ii j. i j i ii ^X. 
 
 ■ r i j i ji i Mi iiii M ii 
 
 HEl^DEI^iptA0AR> 
 
 
THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
 "OUT OF PRINT BOOKS' 
 
 D'Malley's Bdok Store 
 
 377 FmiESTUI A\/cri^iii<^ 
 
,.nf 
 
The Modern Hagar, 
 
 a movei. 
 
 CHARLES M. CLAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF *BABT RUE." 
 
 " Contempt is murder committed by the intellect, as hatred is murder com- 
 mitted by the heart. Charity, having life in itself, is the opposite and destroyer 
 of contempt as well as hatred."— George Macdonald. 
 
 IReviscO :£Mtion. 
 
 TWO VOLUMES IX OXE. 
 
 NEW YOKE: 
 PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOK, 
 
 FROM THE OFFICE OF 
 
 Fords, Howard, & Hulbert, 
 
 1883. 
 
Copyright, 1881, 
 BY Roberts Brothers. 
 
 revised edition, 
 Copyright, 1883, by Charles M. Clay. 
 
DeC^icate^ 
 
 TO 
 
 DR. T. G. RICHARDSON, 
 
 NEW ORLEANS, LA., 
 
 AND 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 THE LATE DR. DEMARQUAY, 
 
 PARIS, FRANCE. 
 
 535304 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 witii funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hil 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/modernhagarnovelOOclay 
 
BOOK FIEST. 
 
 FILIA NULLIUS. 
 
 " The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth 
 are set on edge" 
 
 PART FIRST. 1850 
 
 CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 " The unseen Poorer, whose ere 
 For ever doth accompanr mankind, 
 Hath looked on no religion scornfully 
 That man did erer find." 
 
 THREE years after the " Battle of the Witchi- 
 ta Peak," of which this truthful historian 
 has told you elsewhere, he again finds some 
 of the actors in the drama he is about to write 
 in the Indian Territory. It was Christmas eve. 
 The day had been one of those warm days that 
 sometimes linger into December in the Southern 
 States.. Although the wind was changing from 
 point to point in gusty swells, it had not chilled 
 the evening. November had been unusually 
 cold and stormy, and the blasts of two "north- 
 ers" had stripped the foliage from bush and 
 tree, except where the scrub-pines and red cedars 
 held their dark-green colors against the hills. 
 
 But on this December evening there was the 
 warmth of summer in the soft twilight, though 
 the trees had lost the rippling melody that sings 
 
8 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 through the quiverinpj leaves of summer. The 
 only sounds that disturbed the profound silence 
 of the woods were occasional jDuffs of the change- 
 ful wind; then a quick rustling would sweep the 
 forest floor, leaving a deeper stillness in the long 
 intervals between the gasping breaths. 
 
 Over the wooded knolls and down the ravine- 
 through which the footpath led from Fort Gibson 
 to the quarters of Major Leszinksky at Bouie' s 
 Hill — into the stillness of the forest and the twi- 
 light, came a soldier, an Indian, and a nonde- 
 script giant on crutches, whose face was seamed 
 with deep scars. 
 
 The three men halted at a little rustic lodge at 
 the foot of Bouie' s Hill, just within the orchard- 
 gate, through which the road wound upward to 
 the comfortable house of hewn logs that, with 
 its broad piazza and flanking additions, crowned 
 the wide, flat summit. The Indian stopped to 
 close the gate — while the soldier assisted his com- 
 panion up the steps which led to the porch of the 
 cabin — then he entered the house and brought 
 out a buffalo-rug, and was soon lying at ease be- 
 tween the rough settle where the cripple was in- 
 stalled and the steps where the soldier was seat- 
 ed. The latter puffed vigorously at his pipe for 
 
CHANGES AT BOVIE'S HILL. 9 
 
 a few seconds to keep it aliglit, and then resumed 
 what was evidently an interrupted and discur- 
 sive homily : 
 
 '' Somehow this is the solemnest Christmas eve 
 ever I met up with. Seems more like they was 
 fixin' up thar"— pointing to the house on the 
 hill— "fur a funeral than fur a weddin'. It's 
 jest four years to-night sence I come h'yar with 
 the news of the massaker at Castalar's, when the 
 Pawnees and the Ottoes was on the war-path ; 
 an' they didn't spar' a human, in nary place 
 they struck over on the Kiameshi, except the 
 little Cap'n." 
 
 He stopped abruptly and glanced at the In- 
 dian ; then, after a moment's hesitation, began 
 in a lower tone, as though that were sufficient 
 concession and apology for words which might 
 not be altogether agreeable to one of his hearers. 
 
 ''There's been a power o' changes since that 
 time the Big Chief"— with an amicable nod to 
 the Indian— " found the child and saved her 
 from the tomahawks of his people. That trip to 
 the Witchita hills, when we was a-foUering his 
 trail, a-ready to kill him like a wolf or a rattler, 
 not a-knowin' he was more the little Cap'n 's 
 CR-ptyve than she was his'n, got me the manner- 
 
10 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 poJcer and Cap'n Carson a wife. He was on'y a 
 lef tenant that time when he was a sarchin' fur 
 Mrs. Leszinksky's baby and found Coacooche's 
 darter. I'm free to say he mought a-married a 
 white lady back in the States and a-done wuss. 
 But howsomdever^ his gain has been, thar an't 
 nary doubt 'bout mine. It was the stopj^in' o' 
 liquor fur me. That mornin' after we had to get 
 up and get out o' the Semenolie valley my narves 
 was a-shakin' and I was a-wantin' liquor wuss 
 than a starvin' man could vittals. When we 
 stopped at the Washiter ford to breathe the 
 horses and let Mrs. Leszinksky rest a little, 'cause 
 she was weak and poo'ly then, I jest got bold 
 out o' desperation, and I went uj) to wliar the 
 doctor was a-standin' by that angel of a woman, 
 and I said I must have a drink or I couldn't go 
 another step. The doctor took out a flask and 
 was gettin' a cup to pour it in when'Mrs. Les- 
 zinksky called me. So be an' I should live till 
 etarnity ended I never could forget how she 
 looked or what she said. She laid one o' them 
 little white hands o' hern on my arm, and hand- 
 ed me with the other a tin cup full o' coffee they 
 had brought from the valley fur lier. Her voice 
 was mos' gone, what with the tire o' that long 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 11 
 
 night's ride and the pain that had commenced 
 then to kill her the slow way it took her at last. 
 But broke up, and between catches fur breath 
 as she had to speak, thar wahn't never on this 
 'arth nor in heaven no sweeter music than that 
 sweet voice o' hern when she said : ' Take this 
 coffee, Bob, and fight the tempter. You can do 
 it, because you are brave and true ; you will, be- 
 cause we who love you best ask it. I may not 
 live to get home. If I do I shall not have long to 
 stay with you all, and I want you to make me a 
 promise.' Jes' then I broke the grip o' liquor. 
 I knowed I would, the first word she said— I 
 knowed what she meant when them bright blue 
 eyes o' hern, that shined like the cl'arest, bright- 
 est sky, looked at me as she give me the coffee. 
 From that day to this I thank God I didn't make 
 her wait or let her say what the promise was she 
 wanted me to make. I took the cup from her, 
 and before I tasted a drop thar was in it I jest 
 went down on my knees by whar she was, and 
 swore to God and her that while thar was a Les- 
 zinksky on 'arth that keered fur me to quit 
 liquor I'd quit. You see the on'y kind o' reso- 
 lution ever I kept was one that had some end to 
 it s^QG-i-fied. It's the on'y kind I could keep. 
 
12 THE MODERN 11 AGAR, 
 
 You see when I used to swar off for ever, that 
 was a sort o' blind time ; and by not right ways 
 a-knowin' just when 'twould end I allays bust- 
 ed it. All that day thar was a powerful strain 
 on me — and me needed to go on to the regi- 
 ment ; but Leftenant Carson had to go and bring 
 a ambulance and a escort. You know we was 
 afeard o' trouble with the Semenolies, whose vil- 
 lage had been raided by some murderin' rascals 
 on our side ; and we was more afeard that the 
 volunteers they belonged to wouldn't disband 
 without fightin' the Pawnees we had just made 
 peace with, and who had brung us safe from the 
 Semenolie valley. 
 
 ''It was a mighty ticklish bizness all round; 
 and wust of all fur me was the devil's tattoo 
 that was a-beatin' in every narve and a-settin' 
 me wild fur a drink. 
 
 " Then the Big Chief did me another 
 thankee-job. In spite o' all the rumpus thar, 
 with the devil broke loose in the woods be- 
 twixt the Creek nigger-catchers and the vol- 
 unteers on our side, and the Semenolies on 
 t'other, he sent one o' his warriors to Coacoo- 
 che's village on the Canadian, and got me a 
 tickler full o' that bitter black drink like the 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 13 
 
 Comancliee squaw give me over thar when I 
 had that fit in the mountains. It busted the 
 manner-poker, which was a-chasin' me, then 
 and thar. Why, jest as soon as I drinked it 
 I dropped in the bushes and slept till next 
 mornin' . When the lef tenant got back with the 
 ambulance and a escort from our regiment, 
 Mrs. Leszinksky made me get in it with her 
 and the little Cap' n ; and somehow I dropped 
 off asleep agin, and never waked till we got to 
 the camjD at Little River. Then the next day 
 I hearn you was a prisoner with the Coman- 
 chees." 
 
 Here the talker paused to relight his pipe, 
 and nodded at the cripple, who moved un- 
 easily, and then, as if compelled to iill the 
 listening silence of the evening, said : 
 
 "It wahn't long afore you come fur me. I 
 knowed I wouldn't be a jprisoner long if you 
 all could holp me — though I hadn't count- 
 ed on the Big Chief thar, and I didn't know 
 how the reg'ment had made out thar in that 
 scrimmage at the ford. Arter I flanked the 
 Comanchees in the timber along the divide, 
 betwixt Wild Horse and Rush Creeks, I know- 
 ed whar the reg'ment mought get through 
 
14 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 safe, so be and tlie reinforce??^^?^^^ stopped 
 on this high bluff o' the AVasliiter, and shell- 
 ed the woods 'across thar to the right, and 
 cl'ared the underbrush. Tliat was what I told 
 Colonel Kearny when I got to whar he was 
 camj)ed, and that was what he sent me back 
 to tell our Zoo tenant. But the Comanchees 
 got me in the little trail through the holler, 
 whar I had gone through a-goin. It sarved 
 me right fur not a-havin' mo' sense. To trust 
 to the Comanchees not a-strikin' my tracks — 
 as if Injuns wahn't all eyes and ears on the 
 war-path ! The most mort-i/'^-in' thing was, 
 they jest counted on my a-bein' a bawn fool, 
 and I didn't noways disap2?'/;i^ 'em. They 
 cotched me like Abraham's ram, a-stuck in the 
 mesquite bushes and the prickly j)'ars, ready 
 fur the sacri^ce. Twice that day I thought 
 my time had come. They tied my arms down 
 behint me with a larit^Z, and they had another 
 round my throat that they led me by to 
 thar am%57^ in the w^oods near by the ford, 
 a-prickin' me with thar knives when I didn't 
 cFar the ground quick enough to suit thar 
 movements. They had tuck my blanket ; but 
 my huntin' -shirt and my brand-new buckskin 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 15 
 
 breeches was all cut and bloody with thar 
 wasteful ways — to say nothin' o' the distress- 
 ful feelin' o' my hide. WeD, when they got 
 over thar by the Washiter, and I was stiff 
 and sore and wore out with the long, quick 
 march, they loosed the lariat, that had cut 
 the skin o' my swelled-up throat, and order- 
 ed me to hail our fellows, who I could see up 
 thar on the bluff, just whar I had been sent 
 to tell 'em to come. At first I couldn't speak; 
 then they gin me water. Arterward they saw 
 I wahn't a-goin' to speak, so they drew the 
 lariat round my wrists sicli a way that I've 
 got a pa'r o' bracelets o' thar make yet." 
 And the cripple looked at a cicatrized ring 
 around his wrists as he continued: "I thought 
 once o' hoUerin' to our Zootenant, as was 
 then, that the Injuns had me, but to shell 
 away into thar BuiMcsTi; then I got afeard 
 they might come to holp me, and not shell 
 the woods, which they was a-fixin' to do. So 
 I just kep' still and they shelled the Injuns 
 out, and me along with 'em, led by the lari- 
 at, that gin me a necklace to match my brace- 
 lets." He loosened his collar, with a shake of 
 his head to prove its present freedom, and 
 
16 THE 3I0DERN HAQAR. 
 
 concluded with : ' ' Then I had to keep still, 
 which you know, Starns, is most nateral to 
 me." And he smiled at the soldier. The 
 sarcasm, if intended, was of no avail, for 
 ''Starns" was ready and waiting to go on 
 with his reminiscences. 
 
 "Well, you wahn't so still that mornin' the 
 Big Chief and me got to the Comanchee vil- 
 lage in the very nick o' time to get you out'- 
 en thar roastin' -forks ! We liearn you a-sing- 
 in' afore we rounded the p'int at the foot 
 o' the hill. I told the Big Chief somethin' 
 oncomman must be up, becase I'd never hearn 
 you a-goin' on that-a-way. If you had been 
 a-whistlin' 'twould a-been more nateral ; but 
 somehow that hymn you w^as a-rollin' out 
 sounded like a camp-meetin' in old Missoury. 
 I was clean took out o' my reckonin' when 
 we tamed the p'int and I seed you tied up 
 to that hackberry-tree, with a slow lire a -curl- 
 in' into little red tongues round your legs. 
 'Twas mighty well them red devils had fixed 
 you to roast slow, and left your leggins and 
 moccasins on while they amused tharselves 
 a-shootin' burnin' arrers all round, a-slicin' 
 your face into the tree. And if they hadn't 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 17 
 
 a-spared your eyes, a-hopin' to see you flinch 
 from thar arrers, you would a-had no eyes 
 worth speakin' on, time we got you loose. 
 As 'twas, what gives my liver a rise now 
 every time I think on it is, they shrivelled 
 the sinews o' the bravest trailer that ever 
 walked in thar cursed country. But if it 
 hadn't a-been fur the fix we found you in 
 'twould a-been worth Avhile a-goin' fur you, 
 to see what splendid fightin' a real warrior 
 kin do when his blood's at the bilin'-p'int." 
 
 And the soldier looked admiringly at the In- 
 dian, whose eyes seemed to reflect the lurid 
 light of battle as this vision of the past was 
 uncovered in the present. 
 
 After a short pause to knock the ashes from 
 his pipe, and adjust a quid of tobacco to a spot 
 in his cheek where it would not interfere with 
 speech, the soldier continued : 
 
 '' I disremember what 'twas I said — most like 
 thar was some tall swarin' in it, for the leftenant, 
 as was then, hadn't broke me in to quit, which 
 I've done to x^lease him, leastwise excep' the 
 'casion is ]30werful provokin'. But that's nu til- 
 er here nor thar ; what I was a-goin' to say 
 was this : The Big Chief knowed it was you we 
 
18 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 had come fur. Now, he had promised Major 
 Leszinksky — lef tenant he was then — that he'd 
 ransom you or take you from them crawlin' 
 snakes. An^ he did it. The rest on us didn't 
 count fur much, though we done our best, too — 
 but what a devil of a fightin' race we had arter 
 we got you ! " 
 
 The crippled giant looked ujd at the rosy sky 
 as he said : 
 
 '' It was the Lord did it. I don't mean no way 
 to belittle none o' you nor what you done fur 
 me ; but the odds agin you was past the power 
 o' man to overcome, if the Lord hadn't a-made 
 bar' his arm." 
 
 There was a moment of stillness, then a few- 
 bars of a sacred melody rose through the soft 
 air of that December twilight. 
 
 ^' Yes," said the soldier softly, as the voice of 
 the cripple faltered and the sound was hushed, 
 '^ that's it; that's the hymn the Big Chief 
 thought was the death-song of a warrior : 
 
 " ' When through fierr trials.'" 
 
 The cripple turneS to his auditors a scarred 
 and mutilatpd face, but the eyes were full of 
 love and faith as he spoke : 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 19 
 
 ^*It's the life-song, and, if so be, the death- 
 song, o' any o' God's creeters as clings to him 
 and trusts him to help 'em." 
 
 The soldier cleared his throat: "I don't go 
 much on preachers, or long norations 'bout re- 
 ligion. And I can't come to believe thar's any 
 wuss hell 'an that a man totes inside of him 
 when he's been brung up short and made to take. 
 ' count of his own meannesses ; or when he's got 
 the manner -polter^ and sees what he knows an't^ 
 and feels the grip o' the devil that swims in 
 every drap o' liquor. But I do think. Pike, you 
 and our old leftenant. Major Leszinksky, has got 
 the humanest feelin' for other folks, and the best 
 friendshij) for God A' mighty, of any men ever I 
 met up with. But you an' t no better in your 
 way than the Big Chief is in his' n ; and you 
 don't stick no closer to the textes you find in 
 your Bible than he does to what the Great Spi- 
 rit tells Mm. Now, I don't believe heaven's a 
 narrer SQttlement fenced in by burnin' brim- 
 stone. But I do believe Mrs. Leszinksky' s thar ; 
 and when I know how she pitied me — an' me a 
 wuthless drunkard — I know God an't a-goin' to 
 turn agin me just when I'm at the last pinch 
 a-tryin' to find a cl'ar path with the blindfold of 
 
20 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 death on me. I an't a-sayin' notliin' agin your 
 religion; you're a Baptist, and water's cleanin', 
 but it don't alius wash the meanness out' en a 
 man. The thing was, you hadn' t waited fur that 
 dip to do right by white, and black, and red. It 
 an't what a man calls hisself but what he does 
 that shows the grain in him. And thar's a heap 
 o' doirC that God an't a-goin' to count agin a 
 man. 
 
