Part 17 (2/2)
”Excuse me; but I must go now,” replied the young rebel with an exhibition of gentle dignity, which quite won the heart of Somers, as it did that of the family.
”Pray, give me your name, sir,” interposed Sue, whose woman's curiosity could no longer endure the silence which maidenly reserve had imposed upon her, especially as the stranger proposed to depart without solving the mystery.
”You'll excuse me, Miss Raynes, if I decline for the present. My comrade is in a desperate hurry, and it is not reasonable for me to detain him any longer.”
”But, young man, you wrong me, you wrong my daughter, and above all, you wrong my son, who is your friend, by leaving in this manner,” said Mr.
Raynes earnestly. ”You actually charge us with a want of hospitality by this abrupt withdrawal.”
”You will pardon me, sir, for saying it; but after the description I have given of myself, if you do not know me, I am compelled to believe that it is because you do not wish to know me.”
”That is very unjust, and we do not comprehend the force of the remark.”
”Why, sir, I have written to you, and to your daughter, and your daughter has written to me; and now you seem never to have heard of me. I have told you that I reside in Union, Alabama; and that I am a friend of Owen.”
”We know a young man from that town very well, though we never saw him.
His name is Allan Garland; but it is impossible that you should be the person.”
”I must go, comrade,” said Somers desperately, as he rushed out of the door.
”Wait a moment!” exclaimed Mr. Raynes, grasping him by the arm; for the old farmer seemed to think his presence was necessary to the perfect unraveling of the mystery. ”It seems to me you ought to know this young man, if none of us do.”
”I do not, Mr. Raynes; never saw him before in my life,” protested Somers, feeling very much like a condemned criminal.
”My name is Allan Garland,” quietly continued the dignified young rebel.
”I am, undoubtedly, the person to whom you allude.”
”Impossible!” exclaimed Mr. Raynes, still holding Somers's arm with the grasp of a vise.
”Impossible!” almost shouted the fair Sue, more excited than she would have been, if, through patient reading, she had arrived at the last chapter of a sensational novel, where the pin is pulled out and all the villains tumble down to perdition and all the angels stumble upon their apotheosis.
”Impossible!” chimed in Mrs. Raynes, who had preserved a most remarkable silence, for a woman, during the exciting incidents we have transcribed.
”May I be allowed to inquire why you think it is impossible?” calmly demanded the gentle rebel, who, in his turn, was amazed at the singular course of events.
Sue did not know what else to do; so she sat down in a chair, and laughed with hysterical vehemence at the strange aspect of the affair. The old man opened his eyes, and opened his mouth; but he did not forget to hold on with all his might to the arm of the unfortunate lieutenant, who was just then picturing to himself the interior of a rebel dungeon; which view suddenly dissolved into an indistinct representation of a tree, from a stout limb of which was suspended a rope, hanging down over a cart--these latter appurtenances being symbolical of the usual rebel method of hanging a spy.
The affair, which had been growing desperate for some time, had now actually become so to poor Somers. He placed his hand upon his revolver, in the breast-pocket of his coat; but some prudential considerations interposed to prevent him from using it. The house was on a line of rebel sentinels. Whole divisions of Confederate infantry, artillery and cavalry, were encamped around him, and any violent movement on his part would have been sure to result in an ignominious disaster. The doughty old farmer, who was not less than six feet three in his stockinged feet, held on to him as a drowning man clings to a floating spar. It was not possible to get away without resorting to violence; and if he offered any resistance to what, just then, looked like manifest destiny, the rebel soldier would become an ally of the farmer, and the women could call in the sentinels, if nothing more.
”Really, Mr. Raynes, you are very unkind to detain me, when I tell you that my leave has nearly expired,” said Somers, when he had fully measured the situation; which, however, was done in a t.i.the of the time which we have taken to transcribe it.
”Young man, there is some _mistake_,” said Mr. Raynes, placing a wicked emphasis on the word, which went to the very core of the scout's heart.
”This man says he is Allan Garland, and you say you are Allan Garland.
One of you is an impostor. Neither of you shall go till we determine which is the one. Sue, bring out your photograph again.”
”Oh, dear!” gasped Somers, as in a fit of momentary despondency, he gave himself up for lost, when the maiden went for the picture.
<script>