"What! with n.o.body but the servants?"

"They will take better care of me than anybody else. Nellie, and Andrew, and John are the only guardians I want in your absence. They have watched over me all my life, and they will do it to the end. Give yourself no trouble, sir, on my account."

"I suppose your Uncle Eric will be home before long; he can stay here till I come back--or--till the troubles are over. In the meantime, you could be with the Harrises, or Hendersons, or Mrs. Churchill."

"No, sir; I can stay here, which is infinitely preferable on many accounts.

I will, with your permission, invite Mrs. Campbell to shut up the parsonage in her husband's absence, and remain with me till Uncle Eric returns. I have no doubt that she will be glad to make the change. Do you approve the plan?"

"Yes. That arrangement will answer for the present, and Arnold will be here to take care of you."

At the close of a week a telegraphic dispatch was received, informing Mr.

Huntingdon of his appointment as major in the provisional army of the Confederacy and containing an order to report immediately for duty.

Having completed his arrangements, and ordered the carriage to be in readiness at daylight next morning to convey him to the depot, he bade her good night much as usual, and retired to his own room.

But thought was too busy to admit of sleep. He turned restlessly on his pillow, rose, and smoked a second cigar, and returned, to find himself more wakeful than ever. The clock downstairs in the library struck one; his door opened softly, and, by the dim moonlight struggling through the window, he saw Irene glide to his bedside.

"Why don't you go to sleep, Irene?"

"Because I can't. I am too miserable."

Her voice was dry, but broken, faltering.

"Father, the future is dark and uncertain; and I feel that I want an a.s.surance of your entire reconciliation and affection before you go. I came here to say to you that I deeply regret all the unfortunate circ.u.mstances of my life which caused you to treat me so coldly for a season--that if in anything I have ever seemed obstinate or undutiful, it was not because I failed in love for you, but from an unhappy difference of opinion as to my duty under very trying circ.u.mstances. Father, my heart ached very bitterly under your estrangement--the very memory is unutterably painful. I want your full, free forgiveness now, for all the trouble I have ever occasioned you. Oh, father! give it to me!"

He drew her close to him, and kissed her twice.

"You have my forgiveness, my daughter--though I must tell you that your treatment of poor Hugh has been a continual source of sorrow and keen disappointment to me. I never can forget your disobedience in that matter.

I do not believe you will ever be happy, you have such a strange disposition; but since you took matters so completely in your own hands, you have only yourself to reproach. Irene, I very often wonder whether you have any heart--for it seems to me that if you have, it would have been won by the devotion which has been lavished on you more than once. You are the only woman I ever knew who appeared utterly incapable of love; and I sometimes wonder what will become of you when I am dead."

"G.o.d will protect me. I look continually to His guardianship. I won't keep you awake any longer, as you have a tedious journey before you. Good night, my dear father."

She kissed him tenderly and left him, closing the door softly behind her.

A spectral crescent moon flickered in the sky, and stars still burned in the violet East, when the carriage drove to the door, and Irene followed her father to the steps.

Even in that dim, uncertain grey light he could see that her face was rigid and haggard, and tears filled his cold, brilliant eyes as he folded her to his heart.

"Good-bye, Beauty. Cheer up, my brave child! and look on the bright side.

After all, I may come back a brigadier-general, and make you one of my staff-officers! You shall be my adjutant, and light up my office with your golden head. Take care of yourself till Eric comes, and write to me often.

Good-bye, my dear, my darling daughter."

She trembled convulsively, pressing her lips repeatedly to his.

"Oh, may G.o.d bless you, my father, and bring you safely back to me!"

He unwound her arms, put her gently aside, and stepped into the carriage.

William, the cook, who was to accompany him, stood sobbing near the door, and now advancing, grasped her hand.

"Good-bye, Miss Irene. May the Lord protect you all till we come back."

"William, I look to you to take care of father, and let me know at once if anything happens."

"I will, Miss Irene. I promise you I will take good care of master, and telegraph you if he is hurt."

