Part 16 (1/2)
”Ten, sir!” said the Major, and placed the queen of diamonds.
”When did you ride that way, Edward?” queried his brother. ”I don't believe you've been across the mountain since the war.”
”I was on that road in '87,” said the Major. ”I rode that way on the sixth of April with Clark. And there are ten houses; I counted them.”
”But good Lord, sir, this is 1804!”
The Major's hawk eyes, dark and bright beneath s.h.a.ggy brows, regarded Mr. Ned Hunter with disfavour. ”I am aware, sir, that this is 1804,” he said, and placed the king of diamonds.
Jacqueline arose from her chair beside the open window, softly crossed the floor, and touched Colonel Churchill upon the arm. ”Uncle d.i.c.k,” she murmured, and with the slightest of gestures indicated Rand standing in the door.
Colonel Churchill started, precipitantly left Mr. Hunter, and crossed the floor to his guest of two weeks. ”My dear sir, you came in so quietly! I welcome you downstairs. Gilmer says you're a strong fighter.
When I was thrown at that same turn coming home from a wedding, I believe I was in bed for a month!--Allow me to present you to my nieces--Miss Churchill, Miss Dandridge. My poor wife, you know, never leaves her chamber. Mr. Ned Hunter, Mr. Rand. Mr. Fairfax Cary I think you know, and my brother Edward.”
The young men's greeting, if somewhat constrained, was courteous. Major Churchill played the card which he held in his hand, then slowly rose, came stiffly from behind the small table, and made an elaborate bow.
There was in his acknowledgment of the honour of Mr. Rand's acquaintance so much accent, cruelty, and hauteur that the younger man flushed. ”This is an enemy,” said a voice within him. He bowed in return, and he no longer felt any distrust of himself. When Miss Dandridge, leaving the harpsichord, established herself upon the sofa before him and opened a lively fire of questions and comment, he answered with readiness. He thought her pretty figure in amber lutestring, and the turn of her ringleted head, and the play of her scarlet lips all very good to look at, and he looked without hesitation. The account which she demanded of the accident which had placed him there he gave with a free, bold, and pleasing touch, and the thanks that were her due as the immediate Samaritan he chivalrously paid. Unity made friends with all parties, and she now found, with some amus.e.m.e.nt, that she was going to like Lewis Rand.
Rand looked too, freely and quietly, at the young men, his fellow guests. Each, he knew, was arrogantly impatient of his presence there.
Well, they had nothing to do with it! His sense of humour awoke, and Federalist hauteur ceased to fret him. Colonel Churchill, the most genial of men, pushed his chair into the Republican's neighbourhood, and plunged into talk. Conversation in Virginia, where men were concerned, opened with politics, crops, or horseflesh. Colonel d.i.c.k chose the second, and Rand, who had a first-hand knowledge of the subject, met him in the fields. The trinity of corn, wheat, and tobacco occupied them for a while, as did the fruit and an experiment in vine-growing. The horse then entered the conversation, and Rand asked after Goldenrod, that had won the cup at Fredericksburg. ”I broke him for you, you know, sir, seven years ago.”
Colonel Churchill, who in his own drawing-room would not for the world have mentioned this little fact to his guest, suddenly thought within his honest heart, ”This is a man, even if he is a d.a.m.ned Republican!” He gave a circ.u.mstantial account of Goldenrod, and of Goldenrod's brother, Firefly, and he said to himself, ”I'll keep off politics.” Presently Rand began to speak of Adam Gaudylock's account of New Orleans.