 '' Sometimes it's thar lights as is deceivin' 'em, 
 like the Big Chief when he's a-takin' scalps or 
 layin' for a Comanchee. Sometimes it's thar 
 weakness leads 'em into quagmu^es — I know — 
 But here comes Cap'n Rue." 
 
 He sprang down the steps and then stiffened 
 into a rigid military salute as a wee maiden came 
 flying down the path under the leafless trees, 
 shouting : 
 
 ''Bob! Bob! Tell Pike— tell my chief- 
 papa's coming. He is over there on the hill. 
 I saw him through the spy-glass. O Pike ! O 
 my chief ! papa's coming, papa's coming ! " 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A man might then behold 
 At Christmas, in each hall, 
 
 Good fires to em-b the cold, 
 And meat for great and small." 
 
 EAELY in the afternoon of that same Christ- 
 mas eve a lady, a servant, and the wee 
 maiden who in our last chapter interrupt- 
 ed the soldier's discourse were busy decorators 
 of the dining-room and wide-spread, hospitable 
 table at "Bouie's Hill." There were rapturous 
 but disconnected ejaculations of praise and de- 
 light from child and servant, as Miss Carson, 
 with the steadiness of a firm, unhesitating char- 
 acter, tried effects and produced results that, ac- 
 cording to her own judgment and the present 
 lights of her admiring assistants, could not have 
 been bettered. Those assistants were two. The 
 first was a tall, stately mulatto woman, whose 
 kindly face and large brown eyes were brought 
 into full and effective relief by the bordering of 
 silver hair that rippled in thick, soft waves be- 
 
22 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 neath the gay Madras liandkerchief wound above 
 and around the erect and well-poised head. The 
 smaller personage was the witching little despot 
 known to us, some four years earlier than the 
 date of this history, as ^'Baby Rue," now a 
 slender, pale little maiden, whose tawny pallor 
 was lit by scarlet lips and the flashing, change- 
 ful lustre of gray eyes that might have caught 
 their color from the gleam of a Damascus blade. 
 There was a wild, untrained grace in the child' s 
 every movement — a grace that comes of the per- 
 fect sympathy of body and soul, where action is 
 the twin of thought. Every word that came 
 through the mobile lips was foreshadowed in the 
 expressive face and in the changing light of the 
 beautiful eyes ; and to every word a gesture was 
 fitted. 
 
 There was little to hear in the dining-room — 
 nothing to inform the reader either of present 
 or past. Rue varied her exclamations with sud- 
 den dashes into the sitting-room to tell the gen- 
 tlemen there of some new wonder ; with swift 
 rushes to the front piazza, where the spy-glass 
 was poised to command an extended view of the 
 road on the bluff some two miles distant from 
 Bouie's Hill; with quick runs to the kitchen, 
 
CHANGES AT. BOUIE'S HILL. 23 
 
 where, under the supervision of Sara's frequent 
 visits, Mead's work as G7^(?/' steadily progressed. 
 
 That I may conscientiously pick up and wind 
 into the woof of this truthful, painstaking narra- 
 tive a few threads that tie us to the past of the 
 characters I am about to introduce, I shall jot 
 down some broken bits of talk that Rue might 
 have heard, had that brilliant butterfly rested 
 alight a moment from her swift flights on that 
 particular 24th of December, in the kitchen at 
 Bouie's Hill, where a patriarchal negro iterates 
 his complaints and comments : 
 
 " An't yo' dun fix de dinin'-room yet, Sara ?" 
 
 ^'Yes, Daddy, everything's ready now; on^y 
 Miss Mary Carson she's so partic'lar 'bout fixin' 
 them posies roun' de plates." 
 
 ''AYell, yo' better leave her 'lone, an' stay 
 heah an' see how Mead's a-doin' de roasts. I 
 can't sot my mind to watchin' him, nohow. I'se 
 in a daze wid all dese go-downs in de fam'ly. I 
 didn't 'spec to stay heah long 'nough to see sich 
 gwine'ns on. May-be it's de Lord's work, but 
 it 'pears to me mighty like de debble had a fin- 
 ger in de pie. I an't had no peaceable 'ligious 
 'sperience sinct dat time dey all got back heah 
 arter little Miss Eue was stoleded an' carried to 
 
24 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 de Injun country. Dat was de fust of de settlin 
 of de sabages on dis place. I knowed dar 
 wahn't no good gwine to come on it when Miss 
 Marg'ret liad dat cabin built yonder t'other side 
 de big house fur dat Injun chief, case he spared 
 Miss Rue out' en dat slaughter and gin her back. 
 It was jes' a-iiyin' in de face of Vvo\\dence. 
 An' yo' see, Sara, what a back-sat we' se all got. 
 De fust thing dat happened arter Marse Carson 
 marry dat young Injun woman showed it. 
 Heah was Marse Stan an' Miss Marg'ret an' de 
 baby sent t' Mexiker, an' yo' an' Oscar gone wid 
 'em ; an' loe all lef heah wid nobody but Miss 
 Mary Carson an' de Injuns. Not as I kin say de 
 Big Chief stayed ; but dar was dat Wildcat a-vis- 
 itin' his darter heah, an' she a-visitin' him. an' 
 red an' black Injuns a-comin' an' a-gwine night 
 an' day. Dis an' t been no Christian ^ettlQment 
 sinct dat time. 'Twant no wonder de Lord tuk 
 Miss Marg'ret home. He knowed hebbin was 
 better fur her dan dis place. But now Marse 
 Stan has jes' gone an' done it fur sho' . Lord I 
 Lord ! I'se glad de Mason name's done lef in. 
 ole Firginny. It's de Desinksky imrt o' Marse 
 Stan dat's done made dis heah las' match. 
 Now, de Cart' rets was somebody, an' Miss Mar- 
 
CHANGES AT BOVIE'S HILL. '2b 
 
 g'ret was fit to walk in my Miss Mary's shoes ; 
 but dese Casters — umph ! — all ! dey an't no mo' 
 dan half -breeds : outlandish folks mixed in wid 
 a Injun streak. I was a-w^aitin' my time to go 
 to de ]N"ew Jerus'lem, but now Is shame to go 
 dar. How could a -spectable fam'ly sarvant, 
 dat was 'bawn at Mount Hope an' brung up wid 
 a gran' gen'leman like my marster was, face all 
 de ole Masons uj) dar au tell 'em what Marse 
 Stan's been a-doin' % Why, 'twould raise a 
 'stnrbance in de golden streets. All de bestest 
 o' dem ole Firginny f am' lies 'ill be afeard to 
 hurt de feelins o' de Masons, if dey ax me de 
 news from down lieah. 
 
 ' ' 1 didn' t used to want to outlive Marse Stan ; 
 but if de Lord's willin' I'd a heap ruther he'd 
 go fust nolo an' 'splain dis bizness, 'f he can. 
 
 "Mead, you better turn dat turkey in de 
 'liectar. IS'ot dat it matters much 'f 'tis scorch- 
 ed ; dis an't no 'casion to be proud o' de Ma- 
 son cookin\ 
 
 "Lord I Lord I when I c^(97zsider de Masons 
 in de New Jerusalem, an' 'fleets on dem dat's 
 buried in ole Firginny, an* sees de latest skion 
 o' de male side a-marryin' a quarter-bred French 
 Injun, I feel like a-prayin' wid de profic, ' Let 
 
26 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 dy sarvant 'part in peace' ; an' I'd be glad, 
 'cept fur de rumpus I'd have to raise wid de 
 judge's father, to say nuthin' ob de way ole 
 Gen'ral Desinksky's a-gwine to swar 'bout dis 
 crossin' a thoroughbred wid a scrub w'en he 
 heahs 'bout it up thar." 
 
 Here Rue rushed in with a fresh gush of en- 
 thusiasm over Miss Carson's last clief-d/ oeuvre 
 of decorative art, and dragged the stately Sara 
 from the stool where she sat and pondered the 
 questions propounded by the aged mourner in 
 his jeremiad over the fallen glory of his master's 
 house. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 There is sometlimg in the character and habits of the North Ame- 
 rican savage, taken in connection with the scenery over 'which he is 
 accustomed to range, that is, to my mind, wonderfully striking and sub- 
 lime. He is formed for the wilderness, as the Arab is for the desert. His 
 nature is stern, simple, and enduiing, fitted to grapple with difficulties and 
 to support privations. There seems but little soil in his heart for the sup- 
 port of the kindly vii'tues; and yet, if we would but take the trouble to 
 penetrate through that proud stoicism and habitual taciturnity which 
 lock up his character from casual observation, we should find him linked 
 to his fellow-man of civilized life by more of those sympathies and affec- 
 tions than are usually ascribed to him. It has been the lot of the unfor- 
 tunate aborigines of America to be doubly wronged by the white man. 
 They have been dispossessed of their- hereditary possessions by merce- 
 nary and frequently wanton warfare, and their characters have been tra- 
 duced by bigoted and interested writers. The colonist often treated them 
 like beasts of the forest, and the author has endeavored to justify him in 
 his outrages. The former found it easier to exterminate than to civilize ; 
 the latter to vilify than to discriminate. In peace the Indian has been 
 the dupe of artful traffic ; in war he has been regarded as a ferocious ani- 
 mal, whose life or death was a question of mere precaution and conve- 
 nience.— Tmii:^ o///ic?icoi Character, Washixgtox Irvixg. 
 
 THE Pawnee cliief was on Ms feet at the first 
 sound of Rue' s voice ; and as slie came fly- 
 ing down tlie liill lie sprang liglitly from 
 the porch of the little cabin and canght her in 
 his arms, she still calling as they passed on to 
 the gate, " Papa's coming ! My chief ! my chief ! 
 papa's coming." 
 
 S7 
 
28 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 The impatient little princess had still a good 
 half -hour to wait. I leave her surrounded by- 
 faithful subjects, and present to the reader an- 
 other group I have left all this time alone in the 
 sitting-room on the hill. 
 
 Captain Carson had arrived during the morn- 
 ing of tlie S^th from Xew Mexico by way of the 
 Witchita Mountains. At Canada and El Em- 
 boda, in the fight of the insurgents with Burg- 
 win's dragoons and the volunteers from Mis- 
 souri under Colonel Sterling Price, he had won 
 his grade as first lieutenant. For the action at 
 Pueblo de Taos, where Burg win was killed, he 
 was brevetted captain, and was soon afterward 
 given a company in consideration of his gallant 
 service at San Rosales. 
 
 At the time of his marriage to the daughter of 
 the Seminole chief, Mrs. Leszinksky had invited 
 Carson's sister Mary to come to Bouie's Hill 
 and remain there with the newly-made wife 
 during the absence of Carson and of the Les- 
 zinksky s. 
 
 In acknowledgment of Leszinksky' s service to 
 the government in the pacification of the tribes 
 and the alliance formed with the Pawnees of 
 Lo-loch-to-hoo-la's band, that officer had his 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 20 
 
 brevet as caiDtain and was ordered to join General 
 Taylor's '' Army of Observation," tlien near San 
 Antonio. 
 
 Knowing what the anxiety of Mrs. Leszinksky 
 would be if separated from her husband, to 
 whom she was passionately devoted, Dr. Ran- 
 dall, who was then— as at the time this story 
 begins— stationed at Fort Gibson, advised that 
 she should go with her husband. The one hope 
 left for her health Avas change— change of climate 
 and scene, and, as far as possible, entire forget- 
 fulness of the harrowing anguish through which 
 she had passed at the time of her little daugh- 
 ter's capture in the affair at Castalar's. 
 
 As we -have heard from Uncle Abram, during 
 the absence of the Leszinkskys the Seminole 
 chief was a frequent visitor at Bouie's Hill, no 
 less from affection for his daughter than to pro- 
 tect the interests of his allies, the Black Indians. 
 Trusting to the justice of the President (who, 
 in the third article of the' last treaty with the 
 Seminoles, was given final jurisdiction '4n all 
 contested cases concerning the right of property 
 growing out of sales or transactions previous to 
 the ratification of the treaty"), Coacooche^ bad 
 
 * Coacoochc— Wildcat, the Seminole chief. 
 
30 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 demanded of General Arbiickle protection for 
 his allies, wlio were now being claimed by tlie 
 Creeks as the descendants of their escaped 
 slaves. 
 
 Believing, as did every gentleman in the army, 
 that by the treaties made with the Seminoles the 
 honor of the government was pledged for the 
 freedom and security of these negroes, General 
 Arbuckle directed tliis persecuted people to en- 
 camp and remain npon the government reserva- 
 tion near Fort Gibson, assuring them that neither 
 the Creeks nor the human sleuth-hounds who 
 had followed them from Georgia should molest 
 or enslave them. Once again in the history of 
 Indian treaties pledged faith was faithless. The 
 government ordered the Black Indians to return 
 to their villages, promised them security — and 
 then left them to the tender mercy of greed and 
 hate. The Executive temporized and delayed 
 judgment while giving semi-official countenance 
 to the order for their return to the Creek coun- 
 try, and at last pennitted," if it did not autho- 
 rize, their capture by the slave-traders. 
 
 In all of the trials of this long-suffering tribe 
 Coacooche had been their unfaltering friend and 
 protector. He was frequently at Fort Gibson, 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 31 
 
 and more frequently in the Cherokee country, 
 consulting with Chief Ross, who had never wa- 
 vered in his advocacy of the rights of the Semi- 
 noles since that disastrous epoch when he had 
 been the unwitting agent of the government in 
 the deception practised upon them at the time 
 of their removal from Florida. 
 
 As the sympathy of the master of Bouie's 
 Hill was known to be warmly enlisted in be- 
 half of this wronged people, the place natu- 
 rally came to be the headquarters of the Semi- 
 noles during the time of the sojourn of their 
 allies upon the reservation. Truly, in the lan- 
 guage of Uncle Abram, " thar was red an' black 
 Injuns all de time a-comin' and a-gwine." 
 
 When, some months after the birth of her son, 
 Carson's wife, Alaha-Chayna, received his per- 
 mission to follow him to Mexico, Coacooche came 
 to take leave of his daughter ; he had at Bouie's 
 Hill a final interview with General Arbuckle. 
 
 The honest soldier frankly told the chief that 
 he had been ordered to interpose no further ob- 
 struction to the arrest of the Black Indians by 
 the traders who had bought them from the 
 Creeks. The reply of the Seminole should be 
 written in letters of gold in the Iflstory of the 
 
33 THE 3I0DERN IIAGAR. 
 
 North American Indians : " Coacooclie will never 
 desert the brave warriors who fought by his side 
 in Florida for the homes of their tribe and the 
 graves of their dead. The White Father at 
 AVashington has closed his ears to the truth 
 and his eyes to the sight of the oppressed. He 
 has ordered the Seminoles and their allies to the 
 Creek country, that the slave-catchers may se- 
 cure their victims. The traders in men, like 
 hungiy hounds, have tracked the Seminoles 
 from Florida to Arkansas, and the White Fa- 
 ther has told his soldiers to give the allies of 
 the Seminoles to those dogs. Coacooche has 
 turned his face to the setting sun, that he may 
 find safety for his people and the Jbrave black 
 tribe that grew up beneath the shade of his fa- 
 ther s lodge. He will build his nest high in the 
 mountains near the eyries of the eagles. Like 
 eagles the Seminoles will defend their nests. 
 If the Creeks and the slave-catchers follow the 
 trail of Coacooche their bones will whiten the 
 crags." 
 
 All this story of the Seminoles came into the 
 talk of the two gentlemen who were waiting in 
 the little sitting-room at Bouie's Hill for the 
 coming of their old comrade. Together they 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 33 
 
 unrolled tlie pages of the past four years. Car- 
 son' s account of himself was so brief and modest 
 that I have thought best to sux)X)lement his story 
 with tlie knowledge I have gleaned elsewhere of 
 his gallantry in the battle-field of ISTew Mexico. 
 
 Colonel Beall's story, as -he told it to Carson 
 that soft December evening, was an outline his- 
 tory of the Mexican War, illustrated by battle- 
 pictures which stirred the blood and set the 
 pulses throbbing like martial music. But some- 
 how into it all crept the same sad tale of the 
 wronged Indian. For here and there into these 
 battle-pieces flashed the stalwart figure of the 
 great Pawnee who, through love for the child 
 he had found in the war-path and adopted as 
 his OAvn, fought by Leszinksky's side like a 
 brother. 
 
 The mention of Burgwin' s gallant fight, where 
 Carson was wounded, brought the talk again to 
 Coacooche ; and how, when Carson was nigh 
 unto death, the Seminole chief found him and 
 nursed him with the gentleness of a woman, 
 bringing him, as soon as he could sit his horse, 
 by slow marches to the valley high up the hills, 
 where the tonic water of the boiling-spring and 
 the pure air gave him health and strength. Then 
 
34 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Beall conquered the j^rejudice of a Florida vete- 
 ran and acknowledged tlie wrong-doing of the 
 white race and the gallantry of his old foe. 
 
 There was a long reflective panse, after which 
 Carson took from a shelf of "King Stan's" 
 bookcase a well-worn volume of Washington 
 Irving that had been conned by camp-fires in 
 the mlderness, and read this extract from 
 Philip of Polzanoket^ which might have been 
 written of Coacooche. Beall nodded assent at 
 every period : 
 
 "He was a patriot attached to his native soil; 
 a prince true to his subjects and indignant of 
 their wrongs ; a soldier daring in battle, firm in 
 adversity, patient of fatigue, of hunger, of every 
 variety of bodily suffering, and ready to perish 
 in the cause he had espoused. Proud of heart, 
 and with an untamable love of natural liberty, 
 he preferred to enjoy it among the beasts of the 
 forest or in the dismal recesses of swamps and 
 morasses rather than bow his haughty spirit to 
 submission and live dependent and despised in 
 the ease and luxury of the settlements. With 
 heroic qualities and bold achievements that 
 would have graced a civilized warrior and have 
 rendered him the theme of the poet and the his- 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 35 
 
 torian, lie lived a wanderer and a fugitive in Ms 
 native land, and went down like a lonely bark 
 foundering amid darkness and tempest, witkout 
 a pitying eye to weep kis fall or a friendly kand 
 to record kis struggle." 
 
