Part 21 (2/2)
”Well--how do you like the looks of that, Colonel? The Morning Star with _healing_ in its beams--ha?” Taking down his gla.s.s he turned to his companion, who had not yet spoken, and continued; ”what the deuce is the matter with you St. Clair? Your face ought to be s.h.i.+ning with victory, but instead it presents a perfect blank!”
”As unreadable as our future,” he replied with an attempt at a smile.
”Ah! A discovery! Getting tired already! Hope the white feather has not began to grow as soon as this!” There was a sneer on the face of the speaker which his companion did not fail to notice.
”General,” he said mildly, ”I acknowledge with deference your superiority in military rank, but do not forget that the blood of the St. Clair's runs through my veins, disseminating through my being no mean cowardice, as you well know!” The general laughed.
”You are awake now my brave boy and more like yourself! I only wanted to arouse you! Now tell us, what is the matter? Something more than our surroundings disturbs you. Out with it!”
”What time do the Eaton's go north?” was the calm inquiry.
”Next Wednesday in the steamer from New Orleans,” the general replied in the same indifferent tone.
Another short silence ensued when St. Clair again remarked: ”We have won such a victory that we can afford to rest for a time, I suppose? The fact is, general,” he continued, ”I have received a telegram this morning that has disturbed me not a little!”
”I am glad your ill humor can be accounted for. I never saw you appear so unlike yourself; no bad news I hope!”
The manner of his companion was particularly offensive just then, but smothering his rage St. Clair replied: ”You understand that I would like a furlough to return home for a few days! It seems that my father must leave Savannah, where he has been an honored and beloved citizen for nearly half a century, or forfeit his life, for no other reason than that he cannot at his advanced age learn immediately the act of dissembling nor tear from his heart the live-long love for the old flag.”
”What do you mean, St. Clair?”
”I mean just _this_! My father was fired upon last night while sitting quietly in his own library, the ball pa.s.sing a little above his head and lodged in the wall opposite.”
The general was excited. ”A blood-thirsty _wretch_!” escaped from his lips, while his companion continued calmly: ”In order to save our loved ones we must push them off into the enemy's country; now honestly, general, has not that a smack of the ridiculous about it?” Without waiting for a reply he turned, remarking: ”It is time that I was at work if I am permitted to go on the next train.”
Anna Pierson was alone in the school room, her head bowed upon the desk before which she was sitting. A sheet of letter paper with a few lines written upon it was lying beside her, while the idle pen with the ink dried upon it had apparently fallen on the page blearing and spoiling it. Poor Anna! She had sat there a long time silent and motionless, seemingly unconscious even when little May stole softly into the room to tell ”Miss Anna” that Uncle George had come; she was obliged to run back with the intelligence that Miss Anna was asleep; neither did the tread of heavier feet arouse her when nearly half an hour later George St.
Clair quietly pushed back the half-open door and stood irresolutely for a moment on the threshold. She was not asleep as he well knew, for a low, deep sigh reached him, and the little hand that hung so listlessly over the corner of the desk on which her head was resting trembled. In a moment he was beside her, and taking the bowed head between his hands he raised it tenderly and looked down into the tear-stained face.
”Anna!”
”George St. Clair!” she exclaimed with almost a shriek, at the same time attempting to rise. But he held her fast.
”No, Anna! It takes a longer time than you have given me to get a perfect daguerreotype! I want the memory of this just as I found it, tear-stained and all! It is no more than I deserve. I should not have been so cruelly selfish as not to have told you weeks ago to leave Savannah and return to your northern home.”
”Is it too late now?”
”No, but you must be speedy! More than this, you must take my father and mother and Ellen with you!”
”With me?”
”Yes, Anna; we cannot leave them here after what has happened.”
”O, no; I shall be so happy! But George--”
”What, Anna?”
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