He +was a self-made man, the architect of his own fortune,—a massive +structure on which little ornament had been bestowed. He was apt to +consider market prices, potential bargains, possible rebates, and +equivalent values, even in social affairs, although his interest in +social affairs scarcely seemed actively concerned with an adequate +return for the outlay at present. He was bent upon enjoying his money, +but he wanted the best article of pleasure that the market could afford. +He saw an opportunity of richly rewarding himself at a very great +bargain in buying one of the fine old estates in Deepwater Bend far +below its value in the shrunken estimates of post-bellum ratings, where +he might retire to enjoy the pose of magnate and millionaire within a +few miles of where he had been born of poor but eminently respectable +parents. His father, who had been one of the subordinate clerks, “mud +clerk” it was called in those days, on a steamboat, had secured for him +by favor a place in the office of a broker in New Orleans, and stood +amazed by the portentous growth of his scion in that hotbed of +speculation. Loring felt always much at his ease, assumed to be as “good +as anybody,” yet he was very definitely aware that his consequence would +be much enhanced in the neighborhood that he desired to dominate by the +possession of one of the fine old places, at whose seigneurial splendor +he had once gazed as at fairyland, without a thought of entrance. He had +little sympathy with poverty,—it was never romantic, or picturesque, or +appealing to him. Wealth had been his ambition, and wealth was now his +admiration. His study was how to seem not less magnificently endowed +than he really was with this world’s goods. He was a bachelor, and could +not express his riches in the splendor of a wife’s equipment. He could +not afford to marry when he would, and since he had been able to consult +his wishes, he had lost the impulse toward domesticity. His eyes roamed +over the charming scene of the decorated room, the whirling dancers, the +dark blue night looking in with a myriad stars from the windows of +balcony and long, railed promenade, with no fixity of interest and no +undercurrent of sentiment. + +“Yes,” he reiterated, “no doubt it will be a match. Naturally, Mr. +Desmond will recoup his disasters by marrying money.” + +For Mrs. Kentopp had effaced the dullness of his propinquity at table by +talking much of Desmond. The matter just now nearest her heart was her +scheme to divert Loring from the theory that Mrs. Faurie might become +interested in the tutor, and she was sure that the peculiar quality of +Desmond’s personality would soon set such a rumor afloat, were it not +forestalled by one more credible. Mrs. Kentopp was one of those women +whose shallow minds are reflected in their talk. She could no more have +kept a secret without a word to play about it than she could have +emulated the Spartan boy and without a sign held the gnawing fox beneath +her cloak. She would never give such an intimation of her plan that +Loring might discover and rush in upon it; but she needs must chat of +Desmond, his recent history, his father’s death, the ensuing financial +disasters, his relinquished career, the incongruity of his collegiate +record with his humble position. + +“Oh,—I didn’t give you the idea that Mr. Desmond is a fortune-hunter, +did I? Why, I wouldn’t have you think that for the world!” + +Mrs. Kentopp had a peculiar aversion to the character of a +fortune-hunter. As a girl she had been rich in her own right, and +Colonel Kentopp had not escaped the suspicion of a lively perception of +the side on which his bread was buttered. + +“Why not? Are we not all fortune-hunters?” demanded Mr. Loring, dryly. +“What else do we hunt?” + +“But not in that sense—a mercenary marriage! Oh, no!” + +Mr. Loring had a touch of perversity, or perhaps Mrs. Kentopp, with her +_arrière pensée_ concerning the disinterestedness of her own marriage, +had been heavy-handed enough to permit him to feel rebuked. “I can’t +look on Miss Gertrude Kelvin as such a hardship,—even if she would tack +a tidy little fortune on to a wedding-ring,” he retorted, his wooden +countenance smiling satirically. + +“Gertie? why, she is adorable!” cried Mrs. Kentopp, seeking in a frenzy +to find her feet in this slough of misapprehension. “Any man would be +too lucky to talk about to win her, even if she would not have a cent!” + +“Just _my_ opinion,” said Mr. Loring, as if he had enforced its +adoption. “But if Miss Kelvin has not enough money for our gentleman, +perhaps his good looks, and his great learning,” his lip curled +cynically, for Mr. Loring was very short on the classics, “and his +collegiate honors, and his interesting dumps and douleur over the fling +that Fate has given him, might appeal to Mrs. Faurie,—she will give up +that nice income some day for a life-interest in a third of the estate +and a husband,—and the third will be a deal more money than our tutor +will ever see otherwise.” + +Mrs. Kentopp suddenly felt a cold chill stealing up and down her spine, +to which her dress, cut low and loose in the neck, left her liable. But +it was not the inclemency of the wind! Her heart sank at this deliberate +wording of the fear which her husband had evolved and she had adopted. +If this idea were seriously entertained, the sale of Dryad-Dene was +indeed a distant and doubtful prospect, for there were few investors +able to compass a purchase of such magnitude, and fewer still with a +disposition toward property of this character. And Dryad-Dene was not +always gay like this. With half the rooms shut up, and the gilt and +brocade furniture in hollands, and the visitors few and far between and +always the same, and no excitement, and naught to do, and her eyes +forever fixed on a house in New Orleans in the winter and a cottage on +the coast in summer,—oh, Dryad-Dene was but a dreary imprisonment indeed +in the depths of the backwoods! The crisis was so acute that it imparted +to Mrs. Kentopp a touch of dignity. + +“You forget, Mr. Loring, how very distasteful such a suggestion would be +to Mrs. Faurie were she to hear of it. This man occupies a very humble +position in her household,—a paid retainer,—not exactly like a courier—” + +“Why no, indeed,—I should say not!” cried Mr. Loring, as indignant with +this perversion of his suggestion as with its affront to the dignity of +the tutor. “He is a gentleman, of fine family, and a learned man.” + +“So _I_ said; but he _is_ a paid and humble attaché of her household, +and the idea that she could unbend to consider such a person, ten years +her junior,—” + +“_That_ makes no difference,” interrupted Mr. Loring, who took this +schooling rather aversely. + +“—And sacrifice her great income for a man so egregiously beneath +her,—why, the suggestion is belittling, Mr. Loring.” + +“It is belittling to get rid of money, sure!—and she _may_ hang on to +her money yet,” Mr. Loring conceded. + +“Except that we are all so deadly dull down here and value any new +face,” she began once more. + +“Especially such a handsome one,” Mr. Loring stipulated, with a knowing +grin. + +“Yes,—and a dancing man, too.” + +Mr. Loring did not dance. At the period when he might have had the +opportunity to learn the latest Terpsichorean quirks and kicks, he was +absorbed in the saltatory vagaries of the stock market and the +fandangoes of cotton futures. + +“And there is always such a dearth of cavaliers that we have admitted +him among us as one of ourselves. Otherwise and elsewhere, as you know, +the tutor would be in his place in the schoolroom.” + +“_Though_ a gentleman and a learned man!” sneered Loring. + +“Yes,—and I hope that he may marry Gertie Kelvin, and get a chair in +some good college, and one day be the president of it.” Mrs. Kentopp +benevolently smiled. + +“And what will old John Kelvin be doing all that time?” asked Mr. +Loring, with a sidewise twist of his mouth, of which his wooden face +seemed incapable. + +“Oh, Mr. Loring, in an argument you always vanquish me—Why, certainly, +Mr. Herndon,—I am _dying_ to waltz.” + +And thus, perhaps because she had the only blondined coiffure in the +room, was considerably rouged, and floridly attired in her rich, +ruby-tinted brocade, Fate maliciously decreed that she should dance with +Mr. Herndon, the slightest of spindling young gentlemen, wan of face, +thin of flaxen hair, of incipient involuntary tonsure, altogether pallid +and fragile of effect by contrast with the artificially heightened +charms of his partner, and together they furnished the aptest +illustration of “before and after.” + +Mr. Loring still stood in the doorway, apparently casting the eye of +appraisement over the festive scene. He was of so monetary a +personality, of so speculative a reputation, that it was impossible to +disassociate his presence with a deal. It had a certain incongruity and +incompatibility with the remainder of the company, and even Mrs. +Kentopp, who had not the most delicate perceptions of tact, was vaguely +aware of this with an irritating subconsciousness as she whirled and +whirled. She had hoped that, being a single man, Mr. Loring would be at +once assimilated in the merry party as one of the beaux, and while she +could count with security upon his conventional acceptance, on the +footing at which she proposed him, by the well-bred young people, she +had not reckoned upon the lack of malleability of Mr. Loring’s own +predilections in the matter. He was not one of them, he had no pulse in +common, no affinity with their tastes, no social ambitions to which +their warmth of reception might minister. He made no pretense of being a +young man; he claimed naught of the courtesy that thus reckons one +scarcely yet of middle age. He was not sensitive on the point; his +record on ’Change kept the tally of the years, and he was proud of the +events as they totted up. His age was known to people of more importance +in his mind than these inexperienced girls just liberated from the +schoolroom, and their cavaliers still with a lingering dependence on the +paternal purse-strings. He had no response for the graceful coquetry of +the young ladies, nor for the jejune opinions of the youths, financially +mere cumberers of the ground, for he had no method of rating other than +financial. He was too rich a man, too dominant, too self-centred and +consciously important, to submit himself unnecessarily to boredom, and +he had not that altruistic impulse of high social culture that would +constrain him to sacrifice his preference for the sake of his hostess. +Hence it pleased him to stand in isolation in the doorway, under the +feathery fronds of the drooping ferns, and stare moodily, absently, +silently, at the revolving dance, taking no part. + +He was never intentionally frank, but the unavowed reason of his +presence became very definitely outlined as the evening wore on, and Mr. +Loring associated with every appearance of satisfaction with himself. +Mrs. Kentopp, now and again, fluttered up to him and made a great show +of talk, aided by a waving fan and upturned eyes, and he had then the +grace to respond; but to Colonel Kentopp, who must needs sometimes take +her place, he had not a word to throw. Being of a festive temperament +and relishing the joyous occasion, the host was obviously a martyr, in +the long intervals when he felt constrained to stand beside the wooden +figure and ply him with artful talk, so constructed as to need no +response other than the absent grunt or nod which Loring vouchsafed in +recognition of his character as quasi-guest. + +“‘How doth the little busy bee improve each shining hour,’” quoted +Gertrude Kelvin, as she and Desmond, breathless from the final whirls of +the waltz, issued into the tower alcove to find already standing there, +enjoying the breezes of the open space, Selina Allandyce and Rupert +Regnan. He was a tall fellow, with an outdoor complexion suffused with a +constant red flush, brightly glancing gray eyes, and dark hair. He had +served in the Spanish War, and had acquired, besides the title of +lieutenant, a military carriage which would be his proud possession for +all time, and which added a certain stiff stateliness to his appearance +in evening dress. His father, a veteran of another war, one of the +Unreconstructed Rebels, was wont to look askance at him, tabooed his +title at home, and had informed him that he could not set foot on the +plantation while he wore a blue uniform. But the son cheerfully +responded that he had shed the uniform when he had quitted the service, +and that the title of lieutenant was too tight a fit for him,—he was out +for bigger game! He had developed a sense of his own importance, and he +now felt it jeopardized in some sort. + +“What is that man here for, do you suppose?” he said to Miss Allandyce. +The coterie was quite confidential in the restricted space, which, with +the windows all open between the pilasters on three sides, seemed to +poise them in the midst of the cool, dark night, the airy roof of the +cupola above. + +“For the same reason that you are here, I fancy,—for the pleasure and +honor of your company,” she responded, looking in the dim light very +sweetly feminine in her white silk gown and her pearl-crowned auburn +hair. + +“But there isn’t any pleasure in _his_ company, I should judge from +Colonel Kentopp’s countenance, and I should judge from his own that he +isn’t disposed to confer any honor. I imagine that he has come to look +at the house,—people say that he is going to buy it.” + +“You seem to object; are you a prospective purchaser, too?” Miss Kelvin +twitted him with this incongruity in view of his youth and financial +inexperience. + +“I do object. I may be exacting, but it strikes me that this party was +made up to give him an opportunity to see Dryad-Dene to the best +advantage. I can’t imagine what else he is doing here. He scarcely makes +a feint toward the manner of a guest.” + +“And you object to dancing for a purpose,—how wrong! You know that the +reproach of dancing is that it is at best but an idle amusement. You +ought to be glad to convert it to some use.” + +“I object to being made use of without reference to my feelings,” he +protested, as he wagged a somewhat round and close-cropped head with an +emphatic, not to say affronted air. + +“And are you not willing to skip and leap like a young lamb to make Mr. +Loring think this is a pretty house?” + +“I am not! The pleasure of my company was requested, and I came to +compliment my hosts, and to enjoy myself, and to see you all,”—he +included the whole group with a bow,—“and to contribute my little +possible to the general entertainment.” + +“And you are frustrated!” Gertrude Kelvin averred. “Now, if I were you, +I’d take it all back; I’d cancel my services. I’d make the whole thing +ridiculous. You ought to go right out there in the middle of the +ballroom floor and throw a somersault! Then you would undo all that you +have done.” + +“Oh, do it, Mr. Regnan,—or rather undo it!” cried Selina Allandyce. + +He laughed, but did not stir. + +“He’s afraid!” Gertrude exclaimed. “You know that he must have been a +coward in the Spanish War,—for see now, he’s afraid.” + +“I’m sure that he ran at the battles,—I’d be willing to take my +affidavit to it,” Selina goaded him. + +“It’s a mere pretense that he got a presentation sword after the war—for +he’s _afraid_!” said Gertrude. + +“He couldn’t have got it for gallant conduct, for he’s afraid!” + +Regnan looked from one to the other, but only laughed. + +“He is deceitful, too,” Gertrude recommenced, “and he encourages deceit +in others. He lets Mr. Loring accredit Dryad-Dene with all the chic and +style of his presence—” + +“And all the grace and agility of his waltzing,” Selina interrupted. + +“And all the bonhomie and sparkle of his conversation,” Gertrude added. + +“Oh, let up on me; I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” Regnan pleaded; but he +made no saltatory intimations toward the required somersault. + +“And all the distinction of his military record,” persisted Gertrude. + +“And all the prestige of his hereditary position,” Selina supported her +contention. + +“And when Mr. Loring buys this house, the title-deeds will call for more +than they cover,—oh, poor defrauded Mr. Loring!” + +“But now, seriously,—” Regnan began. + +“Seriously,” Gertrude interrupted, “in fair dealing you ought to throw a +somersault in the middle of the ballroom floor, in order that its lack +of style and its grotesquerie and awkwardness, if _you_ can make it +awkward, may condone for your unwitting alacrity in palming off a house, +entitled to none of your signal attractions, on Mr. Loring, who will pay +a bonus for the grace your presence lends to it!” + +“But now, seriously,— doesn’t it seem to you that this is not an +appropriate time to show off the house to a buyer?” Regnan appealed to +Desmond. “I may be exacting, but yet—” + +Desmond, who was aware that he himself was here for a purpose he could +not fathom, had a monition of caution. + +“Don’t ask me; I am a stranger here, and—” + +“Hesitate to express an opinion, of course. Well,—we are all old +friends, and but that it might seem a disrespect to Mrs. Kentopp’s +feelings, and in so far uncivil, I should be willing to tax her with it +myself.” + +The soft rustling of the treetops below in the bosky, benighted “dene” +impinged upon the talk; the freshening breeze coursed through the tower, +at this height inclosed only by the slight pilasters which upheld the +conical roof. The sense of altitude, the vision of the lonely, starlit +sky, and the dark, far-stretching wilderness on every side beyond the +plantation clearings, were incongruous with the ballroom scene close at +hand, the graceful figures promenading the glossy hard-wood floor with +its mirror-like reflections. More akin was the romantic, languorous +theme of the waltz, with a sort of melancholy yearning in its +sentimental iteration, and presently a high-heeled white satin slipper +was beginning to move unconsciously in rhythm as the quartette still +stood in the tower together. + +“If your scruples against adorning the premises of Mr. Loring’s +prospective purchase are not too great a restriction on this waltz,” +Desmond suggested to Miss Allandyce, with whom he had not danced +hitherto. + +“Oh, I repudiate the responsibility,” she exclaimed. “I am neither the +bargainer nor the bargainee, and Mr. Loring is popularly supposed to be +able to take care of himself financially.” + +She had lifted her hand to Desmond’s arm before they issued from the +tower alcove, and as they came waltzing out of its seclusion together, +Mr. Loring noted the change of partners. “He is making himself generally +agreeable, and probably has no special idea of Miss Kelvin,” he +commented within himself. “There is no money in his line of business. If +he marries it, of course he will marry all he can. He would be mighty +well pleased with the Faurie third,—which maybe Madame Honoria’s dukes +and princes wouldn’t look at after they had seen her flourishing around +on the income of so much more.” + +Mrs. Kentopp’s spirits were wilting; the lassitude of brain-fag was +evident. She looked her thirty-eight years. Her cheeks were pendulous, +so seldom did the distention incident to the redeeming smile visit them. +She realized she had taken great pains to a doubtful end. She began to +think that she might have better commended Dryad-Dene without the +house-party. She could have managed Mr. Loring to greater advantage +without its distractions. It had not made the excuse and occasion to get +him here incidentally without obviously putting the house on parade. He +assumed none of the pose and port of a guest. He seemed to consider that +he was invited for business reasons only, and this doubtless suited his +easy interpretations of the obligations imposed by hospitality as well. +And why else should he have been invited? He was no friend of the +Kentopps, and he had no desire to be friend of their friends. Why should +they ask him here, save to show him the house to advantage? and +to-morrow, on the camphunt, he would have every opportunity to see the +land. The house certainly did appear to great advantage, but Mr. Loring +was a discreet and discerning operator,—he could easily divest it of +such attractions as were added to it by the fascinations of Mr. Regnan’s +two-step and Miss Kelvin’s sylphine charms. He was appraising the +woodwork, the quality of the plate-glass, the hand-carving on the +newel-posts, with their long shafts holding up lily-like sprays of +gas-jets. He condemned what he had learned to phrase as precious or +Brummagem, and he regretted that it was all so new, so glossy, so like a +fine hotel. He was ambitious of the pose of grand seigneur. He had now +as much money as any one of the Mississippi princelings in the palmy +days of the old plantation times. He coveted their entourage; it +represented taste to him; wealth, family, culture, all the majesty of +the magnate, as he rated the great in the world. A few modern +conveniences kept as carefully as might be out of sight, a touch of +modern frugality,—“I’d never throw away money with both hands like those +old ducks,”—and this would comprise all the improvements that he thought +would befit the domicile of eld. Still it was not to be had, and he +addressed himself to contemplating the tower balcony, with the +white-draped figures hanging on the balustrade, now gazing down into the +dark shrubbery of the “dene,” where the fountain splashed rhythmically, +and now chatting with the cavaliers while the group discussed the +delectable ices. Mr. Loring partook of his selection with a meditative +mien. It was of a mint flavor and was stiffly laced with old Bourbon, +and a long, fragrant sprig of the newly budded herb stood in the midst +of the delicate glass. Very perfect were the beautifully served +refreshments, with accessories of daintiest device; but he knew full +well that he would not have command of Mrs. Kentopp’s deft arrangements +here if the house were his, for money itself could not buy good-will to +equal her efforts in the interests of getting Dryad-Dene off on him. +“Not even here will the larks fall all roasted into one’s mouth.” He +remembered the old French proverb with a sardonic smile. He took no part +in the outcry of protest with which, after one more entrancing waltz, +the dancers greeted the strains of “Sleep well, Sweet Angel,” wafted out +from the leafy screen embowering the Italian orchestra, with which the +dinner dance was obviously brought to a close. + +Regnan followed Mrs. Kentopp here and there, insisting that she should +look at his watch, which he had drawn from an inner pocket, and which +marked but ten o’clock. She was doubtful for one moment; so little +agreeable had she found the evening that she would not have been +surprised to know that it had dragged as slowly as this witness +maintained. Then she recognized the artifice. + +“It is a gay deceiver,—just like you!” she cried. “But if you did but +know at what unearthly time you will have to rise, you would have been +off to bed long ago. I expect to hear that old swamper’s halloo under +the windows any moment, and the baying of his pack.” + +And so presently, reflected in the polished flooring, the procession +wended its way through the ballroom and down the many turns of the +elaborate staircase, pausing only once, at the first _entresol_, when +Mrs. Kentopp called the attention of Mr. Loring to the electric button +in the wall by means of which the gas-jets in the upper story were +instantaneously extinguished, and the ballroom and the Mi-Carême dance +were in a moment in the darkness of the past. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + +It seemed indeed to Desmond that his head had scarcely touched the +pillow when he was roused by the baying of hounds from the stable-yard +at the rear of the house. He was on his feet in a moment, for Mr. +Herndon did not monopolize the virtue of promptness at Dryad-Dene, and +Desmond was zealously heedful that his distaste to the occasion and his +entertainers should induce no breach of observance on his part. He was +half dressed when the screech of the speaking-tube summoned him within +the sound of Colonel Kentopp’s voice, urgently asking if he were awake, +then with equal urgency if he were risen,—which demonstrated that +Colonel Kentopp’s brain was not very completely cleared of the vapors of +slumber. + +Desmond arrayed himself in his equestrian togs, which he considered the +most appropriate gear at his command, and finding the halls alight and +following the sound of voices, he soon made his way to the dining-room, +where a hasty breakfast was going forward. + +“Just a snack,” Colonel Kentopp was saying to the gentlemen seated at +the table, or standing at the sideboard helping themselves to cold +mutton or ham as they would. He himself seemed to be breakfasting on +brandy, and he went around the table, decanter in hand, administering a +nip here and there, willy-nilly, like the Squeers treacle. + +“For the stomach’s sake,” he would insist to youths whose hearty young +stomachs could with impunity have begun the day with ice-cold +buttermilk. There was hot coffee, but no hot breads, and therefore, in +Mississippi estimation, no breakfast. “We shall have a hot breakfast +ready for us at the camp. We just want a snack here to enable us to get +away. Those girls will be wild to go, and they couldn’t keep the saddle +half the distance.” + +“Why, Miss Kelvin rides as well as any man,” said Rupert Regnan, +displeased; “and Miss Allandyce—” + +“Rides just like a man,” Kentopp finished, with a laugh. “The truth is,” +he spoke mysteriously, “we expect a rough day. We hope to get up a bear, +and it isn’t safe to have ladies along in such a harum-scarum +expedition. This is our last chance,—the game laws, you know. Monday is +the first of March!” + +There was a touch of the _preux chevalier_ about Regnan. It was +distasteful to him to sneak off and debar the young ladies of the +pleasure they had set their hearts upon. If there had been any means of +rousing them to the deceits practiced upon them, other than +inappropriately appearing at their bedroom doors, he would have availed +himself of it. What cared he for such stereotyped fun as was comprised +in pulling through sloughs and cane-brakes with a lot of men after a +bear, if one could be found! They were not of metropolitan life; the +wilderness and its incidents were an every-day story; they were +veritable “swampers,” as much old “residenters” as the bear himself! +Such amusement as the day might offer lay, to his mind, in the +incongruity of feminine society, and the enjoyment at second-hand of +these hackneyed details, wonderful and new to the young girls’ +experience. He would fain have afforded them this joy, which they +childishly craved. + +He realized, however, that it was not his place to dictate, and +presently the men had all trooped out to a small room, ambitiously +denominated the armory, and were busied over the choice of weapons and +supply of ammunition. A great array of antique blades, helmets, shields, +more or less genuine or suggestive of the junk-shops of New Orleans, +hung upon the walls, with some really interesting specimens of the +blunderbusses and cutlasses of the buccaneers of early times on the Gulf +coast; of bows and arrows, beaded quivers, scalp-knives, tomahawks, from +the date of the Chickasaw and Choctaw occupation of this region; and of +the flintlock rifles, powder-horns, and shot-pouches of the pioneer +days. Two or three of the party had brought their own guns, but others +had depended on a chance furnishing forth from Kentopp’s armory. The +modern repeating shotgun, holding in its magazine five cartridges, each +with a dozen buckshot, permitting the discharge of sixty balls within +five seconds, was a prime favorite with the sportsmen in preference to +the staunch old double-barreled breechloader; only those who boasted +special accuracy of aim were content with rifles; Desmond, not very +enthusiastic in pressing forward, found his choice limited to necessity. + +“I hope that you are a good shot, Mr. Desmond,” said Colonel Kentopp, +with polite concern, “for these fellows have left nothing but two rifles +for us. First-rate make, though not repeaters.” + +Desmond’s outdoor accomplishments were limited to the “Gridiron.” He +fancied the swamp game destined to be long-lived indeed, if they were to +die from the chances of a single rifle-ball directed by his unaccustomed +aim. For he was no sportsman. He did not thirst for victory over the +sylvan folk. He accepted the rifle as graciously as if he were a dead +shot and confident of his powers, secured his share of the appropriate +ammunition, and rejoined the others, who had already repaired to the +stable-yard. + +It was an animated scene. The gas-jet over the stable-door brought it +out in high lights and black shadows. A number of fresh, restive horses +had been led out of their stalls still in their blankets; others were +bare and shivering in process of being saddled. + +“Will you ride with a curb, Desmond, or just with a snaffle?” asked +Kentopp, as he bustled about, as busy as any of his negro grooms, who, +with shining eyes and glittering teeth, entered into all the spirit of +the occasion. The dogs were literally beside themselves, and with their +dark, whisking shadows seemed twice as numerous as in reality. Now they +leaped in a series of ecstatic gambols as if they could not keep their +feet to the ground, and again they manifested strange proclivities not +to be accounted for on a basis of human reasoning. One suddenly planted +himself in front of a young and spirited steed and treated him to a +succession of frenzied bayings and elastic boundings that sent the +horse, restricted to a limited space, quite wild with surprise and +dismay,—now leaping aside with the hope of evading his queer tormentor, +and now rearing and threatening to bolt. Another of the dogs, with a +yelp so shrill that it menaced the integrity of every tympanum within +reach of the sound, urged the setting forth without more delay, +scampering around among the hoofs of the horses and the legs of the men, +and so to the gate and away!—looking over his shoulder presently, seeing +that he was not followed, and returning to repeat the demonstration, +calling “Come on! Come on! Come on!” as distinctly as if he had the +powers of human speech. + +The horses, sniffing the morning air and the promise of adventure, again +and again sent forth neighs shrill and clear and as matutinal of effect +as a cock’s crow; there was a great stamping and champing; the voices of +the stable-men were loud with calls for gear within the buildings, and +admonitions to the horses, and adjurations to Mr. Sloper to take some +order with his pack. + +“’Fore Gawd, them scandalous hound-dogs don’t show no more manners than +if they were so many rapscallion childern,” the head of the stable +averred. + +The guests discussed bits and saddles and chose according to their +liking, and went in and out of the harness-room with grooms and +lanterns. Often, in the midst of the turmoil, Colonel Kentopp looked up +with apprehensive forecast at the house, which seemed with its three +stories and tower very tall and stately in this region of the bungalow +preference, expecting to hear a sash lifted and a voice, sweet but +imperious, demand a stay of the proceedings. “Wait for us! Wait for us!” +seemed to sound in his ears, until with the quick, assured tramp of a +body of horse, a frenzied crescendo of the skirling of the dogs, a wild +jocose “Yah! Yah!” of the stable-men left in the deserted yard, the +hunters were mounted and gone. + +It was still so dark that Desmond could not have kept the road had it +not been for the horsemen on either side, and the voices of those +valiant precursors, the dogs, some of whom, however, now moderated their +transports and were trotting silently forward. The tones of their owner, +or entertainer it might seem, so honored were they in his domicile, came +from the van, where he rode abreast with Colonel Kentopp, who had ceased +his attentions to Mr. Loring to ply old Sloper with his courtesies. He +really felt under special obligations to the old swamper for the loan of +his pack of hounds, though, as in the case of many other politic people, +his gratitude included a lively sense of favors yet to come. It was the +opportunity for a day of sport preëminently appropriate to the region, +which without Sloper’s coöperation it would have been impossible to +offer to the house-party. Hence Colonel Kentopp had put up Mr. Sloper on +the best horse in his stable, well knowing that the old swamper would be +keen to discern and quick to resent any invidious distinction in the +matter. Mr. Loring rode only the second best, a point which doubtless +ministered to the swamper’s satisfaction and jealous sense of his own +consequence. Therefore in fine fettle he led the cavalcade, continuously +talking, his high-pitched voice, with its frequent breaks into a +snuffling chuckle of falsetto laughter, coming back on the keen, dank, +matutinal air with great distinctness. + +He was definitely of the class known as the “poor whites” of that +region, and his company was not acceptable to Mr. Loring. The man who +rises in the world is not tolerant of lower conditions. It is only the +acknowledged aristocrat who can really unbend. Sloper’s estate in life +did not duplicate or approximate Loring’s origin, which was in all +essentials distinctly genteel,—in the fact of educated parents, in +refinement of early association, in point of social connection; for +although his immediate family were of small means, he was related to +well-to-do people of good middle-class standing. Sloper, however, +distinctly expressed the “common folks” of that region as contrasted +with the baronial planter, and as Loring had no affiliations with the +latter class, it offended him to be brought into familiar juxtaposition +with the representative of the widely different lower order. + +Colonel Kentopp could suffer no reduction of personal consequence in +hobnobbing as man to man with the old plebeian, but as far as Loring was +concerned, familiarity might seem an outcropping of quondam tastes and +associations and similarity of station. Hence he said naught as Colonel +Kentopp’s jovial laughter rang out at the conclusion of one of Jerry +Sloper’s stories that he had heard a score of times heretofore. As the +old swamper’s high falsetto cackle punctuated the applausive mirth of +the others, one might have thought that he was himself too noisy to +distinguish the fact that Mr. Loring had not relaxed his risibles in +compliment to the gifts of the raconteur; it was still too dark to +discriminate facial expressions, and the lantern, which one of the +colored grooms carried, was too far ahead to afford its gleams. There is +not always that submission in the minds of the lowly in estate which +would seem an appropriate concomitant of that humble condition. + +“Powerful glad to see you here, Mr. Loring,—though I don’t rightly see +you yit,” Sloper remarked, holding in the spirited steed on which he was +mounted to range alongside the millionaire. “We feel here in the +Miss’ippi bottom that you jes’ nachully b’long to us. Why, I knowed yer +dad way back in the fifties. _Yes_, sir! He used ter run the river in +them days. He was mud clerk on the old Cher’kee Rose. I kep’ a wood-yard +up yander on the p’int, an’ Gus Loring an’ me had chummy old times when +he would come ashore to medjure the wood. That was before he +married—considerable looking up his match was, for a mud clerk, ye know! +Yer mother was a tidy gal,—plump as a partridge,—and I used to set up +ter her considerable myself. He! he! he! She turned me off, though, for +Gus Loring! An’ she done better, though I do say it myself. She done +better to take Gus instead o’ me. She had a leetle chunk o’ money, an’ +yer dad quit the river an’ bought a share in a store an’ set out +a-clerkin’. But Lawd! I reckon ye wouldn’t bat yer eye for no such stock +o’ goods as he had. They tell me as ye have prospered considerable down +yander in Orleans! I reckon if _ye_ was ter store-keep, like yer dad, ye +could show forth as good a stock as they had at Whippoorwill +Landing,—that would ha’ made Gus Loring stare! I don’t mean ye could +_own_ it all—part credit o’ course! But I reckon from all I _have_ heard +tell that ye could get a note in bank,—an’ that is mo’ ’n yer dad ever +could do.” + +Regnan loved his fellow-man. “For God’s sake, pull that old fox off the +Spartan’s vitals,” he said in a low voice to Kentopp. “I can’t abide for +a fellow to be gnawed like that.” + +“Then, curse him,—why can’t he show some sense!” Kentopp growled _sotto +voce_ in return. “Who but a fool would try to top old Jerry Sloper with +his _nil admirari_ millionaire airs. _He_ knows what Loring cut his +teeth on! I am afraid of my life to say a word.” + +Lieutenant Regnan had missed his billet as the destroyer of life. His +instincts were all for first aid to the injured. He presently began +melodiously to hum, and suddenly as he rode in the clump of horsemen he +broke forth: “Say, Mr. Sloper, how does the tune go to that old +high-water song:— + + “Step light, neighbor,—_don’t_ jar the river! + Rising, rising, brimful and over—” + +Forthwith the old swamper was blissfully chanting as he rode at the head +of the cavalcade, and Mr. Loring had time to readjust the expression of +his face and to conceal the ravages of the onslaught on his pride before +a certain pallid influence began to annul the darkness. A sense of mist +was in the atmosphere, yet great, towering trees were visible, and far +along apparently infinite vistas, level and devoid of woodland débris as +a royal park, some vague presence shifted continually, never so +distinct, so definitely embodied, as to be formulated to the vision, and +at last realized as the impalpable medium of the dawning light. Suddenly +day was revealed in the woods. The sun was up, not seeming to rise on +those infinite levels, but to spring at once like a miracle into the +place of darkness. It filled the world with the amplitudes of a glorious +golden glow, so fresh, so elated, yet pervaded with a sort of awe, a +splendid solemnity. Stillness characterized its earlier moments, but +presently, in the chill morning, the spring birds were singing from the +branches of the trees, which rustled with the sudden stir of the wind. +Through the vistas to the west the great Mississippi was agleam with +thousands of wavelets tipped with dazzling scintillations, and the +rising mist that veiled the Arkansas shore shimmered with opalescent +reflections. Beyond the limits of the forest one could see here and +there a scattered growth of cottonwood trees and the serpentine line of +the levee, its great embankment covered to the summit with the thick +growth of Bermuda grass, the interlacing roots of which were considered +of much avail in strengthening the earthwork to resist the action of the +current in times of high water. At one point, where the river turned in +its corkscrew convolutions, the horsemen could see that the encroaching +flood had crossed the intervening space and was beginning to stand +against the base of the levee. This premonitory symptom of overflow Mr. +Loring was prompt to notice. + +“I have a cross levee half a mile back,” Colonel Kentopp said, with a +jaunty air. “I don’t think we will go under, even if that stretch of +levee should give. And if we do,” still more jauntily, “crawfish and +river detritus are fine fertilizers.” + +“Best crops ever made in Deepwater Bend was after the biggest water I +ever see,” interrupted Jerry Sloper, exceedingly glib. “Levees broke in +March, and water stood sixty miles wide. Plantations were under till +mighty nigh May. River was not in its banks till nigh May. Then the crop +was planted and—” + +“I have heard my grandfather tell about that,” interposed Regnan. “The +fields were so thick with cotton that they laughed and sang,—and the +planters laughed and sang, too.” + +“Still, I’d rather Dryad-Dene should keep dry feet,” said Colonel +Kentopp, turning in his saddle to look over his shoulder at the water +lapping about the verdant spaces at the base of the levee. Nevertheless, +he felt very cheerful. The cavalcade could hear the plantation bell at +Dryad-Dene ring forth its strong, mellow acclaim, calling out the hired +force to work, as well as the tenant farmers, who were under the same +regimen. The broad expanse of fields was now and again visible, all +prepared for the planting of cotton,—as carefully laid off and with the +earth as thoroughly pulverized as if for a flower-bed. It was impossible +for the heart of a proprietor of so fine a plantation not to swell at +the sight, and while away from Annetta and her eager fostering of their +mutual ambitions toward metropolitan life, Kentopp felt a sort of +independence of the millionaire’s doubtful attitude. Let the event fall +out as it would, he had here a mighty good thing. + +In the midst of these more vital and manly interests, Loring’s phlegm +and pose of indifference could but give way. He knew the country and its +possibilities thoroughly, and now and again he made searching inquiries +into local conditions, which showed that his mind was genuinely occupied +with the proposition, and caused Colonel Kentopp to think that he did +not half care to sell at all. Repeatedly the richness of the opportunity +was demonstrated. A turn in the road suddenly gave to view a lovely +level of pasturage inclosed by hedges of the Cherokee rose, over whose +wide-spreading evergreen brambles the horsemen could look upon a green +plain, dotted with trees of gigantic girth, and embellished with as fine +a flock of sheep as ever wore wool. Three or four black pickaninnies, +already absorbed in a game of mumble-the-peg, and several collie dogs +were entered upon their guardian duties for the day, and Colonel Kentopp +was descanting upon varieties and pedigrees, weight of shearings and +flavor of mutton. + +“We raise everything at Dryad-Dene, as a model plantation should. The +world is within the bounds of Dryad-Dene. We buy nothing but gunpowder, +salt, iron, and sugar.” + +This was, of course, the ancient brag of the great river principalities; +but the immense drove of hogs which the horsemen passed after a time, +crowding about a gate where swineherds were throwing out as breakfast +the contents of a wagon loaded with corn over the high fence of the +inclosure, the wide expanse of the potato-fields, harvested long ago, +their yield garnered into the potato-sheds that stretched along on one +side like the roofs of a little street, the saw-and-grist mill, the +cotton-press and steam-gin, with the obeliscal smokestack towering above +the plain,—all the appurtenances of the industry, went far to confirm +the boast. + +And now into the depths of the wilderness, primeval, apparently +illimitable, with the wind footing it featly alongside. There were +clouds in the densely blue sky, but high, white, flocculent, and lightly +floating. The odors of spring vegetation, of early blooms, came on every +breath; and when the first of the sloughs was reached, it was so draped +in lace-like willows, so full of verdant moss and ooze, so still and +dreamy in its marshy pools, mirroring the sky, that one might have +accounted it a valued feature of the landscape, but for the experience +of fording it. + +“We can’t hunt bear in a parlor,” Colonel Kentopp declared, as he forced +Ringdove to wet her dainty hoofs. The rest were soon splashing after, +unmindful of mire and solicitous only of quicksands. But on the farther +side they were on dry and level ground once more, cantering alertly +amidst the great forest trees, the horses scarcely breathed, and the +courage of the cavalcade rising to the summons of exertion. And +now,—deepest shades, great overhanging, swamp-like growths! The dense +cypress, festooned by the gray Spanish moss, rose towering out of +ink-black water; a white heron, standing motionless beside a clump of +the protuberances known as “cypress-knees,” looked as if it might have +been sketched into the scene with a bit of chalk; logs, moss-covered and +dripping with slime, lay half buried in the ooze; the canopy of foliage +was so thick, the boughs of the trees so densely interlacing, that the +light of the brilliant day was cut off and the hunters rode as if in a +dream-shadow. Lakes presently opened alongside, series of glassy +stretches, blue under the azure sky, and connected by a bayou so dully +flowing that, gaze as one might, the motion of a current could not be +discerned. Once wild ducks were glimpsed, and though old Jerry Sloper +protested, he could not hinder the prompt discharge of one of the +shot-guns. On the crash of the report ensued the whizzing of wings in +the flurry of terrified flight, and two of the birds floated dead upon +the water. A handsome setter sprang into the lake, and presently swam +out with his feathered trophy; while the dogs of different breeds +wheezed uneasily about the margin, and one of them, a famous bear hound +of a singular bluish tint, his hide about his jaws hanging in loose +folds, sat down and contemplated the feat with head askew, as much as to +say, “Now, how did _you_ find out how to do that?” + +Jerry Sloper was beside himself with indignation. “Now, you fellers air +goin’ to spile the chances fur the whole day! How fur d’ ye think this +here piece o’ water ’ll carry the crack o’ that thar gun? Old Pa Bear +will hide in the cane-brake an’ old Ma Bear will gather the children up +in the hollow tree, an’ they won’t ventur’ out ’fore June. An’ then the +manners of my dogs! I been tryin’ ter get it out o’ that thar +Lightfoot’s fool head that he is expected to go arter what I shoot. _I_ +don’t kill fowels with a gun.” His lip curled with scorn, showing his +long, tobacco-stained teeth. “I go ter my hen-cup an’ chop off thar +heads with a hatchet. I am a man, I am! An’ when I play, I take my sport +like a man. I shoot deer an’ bear an’ wolves an’ sech animals. The last +time I killed a bear, ’twas by accident. I hed nobody with me but +Lightfoot, thar. An’ the crittur,—durn his little old cranky soul!