CHAPTEH IV. 
 
 " The night hath a thousand eyes, 
 The day but one ; 
 But the light of the whole world dies 
 At set of sun. 
 
 " The mind hath a thousand eyes, 
 The heart but one ; 
 Yet the life of a whole life dies 
 When love is done." 
 
 AS Carson replaced tlie book the door opened 
 and tliere entered our old acquaintance, Dr. 
 Randall. 
 "How are you, Carson? I am glad to see 
 you. Your color and size tell nie I need not 
 ask liow is tlie wound. You do not look much 
 like the fellow I saw in the Witchita last sum- 
 mer.' ' 
 
 "You see," said Carson, as they warmly 
 clasped hands, "the result of good nursing, the 
 valley climate, and draughts from, and baths in, 
 the Medicine Spring of the Witchita." 
 
 "Yes, it has wonderful tonic qualities. You 
 may thank your wife, the climate, and the spring 
 
 36 
 
GHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 37 
 
 that you lived to be Captain Carson. I con- 
 gratulate you on your well-deserved promotion. 
 Better late tlian never, but it should have come 
 a yea.r ago. It was gallantly won." 
 
 "It was dearly bought. Poor Burgwin's 
 death was a greater loss to the regiment and 
 the country than would have been a dozen moss- 
 troopers like me." 
 
 ' ' His death was a grief to us all. Nothing 
 has so touched the soldierly feeling of the First 
 Dragoons since Captain Moore was killed ; but 
 neither wiU the regiment forget how you avenged 
 Burgwin' s death or how stubbornly you fought 
 to make his victory sure." 
 
 ''Colonel Price and his volunteers did that. 
 They fought like regulars. If Price would stay 
 in the service I think he would prove that sol- 
 diers are sometimes 'born, not made.' But you 
 know all this." 
 
 " Did you leave your wife in the valley 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; since you. were there last summer Coa- 
 cooche has removed the remnant of the tribe of 
 Black Indians to Mexico. Next spring he will 
 go there with his wife and family, and such of 
 the Seminoles as are now with him. His Mexi- 
 can home is in the hills near Lareda. I fear he 
 
38 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 will be a thorn in the side of our general ou Vlie 
 Rio Grande." 
 
 " But your wife and her little children are not 
 going to Mexico ? " 
 
 '^ JSTo ; Alaha-Chayna will only stay in the val- 
 ley this winter. When her father leaves for 
 Mexico I will bring my wife and boys here." 
 
 There was greeting between Randall and Beall, 
 questions of courtesy and friendship asked and 
 answered, news given of old copirades, talk of 
 old times and the changes since they had parted 
 four years before. Carson told of having met 
 Hartley in Santa Fe during the past summer. 
 Randall asked : 
 
 " What was he doing there ? Is- it possible he 
 served with the volunteers 1 I know he has isot 
 rejoined the regular army." 
 
 The answer came in an indignant negative : 
 ^^ Catch him Avith either ! A cold-blooded scoun- 
 drel like Hartley return to the army as regular 
 or volunteer! His patriotism would never in- 
 duce him to risk his life — ^less than ever now that 
 lie has inherited one great fortune and is waiting 
 the handling of another." 
 
 *'I knew he had succeeded to the dollars of 
 that miserly old peltry-monger, his uncle, but 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIWS HILL. 39 
 
 did not know fortune intended to pelt Mm with 
 further favors." 
 
 " Randall, that villainous attempt at a pun has 
 but one excuse — a villain inspired it." . 
 
 ''Keep it up! Mine was made unwittingly, 
 yours in cold blood. But about Hartley's ex- 
 pectation \ Since his sister married Judge Car- 
 tare t, for Rue's sake I am curious about the 
 Hartleys. Judge Cartaret was Mrs. Leszink- 
 sky's nearest relative, besides being her guar- 
 dian and trustee, and, if Stan should die, would 
 be Rue's." 
 
 ' ' Well, you know all that and do not know 
 what fortune I meant % Why, the great Carta- 
 ret estate, that doubled during Mrs. Leszink- 
 sky' s minority and that will be quadrupled be- 
 fore Rue is of age." 
 
 '/Carson, are you slightly demented?" said 
 the doctor. ''By what quibble of law do you 
 suppose Hartley could ever have the slightest in- 
 terest in the Cartaret estate ?" 
 
 "Do you not know he has married Judge Car- 
 taret' s oldest daughter % " 
 
 "No," said the doctor, while Beall exclaimed : 
 
 " By Jove ! I believe the meaner a man is the 
 more surely he attracts money." 
 
40 THE 3I0DERN HAOAR. 
 
 *'Yes," Carson continued, "there is but one 
 life between him and Kue's inheritance. If Tom 
 Cartaret dies, according to Colonel Cartaret's will 
 Judge Cartaret's next oldest child is Rue's suc- 
 cessor." 
 
 "But, Carson," said the doctor, "you forget 
 Hue herself. I do not think the imperious little 
 princess will ' shuffle off the mortal coil ' to oblige 
 Hartley, so there are two lives between him and 
 the ' Cedars ' ; but it is an aggravation to think 
 he is even that near Mrs. Leszinksky's estate. I 
 hope young Cartaret will marry and have a very 
 patriarchal f amil y . ' ' 
 
 This opened the flood-gate of Beall's anecdotal 
 lore, and he cited so many cases in which capital 
 aggregated capital, and rich men supplanted next 
 of kin in even petty successions, that to calm 
 Carson's prophetic rage and change the subject 
 Randall asked : 
 
 " Will Mrs. Carson conie to Bouie's Hill when 
 she leaves the valley ? " 
 
 "Yes; Stan wrote me the old arrangement 
 must hold through all changes, though God 
 knows I never should have anticipated such a 
 change as this second marriage." 
 
 Rue came with a message from Miss Carson, 
 
CHANaES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 41 
 
 asking Colonel Beall's judgment in some grave 
 matters of decoration. As lie left the room with 
 the child the dragoon, whose face was still cloud- 
 ed, asked the doctor abruptly: ^*Has Stan per- 
 fectly recovered his health \ " 
 
 ''N'o," said Randall ; then he added, after a 
 moment's pause, '' He will never be as strong as 
 when you saw him last. The wound from which 
 he will never recover is Mrs. Leszinksky's death. 
 It took all his courage as a man, all his patience 
 and faith as a Christian, to bear that loss." 
 
 " And yet," said Carson in a half -angry tone, 
 ^'he has married again. I can scarcely forgive 
 Stan this treason to the purest woman, the most 
 perfect love, ever won by man." 
 
 Both were silent until Randall, looking up, saw 
 great tears falling over the bearded face of the 
 soldier. Then he told the story — all the pitiful 
 story of Margaret' s illness and death : of his 
 stay with her and Rue and Stephanie Castalar at 
 San Antonio, while Leszinksky was with Gen- 
 eral Taylor at Palo Alto and Resaca de la Pal- 
 ma ; of his journey, with his patient and the 
 children, to Matamoras, where Mrs. Leszinksky 
 could be nearer her husband and with her old 
 friends the Andersons. He told of the deceptive 
 
42 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 improvement in her healtli that finally mocked 
 their hopes ; of the parting when Leszinksky, 
 after a short visit to Matamoras, had to hurry on 
 to C^margo that he might rejoin General Taylor 
 before the attack upon Ampudia at Monterey. 
 He told how, in that last supreme moment of an- 
 guish, the wife reminded her husband of the pro- 
 mise he had made her in the Witchita valley — a 
 promise to keep Rue with him, to give a home 
 in his old age to Lo-loch-to-hoo-la. She recount- 
 ed the Indian's faithful and unwearying service 
 to her and to their child in Mexico, where liis 
 love to them had brought the chief afar from 
 his land and his people. Then she talked of 
 Stephanie ; of the kindness of the Castalars in 
 the happy early days of her life on the frontier ; 
 of Stephen's brave effort when he gave his life 
 to defend their child. She asked that Stephanie 
 should stay with Rue and be made to feel she 
 had of right a home with the Leszinkskys ; 
 that Rue be taught never to fail in remembrance 
 of the debt of love and gratitude owing to the 
 dead Castalars. 
 
 Then Randall recounted more briefly a story 
 Carson had already partly heard from Beall — 
 the story of Leszinksky : how, twice wounded in 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 43 
 
 that heroic charge when the bishop's palace was 
 stormed at Monterey, Lo-loch-to-hoo-la found 
 Leszinksky, with his arm shattered by a grape- 
 shot, lying unconscious amid the dead who had 
 been mowed down in swaths by the Mexican ar- 
 tillery ; and how the Pawnee chief brought him 
 out of that fiery storm of battle to the ambu- 
 lance where, with the corps of surgeons, Randall 
 waited for the wounded. Here Randall's own 
 words give the clearest picture of the past : 
 
 ^'We amputated Stan's left arm, and dressed 
 the wound in the face that had been made by 
 the splintered bayonet of .a soldier who was 
 killed by his side ; the face-wound was slight, but 
 the arm was so crushed and shattered it had to 
 be cut at the shoulder. He had begged,- just as 
 soon as he recovered consciousness, that it might 
 be done at once, saying : ' I must be sent back to 
 Camargo, and then to Matamoras. I must reach 
 there before my wife hears I am wounded. You 
 know, Randall, she would insist on coming to 
 me, so patch me up and let me take the news to 
 her. She will see then I am not dangerously 
 hurt. If you do not the excitement and the anx- 
 iety will be worse for her.' There was a tone in 
 those last words I could not resist. That night I 
 
44 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 started with him to Camargo — one hundred and 
 eighty miles in an ambulance. You will know 
 how he suffered. When we reached Camargo 
 and got him on the steamer his fever was at its 
 height. But during it all his only impatience 
 was at any delay ; I do not think he had a 
 thought that was not of his wife." 
 
 There was a break in the voice "of the speaker ; 
 then, after a short pause and a hasty glance at 
 Carson, whose face was shaded by his hand, Ran- 
 dall continued : 
 
 " Mrs. Leszinksky was dead when we reached 
 Matamoras. We carried Stan to her room only 
 to look upon the coffined face of the woman who 
 had blessed his life and made ours better — " 
 
 Again there was a hush ; then, as a child's 
 merry laughter rang from across the hall, there 
 came a half -stifled groan from Carson, and the 
 yellow, glinting rays of the burning lightwood 
 were reflected in the drops that fell thick and 
 fast upon his tawny beard. 
 
 Eandall had walked to the window. Then, as 
 if thinking the story must be finished, still 
 standing with his back to the dragoon, he went 
 on : 
 
 '^ There were a lot of wounded to be sent 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 45 
 
 home, and I got leave to exchange with the sur- 
 geon in charge. At New Orleans they were sent 
 to the hospital or discharged, so I came here 
 with Stan, and the children, and . . . Mrs. Les- 
 zinksky's remains. . . . You know, of course, 
 she is buried here, as she w^ished ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know ; go on, tell it all." 
 
 '' Stan's recovery was slow. All of the next 
 year he was at Bouie' s Hill. Your sister Mary 
 had gone home — you remember your father was 
 ill — so Stephanie Castalar was growing to woman- 
 hood dependent solely upon her protector and 
 guardian. Mr. and Mrs. Page wxre gone, so 
 were the families of all of our old comrades. 
 The new j)eo]Dle were quite different : I do not 
 think there is another such set of gossij)s and 
 mischief-makers in the army as that which 
 chance had then gathered into the fort. You 
 know Stan's character — how thoroughly unself- 
 ish he is ; how modest in his estimate of him- 
 self ; how tender and considerate of every mem- 
 ber of his household ; how chivalric and respect- 
 ful to women. Stephanie could not help but love 
 him. I saw it long before the girl could have 
 defined the feeling that was filling her heart. 
 But I saw it too late to warn her, even if such 
 
46 THE MODERN EAGAR. 
 
 warning was ever heeded. An American girl of 
 seventeen would have outlived her dream had 
 she been rudely awakened ; would have de- 
 fended herself with her inherent coquetry, would 
 have flirted herself out of love, though possibly 
 shrining in her heart a higher ideal — one that 
 would make her more difficult for a lover to vnn 
 in the future, because of the lesson learned at the 
 outset. But Stephanie has the mixed French 
 and Indian blood ; she is impulsive and passion- 
 ate, quiet, shy, self-restrained, but absolute in 
 devotion. 
 
 '' Had I thought sooner of her growing woman- 
 hood I think I should have foreseen what must 
 result from propinquity and opportunity. But 
 we wiseacres are always wise in the fulness of 
 what Tias happened. Then when I did see I 
 blundered like an ass. I made stupid efforts to 
 detach Stan from Bouie's Hill, to introduce the 
 set at the fort, to force him to be attentive to 
 women who were his friend's guests. Thus I 
 thought to relegate Stephanie back to childhood. 
 The result was — I taught her the secret of her 
 own heart. Unfortunately, it was soon an open 
 secret to the garrison." 
 
 Randall walked the floor, looking from time 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 47 
 
 to time at Carson, whose expectant face forced 
 the doctor to go on : 
 
 "You know something of garrison scandal: 
 its persistent prying, its amplification of facts, 
 its eagerness to scatter its grains broadcast — in 
 short, the potentiality of its littleness. Well, 
 there was a constant undercurrent of talk — a 
 flood that was swelling from bank to bank; I 
 felt as a Hollander might who had tried to as- 
 sist a poor neighbor by helping him dig his gar- 
 den, and, digging backwards, had unintention- 
 ally cut through the dike. But — to flounder out 
 of my metaphor — I had done the mischief ; and, 
 seeing Stephanie's agitation as the heart waked 
 the senses ; seeing, too, that the cruelest of crit- 
 ics were on the alert, and hearing gossipping 
 calculations of her chances of failure or success, 
 I grew pitiful of the girl and tried to do what 
 was right and just. I told the story as I knew 
 it to Stan, adAdsing him to send Stephanie to 
 the Misses Minor's school at Mount Hope, in 
 Virginia. You know Mount Hope belongs to 
 Hue. Crippled as Stan is for money, it was, I 
 thought, the best thing to be done. The Misses 
 Minor are ladies, and Stephanie could not have 
 been in kinder or better keeping ; so I volun- 
 
48 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 teered that advice. You need not look it. I 
 know it was stupid, cursedly stupid ; I sliould 
 have known what Stan would do when this 
 open secret of the garrison, with the comments 
 of the gossips, was told him. The next mottl- 
 ing after our conversation — which was only one- 
 sided, for I talked— he asked me if I would ac- 
 company Miss Castalar to Memphis to Major 
 Anderson's. Like a blanked idiot I expressed 
 my satisfaction at this move, and added that 
 in a year or two ' Stei^hanie would better un- 
 derstand her position in his family.' He inter- 
 rupted me with : ' I shall go for IIiss Castalar 
 this fall; we are to be married in December.' 
 Then he left me stunned with the surprise of 
 an ending I had not contemplated. An hour 
 later I' walked over the hill there" — and Ran- 
 dall pointed to where a shaft of white marble 
 gleamed amid the euonymus- trees — *' where I 
 found Stan lying senseless upon Mrs. Leszink- 
 sky's grave." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Where is the child that would willinglv forget the most tender of 
 parents, though to remember be but to lament ? " 
 
 FOE, some minutes after Randall's story was 
 told there was a deep silence in the room. 
 Then they heard from the sonth piazza a 
 mingling of voices, a child's glad shout, and 
 the tinkle of quick-running little feet. 
 
 The door opening into the hall was x)ushed 
 ajar, and the shining brown face of a half -grown 
 negro boy was thrust forward into the room, as 
 he announced, with an air evidently studied for 
 the occasion : 
 
 "Major Dezinksky am approachin' de prem- 
 ises wid his bride. We done seed de ' quipage 
 over dar on top ov de ridge. Miss Rue done 
 gone down to de gate to pursent her 'spects on 
 de kashun ; an' Miss Mary an' me thought you 
 mouglit like to jine us and Kunnel Beall out 
 on de piazzer, whar we'se a-waitin' to make our 
 coviT^lwients and co7^gratulations." 
 
 Randall laughed, and even Carson's grim face 
 
 49 
 
50 TEE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 relaxed into a. half-smile as he muttered some 
 adjectives to whicli "idiot" was finally attach- 
 ed. The two gentlemen followed the self-im- 
 portant and self-appointed usher to the piazza, 
 where Beall and Miss Carson were waiting.- The 
 carriage of the travellers was now in full view, 
 coming down the hill on the oppo'site side of 
 the ravine through which the little creek wound 
 around the base of Bouie's Hill. 
 
 As the carriage passed through the gate, which 
 Bob Steams held open, the driver reined in his 
 Tiorses, and the Indian chief lifted the eager 
 child into the door that was opened by a gen- 
 tleman, who folded her in a close embrace. Then 
 loosening the little hands that were clasped 
 about his head, he turned her face to the lady 
 ,who sat by his side, saying : 
 
 "Kiss your new mamma, my daughter." 
 The child drew back with a cold, proud air: 
 ' ' She is not my mamma ; she is only Stepha- 
 nie. My mamma is with God. You told me 
 so, papa." 
 
 "But, my dear child, because your mother 
 is with God He has sent you another mother; 
 so you will kiss her and let her be your mam- 
 ma." 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 51 
 
 The child looked intently into her fathers 
 eyes ; with a sudden movement she turned and 
 held her scarlet lips for the silent lady's kiss, 
 then as suddenly returned to the shelter of her 
 father' s breast, hiding her face as she said : 
 
 ''Stephanie is not my mamma; but if God 
 wants her to be my mamma, and my own dear 
 mamma wants her, and you want her, why I 
 will call her Mamma Stephanie. But I won't 
 say just 'mamma.' Papa! papa ! I cannot." 
 