”Ay, ay,” said the Colonel, ”there's a city! But it's not English--it is Spanish and French. And all that new land now! 'twill never be held--begging your pardon, Mr. Rand--by Thomas Jefferson and a lot of new-fangled notions! No Spaniard ever did believe that all men are born equal, and no Frenchman ever wanted liberty long--not unadorned liberty, anyway. As for our own people who are pouring over the mountains--well, English blood naturally likes pride and power and what was good enough for its grandparents! Louisiana is too big and too far away. It takes a month to go from Was.h.i.+ngton to New Orleans. Rome couldn't keep her countries that were far away, and Rome believed in armies and navies and proper taxation, and had no pernicious notions--begging your pardon again, Mr. Rand--about free trade and the abolishment of slavery! I tell you, this new country of ours will breed or import a leader--and then she'll revolt and make him dictator--and then we'll have an empire for neighbour, an empire without any queasy ideas as to majorities and natural rights! And Thomas Jefferson--begging your pardon, Mr. Rand--is acute enough to see the danger. He's not bothering about majorities and natural rights either--for the country west of the Ohio! He's preparing to govern the Mississippi Territory like a conquered province. Mark my words, Mr. Rand, she'll find a Buonaparte--some young demagogue, some ambitious upstart without scruple or a hostage to fortune some common soldier like Buonaparte or favourite like--like--”
”Like--” queried Rand. But the Colonel, who had suddenly grown very red, would not or could not continue his comparison. He floundered, drew out his snuff-box and restored it to his pocket, and finally was taken pity on by Unity, who with dancing eyes reentered the conversation, and asked if Mr. Rand had read The Romance of the Forest. Fairfax Cary left the harpsichord, where he had been impatiently turning over the music, and, strolling to one of the long windows, stood now looking out into the gloomy night, and now staring with a frowning face at the lit room and at Miss Dandridge, in her amber gown, smiling upon Lewis Rand! Near him, Major Churchill, preternaturally grey and absorbed, played Patience. The cards fell from his hand with the sound of dead leaves. Beside a second window sat Jacqueline, looking, too, into the night. She sat in a low chair covered with dull green silk, and the straight window curtains, of the same colour and texture, half enshadowed her. Her dress was white, with coral about her throat and in her hair. She leaned her elbow on her knee, and with her chin in her hand looked upon the dark ma.s.s of the trees, and the stars between the hurrying clouds.
The younger Cary, at his window, leaned out into the night, listened a moment, then turned and left the room. ”It is my brother, sir,” he announced, as he pa.s.sed Colonel Churchill. ”I hear him at the gate.”
Ten minutes later Ludwell Cary entered. He was in riding-dress, his handsome face a little worn and pale, but smiling, his bearing as usual, quiet, manly, and agreeable. ”It is a sultry night, sir,” he said to Colonel Churchill. ”There is a storm brewing.--Miss Dandridge, your very humble servant!--Mr. Rand--” He held out his hand. ”I am rejoiced to see you recovered!”
Rand stood up, and touched the extended hand. ”Thank you,” he said, with a smile. ”I were a Turk if I did not recover here amidst all this goodness.”
”Yes, yes, there's goodness,” answered Cary, and moved on to the window where Jacqueline sat in the shadow of the curtains. Rand, looking after him, saw him speak to her, and saw her answer with a smile.
A pang ran through him, acrid and fiery. It was not like the vapour of distaste and dislike, of which he had been conscious on the day of the election. That had been cold and clinging; this was a burning and a poisoned arrow. It killed the softening, the consciousness of charm, the spell of Cary's kindness while he lay there helpless in the blue room.
Not since the old days when his heart was hot against his father, had he felt such venom, such rancour. That had been a boy's wild revolt against injustice; this pa.s.sion was the fury of the adolescent who sees his rival. He looked at Cary through a red mist. This cleared, but a seed that was in Rand's nature, buried far, far down in the ancestral earth, swelled a little where it lay in its dim chasm. The rift closed, the glow as of heated iron faded, and Rand bitterly told himself, ”He will win; more than that, he deserves to win! As for you, you are here to behave like a gentleman.” He turned more fully to Unity, and talked of books and of such matters as he thought might be pleasing to a lady.
Fairfax Cary entered, brus.h.i.+ng the drops from his coat-sleeve. ”The rain is coming down,” he said, and with deliberation seated himself beside Miss Dandridge.
”That's good!” exclaimed the Colonel. ”Now things will grow!--Jacqueline, child, aren't you going to sing to us?”
Jacqueline rose, left the window, and went to her harp, Cary following her. She drew the harp toward her, then raised her clear face. ”What shall I sing?” she asked.
Cary, struck by a note in her voice, glanced at her quickly where she now sat, full in the light of the candles. She had no colour ordinarily, but to-night the fine pale brown of her face was tinged with rose. Her eyes were l.u.s.trous. As she spoke she drew her hands across the strings, and there followed a sound, faint, far, and sweet. Cary wondered. He was not a vain man, nor over-sanguine, but he wondered, ”Is the brightness for me?” The colour came into his own cheek, and a vigour touched him from head to heel. ”I don't care what you sing!” he said. ”Your songs are all the sweetest ever written. Sing To Althea!”
She sang. Rand watched her from the distance--the hands and the white arm seen behind the gold strings, the slender figure in a gown of filmy white, the warm, bare throat pouring melody, the face that showed the soul within. All the room watched her as she sang,--
”Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for a hermitage.”