CHAPTER X. IN JUDGE WHIPPLE'S OFFICE
After this Virginia went to the Judge's bedside every day, in themorning, when Clarence took his sleep. She read his newspapers to himwhen he was well enough. She read the detested Missouri Democrat, whichI think was the greatest trial Virginia ever had to put up with. To haveher beloved South abused, to have her heroes ridiculed, was more thanshe could bear. Once, when the Judge was perceptibly better, she flungthe paper out of the window, and left the room. He called her backpenitently.
"My dear," he said, smiling admiration, "forgive an old bear. A selfishold bear, Jinny; my only excuse is my love for the Union. When you arenot here, I lie in agony, lest she has suffered some mortal blow unknownto me, Jinny. And if God sees fit to spare our great country, the daywill come when you will go down on your knees and thank Him for theinheritance which He saved for your children. You are a good woman, mydear, and a strong one. I have hoped that you will see the right.That you will marry a great citizen, one unwavering in his service anddevotion to our Republic." The Judge's voice trembled with earnestnessas he spoke. And the gray eyes under the shaggy brows were alight withthe sacred fire of his life's purpose. Undaunted as her spirit was, shecould not answer him then.
Once, only once, he said to her: "Virginia, I loved your father betterthan any man I ever knew. Please God I may see him again before I die."
He never spoke of the piano. But sometimes at twilight his eyes wouldrest on the black cloth that hid it.
Virginia herself never touched that cloth to her it seemed the shroudupon a life of happiness that was dead and gone.
Virginia had not been with Judge Whipple during the critical week afterStephen was brought home. But Anne had told her that his anxiety wasa pitiful thing to see, and that it had left him perceptibly weaker.Certain it was that he was failing fast. So fast that on some daysVirginia, watching him, would send Ned or Shadrach in hot haste for Dr.Polk.
At noon Anne would relieve Virginia,--Anne or her mother,--andfrequently Mr. Brinsmade would come likewise. For it is those who havethe most to do who find the most time for charitable deeds. As the hourfor their coming drew near, the Judge would be seeking the clock, andscarce did Anne's figure appear in the doorway before the question hadarisen to his lips--"And how is my young Captain to-day?"
That is what he called him,--"My young Captain." Virginia's choice ofher cousin, and her devotion to him, while seemingly natural enough,had drawn many a sigh from Anne. She thought it strange that Virginiaherself had never once asked her about Stephen's condition and she spokeof this one day to the Judge with as much warmth as she was capable of.
"Jinny's heart is like steel where a Yankee is concerned. If her bestfriend were a Yankee--"
Judge Whipple checked her, smiling.
"She has been very good to one Yankee I know of," he said. "And as forMrs. Brice, I believe she worships her."
"But when I said that Stephen was much better to-day, she swept out ofthe room as if she did not care whether he lived or died."
"Well, Anne," the Judge had answered, "you women are a puzzle to me. Iguess you don't understand yourselves," he added.
That was a strange month in the life of Clarence Colfax,--the lastof his recovery, while he was waiting for the news of his exchange.Bellegarde was never more beautiful, for Mrs. Colfax had no whim ofletting the place run down because a great war was in progress. Thoughdevoted to the South, she did not consecrate her fortune to it. Clarencegave as much as he could.
Whole afternoons Virginia and he would sit in the shaded arbor seat;or at the cool of the day descend to the bench on the lower tier ofthe summer garden, to steep, as it were, in the blended perfumes of theroses and the mignonettes and the pinks. He was soberer than of old.Often through the night he pondered on the change in her. She, too, wasgrave. But he was troubled to analyze her gravity, her dignity. Was thismerely strength of character, the natural result of the trials throughwhich she had passed, the habit acquired of being the Helper andcomforter instead of the helped and comforted? Long years afterward thebrightly colored portrait of her remained in his eye,--the simple linengown of pink or white, the brown hair shining in the sunlight, thegraceful poise of the head. And the background of flowers--flowerseverywhere, far from the field of war.