 The child burst into a storm of sobs that she 
 tried in vain to stifle. An agonized expression 
 came to her father's face. Recollecting that the 
 scene had witnesses, he folded his cloak about 
 her as she clung to him ; then, when he could 
 release his solitary arm, he held out his hand 
 to the Indian, whose eyes flashed a glad light 
 as their hands touched. The soldier had ad- 
 vanced to the carriage-door, and there was 
 a fresh hand-shaking. Of course Bob found 
 voice : 
 
 "I wish you Joy, major, and you too, Mrs. 
 Leszinksky." 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, as if uncertain 
 what the etiquette of the occasion required, 
 Stearns ventured to extend his hand to the 
 
52 • THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 lady, wlio spoke a low "Thank you" as she 
 touched the extended hand with her gloved fin- 
 gers, which retreated instantly when the Indian 
 reached out his hand to follow the soldier' s lead 
 in courtesy. Tlie rejected hand was withdrawn, 
 and the Indian walked back to Pike's house, 
 stopping by the side of the rough log steps, 
 against which he leaned, while a mournful, far- 
 away look gave an unusual and touching ex- 
 pression to the stern, battle-scarred face. With 
 a quick glance, that had in it more of entreaty 
 than reproach, at the lady by his side. Major 
 Leszinksky clasped his arm about his little 
 daughter and sprang from the carriage. He 
 called to the driver: 
 
 " Go on, Oscar ; I will walk up to the house. 
 You need not wait." 
 
 The carriage-door was shut by Stearns, who 
 bowed to its solitary occupant as it moved on. 
 Then with a dramatic shake and nod of his 
 head, which shook out the lengths of tawny 
 curling hair, Stearns turned to the porch of the 
 little cabin, where Pike was answering the kind- 
 ly greetings of the beloved friend to whom he 
 owed shelter and support. 
 
 As Bob came up the steps Major Leszinksky 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIF'S HILL. 53 
 
 turned to his little daughter, wlio was making 
 a brave and successful effort to conquer her 
 sobs. 
 
 ^'JSTow, Rue, ask your friends here to come up 
 the hill to supper. I know you and Miss Mary 
 have prepared a feast for us all." 
 
 "Yes, papa." 
 
 The blue-gray eyes flashed through misty tears 
 as the little hands resolutely brushed away the 
 falling drops, while the scarlet lips were set in 
 firm lines which betokened a will that would rule 
 her OT\Ti spirit, no matter what pain the conquest 
 might cost. With one quick, gasping sigh she 
 continued, the low, clear, sweet voice growing 
 steadier and firmer with each word : 
 
 "You must come up to supper. Pike. There 
 is a little table set for you, and Bob, and my 
 chief ; and I am to pour your coffee." 
 
 She looked at Pike and Bob, who promised. 
 Turning to the Indian, she waited a moment, and 
 then addressed him impatiently : 
 
 "You will come, my chief?" The Indian 
 silently shook his head. 
 
 Major Leszinksky spoke: "I trust you will 
 come, Lo-loch-to-hoo-la. My little daughter 
 would be greatly disappointed if the friend who 
 
54 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 saved lier life and gave her back to us should re- 
 fuse to sit at the table she has prepared." 
 
 Rue had caught the chiefs hand in hers while 
 her father was speaking. She instinctively con- 
 nected the chief's refusal with her stepmother, 
 whom she was akeady inclined to antagonize. In 
 place of the old condition of a protective equa- 
 lity and graciously patronizing sisterhood with 
 Stephanie Castalar, there was about to be forced 
 upon her a new and, to her, incomprehensible re- 
 lationshij) — one that disturbed her ideas of pro- 
 prietorship in her home and her father. 
 
 Moreover, the child, young as she Avas, was jeal- 
 ous for her mother. She perfectly remembered 
 her mother, and knew that she herself had been 
 second to her in the love of the father she wor- 
 shipped. Had she not lost her mother it is possi- 
 ble she would have grown to be dissatisfied with 
 the second place in the affection of both parents. 
 Now the bitter seed had fallen into a quicken- 
 ing soil. As I have said, she was instantly jeal- 
 ous for her mother and as instantly jealous for 
 herself. It was the beginning of the development 
 of all the qualities of her race — of traits of char- 
 acter that had been dormant in the blood for cen- 
 turies. From that moment fate rechristened her 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 5j^ 
 
 with tlie name her father had playfully given her 
 in her babyhood. The thought of the day he 
 had called her ^'the young Yoyvoda," and of 
 Margaret' s half -fearful, half -playful admission of 
 the fitness and significance of the title, came to 
 Major Leszinksky as, with an imi^erious, insist- 
 ent manner, she addressed the Indian : 
 
 ^'You will come, my chief ! It is my table. 
 Stephanie " — with a glance at her father she cor 
 rected this to ^' Mamma Stephanie is not to be at 
 my table. You wiU come ! " 
 
 The words embarrassed all who were pre- 
 sent. Rue's clairvoyance in the matter of 
 the Indian and her stepmother enlightened 
 Leszinksky. He remembered a thousand lit- 
 tle, hitherto indefinable things in Stei)hanie 
 Castalar's manner whenever the Indian entered 
 her presence. It was clear to him that she 
 neither forgot nor forgave the actors in that 
 massacre at Castalar's Yalley where all of 
 her family were murdered. Without any know- 
 ledge of these circumstances, where the Pawnee 
 chief had been an aggressor, Hue had divined 
 her stepmother's antipathy to her friend. The 
 circumstances of her life had developed her per- 
 ceptive faculty to a wonderful quickness. She 
 
56 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 had her first lesson in causation as the chief 
 replied, rather to Leszinksky's thought than to 
 her words : 
 
 " The lodge of his friend is shut to Lo-loch-to- 
 hoo-la. The young squaw remembers that four 
 winters ago Lo-loch-to-hoo-la was on the war- 
 path by. the Kiamesha. His love for the child 
 he then found in his path, for the Morning Star 
 that beamed on the dark hour of his life, for 
 Leszinksky who has been his friend, was stron- 
 ger in the heart of the Indian than his hatred 
 of the oppressors who have wronged his peo- 
 ple ; and so he buried the hatchet and made 
 peace with his enemies. But the Morning Star 
 is with the Great Spirit, and Leszinksky has 
 taken into his lodge the daughter of the half- 
 breed Sioux whom the Pawnees chased, with 
 his Avhite father the thieving Indian trader, 
 from the settlement on the Platte, to find him, 
 after many winters had passed, on the south bank 
 of the Canadian. His lands and cattle were 
 bought with the blood-money for which his father 
 sold the Pawnees to their enemies. The lies of 
 the trader had filled the ears of the Great Father 
 of the white men, and the Pawnees were driven 
 from their lands to starve in the wilderness." 
 
CHANGES AT BOUIE'S HILL. 57 
 
 It was the first time Leszinksky liad ever heard 
 the Indian refer to the massacre at Castalar's. 
 By an unspoken agreement they had avoided 
 mention of that catastrophe, which Leszinksky 
 had never attributed to personal revenge, bnt 
 merely to the accidental finding of the settlement 
 on the San Bois by the war-party. 
 
 It was Rue's first lesson in the -wrongs of the 
 Indian. It enlightened her much more fully 
 than one could easily believe possible at so early 
 an age and to so unripe an understanding. Slie 
 had held the chief's hand while he was speak- 
 ing ; she pressed it affectionately when he made 
 mention of his love for her, and for her mother. 
 As his story ended she exclaimed impetuously : 
 
 '^ You shall not starve, my chief ! You sTiall 
 live with us. You shall eat at my table, I 
 tell you ! " And the voice rang loud and firm. 
 *' My table ! I hate the people who were bad to 
 you. I love you next to papa — better than Os- 
 car, or Bob, or Pike. You will come with me, 
 my chief. O my chief ! you will always stay 
 with me." 
 
 Her voice sank to a quivering moan of en- 
 treaty. The Indian caught her in his arms. He 
 could not resist the entreaty of the child of his 
 
58 THE 3WDERN HAGAE. 
 
 love — the child he had found on the war-path 
 and adopted as his own. The fiery eyes softened 
 with the mist of unshed tears. 
 
 ''Come," said Leszinksky softly, placing his 
 hand on Lo-loch-to-hoo-la's shoulder, and to- 
 gether they went up the path under the leaf- 
 less trees of the orchard. 
 
BOOK FIEST, 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 HAGAR. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "" The true gods sigh for the cost and pain — 
 
 For the reed which grows nevermore again 
 
 As a reed with the reeds in the river." 
 
 ALAD Y walked up and down tlie wide porch of 
 a large, old-fashioned house built on a high, 
 w^ooded knoll that overlooked the Hudson. 
 She was a mere girl of nineteen, tall, dark, and 
 stately, with a dignified carriage and a face 
 which evinced a decided character. She was 
 not beautiful, but there was in face and form 
 latent possibility of beauty. She was one of 
 those sallow, slender brunettes who may ripen to 
 a rich perfection or wither to positive ugliness. 
 
60 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 It was a warm, breezeless morning of the early 
 summer, and something, either in the lady's 
 mood or in the weather, had deepened the color 
 of the full red lips, and tinged the usually pale 
 cheeks to a faint crimson. Gradually the slow, 
 stately step slackened, and there were long 
 pauses at the end of the porch commanding 
 a view of occasional stretches of the road, upon 
 which a horseman appeared and disappeared 
 until he finally vanished in a turn through the 
 hnis. 
 
 After a longer pause the lady crossed the 
 porch to an open glass door, through which she 
 entered the library. She stood for a moment 
 beside a table, idly turning the leaves of a book 
 of engravings, then walked slowly about the 
 room with the air of a person unacquainted 
 with the objects it contained. Oi:)posite the 
 door leading into the hall, and at right angles 
 with the window through which she had en- 
 tered, was a curtained recess. 
 
 Pulling aside the heavy drapery, she found a 
 door, fastened with a bolt which she pushed 
 back, only to find that the door still resisted 
 opening. Smilingly she murmured, "Blue- 
 beard's closet!" and then tried a door oppo- 
 
HAGAR. 61 
 
 site the window. It opened into a billiard-room, 
 wMcli also liad a curtained recess, the counter- 
 part in position and fastenings of the one in the 
 library. 
 
 '^They evidently open into the same apart- 
 ment," she thought. A certain pleasurable cu- 
 riosity made her forgetful of her previous pre- 
 occupation. 
 
 She rang the bell' and told the servant who 
 answered it to send her maid with the keys of 
 the house. With her maid, a bright, intelligent 
 mulatto, came the housekeeper, who asked, with 
 a slight appearance of embarrassment: "What 
 keys are wanted, madame ^ ' 
 
 *' All the keys. I wish to see the house." 
 
 The housekeeper left the room. The maid, 
 with the respectfully familiar air of the Yii'gin- 
 ian servant born to service and "brought up 
 with the family" (to use their own definition 
 of position), walked to where her mistress was 
 seated, and, while rearranging the heavy bands 
 of hair that shaded the temples, said : 
 
 "I tell you this's a mighty funny sort o' 
 place, Mis' Kate ; mighty queer folks 'bout this 
 house. I didn't say nothin' 'bout it this morn- 
 in', 'cause Marse Capin was likely to come in 
 
62 TEE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 any minute, but I certainly did see a ghost las^ 
 niglit." 
 
 ''Konsense, Rose ! A woman of your age has 
 surely outgrown such childish folly. You'll be 
 trying oM charms next, if such notions get into 
 that stupid head of yours. I thought you knew 
 better." 
 
 ^'Heap wiser folks than me. Mis' Kate, be- 
 lieves in ghosts, and them oM conjurers — it don't 
 do no good to get thar ill-will ; but I ain' t 
 skeered of 'em like some o' our fool planta- 
 tion hands is. But, Mis' Kate, for sho' I did 
 see in the hall out thar somebody all in black 
 when I come down from your room after you 
 was gone to bed las' night." 
 
 ^'It mi2:ht have been one of the maids or the 
 housekeeper. Besides, who ever heard of a ghost 
 in black?" 
 
 ''No, Mis' Kate. 'TwalmH none of them. 
 They was all over thar in thar rooms over the 
 kitchen when I got thar. I run so fast and 
 so hard I stumbled as I turn in tliat passage, 
 and the housekeeper she come out and asked 
 'what was the matter, and if I couldn't find 
 my way to my room.' I didn't say nothiii', 
 1 was so upsot, and she called to the girls 
 
HAQAR. 63 
 
 to open thar door and show me the way to 
 my room." 
 
 '' Then it was a shadow — x^ossibly your own." 
 
 ''No, Mis' Kate, 'twahn't no shadder ; least- 
 ways 'twahn't mine. If it was a shadder it was 
 might' ly like somebody I nsed to see — some- 
 body with thar back hair tucked np like yourn, 
 and little soft curls put back so." 
 
 And she smoothed her mistress' bands to in- 
 dicate the manner in which the curls were caught 
 back from the face. 
 
 " Well, whom did the curly-headed woman re- 
 semble?" 
 
 ''Lucy. You don't 'member Lucy, Mis' Kate. 
 She belonged to Mis' Margaret Cart' ret, and she 
 went with her out to the Injun country. She was 
 'most white— white as some white folks, whiter 
 'an most poor white folks. An' she had long- 
 brown curls, on'y she didn't we'r 'em put up 
 like she had 'em last night." 
 
 "But a ghost wouldn't change the fashion of 
 its curls ; so you see you are a little old goose." 
 And the mistress smiled at the maid. 
 
 "Well, if 'twahn't a ghost, Mis' Kate, it cer- 
 tainly was Lucy. I hearn that Mis' Margaret sold 
 her. She must a-done something mighty bad or 
 
64 1SE 3I0DERN IIAGAB. 
 
 Mis' Margaret never would a- sold lier. I know 
 tliar was some old story about Mis' Margaret 
 a-findin' her in a graveyard, where her mammy 
 was lying dead on the grave of the biggest gam- 
 bler ever was in Richmond. I 'member when 
 he was killed ; that was 'fore yon was born, 
 Mis' Kate. Cap'n Coleman shot him down on 
 Main Street — shot him just like he was a mad 
 dog ; an' folks say he was Lucy's father. But 
 thar was whar Mis' Margaret found Lucy, in 
 the graveyard, and old Marse Tom Cart' ret 
 bought her fur Mis' Margaret— bought her 
 right out en a graveyard." 
 
 And she ended her story with, a low, gurgling 
 laugh that stopped abruptly as the gaunt, stern- 
 faced housekeeper returned with the keys. 
 
 "Open that door," said the lady, pointing to 
 the curtained recess. 
 
 " Captain Hartley has the keys of that room," 
 the housekeeper answered ; then added, as the 
 lady hesitated to follow her through the door 
 of the hall that she held open: "I have no- 
 thing to do with the rooms on that side of the 
 house. They are Captain Hartley'' s private 
 rooms. They are closed when he is away, and 
 when he is here his man attends to them." 
 
HA GAB. 65 
 
 ''Yevj well; you can unlock all of the other 
 rooms and open the blinds. Every room will be 
 needed next week ; the house will then be full 
 of guests. If my husband prefers to use these 
 rooms we will take them ; if not they can be put 
 in order for other use." 
 
 She haughtily nodded dismissal to the house- 
 keeper, who left the room, and sank back into 
 the easy-chair. 
 
 Another low gurgle of laughter from the mu- 
 latto, who soon found breath to say : 
 
 ''That white woman thinks she's mistis of this 
 place yit ; that's what comes of havin' poor 
 white folks 'roun. If you wants that key. Mis' 
 Kate, I know whar to get it.'^ 
 
 "Then get it at once," said Mrs. Hartley. 
 
 The imperious tone of the first syllable told 
 the intelligent servant more truly than the words 
 that this mood required silent obedience. The 
 affectionately familiar air instantly changed to 
 respectful attention. 
 
 "Yes, Mis' Kate." 
 
 She was gone but a few moments, and returned 
 with a bunch of keys. 
 
 A look from her mistress instructed her. The 
 keys were hastily tried and the door was opened. 
 
66 THh MODERN IIAGAR, 
 
 Rose entered the room and threw back the 
 shntters and an outer door from which a short 
 flight of steps led under and through a vine- 
 covered arbor. The paved walk and leafy trel- 
 lis ended at a small gate opening into a shrub- 
 bery of forest and fruit trees. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley, who had held the curtains aside 
 while Rose fitted the key, let them fall together 
 as she closed the door of the library behind her 
 and entered the room, which was altogether dif- 
 ferent in character from any she had yet seen in 
 the house. 
 
 The windows were Norman arches of stained 
 glass, the doors aud wood-work of heavy oak. 
 The panelled, gray-painted walls were hung with 
 engravings surmounted with curious bits of armor, 
 glistening arms, and trophies of the chase. The 
 polished oaken floor was partly covered with 
 rugs of Eastern make and beautifully-preserved 
 skins from which the raised heads of the animals 
 seemed on watch for intruders. 
 
 The young wife forgot in her delight the late 
 jar to her dignity, which had been given more 
 by the housekeeper' s manner than by her words. 
 The words were civilly spoken, but something in 
 the speaker's face had implied a higher authority 
 
HAGAR. 67 
 
 in the house than this newly-arrived mistress. 
 The offence was one the imperious lady would 
 neither overlook nor forgive ; but for the moment 
 it was forgotten, and Rose, magnetically con- 
 scious of the change in her mistress's mood, 
 again resumed the easy manner of an affection- 
 ate and favorite servant. 
 
 "O Rose! this is the most beautiful room I 
 ever saw." 
 
 "It is pretty. Mis' Kate; but I think Marse 
 Cax^'n might a-bought a whole carpet. If the 
 room had one of them fine velvet ones like we 
 got at home it would a-been a sight prettier." 
 
 ' ' Rose, you simpleton, there is not a room at 
 Belleview or at the Cedars that can compare with 
 this." 
 
