"Are you hungry now, dear?" Judge Roscoe asked disconsolately, after telling him that he must wait till morning.

"If you have such a thing as the photograph of a chicken about you, I should be glad to see it," Julius murmured demurely.

Judge Roscoe bent down and kissed him good night on the forehead, then turned to pick his way carefully among the debris of the old furniture.

Soon he had reached the stairway, and noiseless as a shadow he flitted down the flight.

The young officer lay for a while intently listening, but no stir reached his ear; naught; absolute stillness. For a long time, despite his fatigue, the change, the pleasant warmth, the soft luxury of the feather-bed, would not let him slumber. He was used to the canopy of heaven, the chill ground, the tumult of rain; the sense of a roof above his head was unaccustomed, and he was stiflingly aware of its propinquity. Nevertheless he contrasted its comfort with his own recent plight and that of his comrades a few miles away, lying now asleep under the security of their camp-guards, some still in the mud of the trenches, all on the cold ground, shelterless, half frozen, half starved, ill, dest.i.tute, but fired with a martial ardor and a zeal for the Southern cause which no hardship could damp, and only death itself might quench. As he gazed about at the grotesqueries of the great room, now in the sheen of the moon, and now in the shadow of the cloud, he thought how little he had antic.i.p.ated finding the enemy here ensconced in his place in his father's house, a convalescent, "the son of an old friend, of whom we have all grown very fond." He raged inwardly at the destruction of his cherished plans wrought by the mere presence of the Federal officer. The joy of his visit was brought to naught. Dangerous as it would have been under the best auspices, its peril was now great and imminent. Instead of the meeting his thoughts had cherished,--the sweets of the stolen hours at the domestic fireside, with the dear faces that he loved, the dulcet voices for which he yearned,--he was to skulk here, undreamed of, like some unhappy ghost haunting a lonely place, fortunate indeed if he might chance to be able to make off elusively after the fashion of the spectral gentry, without becoming a ghost in serious earnest by the event of capture, or catching the pistol ball of the Yankee officer. So much he had risked for this visit--life and limb!--and to be relegated to the surplusage of the garret, the loneliness, the desolate moon, the deserted dust of the unfrequented place! He was to approach none of them--none of the hearthstone group!

There was to be no joyous greeting, no stealthy laughter, no interchange of loving words, and clasps, and kisses. He was still young; his eyes filled, his throat closed. But that shadowy glimpse of his dear father--he had had that boon!

"I'll remember it, if I bite the dust in the next skirmish. And the question is to get away--for the next skirmish!"

Once more he fell to studying mechanically the grouping of the archaic, disordered furniture; the shifting of the shadows amongst it as a cloud sped by with the wind; the spare boughs of a bare aspen tree etched on the floor by the moon, shining down through the high windows; and that melancholy orb itself, suggestive of a futile vanished past, a time forgotten, and spent illusions, the familiar of loneliness, and the deep empty hours of the midnight--itself a spectre of a dead planet, haunting its wonted pathway of the skies. When its light ceased to fill his l.u.s.trous, contemplative eyes he did not know, but as the moon pa.s.sed on to the west, his melancholy gaze had ceased to follow.

CHAPTER VI

Joy came in the morning when the raven alighted. The "two-faced Ja.n.u.s"

was wreathed in smiles, bent double with chuckles, and tears of delight sparkled in his eyes.

"How dee is growed!" he whispered cautiously. "Mannish now, fur true.

Gawd! de han'somest one ob de fam'ly!" For, with the refreshment of sleep and the substance, not merely the similitude, of fried chicken, waffles, and coffee, Julius, in the gray uniform of a first lieutenant, made a very gallant show despite the incongruities of the piled-up lumber of the old garret. He had a keen, high, alert profile, his nose a trifle aquiline; his complexion was fair and florid; his eyes were a fiery brown, his hair, of the same rich tint, was now and again tossed impatiently backward, the style of the day being an inconvenient length, for it was worn to hang about the collar. He had a breezy, offhand, impetuous manner, evidently only bridled in by rigorous training to decorous forms, and he stood six feet one inch in his stockings, taller now by one inch more in his boots, which the old servant had helped him to draw on. "Lawd-a-ma.s.sy! dis de baby?" cried the old negro, admiringly, still on his knees, contemplating the young officer as he took a turn through the apartment with his straight-brimmed cap on his head and his hand on his sword. "'Fore Gawd, whut sorter baby is dis yere--over six feet high?"

"Wish I was a baby for about two hours, Uncle Ephraim! You could carry me 'pickaback' through the Yankee lines!"

"Hue-come ye run dem lines, Ma.r.s.e Julius? I reckon, dough, you hatter see Miss Leonora," said the discerning old darkey. "'Fore de Lawd, she hed better be wearin' dem widder's weeds fur de good match she flung away in you 'stead o' fur dat ar broken-necked man whut's daid, praise de Lamb!"