Sometimes, when she brought his breakfast on a tray in the morning,there was laughter in her eyes. In the days gone by they had been alllaughter.
They were engaged. She was to be his wife. He said it over to himselfmany, many times in the day. He would sit for a space, feasting his eyesupon her until she lifted her look to his, and the rich color floodedher face. He was not a lover to sit quietly by, was Clarence. And yet,as the winged days flew on, that is what he did, It was not that shedid not respond to his advances, he did not make them. Nor could he havetold why. Was it the chivalry inherited from a long life of Colfaxes whowere gentlemen? Not wholly. Something of awe had crept into his feelingfor her.
As the month wore on, and the time drew near for him to go back to thewar, a state that was not quite estrangement, and yet something verylike it, set in. Poor Clarence. Doubts bothered him, and he dared notgive them voice. By night he would plan his speeches,--impassioned,imploring. To see her in her marvellous severity was to strike him dumb.Horrible thought! Whether she loved him, whether she did not lovehim, she would not give him up. Through the long years of their livestogether, he would never know. He was not a weak man now, was ClarenceColfax. He was merely a man possessed of a devil, enchained by the powerof self-repression come upon her whom he loved.
And day by day that power seemed to grow more intense,--invulnerable.Among her friends and in the little household it had raised Virginia toheights which she herself did not seem to realize. She was become themistress of Bellegarde. Mrs. Colfax was under its sway, and doublymiserable because Clarence would listen to her tirades no more.
"When are you to be married?" she had ventured to ask him once. Nor hadshe taken pains to hide the sarcasm in her voice.
His answer, bringing with it her remembrance of her husband at certaintimes when it was not safe to question him, had silenced her. AddisonColfax had not been a quiet man. When he was quiet he was dangerous.
"Whenever Virginia is ready, mother," he had replied. Whenever Virginiawas ready! He knew in his heart that if he were to ask her permissionto send for Dr. Posthelwaite to-morrow that she would say yes. Tomorrowcame,--and with it a great envelope, an official, answer to Clarence'sreport that he was fit for duty once more. He had been exchanged. Hewas to proceed to Cairo, there to await the arrival of the transportIndianapolis, which was to carry five hundred officers and men fromSandusky Prison, who were going back to fight once more for theConfederacy. O that they might have seen the North, all those brave menwho made that sacrifice. That they might have realized the numbers andthe resources and the wealth arrayed against them!
It was a cool day for September, a perfect day, an auspicious day, andyet it went the way of the others before it. This was the very fulnessof the year, the earth giving out the sweetness of her maturity, thecorn in martial ranks, with golden plumes nodding. The forest stillin its glory of green. They walked in silence the familiar paths, andAlfred, clipping the late roses for the supper table, shook hiswhite head as they passed him. The sun, who had begun to hurry on hissouthward journey, went to bed at six. The few clothes Clarence was totake with him had been packed by Virginia in his bag, and the two werestanding in the twilight on the steps of the house, when Ned came aroundthe corner. He called his young mistress by name, but she did not hearhim. He called again.
"Miss Jinny!"
She started as from a sleep, and paused.
"Yes, Mr. Johnson," said she, and smiled. He wore that air of mystery sodear to darkeys.
"Gemmen to see you, Miss Jinny."
"A gentleman!" she said in surprise. "Where?"
The negro pointed to the lilac shrubbery.
"Thar!"
"What's all this nonsense, Ned?"
said Clarence, sharply: "If a man isthere, bring him here at once."
"Reckon he won't come, Marse Clarence." said Ned, "He fearful skeered obde light ob day. He got suthin very pertickler fo' Miss Jinny."
"Do you know him?" Clarence demanded.
"No sah--yessah--leastwise I'be seed 'um. Name's Robimson."
