The Purchase Price; Or, The Cause of Compromise

by Emerson Hough

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE LADY AT TALLWOODS

  The arrival of the four visitors at Tallwoods, and their departureso soon thereafter, were events of course not unknown to Josephine,but only conjecture could exist in her mind as to the real natureof the errand in either case. Jeanne, her maid, speculated as tothis openly.

  "That docteur also, he is now gone," said she, ruefully. "But yet,behold the better opportunity for us to escape, Madame. Ah, wereit not for the injury of madame, I should say, let us at once setout--we could follow the road."

  "But they will return!" exclaimed her mistress. "We can not tellhow long they will be gone. And, Jeanne, I suffer."

  "Ah, my poor angel! You suffer! It is criminal! We dare notstart. But believe me, Madame, even so, it is not all misfortune.Suppose we remain; suppose Monsieur Dunwodee comes back? Yousuffer. He has pity. Pity is then your friend. In that itselfare you most strong. Content yourself to be weak and helpless fora time. Not even that brute, that assassin, that criminal, dareoffend you now, Madame. But--of course he is impossible for onelike madame; yet I have delight to hear even a brute, an assassin,make such love! _Ah, mon Dieu_!"

  Jeanne pursed a lip impartially. "_Mon Dieu_! And he was_repressed_, by reason of my presence. He was restrained, none theless, by this raiment here of another, so mysterious. Ah, if he--"

  "_Tais-toi donc_, Jeanne!" exclaimed her mistress. "No more! Weshall stay until to-morrow, at least."

  And so the day passed. The sleepy life of the old plantation wenton about them in silence. As a wild animal pursued, oppressed, butfor the time left alone in some hiding-place, gains greater couragewith each moment of freedom from pursuit, so Josephine St. Aubangained a groundless hope with the passing of the hours. Even thelong night at length rolled away. Jeanne slept in her mistress'room. Nothing occurred to disturb their rest.

  It was evening of the second day, and the shadows again were lyinglong across the valley, when there came slowly filing into viewalong the turn of the road the band of returning riders. At theirhead was the tall form of Dunwody, the others following,straggling, drooping in their saddles as though from long hours ofexertion. The cavalcade slowly approached and drew up at the frontdoor. As they dismounted the faces of all showed haggard, worn andstern.

  "There has been combat, Madame!" whispered Jeanne. "See, he hasbeen hurt. Look--those others!"

  Dunwody got out of his saddle with difficulty. He limped as hestood now. A slender man near him got down unaided, a tallGerman-looking man followed suit. The group broke apart and showeda girl, riding, bound. Some one undid the bonds and helped her tothe ground.

  All of these things were apparent from the vantage ground of theupper story window, but Josephine, unwilling to play at spying, sawnone of it. At last, however, an exclamation from Jeanne causedher to hasten to the window. "_Mon Dieu_, Madame! Madame,look--it is that officer--it is Monsieur le Capitaine Carlisle!Look! why then--"

  An exclamation from Jeanne caused her to hasten.]

  With no more than a glance, her mistress turned, flung open thedoor of the room, hurried down the stair, passed out of the halland so fronted these newcomers at the gallery. They stood silentas they saw her. She herself was first to speak.

  "What are you doing with that woman?" she demanded.

  They all stood in silence, looking at her, at this apparition of awoman--a young and beautiful woman--here at Tallwoods, where nonehad known of any woman these many years. Clayton himself made nocomment. The Honorable William Jones smiled broadly. Dunwodyremoved his hat. "Gentlemen," said he, "this is the Countess St.Auban, who has come to see these parts of our country. Madam," headded, "this is Judge Clayton. He was on the _Mount Vernon_ withus. Lieutenant Kammerer, I think, is the name of this gentlemanwho came down here to teach us a few things. There has been somefighting. Mr. Yates--Mr. Jones. And this gentleman"--he steppedback so that Carlisle might come into view--"I think you alreadyknow."

  "I knowed it! I knowed it!" broke in the Honorable William Jones."I seen all along there was a woman in this house. I said--"

  Josephine turned to him a swift glance. "There is a lady in thishouse."

  "Yes," broke out Carlisle, "and all of you remember it. Don't Iknow! Madam, what are you doing here?"

  "Kind words from my former jailer? So!" She rewarded him none toomuch for his quick sympathy. Then, relenting; "But at least youwere better than this new jailer. Are you, too, a prisoner? Ican't understand all this."

  "But you're hurt. Madam," began Carlisle. "How is that? Have youalso been attacked by these ruffians? I did not dream Dunwody wasactually so much a ruffian."

  "Madam," said Dunwody slowly turning to her, "I can't exchangewords now. There has been an encounter, as I said. There havebeen men killed, and some of us have been hurt. The northernabolitionists have made their first attack on southern soil. Thisgentleman is an army officer. I'm a United States marshal, and asa prisoner he's safe in talking. He has come here on his own moralinitiative, in the interest of what you call freedom. You twoshould be friends once more. But would you mind helping me makethese people comfortable as we can?"

  "You are hurt, yourself, then!" she said, turning toward him,seeing him wince as he started up the step.

  "No;" he said curtly, "it's nothing."

  "That girl yonder--ah! she has been whipped! My God in Heaven.What is to be next, in this wilderness! Is there indeed here nolaw, no justice?"

  The deep voice of the German, Kammerer, broke in. "Thank God inHeaven, at least you are a woman!" he said, turning to her.

  "A woman! Why thank God for that? Here, at least, a woman's soleprivilege is insult and abuse."

  The others heard but did not all understand her taunt. Tearssprang to the eyes of young Carlisle. "Don't talk so!" was all hecould exclaim, feeling himself not wholly innocent of reproach.Dunwody's face flushed a deep red. He made no answer except tocall aloud for the old house servant, Sally, who presently appeared.

  "Madam," said Dunwody, in a low voice, limping forward towardJosephine, "you and I must declare some sort of truce. The worldhas all gone helter-skelter. What'll become of us I don't know;but we need a woman here now."

  She gazed at him steadily, but made no reply. Growling, he turnedaway and limped up the steps, beckoning the others to follow intothe hall.

  They entered, awkward, silent, and stood about, none knowing whatwas best to do. Dunwody, luckless and unhappy as he was, stillremembered something of his place as host, and would have led them,friends and enemies, into the dining-room beyond in search of somerefreshment. He limped forward, without any support. In the doorbetween the hall and the farther room there lay a mounted rug, of abear skin. He tripped at its edge and fell, catching vainly at thedoor. A sharp exclamation escaped him. He did not at once rise.It was the arm of his prisoner, Carlisle, who aided him. "You arehurt, sir."

  "No, no, go away!" exclaimed Dunwody, as he struggled to his feet.

  "One bone's gone," he said presently in a low tone to Clayton. "Ibroke it when I fell that time."

  A curious moment of doubt and indecision was at hand. The men,captors and captives, looked blankly at one another. It was themind of a woman which first rose to this occasion. In an instantJosephine, with a sudden exclamation, flung aside indecision.

  "Jeanne' Sally!" she called. "Show these gentlemen to theirrooms," naming Clayton and Jones. "Sir," she said to Dunwody,whose injury she did not guess to be so severe, "you must lie down.Gentlemen, pass into the other room, there, if you please." Shemotioned to the two prisoners, and stepped to Dunwody's side.

  "I can't have this," he broke out suddenly. "You're hurt,yourself. Go to your room. I tell you, it's nothing."

  "Be quiet," she said, close at his ear. "I'm not afraid of younow."