Part 55 (1/2)
”The very latest?” and she smiled again in that strange mocking way.
”Well, the latest is that he is entirely innocent; had nothing whatever to do with the taking of the papers.”
”Madame Caron!”
”Yes, I am quite serious. I was just about to tell Colonel McVeigh, but we can chat about it until he comes;” and she pretended not to notice the wonder in his face, and went serenely on, ”in fact, it was not a man who took the papers at all, but a woman; yes, a woman,” she said, nodding her head, as a frown of quick suspicion touched his forehead and his eyes gleamed darkly on her, ”in fact a confidential agent, whom Captain Masterson designated yesterday as most dangerous to the Confederate cause. I am about to inform Colonel McVeigh of her ident.i.ty. But I do not fancy that will interest you nearly so much as another story I have for you personally.”
She paused and drew back a little, to better observe every expression of his countenance. He was glaring at her and his breath was coming in broken gasps.
”There are really two of those secret Federal agents in this especial territory,” she continued, ”two women who have worked faithfully for the Union. I fancied you might be especially interested in the story of one of them, as she belongs to the Loring family.”
”To our family? That is some cursed Yankee lie!” he burst out fiercely, ”every Loring is loyal to the South! To _our_ family? Let them try to prove that statement! It can't be done!”
”You are quite right, Monsieur Loring,” she agreed, quietly, ”it _would_ be difficult to prove, even if you wished to do it.” He fairly glared at the possibility that he should want to prove it. ”But it may have an interest to you for all that, since the girl in question was your brother's daughter.”
”My brother's--!” He seemed choking, and he gazed at her with a horrible expression. The door opened and Mrs. McVeigh entered rather hastily, looking for something in the desk. Loring had sunk back in the chair, and she did not see his face, but she could see Judithe's, and it was uplifted and slightly smiling.
”Have you found something mutually interesting?” she asked, glancing at the book open on Judithe's knee.
”Yes; a child's story,” returned her guest, and then the door closed, and the two were again alone.
”There is a woman to be loved and honored, if one could only forget the sort of son she has trained,” remarked Judithe, thoughtfully, ”with my heart I love her, but with my reason I condemn her. Can you comprehend that, Monsieur Loring? I presume not, as you do not interest yourself with hearts.”
He was still staring at her like a man in a frightened dream; she could see the perspiration standing on his forehead; his lips were twitching horribly.
”You understand, of course,” she said, continuing her former discussion, ”that the daughter in the story is not the lovely lady who is your heiress, and who is called Miss Loring. It is a younger daughter I refer to; she had no surname, because masters do not marry slaves, and her mother was a half Greek octoroon from Florida; her name was Retta Lacaris, and your brother promised her the freedom she never received until death granted her what you could not keep from her; do you remember that mother and child, Monsieur Loring?--the mother who went mad and died, and the child whom you sold to Kenneth McVeigh?--sold as a slave for his bachelor establishment; a slave who would look like a white girl, whom you contracted should have the accomplishments of a white girl, but without a white girl's inconvenient independence, and the power of disposing of herself.”
”You--you dare to tell me!--you--” He was choking with rage, but she raised her hand for silence, and continued in the same quiet tone:
”I have discussed the same affair in the salons of Paris--why not to you? It was in Paris your good friend, Monsieur Larue, placed the girl for the education Kenneth McVeigh paid for. It was also your friend who bribed her to industry by a suggestion that she might gain freedom if her accomplishments warranted it. But you had forgotten, Matthew Loring, that the child of your brother had generations of white blood--of intellectual ancestry back of her. She had heard before leaving your sh.o.r.es the sort of freedom she was intended for, and your school was not a prison strong enough to hold her. She escaped, fled into the country, hid like a criminal in the day, and walked alone at night through an unknown county, a girl of seventeen! She found a friend in an aged woman, to whom she told her story, every word of it, Matthew Loring, and was received into the home as a daughter. That home, all the wealth which made it magnificent, and the t.i.tle which had once belonged to her benefactress, became the property of your brother's daughter before that daughter was twenty years old. Now, do you comprehend why one woman has crossed the seas to help, if possible, overthrow an inst.i.tution championed by you? Now do you comprehend my a.s.surance that Captain Monroe is innocent? Now, dare you contest my statement that one of the Loring family is a Federal agent?”
”By G.o.d! I know you at last!” and he half arose from his chair as if to strike her with both upraised shaking hands. ”I--I'll have you tied up and whipped until you shed blood for every word you've uttered here! You wench! You black cattle! You--”
”Stop!” she said, stepping back and smiling at his impotent rage. ”You are in the house of Colonel McVeigh, and you are speaking to his wife!”
He uttered a low cry of horror, and fell back in the chair, nerveless, speechless.
”I thought you would be interested, if not pleased,” she continued, ”and I wanted, moreover, to tell you that your sale of your brother's child was one reason why your estate of Loringwood was selected in preference to any other as a dowered home for free children--girl children, of color! Your ancestral estate, Monsieur Loring, will be used as an industrial home for such young girls. The story of your human traffic shall be told, and the name of Matthew Loring execrated in those walls long after the last of the Lorings shall be under the sod. That is the monument I have designed for you, and the design will be carried out whether I live or die.”
He did not speak, only sat there with that horrible stare in his eyes, and watched her.
”I shall probably not see you again,” she continued, ”as I leave for Savannah in the morning, unless Colonel McVeigh holds his wife as a spy, but I could not part without taking you into my confidence to a certain extent, though I presume it is not necessary to tell you how useless it would be for you to use this knowledge to my disadvantage unless I myself should avow it. You know I have told you the truth, but you could not prove it to any other, and--well, I think that is all.” She was replacing the book in the case when Gertrude entered from the hall. Judithe only heard the rustle of a gown, and without turning her head to see who it was, added, ”Yes, that is all, except to a.s.sure you our tete-a-tete has been exceedingly delightful to me; I had actually forgotten that a storm was raging!”
CHAPTER XXIX.
Miss Loring glanced about in surprise when she found no one in the room but her uncle and Madame Caron.
”Oh, I did not know you had left your room,” she remarked, going towards him; ”do you think it quite wise? And the storm; isn't it dreadful?”