Part 62 (2/2)

The day of the Great Deed was one never to be forgotten by Cook's little bride. They had been married six months. Each hour had bound the girl's heart in closer and sweeter bonds. The love that kindled for the handsome blond the day of their first meeting had grown into the deathless pa.s.sion of the woman for her mate.

He was restless Sat.u.r.day night. Through the long hours she held her breath to catch his regular breathing. He did not sleep.

At last the terror of it gripped her. Her hand touched his brow and brushed the hair back from his forehead.

”What's the matter, John dear?”

”Restless.”

”What is it?”

”Oh, nothing much. Just got to thinking about something and can't sleep.

That's all. Go to sleep now, like a good girl. I'm all right.”

The little fingers sought his hand and gripped it.

”I'll try.”

She rose at dawn. He had asked an early breakfast to make a long trip into the country.

At the table she watched him furtively. She had asked to go with him and he told her he couldn't take her. She wondered why. A great fear began to steal into her soul. It was the first time she had dared to look into the gulf. She would never ask his secret. He must tell her of his own free will. Her eyes searched his. And he turned away without an answer.

He fought for self-control when he kissed her goodbye. A mad desire swept his heart to take her in his arms, perhaps for the last time.

It would be a confession at the moment the blow was about to fall. He would betray the lives of his a.s.sociates. He gripped himself and left her with a careless smile.

All day she brooded over the odd parting, the constraint, the silence, the sleepless night.

She went to the services of the revival and sought solace in the songs and prayers of the people. At night the minister preached a sermon that soothed her. A warm glow filled her heart. If G.o.d is love as the preacher said, he must know the secrets of his heart and life. He must watch over and bring her lover safely back to her arms.

She reached home at a quarter to ten and went to bed humming an old song Cook had taught her. The tired body was ready for sleep. She did not expect her husband to return that night. He had gone as far as Chambersburg. He promised to come on Monday afternoon.

Through the early hours of the fatal night she slept as soundly as a child.

The firing at the a.r.s.enal between three and four o'clock waked her. She sprang to her feet and looked out the window. The street lamps flickered fitfully in the drizzling rain. No one was pa.s.sing. There were no shouts, no disturbances.

She wondered about the shots. A crowd of drunken fools were still hanging around the Galt House bar perhaps. She went back to bed and slept again.

It was eight o'clock before the crash of a volley from the a.r.s.enal enclosure roused her. She leaped to her feet, rushed to the window and stood trembling as volley followed volley in a long rattle of rifle and shotgun and pistol.

A neighbor hurried past with a gun in his hand. She asked him what the fighting meant.

”Armed Abolitionists have invaded Virginia,” he shouted.

Still it meant nothing to her personally. Her husband was not an Abolitionist. She had known him for more than a year. She had been with him day and night for six months in the sweet intimacy of home and love.

And then the hideous truth came cras.h.i.+ng on her terror-stricken soul.

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