—he +p’inted. Came to a stand, with his forefoot crooked,—jes’ so”—and Jerry +Sloper crooked his great hairy paw in clumsy imitation of Lightfoot’s +graceful instinct—“else I wouldn’t have seen old Bruin. I ’lowed a’ fust +’twar jes’ a hawg over in the brake. An’ all of a suddenty, lo an’ +behold, ’twas revealed to me that thar was a bear! An’ I fired,—an’ o’ +course he fell. An’ off skittered Lightfoot ter _bring him in_, mind ye! +Thar I was hollerin’ arter the child, thrown to the wild beast,—I warn’t +able to stir hand or foot,—I was jes’ palsied with skeer. Lightfoot tuk +him gently by the ear,—not to spile him with gnawing,—jes’ like he done +that duck—Gimme that thar fowel, _you_ distracted beast!” and the +setter, with half-squatting hind-legs and wriggles of delight and pride, +and lifted, liquid, shining eyes, relinquished the game into his hand. +“An’ what happened? The bear warn’t plumb dead! And Lightfoot come back +tore mighty nigh ter the breastbone. See them scars on his chist? An’ ez +soon as he was able to stand it, I gin him a beatin’ besides ter teach +him better. An’ now,—ye have set him at his old tricks ag’in. I wouldn’t +own a dog with sech a mania, if he warn’t a present ter me. An’ till ye +fellers tuk to triflin’ with him, I ’lowed I’d got him plumb sensible. +You see that duck?”—he looked down sternly at his accomplished retainer, +who, discerning the change of tone, began to cringe miserably, +thoroughly crestfallen. “Oh, ho! ain’t forgot what I told you, eh? Well, +then,—want some mo’ slipper pie?” + +Oh, he did not! He did not, indeed,—his pleading countenance protested. +But the threat was a mere feint; and as the old swamper turned to take +up the route once more, the setter, with a shrill yelp of delight to get +off from the colloquy with no painful sequence, dashed ahead, and was +presently trotting nimbly with his companions of various families and +traditions, the only bird dog, and the only one whose record comprised +the heady effort to retrieve a bear. + +“I’d buy that setter, Mr. Sloper, if you’d put a price on him,” said +Regnan, who sometimes descended to the trifling sport of bird hunting. + +“An’ _I’d_ buy the State of Miss’ippi, if ’twas layin’ around loose,” +was the not too encouraging response. + +Sloughs, lagoons, bayous unnumbered! The horses were soon mired to their +girths; the men were splashed from head to foot, and those inexpert at +swimming a horse when suddenly out of his depth, had their high +riding-boots full of water. More than once an alligator was viewed, half +embedded in the ooze, only distinguished from the rotting log that he +resembled when he would rouse himself to swim slowly a few yards, +tempting the knights of the magazine shot-guns. + +“Don’t ye know that a bullet from a forward shot will glance off as if +he wore chain armor!” old Sloper remonstrated. “The only chance is a +rifle-ball behind the eye.” + +“And when did _you_ become acquainted with chain armor?” asked one of +the Mayberry youths, in merry wonderment and with a twinkling eye. + +“About twenty-five years before you was bawn,” retorted the old swamper. +He paused to spit forth an enormous volley of tobacco-juice against the +trunk of a tree, with a seeming solicitude for the accuracy of his aim; +then resumed with the greatest deliberation. + +“I holped in a jewel that was fought by two tremenjious swells, who got +themselves landed by the Great Republic for that purpose. They tuk up an +insult to each other while on the boat. They came up to my wood-yard—I +used ter furnish fuel ter the packets reg’lar. They said all they wanted +was a man ter see fair play an’ shut his mouth. They plastered mine good +an’ tight with a double eagle. One of the parties was tremenjious brash +an’ overbearin’; I could see that the other looked into death’s +eyesockets at close quarters. I medjured the ground for them with the +Flying Cloud’s wood-staff that the mud clerk had left at the +yard,—miserable, unshifty, keerless cuss! Bet he needed it himself +before he got ter New Orleans! An’ these two dandy fellers tuk thar +stand an’ fired. An’ the one that was so cocksure missed his aim, though +his hair-trigger was as fine a weepon as ever I see. An’ the t’other, +that thought he had come to his las’ minit, shot straight. But he aimed +at the man’s mouth, as it ’peared to me. He threw up his pistol at the +last second. The ball tuk the gentleman right through the throat. Ought +to have seen the blood spurt out ’n his jugular! Mighty nasty way to +kill a gentleman, I thought! An’ as we both run to the body on the +ground, one on either side, the winner’s hand shook so he could hardly +undo the vest. So I laid back the fine linen shirt, though I knew it was +no use to feel his heart, for he was as dead as a buckeye; I seen +between it an’ his silk underwear a shirt of fine steel rings. ’T would +turn a bullet; ’t would break a knife! An’ the s’vivor says,—his chin +shook so that he could hardly talk,—‘What do you think of that? I +s’picioned from the fust that he would give me no fair chance in a +fight, an’ he forced it upon me.’ An’ I say, ‘Let’s put this murderer in +the bayou. Thar’s some fierce catfish thar, an’ snakes, an’ slimy beasts +to eat the flesh from his bones. The mud is deep an’ will hold him down, +an’ the mire is fit for his last home! The Miss’ippi is too tricky to +trust,—floats things, ye know. The bayou for me, every time!’” + +“Why, Mr. Sloper,” cried young Mayberry, suddenly grave and aghast. “I +should think that you would have been afraid.” + +“Well, he ain’t never got up from thar,—so fur as I have heard tell. +What’s to be afeard of?” + +“Was that _all_ you did? To bury him in the bayou?” + +“Naw, sir; I went down to Natchez an’ spreed away the double eagle, the +twenty dollars.” + +“But I mean about notifying the authorities?” + +The old swamper’s face had a bewildered look. “Whar was they? What call +had they ter meddle? I done nothin’ but the heftin’.” + +“Didn’t the Great Republic say anything the next time she passed?” + +“Oh, yes! I told the mud clerk that the price of wood had riz, an’ he +told me to go to hell. That’s the last word with the Great Republic.” + +Suddenly a sound smote the sylvan silence. A keen note of query, a wide +blare of discovery,—and all the pack opened on the scent, baying as +rhythmically as if trained to this woodland music. The horn rang out its +elated, spirited tones, the sound leaping like a live thing along the +far reaches of the levels. The horsemen, in a frenzy of excitement, were +separating, each taking his own course and riding as if the rout of some +swift pursuit were upon his track. Desmond hesitated for a moment, +bewildered, the only stranger to the wilderness of all the party, +forgotten utterly by his host, by old Sloper, by the huntsman on ahead +with the dogs, by the youthful sportsmen. Presently, however, Regnan +bethought himself of the tutor and his imminent danger of being lost in +the fastnesses, and paused after an instant of frantic plunging through +a narrow bogue that issued from a swamp where there was promise indeed +of scant solid ground. + +“Come with me,” he called. “I am going to try an old stand on a deer +path I know. The hounds have got up a buck—I think so from the tongue +they are giving. Follow me. Swim your horse when he begins to flounder +in the bayous.” + + + + + CHAPTER X + + +There was no choice. Desmond had scant interest in this tumultuous sport +of coursing deer with hounds, but he was fain to follow. He could not +have retraced his way for his life, and to be lost in the wilderness—for +every horseman had disappeared—was taking all the jeopardy of disaster +and even of death. He congratulated himself that the excellent brute he +bestrode seemed to know more about the matter than he. Suddenly Regnan, +who had been for a few minutes lost to him, appeared in glimpses through +the redundant vegetation about the lagoon, which could be characterized +as neither water nor land, consisting now of one and now of the other, +and again of a treacherous combination of both, that afforded neither +footing nor the medium for swimming. The young sportsman was thrashing +through brake and slough at a breakneck speed that presently carried him +out of the reach of vision. + +The glimpse was sufficient for the powerful red roan that Desmond rode, +and he needed no prompting. He sprang instantly into the water in the +essay to follow, swimming with great spirit, now and then stretching his +legs to gain a firm footing, and, with a splashing flounder that nearly +shook Desmond out of the saddle, striking out again to swim with alert +vigilance and stalwart strength. Desmond was used to equestrian exercise +in milder form and found a need for all the principles of equitation +that he had been taught, for the most progressive of mounts can hardly +act on his own initiative throughout the incidents of such a drive as +this promised to be. Desmond gave the horse his head as to direction, +but checked him according to his own judgment at impassable obstacles, +and held him up firmly when he threatened to go to his knees. A little +later, in a deep quagmire, where he showed signs of sinking, and, losing +courage, began to snort in fright, Desmond used bit and heel to such +effect as to reinstate his confidence and bring him leaping lightly out +of his floundering instabilities to good dry ground. + +When the wild, disordered turmoils of the alluvial wilderness gave way +on the borders of a fine bit of water, Desmond was surprised himself to +note how reassured he felt to perceive Regnan on his swimming horse +nearly in the centre of the lakelet. In the swift transit he had +scarcely had time to speculate if he were on the right track, but +confirmation was welcome. Regnan had evidently felt a doubt, for he was +looking over his shoulder; and as Desmond and the red roan galloped down +to the margin, the horse sending forth a gleeful whinny at the sight of +his swimming comrade in advance, Regnan waved his hand and pressed on to +the opposite shore, where the dense shadows of a great stretch of forest +gloomed. Here there was good going. Desmond pressed his horse to added +speed to overhaul his precursor, and side by side they galloped at their +utmost capacity, with scarcely a word exchanged, through miles of level +woods, at last reaching the almost impenetrable densities of a +cane-brake, skirting the growth rather than striking across it; this was +the outpost of sluggish bayous and cypress sloughs, almost impassable, +seeming impracticable, till suddenly they stood on a fair sheet of +water. The blue sky looked down suavely upon it, and so serene it was +that one might have thought the wild tangles through which the way +hither had lain were some vision of a distraught imagination. All around +the dense woods were silent, primeval. Something of the redundant swamp +growths were about its margin and cloaked the approach to its placid +waters, but beyond stretched the endless forests. + +Regnan was dismounting. “It is too wide to swim with a horse,” he said. +“I suppose that is the reason the deer take to it. And once get this +body of water between them and the dogs, and the scent is lost.” + +He was hitching his horse among the tangled growths at a little +distance, where he would be invisible, and cautioned Desmond to follow +his example. + +“See that deer path?” he said. A narrow line threaded the luxuriant +marshy grasses about the margin,—scarcely a path,—yet a keen eye might +discern the imprint of a cleft hoof in the moist ground at the water’s +edge. “I have shot deer here before,” added Regnan. + +With the butt of his gun he beat down the boughs of evergreen shrubs to +afford an elastic couch; and here they lay them down and rested and +talked spasmodically and dully drowsed, while they awaited the sound of +hound and horn. + +“He’s giving them a good run for the money,” opined Regnan, as time wore +on and brought no change. The placid lake gleamed serene; the dark +forest gloomed. But for their own languid voices they heard naught, and +sometimes long pauses intervened in the desultory talk. + +“Fond of this sort of thing?” asked Regnan. + +Desmond was more comfortable since he had taken off his high +riding-boots and poured the water from them, being advised by Regnan to +put them on immediately, lest they so stiffen in drying that their +resumption would be impossible. The amusement did not seem so +disagreeable to Desmond as he lay stretched out at his long length, his +soft hat over his eyes, and his gloves also dutifully drying into shape +on his hands. He was able to answer both veraciously and courteously. + +“I am not used to it. I like the violent exercise well enough. But I +don’t want to kill anything. I am glad I can’t.” + +“Why can’t you?” + +“Oh, I never shot at anything in my life but with a handful of +bird-shot.” + +Regnan, also recumbent, with his hat over his eyes to be rid of the +combined glare of lake and sky, lifted himself suddenly to look about +him. + +“What a pity! We both have rifles! Kentopp ought to have given you a +shotgun. I wish I had mine. I don’t know why I should have brought this +thing.” + +Then he lay back once more and shaded his eyes. A long silence ensued. +The glare on the lake had dulled; a network of clouds gathered +gradually, the meshes weaving continually until dense, dark, impervious +to any gleam, it hung unbroken above the lake. The woods had fallen into +deeper gloom; only the green of the saw-grass fringing the water-side +seemed lifted into an intenser chromatic grade by the lowering of a gray +sky. When a sound smote the mute quietude of the woods, it was a +muttering of thunder. + +“Rain! We are going to have it in plenty,” suggested Regnan. + +“It has been demonstrated to-day that we are neither sugar nor salt.” + +“But it will disperse the scent; the hounds will run counter.” + +“Hallo!” exclaimed Desmond, in sudden excitement, lifting himself on his +elbow. He could not have said why it should thrill him; but that sound +of a horn, elastically leaping along the distance, so signally clear, so +searchingly vibrant, so infinitely sweet, sought out every fibre of the +romantic in him. Then rose the melody of the dogs in full cry, rhythmic, +mellow, musical, softened by the distance, significant, unceasing, +echoing with the sentiment of the sylvan chase of all the days of eld. +It was not old Sloper’s “house-party” that Desmond heard, but every pack +of high degree that ever coursed through the realms of poesy or the +liberties of tradition. He was on his feet,—a light in his eyes, a flush +on his cheek, his hands trembling, his muscles alert. + +“They are coming this way! They are heading for the lake!” he exclaimed. + +Regnan listened for a moment. “Right you are!” he cried. + +As they took up their position at the stand, ambushed beside the deer +path, Regnan insistently waived precedence. + +“You fire first. _You_ are company! If you miss, I’ll fire. Buck ague?” +he whispered. + +The undulating sound of the cry of the hounds, emitted rhythmically with +each bound, came ever nearer and nearer, and suddenly there was close at +hand a crashing through the bushes down the deer path. Desmond threw up +his rifle, conscious that he must catch the aim as quick as light. To +his own surprise he was singularly cool and steady. A flash, the sharp +report rang out; something clouded white and brown and gray leaped high +into the air, issuing from the brush, and fell dead at the water’s +edge,—a gigantic wildcat. + +“A crack shot you are!” Regnan exclaimed, amazed. The ball had taken the +creature just beneath the ear and pierced the brain. “And this cat is +the finest ever!” + +He bent over the magnificent specimen. “I didn’t know such a fellow as +this was left in the country. But oh, how old Sloper will swear!” + +“Why?” asked Desmond, the excitement cooling only gradually. + +“His hounds are to run only deer and bear, no matter what’s the purpose +of their creation and previous education. He lets them chase a fox, now +and then, with a great palaver of explanation, and keeping right up with +them. But a cat! He’ll be worth hearing!” + +When the pack came presently, swiftly loping through the brake, and +beheld their prey, it was difficult indeed to reduce them to order; and +as old Sloper raged, and fumed, and indignantly rebuked them, their air +suggested contradiction as they whisked about their prostrate foe, their +gait as if they could not keep feet to ground—lifting them as if it were +hot—in the flutter and excitement, and they noisily yelped with delight +every time he spoke to them. It would seem that the subtle current of +comprehension, the medium of communication, was broken. They so +valiantly protested that they had done a fine thing, and piqued +themselves so pridefully on their prowess, that he was fain to end the +discussion in his own interest in the prey. + +“Git out’n my way, or I’ll punch the nose off’n ye,” he roughly adjured +them, as he dismounted to lay out at length the savage beast, in order +to take its measure from its muzzle to the tip of the tail. “Thar! I’ve +stepped on your foot, and I’m glad of it!” as a piercing squeak split +the ears of the party. But the sufferer was game and hopped joyously +about on three legs, participating in the event, despite his plaintive +disabilities. + +“What you goin’ to do with this here cat, Mr. Desmond?” he asked, an +added respect for so fine a shot unmistakable in every line of his face +and every inflection of his voice. “Better git it off the ground—the +dogs mought tear it; they air so durned sassy over it, I can’t govern +’em none. And ’tis the finest thing I ever see. My! how handsome that +fur is!” + +“Why,” exclaimed Desmond, suddenly roused to the possibilities of his +possession, “I’ll have it stuffed and present it to Mrs. Kentopp as an +ornament to the armory and a memento of the occasion.” He had not eaten +much of her bread, but he distrusted the motive of her hospitality, and +his pride welcomed the opportunity to make a requital so promptly and in +a guise which he knew would be so acceptable. He began to take an +interest in the exceptional beauty of the specimen. + +“Then it ought to be skun right now, before the critter stiffens. An’ +I’ll do it fur ye and send the pelt to ye.” + +Down old Sloper went on his hands and knees to the work _con amore_, his +sharp hunting-knife gingerly tracing the lines where the cuticle and fur +could be separated with least injury to the appearance of the +integument. It was a long job and a careful one, but none of the other +sportsmen had put in an appearance when it was finished. He straightened +up and looked about him doubtfully. + +“They all lost out somehows,” he said. “Mighty rough ridin’ in them +slashes. I reckon they’ve all rid off to camp, mightily interested in +that thar barbecued shoat fur dinner.” + +The mention elicited a responsive interest and a desire to minimize the +distance between the hunters and this dainty, time-honored of the _al +fresco_ feast. The hounds, old Sloper, and the huntsman set out by way +of the deer path, as they had come. + +“I’ll try a short cut,” suggested Regnan, “if you don’t mind a bit more +wading and swimming.” + +Desmond protested his indifference to a renewal of their amphibious +experience, and, mounting their horses, the two rode off through the +saw-grass, which fringed the borders of the lake. Suddenly the +slate-tinted clouds, darkening and still sinking lower, were cleft by a +vivid forked flash; the thunder crashed with an appalling clangor; the +horses were snorting in fright and plunging wildly, and the floodgates +were unloosed. The rain descended in sheets; there was not a breath of +wind, and the torrents fell vertically. It seemed for a time as if they +were menaced by a cloud-burst. The quantity of water liberated was +incalculable. The swamp which they now threaded was inundated so swiftly +that Regnan more than once paused and looked back as if he canvassed the +possibility of retracing their way to the solid earth they had quitted. +But the rainfall was no translucent medium. He could distinguish naught +beyond its opaque curtain. In serried lines in undiscriminated myriads +the torrents fell, yet seemed always stationary. It hardly mattered +which course they adopted, for each was soaked to the very bones. On and +on they plodded, the horses dully drudging in the progress, making +special exertion when they needs must, but obviously showing that they +were of opinion the fun was at an end, and that there could be too much +of a good thing. Like human beings, they found a vastly different animus +in going forth full of expectation and coming back exhausted with the +day’s run. They held down their heads in meek endurance as the rain beat +upon them, and when they stumbled in the shifty, marshy soil, there was +great danger both to the animal and his rider in the lack of that +alertness of muscle to recover a footing or bound with his burdened +saddle beyond the limits of the quagmire. Once or twice this recovery +was so precarious, so clumsy a floundering, and sinking was so imminent, +that both horsemen were alarmed and prescient of disaster. + +“We have done this thing once too often, I am afraid,” said Regnan. + +Desmond, too, had been looking over his shoulder, though not in the +forlorn hope that they might be able to see the point from which they +had started, for they had pressed the horses forward, against their +will, with such energy that they had made it as impossible to retrace +their way as to reach satisfactory footing in going on. Some injutting +point of land in the irregular outline of the swamp, or one of the +ridges of higher ground whereon switch cane grew luxuriantly, and which +here and there traversed it, might yet afford them rescue, but if he +could have discovered such opportunity in ordinary weather, the +tumultuous, blinding downpour rendered it invisible now. + +“There is nothing for it but to go on,” he said in a depressed cadence, +for his heart had a sensation of sinking. He was growing desperate. The +rain had in its midst great shifting clouds of thin vapor. Now it so +inclosed them that they lost sight of each other. Yet when they called +out in alarm, fearful of the disaster of unwittingly parting company, +the changing mist gave a vision of the head of the other horse close at +hand, though a moment earlier it could not be discerned. + +Suddenly as Desmond shifted his position in the saddle, looking straight +over his horse’s ears, he gave a start and an abrupt exclamation, +staring as if he doubted his senses; for before him, in the pallid, +hovering mists, half revealed and half concealed by the immaterial +investitures of the curtaining rain and the cloaking cloud, like the +travesty of a ship under full sail which tantalizes the desperate hope +of wrecked or castaway mariners, he beheld as if suspended in the air +between heaven and earth the outline of a river craft, a boat of some +humble sort, a refuge. + +“Look, Regnan, what is that in the sky?” he exclaimed hastily. + +Regnan lifted his head and put up his hand to hold away the flapping +brim of his drenched hat. His voice suddenly rang out with a thrill of +good cheer: “In the sky? Why, it’s in the bayou, thank God!” + +“It is a flatboat?” Desmond hesitated. + +“A flatboat it is!” + +Regnan’s face had not regained its florid tint; the chill of the fog and +the rain, that had not left a dry thread on his body, and the effluvia +of the swamp, penetrating his lungs, had turned his lips blue. But he +laughed out gayly, although as his lineaments moved he swallowed the +rills of rain that ran down his face. “It is rescue, my boy! That’s what +it is! The boat is half a mile off, and we can just about make it.” + +“Half a mile! A flatboat!” Even yet Desmond was hardly convinced that it +was not a delusion. “What makes it so high!” + +“What makes us so low!” laughed Regnan. “Because we are away down in the +swamp, and the flatboat is away up in the bayou.” + +“I should think the bayou would overflow and convert this swamp into a +lake.” + +“And so it would but for the conformation of its banks. And so it will +if this cloud-burst keeps on a bit longer and swells the waters of the +bayou.” + +They shifted their direction and pushed on with a good heart, despite +the difficulties that increased at every step; and though the horses, +with their bent heads and drenched coats and drudging plod, had not seen +the craft so high above their own level, now indeed obliterated from all +view by the encircling cloud, they obviously felt the recruited hopes +and energy of their riders. The revived spirits of the men were subtly +imparted to the steeds, and the improved progress caused the distance to +seem less than Regnan’s estimate when again the cloud lifted so much as +to disclose the mirage-like craft, now lower on the limited horizon by +reason of the nearer approach. + +“To tell you the truth, Desmond,” said Regnan,—the two had become +chummy, despite the tutor’s sensitive reserve and repellent dignity, for +there was no justification in holding Regnan at arm’s length,—“I thought +our hour had come. I thought we were destined to leave our bones in the +bayou with the caitiff of the shirt of mail.” + +Desmond shuddered. “Oh, give me better company!” he cried. “Death is a +leveler, but it can never lay me so low as that.” + +Now and then each looked up from beneath his sodden hat-brim to discern +if their approach had been noticed from the craft, but as yet she gave +no sign of observation. There was no one on deck, as they soon +perceived. The rain beat down heavily upon it, and the water washed over +its low gunwales as if it were the waves of the bayou. The stream, +however, showed even yet no motion, no current; it was covered by a +myriad of tiny bosses, so to speak, the rain being so persistent, the +fall so regular, as to make the drops seem to stand stationary on its +surface. It had risen several feet, as was evinced by the half submerged +vegetation along the banks, the tips fresh and green, with no token of +having been long under water. Beneath that black cloud, with the +sinister effect of the white trunks of the cypress trees on either hand, +deadened by repeated overflows, their weird reflections in the trembling +black water, the funereal aspect of the pendent Spanish moss hanging +from the high limbs and even festooning the trees from one side of the +stream to the other,—the world, the past, life itself, annihilated by +the clouds,—the dark and gloomy watercourse might have suggested the +river Styx, and the shadowy, visionary, ill-defined boat the craft of +Charon. They both felt an averse curiosity as they approached still +nearer, striving to disintegrate from the rain and the cloud some +individual characteristic or sign of occupation of the phantom craft. +Regnan began to think it a derelict, an old abandoned hulk; but he soon +saw that it sat the water much too jauntily, a stout, dry hull, tight +and serviceable. Presently their keen young eyes discriminated a curl of +smoke amidst the vapors that lay on the roof of the cabin. This was +little more than a shed of upright boards, very flimsily put together, +and a tiny square window along the eaves promised little for light. It +served the purpose of a lookout, however. A pale face appeared there. It +seemed to scan disconsolately the rain-lost world without, the +encroaching cloud, the swamp with its sinking aspect; and suddenly, with +transfixed attention, to become aware of the approaching sportsmen, the +horse of the one up to the girth as he plodded through the half +submerged morass, that of the other out of his depth and beginning to +swim. + +For one spectral moment the face stared as if confronted by doom. Then +the door of the cabin opened, and disregarding the downpour, with skirts +lashing about her, with long hair loose and flying, a tall, sinuous +young woman appeared, sprang from the deck upon the marshy bank, cast +loose the line about a tree, leaped back upon the deck in a moment, +caught up a pole, and with a stalwart effort had pushed off an oar’s +length or two before the man whom her shrill cries had summoned stumbled +out of the cabin and stood staring at the newcomers, with little +apparent inclination to lend a hand to the effort of clearing the +harbor. + +It was vain. The horsemen were too close upon them. Such motive power as +kept the sluggish bayou on its course from the Mississippi River was too +slight to aid the pole to evade the speed of a swimming horse. Desmond, +indeed, had boarded the craft while the imbecile face of the boat-hand +was still bent upon him. + +“What do you mean by this behavior?” he demanded angrily, not as yet +recognizing either the man or the woman. “Tie up the boat again, and +show us your bar.” + +“Jocelindy! Jocelindy! ye fool, ye!” cried the boat-hand, striking the +struggling woman on the shoulder with his heavy hand. But for this +repulsive brutality it might have been pathetic to hear him tax another +with his own obvious infirmity. “Don’t ye see the gentleman’s goin’ ter +spen’ money with us!” + +He busied himself in tying up the boat in quick order, and found a place +where the two horses could stand on pretty staunch ground under the +interlacing boughs of cottonwood, so thick as to afford some shelter +from the rain. He had fodder aboard, too, he said. + +“Some fodder we had to pack a lot o’ chany,” interposed the woman, +suddenly and shrilly, “becase there wasn’t no straw convenient.” + +Desmond had no mind to linger on ceremony. Without waiting for an +invitation, he turned toward the cabin door. The woman, still standing +in the torrents, a secret thought in her face, her head askew, her +draggled attire dripping with rain, her mouth bent down upon her +clenched fist, suddenly asked:— + +“Tell me one word,—is your name Faurie?” + +“No,” said Desmond, frowning at the identification with his employers as +if he were of no importance in himself; “my name is Desmond.” + +“Thar now, Jocelindy, ye told Jed that very word,” exclaimed the +boat-hand, mowing and laughing with imbecile and extravagant glee. “Ye +told him that this very mornin’ before he set out with his spade.” + +There was an incongruity in any mutual utilities between a boat and a +spade, but Desmond was new to the river country and did not appreciate +this fact. It struck Regnan at once, but he had no reason to place +inimical construction upon the acts of the boat’s company, and it passed +without comment. + +Though what is called “not right bright,” Ethan Knoxton was +discriminating enough to preside very acceptably at a bar when two +storm-drenched wights stood before it, and he ranged the glasses with an +extra polish and tipped a decanter. It was a dull, squalid little hole, +with a permanent aroma of the greasy fumes of many breakfasts fried on +the monkey stove at the farther end of the cabin, and the heavy, oily +flavor of the untrimmed wick of a kerosene lamp swinging above the bar. +The water dripped dismally from their coats and riding-breeches into the +already well-filled legs of their high boots, that gave a squashing +sound at every step. From their hats chilly little streams trickled into +their collapsed shirt collars and down their shivering spines; and as +the first drop of liquor touched their palates, the surprise to find +that instead of rank, coarse whiskey it was good French brandy was so +grateful that they could but look at each other with glistening eyes +over the rims of their glasses as they drank. + +The boat-hand watched them expectantly. + +“My! Ain’t that fine!” Then as they set the glasses down, he whooped out +his vicarious joy and smote his leg with the palm of his open hand. + +Desmond had insisted on paying by right of his discovery of the bar, and +he laid down the price of three drinks. “You will oblige me,” he said +politely to the boat-hand, struggling with his distaste and disgust. One +should not despise the poor, and the uncouth, and the deprived, who may +have more value in their Maker’s eyes than one wots of. Therefore, +because the semblance of humanity was not always disdained, he sought to +have a regard to the mere image. + +“For me?” The protuberant, grotesque eyes of the boat-hand were +stretched. “For _me_!” He could hardly realize the rich opportunity. +“For ME!” And at last convinced, he exclaimed, “Lord love ye! Lord bless +ye! Lord save ye!” and gulped down the French brandy, casting up the +gloating eyes of extreme ecstasy at every swallow. He smacked his lips +again and again, to be heard in the remotest corner of the cabin, then +stood comfortably smelling the glass while the others turned toward the +stove. + +“Isn’t that queer—French brandy?” Desmond suggested. + +“Smuggled, I suppose,” said Regnan. + +“Stolen, I’m afraid,” said Desmond, _sotto voce_, mopping the rain from +his cold face and shaking the rills from his drenched hat. The jeopardy, +the confusion, the exhaustion attendant on the moment of rescue from the +sinister menace of the swamp and the cloud-burst engrossed his +faculties, but he was vaguely recollecting that he had recently heard of +the dispensing of this choice liquor among a class of swampers to whom +its market price rendered it unaccustomed and unattainable. + +“Well, I was not _particeps criminis_ till it was halfway down,—too far +to catch it. And it feels just as good where it is as if it was honestly +come by,” Regnan laughed. + +The woman had utilized the interval while their backs were turned, and +perhaps the shelter of a curtained bunk, to slip into a dry gown and a +clean apron, and she, too, seemed to have determined on a change of +tactics. She would fry for the gentlemen some rashers of bacon and eggs, +if they liked; and set on a strong pot of coffee, she said. + +“Are you afraid of spoiling your appetite for that barbecued shoat?” +Regnan asked Desmond, with a rallying eye. + +“No; are you?” For the day was wearing on into the afternoon. There were +already dulling intimations in the clouds, as if the limits of light in +their midst were curtailed. The woman listened intently as she set forth +her poor and humble board with its best; and when they were seated on +either side and she whisked about serving them, her strange, snake-like +face had a more propitiatory and pleasing expression than seemed +possible, with her high cheek-bones, her eyes aslant, her long, +serpentine neck. + +She suddenly addressed Desmond. “You see he ain’t quit suckin’ his thumb +yit,” she said, as an infantine babbling caused Desmond to turn his head +to perceive sitting bolt upright in a bunk behind him an infant in a red +gown with his thumb in his mouth, regarding the feasting with slobbering +admiration, but making no effort to partake and no demand to be served. + +Desmond recognized her now for the first time. He had given her but +little notice since coming aboard, and on the occasion of his previous +visit to the shanty-boat, partly because of the dimness of the light in +the little cabin, partly because of the sensational development of the +interview, he had not sufficiently observed the subsidiary members of +the crew—the woman, the child, and the boat-hand—to remember their +faces. If Jedidiah Knoxton had been present, there would have been no +delay in recalling the personnel of the whole party. + +“That lady, Mrs. Faurie,” continued the woman, speaking in a very +propitiatory manner, “told me how to break him of it, too. She’s +powerful handsome, sure, ain’t she?” + +“Yes,” said Desmond to this direct appeal. “And she is a very kind +lady.” + +“Sure! She told me she’d gin little Ikey some baby clothes.” + +“But you left very suddenly,” said Desmond, significantly. + +Regnan continued to eat silently, surprised at the evidence of previous +acquaintance, but comfortable enough that it made no conversational +demands upon him, so keen an appetite had the vicissitudes of the day +given him. + +“I want to tell you about that,” said the woman, winningly. “Jed’s a +mighty techy kind o’ man an’ he got sorter nettled ’bout that thar +wheel. He ’lowed you b’lieved it was stole. An’ truth was, he knowed he +didn’t come by it right straight. A young boy nigh Ring-fence Plantation +traded it to him fur mighty little money. His dad had give it to him fur +Chris’mas, an’ the chile had got tired of it an’ had ruther have a few +dollars. I begged Jed not to humor him; ’twas wuth mo’. But Jed said a +plaything a boy is tired of ain’t wuth nothin’. ’Twas a good bargain fur +him, an’ he gits a heap o’ trade ’mongst the young fry. But he oughtn’t +ter helped the boy sell his wheel unbeknownst to his folks.” + +Her serpentine aspect was not altogether unjustified. As she charmed so +wisely, Desmond’s conviction was shaken. She laughed a little, as if +embarrassed, passing the hem of her apron back and forth in her hand. + +“Truth is, he was mad ’cause it carried out my warnings; an’ sorter +skeered, too, ’cause he seen how it mought look to other folks. Jed’s +real helterskelter. He pulled loose and drapped down the river, but he +hadn’t gone a mile before he was sorry. That’s Jed.” + +The boat-hand, listening, and now quite won to complaisance by the +unusual prosperity that had befallen the “trading-boat,” here in its +cache, echoed loudly, “That’s Jed!” + +“So I didn’t git my duds the beautiful lady promised me.” + +“Mrs. Faurie would no doubt send them to you if she knew where you would +be,” said Desmond, mechanically meditating on his suspicions. The story +was very glib. The shanty-boaters might have had no complicity with the +tragedy at Whippoorwill Landing and no culpability as the receivers of +stolen goods,—thus accessory after the fact. But the flavor of the +French brandy still lingered about his palate; evidently they did not +know its value as a beverage, and this was suspicious. Still, smuggling +was comparatively a venial matter, and he had a vague regret that he had +been so quick to direct the suspicion of the authorities upon so poor +and defenseless a group. But he had had no word how the information had +been received, or whether it was to be acted upon. Nevertheless, it +would be easy to prove the truth of her story, provided her story was +true. + +“Just as well she is where she is to-day,” Regnan declared. He was +leaning back in his chair, having finished his meal with a good relish, +and feeling about in his cigar case to make sure that its contents had +escaped without injury in the general flood. “Try one of these,”—he held +it across the table to Desmond. “They seem to be all O. K.” + +Desmond selected one, and, leaning over, struck a match on the lid of +the stove. “The luckiest thing imaginable for us,” he said in jerks, as +he held the light to the end and pulled hard to set it aglow, “that we +happened to see the boat when we did.” + +“Fires up all right?” Regnan queried. Then—“You must charge us a good +round price for this dinner, madam. We are paying for not being at the +bottom of the bayou,”—he laughed. “We have a special reason for not +wanting to meet up with something we know is there.” + +His face changed suddenly; he looked at her in consternation. Never had +he seen such an expression as settled upon her countenance. Fear it was +at first. “For God’s sake, what!” she gasped. Then—anger. “Ye’d better +mind yer tongue, now!” Her fingers closed on the handle of a great +butcher knife on the meat block in the corner. And now—venom. “Ye’re +jes’ two cowardly, lying rapscallions! Ye dunno _what’s_ in the bayou! +An’ ye ain’t got no call to know! An’ besides,”— with a realization of +self-betrayal,—“thar ain’t nuthin’ thar fur ye to know—ha! ha! ha!—te, +he, he!” + +Regnan had risen, startled and wondering; but Desmond sat perfectly +still, looking steadily at her, convinced that, added to the unstoried +crimes and the unsavory detritus that the bayou hid under its black +waters and its deep, unstable mire, lay the stolen wheel, and heaven +knew what gear besides, from the looting of the store at Whippoorwill +Landing by the merciless murderers. + +It was a painful moment. He was glad to walk to the door of the cabin +and look out once more at the steadily falling rain; at the spurious +palpitation that the drops set up on the surface of the immobile stream; +at the dark, encompassing forest, the water-side vegetation still in the +pallid green of spring, seeming to hold all the light and color of the +neutral-tinted landscape; at the slow circling of the vapors about the +deck of the shanty-boat. There was a projection above the door like the +shelter of eaves, and as he stood, only an occasional drop of water fell +upon his head. He was all unprescient; he was conscious merely of +distaste, the exhaustion from exertion, a sense of inexpressible +boredom, the discomfort of his half-dried garb, and an impatient desire +to be through with the whole episode. It met him like fate!