The word was hardly out of his mouth before Virginia had leaped down thefour feet from the porch to the flower-bed and was running across thelawn toward the shrubbery. Parting the bushes after her, Clarence foundhis cousin confronting a large man, whom he recognized as the carrierwho brought messages from the South.
"What's the matter, Jinny?" he demanded.
"Pa has got through the lines," she said breathlessly. "He--he came upto see me. Where is he, Robinson?"
"He went to Judge Whipple's rooms, ma'am. They say the Judge is dying. Ireckoned you knew it, Miss Jinny," Robinson added contritely.
"Clarence," she said, "I must go at once."
"I will go with you," he said; "you cannot go alone." In a twinkling Nedand Sambo had the swift pair of horses harnessed, and the light carriagewas flying over the soft clay road toward the city. As they passed Mr.Brinsmade's place, the moon hung like a great round lantern underthe spreading trees about the house. Clarence caught a glimpse of hiscousin's face in the light. She was leaning forward, her gaze fixedintently on the stone posts which stood like monuments between thebushes at the entrance. Then she drew back again into the dark cornerof the barouche. She was startled by a sharp challenge, and the carriagestopped. Looking out, she saw the provost's guard like black cardfigures on the road, and Ned fumbling for his pass.
On they drove into the city streets until the dark bulk of the CourtHouse loomed in front of them, and Ned drew rein at the little stairwaywhich led to the Judge's rooms. Virginia, leaping out of the carriage,flew up the steps and into the outer office, and landed in the Colonel'sarms.
"Jinny!"
"Oh, Pa!" she cried. "Why do you risk your life in this way? If theYankees catch you--"
"They won't catch me, honey," he answered, kissing her. Then he held herout at arm's length and gazed earnestly into her face. Trembling, shesearched his own. "Pa, how old you look!"
"I'm not precisely young, my dear," he said, smiling. His hair wasnearly white, and his face scared. But he was a fine erect figure of aman, despite the shabby clothes he wore, and the mud-bespattered boots.
"Pa," she whispered, "it was foolhardy to come here. Why did you come toSt. Louis at all?"
"I came to see you, Jinny, I reckon. And when I got home to-night andheard Silas was dying, I just couldn't resist. He's the oldest friendI've got in St. Louis, honey and now--now--"
"Pa, you've been in battle?"
"Yes," he said.
"And you weren't hurt; I thank God for that," she whispered. After awhile: "Is Uncle Silas dying?"
"Yes, Jinny; Dr. Polk is in there now, and says that he can't lastthrough the night. Silas has been asking for you, honey, over and over.He says you were very good to him,--that you and Mrs. Brice gave upeverything to nurse him."
"She did," Virginia faltered. "She was here night and day until her soncame home. She is a noble woman--"
"Her son?" repeated the Colonel. "Stephen Brice? Silas has done nothingthe last half-hour but call his name. He says he must see the boy beforehe dies. Polk says he is not strong enough to come."
"Oh, no, he is not strong enough," cried Virginia. The Colonel lookeddown at her queerly. "Where is Clarence?" he asked.
She had not thought of Clarence. She turned hurriedly, glanced aroundthe room, and then peered down the dark stairway.
"Why, he came in with me. I wonder why he did not follow me up?"
"Virginia."
"Yes, Pa."
"Virginia, are you happy?"
"Why, yes, Pa."
"Are you going to marry Clarence?" he asked.
"I have promised," she said simply.
Then after a long pause, seeing her father said nothing, she added,"Perhaps he was waiting for you to see me alone. I will go down to seeif he is in the carriage."
The Colonel started with her, but she pulled him back in alarm.
"You will be seen, Pa," she cried. "How can you be so reckless?"
He stayed at the top of the passage, holding open the door that shemight have light. When she reached the sidewalk, there was Ned standingbeside the horses, and the carriage empty.
"Ned!"
"Yass'm, Miss Jinny."
"Where's Mr. Clarence?"
"He done gone, Miss Tinny."
"Gone?"