If Julius joined in this pious thanksgiving, he made no outward sign. He only flushed slightly as he asked constrainedly, "Is she wearing mourning yet?"

"Yes, sah, to be sh.o.r.e. Dis yere Yankee man, whut ole Marster an' de 'ladies' an' all invited to stay yere, he is gwine round Miss Leonora mighty smilin' an' perlite an' humble. Dat man behaves lak he is mos'

too modes' ter say his prayers! 'Anything ye got lef' over, good Lawd, will do Baynell, especially a lef'-over widder 'oman!' Dat's his pet.i.tion ter de throne ob grace!"

Oh, double-faced Ja.n.u.s!--now partisan of the Rebel, erstwhile so friendly with "de Yankee man."

"Ef 'twarn't fur him, yer Pa could come up yere an' smoke a _see_gar an'

talk, an' Miss Leonora an' de ladies mought play kyerds wid dee wunst in a while, wid dem blinds kept closed."

"He isn't such an awful Tartar, is he, Uncle Ephraim?" said Julius, plaintively, allured by this picture. "Wouldn't he wink at it, if he missed them or heard voices, or caught a suspicion of my being here?

They have been so good to him--and I am doing nothing aggressive--only visiting the family."

"_Lawsy--Lawsy--Lawsy-ma.s.sy, no! No!_" cried Uncle Ephraim, in extreme agitation and with the utmost emphasis of negation. "Dat man is afflicted wid a powerful oneasy conscience, Ma.r.s.e Julius!"

And he detailed with the most convincing and graphic diction the disaster that had befallen the too-confiding Acrobat.

Julius was very definitely impressed with the imminence of his peril.

"The son of Belial!" he exclaimed in dismay.

"Naw sah,--_dat_ ain't his daddy's Christian name," said Uncle Ephraim, ingenuously. "'Tain't Benial!--dough it's mighty nigh ez comical. Hit's '_Fluellen_'--same ez dis man's. I hearn ole Marster call it--but what you laffin' at? Dee bed better come out'n dat duck-fit! Folks can hear ye giggling plumb down ter de Big Gate!"

He was constrained to take himself downstairs presently, lest he be missed, although longing to continue his discourse. His caution in his departure, his crafty listening for sounds from below before he would trust his foot to the stair, his swift, gliding transit to the more accustomed region of the second story, the art he expended in concealing in a dust cloth the bowl in which he had conveyed "the forage," as Julius called it--all were eminently rea.s.suring to the man who stood in such imminent peril for a casual whim as he gazed after "the raven's"

flight.

Solitary, silent, isolated, the day became intolerably dull to the young soldier as it wore on. He dared not absorb himself in a book, although there were many old magazines in a case which stood near the stairs, for thus he might fail to note an approach. Once he heard the treble babble of two of the "ladies" and the strange, infrequent harsh tone of the deaf-mute, and he paused to murmur, "Bless their dear little souls!"

with a tender smile on his face. And suddenly, his attention still bent upon the region below stairs, so unconscious of his presence above, there came to him the full, mellow sound of a stranger's voice, a well-bred, decorous voice with a conventional but pleasant laugh; and then, both in the hallway now, Leonora's drawling contralto, with its cantabile effects, her speech seeming more beautiful than the singing of other women. The front door closed with a bang, and Julius realized that they had gone forth together. He stood in vague wonderment and displeasure. Was it possible, he asked himself, that she really received this man's attentions, appeared publicly in his company, accepted his escort? Then, to a.s.sure himself, he sprang to the window and looked out upon the grove.

There was the graceful figure of his dreams in her plain black bombazine dress worn without the slightest challenge to favor, the black c.r.a.pe veil floating backward from the ethereally fair face, the glittering gold-flecked brown hair beneath the white ruche, called the "widow's cap," in the edge of her bonnet. Her fine gray eyes were cast toward the house with a languid smile as the "ladies" tapped on the pane of the library window and signed farewell. Beside her Julius scanned a tall, well-set-up man in a blue uniform and the insignia of a captain of artillery, with blond hair and beard, a grave, handsome face, a dignified manner, a presence implying many worldly and social values.

This walk was an occasion of moment to Baynell. The opportunity had arisen in the simplest manner.

There was to be the funeral of a friend of Judge Roscoe's in the neighborhood, and at the table he had been arranging how "the family should be represented," to use his formal phrase, for business necessitated his absence.

"But I will walk over with _you_, Leonora, although I cannot stay for the services. I will call by for you later."

It was natural, both in the interests of civility and his own pleasure, that Baynell should offer to take the old gentleman's place, urging that an officer was the most efficient escort in the unsettled state of the country; and, indeed, how could they refuse? He, however, thought only of her acceptability to him. Apart from her beauty he had never known a woman who so conformed to his ideals of the appropriate, despite the grotesque folly of her blighted romance. It was only her n.o.bility of nature, he argued, that had compa.s.sed her unhappiness in that instance.