—the muffled +boom of a distant bell! + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + +It was a strange thing to Desmond. Try as he might, Regnan could not +hear it. Summoned to the door, he stood and looked out, and bent his +attention to discern only the rhythmic throb of the rain, only the waves +splashing across the deck, only the slow drip of the water through a +leak in the flimsy roof. He looked curiously at his companion as +Desmond, every fibre alert, his eyes afire with excitement, his lifted +hand trembling, and the cigar between his fingers dead in its ash, would +exclaim “Now!” and stand motionless again, listening acutely as if to an +echo. + +“I hear nothing but the rain,” said Regnan. “But even if there were no +rain, we couldn’t hear the bell at Dryad-Dene so far as this.” + +“But this might be the bell at Great Oaks,” argued Desmond. + +“They wouldn’t ring unless they were overflowed. We left Dryad-Dene high +and dry this morning, and Great Oaks never goes under until Dryad-Dene +is half drowned, hardly ever even then; for the Fauries have a private +cross levee that protects Great Oaks, to a considerable extent. Besides, +there is no danger yet from high water,—all talk and the usual spring +scare.” + +“There!” The bell boomed again, shaking the mists. And Desmond looked +into the face of Regnan in triumphant confirmation, to find his +companion fixing agitated, half-compassionate, half-questioning eyes +upon him. + +“My dear fellow,” laying his hand on Desmond’s arm, “you don’t hear a +sound but the rain.” + +“I must go! I must return at once to Great Oaks.” + +Regnan remonstrated. They would be bogged down; the continued exposure +would kill them; he would not be a party to so foolhardy a hazard. “What +good could you do? If they are going under water, they are ringing up +the force to bring out the gunny-sacks and patch up the break.” + +“It might be something else. There!” + +Along the dark waters the sound was borne. It filled the fall of the +rain with a distant undiscriminated vibration. + +“I ought to be able to restrain you by reason, Desmond,” Regnan urged +seriously. “Don’t let me have to appeal to these people for aid.” + +“Look out,” said Desmond, with a dangerous flash of the eye. “They are +river pirates. I have cause to know.” + +“So have _I_,” declared Regnan, bursting with laughter. “I saw two bales +of cotton tucked away in that closet when that rascal opened the door to +get the brandy.” + +A word, a nod, an inferential phrase, and Regnan was in possession of +the story of the bicycle and of the suspicions of the shanty-boat’s +complicity as a “fence” with the marauders of the looted store at +Whippoorwill Landing. + +“If you are minded to trust yourself to such creatures, I can only +deplore your lack of judgment. If you will come with me, I know they +will be glad to put you up at Great Oaks.” + +“I’m afraid of getting my feet wet,” Regnan whimsically protested. + +“You had much better come with me to Great Oaks.” + +“I’m all right here. There is nothing to gain by meddling with me. These +people won’t dare. If I should be missing, they know that you would give +information where I was last seen. I am perfectly safe. I am going to +take up my abode on this trading-boat, my ark, as it seems, till the +waters subside. The dove is apparently something of the fiercest. And +the lunatic yonder sends cold chills down my spine. But I will risk +them, rather than that treacherous swamp. So will you, if you are wise.” + +Boom! Desmond had already paid his score without question, to the +surprise of the boat’s company, accustomed to dicker on a price. + +“Make my excuses to the Kentopps,” he said to Regnan, ending the +discussion and turning to leave. + +“If ever I see them again,” cried Regnan. “I feel my feet spreading out +in webs. I think my wing feathers are sprouting. I’ll be transformed +into some sort of waterfowl and never get beyond Bogue Humma-Echeto any +more!” + +“I’ll send the horse back to-morrow,” Desmond called out. He sprang +through the rain from the deck to the dark and marshy soil. But his +horse lifted his head with a glad neigh of recognition, and as he put +foot in stirrup and rode off, the animal set out at a swift gait and +with a stout willingness of heart that showed his eagerness for a +comfortable stall and manger, and his weariness of the detention that +had nevertheless rested him well. Under these conditions the inundated +swamp proved a less difficult proposition, albeit the water had risen +almost girth high and the wading was slow,—the horse splashing along +with a distinct impact of the mire, pulling with a sort of suction under +his hoofs. + +Desmond, prescient of disaster, he knew not what, fired with the ardor +of a rescue, he knew not from what, ready to sacrifice comfort, safety, +life itself, in this wild, adventurous sort in his premonition that +Honoria Faurie had summoned assistance, that the bell had rung for help +at Great Oaks Plantation, resolved that no aid should come more +willingly, more instinct with protective spirit, than from him. It did +not once occur to him that this was a superfluous hazard which it was no +part of his duty to encounter. His only care, his only hope, was to +reach the plantation safely, that he might reach it swiftly. He took no +risks, less with a realization of his own interest than a prudence in +compassing his object. He exerted a judgment that might have been +thought impossible in one so unused to woodland experience; and though +the sense of loneliness settled down heavily upon him when he could no +longer see Regnan on the deck of his ark, and at last not even the +outline of the trading-boat, rising ever higher and higher in the sky as +he went down and down into the swamp till indeed it seemed caught up +into the clouds, he kept a stout heart. He resolutely turned his mind +from the knowledge of the coming of darkness, only an hour or so +distant, the savage animals of this primeval aqueous wilderness, the +probable chance that he might lose his way, the indefinite data by which +he might keep it, his burning impatience of the slow progress which +might yet fail to put him ere benighted beyond the immediate region of +slough and swamp and bayou, now infinitely increased in extent by the +rainfall. The small compass in his pocket which he had used in a lesson +with the redoubtable Chub was of great advantage in keeping him to his +direction. Straight to the south, Regnan had declared, and he would come +at last to the cross levee which usually protected Great Oaks in time of +overflow from receiving a share of the neighboring inundations, backing +up as the waters were reinforced. Southward he went, struggling through +sloughs, swimming bayous, scrambling up steep banks. On one of these his +stout horse fell backward almost upon his rider, and Desmond, throwing +himself to one side, escaped but for a bruised shoulder and arm, while +the animal was badly shaken. He could hardly endure the delay as he +stood on the edge of the water by the trembling creature and they had +some conversation, as one may say, over the mischance and the necessity +of pressing on. But the red roan was a good plucked brute, and before +long they were forging ahead once more, man and horse in perfect mutual +confidence. + +Desmond could have shouted with joy when at last he saw the great +winding earthwork, covered with its green Bermuda grass; and when they +climbed its steep slope and gained the path on the summit, the horse of +his own accord struck a jaunty little canter, glad of the good going and +the sight once more of a civilized landscape; for presently within view +were great stretches of cotton-fields. And what was that immense expanse +in the distance? Desmond could not distinguish for the rain and the +mist, and for a phenomenon of far more import. In the shadow of a +stretch of forest a huge gully intervened in the levee,—fresh, the earth +on the sides showing a degree of dryness despite the rain, the sod of +Bermuda ripped through, and the turf, still green, thrown aside. The +levee had been cut, and Desmond received an illumination in the +recollection of the boat-hand’s words that Jed Knoxton had gone forth +that morning with his spade. He began to have an appalling sense of the +extent of the disaster even before he came upon a counterpart excavation +and realized that the levee had been cut in more than one place. The +nefarious job had been thoroughly done, and though in broad daylight, +the cloaking fog and blinding rain offered an impunity that a dark and +clear night could scarcely have afforded. He understood now the +significance of that broad expanse of copper-hued glister of which he +had caught but a glimpse through the aisles of the woods and the serried +ranks of the rainfall; it was overflow, miles of overflow, submerging +the wide tilled and orderly fields of Great Oaks Plantation. And that +roar in the air—what was it? Tumultuous, loud, with a petulant dash and +a sinister sibilance, blended with episodic crashes and sudden wild +clamors, like the frenzied turbulence of savage beasts. It was the voice +of the Mississippi River, silent no longer in its deep channel, but +rioting in shallow floods over the aghast, despoiled plains, crying out +in its license and its mad joy, seeming now and again to smite against +the sky. + +The wind was rising. The gusts, coming down the great, unimpeded highway +of the stream, gave impetus to its currents surging against miles of +levee still unbroken, and lashing and sweeping away, melting in a +moment, the embankments that collapsed under its force. The water +nearest at hand, he perceived, was backing up; it was not long before he +had reached it, lapping playfully about the base of the cross levee on +which he stood. How long this path would continue practicable he could +not compute. The horse, more accustomed to the river and its incidents, +was showing evident signs of uneasiness, and in fact he stopped +presently, with tossing head and startled eyes and planted hoofs, before +Desmond perceived through the rain and the distance a white flashing in +the dun evening light, which, had he no experience of the locality, he +might have mistaken for a cataract. The inference was obvious. It was +the foam of raging waters as they tore through an excavation +intersecting the cross levee once more. The great volume of the flood +was surging over its summit. It was a question of only a very short time +when the levee, along which he had come and where he now stood, would be +swept away. Both he and the horse were in imminent danger of death by +drowning. His first impulse was to turn back and retrace his way. But at +this moment of hesitation his attention was caught by a moving object on +the face of the waters, emerging from the fog and the rain, and +gradually materializing as a man in a very small boat. + +“Hello!” cried Desmond, peremptorily. + +The man ceased to paddle and looked about him doubtfully, at first on +his own level, only descrying the mounted figure on the embankment at a +second stentorian roar from Desmond. + +“Fur de Lawd’s sake, is dat you, Mr. Desmond!” he cried out in instant +recognition. “In de name o’ sense, what you gwine do up dar on dat +levee?” + +“Is that you, Seth?” for the negro was a hostler on Great Oaks +Plantation, a very black fellow, looking as he sat in the dugout like a +silhouette against the gray rain and the white mist and the yellow +water. “I don’t know what to think—” + +“I does,” Seth promptly interrupted. “I think you gwine git yo’se’f +drownded, an’ Colonel Kentopp’s hawse, too.” + +“How deep is the water?” Desmond had the instinct of remonstrating +against this as a decree of fate. + +“Six feet along dar, an’ risin’ every jump. I ain’t never seen the +contrary old ribber on sech a bender, an’ I been knowin’ her gwine on +fawty year.” + +Desmond was alarmed at the idea of jeopardizing the valuable horse. He +hardly noticed Seth’s plaints. + +“We-all’s levee done cut—’fore de Lawd, dem planters in Deepwater Bend +below Great Oaks would be mighty glad if dey could cotch dat varmint dat +cut de levee. Dey nachully depends on Great Oaks cross levee to keep the +ribber off ’n dem, when Dry’-Dene goes under. Oh, my Lawd A’mighty, dis +am a drefful day, shore!” + +“I had better ride back along the levee,” said Desmond, ponderingly. + +“It’ll be under water in ten minutes.” + +“But I must take the horse to some place of safety.” + +“Whar is dat?” demanded Seth, walling his great eyes, with the whites +very prominent as he gazed up at his interlocutor at long range; the +distance was constantly lessened, however, for he paddled closer and +closer to the base of the levee as he talked. + +“What is the safest way to the stables? I will take the horse there.” + +“What you gwine dar fur? You hatter charter a steamboat. Water up ter de +mangers.” + +“In the Great Oaks stables? Is the mansion flooded, too?” Desmond, in +keen alarm for the household, trembled to hear the reply. + +These disasters and their concurrent dangers were so new to his +experience and even traditions that he could scarcely contemplate their +encounter with composure. Seth seemed to him a stolidly unfeeling clod, +hardly able to stretch his limited faculties to an adequate +comprehension. But indeed, though there was no lack of water hereabout, +Seth had contributed a tear or two to the floods in his woe and despair +for the destruction of these familiar values by which he lived and in +which he had such vicarious pride. + +“The stable under water? Why, how about the mansion?” + +“De gret house is safe!” Seth snapped out, as if the question were +imputatious; even the insubordinate Mississippi River would not venture +upon the presumption to meddle with the dignified mansion house of Great +Oaks Plantation. “I jes’ seen Bob, an’ he ’lowed de water had filled de +grove, an’ air lappin’ ‘round de underpinnin’, but ’tain’t riz yit inter +de veranda.” + +Desmond was aghast at this intimation of jeopardy. + +“De gret house is on high groun’, an’ dough dey tuk up de kyarpets +wunst, de overflow ain’t never been rightly in de mansion house.” + +“Bob ought to be there; it is the footman’s station,” Desmond exclaimed, +thinking how few the inmates to cope with any unusual danger. + +“Dey ain’t none o’ de house sarvants dar, ’cept de cook-woman. Mis’ +Honoria sont de rest ob dem ter holp dar famblies at de quarter. Bless +de Lawd, boss, ye oughter see de quarter!” Seth’s voice rose to a +distressful quaver. “’Twas so suddint—the cross levee never gave way +before, an’ we-all ain’t never had no sich water as dis here. Some o’ de +tenant folks is sittin’ on de ridge-poles ob dar cabin roof, savin’ +nuttin’ but dar bedclothes; dar funicher is floatin’ ‘way like ’twar +’witched an’ gone swimmin’. The chillen wuz mighty nigh drownded. One +dem pickaninnies ob Liza Jane’s war cotched by the tail ob its coat an’ +hung in a cottonwood tree. Hit hollered! But hit never squirmed. Hit +knowed catfish an’ yalligator war smackin’ dar lips an’ sharpenin’ dar +teeth for hit. Lawd! Lawd! We ain’t never had no sech time. Mis’ Honoria +sont ebery sarvant from de gret house ter holp dar folks, ’cept de +cook-woman—an’ _she_ say she is feared ter ride ter de quarter in de +overflow in a dugout.” + +“That was why the bell was ringing, then; to summon help?” + +The darkey paused, leaning on his paddle, and looked up at Desmond with +a curious and searching eye. + +“Bell!” he exclaimed. “The Great Oaks plantation bell ain’t rung since +daybreak.” + +There was a pause. Desmond knew the superstition concerning bells,—the +ancient universal tradition of mystic summons. There was no habitation +nearer the bayou whence some great brazen casting could send forth that +coercive tone; the distance from the river was too great to admit the +sound from a passing steamer. + +“Naw, sir; if you hearn bells callin’ you to-day, they ring in your +mind. Somebody in heaven or hell, or somebody in yearth or air, is +callin’ you, callin’ you by spirit bells—thoughts reach furder’n sound. +Mighty cur’us, but that’s sure true. Bells!” Seth raised himself on his +paddle and looked up with a face distorted by query and fear into the +rain and fog. “_Bells!_” he said again. Then he lent himself to the work +of the paddle, and was soon within leaping distance of the levee. + +“You gimme dat hawse, boss, an’ I’ll take him ter de risin’ ground whar +we got what we is saved. Lawd! ye ought ter see de cattle drownded! My +Gawd! De cows mooin’ an’ de calves a-blatin’, all swimmin’ as long as +dar legs could work ’em along—an’ de sheep! Ef I had time, I’d jes set +down an’ moan an’ weep an’ preach dar funeral. Some ob de best head ob +our Great Oaks cattle! Dar carcases floatin’ down de ribber or cotched +in de bushes in de swamp! Gimme dat hawse. Colonel Kentopp’s a perlite +man, but I’d hate fur anything belongin’ ter him ter git lost on Great +Oaks Plantation. _You_ couldn’t find yer way. I’ll take tacks an’ short +cuts, an’ I know whar is risin’ ground. You an’ de hawse would lose yer +way an’ both be drownded. You git in de dugout an’ go ter de mansion +house. You kin find dat, ef ye kin see ter keep ter de west.” + +The immemorial dugout, peculiar to the Mississippi River country, is a +primitive craft, nothing more, indeed, than a log, roughly hollowed out +and shaped as to stern and prow. It is quite adequate, however, to the +purposes of its creation, for skirting banks, navigating bayous and +lakes, rarely venturing into midstream or crossing the great river. It +is safe enough in accustomed hands, but it is doubtful if Desmond were +not in more danger of drowning thus embarked than returning on his +precarious route along the summit of the levee. The dugout wallowed +portentously as Desmond stepped within its restricted space, but after a +few words of instruction from Seth he righted the craft and presently +paddled off easily enough, the darkey standing beside the horse, +watching the boat till it was lost to sight in the rain and the +approaching dusk and the fog closing down. + +“I ’spec’ dat ar man is safe in de dugout,” he muttered, “dough his kind +is used ter de saloon ob a side-wheel steamboat, an’ dat’s de fac’. We +done loss enough cattle drownded dis day, ’dout him ter top off wid.” So +saying, Seth mounted and rode away into the rain. + +Though the dugout was a new proposition to Desmond, he had had some +experience with the paddle as a propelling agent. His Alma Mater was +situated on a watercourse, and at one time the Indian canoe and paddle +was a favorite fad. Thus his progress was swift through the rain and the +fog, despite the fact that for the first time he felt the strength of +the current of the Mississippi; for he was soon out of the limits of the +back water and in the direct course of the overflow. He would have +scorned the acceptance of a superstition, but the premonition of a +summons was so strong upon him that he stretched every muscle to his +task. The glimpse of the wide expanse of water, that might have appalled +him, alone and without guidance in the midst of its willful, riotous +turbulence, was but limited. The fog shut in, and but for a few +boat-lengths he could see naught but the surging yellow current of a +restricted space and the pallid curtain of the cloudy dusk. Sometimes a +shadowy looming near at hand intimated a building half submerged, +invisible in the fog and rain. More than once he thought he heard +voices, whether far or near he could not determine. An incident of the +high water, on which he had not counted, was the débris aloose and +afloat, which invested navigation with undreamed-of dangers, with which +he could make no covenant of caution. More than once flotsam shot past +him in the gloom on the swift current, with a force as if flung from a +catapult; sometimes it was the lumber of a wrecked building; once it was +a capsized boat, adrift, telling either of the strain of the current, +breaking it loose from its moorings, or of a hapless wight lost upon the +turbulent waves; once it was a drift log, which was upon him almost as +soon as seen, shooting out of the white invisibilities of the mist and +striking the dugout amidships with a force that threatened to send it to +the bottom. It rocked so violently that Desmond had much ado to keep it +right side up. When the drift log had disappeared and he was once more +paddling on in clear water, it seemed so deep, the current was so +strong, night was closing in so fast, that he began to fear he had been +swept out to the main river; at length, however, the mist gave +intimations here and there of vertical, shadowy objects at close +intervals, which he only discriminated as the trees of the grove when he +came in sudden contact with the bole of a gigantic oak. The dugout +rebounded from the collision with a violent recoil that seemed to stir +all the fibres of the hollowed log, but Desmond could hardly realize the +shock which had jarred his every bone, so rejoiced was he to feel +himself near his journey’s end. He steered more deftly after this, with +more heed, with less effort at speed, perhaps because the mists were +lightening, or that now he had his faculties better in hand since his +plunging, frantic haste under the spur and lash of suspense was abated, +as his object was achieved. Soon he was able to discern that he was +surely and swiftly approaching the house, which to his surprise, massive +and wide and low in the gloom, showed not a single gleam of light. He +saw the live oak at one side, which the veranda encircled, towering up +into the air, and suddenly he lifted his paddle and let the dugout drift +without a sound. For there, in front of the main entrance, a yawl swung +at a distance of a few oars’ length, kept from drifting by the +occasional stroke of half a dozen rowers. At the bow a man was standing, +holding a colloquy with the inmates of the house. Desmond had not heard +his words, the husky, gruff voice and defective articulation had masked +them, but his heart plunged responsive to the clear, vibrant tones, +thrilled with fright, as Mrs. Faurie spoke as boldly as she might. + +“But they are not here,” she said. + +The man gave a sort of derisive chuckle and the oarsmen laughed +together. One of them, a thick-set fellow with matted red hair, vaguely +familiar to Desmond, sitting crouched in the place of the stroke-oar, +spat contemptuously in the water. + +“Well, Mrs. Faurie, whar mought you be willin’ to say they are?” the +spokesman asked. + +Another, pale, wiry, hatchet-faced, and evidently a meddlesome lout, +intruded a sneer. “I reckon,” he said, with a simpering, brisk +intonation,—“I reckon ye won’t purtend that you disremember whar you put +thutty thousand dollars wuth o’ emeralds.” + +“I will not, indeed! I put them into a bank in New Orleans.” + +Desmond realized that she was standing at the open window of the parlor, +and from such shelter as it afforded was holding parley with the +villains,—it was doubtless the identical gang of river pirates who had +looted the store at Whippoorwill Landing with such signal impunity. + +“Then, madam, we will take your order for them,” said the flippant +intermeddler, airily. + +“Keep yer face out of it,—ye’re bug-house, Danvelt!” said the thick-set +man. “What good would the order do? She would signal the fust steamboat +that passed,—she would telegraph as soon as we were gone!—send a nigger +in a dugout across the river to the railroad flag station in the +Arkansas. Either one would overhaul us.” + +“Mightn’t be ekal to signalin’ an’ telegraphin’. Might be gagged an’ +under lock an’ key—ef still alive!” + +The man in the bow spoke authoritatively. “Sorry not to take a lady’s +word. But biz is biz! We will search the house, an’ if the jools are not +thar, sure enough, you will obleege us with your order on your bankers, +and the key of your deposit box.” + +Mrs. Faurie had lost control of her voice. It was high and shrill in the +dank, misty air. “I will not permit you to enter. I warn you of the +consequences if you set foot on that veranda. You will all bear +witness,” she added, as if she addressed an unseen group within. + +The feint, gallant-hearted as it was, failed of conviction. The +spokesman, openly scornful, disdained response other than threats. “The +Miss’ippi River is mighty convenient, here.” + +“Tain’t gone dry noways that I can see,” said the pert wit of the party, +and there was a tumult of chuckling and shaking shoulders in the boat. + +“We have a lot of rope handy,” the spokesman continued, holding up a +coil in his hand, his hard face white and fierce against the gray waters +and lowering sky. “Look at them iron vases!”—the rims of the great lawn +ornaments, six in number, showed above the surface of the swirling +waters, where they stood at the end of the broad walk and at the +intersections of the driveways on either side of the mansion. “They will +make capital weights, enough to sink every soul in the house,—the three +boys, old man Stanlett, yerself, and even that big fat nigger +cook-woman, for that is all ye have got in the house,—sink ye, every +one; the Miss’ippi River is one hunderd and eighty feet deep in +Deepwater Bend, even at low water.” He shook his head ominously, and the +rills of rain ran off the wide slouched brim of his hat with the +sinister energy of his motion. “Never be heard tell of no more,—if ye +don’t see yer way to accommodate us with the order and the key.” + +And, sooth to say, if she should! There was no alternative. It was only +a subterfuge of inducement. Desmond’s blood ran cold. He perceived in +aghast dismay the symmetry and perfection of the plan of the miscreants. +They had doubtless made sure of the absence from the plantation of the +manager, who was in Vicksburg on a business trip, and of the visit of +the tutor to Dryad-Dene, before they ventured to cut the levee. The +inundation of the plantation quarter with its flimsy low houses menaced +its inhabitants, especially women and children, with drowning, and would +draw to its succor every available man from the stanch mansion house, +which was amply able to cope with floods. When the servants should +return, the absence of the family would be accounted for variously in +their minds and without apprehension of evil: some passing steamboat +might have responded to a signal and sent out a yawl to assist them to a +refuge in Natchez or Memphis, there to abide till the overflow should +abate; some neighbor, the Kentopps, the Mayberrys, perchance still on +dry ground themselves, might have come and delivered them from their +inundated domicile. There would be no one among the tenants and servants +left in authority, no one fitted to act. Days might well elapse before +aught would be suspected. The order upon the bankers would be duly +honored; the fence in New Orleans—for doubtless in an affair of such +magnitude the robbers were provided with a respectable seeming _deus ex +machina_, some shyster at the bar, some trickster of a loan agent, some +defaulting bank official on the eve of detection and flight—would be +upon the high seas with the famous emeralds, before the Faurie mystery, +as the disappearance of the family would be called, should set the river +country agog with horror and baffled wonder and impotent despair. + +Desmond’s strong head was dizzy; his stout heart fluttered as he +realized the peril and the tenuous possibility of succor,—a single hair +to which he might cling, the fraction of a minute of time! If only he +could enter the house first! From without he could hope for naught. He +could not cope here with six brutal and hardened villains, doubtless the +miscreants who had wrought robbery and arson and malignant murder in the +tragedy at Whippoorwill Landing. He could not show himself here, for he +would only sacrifice his life, worth more at this moment than ever +before,—than it could be again. He dared not shoot from ambush; for a +failure of aim would result fatally to her, to him, to all in the house. +He could not venture to step on the veranda, lest his footfall be heard +or even his form be dimly descried from the yawl continually oscillating +to and fro. + +Oh, for one impulse of courage in that fainting feminine heart! Could +she but rally her forces to withstand their demand, to brave their +hideous threat, to hold them in parley but one moment longer. His own +heart leaped as he heard her voice again. It was full of quavering +vibrations, high and shrill and strangely out of tune. But she spoke +stanchly and with the poise of dignity. “This is my house. I forbid you +to set foot in it,—to trespass one inch on this veranda. I warn you that +I shall not be answerable for the consequences. I call you all to +witness,” she seemed to address the group within. “And I have help at +hand.” + +She uttered the words with such apparent confidence in the midst of her +direful extremity that they seemed to carry somewhat of conviction, to +stir the suspicion, the cowardice of the marauders. They did not at once +move forward, but hung as it were in the wind on the oscillating water. + +It was a failure of judgment which induced her on noting the effect of +her words to repeat them, for instantly interpreting them as a bluff, +the oars struck the water and the craft moved forward. “I have help,” +she piteously repeated. “I have help at hand.” + +“You have,—you have, indeed!” Desmond’s heart responded, for his plan +was perfected in those few minutes of final parley. He let the dugout +drift away while he caught the drooping branches of the live-oak tree +that swept the surface of the water. The stir of the foliage, as with +his rifle he clambered through the boughs, was not to be distinguished +from the rustling of the wind. He lifted the sash of one of the dormer +windows and was safe in a room he had never seen. A wan gleam of the +twilight fell through the glass, barely enough to disclose the +surroundings, for the window was curtained with some floriated opaque +stuff. An unused room it apparently was, with an unfurnished bed, a few +chairs, a table, and in the jamb of the chimney on either side tall +presses built in the wall, one of which stood half open and was +seemingly full of bundles of papers. A mere glance afforded these +details as he dashed to the door. It gave easily under his touch; he had +had one dreadful moment, faint with fear, lest it might prove to be +locked. He was still trembling as he groped along the dark hall, his +weapon in hand. He paused for an instant at the head of the unfamiliar, +vaguely descried stairs, feeling with his foot for the edge of the first +of the flight. + +He could hardly control his agitation, his wonder, as he heard a +strange, muffled stir, that sibilant, lisping step on the stair which he +remembered from the early days of his stay at Great Oaks Plantation, the +silken sound of the invisible patrol. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + +It shook his nerve, strained to the tension of breaking. But he rallied +his faculties. This was no time for vague terrors, for theories, for +hesitation. He moved on swiftly, silently. Nevertheless, as he hurried +down the dark flight, he could have sworn he passed some mute presence, +some sense of moving. + +He burst into the dim twilight of the parlor, but still without a sound. +There were two figures at the window, infinitely incongruous of aspect +with the scene without, with the frightful crisis, with the imminence of +their danger. Both were dressed with some touch of elegance for the +evening; Reginald with an incipient relish for his own good points, and +in the wan light from the window and the dark shadows within the room +Mrs. Faurie was like some antique picture, her gown of a light +Pompeian-red silk, of a quasi-Empire effect, a girdle of dark red +velvet, and a guimpe of thick, fine white lace to the throat,—yet +robbery, arson, murder, faced her at the moment. Reginald, pale with a +realization of his helplessness, nevertheless stoutly stood his ground, +his arm around her waist. + +Without a thought, Desmond passed his arm around her from the other +side. “Be quiet, be very quiet. I am here,” he said in a low tone. + +Her head drooped on his shoulder and she burst into tears. “How I have +wished for you! How I have prayed for you!” she murmured. + +“I am here! I am here!” he said again and again. He could only repeat +these words. The fact filled the universe. + +He was cool, confident, triumphant, despite the desperate odds, despite +the awful responsibility that hung upon his judgment. He made his +preparations without an instant’s flutter. He waited the significant +moment without a pulse of impatience. + +Mrs. Faurie, quieted, reassured, in perfect confidence did as he bade +her. She stood well up against the wall under the folds of the long and +heavy silken curtains, while he placed himself in front of the window, +too far withdrawn for his presence to be suggested in the dim light. Not +until the yawl had almost reached the steps, not until several of the +men had risen to spring upon the veranda, did he raise his rifle and +fire. For one moment the flash, the smoke, the report,—deafening in the +restricted space of the room,—were the only elements that could claim +attention. The next instant the result was apparent. That accurate aim, +that steady hand, that cool nerve, had come to Desmond as gifts, unknown +until to-day. The ball crashed into the skull of the red-headed, +thick-set man he had recognized as Jed Knoxton. He swayed to and fro for +a moment, then fell like a stone into the water, leaving the yawl +violently rocking, and the rowers doing all they could to prevent her +from capsizing. + +The return fire came whizzing through the window, but Desmond had +stepped aside and the ball crashed against a mirror on the opposite +wall. The yawl’s party seemed to have recovered from the surprise at +finding a defense attempted for the house, expected to be so easy a +prey. They gave no heed to the welterings and writhings of Jed Knoxton +in the water at their very gunwales, not able to recover himself, and +yet not dead, until at last the relentless Mississippi drowned out the +flickerings of life that the rifle had failed to extinguish. + +Once more, as they approached, this time with a heady rush, the rifle +got in its work. One of the assailants sank down on the very steps of +the veranda, and the blood flowed higher than the palpitant waves. An +attack from an unexpected quarter further demoralized them. A charge of +buckshot from the window across the hall rattled against the timbers of +the yawl—with not the best aim in the world, it is true. Reginald had +been stationed there in the short interval with a shotgun which happened +to be in the hall, and which Desmond hurriedly loaded, directing him to +blaze away at random, being careful, as Reginald loved to tell +afterward, to warn him to keep from between the muzzle of the gun and +himself! + +The apparent demonstration of adequate force to make good the defense of +the house was too much for the nerve of the river pirates. The yawl was +no longer water-tight; the buckshot had riven the wood, here and there, +old and rotten. It was filling fast, and this fact threatened their safe +retreat. They had intimations of more pressing personal interests than +had centred in Mrs. Faurie’s famous emeralds. Suddenly putting about, +they disappeared in the mist, leaving one of their comrades drowned in +six feet of water at the bottom of the veranda steps, and another lying +on the floor, apparently dying, the blood flowing from his mouth and +tinging all the waves as they lapped about with a deeper hue than the +copper tint of the great river. + +It would seem that no cheer of evening could ensue on so grisly a +primordium of horrors. Honoria Faurie wrung her hands as she reflected, +appalled, that a man had met a terrible doom at her door, and his +bloating corpse still lay at the foot of the steps to await there the +action of the coroner’s jury, and that another had stretched his +lacerated body on her veranda to die a lingering death. But Desmond +seemed to have no affinity or toleration for shuddering or tears. He +came and went noisily, ordering fires to be rebuilt in the library and +parlor. When Bob reappeared, having made the transit from the quarter in +an old dugout, the footman was aghast to hear the startling news. + +“Ought to have been here, Bob; you missed the time of your life!” cried +Desmond, cheerily. “Oh, it was great! And Mr. Reginald Faurie is a +_man_, all right, and don’t you forget it. Equal to downing any kind of +pirate! Pretty nearly sunk their yawl for them. They will all knuckle +down to Great Oaks, after this. We are the pirate tamers here.” + +Mrs. Faurie had sunk into a chair before the dead ashes of the parlor +fire, her face pallid, her chest heaving, her hands nerveless. + +“I wish you would give me a little brandy,” Desmond said to her, “and +you would be the better for what Colonel Kentopp calls ‘a weeny teeny +nip,’ yourself.” She walked with him to the dining-room, where he +detained her upon the pretext that he, himself, wanted to order the +belated dinner. + +“I need a _good_ dinner,” he said. “I have hardly had a bite since a +daylight breakfast.” + +The cook was summoned, an immense woman, so tall and so fat that she was +apparently immovable. She had been in the house throughout the turmoils. +If the skies should fall, she would continue to sit in the open kitchen +window and await events. She seemed to do nothing but sit on the sill of +the kitchen window, but when she did move it must have been to the +purpose, for she was a famous expert,—of an unparalleled excellence. So +long did they discuss each dish and compare views and criticise sauces +that Mrs. Faurie could scarcely compose herself to wait and listen to +these trivial details. It was a distinct hint when she sank into a chair +at one side of the old-fashioned mahogany table, the cloth not yet laid, +and put her dimpled elbows on the glittering dark red surface and +supported her chin in her clasped hands; while Desmond, still booted and +spurred and holding his brandy glass, stood before the sideboard, and +the cook filled the doorway, beaming with smiles upon a gentleman who +knew so well how to appreciate the delicate miracles of her art. + +When at last the menu was settled, he turned for its approval to Mrs. +Faurie. + +“Oh, how can you think of such things at such a moment”—and she shook +her head to and fro while the ready tears came—“with a man dying at my +door and another dead!” + +“The dying man is very comfortable upstairs in a nice clean room and a +fresh, tidy bed, where Bob and Seth have no doubt put him by this time, +as I ordered. And the other man got his deserts, as no doubt Providence +intended he should. We are not going to sentimentalize about them. On +the contrary, we are going to ask for the thanksgiving for special +mercies to us to be said in the public prayers in our little +neighborhood church next Sunday, and I should think you would write to +the rector at once so that the request may be received in time. Go into +the library, won’t you? and write the note at my desk,—the fire must be +blazing there,—while I dress for dinner.” + +“Do you have to take the trouble to dress for dinner?” + +He spread out his hands in dismay. “Do you want me to come to the table +like this,—with my boots full of water and all over mud?” + +She still sat at the table and looked at him through her tears, +realizing his vital aid, his courageous rescue at the most crucial +moment of her life. But his little devices to divert her mind, to +sustain her composure, to prevent a morbid reaction of sensibility, all +of which she appreciated, touched her in a different way. The one was +essential salvation, but the other had so tender, so careful, so +individual a thought for her. + +“You are so dear!” she said abruptly; “I shall never call you ‘Mr. +Desmond’ any more. What is your Christian name? Yes, Edward. You are my +dear, _dear_ Edward; like a dear, _dear_ son!” + +As she sat at his desk in the library, she was surprised to find how she +liked to be there. She wrote her note, and wept some happy tears of +gratitude over the occurrence which had taken on the aspect of a +merciful deliverance rather than a tragedy; she lingered, fingering the +little objects of chirographical use that belonged to him—the +paper-weight, the pen, the blotter-holder—and thinking of his thought +for her. But for the wholesome influence of his sound intellect her +nerves would be shattered by the reaction, she would endure agonies of +foolish regret and terror; she would not now have this glow of earnest +love to God and confidence and gratitude that made her heart so warm. +Yet her equanimity was not entirely restored, and she had a sentiment of +recoil when Mr. Stanlett brought a very pallid, harassed, and tremulous +face to the window and looked in; then entered by the long sash. + +“I am hunting for you, Honoria,” he said in a strained, husky voice. “I +am much worried.” + +“There is no need, Uncle Clarence.” She was surprised by her full, +steady tones. “Edward Desmond will attend to all these troubles. See +what a miracle he wrought to-day, by the favor of God. We were at the +end of our capacity even to hope.” + +“Yes—but, Honoria,” the old man leaned forward as he stood and laid an +impressive finger upon the edge of the desk. “This man, Desmond,—I had +forgotten his name was Edward, if I ever knew it,—he takes a deal on +himself! Without a word to anybody, he ordered this marauder to be put +in the blue room upstairs. And there he is now—in the _blue_ room!” + +She stared at him in amaze. “And why not the blue room as well as any +other?” + +He shook his head, and with a gesture of despair struck his high, bony +forehead with his outstretched palm. + +“I forget! I forget! You do not know!” + +She looked at him steadily, sternly, for a moment. + +“What is it I do not know, Uncle Clarence?” + +He had come around the desk and sat down on a sofa on the opposite side +of the crackling fire. It was necessary to turn in her chair to face +him, and she looked over her shoulder at him as she sat at the desk. He +met her eyes miserably, with a detected, hangdog look, but he had closed +his lips resolutely; she saw that he would say no more. His face was +bloodless, deathlike in its pallor. He looked very old, with his spare +frame, his clear-cut, bony lineaments, his thin, silver hair. + +There is something infantile in the infirmities of age. It touched her +maternal spirit. No one was making enough of Uncle Clarence,—he had been +neglected. He, too, was to-day greatly threatened by overpowering odds; +and a man disabled by age and infirmity must feel an appalling +helplessness, a pathetic shame, to be no longer of force, of availing +courage in the face of physical danger, a source of refuge and +protection to the weak. And so great had been the peril, of so terrible +an aspect, that it might well have touched his intellect for the time +being. She did not press for his answer, albeit she was of an imperious +spirit and not accustomed to have her will gainsaid or her words set at +naught. She rose and advanced toward him, pained to see how he cringed +at the idea of her persistence while he yet massed his pitiful +resources, his face hardening, his eyes aglow with an excited gleam, yet +terrorized lest his steadfastness fail. He watched with doubt and +expectancy, like a beast at bay, as she sat down beside him and laid her +hand on his shoulder. + +“Don’t be troubled, Uncle Clarence,” she said, in a dulcet tone. “You +are hardly yourself, you have been put through so much agitation and +suspense to-day.” + +He glanced at her ever and anon with excited and furtive eyes, and +moistened his lips, but kept silence. + +“I will ask no questions that you do not want to answer.” She passed one +of her soft white arms around his wrinkled old neck, feeling it stiff +and rigid with his tense resolve. Then she laid her cheek on his +shoulder. “I love you so much. I can’t endure to see you worried.” + +“It is just for you, Honoria. Just for you,” he protested huskily. + +“Don’t worry for me, I feel so happy to-night—so happy! as if I had the +world in a sling! I think it so strange. To-night—of all the nights in +the year! I suppose it is because we had such an escape.” Yet when she +thought of the escape, she shuddered. + +“I am much worried, Honoria. The—blue—room!” + +“If you loved me as much as I love you, you would not worry. Think, +Uncle Clarence, how much we are to each other,—almost like father and +daughter. We ought to stand by each other.” + +“That’s why, Honoria, I have taken my course. For you, my dear! +And—the—blue—room!” + +“Let it pass for the time, Uncle Clarence,—for the moment. We will ask +Mr. Desmond if the man can be moved without injury, and set your mind at +rest; though for my life I can’t see that the blue room is less to be +desecrated by his presence than any other.” + +He held his lips together once more as if afraid of disclosure, and sat +stiff, immovable, furtively glancing about with absorbed eyes; and as +she with maternal patience drew her soft arm closer about his neck, her +head on his shoulder, the glow of the shaded lamp and the flaring fire +on the rich tints of her dress, her beauty embellished by her softened +expression, the two were a charming illustration of reverend age and +filial youth when Desmond, freshly groomed once more, stood a moment by +the window ere he entered by the sash. + +Desmond was in no mood for concessions. He had assumed control of the +household, and he had a strong if not a heavy hand. He declined at once +to interfere with the wounded man. + +“It might be as much as his life is worth to move him. I am not +competent to judge. I am not willing to risk it.” + +Her sympathies went out to the old man, inadequate to cope with this +masterful, youthful usurper. + +“Uncle Clarence seems to desire it,” she said, not without emphasis. + +“I cannot imagine a reason sufficient to jeopardize the man’s life,” +Desmond rejoined. + +“I am not informed, sir, by what theory I am to submit my reasons to +you,” said Mr. Stanlett, with stately and satiric dignity. + +“Oh, Uncle Clarence,”—Mrs. Faurie started up in alarmed +remonstrance,—“think what we owe to Mr. Desmond—how grateful we should +be!” + +“That is neither here nor there,” said Desmond, maintaining his +placidity. “You are the arbiter of events here, Mrs. Faurie, but you +_must_ not suffer this man to be moved, and perhaps sacrifice his life—” + +“Heavens—no!” she interpolated. + +“—Especially before he can be interrogated by the authorities. The +information he may give will cause the apprehension and the breaking up +of this gang of river pirates, and avoid the accomplishment of such +disasters as menaced this house to-day.” + +He turned toward Mr. Stanlett, who had risen and stood stiffly, a sort +of blight on his face, at one side of the low, old-fashioned marble +mantel. “I am disturbed to differ with you, Mr. Stanlett, to urge my +views against your preference when you have been so kind to me.” + +“My kindness is returned in a way I had not anticipated,” said Mr. +Stanlett, coldly. + +“Oh, Uncle Clarence, I protest. _Don’t_ mind it, Edward!” She smiled +and, leaning over, patted Desmond maternally on the coat-sleeve. + +“I _do_ mind it very much—to incur Mr. Stanlett’s disapproval. But, my +dear sir, it will be only for a short time. The officers will reach here +in the morning. I have sent Jacob off in a dugout with an imperative +note to the constable and the coroner; they must come. If the man can be +moved, he will be taken to jail; at all events, he can’t be long dying +with that hole bored through his lungs. Then the blue room will be once +more at your service.” + +“_At my service!