"Yass'm. Fust I seed was a man plump out'n Willums's, Miss Jinny. He wasa-gwine shufflin' up de street when Marse Clarence put out after him,pos' has'e. Den he run."
She stood for a moment on the pavement in thought, and paused on thestairs again, wondering whether it were best to tell her father. PerhapsClarence had seen--she caught her breath at the thought and pushed openthe door.
"Oh, Pa, do you think you are safe here?" she cried. "Why, yes, honey, Ireckon so," he answered. "Where's Clarence?"
"Ned says he ran after a man who was hiding in an entrance. Pa, I amafraid they are watching the place."
"I don't think so, Jinny. I came here with Polk, in his buggy, afterdark."
Virginia, listening, heard footsteps on the stairs, and seized herfather's sleeve.
"Think of the risk you are running, Pa," she whispered. She would havedragged him to the closet. But it was too late. The door opened, and Mr.Brinsmade entered, and with him a lady veiled.
At sight of Mr. Carvel Mr. Brinsmade started back in surprise. How longhe stared at his old friend Virginia could not say. It seemed to her aneternity. But Mrs. Brice has often told since how straight the Colonelstood, his fine head thrown back, as he returned the glance. Then Mr.Brinsmade came forward, with his hand outstretched.
"Comyn," said he, his voice breaking a little, "I have known you thesemany years as a man of unstained honor. You are safe with me. I ask noquestions. God will judge whether I have done my duty."
Mr. Carvel took his friend's hand. "Thank you, Calvin," he said. "I giveyou my word of honor as a gentleman that I came into this city for noother reason than to see my daughter. And hearing that my old friend wasdying, I could not resist the temptation, sir--"
Mr. Brinsmade finished for him. And his voice shook.
"To come to his bedside. How many men do you think would risk theirlives so, Mrs. Brice?"
"Not many, indeed, Mr. Brinsmade," she answered. "Thank God he will nowdie happy. I know it has been much on his mind."
The Colonel bowed over her hand.
"And in his name, madam,--in the name of my oldest and best friend,--Ithank you for what you have done for him. I trust that you will allow meto add that I have learned from my daughter to respect and admire you. Ihope that your son is doing well."
"He is, thank you, Colonel Carvel. If he but knew that the Judge weredying, I could not have kept him at home. Dr. Polk says that he must notleave the house, or undergo any excitement."
Just then the door of the inner room opened, and Dr. Polk came out. Hebowed gravely to Mrs. Brice and Mr. Brinsmade, and he patted Virginia.
"The Judge is still asleep," he said gently. "And--he may not wake up inthis world."
Silently, sadly, they went together into that little room where somuch of Judge Whipple's life had been spent. How little it was! Andhow completely they filled it,--these five people and the big Rothfieldcovered with the black cloth. Virginia pressed her father's arm as theyleaned against it, and brushed her eyes. The Doctor turned the wick ofthe night-lamp.
What was that upon the sleeper's face from which they drew back? Asmile? Yes, and a light. The divine light which is shed upon thosewho have lived for others, who have denied themselves the lusts of theflesh, For a long space, perhaps an hour, they stayed, silent save fora low word now and again from the Doctor as he felt the Judge's heart.Tableaux from the past floated
before Virginia's eyes. Of the old days,of the happy days in Locust Street, of the Judge quarrelling with herfather, and she and Captain Lige smiling nearby. And she remembered howsometimes when the controversy was finished the Judge would rub his noseand say:
"It's my turn now, Lige."
Whereupon the Captain would open the piano, and she would play the hymnthat he liked best. It was "Lead, Kindly Light."