 ' ' No, Mis' Kate, thar ain' t at the Cedars. 
 You see marster won't fix that up till Mis' Mar- 
 garet's little girl is growed up — that is, if she 
 lives ; if she don't live, then Marse Tom comes 
 in, and 'twouldn't be no use fubbishin' it up un- 
 less he got married. It' s good ' nuff now for all 
 the hunters and the dogs in the county to crowd 
 in. But marster' s new parlors, which he fixed 
 up when he married Marse Cap'n's sister, is heap 
 liner 'an this." 
 
68 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Her smiling mistress was walking from engrav- 
 ing to engraving when Rose stopped her speech 
 to try still another door. It opened into the 
 room adjoining the billiard-room, and completed 
 the square of the one-storied Aving. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley had not missed her loquacious 
 maid until a sudden exclamation caused her to 
 turn to the door of the newly-opened room, now 
 •flooded with light, where Rose was standing be- 
 side a portfolio which had fallen from an easel 
 she struck in opening the window. From its 
 scattered contents of engravings and sketches 
 she had picked out the one piece of bright color, 
 and was standing in open-mouthed wonder gaz- 
 ing at a large oil-painting that had evidently 
 been cut from its frame and rudely folded to fit 
 in the portfolio. 
 
 As Mrs. Hartley crossed the threshold Rose 
 turned. In a thriUing tone of fright and amaze- 
 ment she said : 
 
 ''It's her, Mis' Kate— it's the ghost ! " 
 
 "What ghost?" 
 
 " The one I tole you 'bout — the woman I saw 
 in the hall las' night tliat looked like Mis' Mar- 
 garet's Lucy. If she's dead" — and there was 
 the tremor of a positive terror in her voice — 
 
HAGAR. 69 
 
 '* 'twas her ghost a-lookin' for somebody — this 
 here chiles, may be. If she an't dead, then 
 she' s a livin' here ; fur this ' s her picture, Mis' 
 Kate." And she held up the canvas for her mis- 
 tress to see it. 
 
 The subject of the picture was the hackneyed 
 one of ^'Hagar in the Desert," but it had not 
 been treated in the usual conventional manner 
 nor in strict accordance with sacred history. 
 
 Beneath a group of feathery date-palms in the 
 centre of a green oasis a spring had burst out 
 of a rocky little depression and was winding 
 through a leafy channel to the sands. Pros- 
 trate beside it the beautiful Egyptian was dip- 
 ping up the sparkling drops with one hand while 
 the other clutched the fold of a scarlet mantle 
 upon which was lying her fainting child. The 
 artist had selected the moment when the ex- 
 hausted mother gains the life-saving shelter of 
 the palms — her last effort expended in that su- 
 preme struggle of motherhood with the burning 
 sands and the fiery sun. 
 
 There were grave faults in the painting — a 
 critic could have found them by the dozen — but 
 there was also revealed in it the soul of a great 
 artist. It was so finely spiritual in meaning that 
 
70 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 a sensualist would have turned from it in dis- 
 may. It was not a temptation, but a reproach 
 to passion. The ragged little sandals, the bleed- 
 ing feet, the wasted arms, the shadows on the 
 face half veiled by the heavy masses of the fallen 
 hau\ were all parts of her story, pitifully accent- 
 ed by the mournful look in the soft brown eyes 
 and the unforgetting tenderness with which she 
 clung to the folds of the mantle about her child. 
 
 It had a wonderful effect ujoon the i)roud wo- 
 man, w^ho instinctively knew she was looking on 
 the face of a rival. 
 
 Through the fierce anger which flashed quick 
 and hot in every quivering nerve of the indig- 
 nant wife when Rose clothed the ghost in flesh 
 and found its iDictured semblance in the bed- 
 chamber of her husband, she felt a contemptu- 
 ous pity for this faded Hagar. 
 
 But the child ? She restlessly moved from 
 point to point of view to see if the light would 
 not somewhere penetrate the tangle of waving 
 hair and let her see clearly the features of the 
 hidden face. 
 
 She was jealous of the child ! 
 
 It was the rival of the life that liad just begun 
 •to beat beneath lier own henrt. She knew she 
 
HAGAR. 
 
 71 
 
 need not «ay, " Cast out this bondwoman." The 
 sad, fearful eyes of the pictured face said that 
 all loss had befallen that mother except loss of 
 her child, and the clinging hold of the scarlet 
 mantle told of an agony of apprehension lest 
 that loss also should come. 
 
 There is a j)rescience of the heart ! It was that 
 which taught the inexperienced wife the story 
 dimly outlined in the pictured face of the Ha- 
 gar, and it was a story which affected her own 
 life. Her brother had opposed her marriage. 
 She knew from his words of warning — words she 
 had only imperfectly understood— that there w^ere 
 histories in the past of her husband unfit for her 
 knowledge. Her father had not cordially ap- 
 proved of his wife's brother as a suitor for his 
 daughter, but his daughter' s avowal of her pre- 
 ference and his wife's entreaties had won his 
 reluctant consent. His doubts were met and 
 hushed with those pleas which the world is so 
 willing to make for the reformed profligate. 
 
 But now the young wife was face to face with 
 an episode in her husband's life that was not 
 altogether buried out of sight in the buried past 
 She did not doubt for an instant the identity of 
 Rose's ghost The Hagar of the picture was in 
 
72 THE MODERN EAGAIi, 
 
 the house to which her husband had brought 
 her. There had already- been, in her short mar- 
 ried life, moments of more than half-awakening 
 from the glamour of her love- dream — moments 
 of torture from the vague imaginings, the un- 
 rest, that precedes distrust. The yielding cour- 
 tesy, the deferential admiration of the lover, 
 were already things of the past. The husband 
 of six months had either forgotten or was reck- 
 lessly careless of the methods by which he had 
 won her. The stately gallantry, the finished 
 manner, with which the man of mature age had 
 charmed her out of the circle of her youth was 
 an investiture of ceremony donned with holiday 
 attire, but now rarely on show in the narrowed 
 circle of their home life. 
 
 There was already a melodramatic tone in this 
 marriage duo— a prophecy of tragedy in the si- 
 lence of certain chords. It lacked the shading 
 of the playful badinage, of the sentimental bab- 
 ble, that mocks the wisdom of man by winning 
 the wisest to the delight of Love's wise folly. 
 
 In the crisis of sensation which this discovery 
 of the picture precipitated came the bitter know- 
 ledge of good and evil. It was something more 
 than the ordinary divestiture of romance — some- 
 
HAGAR. 73 
 
 thing different from that loss of the ideal in its 
 fusion with the real which is the varied but con- 
 stantly recurring experience of marriage. It was 
 not the mere uncovering of the feet of clay, the 
 flaw in the divinity of the god, but the proof 
 that the idol was brutally and sensually human. 
 It was a profound calamity, for it extinguished 
 the sacred fire on the altar of marriage ; it was 
 infinitely sorrowful, for it struck at the exist- 
 ence of an infinite love ; it was the end of faith, 
 of reverence. 
 
 The young wife had begun to learn the lesson 
 which, in its last letters, spells love's death-war- 
 rant. Its phrases were the varied moods of the 
 egoist — indifference, complacence, passion, carp- 
 ing criticism, and, most grievous of all to a 
 young, proud, loving nature, sneering silence. 
 
 Face to face with the portrait to which Eose 
 had given name and meaning, Mrs. Hartley felt 
 it to be a premeditated insult. All the lesser 
 wrongs to her love crowded about her as wit- 
 nesses against her husband. No excusing 
 thought suggested that accident or carelessness 
 had left here a forgotten picture. To her it 
 was simply the portrait of a woman whose pre- 
 sence in the house was an outrage ; of a child 
 
74 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 whose existence was a bar to the happiness of 
 motherhood. She was too young, too inexpe- 
 rienced more than dimly to understand this 
 new future which had fallen like a pall over 
 the dead-born future of her girlish dreams. 
 She did not yet understand that when trust 
 is impossible and loyalty dies of shuddering 
 repulsion the end has come. She did not know 
 that this freshly-turned page in her life was 
 only a new reading of an every-day story. 
 
 An over- indulged, motherless girl had followed 
 her fancy — or, to speak more truly, had followed 
 a skilfully hidden leading of fancy— into the 
 outspread net of a sensualist. Yet she was 
 not altogether his victim, but partly the victim 
 of that vague longing of the springtime, that 
 tumult of the senses which flows from the 
 heart of nature through all sentient things, that 
 ''need of love" which is essentially human. 
 
 A wise mother would have shielded her daugh- 
 ter from the enemy who found aids in her inno- 
 cence and purity ; would have taught her to dis- 
 tinguish the difference between the leading and 
 the illumination of the senses. Such a priestess, 
 if she has listened understandingly to the celes- 
 tial harmonies, is a divinely-inspired teacher. 
 
HAGAR. 75 
 
 She has learned that the soul of marriage is 
 truth, which is love, and that without love mar- 
 riage is the mere coni)ling of two galley-slaves ; 
 yet, that if truth be Avounded through the false- 
 hood of one, a martyr may win heavenward by 
 carrying the burden of a festering corpse. 
 
 Before the morning stars sang together, souls, 
 for whom the world was made, were fashioned 
 for each other — male and female created He 
 them. When we understand what is meant by 
 this unequal halving of human souls we^ shall 
 be wise as gods. For this is the hidden mys- 
 tery of the ages, the secret imprisoned in the 
 sphinx, where the soul of the woman has par- 
 tially escaped the bondage of the animal, and 
 with brooding eyes watches for the coming of 
 the deliverer who is to lift her to companion- 
 ship with the immortals. This is the riddle of 
 old Egypt, entombed in stone, which has puz- 
 zled, which still puzzles, philosopher and -theo- 
 logian, which has baffled the poet, the accred- 
 ited interpreter of the gods. 
 
CHAPTER YII. 
 
 " By a bridge I cannot see 
 Comes that far-off memory." 
 
 WHILE holding the canvas for Mrs. Hartley 
 to see the painting, Rose had again, and 
 with more minute circumstance, related 
 the story of Lucy. 
 
 The child in the picture had touched a fresh 
 key in Rose's memories of tlie past, and these 
 memories were daggers of certainty in the mind 
 of her mistress. 
 
 ^' Yes, she did have a child; 'twas 'bout that 
 Mis' Margaret sold her. You see. Mis' Kate, 
 Lucy was a quarteroon, but the child was white ; 
 an' its father bought 'em both an' carried 'em 
 'way off north somewhere. I wonder wbar this 
 picture of her come from, anyway V 
 
 Something which she saw just then in the face 
 of her mistress enlightened her. With that in- 
 stinctive accordance with the mood of her mis- 
 tress that I have already mentioned as a quality 
 in the African blood, she stopped iu the very 
 
HAGAR. 77 
 
 flood of speech and waited, still silently hold- 
 ing the extended canvas. 
 
 ''There, Rose, you can fold \\^ the painting. 
 Pid yon find it in the portfolio?" 
 
 "Yes, Mis' Kate. It busted out o' this side- 
 pocket here when I picked the things up." 
 
 ''Very well, put it back again where you 
 found it. You see you dreamed the ghost ; an 
 oh I witch always dreams of w^hat she will see 
 next day." There was a proud, smiling scorn 
 in Mrs. Hartley's face, yet under that mask 
 Rose saw a point of interrogation. 
 
 "I did see Lucy las' night. Mis' Ka.te. I 
 didn't dream it, an' I ain't, no witch nuther. If 
 I 'ad a-seen her when I was a-dreamin' she'd 
 a-looked just 'zactly like she did w^hen she 
 used to be at ole Marse Tom Cart' ret' s. But she 
 didn't. I didn't rightways know her jus' at 
 first, but I thought she was mightily like some- 
 body I seen long ago. I reckon that was what 
 skeered me into thinking 'twas a ghost. She's 
 a heap paler 'an she used to be" — here there 
 was a half -apologetic glance as she went on, 
 "an' a heap more like a lady than a quar- 
 teroon" — then a short silence; but seeing no 
 change in the proud face still turned to the pic- 
 
78 THE 3I0DERN EAGAR. 
 
 ture, Eose continued : ''May be Lucy's livin' 
 somewhar 'bout here, an' she might a-came to 
 see the housekeeper las' night. That stuck-up 
 rascal o' Marse Cap'n's might a-let her in. The 
 do' of the libr'y was open, an' the light shined 
 on her face out the do' so I could see her plain ~ 
 'most as plain as I sees you. Mis' Kate. IN'ot 
 rightways a-knowin' at first jus' who she was, 
 but seein' her look like somebody I couldn't 
 jus' make out who, was what struck me all 
 a-heap so 'bout her bein' a ghost." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley w^ent into the next room again 
 and examined more closely the engravings and 
 sketches upon the walls, but found no hint of 
 the Hagar — "Nothing! unless it is this lovely 
 miniature^painted on ivory — this angelic child's 
 face with the* violet eyes and the dusky, au- 
 burn hair. The hair, in its flowing ripples of 
 wavy bronze, resembles the tangle of soft, loose 
 curls which hid the child's face in that picture 
 of Hagar— this is the face that was hidden in 
 that picture ! Hagar may be dej^osed, forgot- 
 ten, but the child has kept a place in the house 
 of her father." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley turned from the miniature, try- 
 ing to fix m her thought a half-recollection, a 
 
HAOAB. 79 
 
 fleeting, puzzling impression, the meaning of 
 something to which she had once refused to 
 listen. 
 
 What was it her brother had tried to tell 
 her ? Was it some story of the garrison life of 
 her husband? a mention of her cousin Marga- 
 ret — something the Leszinkskys had said or 
 known ? some story of a beautiful slave ? 
 
 Presently, in a dim way, she remembered 
 Lucy. 
 
 Memory had unrolled the panorama of life 
 backward and found the figures left in the 
 past — in the lost fairy-land of childhood. They 
 came slowly, like visions in a dream — her beau- 
 tiful cousin and her cousin's pretty slave. 
 Slowly, slowly came the stately, blue-eyed lady, 
 and the slender, lithe attendant with the long 
 brown curls, the soft brown eyes, the shapely 
 little hands, and the delicate feet — the quad- 
 roon with the creamy color of a freshly-open- 
 ed magnolia-bud. 
 
 Again Mrs. Hartley turned to the miniature 
 to study the features, the expression ; to see 
 clearly the likeness that had attracted and riv- 
 eted her attention — the likeness to her husband 
 complexly mingled with another likeness. 
 
80 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 Rose had followed her mistress after rear- 
 ranging the contents of the fallen portfolio and 
 reclosing the windows in the bed-room where 
 she had stumbled into what she felt was an as- 
 tounding discovery. Full of its importance to 
 her mistress, and by consequence to herself, 
 yet with instinctive and ready apprehension of 
 her mistress's desire to be alone, she had gone 
 out under the vine-covered arbor, and, seated on 
 the lower step of the open door, awaited silently 
 some expression of will from her silent lady. 
 
 "Eose!" The tone was impatient and im- 
 perative. 
 
 **Yes, Mis' Kate," and the mulatto was in- 
 stantly on her feet. 
 
 '' Did you ask the housekeeper for those keys 
 you brought r' 
 
 "JSTo, Mis' Kate, 'cause she didn't know no- 
 thin' about 'em. When I picked up Marse 
 Cap'n's coat this mornin'— the travellin' -coat 
 he had on yestedday— a bunch o' keys jingled 
 in the pocket. So when the housekeeper said 
 he alius kept his own keys I was sho' the 
 ones in the pocket was the ones you wanted." 
 
 ''Did she know you had them? Do any of 
 the servants know we are hereT' 
 
SAQAR. 81 
 
 ''ISTo, Mis' Kate, none of 'em. That rascal 
 of Marse Cap'n's lef the place this mornin' at 
 daylight, and the maids is up-stairs a-helpin' 
 the housekeeper with all them rooms as was 
 locked nx). She's a-get tin' out the linen an' 
 a-uncoverin' the things, an' they's a-sweepin' 
 an' a-fixin' an' a-dustin' fur you to see. She 
 didn't know nuthin' 'bout what I went to yo' 
 rooms after. I did think, when I met her 
 up in the passage, I'd show them keys to her 
 jus' to pay her for her imperence 'bout Marse 
 Cap'n alius a-keepin' the keys of his i^rivate 
 rooms ; but then she asked me, mighty polite- 
 like, 'to please get you to wait. Mis' Kate, 
 and not to see the rooms up stairs till they 
 was in order, fur she hadn't had a minute 
 sooner to 'range 'em, 'cause she didn't know 
 till yestedday mornin' you had got back to dis 
 country and was a- com in' here las' night. An' 
 she had been busy all day yestedday gettin' 
 your rooms ready— the rooms Marse Cap'n had 
 writ from Englan' to have ready.' " 
 
 ''You are sure she did not see the keys?" 
 "]^o, Mis' Kate, I'm sho' she don't know I 
 found the keys." And Rose, who had kept 
 them in her hand after locking the bed-room 
 
82 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 door, held them up to show her mistress. 
 ** She couldn't see 'em, fur they was in my 
 pocket ; she was a-fixin' things gen' ally, and 
 not studyin' 'bout me. She thinks you'se in 
 the libr'y. Mis' Kate, and slie won't come thar 
 if you don't ring." 
 
 '^Fasten the windows and then lock up the 
 rooms. Put the keys where you got them. 
 You should not have taken them." 
 
