The Fanatics/Chapter 17
CHAPTER XVII
WHEN LOVE STANDS GUARD
What surprised Walter when the morning brought with waking a review of the night's happenings, was that Emily, simple Emily, who had never had a love affair in her life that he knew, should have discovered to him his own secret. Or maybe she had discovered nothing that really existed at the time. Perhaps the train had been laid, the fuse set, and her remark only been the match to set the whole agoing. However, it made no Matter at all how or when it happened. It was true. Now to let Dolly know. It was remarkable how soon and how easily all his fears and misgivings had disappeared. It was as if this state of exultation had been waiting for him and he had but to step into it. Why had he delayed so long?
The days that followed were filled with softer sounds than the sounds of war, and doings that had no shadow or show of the harshness of the camp. Walter, dazzled by the glory of the new world that had opened up before him, forgot the hardness of his lot, forgot, perhaps, even the deeper sympathy that should have gone from him to the men in the field—for love is a jealous mistress. He walked and rode much with his sweetheart, by the grass-grown bridle paths and under the ancient trees. His heart sang a song to hers, and hers replied in kind. Emily, like a good sister, knew when to be judiciously absent, and Dolly understood all that he would say to her long before he dared speak.
It was not until the warm southern November was painting the hills and valleys that he told her of his love and his hope.
"It seems, somehow, Dolly, that I have no right to speak to you, placed as I am, but what am I to do? The message beats at my heart until at times I think you must hear it. I love you and have loved you from the very first night that we met."
"Are you sure?" she asked quietly, but with just a suspicion of mirth.
"I was never surer of anything in my life."
"Did you always know that you loved me?"
"I did not always say it to myself as I say it now, sometimes tremblingly, sometimes with exultation, but I must always have known it, else why should your lightest word have had the power of making me happy or miserable?"
They were walking slowly over the crisp pine needles in the copse not far from the house. She drew closer to his side, and her hand slipped into his.
"Poor Walter," she said, "I used to make you miserable. I never wanted to do that because———"
"Because?" he said eagerly.
"Because I do love you."
He took her in his arms and held her close to him. His head bowed humbly.
"What am I to be worthy of this?" he said at last.
"You are Walter, my Walter, my hero."
Even in that moment of ecstasy he winced at the word hero. He was not of the material of which heroes are made and he knew it. But he would not shadow their happiness now. Let her think well of him if she could. Later, he would try to deserve her, and after all, what man is so good, so upright as the woman who loves him believes?
Later, when the deep solemnity of the first betrothal had given way to a gayer mood, she asked him, "What will my Virginia friends say to my marrying a Yankee?"
"What can they say when you are more than half Yankee yourself?"
"I declare I'm not. I'm Southern clear through."
He took her hands and laughed down into her eyes. "No, you're not. You're just—just a woman, and I'm only a man and we're both more lovers than anything else, so let your friends say what they will," and the answer seemed to satisfy her. Walter, himself, was very well satisfied, and when two young people are perfectly satisfied with themselves and each other, the world is shut from their vision, and time trips a merry pace.
"Let us keep our sweet secret for awhile," she said when the lengthening shadows warned them that it was time even for a lover's tête-à-tête to be done.
"Let us," he assented, "if we can. It seems so much more our own, but, can we?"
"Oh, I can, I know, and you can of course, for it's only women who are untrustworthy with secrets."
"Yes, that's true, but there are secrets and secrets. There never was such a one as this before, so we have no foundation upon which to make a conclusion."
"You are a goose," she said, and then paid him for being one. Walter was right though. They went into supper and had not been at table five minutes before every one knew. Something in their faces or manner or the way they played with the food, laughed inconsequently, cast glances at each other, told more plainly than words what had happened. Love had put on them his subtle sign.
Of course, Walter being a man, thought that he was carrying off his part with wonderful grace and shrewdness. But when Emily teased Dolly as they were passing out on the veranda, the newly betrothed hid her blushing face and cried, "Oh, Emily, how did you know?"
It was within a few days after this that reports began to come to the residents in and about Fairfax of the presence of guerillas, foraging and marauding bands in the neighborhood and frequently greatly exaggerated accounts were given of their depredations. Walter heard them all with a sinking at the heart for the safety of his betrothed. She was alone there with only three or four black servants in whose valor or faithfulness he had little or no belief. The first night or two that the rumors were current, he contented himself with getting to horse, and in silence and secrecy patroling the road in front of the Etheridge cottage. Nothing occurred, but as the rumors grew darker, his state of mind became more perturbed and he decided upon more vigorous measures. But Dolly's danger had not occurred to him alone, and before he could break the subject to his sister, she had come to him with a troubled face.