What was it in Silas Whipple's nature that courted the pain of memories?What pleasure could it have been all through his illness to look uponthis silent and cruel reminder of days gone by forever? She had heardthat Stephen Brice had been with the Judge when he had bid it in. Shewondered that he had allowed it, for they said that he was the onlyone who had ever been known to break the Judge's will. Virginia'seyes rested on Margaret Brice, who was seated at the head of the bed,smoothing the pillows The strength of Stephen's features were in hers,but not the ruggedness. Her features were large, indeed, yet stanch andsoftened. The widow, as if feeling Virginia's look upon her, glanced upfrom the Judge's face and smiled at her. The girl colored with pleasure,and again at the thought which she had had of the likeness betweenmother and son.
Still the Judge slept on, while they watched. And at length the thoughtof Clarence crossed Virginia's mind.
Why had he not returned? Perhaps he was in the office without.Whispering to her father, she stole out on tiptoe. The office was empty.Descending to the street, she was unable to gain any news of Clarencefrom Ned, who was becoming alarmed likewise.
Perplexed and troubled, she climbed the stairs again. No sound came fromthe Judge's room Perhaps Clarence would be back at any moment. Perhapsher father was in danger. She sat down to think,--her elbows on the deskin front of her, her chin in her hand, her eyes at the level of a lineof books which stood on end.--Chitty's Pleadings, Blackstone, Greenleafon Evidence. Absently; as a person whose mind is in trouble, she reachedout and took one of them down and opened it. Across the flyleaf, in ahigh and bold hand, was written the name, Stephen Atterbury Brice.
It was his desk! She was sitting in his chair!
She dropped the book, and, rising abruptly, crossed quickly to the otherside of the room. Then she turned, hesitatingly, and went back. This washis desk--his chair, in which he had worked so faithfully for the manwho lay dying beyond the door. For him whom they all loved--whose lasthours they were were to soothe. Wars and schisms may part our bodies,but stronger ties unite our souls. Through Silas Whipple, through hismother, Virginia knew that she was woven of one piece with StephenBrice. In a thousand ways she was reminded, lest she drive it from herbelief. She might marry another, and that would not matter.
She sank again into his chair, and gave herself over to the thoughtscrowding in her heart. How the threads of his life ran next to hers, andcrossed and recrossed them. The slave auction, her dance with him, theFair, the meeting at Mr. Brinsmade's gate,--she knew them all. Her loveand admiration for his mother. Her dreams of him--for she did dreamof him. And now he had saved Clarence's life that she might marry hercousin. Was it true that she would marry Clarence? That seemed toher only a dream. It had never seemed real. Again she glanced at thesignature in the book, as if fascinated by the very strength of it. Sheturned over a few pages of the book, "Supposing the defendant's counselessays to prove by means of--" that was his writing again, a marginal,note. There were marginal notes on every page--even the last was coveredwith them, And then at the end, "First reading, February, 1858. Secondreading, July, 1858. Bought with some of money obtained by first articlefor M. D." That capacity for work, incomparable gift, was what she hadalways coveted the most. Again she rested her elbows on the desk and herchin on her hands, and sighed unconsciously.
She had not heard the step on the stair. She had not seen the dooropen. She did not know that any one wage in the room until she heard hisvoice, and then she thought that she was dreaming.
"Miss Carvel!"
"Yes?" Her head did not move. He took a step toward her.
"Miss Carvel!"
Slowly she raised her face to his, unbelief and wonder in hereyes,--unbelief and wonder and fright. No; it could not be he. Butwhen she met the quality of his look, the grave tenderness of it, shetrembled, and our rendered her own to the page where his handwritingquivered and became a blur.
He never knew the effort it cost her to rise and confront him. Sheherself had not measured or fathomed the power which his very personexhaled. It seemed to have come upon him suddenly. He needed not to havespoken for her to have felt that. What it was she could not tell. Sheknew alone that it was nigh irresistible, and she grasped the back ofthe chair as though material support might sustain her.
"Is he--dead?"
She was breathing hard.
"No," she said. "Not--not yet, They are waiting for the end."
"And you?" he asked in grave surprise, glancing at the door of theJudge's room.
Then she remembered Clarence.
"I am waiting for my cousin," she said.