_” the old man sneered. “You know nothing about it! You +only show your ignorance.” + +The announcement of the belated dinner put an end to the discussion, and +as they filed out, Mrs. Faurie’s face was pale and drawn and altogether +unlike itself. But Desmond seemed in high spirits. He begged pardon for +asking for a cocktail before the soup, and he praised a certain +different combination so that Mr. Stanlett requested that a glass be +mixed for him, remonstrating sharply against any dilution, when Desmond +good-naturedly diverted his interest by reminding him of the classical +apportionment of water with wine, smilingly quoting “Hail, Dionysus: are +you Five-and-two?” The mixture proved sufficiently potent, and sent the +blood to the old gentleman’s pale cheeks and brought out a gentle dew on +his forehead, and predisposed him to enjoy and digest his dinner, to +postpone his unrevealed trouble, and to hope for the best. + +Desmond developed a spirit of gossip. He recounted the details of the +house-party at Dryad-Dene, and Mrs. Faurie and Mr. Stanlett laughed, +though slyly, at Chub, who seemed to think that Desmond had committed a +great impropriety in mentioning Miss Allandyce’s boyish equestrian +costume and describing his embarrassment that he did not later recognize +her when accoutred in white silk skirts. Reginald and Horace indulged in +great hilarity at this demonstration of the prudish Chub, and Mr. +Stanlett was immensely “tickled” by the description of Loring’s +sufferings because of the unwelcome reminiscences of the old +wood-chopper, Sloper, concerning the millionaire’s family. + +“Shows just what a snob Loring has graduated into,” said Mr. Stanlett, +his face now pink from Clos Vougeot, the blue room forgotten. “His +parents were most reputable, educated, respected people, even if they +were not well off, and the only reason they were ever acquainted with +such a party as Sloper, as every one knows, is that in this sparsely +populated country everybody is acquainted with everybody else. But +social differences are now and always have been rigorously maintained.” + +He had a keen commercial interest in Desmond’s detail of Regnan’s +suspicions that the house-party had been made up to show Dryad-Dene to +advantage to Mr. Loring, with charming young people in gala attire +enlivening all its highly decorated apartments, and how Regnan resented +the idea that he had danced not for his own pleasure, but like a trained +dog, for a purpose. + +Mrs. Faurie dimpled and beamed, and asked him how the ladies looked and +what they wore, now and then checking his description with the +exclamation “Impossible!” and setting him to rights with apt conjectures +as to fabrics and styles. + +“If I were mamma, I’d give a house-party that would mash the Kentopps +flat,” said Chub, sturdily. “I’d have up a lot of swell guys from New +Orleans and down from St. Louis and Memphis, and then I’d open the +ballroom and dance all one day and one night on a stretch, and have a +party supper and dinner and breakfast,—and leave the Kentopps out!” + +The older boys collapsed over this truculence of the vengeful Chub and +his idea of a fashionable entertainment. Mrs. Faurie checked him, though +smiling. “Mustn’t bear malice, Chubby. I am too old for a young people’s +party.” + +“Prettier’n anybody, ain’t she, Mr. Desmond?” said the confident Chub, +with his mouth full of salad. + +To the tutor’s amazement, he flushed to the roots of his hair at this +appeal. He felt the blood mounting and pulsing as it rose, but he was +ready with the repetition of Miss Mayberry’s compliment to the “most +beautiful woman in the world,” albeit he doubted his good taste in the +rehearsal. Mrs. Faurie, however, who had often heard similar +appraisements of her attractions, took the remark quite simply, and was +absorbed in the interest of recollecting details concerning this Italian +count, who was a man of talent and high position, and whom she had often +met in notable circles while she was living in Paris. This brought them +to a harmonious end of the feast, and when they rose from the table, +Desmond proposed a return to the parlor, where Mrs. Faurie countenanced +the cigars, and seated herself before the fire in a great fauteuil, her +Empire gown of rich yet delicate red enhancing her beauty, her eyes +fascinated by the flames, her lovely neck glimpsed through the lace +guimpe, her quiet respiration rising and falling calmly, the tumult of +fear assuaged that had shaken her heart so few hours ago. + +Desmond had taken his station on one end of the sofa, where Chubby also +ensconced himself, for out of school hours he had developed a great +disposition to loll on his tormentor. The other two boys had seats here +too, facing the window, but only the inconsiderate youngest spoke out +his sudden surprise. + +“Where does all that light come from?” + +Mrs Faurie turned her head apprehensively. The verandas were under a +steady illumination, and for a distance the murky waters of the overflow +showed their constant, sinister palpitation. + +“I had those lamps filled and the brackets fastened to the posts,” +Desmond said coolly. “I found them by rummaging around upstairs. I +suppose they must have been used in some entertainment in the house. +There were some reflectors, too, in the ballroom.” + +Mr. Stanlett raised himself in his chair, his cigar held out at arm’s +length. + +“You have no call to go rummaging around the house. It—it—is outrageous! +It is—is—intrusive!” + +Mrs Faurie had paled. “Do you anticipate another attack on the house +to-night?” she asked in agitation. + +“No,” said Desmond, “for I am prepared for it.” + +Beneath his gay and cheerful exterior, sustaining the spirits of the +household lest the palsy of panic overwhelm them and bring down +undreamed-of disaster, Desmond had wrestled with some sombre fears, +distressing doubts, troublous paucity of resource. There was no boat due +to pass, or he would have braved the maddening floods in the primitive +dugout to put Mrs. Faurie on board. He had thought of the neighbors, to +ring the plantation bell and summon aid. But the neighbors by this time +were struggling with the overflow, or seeking to patch sodden and +threatened levees. Their own families were exposed to the manifold +distresses of high water, and the very fact that marauders were abroad +had homing promptings. Besides, he did not wish thus to advertise to the +river pirates that the occupants of the mansion felt incapable of its +defense. The garrison had already demonstrated its efficiency; the +pirates no doubt believed that they had been misinformed as to the +unprotected condition of the house; and though Desmond feared an attempt +at the rescue of the wounded man, in order that he might not turn +state’s evidence, inculpate the gang, and compass their capture, he +could rely only on such means as had been equal to the emergency in the +afternoon, hoping that this would prove adequate to whatever the night +might bring forth. The idea that Mrs. Faurie was the focus of their +schemes, the suggestion of wresting from her an order on her bankers and +by some nefarious plan rendering her incapable of giving the alarm till +it should be honored, filled him with dismay. The possibility suggested +abduction, imprisonment, even murder. He had provided against surprise. +No boat, no swimmer, could approach the house without becoming instantly +visible,—the old ballroom lights playing a part undreamed of in their +festive design. He had posted one of the most reliable of the house +servants as a lookout on each veranda, and a relief sat in the kitchen, +finding royal good cheer in the remainder of the big dinner he had +ordered with this view. His rifle was loaded, his pistols at hand, and +Reginald had been called aside and, as he protested, given some points +concerning the best method of distinguishing the muzzle from the butt of +the gun. He had in fact been taught to load, aim, cock the hammer, and +pull the trigger, and he had a half dozen buckshot cartridges in his +pocket as he lounged on the sofa. + +“Won’t the lights attract attention and make navigation easy?” she +asked. + +“Perhaps; but they will show that we are on the alert and ready for all +comers,” said Desmond. Then after a moment of hesitation, “It was an +accident that they did not reach the veranda before I did this +afternoon. Now, any approach would be detected at a considerable +distance.” + +Her level eyebrows were drawn. “I had hoped the danger was over,” she +said, with a sort of plaintive patience. + +“But not the precautions,” he replied, with a smile. + +“Why don’t we have up some of the tenants from the quarter? they could +spare ten or twelve men.” + +He did not tell her that he had already attempted a levy from the +quarter, and that the tenants had revolted. For the dead flatboat-man +lay alongside the veranda steps with a dog collar and chain around his +neck, to keep him from floating away while awaiting the coming of the +coroner; this Desmond had been compelled to attach with his own hands. +The negroes did not so much fear the living as the dead. They would not +undertake to touch the floating body and lift it to the shelter and +security of the veranda, there to await the coming of the coroner; they +would not wittingly approach the house so long as it was there,—nay, +until it should be removed to a distance and to an unknown place. They +did not believe that the pirates would dare return, and were not +actuated by fear of them, but they were sure that Jed Knoxton would +haunt them to their dying day! “I think they are perhaps shy of meddling +in our feud,” Desmond replied to her suggestion. “The darkeys always +seem doubtful as to whether they are fairly instructed as to the points +at issue in any disturbance among white people, and are afraid of +getting into trouble with the authorities. They would merely give the +sense of strength in numbers, anyhow. We had enough, to-day, and to +spare.” + +Nevertheless, he had not permitted to depart those whose vocation had +caused them to return to the mansion, and who, upon discovering the +facts, would have been glad to get away again. They were fain to +reconcile themselves to the grim necessity as best they might. The old +butler, whose attachment to the family dated from before the war, a man +of experience and intelligence, pinned his faith to the Faurie banner in +weal or woe. He smartly admonished Bob, his son, to “show some manners,” +when the footman was insisting upon putting a goodly quantity of the +Mississippi River between himself and the locality where such dreadful +deeds were done and which harbored such ghastly visitants, and +withdrawing to the quarter. It was not merely that the old butler knew +that special duty rendered in time of stress received a special and +proportionate reward, for he was long past his prime and had no +ambitions disconnected with an aspect of distinction in the Faurie +dinner service. But a word to the wise Bob was sufficient. Though under +constraint indeed, he cheerfully consented to watch in turn with his +father on one side of the house, while Desmond and Reginald kept a +lookout through the parlor windows from the front. The cook insisted +that naught could approach undiscovered from the east while she sat on +the sill of the kitchen window, and Seth, the old-time hostler, who +dwelt in a world of Houyhnhnms and rated as slight matters any disasters +that did not concern the frog and the fetlock, or threaten spavin or +sprain, found his sympathy with mere humanity so indurated by disuse as +to be able to stand guard over the wounded pirate to make sure that he +did not attempt to escape, that he wanted for naught in comfort, and +that no shadowy approach was made toward the house upon the waters +viewed from the dormer window, from the hood of which Seth continually +scanned the expanse. + +“Too many people make confusion and get into each other’s way,” Desmond +explained to Mrs. Faurie. “I need only one steady lieutenant like +Reginald here. I invited Regnan to return to Great Oaks with me, and I +was sorry at first that he did not come. But we are all right without +him.” + +“I wish I could shoot,” plained Chubby. + +“I am going to put a stop to this mollycoddle business, anyhow,” said +Desmond, waving away the smoke from his cigar and looking at Mrs. Faurie +with challenging, laughing eyes. “Just as soon as we get out of our ark, +I am going to have regular target practice three times a week, and teach +these boys how to shoot, and then we will borrow Mr. Sloper’s dogs and +go on a camp hunt of our own.” + +“Oh, little Chubby,” protested Mrs. Faurie, while Chub fairly rolled +himself into a ball of chuckling delight, hugging himself as if he felt +that he might fly to pieces in the centrifugal force of so much ecstasy. + +“Little Chubby is a good plucked one! I was proud of Chub and Horace,—to +stand here in the parlor, and hold still without a word, and get in +nobody’s way, and make no confusion, and face danger without a protest. +Oh, this is a great day for the house of Faurie! We have three men here, +rather small-sized and callow as yet,—but _men_, for all that!” + +“Oh, you make me feel so proud of them!” cried Mrs. Faurie, laughing and +flushing with pleasure. + +Suddenly a drear sound—knock! knock! knock! at the front of the house. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + +Mrs. Faurie sprang up with white lips and a half scream. The old +gentleman, who had sunk into a placid doze, was roused from slumber to +vague but terrible fright. + +Knock! knock! knock! again reiterated at the door. The three boys gazed +in questioning suspense at the tutor’s face. + +“It is not”—Reginald began—he had held the chain while Desmond locked +the dog collar—“it is not—it could not be—” + +“Oh, no! _Impossible!_” cried Desmond, bewildered nevertheless, and at a +loss. + +The strain of the events of the evening was telling on the tutor,—even +the stress of the effort to sustain the equilibrium of the household was +making its impression. Some moments elapsed before his mind could evolve +a conjecture, a reasonable solution of the mystery, and all the time the +heavy, dull knocking was renewed at ominous intervals. + +“It must be—it is—a drift log!” he exclaimed at length. “No, you must +stay here,” he insisted, as Mrs. Faurie started forward; “Reginald and I +will see.” + +He led her back to her chair, and was not sorry that he had done so when +he opened the door into the hall and saw there all the negro watchmen, +trembling and agitated, with a look of abject terror shown in the +swinging chandelier. + +“No, no! Nathan,—I am astonished at you. You know that a dead man cannot +knock at the door! No, Bob! You can’t have the dugout. I have got it +chained and padlocked. If you leave us here, you will have to swim. +Seth—you, too! It _must_ be a drift log. I am going to see. I might have +been afraid of that man alive, but I have got a cinch on him, sure, now +that he is dead. Nobody in the house knows that he is there, but +Reginald and me. You tell that fat old cook in the kitchen that the +Mississippi River hasn’t swept him away from here, or that the other +pirates didn’t take him with them, and she’ll die of fright. I should +want no ghost of her size after me, if I were you. Keep quiet here and +I’ll see.” + +It proved to be a drift log, and with the aid of a stout cane Desmond +leaned over the railing and pushed it clear of the entrance to the +house. The body of the flatboat-man had not yet risen, and as the log +was on the surface, it struck against the floor of the veranda. +Unluckily, as it floated down a little farther on, it caught in the +angle between the flooring and the projection of the steps, and there it +swung on the oscillations of the current,—knock, knock, knock,—and there +it was destined to hang and, as if it were the dead man clamoring for +admittance, knock, knock, knock in a dull monotone at intervals all the +livelong night. + +Desmond could not rally his energies again for a show of cheerful +spirits. He could no longer direct the trivial conversation and evolve +ebullitions of satisfaction and pleasure. Despite his gratitude for the +crowning mercy of his rescue of the household, he had a sentiment of +infinite repugnance for the taking of life, necessary, justifiable, even +laudable though it was. That dull knock, knock, knocking at the door +where lay the man he had killed beat upon more sensitive nerves than he +had yet known he possessed, and set them all a-quiver. + +When Desmond induced the negroes to return to their posts, old Joel made +a great show of self-ridicule and abasement that so little a matter +should have shaken his equilibrium. “’Fore Gawd, boss, I done turned +fool, fur a fack! _Drift log!_ Gawd A’mighty! I wuz cradled in a _drift +log_! I been paddlin’ in dugout hollowed out’n _drift log_ dese six or +seben hunderd years. I been loadin’ up an’ firin’ powder fur Chris’mus +in de _drift log_—Lawd! eber sence Noah fust went a-wadin’ in de +overflow. An’ now—done took a skeer ob a _drift log_! Ye-all will have +ter hire somebody to wait on de table at Great Oaks besides a +_dee_stracted ole nigger whut is afeard ob a _drift log_.” + +Seth was retreating up the stairs, chuckling at the causeless fright, +and Bob was mightily entertained to see the old butler at fault, who was +so rich and ready in caustic reproof to the young and flighty. Desmond +and Reginald turned from the servants and repaired to the parlor, where +the tutor was able laughingly to explain the cause of the sound to the +group waiting by the fireside, and to apologize for having awkwardly +towed the log into the angle of the steps so that it could not shake +free, and thus the melancholy iteration of its oscillations against the +flooring would probably continue all night. “But I move that we pay as +little attention to the sound as possible, and adjourn for the present,” +Desmond continued, looking at his watch. + +“I feel as if I could never sleep again,” said Mrs. Faurie, pressing her +hands to her temples. + +“What a pity that you sent your maid down to the quarter. She could have +a cot in your dressing-room and be company for you so close at hand,” +suggested Reginald. + +“Yes, she is afraid to come back. She made all sorts of excuses, but +_that_ is the truth,” said Mrs. Faurie. “I sent her to help her people +save their things; their household furniture and bedclothes are so +important to them,—hard to come by and difficult for them to +replace,—the accumulations of many years.” + +“Suppose you let Chub have a cot in your room,” suggested Desmond. + +“I won’t,” said Chubby, stoutly. “I won’t sleep in a room with a lady!” + +The collapse of the two elder boys over this demonstration of Chub’s +delicate modesty was shared in less degree by the others, while Chub sat +gravely on the edge of the sofa and ejaculated—“The _idea_!” + +“He’d be no good, anyhow. He is a perfect dormouse,” said Reginald. + +“Leave him alone in his propriety,” added Horace. + +“Let things be as usual,” said Mrs. Faurie. “Anything different might +get on my nerves and make me wakeful.” + +Desmond was rummaging in a drawer. “There is a hammer here. Will you let +me nail up the window-shutters so that the room can be entered only from +the hall?” + +That idea of a coerced order on her banker operated on his mind like an +obsession. Should the pirates return, in view of their peril by state’s +evidence, to attempt the rescue of their comrade, they would have the +opportunity for a renewed effort to secure the paper with its rich +guerdon in case of success. + +“Nail up the windows!” exclaimed Mrs. Faurie. “Heavens! I feel like a +pampered lunatic.” + +“It would do no harm except to the shutters, and would mightily set my +mind at rest,” urged Desmond. + +“Work your will on the shutters, then, and peace to your mind!” she +said, laughing a little at his impetuous haste, as Reginald caught up a +lamp to light him and the two made off together. + +When they were through with the windows, it would have been as easy to +tear down a section of the house as to effect an entrance there. + +As the group stood together in the hall for the last few words, the +knock, knock, knocking was renewed, as of solemn clamors for admittance. +None of them mentioned the sound, and presently they were all gone +except Desmond and Reginald, who seemed to linger, but really intended +to wait and watch all night. + +“The lights are better out,” said Desmond, reaching up and extinguishing +the swinging lamp in the hall chandelier. “If they should come, which +God forbid, they could not so easily get about the house in darkness, +and we could fire at better advantage from the shadow than in the full +glare of the veranda lights.” + +They closed the window-shutters of all the house as they patrolled the +verandas. The width of these was great enough to limit the light sent +across the rooms, but thence through the slats one could look out almost +as with the distinctness of daylight on the great brown welter of water +palpitating with the rainfall and undulating with the current. + +“You had better lie down for a while in the parlor,” Desmond said to +Reginald. “No—you will play out long before day, if you have no rest at +all. You will be well within call here, with your gun beside you, and +you can watch through the slats for any approach from the front of the +house.” + +They had arranged that one or the other should remain in the hall +outside Mrs. Faurie’s door—unknown to her, however, lest this precaution +excite her alarm anew—throughout the night. Reginald was in a tremor of +terror to perceive that it was she against whom the schemes of the +marauders were most directed. He had earlier thought of the family +silver and the scattered valuables about the house, and had fancied that +these had allured them hither, but that most appalling suggestion of a +coerced order on her New Orleans bankers and the extremest measures to +insure its being honored was of far more sinister import. The silver in +its present form was easily identified; melted down, it would be mulcted +of half its value in the loss of the rich chasing of the ornamentation +and the fine workmanship. Moreover, the water-rats might well fear their +own discrimination between what was real and what might be a heavy plate +and for their purposes worthless. But there could be no possible doubt +as to her order on her bankers. Without question they were in +communication with fences and graduated rogues in New Orleans of such a +quality as to be able to present such an order without fear that it +would not be honored. Truly, the possibility invested the menace that +hung over the house with a terror which he could scarcely contemplate +without a complete collapse of all his faculties, and which drove every +impulse of sleep from his heavy eyelids. He sank down obediently on the +sofa, however, and sought to compose his mind, his eyes staring into the +gloomy waters, his gun on the floor beside him within arm’s reach, his +ears acutely discerning every sound within the house, and the splashing +of the water against the foundations as the rain fell and the currents +of the overflow rose ever higher and higher, and now and again the +sombre vibrations of the knock, knock, knocking at the door before which +the dead man lay. + +Desmond had thrown himself at full length on the long, old-fashioned, +mahogany hall sofa, that he, too, might find some repose for his +exhausted limbs,—now beginning to ache and stiffen from the stress of +the day’s exertion,—if not solace for his racked and anxious mind. + +The dark house had grown still—so still that the silence seemed +sinister, as if some portentous crash must break this unnatural hush. +The lapping of the water had become monotonous, the ear so accustomed to +it that it scarcely impinged upon the sense of silence. The ghostly +knock, knock, knocking had its sombre echo, and the interval relapsed +into muteness. There was no stir of whatever sort from the bedrooms; the +inmates were all lost in slumber. The house might have seemed +tenantless, when suddenly Desmond became conscious of a sense of motion. +He raised himself on his elbow and stared about him. + +The hall was absolutely dark. The glass half-moon above the solid panels +of the double front door, and the panes in the long side-lights on +either hand, were covered with some quilled stuff that tempered the +light to gloom by day, and utterly excluded the glimmer of night. He +could not have said how or when it came, but something was astir, he +knew, even before he heard that lisping sibilance of the ghost of a step +on the padded velvet carpet of the stair. Again and again it sounded, +sometimes regular for several steps; then silence; once more the +sibilant tread, sliding on the silky pile of the velvet. Farther and +farther it receded, unmolested; he thought it was gone! And once +more—the impact! And now all was silence; he listened in vain. As he +laid himself back on the sofa, the cold touch of the haircloth with +which it was covered caused him to withdraw his hand with a jerk and +start violently. Then he composed himself anew and sought the rest his +fagged-out system so needed. + +At another moment he would have sprung up to challenge the presence, but +in this juncture he remembered the alarm a sudden commotion in the hall +would rouse. Mrs. Faurie was aware of the peculiar jeopardy in which she +stood. The demand for the emeralds, for the order on her bankers, had +apprised her that she was the special mark for the enterprise of the +marauders. So extreme a terror as a sudden awakening to more turmoil and +suspense might prove too much for her nerves, for her overstrained +heart,—might, indeed, be fatal. This demonstration marked no intrusion, +no new menace; it was only the old unexplained, inexplicable spectral +mystery which he had encountered when he first reached Great Oaks +Plantation,—almost forgotten until this afternoon when he had sprung +into the window and rushed downstairs, hearing a sibilant descent and +passing an unseen presence. + +In the midst of the lull induced by the uncanny associations, he felt a +rush of impatience that this fantastic demonstration should be forced +upon his attention now,—at this time, when any slight lapse of vigilance +on his part, any failure of judgment under circumstances so strange to +all his training and experience, might cost the life of every one in the +house. He believed that there must be some natural explanation for the +manifestation; but since it baffled reason and conjecture, it mattered +little to the fact that he did not fully accept it. He had as distinct a +thrill quivering icily along his spine as if he had no philosophy +whatever, and as he placed his hand on his brow, he felt that cold drops +were standing there. + +Suddenly he sprang to his feet. There was a commotion upstairs, not so +much a tread or a movement, but a husky, half-smothered voice crying +out. In the tremendous crisis that the moment was to him, he remembered +to open the front parlor door, and with a whisper he motioned Reginald +to take his post on the hall sofa while he bounded noiselessly up the +stairs, three steps at a time. He burst into the room where the wounded +man lay—expecting he hardly knew what. It was the only chamber alight in +the house, yet full of distorted shadows. The kerosene lamp had been +extinguished, and the dim illumination came from that primitive +contrivance known as a button lamp,—a bit of cloth tied over a button, +the end lighted and set afloat in a saucer of lard, giving a clear, tiny +flame peculiarly adapted to a sick-room. Seth had placed this on the +fireless hearth, and thus shining upward, all the furnishings cast +gloomy shadows on the wall. They seemed curiously out of proportion,—out +of drawing, so to speak, because of the slant of the walls of the +half-story structure and the deep recesses of the dormer windows. + +In the middle of the room Seth stood staring, evidently just roused from +slumber; his starting eyes were on the wounded man, who had struggled +into a sitting posture, wildly gesticulating toward the door, every +fresh exertion sending the blood spurting over the bosom of the white +night-shirt furnished him, and trickling down the white coverings of the +bed. + +“Who is that thar guy?” he exclaimed huskily. “An’ what’s he comin’ +after me fur?” + +He fixed wild eyes on Desmond, who marveled whether it was yet time for +the delirium and fever attendant upon a gunshot wound to set in. + +As he spoke in a soothing voice, the incongruity of the situation could +but strike him. He had sought to kill this man and had nearly compassed +his object; but now he was laying the gentlest hands on the marauder’s +shoulder, and trying to place him back in his recumbent posture. The +danger was all gone out of him, but the semblance of kindness seemed +strange. + +“Nobody is going to disturb you. Take your night’s rest. Lie down and be +quiet.” + +The marauder grasped Desmond’s arm with a sunburned hand garnished with +broken nails. “But—say—_who_ was he? Oh, my! he looked comical! What’s +he want o’ me?” + +“There’s nobody here,” protested Desmond. “Lie down.” + +“Can’t stuff me! Ain’t slep’ a wink ter-night.” A shadow crossed his +face, which was young and broad, and with a “bang” of straight sandy +hair, a square jaw, and a long, thin mouth. “I got too much to study +’bout.” + +“Don’t do it now,” Desmond kindly admonished him. “You have started that +wound to bleeding. Lie down.” + +“That man looked comical; he didn’t look like folks hereabout! He had on +a three-cornered hat.” + +Desmond gave so palpable a start that the wounded marauder noticed it. +“Ai-yi! _You_ know him,” he said with significance. “Is he after me?” + +“Did he have powdered hair?” Desmond asked, surprised at his own +temporizing, and remembering Reginald’s description of the nurse’s +vision. + +“Gunpowder on his hair!” the man said wonderingly. “Naw, ’twuz white! +An’ Lord! he didn’t expect to see me lookin’ at him. He flipped in—an’ +when his eyes met mine, he flipped out. Say—I be ’feard o’ him,—he +looked so comical! Say—is he _alive_!” + +Desmond turned to the attendant. “Seth, who is this man?” + +“Gawd A’mighty, boss, I dunno!” Seth gasped, the whites of his eyes +distended and their pupils wildly rolling. “Ter tell de trufe, boss, an’ +shame de debbil, I jes’ batted my eye one minit, an’ dar war dis man +shyin’ an’ plungin’ an’ ’lowin’ dat he done seen—I reckon ’twuz dat ar +Slip-Slinksy what de chillern talks about wunst in awhile. Lawe-a-massy, +Mist’ Desmond, lemme go home! ’Fore Gawd, I can’t stay here no mo’! +Lemme go’—leastways, down ter de kitchen, whar _he_ ain’t neber been +seen nor hearn. I can’t stay whar Slip-Slinksy—oh, yi! hi-i!” + +He was looking in affright over his shoulder at a sudden movement of +Desmond’s shadow across the slanting wall. It was clearly demonstrated +that the utility of Seth in the offices of sick nurse and lookout was at +an end. So charging him to say naught to his fellows downstairs, on pain +of being ordered to return to the sick-room, Desmond assigned him to a +post on the back piazza within call of the others, and within exchange +of cheerful conversation with the corpulent old cook, always a fixture, +half a-doze in the kitchen window. + +The clumsy descent of the stairs by Seth, used only to the one-story +dwelling so common in the region, Desmond thought was sure to advertise +his withdrawal to all the house. But when the back hall door had closed +upon him, absolute quiet succeeded. All the inmates were asleep,—a much +needed rest, obviously. But the continued hush demonstrated how +essential was the strict watch, since so turbulent and erratic a transit +had failed to rouse the domicile. He reflected that the cautious methods +of burglars could never have permitted so much noise. He began to doubt +the vigilance of his sentinels. He had no blame for Seth, who had slept +at his post. It had been a strenuous day of excitement and labor for the +hostler, and indeed for all the household retainers. The exposure to +rain and wind is always of a peculiar exhaustion to the physical +energies. He began to fear that, thus absorbed by the strange +manifestation of the troublous peripatetic spirit of Great Oaks +Plantation, worse dangers might have been allowed to approach. + +He went swiftly to one of the dormer windows, and looked out upon the +great flood as upon an inland sea. Still the rain fell; the drops stood +in bubbles, and again coursed lazily along the panes of the glass, and +through their corrugations he could see the rippling waters in the wan +light of the illuminated veranda; the vague boles of the trees in the +shifting mist; the floating débris,—here and there uprooted bushes, +logs, fence-rails, timbers of buildings; but never a boat, never a human +suggestion. The ark could not have seemed more lonely, more aloof from +all humanity in the floods that drowned the earth, than did Great Oaks +mansion in that deep and memorable overflow in Deepwater Bend from the +crevasse in the Faurie cross levee. + +The tiny light of the primitive button lamp burned whitely on the +hearth; the fire was dead some hours since, and no coal gleamed through +the ash. The room had a comfortable aspect, though the blue and white +curtains were still undrawn as when he had sprung through the window +there. It was at the opposite side, and without shifting his posture, +where he sat in the recess of the other window, he could see through it +the sloping roof of the veranda, on which lay the boughs of the live-oak +tree towering high above. A table at the foot of the bed held a glass +from which restoratives had been administered, a bowl which had been +filled with the soup in which the old cook excelled, some lint and +home-made bandages from an old linen sheet, ready for use in case they +might be needed for stanching the further flow of blood. The floor was +covered with a blue and white matting; the woodwork was of the old +china-white paint, as smooth as enamel. The white wall-paper bloomed +with blue corn-flowers,—it was the blue room! There were presses in the +jambs beside the fireplace, and these, too, were of the spotless white +of the door and chair-rail and wainscot. The bed was dressed in white, +but from the half canopy long blue curtains depended, mottled with some +indeterminate design in white. He rather wondered at the freshness of it +all, considering its disuse; but there was little dust afloat amidst the +densities of the woods and along the expanse of the river, and the +traditions of Great Oaks were of famous housekeepers. A single sign of +disorder the room showed!—one of the presses was open, and within was +glimpsed a congeries of old account-books, bundles of papers, japanned +boxes, all in a degree of confusion that implied long neglect or great +haste. + +When he glanced again at the pillow, he was relieved to see that the +wounded man had fallen asleep, doubtless from the exhaustion attendant +upon the excitements of the last hour. The breath came with a queer +whistling sound from his torn lung, and this gave Desmond a keen pang, +notwithstanding the knowledge that the miscreant deserved far worse +punishment than the wound he had received. His sunburned face was yet +younger of aspect as he slept, and softer; his unkempt yellow hair, his +stubbly, unshaven chin and upper lip, and his dirty face on the fine +white linen of the pillow-case spoke the limitations of his low station; +and the tutor, who had pinned his faith to training, had a reservation +in his condemnation,—holding that this man might not have been what he +was but for what his circumstances had made him. + +Desmond, in the deep, shadowy recess of the dormer window, thus +meditating, looked out keenly at every shifting change of the watery +expanse, listening acutely to every semblance of sound within the house, +hearing even the recoil of the springs of the sofa in the hall below as +Reginald altered his position; hearing the water rush futilely against +the foundations and turn splashing aside; hearing every iteration of the +knock, knock, knocking of the drift log caught at the veranda steps, and +he was instantly aware when once more that scarcely to be discriminated +impact of a sibilant footfall, so stealthy it was, sounded anew on the +stairway of the hall. He could hardly control his impatience,—the +inexplicable incident so jeopardized the fidelity of his watchmen, the +composure of the rest of the household. He remembered that it was +Reginald who had first told him the story of the strange step on the +stair. He wondered if the boy heard it now, as he lay obediently waiting +on the sofa in the hall below. He wondered that Reginald could hold +himself motionless, for not a sound came save that lisping tread, soft, +sibilant,—now still, now distinct once more, ascending the stairs. + +Desmond had an impulse almost uncontrollable to rush out into the hall, +only checked by the fear that he would find nothing. Then, with an +effort at self-control, he held himself quiet in the deep, curtained +recess of the dormer window. Since the figure had entered this room +before the unwilling vision of the wounded robber, perhaps the lure it +then followed might again bring it hither. Desmond caught his breath as +he heard the step approach nearer and yet nearer. When the footfall was +just without, it paused, and Desmond fearfully heard the sombre knock, +knock, knocking at the door below stairs before which the dead man lay. +The next moment his heart was thumping so loudly that he thought the +sound might betray his presence. For there entered slowly, cautiously, +with a quick, nervous glance at the bed where the wounded robber slept, +the apparition he had described hardly an hour ago,—the figure that +patrolled the stairs in the wan moonlight in the tradition of the +nurse’s vision. + +A tall man it was, and spare. He was muffled in a cloak to the chin. He +had upon his head a hat, cocked as if accessory to a fancy costume; his +hair was white, not powdered; he held in his hand a scroll of paper; his +face was one that Desmond recognized instantly, despite the anxious, +secret, blazing eye, the tension of excitement in every drawn feature. +Mr. Stanlett, with that careful, soft tread, noiseless save for an +occasional slipping shuffle incident to the step of age, crossed the +room and stood for a moment scanning the face of the sleeping man. +Desmond, invisible in the deep shadows of the curtained recessed window, +trembled for him lest that peculiar mesmeric influence, responsive to an +intent regard, rouse the sleeper to a moment of frenzied fright. But the +man still slumbered, the breath still whistling in labored respiration +from his torn lung. Mr. Stanlett evidently harbored no suspicion of the +shadowed window recess. He was very old, and his age was telling on him +in the draughts that this strange secret made upon his powers of +endurance. He tottered as he approached the press, its door ajar, and as +he paused and gazed at its disorder, he shook his head to and fro in +dismay. He pulled the door back, and leaning within, he opened a drawer +which Desmond fancied was a secret receptacle. He laid the scroll in +this, and then with a cheering face and a brisk satisfaction of manner, +his lips set firmly together, he began to push the bundles of papers and +japanned boxes back into their places, his nervous, veinous old hands +moving here and there with great diligence in his eager haste to be +gone. As he forced the door to shut on the crowded shelves, he did not +observe what the keen young eyes in the recess perceived, that the +corner of one of these bundles so protruded that the door did not +compactly close. He shot the bolt and turned the key, unaware that +neither had gone home, whirled about with a jaunty air of capability, +looked keenly at the sleeping face on the pillow, and went briskly but +softly shuffling out of the door, leaving Desmond at once relieved, +amazed, and dismayed. + +He could not for a time collect his faculties to ponder on this strange +chance. He sat silently listening to the stealthy footsteps that had so +long baffled inquiry at Great Oaks Plantation. He was remembering that +on the occasion when the spectre was declared to have been seen, Mr. +Stanlett was one of those first present in the hall below, and could not +recognize, it was said, the features of the apparition through looking +upward at the landing. The steps retreated farther and farther, and at +last their sibilance sounded no more. + +In the silence Desmond took counsel with himself. There was something of +mystery here, of an importance to justify some risk, of a continuance to +warrant years of concealment. What it was, whom it might affect, he +could not imagine. He had the sentiment that whatever is secret is +wrong. And certainly this was in a keeping neither wise, nor consistent, +nor competent. His nettling discovery, for he wished now he knew naught, +entailed a certain responsibility. The old man imagined that the scroll +was in a secret receptacle, locked and double locked. And, in fact, one +man, perhaps indeed two—for Desmond could not feel sure of those +half-closed eyes and whistling breath—knew that it was within reach of +any deft and groping hand. He revolted at the assumption of +responsibility with which he had no concern. Nevertheless, this had been +thrust upon him, and in view of the personnel of all concerned, he could +not shirk it. + +He rose abruptly, crossed the room, and opened the door of the press. +He, too, gazed doubtfully at the sleeping man in the bed, who did not +stir. Presently Desmond’s deft hands were fingering the outline of the +secret drawer. It was constructed after an old and ordinary type, and +with one or two efforts his thumb pressed a spring and the drawer shook +loose. Taking the scroll, for there were no other contents, Desmond +slipped it without examination or a glance of scrutiny into his breast +pocket. + +As he descended the stairs, Reginald rose from the sofa to meet him. +“Such a night,” he whispered. “As if we have not enough to bear already, +I heard—I could almost swear it—old Slip-Slinksy going up and coming +down the stairs!” + +Desmond passed his arm around him and gave him a jocose hug. “And this +is the fellow I have been calling a man. Afraid of nursery ghosts!” + +He was going into the library. The rain had ceased; the mist was +lifting. A pale gray light was sifting through the slats of the +shuttered windows. The veranda lamps burned queerly out of countenance +before its definite, pervasive distinctness. As Reginald threw open the +blinds, Desmond was lighting a wax candle that stood on his desk, and +sealing in a large envelope a paper at which he scrupulously forbore to +look; and as he lifted his head, he saw that the sun was striking long, +red, shifting gleams across the great inland sea of the Mississippi +overflow. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + +The waters had not yet disappeared from the face of the earth when the +routine at Great Oaks mansion was reëstablished. Those ghastly events, +the coroner’s inquest, the identification and removal of the +flatboat-man’s corpse, the ante-mortem statement of the wounded +prisoner, and the subsequent capture and incarceration of the river +pirates, followed in a rapid succession that seemed incongruous with +their importance. The horrified and superstitious servants now went +about their duties with casual cheerful faces; the tutor had resumed his +pedagogic struggles with the young idea; Chubby, in the intervals of his +labors as a student, sat upon the railing of the veranda and fished in +the overflow, his skill being now and again rewarded by the splashing of +a finny trophy at the end of his line, whereupon long and serious +conferences ensued between him and the cook as to the best methods to +prepare certain piscatorial dishes considered of small gustatory value +by the epicure, and always served in a single platter for Chub alone. +Mrs. Faurie had resumed her plaints against the dullness and general +vapidity of Great Oaks, but not her lassitude. For there was much to do. +The preparation for repairs and rebuilding incident to the destruction +wrought by the overflow to the farm machinery, the miles of fencing, the +tenants’ cabins, brought the manager of the place, now returned from +Vicksburg, almost daily to the house, with estimates and suggestions and +discussions of ways and means. There were many problems presented, +difficult of solution even to one of his experience, and Mrs. Faurie had +come to dread the sight of him, with his perplexities, paddling up to +the veranda in his dugout, the glister of the blinding sun on the +expanse of waters narrowing his keen gray eyes to mere slits, +corrugating his brow, burning his complexion almost to a scarlet hue, +incongruous enough with his straight yellow hair and straw-colored full +beard, for he wore his straw hat on the back of his head. + +Mrs. Faurie had begun to say often, “Let us ask Mr. Desmond,” when the +alternative propositions of plans and computations of approximate +expenses involved them both in doubt and anxiety, and he had found the +clear-headed views of a man of judgment, progressive yet prudent, of +value in appraising possibilities and reaching conclusions, despite +Desmond’s inexperience in the questions at issue and need of information +in the premises at every step. He was so quick to comprehend, so willing +to take instruction, so cautious of precipitate decision, of such keen +acumen and justice of reasoning, that Mr. Bainbridge was glad of his +counsel and to be able to cease to confer only with a woman, albeit the +owner of the interests involved. He broached the suggestion himself one +day in his big, hearty voice, “Let’s submit the whole idee to Mr. +Desmond”; then, abashed, perturbed, he looked up fearfully from under +his bushy blond eyebrows, perceiving the many untoward inferences to be +drawn from his reference to this arbitration. + +But Mrs. Faurie discerned none of them. “The very thing,” she concurred, +touching the bell. Then as the servant appeared, “Ask Mr. Desmond if he +can’t come here for one tiny minute. Tell him to lock Chubby up in the +mahogany cupboard, or fasten him in the letter-press, or kill him a +little,—anything, to get rid of him,—and come here quick.” + +She, too, relied upon Desmond’s judgment implicitly, and sometimes he +was disposed to protest. “What will you two say if all this goes wrong? +You know that I am as green as a gourd to this business.” + +“Ah, but it cannot go wrong,—it is instinct with right reason. I +couldn’t devise it myself, but I can discriminate its value. You have +the happy hand; everything you touch is successful.” + +Mr. Bainbridge sat demurely by, scarcely daring to breathe for the +temerity of the thought in his mind, his eyes discreetly downcast. Would +the widow really sacrifice her great income for this man of pinched +conditions? “Mighty smart man, though!” he was sufficiently just to say +to himself when out of her presence, as he flung himself into his dugout +and took up his paddle. “Mighty glad he is here. Don’t know how in the +world I’d ha’ made out to git along with all these perplexity fits with +just a woman’s whims to control things.” For Desmond often boldly +battled with Mrs. Faurie’s preferences and prejudices in the cause of +her best interests, and demonstrated what was most worth while, and what +was idle and useless expense in the rehabilitation of the wreckage of +the overflow; and though she disputed with spirit, she was open to +reason, and if convinced, was willing to concede. + +There were other visitors at Great Oaks in these days, and mightily +surprised to find the trio in one of these heady discussions were +Colonel Kentopp and Mr. Loring, rowing in a skiff up to the veranda +steps and ushered into the parlor before the wranglers well knew that +intruders were upon them. At the sight of the papers piled upon the +table, the account-book in Desmond’s hand, and the budget of letters +that Mr. Bainbridge held from Mrs. Faurie’s “machinery man,” as she +dubbed a great factory, Colonel Kentopp’s face clouded. + +“You have fallen upon evil days, Mr. Bainbridge,” he said, gripping the +hand of the manager, for he made it a point to be hearty and cordial +with all sorts and conditions of people in the conservation of his +reputation for popularity. “You will raise more crayfish than cotton +this year,” he continued, with that agreeable manner of making a +distasteful remark which serves the double purpose of indulging one’s +ill-humor at an interlocutor’s expense while complimenting him with +conversation. + +“Not at all,” interposed Mrs. Faurie, for she had an affinity with +success, and resented evil prognostications in her affairs as intrusive. +“Mr. Desmond says that if the water recedes in time to get cotton +planted properly, the alluvium of the overflow will enrich the land and +materially increase the yield.” + +“Much virtue in an ‘if,’” Colonel Kentopp contended, as he came around +the table with a rolling step and flung himself into one of the big +armchairs. “I did not know that Mr. Desmond is an agricultural +authority,” he continued with a large air of jocularity as he crossed +his legs. “I thought his knowledge of rural matters was contained in the +Georgics of Virgil—ha! ha! ha!” And he sent a glance of rallying +laughter at Desmond from out his round, dark, glossy, unamused eyes. + +“Mr. Desmond knows a great deal about many things,” Mrs. Faurie retorted +promptly, unaccustomed to contradiction or discipline, and restive under +the slur of ridicule cast upon Desmond. + +“So _we_ found out who had the pleasure of being his fellow guests at +Dryad-Dene,” said Mr. Loring, who had a very bland aspect for a wooden +man, as he sat in the group before the fire. He had a great respect for +money in the abstract, and Mrs. Faurie represented large aggregations of +wealth and thus commanded his interest. He was disposed to soften to her +liking the tone of the conversation, which he thought ill-taken. +Moreover, he had not often had the opportunity of meeting her, and the +sight of the great beauty was an event of moment. He was not a “ladies’ +man” in the ordinary acceptation of the term, but he had the successful +man’s reverence for preëminence in any form, and the splendor of her +personal gifts appealed to his appreciation of the predominant. Her +beauty was always so striking that whatever she wore seemed cunningly +designed to enhance it,—even to-day, when her costume was a sheer lawn +blouse and a plain black skirt. Her arms and shoulders were so +dazzlingly white through the soft fabric; its absolute simplicity made +so undeniable a demand to mark how the lack of effort or ornamentation +brought into higher relief and added importance all the fine details of +her perfect face, the exquisite tints of her long-lashed gray eyes, the +lustre of her rich brown hair rolled up so plainly from her fair brow, +the beautiful shape of her hands and arms, shaded only by a simple +ruffle at the end of her elbow-sleeves. She was in Mr. Loring’s eyes a +woman whose wishes were to be considered, whose station and wealth were +to be respected, whose beauty was to be worshiped, and he wondered at +Kentopp’s fatuity when, catching his cue, he said:— + +“Indeed, Mr. Desmond was greatly appreciated at Dryad-Dene,—especially +by the young ladies!” with an arch glance at the tutor. + +Loring thought of the dim, pale attractions of Miss Kelvin and Miss +Allandyce in comparison with the resplendent vision before him, and he +deemed Kentopp mentally a poor creature. + +“Of course Mr. Desmond has not had agricultural experience, but he has a +very good article of common sense, and with what mind Mr. Bainbridge and +I have left, since the overflow fairly crazed us both, we think we are +going to make out mighty well,” stoutly insisted Mrs. Faurie. + +“I’ll be bound you do,” said Mr. Loring, admiringly. + +“But Mr. Desmond is due at Dryad-Dene,” protested Kentopp, now on the +back track. “He took French leave of us, and our week-end party is not +yet dispersed, though the week has. The overflow gave us that boon, at +all events. They haven’t been able to get away.” + +“You are very kind, but it is impossible for me to return,” said +Desmond, courteously. + +“Oh, I’m so glad,” cried out Mrs. Faurie, unexpectedly, and in a tone of +girlish glee. “I was so afraid that Edward might accept.” Then, turning +to the amazed Kentopp, she added. “You know that he is the source of all +our courage. We were in a state of siege here. We look upon him as if he +were as powerful as an army with banners.” + +“Killed two of the men with your own hands; I believe the testimony at +the inquest showed that,”—Colonel Kentopp’s lip curled as if in +distaste. “Painful necessity.” + +“Not all,—providential opportunity! Edward and I agreed that we would +have no morbid sensibility over it,” declared Mrs. Faurie. + +“Why, I should smile!” said the wooden man, in hearty indorsement, his +slang literal. It was not his place, and he knew it, but he rose from +his chair with the intention of himself terminating the visit and taking +the malapropos Kentopp home. “You have much to do here; we had best be +going.” + +“If Mr. Desmond will not return with us,” said Kentopp, gathering his +faculties together as best he could, and perceiving the light of elation +in Loring’s eyes. Great Oaks Plantation would doubtless be soon on the +market. Its overflow scarcely made against its value, though it might be +utilized to cry down the asking price, since it was only the result of +the nefarious crime of cutting the cross levee, that was hitherto a +complete protection. Mrs. Faurie, evidently all unwitting of the future, +was herself to defray the immense expense of its rehabilitation. Loring +scarcely looked as wooden as was his wont, smoothing down his bristly +mustache with a jaunty air, a secret smile behind his eyes, as it were, +so confidential, so introspective, so self-communing was its expression. +Of all the boons that his money had brought within reach of the +millionaire, Great Oaks Plantation was the one he most coveted. Even its +semi-grotesque amphibious aspect could not diminish his desire as he +paused on the veranda, the water lapping about it, the great trees +standing inundated, as if knee-deep, the glistening expanse of the +overflow stretching out to the Mississippi proper, its channel only to +be now discerned by the course of a steamboat ploughing her way through +the illimitable floods, no vestige of a shore within view. He was +cheerful in his leave-taking, and turned in the skiff, even after the +darkey at the oars had rowed far down the submerged avenue, to wave his +hand at the group on the veranda, while Colonel Kentopp moodily pulled +his hat down over his eyes with a muttered “Confound this glare,” as the +sun flashed blindingly upon the waste of waters. + +The prominence of Desmond in the lady’s counsels was also noticed by old +Mr. Stanlett, and he regarded it obviously with jealous distrust. He had +been peculiarly favorably impressed by the young man during the earlier +days of his stay at Great Oaks, and had taken pains to bestow upon him a +kindly consideration and courteous attention, of which the tutor, then +fresh to his duties and despondent, consciously out of his element, was +very definitely sensible. Now, Mr. Stanlett seldom addressed Desmond, +and when this was necessary he used a cold civility, in strong contrast +to his former demeanor, and savoring very distinctly of a realization of +the inferiority of the tutor’s position and a resolute intention of +relegating him to his proper sphere. Whenever Mrs. Faurie spoke to +Desmond, discussing her affairs and deferring to his opinion, Mr. +Stanlett was wont to draw his heavy white eyebrows together in a very +definite frown, scanning first one and then the other, an angry flush +mantling his face, evidently minded to protest. One day at the table, +when she chanced to address the tutor as “Edward,” Mr. Stanlett stared +as if startled, then broke out with so satirical and frosty a laugh that +she looked up in surprise, forgetting what she was about to say. She +manifested no confusion nor self-consciousness, but Reginald flushed +hotly to the temples, and Chubby paused, his fork in his hand, and +remarked in callow affront: “Uncle Clarence seems to have a good joke +that he keeps to himself.” + +“Just so, Chubby,—a very good joke—ha, ha, ha!—and I wish to God I could +keep it to myself!” + +Mrs. Faurie had so far recovered her composure and the tone of her +nerves, greatly imperiled in all the anxiety and jeopardy and stress of +the tragic events of the overflow, that Desmond resolved on the evening +after the visit of Kentopp and Loring to defer no longer to acquaint her +with his discovery of the mystery of the spectral manifestations at +Great Oaks mansion, and to surrender to her keeping the paper which he +had seen so strangely and significantly concealed. From time to time he +had furtively watched Mr. Stanlett, seeking to discern if he had become +aware of the abstraction of the scroll from the secret drawer of the +press in the blue room. He was sure that the old man would manifest such +disquietude as would be ample evidence that his caution had gone amiss. +But Mr. Stanlett maintained a genuine composure, absorbed in the simple +routine of his day,—the mail from the packet, or the neighborhood news +brought by some amphibian in a dugout scouting on various errands on the +face of the waters; his cigars; sometimes humming an old song and +looking from his easy chair placidly out on the waste of the overflow. +Occasionally he occupied himself in telling one of the boys, or the +three in conclave, old stories of war times, the gunboats on the +Mississippi, the riders and raiders, the burning of cotton—bales, gin, +and all—by the soldiers rather than let the precious staple fall into +the enemy’s hands; and again he abounded in anecdotes of the palmy days +of river travel and traffic, the tremendous loads of cotton the +freighters carried, the choice company on the floating palaces, the +phenomenally high play of the “gentleman gamblers,” the competitive +speed of the steamers and details of the exciting races, the horrible +accidents and the frightful picture a blazing boat presented, a tower of +flames, as she came swinging around Deepwater Bend on her course. No; +placidity was the keynote of his life save when his frown gathered as +his eye fell on Desmond, and his manner stiffened, and his intonation +grew crisp and icy. + +To-night, as they sat by the parlor fire, he was busied in a game of +chess, the fashion of his youth in which he excelled. He had taught +Reginald to play with such skill as to give him difficulty enough to +maintain his interest in reaching the finality of checkmate. The other +two boys were on the rug romping with an Irish setter, and the dog was +most unwillingly learning to sit up and shake hands and make a feint of +smoking an empty pipe. Desmond could count on their absorption for some +time as he passed the window on the veranda and saw them there thus +occupied. The moon was beginning to steer clear of a surge of clouds +that had hung in the sky all the afternoon, presaging rain, and as its +long, golden slant fell upon the waste of waters Mrs. Faurie rose from +her chair, laid her book on the centre table, and went anxiously to the +window. As she saw Desmond standing outside, she naturally supposed that +he, too, was absorbed in scanning the signs of the skies. With more +falling weather the waters would rise anew and postpone, perhaps past +feasibility for the season, all the plans for the rehabilitation of the +plantation, and all the possibility of making a crop or even a half crop +of cotton. + +“Don’t you think that it looks less like rain?” she asked, slipping the +thumb-bolt of the sash of the long French window and joining him at the +balustrade. + +“The rain has gone around this time,” he said. “I am very sure of that.” + +It was difficult for him to bring his mind back to the weather signs, +bent as he was upon the imminent disclosure, canvassing continually its +best method. He was sensitive in submitting his own conduct for +scrutiny, and eager for her approval. He was solicitous concerning +matters of phraseology, knowing how she valued her uncle and cherished +his age, fearful lest some unconsidered word offend, or, worse still, +wound her. He was afraid that the disclosure might involve some shock to +her nerves. He did not know, he could not imagine, what the paper so +significantly hidden might contain, and how she might condemn his course +in possessing himself of it. Indeed, she might deem that he had exceeded +all the bounds of convention, and, declining to look at the paper, +require him to surrender it to Mr. Stanlett and make confession of his +unwarranted interference. He stood in silence, his meditative eyes on +her face so long that she noted his absorption. + +“What is it?” she said suddenly. “You look strange, troubled. Surely +there is nothing more amiss.” + +“Let us take a turn along the veranda. I have been waiting for days to +tell you something.” + +She assented in silent suspense, and together they walked along the +broad, moonlit veranda, the shadows of the trees now and again falling +athwart it, the sheen on the waters striking across the expanse for +sixty miles, making a vast roadway of glister to the vague unknown of +the shimmering distance. Her lustrous dark eyes with the moon in their +depths were dilated, expectant, her face was ethereally white and +quietly serious. Her dress was white, of a soft, clinging woolen fabric, +with a stripe of satin at intervals, that shone itself with a moony +lustre. The square-cut bodice was filled in with lace that rose and fell +with the stir of her breath as she waited, intent and a trifle agitated. + +Desmond began without preamble. “When I first came to Great Oaks, one of +the boys, Reginald it was, told me of the step on the stair.” + +She laid her hand on his arm, and he felt the quiver in its slim +fingers. + +“I had then heard the step, once,—it was about midnight; and I heard it +again, twice,—the night of the attack on the house.” + +“Oh, oh,—I cannot abide that idea,” she exclaimed, with a quiver of pain +in her voice. “You never have heard me mention it. I am sure it must be +some fallacy,—some”—She could not speak for gasping. Then she gathered +her composure and resumed with dignity: “It is nothing,—it is some +trick! It is an insult to the memory of the sacred dead. It was never +pretended to be heard in the lifetime of Mr. Faurie.” + +Desmond felt on difficult ground. “I think that no one has ever +associated his name with the manifestation, though it is very natural +that you should deprecate that idea. But the step is genuine, for I +heard it distinctly twice that night; the last time I waited for it to +approach, and it entered the room, and I saw the presence in the light.” + +“Wait,—wait!” she exclaimed, and he paused, for she seemed unable to +advance a step. The waters lapped about the veranda; the shadows of the +great trees were weird and strange, falling across the surface of the +flood flowing in the midst of the grove; the continual melancholy rise +and fall of the voices of frogs sounded from woodsy tangles in lagoons +and submerged marshes; the broad lunar lustre quivered on the expanse of +the gray waters, and the moon rode high,—high in the dark sky. + +“Let me tell you,” he urged. “I was standing at the window in the blue +room—” + +“The blue room,” she faltered, as if with some vague memory. + +“Yes,—where the wounded man lay. I heard the stealthy step on the stair, +as I had heard it twice before; a mere slip and then silence, and again +a suggestion of a footfall, coming and coming up the stair; and I waited +in the curtained recess of the dormer window,—and the step paused at the +threshold; the door noiselessly swung ajar,—the step entered,—and it was +Mr. Stanlett.” + +“Mr. Stanlett!” she cried, standing suddenly erect and strong, her +moonlit face showing a haughty displeasure; “why should you connect him +with such mummery?” + +“Because I had heard the step twice before and recognized it; because as +I listened to this step it came straight to the door, and, as I say, Mr. +Stanlett entered; because I identified his aspect with the description +of an intruder who had silently appeared and disappeared at the door +earlier in the evening, frightening the wounded man with a vague +terror.” + +“I am ashamed to listen, I am ashamed to question; but if only to have +done with these mysteries, I will ask what action did you observe Mr. +Stanlett to take while you lay _perdu_?” As she confronted him a proud +indignation burned red in her cheeks and her eyes flashed in the +moonlight. + +Desmond took umbrage at her tone. His spirit mounted as he felt that his +motives were entitled to some consideration on that night of all nights, +when he had done so much for her and hers at the risk of his life. It +was in his mind in self-justification to tax her with this, and demand +the respect for his deeds due to the integrity of his intentions. But +he, too, was proud. If she could forget her gratitude, he could waive +its cause. He continued to describe, with a certain constraint in his +voice, how the old man cautiously advanced to the bedside, and with +fantastic cocked hat and disguising, muffling cloak watched the sleeping +man to make sure of his unfeigned unconsciousness. She winced as she +learned that the swift, skulking step took him straight to the press, in +which he hid within an interior drawer a scroll of paper. + +Desmond was surprised by her next words. “He locked the door of the +press? I know that it has a key,” she stipulated. + +“He _thought_ he locked it; but I saw that the bolt did not go home.” + +She had every trait of wild agitation. “Did you not speak to him? Did +you not warn him?” + +“Why should I? Would he not have resented my presence as spying on him? +when even you resent my disclosure of the fact that you may give the +matter such weight as it deserves.” + +“Resent it?—oh, no! no!” She laid both her cold hands on his as she +stood looking up into his face. “I resent nothing from you; we all owe +you too much, far too much! But I am frightened, mortified, uncertain. +Can’t you see that that paper must be of the first importance to be so +secreted—setting such a superstition afloat in a simple, domestic +household—by the frankest, the kindest, the most gentle of men? Don’t +you connect and interpret now the story of the step?—always heard just +before we complete our preparations to quit the country, for he carries +the paper with him,—always heard just when we return, for he brings it +back and hides it again. And last week, that dark and dreadful evening +when you say you passed the presence, the step on the stair, he thought +that we must quit the house and he was doubtless bringing it down. But +after you had rescued us—never, never imagine that I forget it for one +moment!—he felt safe again and took it to its hiding-place once more. +And oh, Edward, how could you—so unthinking, so heedless!— let him leave +the door ajar believing that he had locked it,—an old man, Edward, a +very old man,—and make off with the useless key in his simple +satisfaction while that scoundrel lay on the bed,—oh, I shouldn’t speak +harshly of the unjudged dead!—and his suspicions had already been +excited, and perhaps he secured it, only having pretended slumber,—and +oh, we must see if it is really there still. Say nothing to Uncle +Clarence; let us go up first to the blue room and see if it is gone; get +a lamp,—let us go.” + +Desmond laid a restraining hand upon her wrist. “It is not there,” he +said, looking down into her wild, eager, agitated eyes. “I saw the +danger of leaving it there, and I secured it for safe-keeping until I +could consign it to your care.” + +“And what—what—is it?” she faltered. + +“Can you imagine that I would so much as glance at it?” he replied +sharply. “Stop; here we are at the library. I will give it to you now.” + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + +The fire was dully drowsing on the hearth; a lamp on the desk burned +dimly with the wick turned low. Desmond had a quick, nervous touch as he +stirred the embers into flames, threw on a fresh stick of wood, and set +the lamp aglow. His sensibilities, despite his vigor and youth, had felt +the inroads of all the agitation to which the household had been +subjected. The renewed cheer of the room dispensed, however, its cordial +influence. We are at last but animal mechanism, and must needs shiver +with cold, and burn with heat, and gloom in darkness, and hope in the +glad light. Everything seemed suddenly more facile of adjustment, more +possible of optimistic interpretation, and at all events the period of +suspense was terminated when, seated at the desk, he turned the key in +the lock of the drawer and wheeled in his swivel-chair, the envelope in +his hand. + +“Here it is, at last,—all safe,” he said, in his firm, clear voice. + +Mrs. Faurie, who had sunk down on the end of the sofa, almost collapsing +in uncertainty and agitation and dubious foreboding, her hands pressed +to her eyes, roused herself as the room sprang into its wonted cheerful +guise and lifted her head. She did not immediately take the paper as +Desmond held it out to her. She adjusted a sofa-pillow under her elbow, +and set her dainty foot on a hassock on the floor, and piled up the +supporting cushions,—hesitating, contriving hindrance, postponing the +evil moment. + +“I am afraid of entering upon some hasty action and that I may afterward +regret my precipitancy,” she temporized. + +“I should advise you to be deliberate,” he rejoined. “From what we know +of the history of this paper, it would not seem to press for action.” + +“And yet delay might be prejudicial,” she said, eager when not opposed. +She held out her hand for it, and then drew back, once more doubtful. +She had grown calm, and she looked deeply meditative as she leaned +forward in her soft, clinging white dress from amongst the dull crimson +silk cushions, her slim, jeweled hand extended, yet not touching the +paper that he held out to her as he sat near by in the chair before the +desk. “But have I the right to examine it?” she argued. “It may not +concern me or mine. Mr. Stanlett has affairs of his own, no doubt, into +which I am not privileged to intrude.” + +“His course has been very eccentric,” said Desmond, tingling with +impatience to reach a conclusion, yet not willing to urge her decision, +and weighing considerately her every argument and scruple. “He has +carried on for years, apparently, a very elaborate and mysterious +emprise of concealing a document which, if it were his own, might be +considered safe enough among his valuable papers. His midnight comings +and goings have given rise, as he knew, to a theory of spectral +manifestation in the house which might be very injurious to young minds, +and even, in default of all explanation, to elder people. He went so far +as to foster this theory by a semi-disguise as a precaution against +recognition should he be unwarily glimpsed.” + +Then they both sat silent while the freshened fire glowed red in the +room, and the lamp dispensed its steady, white light, and the great +windows revealed the moon shoaling on the vast stretch of silvery water, +with the shadows of the trees on its expanse below, and the dendroidal +forms towering high into the pearl-tinted sky,—all seeming some strange, +mystic, illuminated tangle of enchanted forest and lake, full of dreams +and vagaries, of quivering radiance and yearning melancholy, under a +spell, perpetual, somehow, and far away from to-morrow. + +“But I feel as you do,” Desmond recommenced after a moment of +reflection. “From the first I doubted my right to touch it. Still, it +has occurred to me that in view of his age and its possible relation to +his eccentric actions in this matter, and also in view of your position +as the head of this house in which these practices have come to your +knowledge, you might justifiably open the package, and glance at its +contents sufficiently to discern if they concern you. If they do not, +then I will restore the papers to him and apologize as well as I can for +my interference.” + +“I believe you are right,” she conceded. She took the envelope from his +hand. Even then she drew back. “The seal!” she exclaimed. “I cannot +break a seal.” + +“That is only my seal,” Desmond explained. “I put it on to protect the +papers from interference.” + +She leaned toward the desk to catch the light on the papers, broke the +seal, and drew out two inclosures, one a document of length, the other +evidently a letter. + +“It is mine!—mine!” she cried wildly. She gave a gasp, her free hand +fluttering nervously. “It is my husband’s handwriting,” she whispered in +a reverent, awed tone, as if consciously in an unseen presence. + +Then, as her brilliant eyes scanned the lines, shifting from side to +side as she read, the color surged up into her cheeks and her lips +curved in a radiant smile. Suddenly she burst into a flood of tears, her +words, as she sought to speak, breaking into gusts of happy laughter, +her brimming eyes looking into his with eagerness to disclose the tenor +of the papers, yet in her agitation her powers of speech failing, +inadequate. “It is such happiness,—happiness,—happiness” was all that +she could say. + +Once more she strove to read, but her voice broke and trailed off into a +sob that was yet like a gurgle of laughter. “Read it,”—she handed it to +him. “Read the letter—I’d rather have it than all the diamonds of +Golconda!” + +As Desmond straightened the pages, he saw that it was addressed to a +lawyer of Memphis, whom he knew to be the executor of the will of the +late Mr. Faurie, and in fact this letter related to that instrument. He +desired to alter certain dispositions of this will, the writer said, +although mailed so recently as by the last packet, and he stated that he +had set forth these changes in a paper that he inclosed, duly signed and +witnessed, and which he pronounced a codicil to his last will and +testament. + +“It is, I doubt not, a poor performance,” he wrote, “in comparison with +the admirable instrument that you drew with such care and skill; but it +will hold, and I cannot hope to have a lawyer to come to Great Oaks in +time to take my instructions for the codicil, for I fear that my days +are at an end indeed.” The writer went on to explain that he had grown +dissatisfied with the provision which he had directed to be made in the +will for his wife. He had desired that she should enjoy as large an +income as practicable, and that she should not be burdened with the +management of real estate other than her home place, unless she should +herself elect to make such investments with the surplusage of her +income. Hence he had thought best not to assign to her the usual one +third life-interest in his property, but an annuity of thirty thousand +dollars during widowhood, which was a larger income than her statute +right to dower in Tennessee could justify, and chargeable upon the whole +estate, and he had given her also, subject to the same restrictions, his +plantation, Great Oaks, the annual yield from which necessarily +fluctuated according to the season. Under these circumstances, the +interest of the three sons in the rest of the property was to remain +undivided during minority, that the estate could be nursed to better +advantage. It was to be partitioned, or sold for division, when the +youngest became twenty-one years of age, the elder two, however, to +receive a certain sum of money upon attaining majority, for the purchase +of business interests, that they might not pass in inaction the years of +waiting for the division of the whole and the possession of their +respective shares. + +“So thoughtful,” murmured Mrs. Faurie. + +It had seemed to him, the writer stated, that the three sons would be +rich enough when they came severally to their majority, and could well +spare the aggregations of such portion of the income of the estate as he +had assigned to the use of their mother, over and above her rightful +share, in order that she might have no reasonable wish ungratified. + +“Oh, to be thinking of that in those awful last days!” she interpolated, +her flush fluctuating, and once more bursting into tears. + +“I should like her to travel, for this she enjoys,” the letter +continued. “I should like her to see the world, and that others might +have the privilege and benefaction of seeing her, as I could wish that +no one should be beyond the reach of the sunshine. And with all this in +view I directed you, as you know, to draw the will as it stands.” + +Forthwith he entered upon a systematic defense of his motives and views +in the corollaries necessitated by these provisions embodied in the +instrument. While he had no crude jealousy, he protested, and would not +seek to curb his widow’s independence in making a second marriage, he +was not willing that the extra income allotted to her should go into the +control of a stranger at the expense of the estates of his sons. It was +one thing, he argued, to restrict the wealth of his sons for their +mother’s benefit. It was quite another thing to take from them to enrich +a stranger, who might or might not be of mercenary motives, of +ungenerous temper, or of undue domestic ascendency, and who might or +might not permit her the free use of what was her own. Then, too, the +subjection of the estates of the sons to the charge of her income under +the circumstances of a second marriage was of discordant suggestion; +possibly, in the unforeseen mutations of human affairs, even subversive +of their independence, and inimical to family peace. Therefore he had +had the clause inserted revoking the allotment of her income should she +marry again, and substituting as her provision one fourth of the +Mississippi property in fee, and a life-interest in one third of the +Tennessee realty including, in lieu of Great Oaks, his town residence in +the city of Nashville, the rest of the estate in that event to be sold +for division, that the portion of each devisee might be ascertained and +set apart. + +These were his reasons for such disposition as he had made of his +property. Now, however, since he had executed and forwarded the will to +his executor, he had begun to fear that this matrimonial clause would be +misunderstood by Mrs. Faurie, whose feeling for him it might possibly +affect, all unexplained as it was. + +“But never!—never!” she sobbed. “I always realized that you were +actuated by the best motives for what you deemed the welfare of all +concerned. But I am so happy to know _why_ you did it!” + +Desmond paused, a strange thrill at his heart as he gazed at her. She +might have been some young girl in the childlike abandonment to her +tears, as she leaned on the arm of the sofa, her long white dress +a-trail on the dark carpet, her scarlet cheek against her upheld bare +white arm, her lovely hands clasped above her drooping head. Desmond’s +voice was strained, husky, with sudden breaks as he read on. + +Upon further reflection, the writer stated, the provisions he had made +in the will for Mrs. Faurie in the event of a second marriage had become +obnoxious to him. He had accorded her merely the equivalent of her dower +rights, such as the law would allow her were he to die intestate, or +were she to dissent from the will. In effect, he seemed to make a point +of giving her nothing in the contemplated contingency that he could +avoid giving. He had not intended thus to interdict a second marriage, +and her right to order her life after her widowhood as she chose, +according to her most excellent judgment. + +“Oh,” cried Mrs. Faurie, with a little irrelevant laugh, not for +Desmond, but as if she rallied the writer with the extravagance of his +approval. + +Therefore, the testator declared, he had revoked in set terms both the +dispositions of a life-interest in the real estate in reference to a +second marriage, and the imposition of a charge for her benefit upon the +realty of the whole estate during widowhood. Instead, he had thought +best to devise to her absolutely one fourth of the real estate in fee, +inclusive of Great Oaks, which he considered particularly desirable +because of its income-bearing values, the other three fourths to be +equally divided between his three sons. + +He added some words setting forth arrangements for the guidance of the +executor in regard to disbursements for maintenance, emergencies, and +education of the minors, pending an interval which he evidently +anticipated would endure for a considerable time, before the estate +could be fairly administered. This depended upon the conclusion of a +certain litigation involving some conditional increments, then in +abeyance. When a decision should be reached, and these assets realized +upon, he directed that the whole estate should be partitioned; and in +order that the several shares might be justly ascertained, the portion +of each of the minors should be chargeable with such expenditures as had +been made for him during the interim, and the portion of the widow +should be chargeable with such sums as she had received from the funds +of the estate; but she should not be obliged to put also into the common +stock for division the profits from any investments that she had made, +or accretions of value, of whatever sort, that had accrued from means +derived from the estate. + +Desmond stared blankly at the paper for a few moments after he had +concluded the reading of the letter. “Did the executor win the suit to +which he refers?” + +“Oh, yes,—in the infinitely leisurely legal fashion. It would go up to +the Supreme Court and be remanded on a certain point, and then it would +go up on another and come down as before. It was a sort of legal +shuttlecock. I was amazed when I heard that the lawyers were through +playing with it.” + +Desmond could not control the cadence of depression in his voice. “How +long ago was it decided?” he asked, hoping against hope. + +“A little more than a year, I believe.” + +Evidently, the lapse of time could not be a potential factor in the +impending future. The contingent event on which the partitioning was +conditioned by the codicil had just fallen out, and the rest of the +estate, save for the aggregations of income and the depletion of +expenditures, was much as the testator had left it, for the executor had +no general powers of sale. Desmond could see no reason why this codicil +should not be admitted to probate and at once subvert the existing +status. Technically, it was itself a part of the will already in force, +though its provisions were _pro tanto_ a revocation of the previous +testamentary disposition. The indeterminate interval after probate in +common form allowed in Tennessee, where the bulk of the property was +situated, for the institution of revocatory proceedings; the disability +of non-age in the minors, to whom laches could hardly be imputed; the +fact that it was manifestly impossible for their guardian to take any +action in view of the unsuspected existence of the codicil of which the +executor was the proper proponent, would seem to annul all obstacles to +its effectiveness, despite any complications with which the conflict of +laws in the two sovereign states might otherwise invest the situation, +the statutes of each of course controlling the realty within their +respective borders. + +There was silence for a time. Both looked out from the mellow light of +the room through the windows on that pale scape of moonlit mist and +water and mystic woods, all in pearly neutral tones, soft, sheeny, +white, like some dream scene, full of weird suggestions and dim +spectacular configurations. Now there was a floating island, distant, +half descried; now a flying, gauzy, vaporous figure, with feet touching +the surface of the water, and hands laid against the star-studded gates +of the sky; now a phantom craft under full sail, with clouds of tenuous +canvas and streaming pennants of mist. She saw naught, busied with her +memories; and he, strangely grudging, sought for words to snatch her +from them. + +“You must look at the codicil,” he said, holding the document out toward +her. + +“I don’t care for that—heavens, how I love that letter!” and once more +she burst into tears. She rose after a moment to reach for it, and then +she read it anew, with sudden gurgles of tender laughter and sobs and +gushes of tears. + +“I suppose that this codicil will, to this extent, revoke the provisions +of the will that has stood all this time,” he said. He was no lawyer, +but he had a definite understanding of the ways of the business world +and the justice of its methods. A very appalling possibility began to +open before him. He leaned forward and turned the upper corner of the +pages of the letter, still in her hands, to look once more at the date, +written evidently only the day before the testator’s death. + +“It has been a good many years,” he said, in dismal forecast. + +“Oh, forever!” she exclaimed, the tears coursing down her cheeks. + +He had begun to understand the quandary of the poor ghost, slipping +slyly about the midnight quiet of the house to conceal this bit of +paper, potent destroyer of its peace. He doubted the policy of putting +into words the fear in his mind. But he must have her attention. He +clutched at her thoughts with imperative insistence. Those memories, +those gentle, tender memories in which he had no share,—how desolate, +how deserted they left him! His jealous reproach was in his eyes, all +unnoted. His indignation burned red in his cheek. A figment, a +recollection, pervaded the room and annulled his presence. But he would +not be ignored, forgotten, denied. He grasped at her attention as a +child clutches the skirts of its unthinking mother, and persists in its +plea. + +“In this division the executor may make a claim on you for the income +that you have spent. It strikes me that this will operate as the +equivalent of a refunding bond.” + +“Let them take everything. I have this letter!” and she clasped it to +her bosom. + +He had a sense of turning aside. He could not move her. He opened the +codicil himself and scanned its contents. It duplicated the intendment +of the letter, but in more formal and lucid phrase. A very exact and +strict man of business Mr. Faurie showed himself to be in this paper. +Desmond was impressed with this fact, yet dismayed in a sort, in regard +to the accuracy of the accounting which the testator contemplated +between the minors and widow at the partitioning of his estate. He even +superfluously directed that the difference of age among the children +should be considered and the actual outlay for each charged, and not +merely an approximation of expense as applied to each of them; since the +expenditure for the youngest might for a time be more, in view of extra +attendance, elaborate attire, and special liability to ailments, and +later less than the disbursements for the elder boys. Desmond might have +laughed, yet he could have wept, that the testator, despite his evident +astuteness, should have permitted himself the simplicity of anticipating +that Mrs. Faurie would have applied any portion of her receipts from the +estate to investments of real property or the acquisition of other +assets that would yield “accretions of value.” As well might one expect +the sun to hoard its gold or the bird its song of spring. No! nearly +seven years of joyous, open-handed dispensing of all her income from the +estate were thus chargeable against the one fourth in fee of realty and +of the personalty that formed her liberal portion. How much this might +be, Desmond of course was not qualified to judge; but the ravages in +this provision which the restoration of that great income for nearly +seven years must needs work might well appall the pallid Mr. Stanlett in +his niece’s interest, and set as talk the storied spectre, the +Slip-Slinksy of the midnight stairs. + +“Mr. Stanlett must have found this paper in some unaccustomed +receptacle,” Desmond hazarded. + +Mrs. Faurie sat stiffly erect. This phase troubled her more than the +fear of the financial loss; it touched her pride. Her level eyebrows +were corrugated into a frown. Her eyes were bright, hard, restlessly +glancing. But she bent her faculties to the consideration calmly. +“Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully, but her lips were stiff; they moved +with difficulty to frame the words so distasteful to her. “It was +understood that all Mr. Faurie’s important papers were already in the +hands of his executor. He, himself, had them transferred some time +before his death,—it was not unexpected.” + +She was silent for a few moments, looking reflectively out of the +window. “I remember that the rest of the papers, account-books, packages +of letters, files, and all such things were taken out of the library +soon after Mr. Faurie’s death and, without examination, placed in +japanned boxes and locked in the press of the blue room. It was presumed +that there was nothing of real importance among them, but they were +preserved on the chance. He must have written this codicil and letter +the day before his death,—both are dated on the 18th,—and had the paper +witnessed and laid it aside among the other papers in his desk, +intending to forward it to Mr. Hartagous in Memphis. The mail packet was +due the next day, and passed about dusk; he died just before +candle-light that evening, and I dare say this paper was among those in +his desk that were packed away in the press of the blue room.” + +“I suppose that this codicil must have been found some years afterward,” +Desmond dolefully suggested. “Mr. Stanlett seems to me to be a man of +good business judgment. He would never have desired to conceal this +paper if a great part of those liabilities had not been already +incurred. Of course he had only your interest in view. He has sufficient +means of his own. It is nothing to him.” She brought herself more +willingly to follow his line of thought, since she perceived +justification, in some poor sort, in the perspective, for Mr. Stanlett’s +aberrations. + +“I remember,” she said drawlingly, as if the recollection had just begun +to trail its dubious length into her mind, “that about three years ago +the executor called for some old levee bonds, on which the estate was +entitled to something, and asked that the papers here be searched for +them.” + +“Who made this search,—do you recollect?” + +She visibly winced from the inquiry, but she answered with her usual +directness: “I recollect very well that it was Uncle Clarence who made +the search; and now that it seems to bear upon the question, I do recall +that he was much out of sorts afterward. I remember that his petulance +astonished me. He was never a profane man, but he swore violently +because the executor had given him so much trouble, and declared that if +he had wanted to be set to a clerk’s work, he would have asked for a +clerk’s pay. And he said that the papers were disordered and dusty and +devilish, and that he had broken himself down in working amongst them. I +was a little hurt by the tone he was taking; and when I said that I was +sorry he had put himself out to do a favor for me, he replied very +significantly, ‘A favor,—for you, Honoria,—for _you_? Why, I would eat +off my little finger for _you_.’ And oh, poor old Uncle Clarence! We +must keep him from ever suspecting that we have discovered his course. +It would humiliate him; it would bow him down to the earth with +mortification.” + +Desmond looked dumfounded. “I don’t see how we can prevent it. This +codicil must be produced, and at once.” + +“Of course; but will it be necessary to publish all the details, his +fantastic masquerades and midnight vigils to protect its concealment?” +she argued. + +“His course has been very strange, certainly.” Then, after a pause, “In +fact, I am confident that concealing a document of this sort, a will or +codicil, to prevent it from being proved and becoming operative, is +obnoxious to the law,—a very serious matter,” said Desmond, nerving +himself for her storm of protest. + +“He has not prevented it from becoming operative,” she retorted +frostily. “The codicil is discovered and will be sent to-morrow to the +executor, who will at once secure the two subscribing witnesses,—the +same who swore to the will in force,—both still living, and will offer +the codicil for probate. I will have to return the money that I have +spent out of the different provision now made for me. I see no sense in +telling our little yarn of Slip-Slinksy, and blue room, and secret +drawers, for all the world to guy and laugh at, and mortify poor old +Uncle Clarence to the soul. Oh, poor, poor Uncle Clarence,—how his +discovery of the codicil must have tortured him! What must he have felt +for me! It must have turned his brain,—it must have crazed him. That is +the explanation of his course,—that is the solution of the mystery.” + +Desmond did not conceive it necessary to contend on this theory. At +first glimpse it seemed to him a remarkably coherent scheme for a +disordered brain to evolve, and one which only a strange accident had +frustrated. Mr. Stanlett, however, was very old, and it may have been +that at first he had withheld the paper in the frantic, senile, foolish +expectation that another will might be found, not so destructive to his +niece’s interest as this codicil, which, by reason of the time that had +elapsed in her enjoyment of the estate that was not hers by right, had +practically beggared her. Doubtless he had postponed the disclosure from +day to day, the disaster augmented by his delay, till perchance the +pressure on his brain had resulted in subverting his reason. He had +always intended to bring it forth, some day,—some day,—for he had +carefully preserved it at great cost of anxiety and suspense and +comfort, when its easy destruction would have given him security, and +confirmed the existing status which was so happy for all concerned. + +Realizing as Desmond did the magnitude of the disaster, that the +interests of the widow so tenderly, so richly provided for, had been +wrecked by the extreme of the solicitude exerted for her welfare, he was +utterly unprepared for the airy lightness and consummate tact with which +Mrs. Faurie made the disclosure without revealing the discovery of the +concealment of the codicil. + +She came fluttering into the parlor the next morning when were present +all the family, Mr. Bainbridge, the manager, and Colonel Kentopp, who +had been out in a skiff to a passing packet and had paused on his way +back to Dryad-Dene to leave some newspapers. “What do you suppose?” she +cried. “I can tell you news more astonishing to our neighborhood than +anything you are likely to hear from the outside world. You know that of +course we had the blue room upstairs, where that wounded river pirate +died, thoroughly overhauled, and in one of the big presses in the wall +Mr. Desmond found a secret drawer, and in it a later will of Mr. +Faurie’s,—are you not surprised?—a codicil it is, I should have said.” + +Mr. Stanlett stared for a moment blankly, rose to his feet, essayed to +speak, and sank back very pale and entirely unobserved amidst the +excitement of the others. + +“Regularly executed?” Colonel Kentopp inquired, amazed. + +“A codicil all in his own handwriting,” said Mrs. Faurie, “perfectly +regular, with the same witnesses as the will.” + +“To your advantage, I hope,” said Colonel Kentopp, his glossy hazel-nut +eyes glittering, his eager curiosity difficult to control. + +“Oh, I am perfectly satisfied,” Mrs. Faurie declared, smiling proudly; +and Colonel Kentopp knew as well as if he had seen the instrument that +Mrs. Faurie had been relegated to a designated share of the real estate, +out of which she would be required to make good her lavish expenditures +heretofore. He was not indisposed to rejoice after the manner of men of +his kind in the disasters of others, but presently his spirits fell. +This change boded doubtless the partitioning of the Faurie property, and +with Great Oaks on the market, he knew that there was scant hope of +Loring as a purchaser of Dryad-Dene. So ill at ease was he under this +theory, so suddenly out of countenance, that he sought to avoid +observation, and made haste to conclude his call and get himself away. + +He was promptly followed by Bainbridge, dully pondering on the news, +half stunned by the revelation, and apprehensive of a change in the +ownership of Great Oaks and the jeopardy of his own employment there. + +Desmond breathed more freely when both were gone; he felt that he could +not have summoned the nerve that Mrs. Faurie had shown in risking the +disclosure in the presence of others, although he realized that, had Mr. +Stanlett spoken inconsiderately, it would have been ascribed to the +vagaries of age and his natural and extreme disappointment,—in effect, +the overthrow of his reason in so signal a misfortune to his nearest and +dearest relative, who had always been like a duteous daughter to him. +Nevertheless, Desmond was glad that surprise and dismay had held the old +gentleman silent till only the family group was present. In the +disclosure Mrs. Faurie had stated the literal truth, that Desmond had +found the codicil in a secret drawer, and Mr. Stanlett accepted it +without demur or suspicion of the further discovery of his knowledge of +the cache, or agency and motive in its concealment. + +“But why, and how, and when, in the name of all that is sacred sir,” the +old man said, scarlet, trembling, his eyes blazing, and scarcely able to +keep his feet, “should _you_ go rummaging around into the secret drawers +of a locked press?” + +“The press was not locked,” Desmond said, without looking up, and +trifling with the violets in a glass bowl in the centre of the table +beside which he sat. “The bolt did not reach the slot.” + +“And why did you send it off without consulting me, Honoria? Another +will might yet be found. I have searched and searched. Another will and +a later one is now right among those papers in the blue room. Oh, how +many nights, how many nights I have searched!” + +“Dear Uncle Clarence, the codicil was written and dated and witnessed on +the 18th, and my husband died the night of the 19th.” + +“Plenty of time for another will,—Faurie was a most expeditious man of +business. He was not bedridden, as you know. He even slept in his chair +toward the last, as you must remember. That heart trouble would not let +him lie down in peace—queer, for a man of his physical strength. He died +at last in his chair, in that library. Plenty of time for another will; +it could be found! This Mr. Desmond seems to have a nose for game; set +him after another will, and see what he can tree this time.” + +Mrs. Faurie broke in to prevent the old man from indulging in further +sarcasm along this line. “And oh, Uncle Clarence, such a dear letter was +with the document! I want Reginald and Horace and Rufus, each one, to +read that letter, and bless God for a father so good and generous and +considerate for us all.” + +As they sat and listened they had that look so pathetic in children old +enough to appreciate their situation in matters of moment, yet realizing +their helplessness in the hands of others, and not able to compass a +full reliance on the direction of the course of events. + +“Do you understand, Honoria, that you will have to refund to the +executor, the estate, the expenditures of all these years, the +accumulated amount of the income, your annuity,—the money that you have +been spending so royally with both hands for nearly seven years? It will +certainly sweep away more than half your present provision, possibly the +whole, into the craws of those vipers that you have warmed on your +hearth.” The old man was piteous in his age and agitation, as he stood, +lean, gray, wrinkled, half bent in his tremulous emphasis, his arm +outstretched, the fingers quivering as he shook them at the group of +aghast boys. “Do you understand that, woman?” + +“Why, what else, Uncle Clarence? Would you have me rob my children?” She +had reached out for Chub when he was denominated a viper with a craw, +and was now drawing him into that juxtaposition so unbecoming to his +appearance, his fledgeling blond head on her bosom, his hard, round, +freckled red cheek against the soft, exquisite whiteness of her neck. He +struggled to speak through her tender kisses. + +“You will oblige me, Uncle Clarence, by not calling my mother a woman,” +he said, in callow affront. + +“What else is she?—and a most ill-used, unlucky, and poverty-stricken +woman.” + +“She is as ’spectable as any man!” protested Chub; and while the other +two boys burst out laughing as usual at Chubby’s queer views, they were +all three in tears presently, horrified that their mother should be +impoverished to make restitution to them, and that they were powerless +to hinder the sacrifice. + +“Oh, terrible! terrible!” the old man said as he strode to and fro +before the fire, literally wringing his hands. “It is the duty of the +executor to exact every mill, and he will do it. The executor has no +option whatever in the matter. He is constrained by the terms of the +codicil.” + +Then he fell to crying again and again, “Oh, terrible! terrible!” and +wringing his hands as he wavered to and fro with his uncertain, senile +step. + +“Uncle Clarence, why will you not set an example of composure and +courage in adversity to these boys? The event must have fallen out this +way, at any rate.” + +“Why?”—he had paused abruptly. “Why, Honoria, why? If the codicil had +not been found, you would not have had to refund under any +circumstances.” + +“I only meant that this codicil must have come to light sooner or +later,” she explained. + +But he went on unheeding: “Did you intend to give up the income for a +life-interest in the third, under the provisions of the old will? Are +you going to marry this man Desmond?” + +Mrs. Faurie sat still and amazed for a moment. Then her buoyant laughter +rang joyously through the room. “Marry?—a mere boy, like Edward? Uncle +Clarence, you are funny,—positively funny!” + +“He is no boy,—he is as old as the almighty hills! And if you have not +thought of such a possibility, _he has_,—take my word for it, _he has_. +He has a keen eye for the main chance. He found the codicil, and now you +have to give up the income whether or no. But he had better not be in +too great a hurry for the fourth of the estate. Wait till you make good +these expenditures. He hasn’t seen you spend money as I have done. Wait +till you make good your refunding bond, for that is just what this +amounts to.” + +Desmond felt the flush rising to his forehead. His heart was beating +furiously. In his agitation he had upset the bowl of violets and the +blossoms were scattered over the table, while the water in which they +were steeped began to drip slowly, slowly to the floor. He did not lift +his eyes, not even when Mrs. Faurie spoke in apology. + +“I cannot express to him how grateful I am for his forbearance under +these insults,” she said gravely. “And, Uncle Clarence, you would never +subject him to them and so tax his generosity were you yourself +to-day—so scrupulous as you are in every relation in life,—so—” + +“_Too_ scrupulous! _Too_ scrupulous! Scrupulous enough to be such a +stupendous fool as not to tear a bit of paper when I had my chance, +and save you a gigantic fortune, as fortunes go in this +country,—ah,—ah,—when I had my chance!” + +He tottered out of the room, banging the door, the three boys staring in +dismay after the lurching figure with the feeble impetuousness of gait, +and listening to the mutter of his impotent wrath as he went stumbling +and cursing down the hall. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + +Desmond had never experienced such dejection as now overwhelmed his +spirits. He could not rally from it. He could not understand it. He had +recovered from the strain of the physical fatigue, even from the stress +of excitement. He had permitted little interruption to his pedagogic +duties, and the routine of the schoolroom continued in force as regular +as if no river pirates had ever assailed the house, and died in the +commission of the intended robbery; as if no coroner’s jury had ever +grimly deliberated on the veranda; as if no codicil of the will had ever +been found to reverse all the orderly status with a presage of future +financial chaos. + +“We will take care of to-day,” Desmond had said to his restive, +unsettled, agitated pupils, “and to-morrow will take care of itself.” + +They were docile under his admonition, but he could not so easily press +its sage philosophy upon himself. Now and again he struggled with this +gloom when he was sufficiently at leisure to cope with it. He had been +fortunate beyond any reasonable expectation, considering his status, he +argued. In lieu of the position of a tolerated necessity in the house, a +tutor to boys remote from schools, he had been treated first with +respect and courtesy, then as a valued guest, made as one of the family, +and now as the predominant controlling element, from whose decree there +was no appeal. More and more did Mr. Bainbridge, with his papers, and a +furtive eye, and a deprecating hand laid over his mouth, as if resolved +to keep his conjectures from going further than his mustache, come +directly to Desmond, to take his advice, as he said, in fact to secure +the annulment of some impracticable order, or to obviate unwise +dispositions of Mrs. Faurie’s in the readjustment of the wrecked +plantation interests. He did not directly bespeak Desmond’s influence. +He only showed the papers and set forth the facts, coughed discreetly +behind his hand, and if securing Desmond’s promise to place the matter +before Mrs. Faurie, would set forth confident and alert, acting on the +rescission of the order as if it were received; for whatever Mr. Desmond +undertook at Great Oaks Plantation was regarded as _un fait accompli_. +The attitude of the servants toward him for some time past was +compounded of a deep respect and some real liking, influencing swift +feet and dexterous hands and willing smiles in his service. “He is a +man, shore!” was the general comment. His pupils first obeyed, then +esteemed, and now adored him, using their utmost diligence to win the +meed of his approval. Even they, he thought, noted his gloom, which he +could not disguise, and which rested upon his aspect as definitely as a +pall. He lost his readiness to sleep, which, since he had become content +in a measure with his lot, he had recovered—in his youthful health and +vitality. Long, long after the house was lapsed in slumber, he would +linger in a reclining-chair at his window, the candle burning down to +the socket, his fingers in the pages of an unread book, looking out +dully at the lustrous scene, now grown so familiar, of the expanse of +gray, shimmering water under the white moon and the faint stars, while +all the room about him dulled to indiscriminate gloom and the hours wore +on and on toward dawn. + +What was this obsession? he sometimes angrily asked himself. Why should +he wince in poignant pain at the very thought of the tender music in +Honoria Faurie’s voice as she sobbed amidst joy and laughed amidst +sorrow, in the blended ecstasy and woe in reading her husband’s letter, +so replete with his love and thought for her? Was he jealous of the dead +man—dead these seven long years!—the dead man he had never seen? And how +did her tears and smiles concern him,—whom she deemed but a boy,—at whom +she looked with such sweet, maternal eyes? Sometimes he felt that he was +losing his reason. Why should this evidence of her love for the dead man +who had been her husband set an exquisite pain a-quiver in his every +fibre? Had he thought she had forgotten—that were not to her credit. Did +he fear that if the dead still lived so in her heart there was no place +in her affections for him? And why had he ever hoped this? And when, +indeed, had he first thought of it? There had grown up in his mind so +gradually from admiration of her beauty, from approval of her +standpoint, from confidence in her principles, from interest in the +disclosures of her charming mind, an absolute adoration so complete, so +possessive, that he was hardly aware of it until it absorbed him wholly. +He had no more identity of his own. He existed only in relation to her. +The fact became apparent to him as he reviewed the last few months. He +had come here penniless, as a tutor to teach her sons, mere children, to +do designated work; he had stipulated and stood stoutly on these limits, +defining exactly what were to be his duties, that he might not be called +upon to exceed them, to become an overworked, underpaid drudge, with +such expenditure of vitality that he might be unable to rise to higher +things. + +He recurred no more to these limitations. He controlled the boys in +school and out, laying commands upon them with paternal freedom, +restricting dangerous amusements, interdicting prejudicial reading, +requiring salutary exercise, cutting off amusing associates sometimes, +for no better reason than that their conversation tended to impair the +grammar and parlor manners of his youthful charges,—all of which was out +of his contract and beyond the bailiwick of his authority. + +He had been inducted into even more exacting occupations. He had become +the referee in all matters of dispute about the place, which required +some nicety of discrimination; he was often put into a position of +extreme doubt and embarrassment in deciding the small property interests +between servants or the plantation hands, who had agreed together to +abide by his decision, thus exerting, indeed, the functions of justice. +Mrs. Faurie consulted him in business correspondence. He had been led, +by the turn of events, to risk his life in defense of the mansion and to +hold it out in a state of siege. He had kept up the good cheer by his +genial arts, and preserved the calmness of all in the house that +dreadful night when, but for his stanch composure and his resources of +management, they might have fallen victims to causeless fright and +ghastly horror in their isolation, and become the wreck of their own +nerves in lieu of passing the ordeal with no result but the confirmation +of their powers and their confidence in themselves. It was he who had +conferred with the county officials by letter and in person when they +came to the house. Mrs. Faurie and the younger boys had been spared the +ghastly details of the inquest through his representations to the +coroner, and were busied in a rear room opening some boxes of potted +plants for the approaching summer decoration of the veranda, which had +been shipped by the packet opportunely passing on this morning, and +which he contrived should be brought off in a skiff simultaneously to +the house; thus they were not aware of the event in progress till the +inquisition was concluded. His own testimony, that of Reginald and Mr. +Stanlett, the confessions of the wounded man, who died later the same +day, the corroborative details of the servants as to the subsequent +events, were deemed ample evidence, and the verdict of the jury was in +accordance with the facts. + +He had solved the mystery of the spectral manifestations that had +terrorized the house for years; he had secured the cache from its +possible wresting away by vandal hands; he was her confidant and +counselor in all the troublous forecast of the complications to ensue +upon the propounding of the codicil. + +Surely these were the services of no hireling. They were the cheerful +tribute of love that found danger dear for her behoof, and toil light, +and the tangles of perplexity easy of unraveling since she might elude +their intricacies, and responsibility a broadening of the shoulders, and +his day all too short for its devotion to her interests. + +And to her—he seemed but a boy! a mere springald out of college, glad to +teach for a time,—to repeat his own lessons recently conned as a +stepping-stone to a man’s devoir. + +And yet—he looked at the long lane of light, the mystic avenue of the +moon on the water in the glade between the lines of inundated trees. +What alluring dreams, what soft deceits were coming to him along that +roadway of shimmering pearl,—coming to him from the moon, the home of +fantasies, to which it stretched at the limits of the perspective. Did +she know her own heart? She had no mind but his. She adopted his views, +and deferred her preferences, and abated her prejudices. He had no need +to care for his dignity; she was quicker than he to resent aught that +seemed to touch upon it. The whole house, the whole plantation, was +relegated to his control. She seemed in a hundred ways to ask his +permission,—might she do this? might the boys have that? She said that +day,—that dreadful day,—when he and Reginald held her in their arms +between them, that she had longed for him, that she had prayed for him. +How strange that the bell, which had never rung through all the gloomy +day, sounded her signal for him so far away! How was it that his ears +quickened to a peal that had never vibrated,—that her wishes, her +prayers, drew him from far, through sloughs and slashes, through bayous +and lakes, to her side at her utmost, her extremest peril! And why for +him had she prayed! She knew that the time set for his return was yet +two days distant. The manager was overdue, however, and momently +expected. She had not contemplated the coming of Mr. Bainbridge, a +stalwart fellow and eminently capable of coping with these familiar +conditions. She had not thought that a steamboat might chance to pass +and discern and respond to a signal of distress. She had longed for +Desmond—for _him_, as the protecting ægis in all her frenzied terror. +And love—mysterious love—had clamored at his ears, annulled the +distance, shaken the fogs, penetrated the rains, defied, set at naught +plain fact, and sounded her summons, her wish, her frantic hope, till he +needs must have heed and respond. It was strange, the accord between +them. Surely, surely she did not translate aright the tenor of her own +emotions. + +Suddenly he noticed that the mystic illuminated avenue of pearly, +shimmering waters between the giant oaks was dulling: a sort of gloating +glister grew golden upon it; vague yearnings were in the air; unseen +beings descended continually, their presence demonstrated only by the +sense of motion. A wind from out the moon ruffled the surface into +thousands of tiny wavelets, like twinkling feet half discerned. +Fancies!—fancies hastening down, lest dawn come too soon, cut off +communication with the ideal, and leave the poor world the prey, the +possession of the prosaic. For, indeed, the light was fading to a +glimmering steel, and now to an unillumined gray, and as he rose at last +to seek an hour’s repose before the household should rouse for the day, +he realized that with his griefs and anxieties, his fears and his waking +dreams, he had worn the night away. + +He did not mistake the character of his emotions—they were strictly +paternal!—when it developed in the next few days that Reginald, of his +own motion, had written, unknown to all but his brothers, a letter to +the executor of the will, Mr. Hartagous, a lawyer of Memphis. The others +had signed it, and thus unified the solemn requirement that in the +execution of the newly discovered codicil he should make no demands upon +their mother for the return to the estate of the funds that she had +spent under the provisions of the will as hitherto in force, and now to +be charged against her portion. It seemed that they had at first +appealed to their guardian, Mr. Keith, who had declined the discussion +by stating that the distribution of the property was wholly in the hands +of the executor. Therefore they called the attention of Mr. Hartagous to +the fact that they were the owners of the estate in his hands, and +claimed that they had a right to waive this demand upon their mother, +against which they protested, and to impose upon him their command. It +would be contrary to the wishes of the testator, their father, they +argued, to impoverish for a legal quibble the widow and mother; and even +if they should restore to her—as they were fully resolved to do, as soon +as the eldest came of age—anything that was taken from her, that was a +distant date, and she would spend the best years of her life in poverty, +restricted and deprived of the comfort and luxury to which she was +accustomed. If the executor should persist in enforcing the codicil, the +letter sternly concluded, it would be their resolve to seek to visit +their wrath upon him, as his evil deed merited. + +This truculent epistle came back to Great Oaks inclosed in a letter from +Mr. Hartagous to Mrs. Faurie. Their sentiments did them honor, he +declared, overlooking the puerile violence of their menace, and this +heralded the coming of Mr. Hartagous to Great Oaks for a conference in +the changed state of things. + +The Faurie boys were somewhat startled to see their valiant +demonstration in the hands of their mother, who kissed and hugged and +wept over them till they, too, shed tears as they clung together. + +“But will he, mamma, will he make you pay us all that money?” asked +Reginald, leaning over the back of her chair and gripping hard the hand +that she held up to him. + +“Oh, what a pity we are all so young,” plained Horace,—“so many years +before we can give it back.” He knelt by her side and sobbed against her +shoulder. + +Chubby sunk from her lap to the floor and clung to her, hugging her +knees. “Oh, mamma, will you be poor till I am a man? Oh, I will work for +you, mamma. I will—I will—I will dig in the garden.” + +Reginald and Horace had no laugh to-day for Chub’s unintentional +anticlimaxes, and as Mrs. Faurie sent them away, that she might consult +with Desmond, they carried very dreary countenances, and she still +pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. + +“It is not as if the money were going to strangers,” said Desmond, +craftily. “It will only advantage those dear fellows. I am so delighted +with that letter of Reginald’s.” + +“I didn’t realize that it was in him to do that,” she said, suddenly +smiling radiantly. + +“I did,” said Desmond, promptly. + +“I believe you love him as much as I do,” she cried joyously. + +“All three,” he protested. “I am jealous for the others.” + +“Poor little Chubby,” she said, lingering lovingly on the words. + +“Dear old Chubby!” he exclaimed. “So you need not mind about the money. +It is for them.” + +“But how am I to get it, Edward?” She drew her level brows together in +her pretty frown. “You have no idea of the clip I went, spending money. +I can see now the awful mistake I made; but it seemed not so +unreasonably extravagant then, having a large income at my disposal for +my lifetime, and my children all independently and handsomely provided +for. And now,—to return all that money! And that man is coming! I have +been staying here to economize, you know, to get the old place to take +care of me till the reservoir fills up again.” + +“You have something to show for the money, I suppose. Didn’t those +wretches mention some famous emeralds?” + +“Ye-es,—but don’t you think it _infra dig._ to sell jewelry?” + +“It is _infra dig._ not to have money,” he said bitterly. + +Ah, how he wished that he were adequately equipped to come to her +rescue; to let her relinquish to the Faurie estate all that the name had +brought her; to offer commensurate resources. + +“I do not agree with you,” she said firmly, “_You_ have no money, and +you can discount the world for dignity.” + +He had never regarded himself in this light, and he flushed with +pleasure. As her eyes rested on him she suddenly exclaimed: “Now you +look a little bit like yourself. This torment is telling more on you +than on me. I assure you that _I_ shall not let myself go off in _my_ +looks for a few dollars, dimes, cents, and mills.” + +“About the emeralds?” + +“Beauty when unadorned with emeralds is as green as grass. But needs +must—let them go! Let them go!” + +“Do you love them so much?” he said wistfully. + +“You just ought to see them on me!” she bridled. + +“They will never be the same on any one else,” he hazarded. + +“And that is one comfort,” she acceded. Her pride in the preëminence of +her attractions was like the innocent vanity of a child, so entirely was +her beauty acknowledged and a matter of course. + +“What will they bring at a forced sale?” + +“Thirty thousand dollars, they cost.” + +Desmond jotted down the sum and then went on. “About the yacht?” + +“The yacht? Must it be sold? Why, what will we do in the Mediterranean?” + +Obviously, she did not understand the situation. It must be brought home +to her. He waved his hand to the waters of the overflow shimmering just +outside the veranda balustrade. A dugout was rocking at a little +distance. “There are all your facilities for voyaging for some time to +come, Mrs. Faurie.” + +She burst into laughter at the incongruity. Then she said, “I cannot +realize that it is so serious as all that. My yacht is a beauty, and +ought to bring a pretty penny.” + +“Perhaps you will also have to give up the title to Great Oaks, which +the codicil gives you in fee, to make good the sums which you have +received from the estate,” he ventured. + +Her face fell. “I have begun to love this life,” she declared +unexpectedly. “I don’t want to change. I don’t want to give up Great +Oaks. I have forgotten the world.” + +A thrill stole through his heart. What had she said? She did not +understand her own heart! + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + +Mr. Hartagous brought with him a metropolitan atmosphere, the manner of +one used to good society, a portly stomach accustomed to fine feeding, a +handsome gray-streaked beard parted in the middle, and a pair of +searching, quickly glancing dark eyes. He landed at Great Oaks shortly +before dinner, and it was at table that he made Desmond’s acquaintance. +It was not he, but the guardian of the Faurie boys who had sought out +Desmond, and through the offices of mutual friends secured his services +as tutor, when Mrs. Faurie had placed a period to her European +wanderings, but Mr. Hartagous, in the general family interests, had been +apprised of all the details, and in meeting Desmond for the first time, +inwardly congratulated all concerned upon the phenomenal opportunity of +finding such a man for such a place. The meal was somewhat more +elaborate than usual, in honor of the guest. Mrs. Faurie, in one of her +Parisian gowns, was in great beauty. So marked, indeed, was the effect, +that it seemed not inappropriate to take some notice of what was so +obvious. + +“Upon my word, madam,” Mr. Hartagous declared, having progressed with +great prosperity in feeding through the menu to the dessert, “you must +surely lose the tally of the years as you go, else you would not have +the effrontery to look younger than when I first met you as a bride.” + +“I was a skinny bride,” she smiled. “The years round out the angles. But +they lay on fat and fads and frumpishness, and I feel really like an old +country-woman. + +He looked at her beamingly, his face flushed, partly from the reflection +of the old-fashioned red Bohemian glass finger-bowls, and partly from +Mr. Faurie’s Madeira, which he had laid down a good many years ago, and +which had survived him to delight other palates. Mr. Hartagous was +pleased and surprised to find how debonair was her carriage under the +changed prospects. He had not thought she could sustain her equanimity +in such cruel incertitudes, nothing positively established, but great +loss,—financial ruin, more or less complete. He had feared the visit as +a dismal experience; but her brilliant aspect, her joyous tones, might +enliven even a board at which sat the three downcast and indignant +Faurie boys, thoroughly schooled as to their civility, but showing in +every facial line how they deprecated and resented his part in the +untoward falling out of affairs. The two younger ones asked to be +excused shortly after the entrance of the dessert; and as Mr. Stanlett +had not appeared at all since the arrival of the guest, sending in by +Bob a plea of indisposition, Mrs. Faurie felt some anxiety, and a desire +to go and inquire into his malady. + +“I leave you in good hands with Mr. Desmond and Reginald,” she said to +Mr. Hartagous, as she rose from the table with a rich stir of silks and +laces; “I will go and see how Uncle Clarence feels now, and meet you +later in the parlor.” + +Reginald, pale and disaffected, and all unlike himself, lingered +listlessly for an interval, and presently asked Desmond if he might be +excused also. + +“What?—are you going to leave us, too?” Mr. Hartagous cried out +genially, in a determinedly cheerful and friendly tone. + +“I am nothing of a boon companion,” said Reginald. “Mr. Desmond does not +allow me to drink but one glass of light wine,—I shall not be missed.” +And with a poor effort at a friendly smile, obviously insincere, he +stayed for no more parley. + +“Ah, you seem to have the young fellows under good control,—excellent +for them. A short tether,—best thing in the world for colts apt to feel +their oats.” + +Mr. Hartagous was now looking about the room with considerable freedom +and a sort of disregard of the presence of the tutor, taking _faute de +mieux_ the part of host. “Everything is just as it used to be: old +sylvan wall-paper, in design of tapestry hangings, hunting-scene; old +racing-cups in that big mahogany cabinet. Faurie used to have a string +of good horses. And there is the family silver,—very fine,—armorial +bearings,—all just as it used to be. Can’t think what Mrs. Faurie did +with her money,—didn’t put any of it on Great Oaks, at all events.” + +Desmond cloaked his failure to respond in speculations on this theme by +passing the bottle, and Mr. Hartagous promptly refilled his glass. + +“Severe stroke for her,—the finding of that codicil. Pity it didn’t come +into my hands earlier! There wouldn’t be the devil and all to pay as +there is now.” He lifted his glass and refreshed himself bountifully. +Perhaps he was used to livelier company at dinner, for he presently +remarked Desmond’s serious, not to say dispirited expression, and, +possibly because unable to appreciate that the tutor’s anxiety could be +disconnected with a personal application, hastened to stipulate: “But it +will not affect _you_ at all. Your salary comes out of the minors’ +estates. Mrs. Faurie is not at expenses, except such as may be voluntary +in their education and maintenance.” + +Mr. Hartagous was well aware that there had been some difficulty in +catching an appropriate man to consign to the remote depths of an +isolated plantation in the Mississippi bottom-lands. As Mrs. Faurie was +not willing that her sons should be separated from her for their +schooling, already much postponed, Mr. Keith, the guardian, must needs +secure a college graduate, of irreproachable character, of elegant +breeding, and so piteously poor as to be willing, for a small salary, to +turn his back on the world at the outset of his career. As by signal +good fortune the guardian had captured this _rara avis_, it was no part +of the executor’s scheme to interfere to set him at liberty again, or to +foster restlessness by any suspicion that his financial interest was +threatened in the impending changes. + +“But Mrs. Faurie will have to pay the piper for the dance that she has +had,—a long and a lively one from all that I hear,—and I should think +that it would sweep away the best part of her provision under this +codicil. I do hope that she won’t make a fight for it,—very embarrassing +the whole affair is for me, especially considering the attitude the boys +take in the matter. Mr. Keith can afford to pooh-pooh it, and say they +will think differently when they come to their majority. He is not +called upon to sustain their resentment. Yet he would be ready at the +drop of a hat to sue me, the executor, in their interest in this very +matter that the little fools want to relinquish. As far as their +interest is concerned, however, there will be no litigation in carrying +out the provisions of the codicil. But I confess I dread the idea of +Mrs. Faurie’s futile resistance.” + +“I think Mrs. Faurie has no intention of making a contest,” said +Desmond, fearing that his silence on the subject might be misconstrued. + +The lawyer whirled around excitedly. “Turn over Great Oaks Plantation +without a fight,—eh? She will have to lose it to make good.” + +Mr. Hartagous had a brightening aspect. There had been already +sufficiently discordant elements in the situation fomented by the +conflict of laws in the two states where the properties lay, a pertinent +instance of which came to mind in the incongruity of an indeterminate +limit of twenty or thirty years in Tennessee for the revocation of +probate in common form, and in Mississippi a prescription, with the +statutory savings, of only two years, which had long ago elapsed. Though +this was hardly conclusive, by reason of the exception of the statute, +in favor of the disability of the minors, and their financial interests +in the revocation of the Mississippi probate, it might further be +inoperative to render Mrs. Faurie secure in her local holdings, if her +interest in Great Oaks, for life or widowhood, as under the will, could +be subjected to levy as for debt to satisfy the requirements of the +codicil in Tennessee. The guardian of the minors had been alert to +perceive another phase of the situation incident to the discovery of the +paper, and had indeed averred to Mr. Hartagous that, even could their +rights of prescription be defeated, he felt that the long and +incomprehensible delay to produce the codicil savored of concealment, +and in the event of proof of this, the Mississippi statute allowed two +years further for the revocation _pro tanto_ of the probate. The lapse +of time had wrought such ruin to Mrs. Faurie’s interests that, even +apart from her high character, which precluded such a suspicion, she +could never be supposed to have been a party to such a disastrous scheme +of concealment; and the diligence of the search of Mr. Hartagous among +the valuable papers of the decedent was protected by a letter from Mr. +Faurie himself, dated a few days before his death, stating that all +important papers had been transferred to his keeping, as the executor, +in view of the settlement of the estate. Mr. Hartagous had not found it +an easy task, with its diversified interests, its complicated +litigation, its many details, and he welcomed the thought that perhaps +after all Mrs. Faurie might yield at once to the inevitable, and the +settlement of the estate might yet go cannily on, including the +provisions of the codicil, without raising the issue of _devisavit vel +non_ and repairing to the circuit court for probate in solemn form. + +Desmond was a trifle embarrassed. “It may not be necessary to relinquish +Great Oaks,” he said uneasily. “Mrs. Faurie has other convertible +assets.” + +The lawyer bent his brows and cast a keen glance at him. There was a +significant silence. “So you are in her confidence, are you?” + +There was so much receptivity in his aspect as he waited for the reply, +he was so evidently ready to discriminate and utilize all manner of +subtle and diffusive impressions and information, that Desmond grew +unwontedly wary. “Not to the extent of being able to speak for her,” he +stipulated. “But Mrs. Faurie is very candid, as you know, and I am in a +position to hear much of the family conversation.” + +He came to a dead halt. But Mr. Hartagous had not wrestled with +reluctant witnesses for a matter of thirty years to be baffled at this +late day by an after-dinner interlocutor with a bottle of choice wine +between them. He gave it a push as he said: “And I also stand in a +quasi-confidential relation to her, having long been the friend of her +husband and herself, as well as the executor of his will. It would +gratify me extremely to be able to adjust this difficult matter without +contention and the rupture of long-established amicable sentiments.” He +gazed keenly at the handsome face of the tutor, intellectual and +powerful beyond his years and experience, the expression of mental value +enhancing the effect of symmetry of feature. He was about to suggest +that it might be beneficial to Mrs. Faurie’s interests to canvass the +matter between them, and from its incidents strike out some middle +course of advantage to all parties concerned. But there was something in +Desmond’s deep, steadfast eyes that admonished him that this confidence +could come about only from inadvertence. Desmond would not of set +purpose disclose Mrs. Faurie’s intentions. The executor began to realize +that if he wanted such facts as the tutor knew, he must surprise them. + +“Mrs. Faurie would not want Great Oaks at any rate,” he hazarded. “I +wonder at Faurie for that disposition of the plantation,—cumbrous +property.” + +“It is a fine place,” said Desmond, non-committally. + +“Looks mighty pretty now,—a full fathom deep in water in the shallowest +spot,” sneered the lawyer. + +“The land is of fine quality,—raises good crops, I am told,” Desmond +commented. + +“Don’t need fertile land to raise crawfish.” + +“Why, even the floods that drowned the world dried off after a while; +and Great Oaks is relying on precedent and Providence, and expects to +raise cotton here again some day.” Desmond’s tone was crisp. He had no +necessity that he recognized to submit to the acerbities of the +executor. It was strain enough on his patience to make allowances for +the infirmities and age of Mr. Stanlett. + +His tone, the vigor of his argument, shook the self-restraint of Mr. +Hartagous. The lawyer’s spirit of contention responded. He wagged his +head with an aspect of melancholy, not unrelated to his sentiment, when +he said: “The overflow will cry down the price. I have a letter in my +pocket now from a would-be purchaser, a Mr. Loring, formerly a resident +of this county. His offer is low, but as much as the place can command +for the next ten years to come.” He shook his head and filled his glass +anew. + +Desmond quickly reviewed the events of the past weeks. Doubtless the +news of the discovery of the codicil had been widely bruited abroad, and +thus Mr. Loring, aware of the exigencies of the prospective refunding +and of Mrs. Faurie’s depleted resources, had taken the field with the +first offer. He had astutely approached the executor rather than its +present owner, whose disposition to sell might be in inverse proportion +to the necessity; and as the exacting creditor, Mr. Hartagous, knowing +that such an opportunity of sale would not be easily duplicated, might +press an acceptance as a ready solution of the emergency, which promised +him a world of anxiety and perplexity. Little effort indeed might be +requisite to urge, flatter, overpersuade a woman unaccustomed to the +turmoils of hopeless debt and annoyed by business complications. + +But poor Honoria Faurie! To have unwittingly dispensed her whole fortune +as her income, her annuity. To be called upon now to surrender the roof +above her head as penance of those years of plenty that had held out to +her the deceit of perpetuity. Desmond trembled for her future, for her +sons were mere children and helpless. He feared lest she be harassed +into precipitancy and clutch at any prospect of speedy deliverance from +these troublous toils, willing to concede anything, to relinquish +everything, to have peace,—when, alas! there would he no more peace. He +realized the immense capacity to clinch tight, to hold hard, of the +genus of which Mr. Hartagous was a type,—cool, collected, with no +personal interest involved that might affect his judgment, ready to +stand on a quibble, to fight for the minutest fraction, to prolong the +contention to the uttermost, to the extremest exhaustion of his +adversary’s slender resources of resistance. And she had not a soul to +whom she might appeal, save indeed some lawyer, earning his fee, and +appreciative only of the surface conditions of her case,—but no one who +cared for her, who would think for her. The realization roused Desmond +in her behalf. + +“You had best wait till morning to place the offer before her,” Desmond +said, determined to be the first to acquaint her with the facts, +determined that she should not meet her adversary in his guise of friend +without consideration of the double identity in which he came. “There is +always so much stir in the parlor after dinner,—the children and their +dogs make a deal of noise. Mrs. Faurie always gives up her evenings to +the entertainment of her sons.” + +He had no mind to offer the library, which indeed had been assigned to +his exclusive use, and he hoped that Mr. Hartagous did not remember its +facilities for quiet consultation, so long had it been dismantled. + +Mr. Hartagous was one of the most acute of men, and his facial traits +were well under control. Few people could have interpreted the sudden +cynical uplifting of his bushy eyebrows as he said casually, “Ah, +well,—plenty of time,—plenty of time.” + +But Desmond’s perceptions were quickened in her interests and he knew +that the hour was come, that before they separated for the night, Mrs. +Faurie would be acquainted with the executor’s version of the +facts,—that they were the most lucky of mortals! for property was slow +of sale, plantations a drug upon the market, the labor questions +impossible of solution; clouds, darkness, environed them on every side, +and they knew not whither to grope,—and here suddenly a flood of +financial sunlight was opening upon them in the midst of their night of +despondency. Only the touch of her pen,—the title of Great Oaks, which +she had always loathed, would be transferred. The millionaire’s cash and +notes would make good her indebtedness to the estate to that extent, at +least; the rest could be “carried”—fatal word!—arranged for a time with +liens on smaller properties. Plausible representation!