"Walter," she said, "won't you excuse me—I—haven't been spying on you, but I've guessed where you've been the last two nights."
A thrill half of shame and half of pride in himself shook him.
"Well, wasn't I right, Emily?" he asked.
"Of course, you were, for the time being; but do you think it is enough? You know we had word from Miss Mason that the guerillas visited her place last night and if it hadn't been for the servants they would have been rude or worse. Now Dolly is poor and has so few negroes about her."
"Well, what can we do?"
"I wouldn't trust those black folks anyhow, since they've got notions of freedom in their heads."
"Nor I, but I can't go over there and stay."
"Dolly could come here."
"Would she? Do you think she would?"
"Of course she would. Mother and I both agree that this is altogether the best plan, and we wondered if you'd mind riding over for her to-night."
"Would I mind?"
The tone was quite sufficient, and nothing more was needed to be said.
The moon was at the full, and flooded the landscape with silvery light when accompanied by Sam, a slave boy to whom he had become greatly attached, and bearing the invitation from his mother and sister, Walter set out for Dolly's house. For a time they went their way in silence, and then Sam, with the uncontrollable desire of his race for lyric expression broke into a song that woke the echoes. The young man, he was hardly yet a master, even in his thoughts, listened with pleasure, until he saw a dark form beside the road rise up, gaze at them for a moment, and then disappear into the surrounding wood.
"Sh," said Walter, without mentioning what he had seen, "I don't believe I'd sing any more, Sam. There's no telling what we might start up."
"Wisht to de Lawd it 'ud be a 'possum," said Sam, chuckling with easy familiarity, but he hushed his song.
"If we started up anything, it might not be something so pleasant for you as a 'possum."
"Not pleasant fu' me," replied Sam, "huh uh, you do' know dis hoss."
"So you'd leave me, would you, you rascal? Well, you're a great one."
"'Spec's I'd have to leave you ef I couldn't tek you erlong."
As they approached their destination, Walter suddenly drew rein and laid his hand on his companion's bridle. He pointed quickly and silently to the form of a man clearly outlined in the moonlight. He was standing at the front of the cottage window attempting to peer into the room through a crack between the lower blind and the sill. So intent was he upon his spying that he had not noticed the approach of the others.
"Dismount here," said Walter, "and tie the horses under the shadow of that mulberry tree. I believe there's mischief going on."
The negro did as he was bidden and hastened back to his companion's side, just as the intruder walked up and began knocking at the door. After some delay, the voice of a negro from within, questioned, "Who's dat?"
"Never mind," was the answer, "you open up."
The silent watcher was breathless with interest, but he kept cool enough to say, "Sam, you slip around to the cabins, and rouse what negroes you can. Be ready for whatever happens, for there's no telling how many of them there are." Without a thought of his joke about desertion, Sam slipped away, leaping across the moonlit places from shadow to shadow while Walter crept nearer to the man at the door.
It had not been opened, but a negro came from a side entrance and confronted the intruder.
"Why don't you open the door?" was the harsh question fired at the dark Cerberus.
"Well, suh, I didn't jes' know who you was, an' I t'ought mebbe I could tell you whutevah you wanted to know."
"It's none of your damn business who I am. I'm here in the name of the law, and you'd better open up all-fired quick or it'll be the worse for you."
The negro went back around the house and in a few minutes the door opened. As he passed the light, Walter saw that he wore the uniform of a Confederate officer. The door closed behind him, but Stewart becoming spy in turn, came near enough to hear what was said within.
"Where is your mistress?" in the officer's voice.
"She done retahed, suh."
"Tell her I wish to see her."
"She done retahed."
"Very well, let her get up. Tell her that her brother is supposed to be skulking within the lines, and that I am sent to search the house for him."
"You kin such de house."
"I shall begin with her room."
"Dey is no one in huh room, but huh, suh."
"How dare you talk back to me, you black hound?"
The harsh voice was suddenly checked, and then Walter heard another that made his heart leap within his throat.
"Never mind, Mingo," it said, "I am out of my room now. Lieutenant Forsythe," went on Dolly calmly, "you are at liberty to begin there now, and search where you please." The tone reeked with scorn.
"You will go with me," was the reply.
"A trusted servant may accompany you."
"You will go with me, I said."
"As you will, lieutenant, but this is the way you pay your scores—come when there is no man in the house save a servant, to take revenge for a woman's no."
"We will not discuss that matter now, Miss Etheridge."