Even as she spoke she was with this man again at the Brinsmade gate.Those had been her very words! Intuition told her that he, too, wasthinking of that time. Now he had found her at his desk, and, as if thatwere not humiliation enough, with one of his books taken down and laidopen at his signature. Suffused, she groped for words to carry her on.
"I am waiting for Clarence, Mr. Brice. He was here, and is gonesomewhere."
He did not seem to take account of the speech. And his silence--goadto indiscretion--pressed her to add:-- "You saved him, Mr. Brice. I--weall--thank you so much. And that is not all I want to say. It is a poorenough acknowledgment of what you did,--for we have not always treatedyou well." Her voice faltered almost to faintness, as he raised his handin pained protest. But she continued: "I shall regard it as a debt I cannever repay. It is not likely that in my life to come I can ever helpyou, but I shall pray for that opportunity."
He interrupted her.
"I did nothing, Miss Carvel, nothing that the most unfeeling man in ourarmy would not do. Nothing that I would not have done for the mereststranger."
"You saved him for me," she said.
O fateful words that spoke of themselves! She turned away from him forvery shame, and yet she heard him saying:-- "Yes, I saved him for you."
His voice was in the very note of the sadness which has the strengthto suffer, to put aside the thought of self. A note to which her soulresponded with anguish when she turned to him with the natural cry ofwoman.
"Oh, you ought not to have come here to-night. Why did you come? TheDoctor forbade it. The consequences may kill you."
"It does not matter much," he answered. "The Judge was dying."
"How did you know?"
"I guessed it,--because my mother had left me."
"Oh, you ought not to have come!" she said again.
"The Judge has been my benefactor," he answered quietly. "I could walk,and it was my duty to come."
"You did not walk!" she gasped.
He smiled, "I had no carriage," he said.
With the instinct of her sex she seized the chair and placed it underhim. "You must sit down at once," she cried.
"But I am not tired," he replied.
"Oh, you must sit down, you must, Captain Brice." He started at thetitle, which came so prettily from her lips, "Won't you please!" shesaid pleadingly.
He sat down. And, as the sun peeps out of a troubled sky, she smiled.
"It is your chair," she said.
He glanced at the book, and the bit of sky was crimson. But still hesaid nothing.
"It is your book," she stammered. "I did not know that it was yourswhen I took it down. I--I was looking at it while I was waiting forClarence."
"It is dry reading," he remarked, which was not what he wished to say.
"And yet--"
"Yes?"
"And yet you have read it twice." The confession had slipped to herlips.
She was sitting on the edge of his desk, looking down at him. Still
hedid not look at her. All the will that was left him averted his head.And the seal of honor was upon his speech. And he wondered if man wereever more tempted.
Then the evil spread its wings, and soared away into the night. Andthe moment was past. Peace seemed to come upon them both, quieting thetumult in their hearts, and giving them back their reason. Respect likewise came to the girl,--respect that was akin to awe. It was he whospoke first.
"My mother has me how faithfully you nursed the Judge, Miss Carvel. Itwas a very noble thing to do."
"Not noble at all," she replied hastily, "your mother did the most ofit, And he is an old friend of my father--"
"It was none the less noble," said Stephen, warmly, "And he quarrelledwith Colonel Carvel."
"My father quarrelled with him," she corrected. "It was well that Ishould make some atonement. And yet mine was no atonement, I love JudgeWhipple. It was a--a privilege to see your mother every day--oh, howhe would talk of you! I think he loves you better than any one on thisearth."
"Tell me about him," said Stephen, gently.
Virginia told him, and into the narrative she threw the whole of herpent-up self. How patient the Judge had been, and the joy he had derivedfrom Stephen's letters. "You were very good to write to him so often,"she said. It seemed like a dream to Stephen, like one of the many dreamsof her, the mystery of which was of the inner life beyond our ken. Hecould not recall a time when she had not been rebellious, antagonistic.And now--as he listened to her voice, with its exquisite low tones andmodulations, as he sat there in this sacred intimacy, perchance to bethe last in his life, he became dazed. His eyes, softened, with supremeeloquence cried out that she, was his, forever and forever. The magneticforce which God uses to tie the worlds together was pulling him to her.And yet the Puritan resisted.
