Part 72 (1/2)

Mrs. Vosburgh joined her husband; and the awful peril through which he and her daughter had pa.s.sed awakened in her a deeper sense of real life. In contemplation of the immeasurable loss which she might have sustained she learned to value better what she possessed.

By Estelle's tact it was arranged that she could often see Marian without embarra.s.sment. So far as her nature permitted she shared in her husband's boundless solicitude for Merwyn.

Warm-hearted Estelle was soon conscious of a sister's affection for the girl of her brother's choice, and shared her vigils. She became also a very good friend to Strahan, and entertained a secret admiration for him, well hidden, however, by a brusque, yet delicate raillery.

But Strahan believed that the romance of his life was over, and he eventually joined his regiment with some reckless hopes of ”stopping a bullet” as he phrased it. Gloomy cynicism, however, was not his forte; and when, before the year was out, he was again promoted, he found that life was anything but a burden, although he was so ready to risk it.

At last the light of reason dawned in Merwyn's eyes. He recognized Marian, smiled, and fell into a quiet sleep. On awakening, he said to her: ”You kept your word, my darling. You did not leave me.

I should have died if you had. I think I never wholly lost the consciousness that you were near me.”

The young girl soon brought about a complete reconciliation between mother and son, and Merwyn was absolved from his oath. Even as a devoted husband, which he became at Christmas-tide, she found him too ready to go to the front. He appeared, however, to have little ambition for distinction, and was satisfied to enter upon duty in a very subordinate position; but he did it so well and bravely that his fine abilities were recognized, and he was advanced. At last, to his mother's horror, he received a colonel's commission to a colored regiment.

Many of Mrs. Merwyn's lifelong prejudices were never overcome, and she remained loyal to the South; but she was taught that mother-love is the mightiest of human forces, and at last admitted that her son, as a man, had a right to choose and act for himself.

Mr. Vosburgh remained in the city as the trusted agent of the government until the close of the war, and was then transferred to Was.h.i.+ngton. Every year cemented his friends.h.i.+p with Merwyn, and the two men corresponded so faithfully that Marian declared she was jealous. Each knew, however, that their mutual regard and good-comrades.h.i.+p were among her deepest sources of happiness. While her husband was absent Marian made the country house on the Hudson her residence, but in many ways she sought opportunity to reduce the awful sum of anguish entailed by the war. She often lured Estelle from the city as her companion, even in bleak wintry weather. Here Strahan found her when on a leave of absence in the last year of the war, and he soon learned that he had another heart to lose.

Marian was discreetly blind to his direct and soldier-like siege.

Indeed, she proved the best of allies, aware that the young officer's time was limited.

Estelle was elusive as a mocking spirit of the air, until the last day of his leave was expiring, and then laughingly admitted that she had surrendered almost two years before.

Of the humble characters in my story it is sufficient to say that Zeb barely survived, and was helpless for life. Pensions from Merwyn and Lane secured for him and his mother every comfort. Barney Ghegan eventually recovered, and resumed his duties on the police force.

He often said, ”Oi'm proud to wear the uniform that Misther Merwyn honored.”

I have now only to outline the fortunes of Captain Lane and ”Missy S'wanee,” and then to take leave of my reader, supposing that he has had the patience to accompany me thus far.

Lane's wound, reopened by his exertions in escaping to Was.h.i.+ngton, kept him helpless on a bed of suffering during the riots and for weeks thereafter. Then he was granted a long furlough, which he spent chiefly with his family at the North. Like Strahan he felt that Merwyn had won Marian fairly. So far was he from cheris.h.i.+ng any bitterness, that he received the successful rival within the circle of his nearest friends. By being sincere, true to nature and conscience, Marian retained, not only the friends.h.i.+p and respect of her lovers, but also her enn.o.bling influence over them. While they saw that Merwyn was supreme, they also learned that they would never be dismissed with indifference from her thoughts,--that she would follow them through life with an affectionate interest and good-will scarcely less than she would bestow on brothers cradled in the same home with herself. Lane, with his steadfast nature, would maintain this relation more closely than the others, but the reader has already guessed that he would seek to give and to find consolation elsewhere. Suwanee Barkdale had awakened his strongest sympathy and respect, and the haunting thought that she, like himself, had given her love apparently where it could not be returned, made her seem akin to himself in the deepest and saddest experience.

Gradually and almost unconsciously he gave his thoughts to her, and began to wonder when and how they should meet again, if ever.

He wrote to her several times, but obtained no answer, no a.s.surance that his letters were received. When he was fit for duty again his regiment was in the West, and it remained there until the close of the war, he having eventually attained to its command.

As soon as he could control his own movements he resolved to settle one question before he resumed the quiet pursuit of his profession,--he would learn the fate of ”Missy S'wanee.” Securing a strong, fleet horse, he left Was.h.i.+ngton, and rode rapidly through a region that had been trampled almost into a desert by the iron heel of war. The May sun was low in the west when he turned from the road into the extended lawn which led up to the Barkdale mansion.

Little beyond unsightly stumps was left of the beautiful groves by which it had been bordered.

Vividly his memory reproduced the same hour, now years since, when he had ridden up that lawn at the head of his troopers, his sabre flas.h.i.+ng in the last rays of the sun. It seemed ages ago, so much had happened; but through all the changes and perils the low sob of the Southern girl when she opened the way for his escape had been vibrating in stronger and tenderer chords in the depths of his soul.

It had awakened dreams and imaginings which, if dissipated, would leave but a busy, practical life as devoid of romance as the law-tomes to which he would give his thoughts. It was natural, therefore, that his heart should beat fast as he approached the solution of a question bearing so vitally on all his future.

He concealed himself and his horse behind some low, shrubby trees that had been too insignificant for the camp fires, long since burned out, and scanned the battered dwelling. No sign of life was visible. He was about to proceed and end his suspense at once, when a lady, clad in mourning, came out and sat down on the veranda. He instantly recognized Suwanee.

For a few moments Lane could scarcely summon courage to approach.

The surrounding desolation, her badges of bereavement and sorrow, gave the young girl the dignity and sacredness of immeasurable misfortune. She who had once so abounded in joyous, spirited life now seemed emblematical of her own war-wasted and unhappy land,--one to whom the past and the dead were more than the future and the living.

Would she receive him? Would she forgive him, one of the authors of her people's bleeding wounds? He determined to end his suspense, and rode slowly towards her, that she might not be startled.

At first she did not recognize the stranger in civilian dress, who was still more disguised by a heavy beard; but she rose and approached the veranda steps to meet him. He was about to speak, when she gave a great start, and a quick flush pa.s.sed over her face.

Then, as if by the sternest effort, she resumed her quiet, dignified bearing, as she said, coldly, ”You will scarcely wonder, Captain Lane, that I did not recognize you before.” He had dismounted and stood uncovered before her, and she added, ”I regret that I have no one to take your horse, and no place to stable him, but for yourself I can still offer such hospitality as my home affords.”

Lane was chilled and embarra.s.sed. He could not speak to her in like distant and formal manner, and he resolved that he would not.

However it might end, he would be true to his own heart and impulses.