 The maid looked wonderingly after her mis- 
 tress ; she had never before been rebuked for 
 obedience to the least caprice, the slightest ex- 
 pression of a wish of the proud and wilful 
 lady who was wallung rapidly down through 
 the vine- covered arbor, and who stopped to 
 open the latticed gate as Rose closed the win- 
 dows and doors and went into the library. The 
 mulatto locked the door behind her, put the 
 keys into her pocket, drew the curtains to- 
 gether that hid the door, and, stooping to ar- 
 range a refractory fold, found it caught in a 
 broken link of the chain of a small leather 
 satchel or portemonnaie. She walked with it 
 to the window. As she opened it and leisure- 
 ly examined the contents her reflections shaped 
 themselves into words ; 
 
HAQAR. 83 
 
 "I am a-findin' things fnr sho'. Fust place, 
 Lucy, what I ain't seen befo' since Mis' Margaret 
 Cart' ret got married. Then them keys. Then 
 that picture o' Lucy, what upsot Mis' Kate worse 
 'an that rascal of Marse Cap'n's upsot me this 
 morn' when he tole me I had done seen the spirit 
 of Marse Cap'n's aunt, what walked constant 
 in this part of the house. Now I know that 
 rascal was jus' a-lyin' like he alius does, an' I 
 am glad I didn't tell him who I thought the 
 ghost look like. He thinks I dun know no- 
 thin' 'bout Lucy, an' that I ain't found out that 
 Marse Cap'n's jus' as big a rascal as he is. Two 
 of the devil's servants in this house, an' bofe of 
 'em sot agin me and Mis' Kate. ISTo use of Mis' 
 Kate tryin' to do nothin'. She just got to put 
 up with that head devil, 'cep Marse Tom finds out 
 the way he do. But Mis' Kate she's too proud 
 to tell what a mess she's made of marry in', an' 
 I dun know what to do with this here thing now 
 Tse found it. I know it must a-been Lucy's, an' 
 I don't want to leave it here for them rascals to 
 get it, or may be some of the servants as would 
 keep it ; an' I don't know wliar to find Lucy ; 
 an' I can't give it to Mis' Kate— she might tell 
 me like she did 'bout the keys. But, gracious 
 
84 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Marster in heaven ! yonder is Mis' Kate bare- 
 headed in the sun; she's whiter 'an a sheet. I 
 know what that means. It means the Cart' ret 
 blood is up for sho'." 
 
CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 " LoTo is not loYe 
 Wliicli alters Tvhen it alteration finds.' 
 
 THE shadows were lengthening and deepening 
 in Broadway. The red sun, sinking into a 
 bed of purple and gold, set all the windows 
 of the city aflame as the slanting yellow rays 
 caught new color from the rosy clouds and the 
 tinted air. It was the hour and the light which 
 give grace and tenderness to architecture ; which 
 brings into a softened relief every fluted column, 
 every tapering spire, all the beauty of pointed 
 mansards and curving arches. It is the fairy 
 hour of transformation, that works a magic spell 
 in giving to sight the beautiful in cities — the hour 
 which curtains with its own loveliness the ugli- 
 ness and uniform deformity of the bro^^oi blocks 
 and solid squares. It is not so true as the dawn. 
 It does not lift the sharp outlines heavenward to 
 meet the coming light, but it gives to the crowd- 
 ed haunts of men the charm that moonlight gives 
 
86 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 the shadowy glade. It is not the hour of the 
 sun-worshipper, but of the earth -lover. The early 
 morning, the ui^rising sun, brings to man the 
 sense of a freshening of being, of the coming 
 of a divinity ; the evening curtains space and 
 shuts him in the mystic twilight with magnified 
 shadows. 
 
 A carriage stopped at the private entrance of 
 the New York Hotel. It had two occupants — 
 Mrs. Hartley and her maid. The lady threw 
 open the door, sprang to the sidewalk, and was 
 in the hallway questioning a clerk before Rpse 
 had gathered together her parcels. 
 
 '* Is Judge Cartaret here ? !.' 
 
 ^' Yes, madam ; he arrived this morning with 
 Mrs. Cartaret. I think the judge drove out this 
 afternoon with a friend who called for him, but I 
 wiU send to see if Mrs. Cartaret is in." 
 
 ''No, do not send. Can you give me rooms 
 for myself and maid Avithout delay ? I wish to 
 go to my room immediately. When Judge Car- 
 taret returns let me know at once.'' 
 
 The clerk hesitated an instant, then with a 
 quick, judicial glance at the proud, cold face of 
 his interlocutor and anotlier at tlie respectable 
 
HAGAR. 87 
 
 Rose, who entered with her collected parcels, fol- 
 lowed by a porter with the luggage, which he 
 saw was marked ^'Cartaret," he grew smilingly 
 suave and acquiescent. 
 
 "Certainly, madam. We have a very com- 
 fortable, cool corner suite on the third floor im- 
 mediately above Judge Cartaret's. I will get the 
 keys and send up the luggage. I will speak to 
 Judge Cartaret the moment he returns. Who 
 shall I say wishes to see him?" 
 
 "His daughter." 
 
 As he left to get the keys Rose said in a se- 
 pulchral tone, as if half in fear of speech and 
 half afraid of what she was about to say: "I 
 think, Mis' Kate, Marse Cap' n's here. I saw that 
 rascal o' his'n stop that driver that brung us 
 from the railroad jus' now at the corner thar. He 
 thought I'd done come in, but I hadn't ; I was 
 a-pickin' up this shawl I had let drop." 
 
 "Very well. It does not matter." 
 
 The proud face was unruffled and the stately 
 step was slow and deliberate as they crossed the 
 hall and followed the carrier of the keys up the 
 stairs. 
 
 A few moments later a small, slender, dark- 
 visaged man (the personage Rose designates as 
 
88 TEE MODERN HAOAR, 
 
 *Hliat rascal of Marse Cap'n's") knocked at 
 the door of a room on the second floor immedi- 
 ately beneath Mrs. Hartley's. 
 
 "Come in," in a sbarx^, rasx)ing tone. The 
 man opened the door, but did not enter. The 
 same voice called more peremptorily, ' ' What is 
 it, Marten?" 
 
 '^ I wish to speak with yon a minute, sir." 
 '' Then come in and shut the door." 
 The man obeyed, and stood waiting, looking 
 with ill-concealed embarrassment from his master 
 to a lady who, seated in a low easy-chair, was 
 fanning herself violently. It Avould have been 
 evident to a less acute perceiDtion than that of the 
 saturnine Leperello that he had interrupted a 
 stormy discussion. His master gave him little 
 time for observation or reflection. 
 
 " What is so imj)ortant that you come to my 
 sister's room to find me ?" 
 There was a moment longer of silence. 
 " What is it, I say ? Are you dumb ? '' 
 *'I have something to tell you, sir." 
 "Well, tell it. If you are such an idiot that 
 you came here for a mere nothing, leave the room 
 at once." ^ 
 
 "I did not think, sir"— he glanced hesitat- 
 
HAQAB. 89 
 
 ingly at the lady— " I tliouglit possibly you 
 would come, sir" — a lialf -muttered oath inter- 
 rupted him, but Captain Hartley controlled his 
 temper sufficiently to leave that sentence unfin- 
 ished, and added : 
 
 ^' If it is the Oakhill affair tell all you know. 
 My sister has heard of this idiotic blunder of the 
 housekeeper's in letting Lucy stay there." 
 
 ''Mrs. Hartley is here, sir— in the hotel— her 
 maid is with her. They came on the train that 
 leaves Yonkers at five o'clock. She is registered 
 'Miss Cartaret,' and a message is wiitten at the 
 office for her father to come to her as soon as he 
 returns." 
 
 "What room has she?" The question came 
 through half-shut lips that were white with anger. 
 
 " The one immediately over this, su\" 
 
 Captain Hartley started toward the door, when 
 his sister sprang up and caught his arm, saying 
 to Marten, in a tone which exacted and received 
 instant obedience : "Go into the hall and close 
 the door. Do not let any one come in, but wait 
 there until you are called." When the door 
 closed she turned to her brother, letting go his 
 arm as she said : 
 
 "You are about to do a very foolish thing. 
 
90 THE MODERX IIAGAR. 
 
 Kate is jnstly incensed at tlie presence of that 
 woman and her chikl at Oakhill. No doubt the 
 poor girl thinks she has found the cause of your 
 indifference to her, your brutality ; you need 
 not frown or sneer at me. I have neither re- 
 spect for you nor fear of you. I know you too 
 thoroughly— " 
 
 He interrupted her with ''We know. each 
 other too thoroughly." 
 
 " ISTo, you are not so wise as you think ; there 
 is in my comi30sition a little leaven of honesty, 
 of feeling, utterly lacking in you, that at times 
 forces me to side with the right. True, I helped 
 you win Kate. I used my influence with her 
 father and gained his reluctant consent to your 
 marriage. Utterly false as I knew you to be, 
 you succeeded in deceiving me into the belief 
 that you loved her. But for that I would have 
 refused. Yes, you may smile at my stupidity. 
 I deserve ev.en your contempt for believing an 
 unscrupulous sensualist could love a pure and 
 honorable woman." 
 
 *' Forgive me, madam, that I. have heretofore 
 underrated your sense of honor, j^our very dis- 
 interested affection for your stepdaughter, your 
 devotion to your husband." 
 
HAGAR. 91 
 
 Tone and words had the effect intended. He 
 put his sister in a rage and on the defensive, and 
 thus won double advantage in the quarrel he 
 forced. From this moment he kept his temper 
 while inflaming hers. He skilfully avoided re- 
 crimination or discussion of himself by adroit 
 assent to her charges, and still more adroit ques- 
 tioning, which goaded her into a fury that finally 
 quelled anger by its very vehemence. Then with 
 seeming frankness — the man was a born actor 
 and only through perverseness or carelessness 
 ever forgot his role — he laughed aloud as the 
 storm stilled, caught and kissed his sister's 
 hands, exclaiming : 
 
 ^'A truce, a truce, sister! and I will jDromise 
 to sign any articles of agreement you present. 
 Make your own terms. You commenced by 
 warning me against a folly. Now I am quite 
 ready to be wise or to profit by your wisdom. 
 What shall I do, what shall I say, and to whom 
 and how shall I say it ? " 
 
 In the beginning of the conversation Mrs. Car- 
 taret had drawn her brother away from the door, 
 distrusting what she knew of the keen sense of 
 hearing possessed by the ubiquitous Marten. 
 Thus it happened they were near an open' win- 
 
92 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 dow, directly under another upon which a tear- 
 ful, hot face was lying hidden in slender hands. 
 
 The noise of Broadway, in silencing all lesser 
 sound, left the young wife free to sob out her grief 
 in the profound isolation of that constant roar 
 which helps to make the loneliness of cities. She 
 had fled to Sanctuary and found it in this soli- 
 tary room, from which she had barred out even 
 the faithful Rose. A lull in the stream in the 
 street, a pause in the tide, whose evening flood 
 was about to ebb, let the voices come upward 
 from the window beneath Mrs. Hartley's. At 
 the first sound she started, and then let her 
 head droop again on the folded hands until her 
 husband's laugh struck her like a blow. She 
 sprang to her feet and tremblingly closed the 
 window as if shutting out an actual and evil 
 presence ; then, throwing herself upon the bed, 
 sobbed herself to sleep as woiild a tired and 
 grieved child. 
 
 An hour later a steady knocking at the door 
 awakened her. A voice she knew was her step- 
 mother'-s was calling, ^ ' Kate ! Kate ! I wish to 
 see you. I must speak with you at once." 
 
 She tried to resist this assault, to defend her 
 solitude by silence ; but the continued knocking 
 
HAG AH. 93 
 
 and the varied tones of entreaty and persuasion 
 compelled consent. She bathed her flushed and 
 tear-stained face and opened the door. 
 
 At the outposts Mrs. Cartaret had an easy vic- 
 tory ; for a moment after her entrance the girl 
 was lying unresistant in her arms, telling in gasp- 
 ing, broken sobs the story of her sorrows. She 
 had no distrust of her stepmother — she was too 
 loyal, too true to doubt her father's wife. Mrs. 
 Cartaret had been uniformly kind ; careless 
 but complaisant. She had not interfered with 
 the expressed or implied wishes of either of 
 Judge Cartaret' s children, except as a playful 
 and gracious ally when their father' s indulgence 
 was difficult to win. Kate had not seen how en- 
 tirely she was led by her stepmother in her mar- 
 riage. In fact, Mrs. Cartaret had rather earnestly 
 warned the girl against her brother as a suitor, 
 but, curiously enough, the warning had served 
 to strengthen a wavering fancy. Her stepmo- 
 ther had urged : '' My brother is so much, your 
 senior, the match is so unequal ; in fact, I am 
 rather astonished at this absorbing passion of 
 his. I had fancied he was past the glamour of 
 maidens' glances. 1 thought he had lost his il- 
 lusions, was a disenchanted, world-weary man, 
 
94 THE MODERN RAGAR. 
 
 who Avould finish his life as he had lived its 
 morning — alone. I did not think he would set 
 his all upon the desperate chance of winning 
 you." 
 
 And then the soft hands caressingly smoothed 
 the girl's dusky locks, and rich, full lips kissed 
 her and called her "sister." Thus the faith of 
 womanhood w^as belied by half lies and pervert- 
 ed truths, by falsehood which was cowardly 
 and cruel. For this was a wanton wrecking of 
 the divine in woman by the treason of woman — 
 a denial of sex, a wilful iDerversion of the faith 
 enshrined in the ark of motherhood. 
 
 To go back to the beginning of the last para- 
 graph. The outposts were taken, but there Mrs. 
 Cartaret' s victory rested. She had captured con- 
 fidence, but she could not dislodge the forces 
 which had taken the fortress. The false Love 
 who had blindfolded the girl's fancy had loosed 
 his bandage and deserted. Contempt and ha- 
 tred had followed violence and brutality, and 
 crept into the empty citadel. Mrs. Cartaret's 
 persuasive words fell fruitless of result when 
 she pleaded for forgiveness and reconciliation. 
 
 The girl had borne her minor trials nobly. 
 She had offered neither reproach nor resistance 
 
HAOAR. 95 
 
 to tyranny and scorn. She had never even 
 thonglit of rei^risal. She had accepted the im- 
 happiness of her new life as an unexpected ac- 
 cident of marriage, as something painful for 
 which she could not blame herself, nor yet al- 
 together any one else. Unconsciously she had 
 blasphemed both love and marriage by gene- 
 ralizing her wretchedness. Her innocence and 
 inexperience aided in her self-deception. She 
 confounded Eros mth Anteros, and saw only 
 a deity of the nether world. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley was not merely angry with her 
 husband. The pity of it was that she was not 
 angry with him ; for had she loved him truly 
 she would have been angry at Love's defection. 
 But now for her husband she had only con- 
 tempt, while the knowledge of Love's lesion 
 which had come to her made her almost loathe 
 herself. 
 
 The last refuge of self-respect was contempt 
 for the m.an who had led her into this cave of 
 horrors. Then, as she saw no visible outlet in 
 the future, no w^ay of escape without dragging 
 her pride through the dirt of public scandal, to 
 contempt w^as added hatred. 
 
 Late that night Mrs. Cartaret left her bro- 
 
9G THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 tiler's wife. The self-appointed ambassadress 
 had failed except in two points : on certain con- 
 ditions the young wife would return to Oak- 
 hill. This was a concession to opposite influ- 
 ences — to fear of the world and to affection, 
 Kate had been brought up to reverence con- 
 ventionalities. She had given a very sincere 
 friendship and affection to her father's wife. 
 Her father's wife was her husband's sister. 
 The doubled influence won a truce. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 *' NeTer on this side of the grave again, 
 On this side of the river, 
 On this side of the gamer of the grain, 
 Never ! " 
 
 THERE were guests at Oakliill through the en- 
 tire summer and fall — relatives or friends 
 of the Cartarets, mostly Virginians, but 
 there was a leaven of the extreme South. An 
 occasional Creole from New Orleans or Mobile 
 — three or four of those exceptionally beautiful 
 women, those exquisite flowers of race and cli- 
 mate, those wonderful Latin and Saxon hy- 
 brids — but, pshaw ! I shall not try to do in 
 pen and ink roughly the j)ortraits that Cable 
 has painted. But there were others, unique 
 specimens, that as yet Cable has not — hybrids 
 of curious quality, where strength and endu- 
 rance mingle Avith strength and fire ; Carolin- 
 ians, compounds of French Huguenots and 
 Scotch Highlanders ; Kentuckians, enlarged by 
 the boiling fusion of Saxon and Celt ; Georgians 
 
 97 
 
98 TUE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 that have brought a queer tinge of Oglethorpe's 
 queer colony into their latest graftings. 
 
 The maiTiage of Judge Cartaret's daughter to 
 Captain Hartley, the New York millionaire (in 
 1850 a millionaire was a more infrequent corus- 
 cation in society than a tripled sextuple mil- 
 lionaire is in the reign of King Arthur), was an 
 event that had gathered together the Southern 
 clans. Those old slave-holding Virginian Lords 
 Paramount, that untitled peerage whose oral his- 
 tory was as real as if it had been chronicled in 
 Debrett, were at Bellevue in full force at the 
 time of the wedding ; and they were now well re- 
 presented at Oakhill, to give the bride a welcome 
 back from her wedding journey in Europe. The 
 Cartarets dated from the earliest colonial days — 
 from the period when a few powerful families 
 divided the State into districts which were mere 
 appanages of a strong aristocracy. They Avere 
 connected, through the intermarriages of over a 
 century, with nearly all of the principal fami- 
 lies. 
 
 Leadership in the State during her semi-feu- 
 dal system was almost a thing of heritage. Cer- 
 tain families had a tacitly recognized supremacy 
 in the direction of public affairs and a very pro- 
 
IIAGAR. 99 
 
 nounced influence in society. They were tlie 
 desiDots of political conventions, almost tlie ar- 
 biters of law and tlionglit. They formed an 
 oligarchy which was also an autocracy. To 
 belong to it was a privilege of caste, not a re- 
 ward of merit. The self-made man who forced 
 himself into their number had an involuntary 
 and instinctive feeling that he was there only 
 upon sufferance. In fact, he not only fought 
 his way thither, but he was forced to wage a 
 continual conflict to keep the position he had 
 conquered. 
 