Then the door swung open, and Clarence Colfax, out of breath, ran intothe room. He stopped short when he saw them, his hand fell to his sides,and his words died on his lips. Virginia did not stir.
It was Stephen who rose to meet him, and with her eyes the girl followedhis motions. The broad and loosely built frame of the Northerner, hisshoulders slightly stooping, contrasted with Clarence's slighter figure,erect, compact, springy. The Southerner's eye, for that moment, wasflint struck with the spark from the steel. Stephen's face, thinned byillness, was grave. The eyes kindly, yet penetrating. For an instantthey stood thus regarding each other, neither offering a hand. It wasStephen who spoke first, and if there was a trace of emotion in hisvoice, one who was listening intently failed to mark it.
"I am glad to see that you have recovered, Colonel Colfax," he said.
"I should indeed be without gratitude if I did not thank Captain Bricefor my life," answered Clarence. Virginia flushed. She had detected theundue accent on her cousin's last words, and she glanced apprehensivelyat Stephen. His forceful reply surprised them both.
"Miss Carvel has already thanked me sufficiently, sir," he said. "I amhappy to have been able to have done you a good turn, and at the sametime to have served her so well. It was she who saved your life. It isto her your thanks are chiefly due. I believe that I am not going toofar, Colonel Colfax," he added, "when I congratulate you both."
Before her cousin could recover, Virginia slid down from the desk andhad come between them. How her eyes shone and her lip trembled as shegazed at him, Stephen has never forgotten. What a woman she was as shetook her cousin's arm and made him a curtsey.
"What you have done may seem a light thing to you, Captain Brice," shesaid. "That is apt to be the way with those who have big hearts. Youhave put upon Colonel Colfax, and upon me, a life's obligation."
When she began to speak, Clarence raised his head. As he glanced,incredulous, from her to Stephen, his look gradually softened, andwhen she had finished, his manner had become again frank, boyish,impetuous--nay, penitent. He seized Stephen's hand.
"Forgive me, Brice," he cried. "Forgive me. I should have knownbetter. I--I did you an injustice, and you, Virginia. I was a fool--ascoundrel." Stephen shook his head.
"No, you were neither," he said. Then upon his face came the smile ofone who has the strength to renounce, all that is dearest to him--thatsmile of the unselfish, sweetest of all. It brought tears to Virginia.She was to see it once again, upon the features of one who bore across,--Abraham Lincoln. Clarence looked, and then he turned away towardthe door to the stairway, as one who walks blindly, in a sorrow.
His hand was on the knob when Virginia seemed to awake. She flew afterhim:
"Wait!" she whispered.
Then she raised her eyes, slowly, to Stephen, who was standingmotionless beside his chair.
"Captain Brice!"
"Yes," he answered.
"My father is in the Judge's room," she said.
"Your father!" he exclaimed. "I thought--"
"That he was an officer in the Confederate Army. So he is." Her headwent up as she spoke.
Stephen stared at her, troubled. Suddenly her manner, changed. She tooka step toward him, appealingly.
"Oh, he is not a spy," she cried. "He has given Mr Brinsmade his wordthat he came here for no other purpose than to see me. Then he heardthat the Judge was dying--"
"He has given his word to Mr. Brinsmade?
"Yes."
"Then," said Stephen, "what Mr. Brinsmade sanctions is not for me toquestion."
She gave him yet another look, a fleeting one which he did not see. Thenshe softly opened the door and passed into the room of the dying man.Stephen followed her. As for Clarence, he stood for a space staringafter them. Then he went noiselessly down the stairs into the street.
The Crisis — Complete Page 46