He wrung her hand, the carriage rolled rapidly away, and the sorrow-stricken, tearless woman sat down on the steps and dropped her head in her hands.

CHAPTER XXVII

HOSPITAL STORES

To those who reside at the convulsed throbbing heart of a great revolution, a lifetime seems compressed into the compa.s.s of days and weeks; and men and women are conscious of growing prematurely old while watching the rushing, thundering tramp of events, portentous with the fate of nations. W---- presented the appearance of a military camp, rather than the peaceful manufacturing town of yore. Every vacant lot was converted into a parade-ground--and the dash of cavalry, the low, sullen rumbling of artillery, and the slow, steady tread of infantry, echoed through its wide, handsome streets. Flag-staffs were erected from public buildings, private residences, and at the most frequent corners, and from these floated banners of all sizes, tossing proudly to the balmy breeze the new-born ensign of freedom--around which cl.u.s.tered the hopes of a people who felt that upon them, and them only, now devolved the sacred duty of proving to the world the capacity of a nation for self-government.

W---- gave her young men liberally; company after company was equipped, furnished with ample funds by the munificence of citizens who remained, and sent forward to Virginia, to make their b.r.e.a.s.t.s a shield for the proud old "Mother of Presidents." The battle of Bethel was regarded as part of an overture to the opera of Blood, yclept "Subjugation," and people watched in silence for the crimson curtain to rise on the banks of the Potomac.

Russell Aubrey had succeeded in raising a fine full company for the war, as contra-distinguished from twelve-months volunteers; and to properly drill and discipline it, he bent all the energy of his character. It was made the nucleus of a new regiment; recruits gathered rapidly, and when the regiment organized, preparatory to starting for Virginia, he was elected colonel, with Herbert Blackwell for lieutenant-colonel, and Charles Harris was appointed adjutant. They were temporarily encamped on the common between the railroad depot and Mr. Huntingdon's residence, and from the observatory or colonnade Irene could look down on the gleaming tents and the flag-staff that stood before the officers' quarters. _Reveille_ startled her at dawn, and _tattoo_ regularly warned her of the shortness of summer nights. As the fiery carriage-horses would not brook the sight of the encampment, she discarded them for a time, and when compelled to leave home rode Erebus at no slight risk of her life--for he evinced the greatest repugnance to the sound of drum or fife.

One afternoon she went over to the Row, and thence to the factory. A new company had been named in honour of her father; uniforms and haversacks were to be furnished, and Mr. Huntingdon had entrusted her with the commission. Selecting the cloth and accomplishing her errand, she returned by way of the orphan asylum, whose brick walls were rapidly rising under her supervision. One of the workmen took her horse, and she went over the building, talking to the princ.i.p.al mechanic about some additional closets which she desired to have inserted. Dr. Arnold chanced to be pa.s.sing, but saw Erebus at the gate, stopped, and came in.

"I was just going up the Hill to see you, Queen--glad I am saved the trouble. Here, sit down a minute; I will clear the shavings away. When did you hear from Leonard?"

"I had a letter yesterday. He was well, and on outpost duty near Mana.s.sas."

"Well, I shall join him very soon."

"Sir?"

"I say I shall join him very soon; don't you believe it? Why shouldn't I serve my country as well as younger men? The fact is, I am going as surgeon of Aubrey's regiment."

She looked at him, betraying neither surprise nor regret.

"When will you leave W----?"

"Day after to-morrow morning; can't get transportation any sooner. Aubrey has received orders to report at once to General Beauregard. Child, have you been sick?"

"No, sir. I am glad you are going with the regiment; very glad. Every good surgeon in the Confederacy should hasten to the front line of our armies.

Since you leave home, I am particularly glad that you are going to Mana.s.sas, where you can be near father."

He mused a moment, watching her furtively.

"I suppose you have heard of the performance for to-morrow?"

"No, sir. To what do you allude?"

"The daughter of Herodias is preparing to dance."