Part 14 (1/2)

”Oh, yes, of course, that is not the question. I do not want to hear both sides to decide that. But I mean lesser questions; movements, probabilities, dangers; the truth of actual events. _Those_ I want to know about.”

”I am sure, so do I,” said the major.

”I hoped you could enlighten me, Major Fairbairn.”

”About movements?” said the major. ”Well, our forces are moving; there is no doubt. McDowell is going forward in earnest at last.”

”Against Beauregard?”

”Against whatever he meets; and I suppose Beauregard will meet him.”

”Then there will be a battle?”

”I hope so.”

”Why do you hope so, Major Fairbairn?”

”It is the shortest way to peace, Miss Randolph. But it is not likely that one battle will do it.”

”I know it will not if the North succeed,” I said; ”but how if the Southern army should get the better?”

”You aren't a rebel in disguise?” said the major, looking askance at me. ”Is my reputation in danger, to be riding with you?”

”It is just as well to look the truth in the face, Major Fairbairn.”

”So it is; you are right there,” said my companion seriously enough. ”Well, I look for a long tussle of it, whichever way this particular game goes to-day. It will be well if there is anything left to fight for, by the time it is over.”

”There is always the truth” - I said.

”The truth gives poor board wages to its servants, though,”

said the major. ”It is all very well to cry 'victory,' when there is no corn in the hopper.”

”Is it likely that Patterson will fight?” I asked, with my heart in my mouth. I had been trying to get this question out; and it seemed to me now as if every word were as big as two.

”Humph! - I don't know,” said the major. ”I suppose he will, if he can't help it.”

”What do you mean?”

”Why, he has got work enough to do,” said Major Fairbairn. ”I don't know if it is work that he likes. I have some private acquaintance with the man. His business is to keep Johnston busy, so that he will not have leisure to look our way.”

”And suppose Patterson does not do his duty?”

”Then we may have too much on our hands. Beauregard doesn't want any help just now.” And weary, no doubt, of the subject, the major diverged to some lighter matters of conversation. I tried to answer and make talk, but my heart was very sick. I could hardly know what he was saying; Beauregard, and Patterson, and Johnston, so ran in my thoughts. I suppose the major did not find it out, for he seemed very well satisfied, and at parting said that ”after the victory” he would come and have another ride with me.

So I waited now for news. Dull, dreadful days; long with an interminable length of quarters and half hours; heavy with fear. They were not many; for the morning but one, I think, after my last ride, a gentleman stopped me in the street to tell me that firing had been heard that morning, and McDowell had, it was thought, met his enemy. I calculated the days since I had seen Mr. Thorold; speculated on Patterson's probable activity or non-activity, and Christian's consequent place and duty in the position of affairs; and could only know that it was all a confusion of pain. At first I thought to go at once back to the house and give up my walk; but a second thought of that dull weary waiting inside of walls sent me on up the avenue. I might hear something more; at any rate, the open sky was a better breathing-place.

The open sky! Blue and calm as ever; moveless and pure; while the grim strife of a battlefield was raging beneath it. Was there another struggle where Johnston's forces were opposed by General Patterson? And why could I not leave my cares now, as so many a time I had left them, as I longed to leave them this minute, - in the hand that upheld that blue sky? I could not.

That is to say, I did in some fas.h.i.+on, which kept me from utterly fainting; but I was not confident; I was not willing that the will of G.o.d should be done irrespective of mine, If writhed from under the pressure of a coming possibility. Could I help it? My one first earthly joy, the treasure that gathered up all life's riches for me; could I think of that treasure being scattered and not know that should be left poor? And what if G.o.d willed I should be thus poor? Ah, I was not ready.

I had a long, feverish walk, made as long as I could; and came home with a sort of thirst of heart, and very weary. Mrs.

Sandford met me, and I had to turn into the parlour.