Part 74 (1/2)

”No, Rob, I don't mind. It was just a verse from a psalm. She said, _I had fainted unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.... Be of good courage and He shall strengthen thy heart._”

Later, in her room again, she sat by the window through the greater part of the night. The stars were large and soft, the airs faint, the jasmine in the garden below smelled sweet. The hospital day stretched before her; she must sleep so that she could work. She never thought--in that city and time no woman thought--of ceasing from service because of private grief. Moreover, work was her salvation. She would be betimes at the hospital to-morrow, and she would leave it late. She bent once more a long look upon the east, where were the camp-fires of Lee and Stonewall Jackson. In imagination she pa.s.sed the sentries; she moved among the sleeping brigades. She found one tent, or perhaps it would be instead a rude cabin.... She stretched her arms upon the window-sill, and they and her thick fallen hair were wet at last with her tears.

Three days pa.s.sed. On the third afternoon she left the hospital early and went to St. Paul's. She chose again the dusk beneath the gallery, and she prayed dumbly, fiercely, ”O G.o.d.... O G.o.d--”

The church was fairly filled. The grey army was now but a little way without the city; it had come back to the seven hills after the seven days. It had come back the hero, the darling. Richmond took the cypress from her doors; put off the purple pall and tragic mask. Last July Richmond was to fall, and this July Richmond was to fall, and lo! she sat secure on her seven hills and her sons did her honour, and for them she would have made herself a waste place. She yet toiled and watched, yet mourned for the dead and hung over the beds of the wounded, and more and more she wondered whence were to appear the next day's yard of cloth and measure of flour. But in these days she overlaid her life with gladness and made her house pleasant for her sons. The service at St.

Paul's this afternoon was one of thankfulness; the hymns rang triumphantly. There were many soldiers. Two officers came in together.

Judith knew General Lee, but the other?... in a moment she saw that it was General Jackson. Her heart beat to suffocation. She sank down in the gold dusk of her corner. ”O G.o.d, let him see the truth. O G.o.d, let him see the truth--”

Outside, as she went homeward in the red sunset, she paused for a moment to speak to an old free negro who was begging for alms. She gave him something, and when he had shambled on she stood still a moment here at the corner of the street, with her eyes upon the beautiful rosy west.

There was a garden wall behind her and a tall c.r.a.pe myrtle. As she stood, with the light upon her face, Maury Stafford rode by. He saw her as she saw him. His brooding face flushed; he made as if to check his horse, but did not so. He lifted his hat high and rode on, out of the town, back to the encamped army. Judith had made no answering motion; she stood with lifted face and unchanged look, the rosy light flooding her, the rosy tree behind her. When he was gone she s.h.i.+vered a little.

”It is not Happiness that hates; it is Misery,” she thought. ”When I was happy I never felt like this. I hate him. He is _glad_ of Richard's peril.”

That night she did not sleep at all but sat bowed together in the window, her arms about her knees, her forehead upon them, and her dark hair loose about her. She sat like a sibyl till the dawn, then rose and bathed and dressed, and was at the hospital earliest of all the workers of that day. In the evening again, just at dusk, she reentered the room, and presently again took her seat by the window. The red light of the camp-fires was beginning to show.

There was a knock at the door. Judith rose and opened to a turbaned coloured girl. ”Yes, Dilsey?”

”Miss Judith, de gin'ral air downstairs. He say, ax you kin he come up to yo' room?”

”Yes, yes, Dilsey! Tell him to come.”

When her father came he found her standing against the wall, her hands, outstretched behind her, resting on it. The last soft bloom of day was upon her; indefinably, with her hands so, the wall behind her and her lifted head, she looked a soldier facing a firing party. ”Tell me quickly,” she said, ”the exact truth.”

Warwick Gary closed the door behind him and came toward her. ”The court found him guilty, Judith.”

As she still stood, the light from without upon her face, he took her in his arms, drew her from the wall and made her sit in the chair by the window, then placed himself beside her, and leaning over took her hands in his strong clasp. ”Many a court has found many a man guilty, Judith, whom his own soul cleared.”

”That is true,” she answered. ”Your own judgment has not changed?”

”No, Judith, no.”

She lifted his hand and kissed it. ”Just a moment, and then you'll tell me--”

They sat still in the soft summer air. The stars were coming out. Off to the east showed the long red light where was the army. Judith's eyes rested here. He saw it, and saw, presently, courage lift into her face.

It came steady, with a deathless look. ”Now,” she said, and loosed her hands.

”It is very bad,” he answered slowly. ”The evidence was more adverse than I could have dreamed. Only on the last count was there acquittal.”

”The last count?--”

”The charge of personal cowardice.”

Her eyelids trembled a little. ”I am glad,” she said, ”that they had a gleam of reason.”

The other uttered a short laugh, proud and troubled. ”Yes. It would not have occurred to me--just that accusation.... Well, he stood cleared of that. But the other charges, Judith, the others--” He rested his hands on his sword hilt and gazed broodingly into the deepening night. ”The court could only find as it did. I myself, sitting there, listening to that testimony.... It is inexplicable!”

”Tell me all.”

”General Jackson's order was plain. A staff officer carried it to General Winder with perfect correctness. Winder repeated it to the court, and word for word Jackson corroborated it. The same officer, carrying it on from Winder to the 65th came up with a courier belonging to the regiment. To this man, an educated, reliable, trusted soldier, he gave the order.”

”He should not have done so?”