by Lilian Bell
CHAPTER XX.
MOULTRIE
It was the last of March. Spring, which comes so early in the South,was already in the fulfilment of her promise, and no lovelier spot couldbe found than that portion of South Carolina which contains the estatesof Guildford, Sunnymede, and Whitehall.
Carolina, although working hard all of every day and often far into somenights, was happier than she had ever been in her life. She was freefrom the persecutions of Colonel Yancey at last. Little Gladys was nowperfectly healed and as active as other children. Moultrie was provinga most eager and progressive student of Christian Science, and, whilemost of his narrowness and astonishing ignorance was still painfully inevidence at times when discussions of import took place, yet Carolinaheld faithfully to the thought that perfect harmony must result in time,and that such a fine mind as he naturally possessed must yield to theenlightenment which most men inherit. Instead of this, however,Moultrie La Grange inherited prejudices which had dwarfed and hamperedhis mental and spiritual advancement, and which mere friends overlooked.But to Carolina, who loved him, they were heart-breaking. It was asimpossible to discuss history with most of her relatives as to expectthem to speak Chinese. In the country schools they used a history whichdescribed the Civil War as a series of rebel victories, and the outcomeof the war was not accounted for in any way. Carolina, in reading thebook at Moultrie's request, wondered if the pupils, after a study of itsfacts, did not question the sanity of Gen. Robert E. Lee forsurrendering a victorious and a gloriously successful army to aconquered and outnumbered foe, simply because General Grant asked himto. When she handed the history back to Moultrie, Carolina said, sadly:
"I wonder what you will say when I tell you that my dear father, who wasas loyal a Southerner as ever lived, and who entered the Confederatearmy when he was only sixteen years old, was engaged at the time of hisdeath in an elaborate life of Abraham Lincoln, whom he regarded as thebest friend the South ever had, and the noblest patriot America everproduced!"
The young man's face flushed with feeling, but he was too wise toexpress his bitter disagreement with Carolina's views.
But she knew how he felt and that, unless he deliberately determined toopen his mind to the truth in every way, that she never could bringherself to marry him, and thus court discord in her daily life.
He did the best he could, but among his own people he passed muster asan unusually fine fellow, well-educated and progressive. It was onlywhen brought into contact with a broad-minded, cultured young woman likeCarolina that Moultrie's intellect showed its limitations. However, thefact that he was proud of his prejudices was the only alarming thingabout the whole situation. Carolina saw his possibilities. Sherecognized his courage; she trusted in his capacity to rouse himselffrom his ignorance; she knew that he would some day awaken to theimpression he made upon cultivated minds. And the more she yielded tohis charm, to his chivalrous care of her, to the attraction his almostideal beauty had for her, the more she was determined to save him inspite of himself. She knew that she could expect no help from hisfamily, who idealized him just as he was, and who would have regarded anintimation that even a Benjamin Franklin would have found him crude, assacrilege. Nor could relatives or friends avail, for did not all in hislittle community think as he did, and were not prejudices respected?No, she realized that she must save him unaided and alone. Therefore,when, in a burst of passion which nearly swept her off her feet and lefther shaken and trembling, he asked her to marry him, she took hercourage in both hands and refused.
He stared at her in a dismay so honest and unfeigned that she almostsmiled. Then his face flushed, and he said, in a low, hurt tone:
"I understand. You have urged me to believe that Flower's ancestry wasnot the disgraceful thing I suspect, when you could not bring yourselfto believe it. That can--that must be your only reason, for you loveme, Carolina. You have shown me in a hundred ways that you liked mycare of you; you have permitted my attentions, you have not discouragedmy honest, ardent love, which every one has been a witness to. You docare for me! You cannot deny it."
"Moultrie," said the girl, slowly, "I do not wish to deny it. I neversaid I did not love you, for I love you more dearly than you know orthan you ever will know. I said I would not marry you, but not, oh, noton Flower's account. I believe implicitly in all I have said of her.If that were all, I would marry you to-morrow. But that is not thereason."
"Then what is? Oh, Carolina, love, _love_!"
"You don't know me at all, Moultrie, or you would know what I am goingto say."
"I reckon I don't, dear, for I haven't an idea of the reason."
"Well, it is because we never could be happy together, holding suchdifferent ideals and such different codes of honour. Colonel Yanceytold my father in London that he would find the South heart-breaking,and it is."
The young man stared into her lovely face in a very genuineastonishment.
"Our codes of honour different, Carolina?" he said. "Oh, I hope not. Ishould be sorry to think that your code of honour differed from mine."
"And, dear friend--"
"Don't call me friend! I am not your friend! I am your lover!"
"No, let me call you friend, for that is all that I can call you atpresent. I should be sorry to hold a code of honour no higher thanyours."
The slow, dark flush of pride and race rose in the man's fine face.Carolina was daring to say such words to a La Grange. But Carolinaherself was a Lee.
"I should be sorry," said Carolina, deliberately, not waiting for hisreply, "to be so narrow that I could refuse an offer to improve my land,denuded and mortgaged as it is,--an offer for the only rights I had leftto sell, and which would give me plenty of money to enable me to restorethe home of my ancestors,--simply because the syndicate furnishing themoney was composed of Northern men, thus, for a senseless prejudice,compelling my mother and sister to eke out their income by sewing for_negroes_!"
Had Carolina struck him in the face, he could not have turned a whitercountenance upon her than he did. Twice he opened his lips to speak andtwice closed them again with the futile words still unspoken. His handswere clenched at his side, his whole figure rigid with outraged pride.Yet he continued to look his accuser in the face, and Carolina honouredhim for his courage even while she could see self-knowledge dawn andhumiliation take the place of his dethroned pride. The first blow hadbeen struck which was to unmask his pitiable attitude,--the attitude ofthe typical young Southerner of to-day, proud of his worn-outprejudices, and unaware that his very pride in them is in rags.
Carolina clasped her hands to hide their trembling. She could havecried out in pity for the suffering in the face of the man she loved,but she dared not speak one word of the sympathy her heart ached toshow, for fear of undoing her work. Blindly she steeled herself for thewords she feared would pour forth. Dully she wondered if, when theycame, they would end everything between them, and preclude any possibleovertures on her part when the leaven should have worked. But thewords, bitter or otherwise, did not come. Still he simply stood andlooked at her.
Then, with a gesture both graceful and dignified, he bent and took herhand and kissed it.
"I understand," he said, simply, and Carolina, turning away, albeit sickat heart, felt a dawning thrill of pride--her first--that she had cometo love this man.
