Part 47 (1/2)

”What about that picture you said your wife had of the girl? Madame Caron may not be easy to convince. You'd better let me have it to show her. Is it a good likeness?”

”'Fore G.o.d I don' know! I only reckon it is, 'cause Nelse took her, on sight, fo' Margeret's ghost, which shows it must be the plain image of her! I done been so upset since I got back home with Zekal I nevah had a minute to look ovah Rosa's b'longens', but the likeness is in that bundle somewhere; Rosa alles powerful careful o' that locket thing, an' kep' it put away; don't mind as I evah seen it but once, jest when we fust married. I'd a clean fo'got all 'bout it, only fo'

an accident--an' that's the woman now it was painted from.”

He pointed to a window where Margeret stood outlined for an instant against the bright background.

”Don't look more like her now, I reckon,” he continued, ”all her trouble must a' changed her mightily, fo' the ole folks do say she was counted a beauty once. Little Rhoda went a'most crazy when some one stole the locket, so Rosa said; then by and by the gal what took it got scared--thought it was a hoodoo--an' fetched it back, but Rhoda gone away then. My Rosa took it an' kep' it faithful, waiten' fo' that chile to come back, but she nevah come back while Rosa lived.”

Monroe was staring still at the figure of Margeret, seen dimly, now, through the window.

”Look here!” he said, sharply, ”if the old man recognized the likeness, how comes it that the mother herself did not see it?”

”Why, Margeret she not get here till nex' day after Madame Caron's maid start down the river to take the cars fo' Savannah,” explained Pluto. ”Then Miss Gertrude come a visiten' an' fetch Margeret along.

Yo' see, sah, that woman done been made think her chile dead a long time ago, an' when Margeret went clean 'stracted the word went down to Larues that she dead or dyen'--one! any way my Rosa nevah know'd no different till Larues moved back from Georgy, so there wan't no one heah to 'dentify her, an' there wan't no one heah to let that gal know she _had_ a liven mammy.”

Again Caroline called Pluto.

”Go on,” said Monroe, ”but get me the picture soon as you can. I leave in the morning.”

”I be right heah with it in hour's time,” promised Pluto; ”don' reckon I can slip away any sooner, a sight o' quality folks a' comen'.”

CHAPTER XXVI.

As Monroe entered the hall Judithe came down the stairs, a dainty vision in palest rose. She wore armlets and girdle of silver filagree, a silver comb in the dark tresses, and large filagree loops in her ears gave the beautiful face a half-oriental character.

Admire her though he must, he felt an impatience with her, a wonder that so beautiful a being, one so blest with all the material things of life, should forsake harmony, home, and her own land, for the rude contests where men fought, and plotted, and died--died ingloriously sometimes, for the plots and intrigues through which she claimed to find the only escape from ennui.

She saw him, hesitated an instant, and then came towards him, with a suggestion of daring in her eyes.

”I might as well hear the worst, first as last,” she said, taking his arm. ”Is not the veranda more cool than in here? Come, we shall see. I prefer to be out of hearing of the people while you lecture me for today's mishap.”

She glanced up at him with a pretense of dread such as a child might show; she was pleased to be alluringly gracious, but he could feel that she was more nervous than she had ever shown herself before--the strain was telling on her. Her beautiful eyes were not so slumbrous as usual; they were brilliant as from some inward fever, and, though she smiled and met his sombre gaze with a challenge, she smothered a sigh under her light words.

”I shan't lecture you, Madame Caron; I have no right to interfere with what you call your--amus.e.m.e.nts,” and he glanced down at her, grimly; ”but I leave in the morning because by remaining longer I might gain knowledge which, in honor, I should feel bound to report.”

”To Colonel--or, shall we say, General--McVeigh?”

He bent his head, and answered: ”I have given you warning. He is my friend.”

”And I?” she asked, glancing at him with a certain archness. He looked down at her, but did not speak.

”And I?” she repeated.

”No,” he said, after a pause. ”You, Madame, would have to be something more, or something less. The fates have decreed that it be less--so,”

he made a little gesture dismissing the subject. ”Pardon me, but I did not mean to attack you in that fas.h.i.+on. I came to look for you to ask you a question relating to the very pretty, very clever, maid you had in New Orleans, and whom, I hear, you brought with you on your visit here.”

”Oh! You are curious as to her--and you wish me to answer questions?”