 It was this state of society with its arrogant 
 rule, this democratic aristocracy built upon a 
 corner-stone of slavery, v/here rank was marked 
 by the number of negroes and the breadth of 
 acres, that sent the Jacksons to Tennessee and 
 drove Henry Clay to Kentucky. The son of a 
 petty farmer, the near relative of a recusant 
 Baptist preacher, could not rise in the Old Do- 
 minion to a plane of equality with politicians 
 who Illumed themselves upon their Jeffersonian 
 principles. Yet (strange contradiction !) these 
 same dominative, aggressive, self-assertive in- 
 solents, who presumed uj)on a few prosperous 
 decades, were the same big-hearted, free-handed 
 
100 IRE MODERN HAGAR, 
 
 democrats who gave the vast extent of the North- 
 west to the general government on the one con- 
 dition that it should be free territory ! Some 
 of these Virginians had higher patents of no- 
 bility, bettei* title to consideration, to respect, 
 than numerous slaves and broad acres. Nota- 
 ble among such stood the Cartarets. First, they 
 were a historic race. (I wish here to enter my 
 protest against that sham sentiment of a false 
 republicanism which discredits the honorable 
 records of a brave and honest family. It is a 
 puerility to undervalue blood in the human ani- 
 mal when we know that in daily transactions 
 where other animals are on sale it has a high- 
 priced and very marketable value. Because 
 thousands of mushrooms have upsprung in a 
 land first parched by war and then watered by 
 prosperity I do not choose to join the common 
 crowd in its genuflections before the mushrooms. 
 I hate the snobbery that turns its back upon its 
 obligations to principles and qualities long in- 
 carnate in some proudly honest or honorable 
 family, to bend before the loutish i)ossessor of 
 the filthy gatherings of greed.) 
 
 The Cartarets were part and parcel of the his- 
 tory of England. They had served in field and 
 
HAGAR. iQi 
 
 cabinet. Tliey had earned an unstained name 
 throngh centuries of trial. One of tlieir no- 
 blest representatives fought with Prince Eupert, 
 and afterwards lost life and lands in an unsuc- 
 cessful 'effort to save King Charles the First. 
 His oldest son shared the ill-fortunes of Charles 
 the Second, but immediately after the Restora. 
 tion retired from court to repair his fortune by 
 close economy and diligent care of his impover- 
 ished estate. The second son, Thomas Cartaret, 
 the first of a succession of Thomas Cartarets 
 which lasted through a century and a half in 
 Virginia, had run away to the plantations with 
 the daughter of one of the most bitter haters of 
 the "Cavaliers" in that body of bitter haters— 
 the Long Parliament. A large grant of land 
 from Charles the Second, just after the Restora- 
 tion, established the first Virginian Cartaret as a 
 magnate in the land. Adherents of the Stuarts, 
 the Cartarets detested the house of Hanover and 
 were ready to take arms when the cry of re- 
 volt raised by Massachusetts reached Virginia. 
 The day after Cornwallis's surrender they re- 
 turned to their plantations on the James River, 
 where they led the quietly useful lives of coun- 
 try gentlemen, diversified by occasional winters 
 
102 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 in Richmond and Washington. Judge Cartaret 
 was the first barrister and jurist in the family. 
 His first wife, the mother of Mrs. Hartley, was 
 a JS'ew Orleans Creole of Spanish extraction ; 
 the second was a beautiful and childless widow, 
 the Mrs. Cartaret I have already presented to 
 you. She met the handsome, wealthy South- 
 erner in New York in January of 1844, and 
 married him in the following March. At the 
 time of Judge Cartaret' s marriage to Mrs. Hil- 
 ton, Captain Hartley was in the army. But in 
 the April after his sister's marriage he resigned, 
 having inherited a great-uncle's estate. It was 
 a fortune of which the Hartleys had despaired. 
 But a sudden and terrible loss, and change of 
 humor in a jpetulant old man, disapiDointed ex- 
 pectant heirs and brought to the Hartleys that 
 unexpected which is so constantly happening. 
 We now return to the i^oint at which this 
 chapter began. Captain Hartley was absent 
 from Oakhill during the summer and early fall. 
 *' There were unsettled affairs of his inheritance 
 that had suffered during his absence in Euroi:)e." 
 That was the explanation given to Judge Car- 
 taret, whom he met at the New York Hotel, on 
 the morning after the events described in the last 
 
HA GAB. 103 
 
 chapter, when the judge returned from a night's 
 visit to a friend on Long Island. 
 
 Another explanation was volunteered: ^'My 
 sister and Kate left for Oakhill this morning. 
 It is so hot in town that I begged them not to 
 wait to see me off. I go immediately West— pos- 
 sibly as far as Santa Fe. There are some mat- 
 ters that I can arrange more readily than any 
 agent I could send to Xew Mexico. Of course it 
 is a disagreeable thing to have to go just as we 
 expect the friends who promised to visit us on 
 our return. But I trusted to your kindness. I 
 hope you and my sister will stay with Kate. I 
 beg of you to act as host in my absence. Of 
 course I shall return as soon as I can get through 
 with these troublesome details." The explana- 
 tion was accepted in good faith by the unsuspi- 
 cious gentleman to whom it was made. A slight 
 uneasiness excited by his daughter's changed 
 appearance was just as easily explained away 
 by his \\dfe : ''Kate is looking badly— of course 
 we must expect that— but she has an excellent 
 constitution. I have no fears about her; the 
 only trouble is, she is rather inclined to be de- 
 spondent, but that is a mere physical trouble. 
 When the house is full of young people you will 
 
104 THE MODERX HAGAR. 
 
 see an improvement." And Kate verified the 
 prediction. The proud girl hid her wound from 
 the world. 
 
 The two conditions made to ensure Kate's re- 
 turn to Oakhill liad been faithfully observed by 
 Captain Hartley and his sister. The 'occui)ants of 
 the little cottage hidden in the wood beyond the 
 latticed gate had left tlie neighborhood of Oak- 
 hill ; and Captain Hartley did not return until 
 late in the fall, after all the guests, except Judge 
 and Mrs. Cartaret, were gone. They stayed to 
 welcome the expected heir. 
 
 I14 the last days of N'oveinber the heir had 
 come and gone, happy in that early release, in 
 that escape from the torture of living a life 
 which had been jDoisoned in its beginning. The 
 blight never unfolded ; it was only disclosed in 
 the falling of the bud. A chain of evil that 
 might have warjDed souls for a century — "unto 
 the third and fourth generation" — was broken 
 in the welding. 
 
 For a few hours a quivering little frame had 
 lain beside an anguished mother, who clung stub- 
 bornly to that frail tenement of a human soul. 
 " Born with an affection of the heart" was the 
 interpretation of science. 
 
HAGAR, 105 
 
 The faint sound of qnick breathing, the throb- 
 bing of a heart that fluttered like an imprisoned 
 bird, a waxen baby-face and half-opened violet 
 eyes, were the memories gathered by the young 
 mother before she sank into insensibility ; and 
 the dead child was taken from her breast — was 
 mercifully let sleep. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " And the Future vrith the Past is set at rariance ; 
 And Life falters Arith the burdens which it has." 
 
 O'N tlie morning of Mrs. Hartley' s first appear- 
 ance in the breakfast-room after her illness, 
 her fathers congratulations upon her re- 
 covery were qnickly followed by the announce- 
 ment of his purpose to leave Oakhill on the 
 next day. 
 
 In the manner of the announcement there was 
 more of hesitation than of regret — scarcely an 
 aiDpearance of sadness, but a visible effort not to 
 give offence in the telling. Even to Judge Car- 
 taret, unsusx)icious as he was, it was evident 
 that there was a hidden skeleton in the house. 
 During her illness his daughter had not always 
 been able to hide the shuddering repulsion she 
 felt for her husband. 
 
 The judge's mind worked slowly, but he had 
 one very judicial faculty — clearness in the sum- 
 ming up of evidence. Without being altogether 
 
 IOC 
 
HAG AH. . iQf^ 
 
 conscious, in the beginning, of tlie mental pro- 
 cess involved, lie had been 'collecting and collat- 
 ing facts ever since his coming to Oakhill. All 
 of his wife's dii^lomatic skill had failed to blind 
 him. His liking for Captain Hartley had been, 
 from the first moment of their meeting, more a 
 thing of courtesy to his wife than of reality ; 
 and, as the proverb puts it pithily, the more he 
 saw of him the less he liked him. In fact, there 
 was a rai^idly growing dislike, which of itself 
 was a thing of terror to an amiable convention- 
 alist. 
 
 In the thick of doubts the only positive impres- 
 sion made upon Judge Cartaret's mind was fear 
 of the result if he should stay longer at Oakhill. 
 If Kate continued to follow him with that pitiful, 
 wistful look of entreaty ; if her eyes, so like her 
 mother's, pursued him from room to room, he 
 knew he must yield to their dumb pleading. He 
 loved his daughter dearly ; but, unhappily, he 
 loved the world's good opinion as well. Every 
 fault of his character grew out of, or was in some 
 way allied to, this conventional coAvardice. His 
 very virtues were so tainted by it, were so cramp- 
 ed and distorted, that they had in a measure be- 
 come passive vices. He tried hard to comfort 
 
108 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 himself witli the thought that Kate's marriage 
 was not of his advising, that be had been over- 
 persuaded by his wife — by Kate herself. Then 
 conscience struck home, reminding him of his 
 daughter' s youth, of her ignorant innocence ; 
 telling him that he had knoAvn of weighty rea- 
 sons for objection, which he had only to tell and 
 the telling would have ensured her ready obedi- 
 ence. He was compelled to admit to himself, in 
 this court of equity where he was trying him- 
 self, that the dollars of the millionaire had out- 
 weighed evidence. 
 
 AVhen his false judgment became clearly ap- 
 ]3arent to him, and he saw how it had wrought 
 his daughter' s unhappiness, conscience reminded 
 him of another decision he had made when the 
 lack of money had caused him 'to give judgment 
 against an honorable gentleman and gallant sol- 
 dier. He had used all the power his cousin's 
 will had given him to prevent the marriage of 
 his cousin's daughter, Margaret, to Leszinksky. 
 He had stretched his authority to the utmost 
 verge. And although his ward had waited 
 dutifully until she was legally of age before 
 marrying without his consent, he had made the 
 trials of her life lieavier by keeping from her 
 
HAGAR. 109 
 
 every dollar the law let Mm retain. Even now 
 since her death he had made no allowance to 
 her child from the money he was yearly adding to 
 the great Cartaret estate. To do Judge Cartaret 
 full justice, I think he would have been glad 
 to make bountiful provision for Margaret's 
 child, Eue, if Major Leszinksky had only asked 
 him. But just then the great fault in his char- 
 acter that I have mentioned blinded his sense 
 of justice. Or, to define it more exactly, it poi- 
 soned his sense of right. He would do nothing 
 in the present which implied an admission of 
 wrong in the past. He would not give volun- 
 tarily to Margaret's child what he had withheld 
 from Margaret herself. He resented Leszink- 
 sky' s self -respectful independence, calling it in 
 his thoughts "the stubborn folly of a fool." 
 
 But underlying his thoughts, troubling his 
 selfish attempt at self-justification, there was a 
 sub-consciousness of wrong that, through failure 
 of repentance, embittered Judge Cartaret against 
 the Leszinkskys. He wished that some need, 
 some misfortune would force the proud soldier 
 to ask for assistance. Then— his vanity sweet- 
 ened the fancy — how generous he would be ! 
 He felt a glow of delight at i^e mere thought 
 
110 THE MODERN IIAGAR. 
 
 of his own praiseworthy benevolence. He knew 
 it wonld reap an abundant harvest — win him 
 "golden opinions from all sorts of men." 
 
 All Virginia knew the value of the great Car- 
 taret estate ; knew the provisions of Colonel 
 Cartaret's will, and that the estate would revert 
 to Judge Cartaret's own son if one young life 
 should go out. Why, all Virginia would ring 
 with the story of Judge Cartaret's disinterest- 
 edness should he settle the Leszinkskys at 
 "the Cedars." And he would do it — if Les- 
 zinksky would only give him occasion. But 
 the Avorld must know it was a charity, not a 
 tardy amend. He would be generous, but gen- 
 erosity must justify him — must brilliantly illu- 
 minate the probity of his guardianship. 
 
 Kate's troubles had brought about this settle- 
 ment with conscience by contingent promises, 
 but Kate herself clouded her fathers beatific 
 vision of his apotheosis. Her suffering v/as not 
 one of the peculiar varieties of suffering the 
 world tolerates. 
 
 That particular portion of eartli which, with 
 its inhabitants, constituted the world to Judge 
 Cartaret was sternly intolerant if a woman made 
 any outcry of discontent, any sound to shock 
 
HAGAR. Ill 
 
 tlie ears of the neophytes who wait in the porch 
 of the temple of marriage. 
 
 It had from the earliest colonial days been a 
 matter of pride and self-laiidation to more than 
 one 'of the Southern States that divorces were 
 unknowm in their courts of justice. 
 
 The law of marriage was a Median law — not to 
 be broken. I do not know^ that it was "so nomi- 
 nated in the bond," but it was universally under- 
 stood that the disgrace and obloquy of its frac- 
 ture, if fractured, w^ould reflect upon the woman. 
 I do not assert that men were more virtuous or 
 more manly through this prophetically vicari- 
 ous suffering of women, but it certainly had a 
 strengthening effect upon the warned and weaker 
 sex. They learned to bear their burdens and 
 make no sign. The martyrs were the leaven 
 that leavened their sex with the purest courage 
 — endurance. 
 
 With an equally decorous chance for widow- 
 hood, I doubt if they w^ould have been as devot- 
 ed as Alcestis ; but I am sure a Southern woman 
 would have thought it more proper to have stay- 
 ed in Hades than to have returned thence with 
 Hercules. 
 
 This conventionality was intensified by the 
 
112 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 narrowness of its channel. The remoteness from 
 the reactive ebb and flood of metropolitan 
 thought made small things appear great. 
 
 Yet there was a certain dignity and stateli- 
 ness in the old plantation life that gave it rare 
 flavor. The gentry were all akin, and there was 
 but little censorious speech ; but they owed cer- 
 tain debts to their order, and such debts were 
 tlie only ones that were frequently mentioned 
 and never remitted. 
 
 Noblesse oblige was reason for a duel, and rea- 
 son for a woman to suffer mutely. These un- 
 written laws caused terrible suffering, but there 
 was less scandal. 
 
 If a woman died of her torture there was a 
 comforting tombstone that catalogued her vir- 
 tues and epitomized the grief of the bereaved 
 widower. 
 
 If two hot-brained young springalds glanced 
 down the steely-blue barrels of duelling-pistols 
 in the early dawn, and one was left motionless 
 on the cool, dewy greensward, why, ' 
 
 " The palpitating fever 
 Cooled at ouce by that blood-let." 
 
 One had paid the fool's debt of honor, and the 
 other was an "honorable man." who henceforth 
 
HAGAR. 113 
 
 proudly bore tlie mark of Cain. What matter 
 if some trembling woman, sweetheart, wife, or 
 childless mother, started aghast at the sight ? 
 
 A society with such customs and of such com- 
 ponents was the tribunal Judge Cartaret dared 
 not face with a married and husbandless, though 
 unwidowed, daughter upon his arm. He knew 
 what such championshix) would cost. There was 
 his son — only too ready a shot. And the girl 
 herself, pure, innocent, and blameless, as he 
 knew her to be — her very youth and beauty 
 would condemn her to the shelter of seclusion. 
 How could such a child stand against the senti- 
 ment of her own sex Avlien the blood of the mar- 
 tyrs who had suffered and submitted to suffer- 
 ing should cry out against her ? Then his cheek 
 burnt with wrath at the thought of the men who 
 would warmly or coldly look their pity. xs"o ! 
 she must bide under the shelter of her husband's 
 roof with the sad company of her lost love- 
 dreams. For his son's sake, for her sake, he 
 dare not assist her to freedom from this most 
 horrible slavery, this serfdom of the soul, that 
 suffers through the senses. 
 
 I do not wish to do Judge Cartaret the slight- 
 est injustice. (We were friends and neighbors in 
 
114 THE MODERN HAG AM. 
 
 the old golden days before the flood ; when th^ 
 carpet-bagger had not yet squeezed the fatness 
 from the land ; before the siren song of the lie- 
 adjuster had stolen the hearts of the Stalwarts ; 
 when dollars were in my pocket and duns were 
 an unknown entity ; when gentlemen were gen- 
 tlemen, and there seemed no more probabi- 
 lity of my being "one of them blanked lite- 
 rary fellows " than that the utterer of that apho- 
 rism should grow to such gi'eatness that he hath 
 made pigmies of us all.) I repeat that I am re- 
 luctant to condemn my old friend. I am willing 
 to believe that he did not know quite what a 
 scoundrel his daughter had married. Hartley 
 had governed himself, had kept an apj^earance 
 of courtesy, almost of devotion, to his wife, and 
 Mrs. Cartaret had labored to screen any chance 
 omission. 
 
 One thing the judge did know (I am sorry to 
 have to admit how much of that "rascally vir- 
 tue, prudence,^' he possessed in common with 
 another time-serving Virginian) — he knew his 
 daughter's wretchedness. It pained him to see 
 her suffer ; but because the world was his god 
 he could not snatch her from under its car. 
 More selflsh, or less courageous, than the 
 
HAGAR. 115 
 
 fanatical Hindoo, lie could leave her to the fate 
 whose bloAv he dared not witness, and from 
 which he dared not save her. 
 
 Unfortunately for Judge Cartaret's peace of 
 mind, he was forced into the one thing he had 
 most earnestly striven to avoid, which was an 
 explanation with his daughter. 
 
 When he announced his intention to leave 
 Oakhill Captain Hartley hospitably urged his 
 stay, "at least until after the holidaj's were 
 past." 
 