—the sense of a +load of debt lifted, the turbulent apprehension of contention averted. +She might adopt the executor’s conclusions, and indeed from his point of +view there was naught else practicable. She had known him long, liked +him well, and relied on his friendship. But his duty in the premises was +to the estate, to make the most and the best of the testator’s +dispositions as far as it was concerned. As to the widow, the wreck was +her own work, unconscious though she had been, mistaken; he had no +responsibility so far as she was interested save to enforce the +provisions of the codicil, and to exact the terms of the refunding +clause. She might be prevailed upon, in the first flush of relief that +any solution of the problem was at hand, to sign at once, to-night, some +agreement of sale; she might not commit herself beyond the possibility +of withdrawal, but so far embrace the proposition as to be unwilling to +recede from it. And indeed she might be persuaded into a coincidence of +opinion. His representations might fix her resolution. Later, Desmond’s +remonstrances might not avail. He was young, as she knew,—she had called +him repeatedly a mere boy. He could not be sure that she seriously +valued his business instincts, when he had no business experience. He +desired only to put her on her guard, to excite her apprehension, to +counsel reserve, above all delay. He could imagine the sequence, and it +appalled him. The wishes of Mrs. Faurie, reduced to poverty, to +insignificance, would no longer have such weight as when issued from her +princess-like affluence and preëminence, and the wishes of the boys were +as empty of influence as the disability of their minority would compel. +He wondered dolorously as to her impending fate. Perhaps there might be +accorded to her, from among the chips and blocks of the Faurie estate, +saved from the cormorant clutch of the refunding, some cottage on a side +street in the outskirts of Vicksburg or Natchez, some little farm of a +few acres regularly overflowed, and raising indeed more crawfish than +cotton. + +It seemed as if Desmond had intentionally misled Mr. Hartagous when he +opened the parlor door and they entered a room of absolute silence and +stillness. Mrs. Faurie, in a gown of sage green silk brocaded in lighter +tones, the lace at her throat coruscating with the delicate white fires +of a diamond “sunburst,” leaned back in a large chair, her eyes on the +hearth, evidently moody from argument and remonstrance with her sons. +Their faces, as they sat in a row on a sofa, were downcast, full of +distress, and marked with the distorting trace of nervous anxiety, which +they could feel as if they were men, but unlike men could not hope to do +aught to abate;—only Chub gazed up at Mr. Hartagous with childish, +lowering, resentful eyes and a half-suppressed tendency to pout. Mr. +Stanlett, pallid, seeming more lean than usual, shrunken, and very +perceptibly aged by the shock of the excitements of finding the codicil, +lay in a reclining-chair on the opposite side of the fire. He greeted +Mr. Hartagous with courtesy indeed, but with noticeably few words, and +protesting that his indisposition had passed, welcomed him to Great Oaks +mansion. Desmond felt the future in the instant. It would require but +little exertion of Mr. Hartagous’s tact to inaugurate one of the +old-time reminiscences, which seemed the delight and the resource of Mr. +Stanlett’s failing life. His eyes would flash, his thin cheek flush, the +boys would listen in spellbound silence, and Mr. Hartagous, already +seated beside her, would secure an uninterrupted tête-à-tête with Mrs. +Faurie; for the tutor, in his subsidiary position and obligatory show of +respect, must needs accord Mr. Stanlett’s narration his attention also. +But even should Desmond so far forget himself as to interpose in the +discussion of business in which he had no concern, Mr. Hartagous had +arguments which on first view would easily discomfit his crude and +inexperienced counsels. Nevertheless, Desmond resolved anew that she +should not hear of the offer of Mr. Loring for Great Oaks first from the +executor. He cast about him in desperation. Mr. Stanlett was already +replying with some spirit as to the early history of certain localities +that Mr. Hartagous had noticed from the guards of the steamboat in +coming down the Mississippi River from Memphis, which itself was built +on one of the famous Chickasaw Bluffs. Mr. Stanlett’s memory reached +back to the days before the Chickasaws and Choctaws had generally +vanished westward, and he had then gleaned from the chiefs some +traditions at first hand which made him an authority on moot points of +early history, and he piqued himself on his accuracy. It was easy indeed +to engage him in a discussion as to the site of the old Chickasaw +towns,—seven of them together in a row, the last called Ash-wick-boo-ma +(Red Grass),—where they defeated D’Artaguette and later Bienville, and +the details of the battle of Ackia and its famous last charge. The young +Fauries’ faces had brightened. Suddenly Reginald asked a breathless +question as to the boy-commander, the Canadian, Voisin, who at sixteen +years of age conducted the safe and skilled retreat of the troops +through many miles of wilderness from the field of the battle which his +superior officer, the unfortunate D’Artaguette, had lost. + +Mr. Stanlett needed no more prompting, nor, Desmond feared, would he +heed interruption. Mr. Hartagous presently leaned forward with his elbow +on the table at Mrs. Faurie’s right hand, and had begun to speak to her +in a low voice, when Desmond asked Mr. Stanlett if he knew the ancient +French buglecalls, and said that one claimed a Merovingian origin. He +declared that he would like to believe that the same strain which had +rung from the famous “Olivant,” the horn of the Paladin at Roncesvalles, +had served to rally D’Artaguette’s motley levies of Indians, and +_coureurs des bois_, and French soldats along the banks of the +Mississippi, and would forever continue to sound down the centuries, to +find echoes in the heart of the enthusiast and the metre of the poet. + +“Let me see if you find the old calls familiar,” Desmond exclaimed, +lifting the lid of the piano and tangling it in his haste with its +crimson embroidered cloth cover. It was an old piano, with the felt of +its hammers worn hard and thin. So much the better, since he desired to +drown out the voice of Mr. Hartagous. The martial strain, instinct with +its imperative mandate, throbbed through the room and then died away, +and as they listened a note was repeated, and still a vibration, as from +some vague distance. + +“An echo!—an echo!” cried Chub, vociferously. “Oh, mamma, listen to our +Mr. Desmond! He can do anything,—how he can play!” + +“Now, what do you suppose is the date of that call?” Mr. Stanlett’s +cheek had flushed; his interest was roused. + +“The introduction of this one can be definitely fixed,” and once more a +spirited lilting strain rang through the room. Then Desmond turned on +the piano stool. “Where, Reginald, did you put that old book on the +Ancient Military Orders of France? It gives some old calls. I found that +rummaging about in the library.” + +“You find too much, sir, rummaging about!” said Mr. Stanlett, with a +bent brow and a fiery eye. “You should curb your talents for rummaging +about.” + +But Desmond had thrust an old folio into his hand, with a recommendation +to examine the very quaint and antique illustrations of arms and +accoutrements and military costume with which it was embellished. There +were some extra inserts of military portraits, steel engravings, and Mr. +Stanlett was turning the leaves, his thin mouth drawn in very small, his +eye alight with a fervor of interest, his rebuke and its cause forgotten +in an instant. + +Not by Mr. Hartagous. He made the serious mistake of casting a merry, +significant glance at the tutor, expecting it to be returned in like +genial wise. He desired to establish confidential relations with +Desmond. He might find so accomplished, so versatile, so lightning-quick +a fellow of special use here, where diplomatic management might be +necessary to smooth the way for readjustments. But Desmond did not +respond, and Mr. Hartagous felt the rising surge of anger. He realized +that the young man was too observant to have lost the demonstration; he +was far too keen to fail to appreciate its relish and its demand for the +recognition of Mr. Stanlett’s pitiably funny allusion to the tutor’s +instrumentality in discovering the codicil of the last will and +testament of the late Mr. Faurie. Desmond’s studied insensibility was a +covert rebuke, and the spirit of Mr. Hartagous revolted against this +schooling, which he felt might befit some crude hobbledehoy. He would +have liked to remind the tutor that he was the guardian’s employee and +not Mrs. Faurie’s, and that the pedagogic office was held at his +pleasure; to recall the fact that despite the young man’s learning and +many accomplishments, it had been already demonstrated to him that one +must have foothold, a starting-point, to make these felt by the world. A +flood, quotha!—a sorry time a dove or any other fowl would have to find +a perch, set adrift from this ark of Great Oaks mansion. + +Mrs. Faurie intercepted and interpreted the glance, and for a time she +held her eyes down to the fan in her hand with which she seemed +gracefully to toy, but Desmond had seen that they were full of tears. +She felt that these two men, in the pride of their powers, in the flush +of their prime, in the vigor of their health and strength, were +ridiculing poor, dear Uncle Clarence for his distress in her loss, for +his feeble, inadequate, unreasoning indignation at the officious +intermeddling, as he thought it, which had brought the catastrophe +about. + +But Desmond had begun to sing,—she had not known that he could sing,—and +the room was filled with surging waves of melody. A powerful baritone +voice he had, of no great cultivation, enough only to temper the +crudities of his rendering, but of correct intonation, and it was +singularly, lusciously sweet. They were military songs that he sang, +with the triumph of the trumpets, the gay clash of the cannikin, the +impetuous speed of the high-couraged war-horse, all infused through +them. Now they were French and again German, and some were in quaint old +English phrase of mediæval suggestion. + +“Never, never let me hear you speak another word,” cried Mr. Stanlett, +in senile delight. “You should go singing through the world like the +mockingbirds in spring.” + +He looked across the room, smiling and nodding, expectant of sympathetic +response from Mr. Hartagous, who was as weary of it all as if the +evening were spent in that other ark to which Great Oaks mansion was so +often likened. Under these circumstances he could have as easily +communicated with the ladies of the patriarchal Noah as with Mrs. +Faurie,—the terrible Chub chasing continually from the side of the piano +and across the room to fling himself into his mother’s arms crying, +“Ain’t it beautiful, mamma? Ain’t it beautiful? The grand opera in Paree +don’t touch Mr. Desmond nowhere!” + +So weary, indeed, did Mr. Hartagous presently look that the dispersal of +the party for the night was obviously in order, although much earlier +than usual. + +“Can you find your way back to your room, do you think?” Mrs. Faurie +said to the guest, as the group stood at a side table in the hall and +she lighted their bedroom candles seriatim. + +The house was so large and so rambling in its plan that he was not sure +that he remembered his way about it, he replied. He had expected, and +indeed so had she, that Desmond would come forward with his readiness +for any emergency and officiate as guide. But Desmond, stolidly +unmindful, snuffed out and then relighted his own candle, its tiny white +blaze illumining his flushed, absorbed face, and after a moment’s +hesitation Reginald offered to accompany the guest to his room. Thus Mr. +Hartagous departed to his night’s rest, a little dissatisfied with the +situation, and not a little doubtful of the tutor. He resented this +incertitude, because it was partly his influence that had placed Desmond +here. “And mighty glad he was to come, too,” he reflected. He rather +wondered that Desmond should not discern his own interests more clearly +than to seem to adhere to the losing side, for Mrs. Faurie’s power, +always limited, was now definitely a thing of the past. “For she is not +worth one red cent, as matters stand!” Mr. Keith, he was aware, had +begun to doubt whether the redundant maternal coddling was the best +thing for the boys, and had only agreed to their persistent retention +under her wing in deference to her wish; but Hartagous was sure, did he +so desire, that he could easily induce him to insist as their guardian +upon packing them off summarily to boarding-school, where they might +encounter some of the roughening and hardening phases of boy life. “Make +men of them.” Although balked of the conversation which he had expected +to have with Desmond when he should have reached the room assigned him, +and feeling distinctly man-handled, he determined to have a definite +understanding with the tutor on the morrow, and apprise him that he was +expected to act in the interest of his employer, the guardian, which was +identical with that of the executor, in smoothing the way to a pacific +adjustment of the troublous toils in which the discovery of the codicil +had entangled the household of Great Oaks,—and this signified, in the +interpretation of Mr. Hartagous, an unconditional surrender of all the +opposing interests. + +“It is not late, though you seem tired,—and I must speak to you +to-night,” Desmond said to Mrs. Faurie, when the young host and the +guest had vanished down the cross-hall. + +She had her lighted candle in her hand, and the flame threw into high +relief against the dull shadows her exquisite face, with the subdued +green of her gown, the shimmer of the lace above her bosom, the diamond +“sunburst” at her throat. “Won’t to-morrow answer?” she replied, +stifling a yawn. + +“No! Oh, no, indeed! Believe me, I would not insist, but the matter is +urgent.” + +“Heavens! More business!” she remonstrated. “I imagined that with the +arrival of Mr. Hartagous all the bother would be over. He can think for +us all. What else is a lawyer created for?” + +“Your lawyer,—yes! But this man is not acting in your interest. He is +acting for the estate.” + +“It is the same thing,—my sons’ interest. He will settle everything.” + +Desmond could scarcely have feared a more inert attitude of submission +than this. How could the woman be so blind! “Come,” he said +authoritatively, drawing her arm through his. “You shall hear first what +I have to say.” + +She turned back to the parlor with him, dragging a little unwillingly on +his arm. “I have always appreciated ‘gentlemen’s society,’ as it is +called, and I have to a degree and with exceptions loved my fellow men, +but I had no conception until lately that the creatures had it in them +to be so wonderfully and fearfully dull and depressing as they are when +they talk of their everlasting business. Hereafter, if I have my choice, +I shall always prefer ‘hen parties’ as the lesser evil.” + +With an elaborate air of patience she seated herself on the sofa while +he stirred up the fire and brightened the lamp. As he began to talk, she +was inattentive at first, and interpolated irrelevant remarks. “What a +lovely voice you have,” she said, as her eyes wandered to the open +piano. “I shall be wanting you to sing all day.” + +As he began to recapitulate the details of the codicil and the +executor’s requirements concerning the refunding clause, she broke out, +“Wouldn’t you hate to be as chuffy and as stuffy as Mr. Hartagous when +you come to be of his age, and look so like a weasel?” + +When he disclosed the real mission of Mr. Hartagous, to effect an +immediate sale of Great Oaks, a light suddenly sprang into her face, and +her voice broke into a sob. He saw that the situation bore far more +heavily upon her than she had manifested. She had been whistling, as it +were, to keep her courage up. + +“How providential!” she cried. “It breaks my heart now to part from +Great Oaks, but I see that it is the only way. And oh, for liberation! +To be free from debt. The sense of it weighs upon me; I can understand +the agony of the old torture of death by pressing.” + +He was still for a moment, looking at her in sombre thought. “This is +what I feared,” he said at last,—“your precipitancy. I want you to +think, to survey the ground first, to test the possibilities.” + +He had made out from the will a schedule of the properties, with their +approximate values, and the amounts by years of the annual income that +must be returned. He went across the room and sat beside her on the +sofa, that they might look over the page together. Her face paled while +scanning the estimates,—they seemed methodically to set forth financial +ruin, absolute, hopeless. + +“Then why,—how _dare_ that man come here and press Mr. Loring’s +inadequate offer for Great Oaks?” she blazed out. + +“Because he is not acting in your interest, but against you.” + +She turned and looked Desmond in the face, her beautiful eyes +bewildering at these close quarters. He dropped his own eyes on the +paper in his hands. + +“Mr. Hartagous must distribute the estate according to the terms of the +codicil. As executor he is constrained by law to require the refunding +of your receipts from it. He is coerced, too, by the position of the +guardian, who also has no option, and who will in the changed state of +things require this amount to be charged against your portion at the +partitioning of the estate and the ascertaining and setting aside of the +several shares of the minors. Naturally, Mr. Hartagous is anxious to +seize the first opportunity of converting your assets to make good, +whatever sacrifice it may impose on _you_.” + +“What shall I do?—oh, what shall I do?” she cried, in despairing +realization of the situation. “But why should I ask? I can only yield.” + +“You can temporize,—stand out for the full value of the property,— fight +for terms. Time is your ally. And you have this strength in your +position, that you might give them a contest; a lawyer might find you +sufficient grounds,—but, at all events, you are entitled to a fair +valuation of your property.” + +“But even then, Edward,” she put her hand on his and pressed it +convulsively, “there is not a competence, not a hope from the estate for +me.” + +He did not seek to encourage her by false representations. He was +looking the disaster squarely in the eye. “And the boys are powerless +for years to come!” he admitted despondently. + +Her lips were trembling piteously. “I have not a dollar that I can call +my own. I have not a friend in the world.” + +“You have me,—such as I am,” he said, his eyes downcast, still on the +papers. + +“I never think of you,—you are like another self. But you _are_ my +friend, and I am not alone! You think for me,—you rescued me at the risk +of your life. You think for me,—you care for me,—I am not alone!” + +“Care for you!” he broke out, tempted beyond all resistance. “I care for +nothing else on God’s earth. I love you,—I love you,—I worship you!” + +She turned, staring at him in quiet surprise; then, as if she thought he +might come nearer, she put one hand against his shoulder, holding him at +arm’s length. + +“Oh, I should have eaten out my heart in silence; I should never have +said a word but for this strange change, when you seem as poor as I! But +since you feel alone, you may care to know now how beloved, how +cherished, how adored you are by me.” + +“But suppose,—suppose,”—she was still looking hard at him, into his very +eyes—“but suppose it might have been grateful to me earlier to know so +much—” + +“I could not have spoken then; I could not have asked you to make so +great a sacrifice for me,—to relinquish your status under the will.” + +She smiled radiantly at him. “It seems to me now that I might have been +glad to make that sacrifice,—for you.” Once more her hand pressed +against his shoulder to hold him at arm’s length. “But it can never be, +now,” she stipulated, “when I can give you nothing.” + +“Nothing! You are all the world to me,” he protested. + +“No, you have your own difficult way to make, and I shall not burden +you. It was only a fleeting fancy that came over me,—a sentimental +glimpse of what I _might_ have felt for you had fortune favored us.” + +“You shall not decree the future,” he declared imperiously. “I shall +fashion it for us both. It is not yours to say. You have said enough. I +know your heart better than you do,—I believe you love me—” + +“Like a son,” she interrupted, with a gurgling laugh. “I am older than +you by ten years.” + +“And younger by a century in spirit, and as beautiful as the angels in +heaven. If you leave Great Oaks, we go forth together. Life in poor +conditions would not be sordid with you. It would always be fresh and +deliriously sweet and forever a blessing, whatever hardships fate might +impose. I am strong and well equipped, and with this hand in mine I +could make my way against all the world. I would have no false pride to +hamper my efforts, so truly proud would I be in having the dear +privilege of working for you.” + +“Like Chub,—would you dig in the garden?” The anticlimax was of +conclusive import in the stress of the moment. She had not intended to +yield, but she laughed in tender recollection of her little son’s +childish offer of help, and in the instant of relaxation she burst into +happy tears. Her head sank on Desmond’s shoulder, and his arm was around +her. + +“Like Chub, I would even dig in the garden,” he protested. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + +It was not yet a late hour when Desmond quitted the parlor, Mrs. Faurie +having flitted away, joyously protesting that the consideration of such +nonsense as his discourse was undermining to the reason. The evening had +resulted in so signal a failure to entertain the guest acceptably that +an earlier dispersal than usual had supervened. Nevertheless, as Desmond +made his way down the veranda toward the library, intending to smoke and +linger an hour or so in his chosen haunt, for with this tumult of joy +and expectation and triumph in his brain and heart he knew that he could +not soon compose himself to rest, he was surprised in turning the corner +to see a light upon the waters at a little distance, in the midst of the +dark, rippling expanse that surrounded the mansion. + +The night wind blew dank and chill across the damp purlieus of the +veranda, the flooring of which was always splashed and reeking from the +tossing waves of the recent landing of some dugout at various points, +but it brought no other sound than the monotonous voices of the night, +so accustomed that they scarcely impinged upon the consciousness: the +stir of the foliage of the great oaks, the effect of their stately +avenues “queered” by their diluvian surroundings; the iterative +batrachian chorus from some insular “high ground” far away; the sudden +bellow of a bull alligator; and always the murmur of the widespread +shallows of the overflow under the influence of the breeze. + +The light was stationary, and though it was now the dark of the moon and +Desmond had only the vague illumination of the myriad stars of the clear +spring night, he made out behind it the dull outline of a small boat. A +lantern was evidently carried at the prow, and despite the fact that the +light annulled the suggestion of secrecy, Desmond fancied that the +motionless pause bespoke observation. Suddenly he heard the impact of a +paddle upon the water, and became aware that the craft was about to +turn. The spy, if spy he were, intended to retrace his course;—not until +he should have given an account of himself, Desmond resolved, and of his +mission, scouting about on the dark waters of the overflow, making his +secret observations of Great Oaks mansion when asleep and off its guard. + +“Hello, the boat!” Desmond’s strong young voice carried like a clarion +across the flooded distance. + +The answer came, hearty and reassuring: “Hello, the house!” + +The dugout swung around once more, and as its prow was presented to +Desmond’s eye as it advanced in a direct line, its bulk was obliterated, +and this gave the man who stood erect plying his paddle in the Indian +fashion the weird effect of walking on the water as he approached the +house in the clare-obscure. + +“God! What _is_ that?” exclaimed Mr. Hartagous, looking out from the +dark window close at hand. He had been roused by the tutor’s ringing +call to the boatman, and, apprehending some disturbance, had in the +instant’s time secured his trousers and his pistol, the two essentials +to dignified midnight combat. The light from the lantern of the dugout, +which now began to head for a landing at the veranda, was flung far out +on the watery gloom, and sent a ray to the long window, illumining a +tousled mass of gray hair and whiskers, and a puckered face of most +discordant and disconcerted petulance. + +“Nare light do you show, Mr. Desmond,” said the voice of Bainbridge, the +manager, from the dugout. “You are such owels up here at the big house +that I made sure o’ findin’ you up, anyhow. Why, ’tain’t quite eleven +o’clock.” + +“And what in hell do you mean by sidling up to Great Oaks mansion in the +middle of the night in this enigmatic way without warning?” demanded the +lawyer, testily,—he evidently considered Desmond a mere attaché of the +household and with no prerogative to speak with authority. Therefore he +took bold precedence. “And who are you?—and what mischief are you bent +upon?” + +“Ah-h-h! It’s _you_ bent on mischief, Mr. Hartagous! Mischief is the +trade of all your tribe!” tartly retorted the manager, none of whose +interests could be imperiled by the lawyer, and whose nerves were +already exacerbated by the jeopardy of all his prospects in the +impending changes. + +“Oh, is it Mr. Bainbridge, the manager? Beg pardon, my good man. I +didn’t recognize you in the darkness,—but you should really let people +sleep in peace”; then with an accession of acerbity,—“buccaneering +around in the overflow at this time of night!” + +It hardly affected Desmond that Mr. Hartagous should take the pas, the +air of control in these matters appertaining to Great Oaks Plantation, +as if the power of its possessor and her staff were already a thing of +the past; but Mr. Bainbridge was not used to such reversals of spiteful +fortune. Wind and weather had worked him much woe in his agricultural +experience; desperate calamities, such as the overflow, had visited him +more than once; but these mischances supervened in his professional +conflict with natural forces, and were the dispensations of established +authority, the “hand of God,” to use the pious commercial phraseology, +and he submitted to them with such broadening of his back to the burden +and such patience as he could muster. The disaster, however, which +menaced the tenure of Great Oaks Plantation, this flagrant injustice, +this legalized mischief, was the artifice of man, the deflection of the +will of the testator rather than its execution, and he entertained scant +toleration of the operations of law that permitted it and the person of +its representative. It threw Mr. Bainbridge out of an employment in +which he was well satisfied and had given satisfaction these many years, +for he had a ghastly prevision of the overthrow of all the existing +status which would ensue under a new owner. + +“Oh,” he said with jaunty bravado, as he ran the nose of the dugout +close to the veranda and sprang heavily upon the flooring, securing the +trace chain that served as painter around one of the columns, “me and +Mr. Desmond go on a ‘high old lonesome’ most any time o’ night. We don’t +keep reg’lar hours in the swamp, you see, like you cits do in +Memphis,—early to bed and early to rise makes you-all so all-fired +healthy, wealthy, and wise.” + +Mr. Hartagous sputtered, but no immediate answer occurred to him, though +presently he found cause to admonish Mr. Bainbridge of his heavy +footfall. “You’ll wake up the whole house,—you tramp like a grenadier.” + +“And what sort o’ animal might that be,—fourfooted?” queried Mr. +Bainbridge, affecting deep ignorance. + +Mr. Hartagous disdained to reply, but the admonition touching his +resonant swinging gait had not been altogether lost on Bainbridge, and +to avoid passing on the veranda, thus noisily, the vicinity of Mrs. +Faurie’s room, he entered unceremoniously at the long French window at +which Mr. Hartagous stood, intending to traverse the guest’s apartment +and thus reach the cross-hall in order to take his way thence to the +library, where he could discuss his errand with the tutor. Desmond +followed, meditating some lubricating word of apology. But Bainbridge +continued in sarcastic ill-humor: “I never _did_ pretend to be one of +your soft-steppin’, Slip-Slinksy sort o’ fellows. I could understand +your objections to having him slying around the house of a night, but—” +He paused abruptly as he opened the door leading into the cross-hall; +the stoppage was a sort of galvanic shudder, such as might befit a +cessation of steam propulsion. He turned toward the others, over his big +brawny shoulders, a face visibly paling beneath its sunburn in the gleam +of the candle which the saturnine Hartagous had just lighted. + +“Hist,” he said, and silence fell. For outside in the distance and the +darkness, so soft that one might wonder that it should be so distinct, +was that vague sense of an unseen progression,—a step, or rather the +impact of a foot with the pile of the velvet carpet of the padded stair, +a silken sibilance, then silence, and again a footfall ascending the +flight. + +It was audible to Mr. Hartagous as he stood half dressed beside the +table. A dismayed, protesting question was in the wrinkles and +corrugations of his face as he turned it toward the door; a keen, +excited gleam shone in his eyes, for he, too, had heard of the furtive +spectre of Great Oaks. The blazing match in his hand burned unheeded to +the tips of his fingers. When the flame touched the flesh he dropped the +match, but without a word or sound. It seemed to have tangibly kindled +his intention, his resolution. It was hardly possible to imagine a man +of his age and so portly, who was now so light of movement. He had +noiselessly thrust his bare feet into his bedroom slippers, great +yawning foot-gear, placed his revolver in the pistol pocket of his +trousers, while he held in his hand a thing that to the rustic Mr. +Bainbridge seemed a pocketbook, but which Desmond recognized as one of +the tiny electric lamps that have this semblance. He dropped the conical +extinguisher over the newly lighted flame of the candle, and in a moment +all was darkness and silence. + +Each of the others recognized the lawyer’s determination to see the +thing out. Bainbridge, for all his bold initiative in matters cognate to +daylight, fell behind him as Mr. Hartagous briskly flung the door wide +and shuffled noiselessly along the hall. For one moment Desmond felt an +agony of indecision. He had an unreasoning instinct to call out and give +the forlorn old spectre some warning of the fell forces of flesh and +blood that were even now upon his elusive track, that he might craftily +compass his disappearance as more than once heretofore. Then he +hesitated. He had shrunk from such knowledge as had come to him as to +the details in the concealment of the codicil of the will, and he had +found its only extenuation in the doubt of Mr. Stanlett’s sanity and +responsibility. It was impossible to judge how this might have stood in +the beginning, but now, when it was so obviously futile and the ghostly +step was once more wandering through the midnight quiet of Great Oaks +mansion, he became afraid of interference,—discovery could only prove +the mental unsoundness that was at last poor Slip-Slinksy’s protection. +Moreover, Mr. Hartagous was now halfway up the stairs; Bainbridge, +sitting on the bottom step, had pulled off his high boots and followed +in his stocking feet as noiseless as a cat. Nevertheless, the crafty old +spectre had become aware of their approach. Not a sound, not a stir, +issued from above. He was still up there somewhere in the darkness. +Surely he could scarcely have drawn a breath as the two below stood on +the stairs, motionless also, watching, waiting. Desmond, lingering in +the hall beneath, one hand on the newel-post, felt a rush of +indignation, knowing what he did. The two spies, stalwart, alert, both +more than a score of years younger, could easily wear out the endurance +of the poor, patient, disappointed ghost, whose lawless mission had +always been instinct with beneficent intention. Yet not so easily, +perhaps; for presently, when a timber of the stair creaked, Desmond knew +that Bainbridge, his muscles stiff and cramping, had been forced to +shift his weight. + +The house within was absolutely noiseless. The half-moon of glass above +the doors at the front showed its presence in a dim gray contour, but +shed no light. The splashing of the water of the overflow under the +buffets of the wind was distinct in the pause. Once a gust went skirling +with a wild, chill voice among the score of chimneys, and passed into +the distance, and silence ensued. Suddenly a light cut the gloom like a +knife. There, standing on the landing, was the spectre of the tradition, +the cocked hat upon its white hair, powdered, alas! only by time, its +cloak falling almost to its heels, its eyes blazing with that fierce yet +consciously helpless anger of the aged, and its lips drawn close and +thin to keep the secret that battered against their reticence. + +Mr. Hartagous had crept up the stairs like a panther in his eagerness +for his prey, yet at the instant of discovery he slunk back amazed and +disconcerted. “Mr. Stanlett,” he exclaimed, his finger failing for a +moment in the pressure on the button, and the whole scene vanishing into +darkness with a leaping suddenness, then as suddenly leaping into view, +“I am astonished at you!” + +“And I cannot express _my_ surprise,” the old gentleman said, with a +crisp sarcasm that had an unexpected edge. His eyes ran deliberately +over the details of the unconventional aspect and attire of Mr. +Hartagous: his bushy, tousled gray hair and whiskers; his burly, much +wrinkled throat, left bare without collar or cravat; his suspenders, all +unadjusted, still hanging from the waistband of his trousers and +dangling sashwise almost to his heels; his bare feet and ankles revealed +nearly in their entirety by his loose, yawning bedroom slippers. And he +had not the wit to take his thumb from the button of the lamp. “I cannot +express my surprise to detect you skulking, noiseless, in this unshod +condition, about a house in which you are a guest. Fie! Fie! Mr. +Hartagous. If you have taken a fancy to any valuables of ours, why, +speak out, man, and we will _give_ them to you! We have lost too much +lately not to realize the vanity of earthly hoardings.” + +Mr. Hartagous might have seemed of the porpoise family, so resonant were +the deep and gusty breaths he drew. “Before God, old man, I have a mind +to throw you down these stairs,” he cried, in fury and amaze that such +an imputation, though forced and satiric as it was, could be cast on his +conduct. “I have a mind to throw you down these stairs!” + +“Have a care, have a care of your fellow burglar, then,” cried Mr. +Stanlett, secure in the immunity of his age and his weakness. “Stand +from under, my good Mr. Bainbridge.” + +Mr. Hartagous had never dreamed how much of his acumen as a lawyer, his +dignity as a man, his force as an individual, appertained to his usual +smart metropolitan costume. He made a desperate effort to lay hold on +his wonted identity. + +“But you have your own conduct to explain, Mr. Stanlett,” he said +severely. + +“Explain?—to whom?—to you?” the old man flouted contemptuously. + +And Mr. Hartagous was aware that this was not the noted cross-examiner +whom he had hitherto recognized in himself. + +“You surely know, Mr. Stanlett,” he began anew, “that your +mysterious midnight rovings about this house have given rise to +misinterpretations—” + +“Strange,—strange that you should think so, and yet go roving too!” said +Mr. Stanlett, his eyes burning. + +Mr. Bainbridge, a good deal perturbed by the unexpected falling out of +the event, yet nevertheless reassured too to find the familiar figure of +the old gentleman in lieu of the unimagined spectre, in anticipation of +which his stout heart had quailed, suddenly broke out in his burly +voice: “Well, I ain’t faultin’ Mr. Stanlett, anyhows he chooses to do.” +He had known him since his own early youth, and his veneration had the +strength of long habit. “He can have his own way at Great Oaks. If he +has a mind to sit up late of a night and loaf about the house, it is his +own affair. No curfew here! If I had ha’ known that Slip-Slinksy was +_you_, sir, I’d ha’ been in my dugout and a mile away by now.” The tone +of respect, of consideration, to which the old gentleman was accustomed, +broke down his reserve. He could meet defiance with taunts, and +reproaches with sarcasm, but he melted before kindness. + +“Oh, Jerry, Jerry Bainbridge,” he wailed, holding out both hands and +shaking his old gray head, so fantastic in its cocked hat, dismally to +and fro, “I was just hunting for a will,—a better will than that +poisonous paper that is to destroy us all. Faurie never intended that +such a will should hold. Night after night, year after year, I laid it +away and hunted for a better one. And I’m hunting for it yet, and I’ll +hunt for it till I die,—and maybe I’ll find it yet.” Then breaking off +suddenly, with a look of proud and deep offense, “Slip-Slinksy,—that’s +what they call me! Slip-Slinksy!” He repeated the distasteful word, +while a vivid flush mounted to the roots of his silver hair. + +“But nobody knowed ’twas you, Mr. Stanlett,” Bainbridge urged +caressingly, yet with deep respect. “You are more looked up to than +anybody in Deepwater Bend.” + +In view of the tone of this interlocutor, it seemed to Mr. Stanlett not +derogatory to his dignity to defend himself. “It was my duty, +Bainbridge, my duty. I had promised Faurie. My word was out.” + +Mr. Hartagous cocked up his head to listen and bent his brows. “What +promise was this which you gave to Mr. Faurie, if I may ask?” he +demanded, puzzled. + +“I recognize no obligation to inform you, Mr. Hartagous, and no coercion +in your question,” replied Mr. Stanlett, with dignity. “But I would not +willingly seem churlish and reticent. I have no objection to answer, now +that that unfortunate codicil has been produced—none whatever. Mr. +Faurie urged me to search for another will till I found it,—I say a +‘will,’ but ‘paper-writing’ was the word he used.” + +A pause ensued, while his fantastic figure on the landing, with the +divergent rays of the lamp full upon him, stood silent and stiff, as he +looked down at the brilliant focus of the electric wire in the case, +which dulled the dim group about it on the stairs. + +“When did Mr. Faurie tell you that?” asked the wondering lawyer. + +“Just about four years after he died,” the old man replied, quite +simply. + +A thrill of astonished comprehension quivered through the group on the +stairs. Hartagous, accustomed to a sedulous facial control, did not +change countenance or speak; his thumb, however, trembled on the button +of the lamp, and the scene fluttered back and forth, ghostly-wise, +through the darkness. But both the other listeners exclaimed, each after +the fashion of his wonted phraseology, though neither could have +remembered his own words a moment later. Mr. Stanlett apprehended the +amazement in the tones, and his interest, which had seemed but a jaded +familiarity with an old experience, pricked up suddenly. + +“Very remarkable, wasn’t it?” he said. “I remember that it surprised me +extremely at the time, though really I don’t know that it should. Faurie +was always different from anybody else. I was in the blue room up there, +where after his death we had packed away all of his papers which he had +seemed to consider of no particular account, till _you_ sent here, as +executor, for those cursed levee bonds.” He paused to glare down with +sudden wolfish rancor at Hartagous, then resumed abruptly: “I was +ransacking the papers again, for in searching for the levee bonds I had +found that codicil to the will,—which I wish to God I had never seen or +had burnt on the spot. I knew the havoc that four years of Honoria’s +expenditures would make in her provision if they were chargeable against +her portion in the partition of the estate. Four years’ income,—one +hundred and twenty thousand dollars. It seemed immense then! And _now_ +it is nearly seven years’ income derived from the general estate that +she must refund, and in addition all the yield of the crops of Great +Oaks Plantation.” + +He paused, his dreary, sunken eyes lifted suddenly to the upper story +opposite the landing, and Bainbridge began to quake so perceptibly for +the thought of what might be leaning lightly over the balustrade, a +graceful manly figure, which he could see well enough though he would +not look toward it, that the stout stair-rail shook responsive to the +quiver of his brawny hand laid upon it. He kept instead his attention +fixed resolutely on Mr. Stanlett’s lean, pallid face, with its fantastic +headgear and its fiery eyes. There seemed naught more definite than mere +memory before them, for he went on as if he had been only arranging the +sequence of the events in his mind. “It surprised me then considerably, +but now it seems no great matter. Faurie came in suddenly, as if it were +the most natural thing in the world, and he said,—you know that way he +had of demanding impossibilities of people and getting them too,—‘Keep +back that codicil, Mr. Stanlett,—there is another paper-writing; find it +and present them both together.’ He was pale and eager. He seemed +desperately in earnest. He was dressed for riding,—he had come from far. +I wonder which horse he had! He held a riding-crop in his hand, and he +struck the codicil contemptuously with it,—you remember his tempestuous +ways when he was angered, and he had that fine air of scorn that used to +become him so well,—he struck the codicil as the paper lay open on the +table. And you can see the welt of his riding-crop across it now.” Mr. +Hartagous was conscious of a vague icy touch that seemed to delineate +the course of his spinal column in successive shivers, for he was +remembering that he had noticed an unaccountable diagonal indentation +athwart the paper when it had been recently produced in court. + +The recital had been to Mr. Stanlett a tremendous nervous strain; the +old face began to quiver and the voice broke into whimpers, and the thin +hands were aimlessly fluttering. “And ’twas just like Faurie to set me +to search and never tell me for what nor where. ‘_Paper-writing!_’ have +looked—and looked—for the paper-writing,—and I have looked for _him_, +too, but I have never seen him since,—though—sometimes”—Mr. Stanlett +glanced furtively over his shoulder at the ascending flight of stairs—“I +have heard his step behind me as I went hunting—hunting—for the +‘paper-writing.’ If I had met him once on these dark stairs, I’d have +held on to him, dead or alive, till I got some data as to what and +where.” + +As the tall, thin figure wavered to and fro and seemed about to fall, +Bainbridge pushed hastily past Mr. Hartagous on the stair and offered a +supporting arm to the old gentleman. “Such tiresome times, Jerry +Bainbridge, that I have, to be sure. I need my sleep,—I need my night’s +rest,” he plained, looking out of the deep, pathetic, sunken eyesockets +of the aged: “to watch, and wait, and listen, and slip, and +search,—’twas mighty hard! And then to be heard, after all. To be +followed and spied out by this lawyer, and Desmond, and +you,—_Slip-Slinksy_!” he repeated with a repugnant mutter. + +Suddenly the light went out, leaving the whole in darkness. Mr. +Hartagous pressed the button in vain. “The battery is exhausted. It will +have to be recharged,” he remarked impersonally, as he turned on the +stair. + +Desmond was suddenly sensible of his position as quasi-host, and he felt +the Great Oaks traditions of hospitality had hardly been maintained in +the treatment that Mr. Hartagous had received on the stairs. “I will get +a candle immediately. There is a fire in the library still, Mr. +Hartagous; it has grown quite chilly. Perhaps you might care to have a +cigar there.” + +He addressed the unresponsive darkness apparently, in which, however, +the queer figure of Mr. Hartagous was scarcely invisible, so definitely +had it impressed itself upon the memory; but it was shuffling along very +systematically, for his voice came from out the gloom, far down the hall +and near his own door: “Thanks, thanks, very much; I will put on +something extra—I feel the change of the temperature—and join you +presently.” + +Mr. Stanlett was not altogether self-absorbed. “Why, Desmond, why don’t +you offer him a nightcap?” he called out genially, from the darkness of +the landing. “Make him mix you a toddy in the library, Hartagous. He +hasn’t got so little sense as you might think! He knows how to do that, +at any rate!” Then with a distressful quaver: “Take something, +Hartagous. You ain’t used to the Slip-Slinksy business like me. +_Slip-Slinksy_,—the very boys call me that!” And now again jocund, +though ever and anon his voice broke, “Do a little rummaging around in +the dining-room, Desmond, and see if you can’t put two and two +together,—a sandwich and a decanter.” + +“But won’t you join us, Mr. Stanlett,” demanded Desmond, cheerily, for +he judged from the diminishing distance of his voice that the old +gentleman was approaching on the arm of Bainbridge; but Mr. Stanlett +fell anew to whimpering, and said that he wanted to be in his bed, and +indeed in his grave, that ought to have been made long ago with him laid +at peace within it, for the days had come in which he could take no +pleasure and the nights in which he could take no rest. Then he broke +off, smartly to reprimand Bainbridge for stumbling, and pathetically +averred, “But I have had more practice in walking in the dark. My +conscience! I am familiar with the face of the night. Some terrible +features it has, too. It is made up of grimaces!” + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + +When Mr. Hartagous repaired to the library, he scarcely compared in +regard to apparel with the point-device Desmond, who was still in the +attire that he had worn at the somewhat formal dinner early in the +evening, but the guest’s aspect was far more conventional than during +the episode on the staircase. As he blew a refreshing whiff of cigar +smoke from his lips and allowed a second to curl in thin tendrils +through his nose, he sank deep in his easy chair and stretched out his +slippered feet luxuriously to the fire. They were now encased also in +natty black silk socks, which came well up under the trousers and hid +the ankles, erstwhile so frankly displayed. His hair had been hastily +brushed, and though he still wore no collar nor tie, his iron-gray +whiskers, parted and smoothed in his swift toilet, touched the edge of a +jaunty smoking-jacket, just donned, of quilted bronze silk faced with +cardinal red. He was more bland now than in his demeanor hitherto; +perhaps because of the genial influence of the decanter and glasses on +the library table, he had reached the conclusion that suavity was the +best method to enlist the good-will of the tutor, and throw his +influence in the household, which might be considerable, to the +advantage of the executor in effecting the sale of Great Oaks Plantation +and a pacific settlement under the terms of the codicil to the will. + +“Why, I had no idea that Mr. Stanlett had aged so much,—greatly broken!” +he remarked confidentially. “He is practically demented. Utterly +irresponsible! Did you note what he said about having hidden the +codicil? I wonder how long he has had it in his possession,—might +approximate the time by the duration of the tradition of the ghostly +footfall at Great Oaks.” + +“He couldn’t have had a nefarious intention, or he would have destroyed +the paper; yet he must have known how disastrous delay in producing it +would be to Mrs. Faurie’s interests,” argued Desmond, dispassionately. + +“You are reasoning like a sane man, but his course is insanity,” +rejoined Mr. Hartagous. “I suppose that the shock of the discovery +impaired his powers of discrimination. There must have been some earlier +cerebral lesion, some obscure affection of the brain, to which this +incident gave expression. His delusion is very curious,—the apparition +of Faurie; great verisimilitude in that character sketch,—I could almost +see him myself!” + +“What strikes me as amazing is that he should never have shared his +secret,—that he could guard his delusion and his search for a +‘paper-writing’ through so many years with so many narrow escapes from +detection,” said Desmond. + +“Well, insanity is essentially abnormal.” + +“He is insane in no other respect, apparently,” Desmond suggested. + +“This is a case of ‘the fixed idea,’” said Hartagous. “It is a good +thing that he is not legally responsible,—that is, if his possession of +the codicil was not also a delusion from the beginning.” + +“You think that possible?” said Desmond, with raised eyebrows. + +“Anything is possible in this connection. But it doesn’t matter,—he is +wholly irresponsible. Bad thing he has made out of it for Mrs. Faurie! +It will leave her practically stranded for life, unless indeed she +should make an advantageous second marriage, which I hope to heaven she +may.” + +“That is hardly likely,” said Desmond, with his eyes on the fire. + +Mr. Hartagous bent his bushy gray eyebrows in insistent argument. “And +why not? She is extremely beautiful, and the years literally make no +impression upon her. She is as young and as handsome as she was at +nineteen. And she is very fascinating, in the best sense of the word. A +very charming and delightful woman! Her piteous prospects in this change +have worried me no little. Indeed, that is doubtless the one hope,—an +advantageous second marriage. Among us we must try and save enough to +her out of the estate to put her in a position—temporary, of course—to +be able to make it,—go somewhere for a while, Memphis, or New Orleans, +or New York. Buried here in the woods, she will never see +anybody,—unless—unless—it were somebody slying around trying to buy +Great Oaks.” Mr. Hartagous paused reflectively. He was essentially a +business man, and could have succeeded signally in any line to which he +had devoted his energies; he was now unconsciously showing great +capacities to conduct a matrimonial agency. He let off a slow, +meditative whiff of smoke, holding his cigar in one hand as he looked +speculatively at the ceiling. “I wonder—I _do_ wonder—whether Loring +might not fill the bill! What a solution of the problem it would be, if +we could capture Loring!” + +“We don’t want him,” said Desmond, in evident repugnance. + +“Why not?” Mr. Hartagous bent his brows in a cogitating frown as he +surveyed the tutor. “Loring is a very worthy, honorable man, and +agreeable, apart from his money,—and Mrs. Faurie will have absolutely +nothing. He is a very brainy man, and of excellent moral character. I +should think he could make himself very acceptable. You think that Mrs. +Faurie would not marry him?” + +“I know she would not. In fact, Mrs. Faurie has promised to marry me,” +Desmond said succinctly. + +In the scope of humane protection there ought to be some restraint on +the administration of sudden shocks. The jerk, mental and moral, which +Mr. Hartagous experienced was as if a galvanic current had thrilled +through every sensibility. Even his physique was not exempt. As his hand +on the arm of the chair mechanically flew up, it struck his cigar +between his lips with such force as to break it in half, so that it hung +bent at right angles in his mouth as he sat upright and stared at the +tutor. + +Desmond wondered that he should have no qualms of conscience in thus +interposing an insurmountable obstacle to the fair haven to which Mr. +Hartagous was desirous of steering Mrs. Faurie’s future. But he only +felt elated, delighted, triumphant. He did not even resent the indignant +remonstrance, deprecation, amazement, in the executor’s face. + +“Did she intend really,” he demanded, in a low, tense, excited voice, +“to relinquish her fine income during widowhood,—under the will,—for +merely what amounts to her statute rights of dower—and _you_?” + +The tutor laughed aloud, so joyously, in such gay elation, that Worldly +Wisdom could but bend its brows anew. “She never had the opportunity. I +could not, I would not, ask her to relinquish anything for me. It was +only when she had nothing to lose that I offered my heart and hand,—only +this evening, in fact.” + +Mr. Hartagous leaned forward, the bent cigar still between his lips, to +survey the young man who, holding his own cigar between his finger-tips, +lightly touched off the ash and smilingly returned the mentor’s look. He +still smiled in imperturbable good-humor when Mr. Hartagous ejaculated, +as if involuntarily, from the depths of his conviction: “You—poor—fool!” + +“Thank you very much,” cried Desmond, in airy nonchalance. + +“My dear boy, she is ten years older than you—” + +“And she looks ten years younger,—but that is neither here nor there. I +am not marrying her for her beauty any more than for her money.” + +“Certainly not for that,” said Mr. Hartagous, sourly. “But Mrs. Faurie’s +friends will never consent to this; it would make her ridiculous in the +eyes of the world.” + +“If I may judge by what I have learned in my own experience of +friendship, as this world goes, Mrs. Faurie’s friends will let her very +severely alone as soon as they are informed of the state of her +exchequer. As to ridicule,—just as it happens, we do not care in the +least for that.” + +“But you must consider her sons,—the very children will protest.” + +“And they alone have the right,” Desmond admitted. And Mr. Hartagous +made a mental note to be early at their ear with crafty counsel. + +He again hesitated for a moment, with the bent cigar now in his hand. “I +know that you will not thank me for my interference,” he said gravely, +“but as a mutual friend,—yours as well as Mrs. Faurie’s,—a friend of the +family, indeed, I must remind you of your financial position. You know +that it was difficult to find foothold for yourself,—how can you support +an additional burden? I should be glad to advise Keith to continue you +in your present employment—” + +“I am beholden to you!” laughed Desmond. + +“But your common sense must show you that it would be untenable, +unsuitable. You know that the learned professions are not paid in +proportion to the equipment required and the talent employed. They ought +to be—and, in fact, they generally are—filled by men who could at a +pinch live by other resources. But what would _you_ do if you should +find no other opportunity?” + +“Snap my fingers in the faces of the Nine Muses and come down from +Olympus! I would do whatever fell to my hand. I would not now be so +choice, so exacting, so determined on pursuing the course that I had +laid out. If ‘letters’ are not for me, then I am not for ‘letters.’ I +will work at anything. I will dig in a ditch. I will turn wood-chopper. +I will ‘run the river.’” + +“You will make a success of whatever you turn your hand to; but ‘run the +river’—I hope you ain’t talkin’ of leavin’ us, Mr. Desmond.” +Bainbridge’s rough voice broke suddenly on the colloquy, as he entered, +hearing only the last words. “I don’t know how we would get on at Great +Oaks without you now.” Then, bethinking himself of his own insecure +tenure of office, his face clouded and his voice fell. “Well, gents,” he +continued, after a pause, “I have got old Mr. Stanlett resting easy, and +I believe I’ll finish out my yerrand here and take myself home. Mr. +Desmond, do you know if there was any of them sticks o’ giant powder +left here at the house after we blasted that last tangle?” For a recent +development of the dangers of the overflow was the approach of floating +débris dislodged from the inundated forests above, now merely drift +logs, and again gigantic trees, long since dead and easily overblown in +the high winds that had latterly prevailed. Sometimes they came slowly +slipping along the sluggish flood of the back waters, sometimes swiftly +hurtling, as if flung from a catapult, down the impetuous currents of +the mid-channel of the great river. Now they appeared singly, and again +entangled with other growths; and these fibrous masses, difficult of +disintegration, offered a menace in collision with boats or buildings, +which required all the ingenuity of the skilled in “fighting water” to +ward off. To climb upon the floating tree, insert a dynamite cartridge +in some convenient hollow, and speed off as fast as dugout might skim +and paddle ply before the explosion rent the floating mass asunder, +setting it adrift in hundreds of harmless fragments, had been found an +effective measure, though not without dangers of its own. + +Desmond said that he had reserved a few cartridges, which he had +deposited in an out-of-the-way place for safety. He laid his cigar on +the edge of the ash tray on the library table, searched one of the +drawers for a key, and as he left the room, he remarked that dynamite +was a commodity with which Mr. Bainbridge could not be too careful. + +“I ain’t going to set down on it, you can bet high on that!” the manager +observed, with the kind of laugh attributed to the horse, with less than +fair appreciation of equine manners. He slouched across the room in the +big boots which he had resumed, having drawn them over his trousers to +the knee according to his wont. His big hat was on the back of his +straw-tinted hair, for since Mrs. Faurie was not present, he recognized +no etiquette which required him to remove it, and he habitually wore it +indoors; he sunk into a large chair of the reclining variety, furnished +with a shelf at the side, which was available, turning on a pivot, for +either book-rest or writing-desk. As he quietly waited, he began to eye +Mr. Hartagous and his bent cigar, which was past all surgery. The lawyer +discarded it into the smoking-tray, and spoke to avoid a question +concerning it, for he realized that Mr. Bainbridge’s curiosity was +unrestricted and his tact slight. + +“They have made great changes here, Mr. Bainbridge,” he said, glancing +about the room,—“and yet there is no especial difference when you come +to examine,—a mere matter of rearrangement.” + +“Yes, sir,—yes, sir. The kids recite here now. But Mr. Desmond has a way +of putting his mark on things. This room reminds me only of him now, yet +I can remember a time when it was as good as a photo of Mr. Faurie. He +died here, you know,—and if I don’t forgit, it was in this very chair.” + +“Yes, yes,—of heart failure. Yes,—a good while ago,” Mr. Hartagous +replied, and fell silent. + +The whole house had become silent, too, once more. If Desmond were astir +in his search for the stick of dynamite, it was at a distance in the +rambling old building, for there was no token of movement far or near. +The clock on the mantelpiece was bringing the minute hand into +occultation by the hour hand on the dial, and the silver tale of +midnight presently rang out. The single log across the andirons, for it +had been a bright fire rather than a great one, had charred through by +the heat of the day’s embers below and presently fell apart, sending up +jets of sparks and tendrils of pungent smoke. Mr. Bainbridge rose and +nimbly kicked the ends together between the dogs, and as the flames of +the dry wood flared up cheerily, he returned to his seat, and seemed +disposed to moralize and favor Mr. Hartagous with his views on the +mutation of sublunary affairs. “But I useter never come in this room but +what I could fairly pictur’ Mr. Faurie sittin’ in this very chair. Lord! +what a power o’ pains he did give himself about that will o’ his and all +his papers, Mr. Hartagous. And to think! it’s all turned out as he would +have liked least. Not that I blame _you_, sir.” + +“No, of course not,” acceded Mr. Hartagous, promptly, conscious that his +position did not commend itself to the manager’s favor. + +“Being the executor, you have to do as the law requires. But little did +_he_ think that he was leaving his pretty young wife a share of—river +fog, to live off ’n all her days; no wonder it’s turned old Mr. +Stanlett’s brain! She has been like a daughter to him. Well, well,—I +don’t wonder that he thought he viewed Mr. Faurie up there amongst the +old papers in the blue room. Mr. Faurie lived amongst his papers those +few last weeks,—every lease, every lien, every mortgage, every +promissory note, was examined in expectation of the administration of +his estate. I useter look at him and wonder how he had the grit to fix +and fix his papers when he warn’t able to work, so feeble as he was. +He’d send for me as a subscribing witness in leases, and contracts, and +such,—me and the trained nurse; we witnessed a power o’ papers in those +last days. They mostly seemed short,—little matters hereabouts. The +important papers had been packed and sent to you in Memphis by that +time; but these were some renewals he had promised, and he canceled some +obligations he held. Mr. Faurie was not what a body would call a liberal +man,—he was rather strict: but he executed a release for old man Tynes, +whose debt wasn’t more than half paid out, and who was likely to ha’ +been sold up; and he give a quittance to old Sloper; and he acknowledged +a quitclaim deed on that tract o’ swampy woodland that that Irish +wood-chopper Jessop hadn’t paid scarcely any purchase money on—’tain’t +worth much, but ’twas riches to old Axe-helve; and he relinquished his +rights in that steamboat, the Swamp Lily, to Captain Cleek, for old +acquaintance’ sake; and he remembered the old niggers variously; and he +gimme my mule Lucy, finest mare mule I ever see, as good to-day as she +was then, and two hundred dollars in gold in a bag,—but _he_ didn’t care +to stand for liberal. He wouldn’t ha’ put such little extras into his +will for the public to know—indeed, no,—not for a pretty! He just +settled his gifts beforehand. And every paper was just so!—and they all +held together as tight as hell, except that will that he cared for more +than all the rest. Things turn out cur’ous, they do,—for a fact!” +Bainbridge shook his head drearily, and looked reflectively into the +fire. Great Oaks Plantation had been home to him for many a year, and he +was a man of scanty resources and narrow experience. He knew naught of +the world beyond, and he deprecated change. + +“Of course I didn’t know the contents of the papers then,” he presently +resumed his reminiscences. “I just heard about what they were in the +gossip after his death, and in fact a good many were put on record in +the court-house right away. I wasn’t expected to read ’em when he +executed them. All I did was to witness his signature.” With his +unemployed hands he drew before him the writing-shelf attached to the +arm of the chair and took the position of the scribe as he meditated, +drumming slightly on the wood with his fingers, that showed in their +blunt, roughened tips and broken nails the hand of the toiler. “Mr. +Faurie was a proud man,” he discriminated. “He didn’t openly admit that +death itself could down him. He only used to remark, ‘No man can say +that he will be here to-morrow, so I am setting some pressing affairs in +order.’ He said that to me on that last night, just about a half hour +before he died. Why, I hadn’t got home,—I was riding one of his +horses,—do you remember Indian Chief, and how fast he could rack?—I +hadn’t reached the willow slough when I saw the rocket go up at the +landing to signal the Swamp Lily as she passed to stop and take on the +orders for the funeral, you know.” + +“Yes,—oh, yes,” said Mr. Hartagous, hastily, reminded of ghastly +details. It was not a cheering subject; he had had a troublous day; he +had been awaiting Desmond’s return that he might have an additional word +with him in continuance of the discussion so suddenly sprung upon him; +but the tutor was long away, scarcely sustaining his reputation for +rummaging. The lawyer was about to comment with acerbity on the delay, +for he felt the need of his well-earned night’s rest, when he was struck +by the fidelity of the mimicry of voice and manner with which the +manager was reproducing the scene so often enacted here, so replete with +significance to all those whom these signatures concerned. “‘Witness my +hand and seal,—witness my hand and seal,’” he repeated more than once. +Then, with an imperative intonation, “‘Attest, Jeremiah Bainbridge. Sign +here.’” + +He glanced up with a mirthless laugh, and as he thrust the shelf away +from him the elastic strap of a portfolio, attached on the under side, +gave way in his rough handling and a flutter of papers slid from the +receptacle to the floor. + +“Look at me!” exclaimed Bainbridge, in contrition for the mischance. +“What’s these?—the kids’ exercises.” He read aloud in a droning voice: +“‘And when King Xerxes marched to the north he left’—a heap of confusion +behind him, I reckon!” he remarked facetiously, gathering up the flying +pages of writing, inscribed in a large, boyish hand, stopping now and +again to peruse quizzically the inapposite theme with a sort of relish +of its incongruity with the scene, the life, and the thought of to-day. + +Mr. Hartagous lent his aid. The accident was of a kind peculiarly +irritating to his prepossessions, and to his mind suggested the bull in +the china shop. He was less animated, however, by the desire to help the +worthy manager than to remove the débris and obviate thus any difficulty +which might otherwise prevent Mr. Bainbridge from getting himself away +immediately upon the return of Desmond with the stick of dynamite; Mr. +Hartagous was capable of wishing that this might blow the manager into +the Mississippi River, were there no other method of compassing his +speedy withdrawal. To preserve the juvenile work from destruction, since +several pages had flown within the big brass fender, he reached over it +and secured them from the hearth. Then, seating himself in the chair +just vacated by Bainbridge, who was now occupied in seeking fugitive +papers under the table, the sofa, the globes, Mr. Hartagous addressed +himself to replacing the pages in the portfolio. + +An awkward, old-fashioned device of desk arrangement, he thought it, for +the portfolio attached to the shelf swung beneath, leaving the upper +surface free for the writer’s needs, and it could only be drawn high +enough to receive or disburse papers by means of the elastic strap which +Bainbridge had burst. It now showed signs of letting the pages slip as +soon as restored; and saying with a note of tense vexation, “Where did +these belong, anyhow?—and how the devil does this go?” Mr. Hartagous +drew the despoiled receptacle up on top of the shelf to aid his +disposition of the collected sheets. As in most portfolios, the two +gaping pockets were obvious, but as he was about to stow the remaining +briefs concerning the Persian hero therein, another paper from an inner +slit in a different handwriting was brought to view. His face changed +sharply as he drew it forth, all unnoticed by Mr. Bainbridge, laughing +over the crude views of the boy’s work as he held a page to the lamp on +the table, his big teeth a-glimmer in the midst of his straw-tinted +beard, the big hat and broad shoulders thrown in a Brobdingnagian shadow +on the wall. + +“Will you give me your attention for a moment, sir,” Mr. Hartagous said, +in a low, repressed voice. “Is this your signature?” + +Bainbridge lumbered heavily forward in startled expectation. “By gum, it +sure is!” he cried, excited to fever heat. “And that is the last paper +which Mr. Faurie ever signed!” he added, leaning over to scan the +document. “I am sure of that, because Mr. Dabney witnessed it with +me,—’twas me and the trained nurse that always subscribed as witnesses +together, except this once. And just before I reached the willow slough +I seen the rocket go up at the landing to signal the death to the Swamp +Lily, that was just rounding the point off the Arkansas shore.” + +There were a few other papers with the document, a canceled note of +hand, a contract for the erection of buildings, a surveyor’s plat of +land, all memoranda of completed purpose, which had evidently been +returned. Mr. Hartagous was running them swiftly over, while +Bainbridge’s attention was focused upon his own scrawl as a subscribing +witness on the sheet on the portfolio. + +“I never thought of it again,” Bainbridge resumed; “and I suppose that +whoever set the room to rights after he was carried out of it must have +laid this away among the other papers in the portfolio and desk. He must +have intended to mail it with other inclosures,—that will that Mr. +Stanlett found, I reckon,—for see, here is a long, stamped envelope, +with six cents postage and an immejet delivery stamp.” Bainbridge held +it up to the light. “He must have weighed it with the inclosures,—but it +has got no address. I remember now that after Mr. Dabney and I had said +good-night to him and went out into the hall, I noticed the nigger +waiting at the library door, with the bag for Mr. Faurie’s mail, ready +to paddle in a dugout to the Swamp Lily just sighted nigh the point off +the Arkansas shore.” + +Mr. Hartagous was once more bending his bushy brows over the names of +the witnesses to the document. “And who is this other party?” he asked. + +“Mr. Dabney? Richard Dabney?—why, don’t you remember him? He used to run +a store near Great Oaks. The land it was built on fell into the river +not long after that, and he moved away. He was living in Arkansas the +last I heard of him, running a sawmill. He had come to Great Oaks +mansion that evening to inquire for Mr. Faurie, hearing that he had been +ailing,—in fact, he was taken with a short rigor while Mr. Dabney was +here. Mr. Faurie was still sitting in this chair when he wrote his name, +which he did easily enough, but he seemed very faint when he called upon +us to witness his signature, and pronounced the paper a little—little +coddle-shell, I think he called it, to his will. I never thought of it +since. I jus’ allowed it was some of his Tennessee business, because he +remarked sorter mumbling to himself, ’twas situated there and that he +s’posed this coddle-shell would take effect under the laws there, it +being his domicile, so to say, him being a resident o’ Nashville, and a +regularly qualified voter of Davidson County,—though shucks! we claimed +him here in the swamp country; he had been here so much at Great Oaks in +the winters, as his health declined. I haven’t thought of it since. As +he was always busy with his papers in them days, I didn’t taken any +special notice of the circumstance. Is it any account, particularly,—cut +any ice?” + +A codicil, indeed, it proved; and while affirming and republishing the +main testamentary provisions of the previous codicil, the testator made +the single change of giving to his widow all his personal property of +whatever sort,—in lieu of one fourth of it,—stocks, bonds, and some +hoards of special deposits in Tennessee banks; and though the vital +importance of this bequest was altogether unforeseen by the dying man, +the crucial emergency being far beyond the purview of his vicarious +precautions, it was evident that it would aggregate enough to solve the +refunding problem of Mrs. Faurie’s receipts from the estate. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + +It was a joyous household the next morning, and Mr. Hartagous genially +participated in the prevailing good cheer. He had very heartily +deprecated the hardships to be wrought by the execution of his duty, and +was thankful indeed that they were mitigated to the extent of the +benefactions of this codicil. Great Oaks under water, with valuable +machinery and livestock, miles of fencing and indispensable buildings, +to replace, was no boon in comparison with Mrs. Faurie’s former rich +endowments, but at all events it was not to fall to his lot to turn the +widow out of her shelter for the behoof of her young sons. Nevertheless, +he resolved to remonstrate very seriously with her against the proposed +marriage, and to stint himself no whit in forceful phraseology. + +He did not meet her at the breakfast-table, for he was late, owing to +the vigils of the preceding night, and when he presented himself to +partake of the matutinal meal, he found that she had already departed, +leaving him to the vicarious hospitality of Desmond, the jubilant Mr. +Stanlett, and the three boys with their shining morning faces. He +fortified himself with a good cigar after breakfast and a meditative +stroll upon the veranda in the fresh, breezy, summery day, intending +that his nerves should be well soothed and his tact whetted before he +should enter upon his delicate mission. + +The leafage of the wide-spreading grove was green and lush, and waved +gilded in the sunlight; hanging baskets, with trailing ferns and laden +with parti-colored foliage plants, swung in the arches between the +vine-draped columns of the veranda. If one could imagine one’s self +afloat, or in some Venetian entourage, the diluvian scene might have +seemed, instead of the dreariest expression of disaster, to have +elements of picturesque amphibious interest. What though the Arkansas +shore were withdrawn from view—there was not much of it visible in its +best estate!—and instead was an expanse of rippling sunlit sea of +indefinite bounds, of a richly tawny hue, and with enlivening and unique +incidents,—a couple of gayly whisking dugouts in the foreground, a +steamboat in the middle distance, puffing columns of curling smoke as in +the centre of the channel she steadily climbed the current, and in the +offing a white flash of sea-gulls, describing eccentric curves, +brilliant as stars against the depressed horizon, blue and hazy and +dimly discriminated. There was an absence of briny odors, which are not +always acceptable, however, and instead a pungent fragrance of bark came +from the inundated woods, and the honeysuckle twining about the +balustrade and bravely blooming from out the floods sent forth a subtile +and delicious perfume. + +“‘A life on the ocean wave,’” Mrs. Faurie exclaimed joyously, as he +turned a corner and came suddenly upon her. She had been rifling a wire +flower-stand that lifted its redundant growths against the wall of the +house, and she held in her hand a cluster of pink and white carnations. +As she stood in the blended sheen of the bland day and the refulgent +reflection of the blazing waters, she looked not unlike the bloom +itself. She had upon her head a wide hat of delicate pink organdy, the +brim variously bent and shirred and frilled, and her morning dress was +of sheer white lawn. He strove within himself to avoid its recognition +as the simplest toilet, such as any country girl might wear, for she +took no grace from it, but embellished its every suggestion. Her slim, +lissome figure lent it such distinction; the exquisite fairness of her +complexion was so emphasized by the unrelenting clarity of the tints of +her costume; the shoaling lights and shadows of her beautiful gray eyes, +her rich brown hair piled high amongst the carnation-like frills of the +hat, her delicate dewy lips, her dainty hand and arm and throat, all +were more assertive in their demand for homage in the simple not to say +stereotyped attire. And she looked scarcely twenty years old, as her +laughing, long-lashed eyes met his. + +“Can you keep your sea-legs in the contemplation of that weltering +main?”—she glanced at the waterscape. “Will you feel less as if in an +indigestible dream and more like a landlubber if I give you a +boutonnière?” She selected a very perfect carnation from the cluster, +and as she advanced to place it in the buttonhole of his coat, he caught +her hand with the flower in it. + +“I want to say something very serious to you,” he protested. “I want to +speak as freely to you as if you were my daughter.” + +She glanced up, gayly laughing. “Your sister, you should say.” + +He perceived his error,—on the very point of age, which was to be the +gravamen of his remonstrances! But he had unconsciously been allured by +her aspect,—as she looked scarcely twenty. + +“Well, hardly young enough to be my daughter, indeed,” he said craftily, +“though Desmond is really young enough to be my son. My dear madam, you +will make yourself a laughing-stock if you contemplate this marriage. +You ought to remember that you are ten years older than this boy.” + +“Should I mind that if he does not?” she queried, holding up the cluster +of carnations no fresher than the flush in her cheeks. + +“And now that, by the grace of God, you are to have Great Oaks +unincumbered, you will put him into the position of making a mercenary +marriage; he is sensitive on that score,—I can see that already,—though +of course he is glad that your future comfort is assured, however +meagrely in comparison with the old days.” + +“But ought we to consider the public,—if it will accord us so much +distinction as to gossip about us as a nine days’ wonder,—or only +ourselves, and our own mutual happiness?” She slipped the carnation into +his buttonhole and drew off, standing in her graceful slimness, her head +aslant, to observe the effect. + +“Ridicule deals a vicarious stab, which is peculiarly sharp. You should +consider your children, dear Mrs. Faurie,” he urged. + +“And I will,” she promised heartily. “Trust me for that! I will do +nothing contrary to their wishes.” + +He made no secret of his intentions. He turned at once. She stood +looking after him, smiling at his haste, as he went bustling down the +veranda to find the boys. His method of busy progression was not unlike +that of the puffing steamboat in the channel, bustling up the river. +Though he had no fear of her interference or adverse influence, he was +so impressed with the importance of his mission to enlist some potent +opposition to the marriage that he made no effort to enliven the +seriousness of the crisis with jocose preamble, in view of the juvenile +character of his interlocutors, or to minimize its significance. In +logical and definite fashion he set forth the fact and its aspect to the +world at large, with its effect on their mother’s future and their own, +in very unvarnished phrase. They silently heard him out, seated before +him in a row on the sofa in the front parlor, very attentive, and with +more friendly faces than he had heretofore seen them wear. + +“It rests with you three,” he said in conclusion, seeking to impress +them with a sense of their responsibility. “Your mother cares more for +you than she ever did or ever will for any man. She is the most maternal +woman I ever knew. You can prevent her from making a ridiculous +marriage,—a foolish marriage,—a disastrous marriage, that will bring +unhappiness upon everybody connected with it.” + +“Oh, no! Mr. Hartagous!” promptly responded the rosy and beaming Chub, +taking the pas, perhaps instinctively on the principle that the youngest +officer on a court-martial speaks first. “It is the very best thing that +we can do. Ever since I have found out that Mr. Desmond was going to +marry us, I have felt that we-all were so safe!” He gave himself an +affectionate little hug to express his sense of security. + +Horace administered a rude nudge with his elbow. “Nobody is going to +marry _you_!” he admonished his junior, shamefaced for the ignorance he +manifested. + +“Oh, yes,” protested Chub, wagging his round head, evidently having +mastered the situation; “when a gentleman marries a widow lady, he +marries the whole family!” + +“You certainly have an interest to consider,” said Mr. Hartagous, +gravely. “Your affection for your mother, your respect for your father, +ought to urge you to a course of discreet remonstrance,—nothing +unfilial, or likely to estrange you, but to prevent an absurd and most +unseemly marriage that must necessarily be, too, unhappy and +unfortunate.” + +“I don’t see it in that light, Mr. Hartagous,” said Horace, slowly. His +face had an intimation of precocious force, and there was even a +mutinous spark in the glance of his eye. His was the complex and +difficult disposition of the three brothers. His convictions were +obviously strong, and his opposition likely to be of a strenuous order. +Mr. Hartagous hearkened with an access of attention. “I don’t see it +that way. I think that Mr. Desmond cares more for her and for us than +anybody else ever will. I think his proposal when he had reason to think +her fairly bankrupt shows that he was willing to make every sacrifice +for her. Then look at him! Why, you are obliged to see that he is head +and shoulders above anybody—though he is not rich. But he is younger, +just as you say, though he does not _seem_ young. He is old in mind and +disposition. And Lord! the heaps he knows about everything! As to your +fear about what people will say,—well, _I_ have seen a lot of the world, +and it seems to me that if a certain kind of people don’t laugh at you +for one thing, they will for another. If you stay at home, they call you +‘a swamper’; if you travel abroad, they call you a ‘globe-trotter’; if +you dress well, they ridicule you as ‘a dude’; if you take it easy, they +say you are ‘tacky.’ _My_ idea is to go right ahead and do what you +think is right and properest, and—let them laugh! I’d hate to deny +myself anything good and valuable ’cause Mrs. Kentopp might giggle over +it.” + +“She left us out of her house-party,—and we ain’t dead yet!” said Chub, +banging the heels of his shoes back and forth against the sofa. + +Reginald took a deeper view. “I think, sir, that her happiness ought to +be considered first. She is young, after all is said, and has many years +yet to live, I hope. She ought to have her independence,—to be a free +agent! When I was in India, there had been a recent case of suttee way +off somewhere in some remote district,—I heard a great deal of talk +about it. People had supposed the practice was suppressed. And without +meaning any disrespect to my father’s will,—for I can understand how the +idea of a stranger in the family circle would influence a division of +property,—I always thought an objection to second marriage was a sort of +civilized suttee. As to Mr. Desmond, himself, I should prefer him as a +stepfather to all the world.” + +And thus Desmond was welcomed without a dissentient voice. + +At first Mrs. Kentopp, who might be taken as representing the gossips at +large, was so rejoiced that Great Oaks Plantation would not come +immediately on the market in competition with Dryad-Dene that it +mitigated the acerbity of her views, and although she twinkled and +dimpled much in commenting on the disparity in age and fortune and +prospects of the couple, her talk had not the rancor which it developed +later when Mr. Loring seemed indisposed to console himself with +Dryad-Dene, and gradually drew off without making any offer. + +A golden era of happiness had dawned on Great Oaks; the waters of the +overflow gradually disappeared, and during the brief interval of the +wedding journey Mrs. Kentopp drove over through the mud, bogging down +once or twice in the alluvial sloughs, on a tour of discovery, and +recounted with facetious distortions of effect afterward Chub’s simple +boastings in great pride as to the preparations that were making for the +reception of the couple on their return. Mr. Stanlett had designed and +supervised these, and was very important and happily busy. “I hope he +furnished the money to pay for the changes, for otherwise I don’t see +where it was to come from, for Desmond must have put all his pedagogic +savings in the expense of the bridal tour,” she jovially speculated. +Great Oaks was very judiciously embellished, and looked most genially +hospitable on the day of her visit, for the old man had a pretty fancy +and an accurate discrimination of the appropriate. + +“I always said there was another will or codicil, or, to be accurate, +‘paper-writing,’” he cheerily averred, as he handed Mrs. Kentopp into +her carriage. “This is not of course the provision that was intended for +Honoria, but it passes,—it passes fairly well, and Edward, my nephew, +Mr. Desmond, you know, does not care for money.” + +And when Mrs. Kentopp repeated this, she was wont to point out gayly the +incongruity of this statement with the fact that “Edward,” Mr. +Stanlett’s “nephew,” should have contrived to surround himself +comfortably with that useful commodity in a wife so well endowed and +three very rich stepsons, over whom he had now paramount influence. She +found much joy, also, in Horace’s simplicity in believing that the +sentimental interests between the two had been settled before the +discovery of the last codicil which had put a new aspect on the +financial status, and she sought to convince people in Deepwater Bend +and elsewhere that the comfortable estate, more than the phenomenal +beauty of the lady, had served to obviate the disadvantage of the +disparity of years. + +Prosperity supplemented happiness. There was a great crop of cotton +produced by the overflowed lands; the debts were finally settled; the +yacht was gone, indeed, when all was done, but the emeralds remained, +and the next carnival season the famous beauty blazed in all her wonted +splendor upon the old coterie in New Orleans which she had frequented in +her girlhood. But she soon became secondary in the household. Colonel +Desmond,—how Mrs. Kentopp laughed when that brevet of consideration was +added to him instinctively, insensibly by the community, addicted to the +bestowal of titles on those who so manifestly were entitled to the +insignia of supremacy,—in the serene quiet of the ensuing winter, found +in the desk of the library the scattered sheets of a manuscript which he +had written in his lonely leisure in the early days of his stay at Great +Oaks. He re-read it in surprise, and withal in self-conscious doubt, +then again with growing appreciation. He thought that he could not now +write its like. It had the concentrated strength of complete mental +isolation. It was the work of the seer,—one who stands apart and judges +justly without flinching, and it was instinct with the abstract truth. +Much of it was bitter like life, much of it was sad; but it apprehended +an unrealized purpose, a symmetry of design in life, a divine direction, +and it shadowed this forth. So unfamiliar had the work grown in the +lapse of time that he was flattered by the tone of its scholarship, its +evidences of close reasoning, deep learning, and wide scope of thought, +and the distinction of its literary style. For this reason he showed it +to his wife and the eldest of the stepsons, and straightway the +household clamor arose. Greatness unsolicited had knocked at their +doors! Fame had been busy all this time gathering laurels for their +brows. The younger sons, although uncomprehending, were equally elated, +and though Desmond laughed at them all, he let them have their will, and +he became grave and respectful toward their acumen when he read the +letter of the publisher to whom it was submitted. + +Mrs. Kentopp said later that its vogue—an absolutely unreadable book, on +all sorts of political conditions, for nobody had really read it—was +because a notable English statesman, very meddlesome with pen and ink, +had canvassed its positions in a London quarterly, duller, if possible, +and less read than the book itself, and another English quarterly had +published Desmond’s reply, and for some time the counter-arguments of +other political economists who found the work of vital interest caused +the effusion of much printers’ ink. And when the family went to London +the next year, Colonel Desmond was lionized in distinguished circles, +and was given an additional learned degree at a great English university +where he had taken one in his earlier youth. + +“Deepwater Bend is a literary centre now, and don’t you forget it, and +has its learned light,” Mrs. Kentopp dimpled, “though none of us of +course have read or ever will read the Great Book.” + +But even Mrs. Kentopp’s flings were destined to disregard and +discontinuance. A javelin, however skillfully aimed, must needs have a +point to take effect. “I don’t think there seems a disparity in age,” a +stranger in a social company had dubiously replied to her delighted +mention of the ten years’ difference. “Colonel Desmond does not look so +much as ten years older.” + +And after the company’s somewhat mischievous burst of laughter had shown +their comprehension of her intention and hopelessly mystified the +stranger, who could not imagine what had been said amiss, Colonel +Kentopp had taken occasion to admonish his wife in private. “You do +yourself no good, Annetta, by harping on that woman’s age. People will +only think you carping and jealous.” + +And, indeed, Desmond was fast growing older and graver. Other books had +succeeded the first; and while they added distinction in differing +degrees, they added, too, the marks of thought on brow and mien. Now the +light always burned late from the library window on the water-side, and +the river pilots counted its faint, far glow in their midnight bearings. +Often they pointed it out with pride to some passenger admitted to the +wheel-house, seeing it shining with a sort of stellular isolation amidst +the darkling riparian forests of Great Oaks, and repeated the titles of +his volumes, although perhaps, like Mrs. Kentopp, they had read none of +the works. + +But this was really not the illuminated hour of the library, the time of +its signal triumph. Regularly every afternoon when the western sunlight, +striking in long, slanting bars athwart it, turned from burnished gold +to ethereal, hazy red, his wife appeared, and seated one on each side of +the fire in true Darby-and-Joan fashion, as Kentopp’s prophetic eye had +long ago beheld them from the veranda, Desmond read aloud the result of +his day’s labor, while her beautiful, listening, reflective eyes dwelt +on the coals and his voice filled the quiet spaces of the scholastic old +room. She never criticised. She gave no word of applause. She offered no +monition of advice. When he laid down the papers and their eyes met, her +comment was always the same. + +“What did I tell you long, long ago, the first afternoon that you and I +ever sat here before the fire?” + +“Why, that I ought to write for publication,—to write books.” + +“And what did you say?” + +“Well,” he always laughed as he replied,—“that I couldn’t,—that I was +not capable of it.” + +“Then,” she was wont to solemnly rejoin, while her eyes danced with joy +and mirth and pride, “do you never _dare_ to contradict me again as long +as you live.” + + + + + =The Riverside Press= + CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS + U . S . A + + + + + BOOKS BY + + “=Charles Egbert Craddock=” + + (MARY N. MURFREE) + + + _NOVELS AND STORIES_ + + THE FAIR MISSISSIPPIAN. With frontispiece. Square crown 8vo, $1.50. + + THE FRONTIERSMEN. Crown 8vo, $1.50. + + A SPECTRE OF POWER. 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