Unity held her to her and wept. "O Jacqueline!--O Jacqueline!"

"You put on the blue gown to remind me, didn't you?" asked Jacqueline.

"I didn't need any reminding, dear. It is all with me, all the old, frank, happy days; all the time when I was a girl and we used to sit, just you and I, by my window and watch the stars come out between the fir branches! And I love you all, every one of you. And I do not blame Fairfax Cary. It is destiny, I think, with us all. But I want you to know--and you can tell them that, too,--that there is one whom I love beyond every one else, beyond life, death, fear, anguish, meeting, and parting. Loving him so, and not despairing of a life to come when we are all washed clean, my dear, when we are all washed clean--"

Her voice broke and she moved again to the window. The clock ticked, the sun came dazzling in, a fly buzzed against the pane. Jacqueline turned.

"Tell them that they are all dear to me, but that my home is here with my husband. Tell them that Lewis Rand--that Lewis Rand"--She put her hands to her breast. "No. I have not power to tell you that--not yet, not yet! But this I say--my uncles were soldiers, and they fought bravely and witnessed much, but I have seen a battlefield"--She shuddered strongly and brought her hands together as if to wring them, then let them fall instead and turned upon her cousin a face colourless but almost smiling. "It is strange," she said, "what pain we grow to call Victory. Let's talk of it no more, Unity." She caressed the other's hand, raised it to her lips, and kissed it.

"I did not come to stay," said Unity brokenly. "You had rather be alone.

The evening is falling and they look for me at home. When you call me, I will come again. Are you sure--are you sure, Jacqueline, that you understand what they--what they sent me to say?"

"I understand enough," said Jacqueline, in a very low voice, and kissed her cousin upon the brow.

CHAPTER XL

THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR

Rand closed the heavy ledger. "It is all straight," he said.

"It's as straight as if 'twas a winding-up forever," answered Tom. "Are you going home now?"

"Yes."

"There's almost nothing on the docket. I've seen no such general clearance since you began to practise and took me in. You say you're going to refuse the Amherst case?"

"I have refused it."

"Then," quoth Tom, "I might as well go fishing. The weather's right, and every affair of yours is so cleaned and oiled and put to rights that there's nothing here for a man to do. One might suppose you were going a long journey. If you don't want me to-morrow, I'll call on old Mat Green--"

"Don't go fishing to-morrow, Tom," said Rand from the desk, "but don't come here either. Stay at home with Vinie."

"You won't be coming in from Roselands?"

"I won't be coming here." Rand left the desk and stood at the small window where the roses were now in bloom. "I shall send you a note, Tom, to-morrow morning. It will tell you what"--He paused for a moment. "What comes next," he finished. "There will be a message in it for Vinie." He turned from the window. "I am going home now."

"It's a good time for a holiday," remarked Tom, "and you needn't tell me that you don't need it, Lewis! I'll lock up and go to the Eagle for a while. What are you looking for?"

"Nothing," answered the other. "I was looking at the room itself. I always liked this office, Tom."

As he pa.s.sed, he touched his subaltern upon the shoulder. There was fondness in the gesture. "Good-bye," he said, and was gone before Tom could answer.

Outside, in the bloom and glow of the May evening, he mounted Selim and rode out of the town. The people whom he met he greeted slightly, but with no change of manner which they afterwards could report. It was sunset when he pa.s.sed the last houses, and turned toward the west and his own home. He rode slowly, with his eyes upon a great sea of vivid gold. By degrees the brightness faded, changing to an amethyst, out of which suddenly swam the evening star. The land rose into hills, the summits of the highest far and dark against the cold violet of the sky.

From the road to Roselands branched the road to Greenwood. It was dusk when horse and rider reached this opening. Selim had come to know the altered grasp upon the rein just here, and now, according to wont, he fell into the slower pace. Rand turned in his saddle and looked across the darkening fields to the low hill, crowned with oaks, from which arose the Greenwood house. He gazed for a full minute, then spoke to his horse and they went on at speed. A little longer and he was at the gates of home.

His wife met him upon the doorstone. "I heard you at the gate--"

He put his arm around her. "What have you been doing all the long day?"

"I worked," she answered, "and saw to the house, and read to Hagar at the quarter. She's going fast. How tired your voice sounds! Come into the light. Supper is ready--and Mammy Chloe has said a charm to make you sleep to-night."

They went indoors to the lighted rooms. "You are wearing your amethysts," said Rand, "and the ribbon in your hair--"

She turned upon him a face exquisite in expression. "They are the jewels that you like--the ribbon as I wore it long ago. Come in--come in to supper."

The brief meal ended, they returned to the drawing-room. Rand stood irresolutely. "I have yet a line to write," he told her. "I will do it here at your desk. When I have finished, Jacqueline, then there is something I must say."

He sat down and began to write. She moved to the window, then restlessly back to the lighted room and sat down before the hearth, but in a moment she left this, too, and moved again through the room. She pa.s.sed her harp, and as she did so, she drew her hand across the strings. The sweet and liquid sound ran through the room. Rand turned. "I have not heard,"

he said, in a low voice,--"I have not heard that sound since--since last August. Will you sing to me now?"

She touched the harp again. "Yes, Lewis. What shall I sing?"

He rose, walked to the window, and stood with his face to the night.

"Sing those verses you sang that night at Fontenoy"; then, as she struck a chord, "No, not To Althea--the other."

She sang. The n.o.ble contralto, pure, rich, and deep, swelled through the room.

"The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine"--

Her voice broke and her hands dropped from the strings. She rose quickly and left the harp. "I cannot--I cannot sing to-night. The air is faint--the flowers are too heavy. Come out--come out to the wind and the stars!"

Without the house the evening wind blew cool, moving the long branches of the beech tree, and rustling through the gra.s.s. To the west the mountains showed faintly, in the valley a pale streak marked the river.

The sky was thick with stars. Behind them, through the open door, they heard the tall clock strike. "I did not tell you," said Jacqueline, "of all my day. Unity was here this afternoon."

"Unity!"

"Yes. For an hour. She came with--with messages. My uncles send me word that they love me, and that Fontenoy is my home always--as it used to be. Whenever I wish, I am to come home."

"What did you answer?"

"I answered that they were all dear to me, but that my home was here with you. I told Unity to tell them that--and to tell it, too, to Fairfax Cary."

There was a silence; then, "It does not matter," said Rand slowly.

"Whether it is done my way, or whether it is done his way, Fairfax Cary will not care. He is concerned only that it shall be done. You understood the message, Jacqueline?"

She answered almost inaudibly. "Yes, I understood."

"Seven months--and Ludwell Cary lies unavenged. I have been slow. But I had to break a strong chain, Jacqueline. I had fastened it, link by link, around my soul. It was not easy to break--it was not easy! And I had to find a path in a desert place."

She bowed her head upon her arms. "Do I not know what it was? I have seen--I have seen. O Lewis, Lewis!"

"It is broken," he said, "and though the desert is yet around me, my feet have found the path. To-morrow, Jacqueline, I give myself up."

She uttered a cry, turned, and threw herself into his arms. "To-morrow!

O Love!"