Part 35 (1/2)
There remained for Rodney nothing to do but obey orders, though he was loath to leave. The spirit of victory was in his soul. That had been a glorious battle and the right had triumphed. The bloodhounds had put their tails between their legs and fled. He did not realize that they would rally and soon be close upon the heels of the retreating Americans, and that nothing would save the latter but the winter floods which were to fill the rivers and delay the British.
Through a land ravaged by war, over roads deep with mud, where might be found only the poorest accommodations for man or beast, Rodney Allison rode homeward. His arm give him little trouble except the fear it might always be stiff. The nearer he came to home the more he longed to be back with the army. It troubled him to think that in the victories he was sure would follow he could not have a part.
”I'm never able to win promotion,” he said to himself, rather bitterly. The picture of that winter night, the witching face of Lisbeth and her mocking laugh as she rode away, kept recurring to his mind. What a girl she had been, the best playmate even a boy might wish; always ready for a lark, daring, mischievous, with wit as keen as a blade and quick as a flash. He could not think of her as dead, and the bitterness of his heart at the trick she had played upon him troubled him now as he looked back upon it. ”She didn't know what she was doing, did she, Nat, old boy?”
Nat had been plodding along but now lifted his head with some show of interest. The hard life he had led since the day Mogridge had stolen him had not quite broken his spirit, though he was gaunt and worn with cruel service.
”I've got you, Nat, if I haven't got a promotion, and of the two I'd rather have you,” said his rider, patting his shoulder.
The lad was nearing his long journey's end. In the distance were the mountains. A few miles further and Monticello would be visible. Over those mountains lay what seemed to the lad a great world. The life he had lived in it seemed like another life and Ahneota, little Louis, the Indian village and all, but the fancies of a dream. Sometime he would go back there.
When he saw the familiar house a thought came to his mind, and he wondered it had not come sooner. Would he find them as he had left them, mother, and 'Omi, and Zeb, and Mam, and Th.e.l.lo?
For an instant he almost feared to go on. Ah, there was Mam, waddling across from house to shed, probably going to call Th.e.l.lo from his favourite seat in the suns.h.i.+ne on the sheltered side of the building.
The door opens and his mother runs out. She has seen him riding up, and she cries: ”Rodney, my boy!” and throws her arms about his neck, standing on tiptoe, for he is tall.
”Only one arm left for hugging, Mother. This is the only badge I bring back from the war,” and he pointed to his arm in the sling, adding, as he notes her alarm, ”it's nothing serious. How are you all?”
”All well and happy now you are back, all save poor old Th.e.l.lo, who's very miserable, but sight of you will make him forget his aches, I'm sure. Why, Rodney, where did you find Nat? Don't you know me, Nat, or have they treated you so badly you've forgotten old friends?”
Naomi, now grown to a handsome girl, ran out and it was some minutes before quiet was restored. Then Rodney asked for Zeb.
”I sent him to Philadelphia. I learned a very dear friend of ours living there is in sore trouble, and I hope he will succeed in having her return with him.”
”Any one I know?”
”Some one you are much interested in. Your friend, Captain Enderwood, who had been to Philadelphia to see her, came all the way to Charlottesville to tell us about her. He also told me how she was the one who had you released from prison and nursed you through your sickness while you were unconscious, and made herself sick in consequence.”
”You don't mean--you can't mean--”
”I mean that Elizabeth Danesford is alive. The mistake came from the report that she couldn't live. Doesn't it seem too good to be true?”
and Mrs. Allison watched Rodney's face as she added: ”She is very poor. Captain Enderwood wished to marry her, he frankly told me so, but you know it would require more than poverty to weaken Lisbeth's resolution. The captain had heard her speak of me as her adopted aunt and he came all the way to Charlottesville to tell me about her. You see, her uncle and aunt in Philadelphia are dead and she has no kin in this country save a cousin who is not able to render her much if any a.s.sistance.”
”She'll not be poor if we ever get what the 'Chevalier' left to us in his will, for half of what he gave to me, you know, he said he should have given to her.”
”It may be difficult to persuade her to accept it. Enderwood, you know, offered to share his fortune with her and she refused.” There was a questioning smile on Mrs. Allison's face.
Two days later Zeb returned from the Quaker City, very much downcast in appearance until he saw Rodney, when his face lighted with pleasure that was unmistakable.
”Looks how Tarleton let ye off easy.”
”He was busy looking after himself. But, Zeb, it seems you failed in your errand. Is Lis--is Miss Danesford sick?”
”No. I reckon,” and Zeb gave a shrewd glance at Rodney, ”the wrong man was sent. She looks pale and tired. She has to work hard; she's runnin' some sort of a girls' school, an' I'd ruther train a yardful o' raw recruits.”