Walter had pushed the door open and he saw that the man's face went red and white at Dolly's words. He saw too, the fierce eyes of the black servant fixed on Forsythe, and for one instant, he wondered if he were needed. In the next, he had flung the door open and stepped into the room. Every eye turned upon him, and he said clearly, "And why, Lieutenant Forsythe, must the lady go with you?"
"Oh, Walter," Dolly cried, and then checked. herself with a sigh of relief. The lieutenant was livid.
"And who in hell are you?" he asked in a tense voice.
"I am Walter Stewart, at your service, lieutenant."
"The paroled Yankee, eh? Oh, I see," he said in a tone that put murder in Walter's heart. "It is thus that you are protected, Miss Etheridge?"
"You may go on with your search, lieutenant, that you have a perfect right to do, but Miss Etheridge, protected or not, will not leave this room."
The two men stood glaring into each other's faces, while Mingo, relaxed from his vigilance, was chuckling in a corner. On a sudden, there was a rush of feet without, and four brawny men sprang into the room. The open door and the loud voices had attracted Forsythe's minions, who had been placed at a convenient distance. The lieutenant smiled grimly as his men surrounded Walter.
"I reckon, Mr. Stewart," he said with a sneer, "that you'll go a bit slower now."
"I'm not so sure of that, lieutenant," said Walter, and as he spoke, four negroes, led by Sam, and bearing stout clubs swept into the room. The soldiers, if such the ragged guerillas, whom Forsythe had taken as his accomplices could be called, were completely taken by surprise, and wilted as the threatening blacks, now man to man lined up beside them.
While the disappointed officer stood there chewing his mustache with rage, Walter had time for a few reflections upon the fidelity of a people whom he so little trusted because their fidelity militated against themselves, and it settled something in his mind that made his eyes flash and his lips press close together.
"You may proceed with your search now, lieutenant," said Dolly sweetly.
"It is unnecessary now. I suppose our bird has flown, and I shall not put myself to the trouble of searching your empty rooms."
"Are you sure that you did not know before you came, lieutenant, that you would not find my brother here?"
"I am sure that I have found out some things that I did not know before," he answered, glancing meaningly at the girl's protector. And then, the devil, which is in every man, became strong in Walter. It overcame him. His fist shot out, and Lieutenant Forsythe's lips spilled blood. The officer's eyes grew green and his hand went quickly to his holster, and then, the veneering that had cracked and shown the brute in him, closed again, and wiping the blood from his month, he said with the calmness of intense anger, "What this calls for, Mr. Stewart, is entirely beyond the limits of my present official duty. Will you grant me the pleasure of a few minutes' private conversation?" They stepped outside and a brief whispered conversation ensued. They were equally placid when they returned.
"Attention! about face! forward, march!" and without further word or sign, Forsythe and his minions marched away.
"Follow them quietly, Sam, and see that they are up to no mischief, and you, Miss Etheridge, get your things on, for you must go with me." He had forgotten all about the formal invitation.
"When is it to be?" she asked in reply.
He would have tried to evade, but she looked at him so steadfastly and earnestly that he could not.
"To-morrow morning," he said simply, " but it is to be taken up as a merely personal matter, so I beg that you say nothing about it. Now go."
She pressed his hand quickly.
"Come 'long, Miss Dolly," said Mingo, still chuckling with glee, "hyeah 'Mandy stan'in' behime de do' wid a flatiron. I reckon ef Mas' Stewa't hadn' 'a' come, she'd a' to' dat game roostah up 'fo' I could a' said Jack Robinson."
When Sam had returned and reported all well, they got to saddle and started on their way, two of the negroes mounting and coming behind to prevent treachery. Dolly and Walter rode side by side, and Sam, who rode before, had neither eyes nor ears.
"Do you really believe he was looking for Nelson?" she asked.
"Do you?"
"Oh, Walter, he has a grudge, and he is relentless. He proposed to me once, and he has pursued me ever since."
"For that reason, if no other, I shall try to kill him to-morrow," and the shadow being convenient, he kissed her.
There was some commotion in the house when the party reached home, and the story was told in its entirety. But nothing save praise fell to Walter's lot for his action. Dolly respected his wishes and said nothing of the impending duel, though her heart ached for her lover.
"I shall see you before you go in the morning," she said when they were alone for a moment before parting that night.
"I shall be leaving very early, before you are up."
"Before I am up! Walter, what can you be thinking of me? Why, I shall not go to bed."
"You must, dear, for I shall, and I shall sleep well."
"As you say, but I shall see you in the morning, nevertheless."
Walter called Sam to him as he went up to his room.