The Master of Warlock: A Virginia War Story

by George Cary Eggleston

  IV

  _IN REVOLT_

  When Agatha reached The Oaks, mounted upon Baillie Pegram's mare, herreception at the hands of her aunts was one of almost stunnedastonishment. The two good ladies had learned an hour before her comingthat she had ridden away alone that morning while yet they had slept,and they had carefully prepared a lecture upon that exceedingimpropriety, for delivery on the young woman's return.

  But when they saw her dismount from Baillie Pegram's mare, they werewell-nigh speechless with horror at her depravity. The deliverance thathad been so carefully prepared for her chastening no longer met therequirements of the case. A new and far severer rebuke must beextemporised, and the necessity of that was an additional offence on thepart of the young woman who had forced it upon them. They were notaccustomed to speak extemporaneously on any subject of importance. To doso involved the danger of saying too much, or saying it less effectivelythan they wished, or--worse still--leaving unsaid things that they verymuch wished to say. In response to their horrified questionings, Agathamade the simplest and most direct statement possible.

  "The morning was fine, and I wanted to ride. I rode as far as DogwoodBranch. There my poor horse--the one that my grandfather sent down forme to ride while here--met with a mishap. His foot went through a holein the bridge, and in his struggle to extricate it, he broke his leg.Mr. Pegram came along and released the poor beastie's foot, but it wastoo late. So he insisted upon my taking his mare, and showed me that Icouldn't refuse. He sent his servant to ride on a mule behind me in caseI should have trouble with his only partially broken mare. He promisedto put my poor horse out of his misery. There. That's all there is totell."

  The little speech was made in a tone and with a manner that suggesteddifficult self-restraint. When it was ended the two good aunts sat fora full minute looking at the girl with eyes that were eloquent ofreproach--a reproach that for the moment could find no fit words for itsexpression. At last the torrent came--not with a rushing violence ofspeech, but with a steady, overwhelming flow. The girl stood still,seemingly impassive.

  "Will you not be seated?" presently asked Aunt Sarah.

  "If you don't mind, I prefer to stand," she answered, in the gentlest,most submissive tone imaginable, for Agatha--angry and outraged--wasdetermined to maintain her self-control to the end. Her gentlesubmissiveness of seeming deceived her censors to their undoing.Satisfied that they might rebuke her to their hearts' content, theyproceeded, adding one word of bitter reproach and condemnation toanother, and waxing steadily stronger in their righteous wrath. Stillthe girl stood like a soldier under a fire which he is forbidden toreturn. Still she controlled her countenance and restrained herself fromspeech. Only a slight flushing of the face, and now and then a tremorof the lip, gave indication of emotion of any kind.

  Not until the storm had completely expended its wrath upon her head didAgatha Ronald open her lips. Then she spoke as Agatha Ronald:

  "Will you please order my carriage to be ready for me on Saturdaymorning, Aunt Sarah? My maid is too ill to travel to-morrow or the nextday. But by Saturday morning she will be well enough, and I shall beginmy journey to Willoughby at nine o'clock, if you will kindly order a cupof coffee served half an hour before the usual breakfast-time onSaturday."

  She departed instantly from the room, giving no time or opportunity forreply or remonstrance.

  "Perhaps we have spoken too severely, Jane," said Aunt Sarah.

  Perhaps they had. At any rate, it had been Agatha's purpose to remain afull month longer at The Oaks before beginning the long homewardcarriage journey which alone Colonel Archer permitted to his grandchild.Railroads were new in those days, and Colonel Archer had not reconciledhimself to them.

  "They are convenient for carrying freight," he said, "but a young ladyisn't freight. She should travel in her own carriage."

  Later in the day Agatha reappeared, as gentle and smiling as usual, andas attentive as ever to the comfort of her aunts. Her manner was perfectin its docility, for she had decided that so long as she should remainunder their roof, it was her duty to herself, and incidentally to heraunts, to minister in every way she could to their pleasure, and to obeytheir slightest indicated wishes implicitly. They were misled somewhatby her manner, which they construed to be an indication of submission.

  "You will surely not think of leaving us on Saturday, dear, now that youhave thought the matter over calmly," said Aunt Sarah; "and perhaps wespoke too severely this morning. But you will overlook that, I am sure,in view of the concern we naturally feel for your bringing up."

  A bitter and convincing speech was on the girl's lips ready fordelivery,--a speech in which she should declare her independence, andassert her right as a woman fully grown to determine her conduct forherself within the limits of perfect innocence,--but she drove it backinto her heart, and restrained her utterance to the single sentence:

  "I shall begin my journey on Saturday morning."

  Agatha Ronald was in revolt against an authority which she deemedoppressive, and such revolt was natural enough on the part of a daughterof Virginia whose ancestry included three signers of the Declaration ofIndependence, and at least half a dozen fighting soldiers of theRevolution. It was in her blood to resent and resist injustice and todefy the authority that decreed injustice. But after the fashion ofthose revolutionary ancestors of hers, she would do everything with dueattention to "a decent respect for the opinions of mankind." She haddecided to quit The Oaks because she could not and would not longersubmit to a discipline which she felt to be arbitrary, unreasonable, andunjust. But she was determined to be as gentle and as gentlewomanly aspossible in the manner of her leaving. It was her fixed purpose neveragain to visit that plantation--her birthplace--until she should besummoned thither to take possession as its sole inheritor, but she letslip no hint of this determination to distress her aunts, who, afterall, meant only kindness to her by their severity.

  "I'll say nothing about it," she resolved. "I'll just go back toChummie. He understands me, and I'll never leave him again."