The graces of her magnanimity would not have been wasted on him, he protested inwardly. He appreciated that they were fine and high qualities thus cast before swine and ruthlessly trampled underfoot. She herself had lacked in naught--but the unworthy subject of the largess of her heart.

It was Baynell who talked as they took their way through the grove and down the hill. Now and again she lifted her eyes, murmured a.s.sent, seemed to listen, always subacutely following the trend of her own reflections.

He would not intrude into the house of affliction, being a stranger, he said, and therefore he strolled about outside during the melancholy obsequies, patiently waiting till she came out again and joined him. She seemed cast down, agitated; he thought her of a delicately sensitive organization.

"How familiar death is becoming in these war times!" she said drearily, when they were out of the crowd once more and fairly homeward bound.

"There was not one woman of the hundred in that house who is not wearing mourning."

She rarely introduced a topic, and, with more alacrity than the subject might warrant, he spoke in responsive vein on the increased losses in battle as arms are improved, presently drifting to the comparison of statistics of the mortality in hospitals, the relative chances for life under sh.e.l.l or musketry fire, the destructive efficacy of sabre cuts, and the military value of cavalry charges. The cavalry fought much now on foot, he said, using the carbine, but this reduced the efficiency of the force one-fourth, the necessary discount for horse-holders; he thought there was great value in the cavalry charge, with the unsheathed sabre; it was like the rush of a cyclone; only few troops, well disciplined, could hold their ground before it; thus he pursued the subject of cognate interest to his profession. And meantime she was thinking only of these women, mourning their dead and dear, while she--the hypocrite--wore the garb of the bereaved to emphasize her merciful and gracious release. She wondered how she had ever endured it, she who hated deceit, a fanciful pose, and the empty conventions, she who did not mourn save for her lost exaltations, her wasted affection, the hopeless aspirations--all the dear, sweet illusions of life! Perhaps she had owed some compliance with the customs of mere widowhood, the outward respect to the status. Well, then, she had paid it; farther than this she would not go.

The next morning as Captain Baynell took his seat at the breakfast-table she was coming in through the gla.s.s door from the parterre at one side of the dining room, arrayed in a mazarine blue mousseline-de-laine flecked with pink, a trifle old-fashioned in make, with a bunch of pink hyacinths in her hand, their delicate cold fragrance filling all the room.

Even a man less desirous of being deceived than Baynell might well have deduced a personal application. He was sufficiently conversant with the conventions of feminine attire to be aware that this change was something of the most sudden. His finical delicacy was pained to a certain extent that the casting off her widow's weeds could be interpreted as a challenge to a fresh romance. But he argued that if this were for his encouragement, surely he should not cavil at her candor, for it would require a bolder man than he to offer his heart and hand under the shadow of that swaying c.r.a.pe veil. Nevertheless when his added confidence showed in his elated eyes, his a.s.sured manner, she stared at him for a moment with a surprise so obvious that it chilled the hope ardently aglow in his consciousness. The next instant realizing that all the eyes at the table were fixed on her blooming attire, noting the change, she flushed in confusion and vexation. She had not counted on being an object of attention and speculation.

Judge Roscoe's ready tact mitigated the stress of the situation.

"Leonora," he said, "you look like the spring! That combination of sky-blue and peach-blow was always a favorite with your aunt,--French taste, she called it. It seems to me that the dyes of dress goods were more delicate then than now; that is not something new, is it?"

"Oh, no; a worn-out thing, as old as the hills!" she answered casually.

And so the subject dropped.

It was renewed in a different quarter.

Old Ephraim was sitting on the floor in the garret, while his young master, adroitly balanced in a crazy arm-chair with three legs, was sc.r.a.ping with a spoon the bottom of the bowl that had contained "the forage."

Julius made these meals as long as he dared, so yearning he was for the news of the dear home life below, so tantalized by its propinquity and yet its remoteness. He was barred from it by his peril and the presence of the Federal officer as if he were a thousand miles away. But old Ephraim came freshly from its scenes; from the table that he served, around which the familiar faces were grouped; from the fireside he replenished, musical with the voices that Julius loved. He caught a glimpse, he heard an echo, through the old gossip's talk, and thus the symposium was prolonged. The old negro told the neighborhood news as well; who was dead, and how and why they died; who was married, and how and when this occurred; what ladies "received Yankee officers," for some there were who put off and on their political prejudices as easily as an old glove; what homes had been seized for military purposes or destroyed by the operations of war.

"De Yankees built a fote on Ma.r.s.e Frank Devrett's hill," he remarked of the home of a relative of the Roscoes.

"Which side," demanded the boy; "toward the river?"

"Todes de souf."