 Kate said not a word, but her face grew bright 
 and expectant. Mrs. Cartaret was busy with let- 
 ters and papers, leaving her husband to find his 
 own excuses for repeated refusal to stay. Embar- 
 rassed at the transparency of his own pretexts, 
 and the appeal in Kate's face that he could not 
 wholly understand. Judge Cartaret pleaded let- 
 ters that must be written, and escaped to his 
 wife' s sitting-room, leaving the question of their 
 immediate departure still undetermined. 
 
 Mrs. Cartaret crushed her letters impatiently 
 and turned to her brother : 
 
 "I wish, Wenner, if you are not particularly 
 engaged, you would look over some of these 
 papers with me. My memoranda do not agree 
 
116 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 with tlie accounts of tlie executor. It is a point 
 of delicacy with Judge Cartaret not to interfere 
 in my Hilton settlements." 
 
 A smile on her face and a very decided sneer 
 on her brother's marked their valuation of the 
 *' point of delicacy." Kate rose from her chair, 
 saying to Mrs. Cartaret: ''Then you will ex- 
 cuse me. You will find me in my room w^hen- 
 ever you are at leisure." 
 
 "I will come as soon as we get through witli 
 these tiresome iDapers. You are wise in getting 
 to your snuggery. This is the coldest room in 
 the house. I shall go with Wenner into his den 
 — that is, if the onmii)resent Marten is not visible 
 there. Can we go ? " addressing her brother. 
 
 '' Yes. I presume your pet aversion has finish- 
 ed his labor ; if not, he will be glad to rest." 
 
 He opened the door and boAved ceremoniously 
 to his wife. As she passed slowly up the broad 
 stairway the brother and sister went through the 
 library into the room Kate had never entered 
 since she found there the painting of Hagar. 
 
 Through the summer, when the house was full 
 of guests, these "private rooms of Captain Hart- 
 Icy" had remained closed. It was tacitly under- 
 stood that they were not to be used during his 
 
HAGAR. 117 
 
 absence. When lie returned, wliich was late in 
 the fall after the summer visitors were gone, 
 he occupied them. The room next to Kate's, 
 which had been his during his one day's stay 
 at Oakhill immediately after their return from 
 Europe, had been fitted up as a nursery for the 
 expected heir. After the child's death, during 
 Kate's illness, Mrs. Cartaret slept there. So Cap- 
 tain Hartley kept his old quarters in the east 
 wing. 
 
 Kate walked back and forth through her dress- 
 ing-room and bed-chamber. ISTo one was there. 
 Kose had gone, after beating the fires to a dull 
 red, smouldering mass, from beneath which an 
 occasional tongue of flame hissed forth like an 
 angry viper. 
 
 The third room of the suite was closed. Kate 
 opened the door. The room prepared for the lit- 
 tle guest who would not stay was silent and cold. 
 The childless young mother shuddered in this icy 
 room. The dead child had never entered there ; 
 but Death was there. A ghostly presence seemed 
 to clutch at her robe. She stooped over the 
 empty cradle and smoothed the little pillow she 
 had made with loving hands for a baby' s head 
 which had never lain upon it, saying softly : 
 
118 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 ** My baby ! my baby ! I am thankful you 
 are safe ! I wish I were sleeping with you, my 
 baby, lying with your little head loillowed on my 
 heart, out of this i^ain and wretchedness, this 
 fear of sin that will stain, that is staining, my 
 soul. For, O my baby, my baby ! I cannot, 
 cannot love your father. For your sake I have 
 tried, have striven, but I cannot. O my dar- 
 ling ! I cannot,*' 
 
 Tears fell on the pillow like great drops 
 from a passing shower — fell, and rolled into the 
 meshes of the dainty lace, freezing where no 
 baby head would ever melt their ice. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 '* Nay ! 1 liave done ; you get no more of me ; 
 And 1 am glad— yea, glad with all my heart, 
 That thus so clearly I myself can free." 
 
 JUDGE CARTARET, in a liappy state of self- 
 gratulation, worked away at his letters. 
 He had made the first move toward depar- 
 ture successfully. He felt almost sure there 
 would be no scene, no ill-bred outbreak, no 
 disgraceful airing of domestic unpleasantness. 
 There would be nothing tangible to take with 
 him which would keep him awake o' nights ; no- 
 thing that would worry him to remember except 
 — well, yes, there were exceptions. 
 
 He said to himself: "I wish Kate had more 
 self-control. People should hide their worries 
 and their antipathies. I am sure I hide mine. 
 It's confoundedly unpleasant to have a woman's 
 eyes follow me as hers do, and so like her mother's 
 they are. Hartley is a brute ; but Kate had her 
 own way in the marriage. Now she must con- 
 
 119 
 
120 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 sider other people. One's own suffering is not 
 everything. AVe all have to make sacrifices. 
 I'm sure I do. And there is Tom to consider. 
 If I were to take Kate home Tom would soon 
 know what I would rather not know, and he 
 would shoot Hartley on sight. Serve him right, 
 too — the scornful, sneering scoundrel I I would 
 like to knock him down myself, and would if it 
 was not for the scandal and the unpleasantness 
 that would come of it. Julia's brother and my 
 daughter's husband — it's an abominable mess ; 
 but Kate—" 
 
 Hearing the door open, he looked up, and Ne- 
 mesis stood before him in the form of his daugh- 
 ter. All of his fears gathered about him, and 
 instinctively he tried to ward off trouble. 
 
 ''You are looking tired, Kate." He stood up 
 and pushed back the chair. She should not take 
 him at a disadvantage. If he could help it she 
 should not complain of her husband. He must 
 prevent it ; he already knew too much. He 
 would not listen. If he did he would be com- 
 pelled to a course of conduct that was at variance 
 with all his ideas of decorum, of propriety ; and 
 with him those two w^ords had very large mean- 
 ing. He nervously handled his letters and pa- 
 
II AGAR. 121 
 
 pers, still standing as lie talked on in broken, 
 disconnected sentences. 
 
 " You are not strong yet ; and you are sitting 
 up too long. You know you must not overtask 
 your strength this first day you are with us, 
 Kate. Better go and lie down an hour or two 
 before luncheon. The snow is whirling in drifts. 
 The wdnd is rising and these halls are draughty. 
 This is the exposed side of the house. Your 
 room is sheltered from the storm. I will send 
 Julia to you at once. I would go with you, but 
 these letters must be off to-day." 
 
 " I must sjjeak with you, papa." 
 
 ^' Yery well, we will have a cosey talk this after- 
 noon. But just now-^you know, Kate, I hate 
 letters, and if I am interrupted they suffer." 
 
 With a childlike gesture of appeal she put out 
 her hand. 
 
 "I suffer, papa — I suffer so cruelly I can no 
 longer endure this life I am compelled to lead. 
 If you go without hearing me I know I shall be 
 driven to something desperate. Will you help 
 me, papa ? Will you listen ? " 
 
 Through her father's fears she had won a 
 hearing. The "something desperate" was an 
 argwnentum ad Jiominem. The judge would 
 
122 TEE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 listen to all she wished to say, if by his listen- 
 ing the world might not hear. 
 
 *'If it is really important, my daughter, why 
 the letters must wait." 
 
 " They will have to wait, papa." It was said 
 softly, with a pitiful effort to smile ; but tears 
 were gathering in the dark eyes and the lips 
 trembled like the lips of a grieved child. The 
 judge caught at the change in her manner— he 
 was ready to catch at straws. 
 
 '' Unless it is something you can say to Julia. 
 She will be here in a moment ; she is very fond 
 of you, Kate, and very discreet." 
 
 '' No, papa ; you can tell Julia. She arranged 
 with Captain Hartley the terms upon which I 
 have stayed at Oakhill this summer — until my 
 baby was born. She does not know that I have 
 now decided to leave here." 
 
 The straws were all broken and the judge in 
 deep water. Without another word he followed 
 Kate to her room. 
 
 A gallant of the court in the days of Louis 
 Quatorze who, when banqueting with the king, 
 was suddenly arrested and hurried to the Bastile 
 could not have been more astounded at the rattle 
 of fetters and the clang of dungeon fastenings 
 
EAGAR. 123 
 
 than was Judge Cartaret when his daughter 
 locked the door of her dressing-room and sat 
 down beside him. 
 
 For a little time — one of those short spaces in 
 which the Fates tAvist the thread they are spin- 
 ning — there was no sound save occasional sigh- 
 ing gusts of the wind and sinister hisses of the 
 tongues of flame which crept through the bars 
 of the grate. 
 
 Kate' s voice broke the silence, startling her fa- 
 ther with its intensity : 
 
 ^' I have never loved Captain Hartley, papa — 
 never as a wife should love. I must leave here 
 at once, for I am learning to hate him. Yes, I 
 know it is a terrible thing to say ; but, papa, it 
 is a hundredfold worse to feel nothing but scorn 
 and hatred for the father of my dead baby." 
 Again the sensitive lips quivered, but with reso- 
 lute effort the low, sweet voice steadied as she 
 continued : 
 
 ' ' I have tried to see what was right, to do what 
 was right. In the beginning I tried my very 
 best, papa. Do not think it is altogether my 
 fault. I did not know just what marriage meant. 
 I did not think it could be such a curse, that it 
 could make one so wretched. I was so young 
 
124 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 when I left you, papa ; and you had been so 
 kind, so indulgent. Life seemed such a bright, 
 such a glad thing. I knew no evil in it ; I 
 could not believe or understand Tom's warn- 
 ing. It seemed to me but simple justice to 
 give love for love. I thought it ungenerous to 
 receive without giving ; and Julia was so kind, 
 and her brother— well, I had not learned what 
 untruths were lived in the world. I thought 
 my hesitation pained Julia and grieved her bro- 
 ther. Then I j)romised to niarry him if you 
 consented." 
 
 That was the very stab her father had feared — 
 ** if you consented" ; and the girl was so evident- 
 ly innocent of intention to wound. It was as if a 
 child, playing with the spear of Ithuriel, had un- 
 consciously touched him and pierced through the 
 gauds of the world and the shell of self. The 
 history of Hartley's past, which his son had so 
 passionately pleaded against his acceptance of 
 the rich suitor, seemed to picture itself in the 
 smouldering fire and the tongues of flame. He 
 could only dumbly listen to the voice of the vic- 
 tim he had given to Erinnys. 
 
 ** I do not think you were quite willing, papa, 
 but you thought it was for my happiness. You 
 
HAGAR. 125 
 
 were always indulgent to me, generous, and lov- 
 ing. papa ! how could I think anj^ one would 
 ever be unkind or cruel to me ? I knew Tom did 
 not like Captain Hartley. I thought he was pre- 
 judiced, that his opposition was the result of his 
 dislike ; but Tom, with his fiery temper, never 
 said a harsh word to mo in all my life. Papa, 
 should I have expected less from a husband than 
 from a brother?" 
 
 He Vv-as compelled to speak : 
 
 '* Certainly not ; but this fellow is not a gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 The words came through half-shut teeth, as if 
 they forced themselves into speech. 
 
 " 'No, papa, he is not a gentleman ; that is the 
 horror of it. 1 told him so when he cursed me — 
 he proved it by a blow." 
 
 " Cursed you ? struck you ? My God I did he 
 strike you ?" 
 
 The indignant father caught his child to his 
 heart. IS'ature had torn away the last shred of 
 conventionalism. He was no longer the mere 
 courtly gentleman considering the quarterings of 
 his blazon. He was a Man, outraged through 
 this insult to a woman dependent on his protec- 
 tion. The girl, with her arms about his neck, 
 
126 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 weeping upon his breast, felt the sobs that shook 
 him like a temi^est. 
 
 "Papa ! papa ! it is worse than my own pain 
 to see you so grieved. Papa, he never struck me 
 but once. I would not listen to any apology 
 from liim. But Julia begged me for your sake, 
 for my baby' s sake, not to tell you, not to wait 
 in NeAv York, but to come here with her. He 
 was to leave Oakhill. She promised he would 
 not return here until all our visitors were gone. 
 He did go to Xew Mexico ; he did not return 
 until his sister wrote him to come. She said he 
 must be here when — when my baby came, or else 
 you would know of our separation. I hoped to 
 be able to forgive him for his child' s sake. But 
 my baby was the only hope of that. Now all 
 our ties are broken. If it had lived— and he did 
 send the woman away ; she was gone that day — 
 the day I came back with Julia. The day before 
 you left IS'eAv York he sent her away." 
 
 In a choked voice he asked : 
 
 ''What woman?" 
 
 ''The mother of that beautiful child — his 
 child. It was near her cottage, in the shrubbery 
 beyond the latticed gate, that he found me — that 
 he struck me." 
 
HAGAR. 127 
 
 Holding his daughter as if to shield her, kiss- 
 ing her hair and forehead and tearful eyes, Judge 
 Cartaret said : 
 
 ^' Bathe your face, my daughter; I will send 
 Eose to get you some wine. Tell her to pack up 
 the things you will need. I shall take you with 
 me at once to New York. I cannot settle with 
 that scoundrel in his own house. But can you 
 go, Kate ? Are you well enough to go out in this 
 storm ? I cannot risk your health, my child ; 
 and I do not like to leave you another day in 
 this house." 
 
 ''Yes, I can go, papa. I can bear anything 
 but to stay here — alone with him. But you, 
 papa? For Julia's sake, for my dead baby's 
 sake, you will not — " 
 
 "Be calm, my child. I cannot fight the cow- 
 ardly brute, much as I wish it. But Tom is not 
 so fettered." 
 
 " Papa ! O papa ! Tom must not know." 
 
 There was a quick knocking at the door. 
 
 "Rose!" 
 
 "No, it is not Rose. It is I — Julia. Is your 
 father there, Kate ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I must see him immediately. Tell him to 
 
128 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 come to my room. There is a messenger liere 
 from Belleview." 
 
 They heard lier walk away. 
 
 '' Please go, pajia. You can tell Julia I am 
 going with yon. And say, papa, with my love, 
 that I had rather not see her before we go. Un- 
 less, paxia— do yon wish her to go with us ? '^ 
 
 '' No ; she is not ready. Rose can finish your 
 packing and come with Julia to-morrow. Dress 
 very warmly, my daughter. We shall have to 
 drive to Xew York. There is no train until late 
 this afternoon. '^ 
 
 ''Yes, papa." 
 
 In the hall Captain Hartley was waiting for 
 Judge Cartaret. He held out a letter, saying : 
 
 '' Judge, you had better come to the library to 
 read this letter. The messenger who brought it 
 is there.- ' 
 
 Without a word or gesture to show his know- 
 ledge of Hartley's presence, Judge Cartaret 
 started down the stairway, when he met Rose 
 coming up. She had a scared, ashen face. 
 
 *' Rose, where is Sandy V 
 
 '' In the kitchen, marster." 
 
 "Tellium to goto Yonkers and get the best 
 horses they have in the livery-stable and a close, 
 
HAQAR. 129 
 
 comfortable carriage. I shall drive to New York, 
 and he must come with the carriage at once. 
 Do you understand? At once.'* 
 '* Yes, marster," 
 
CHAPTER Xn. 
 
 " What is he but a brute 
 Whose laesh hath soul to suit ?" 
 
 THE Hilton paj^ers were soon disposed of by- 
 Mrs. Cartaret and Captain Hartley, and 
 Mrs. Cartaret' s real subject of discussion 
 in the interview slie had asked for w as reached 
 in this question : 
 
 *' Have you had any explanation with Kate i 
 Have you arranged anything for the future, 
 Wenner ? It will not do to leave things as they 
 are, to trust to her having forgiven your of- 
 fence." 
 
 "I thought 3^ou were the treaty-maker. I 
 have done nothing, except to observe very faith- 
 fully the conditions she made. I liave neither 
 spoken to her nor have I seen her except in her 
 father's presence or yours. That Avas the condi- 
 tion to be observed on my return here. The ban- 
 ishment of Lucy w^as instantaneous. It w^as ac- 
 comx)lished the day she ordered it. There ^vas 
 
EAGAR. 131 
 
 nothing more required— at least I so understood. 
 If there is a bitch the error is in your diplomacy. 
 Was it only an armed truce you arranged ? ' ' 
 
 *'It is an armed truce. Your phrase very 
 correctly defines it. Kate made conditions which 
 you accepted to secure her stay here — her si- 
 lence. But her promises were limited. They 
 ended with the birth of her child. Since its 
 death I do not know what she may do, what she 
 has decided. It needed all the diplomacy you 
 so sneeringly mention to persuade her to return 
 to Oakhill ; to leave New York that morning 
 witliout seeing her father ; to keep silent when 
 he came here. Now, if further 'diplomacy' is 
 needed you must be your own ambassador." 
 
 Hartley was standing by the open wood fire. 
 A burning log broke and rolled against the fen- 
 der. He violently kicked it in place, sending 
 after it a volley of fierce oaths. 
 
 ^'Wenner!" 
 
 '' What more have you to say?" With spite- 
 ful rage he threw this question at his sister. 
 
 "You are such a brute that for Kate's own 
 sake I shall be glad if she does come to Belleview. 
 You need not practise that basilisk glare. I am 
 not your wife ; you dare not strike me ! If you 
 
132 THE MODERJS' HAGAR. 
 
 do not govern your language and your temper I 
 will neither listen to you nor try to excuse you 
 to Kate or her father when she tells him the 
 story of her life with you/' 
 
 " Curse them all ! I hate the breed." Look- 
 ing at his sister, he Avas discreet enough to stop 
 there. The expression in her face warned him 
 to be cautious. He clenched his long, white 
 teeth beneath the parted lips, that gave a wolf- 
 ish expression to the narrow, pale face which 
 was fringed with dark red whiskers, and waited 
 with what patience he could muster for the 
 thrust he knew was coming. 
 
 " It was as much cowardly fear of the Cartaret 
 gentlemen as anxiety to preserve the position 
 your connection with the Cartarets gave you 
 that made you so humble in apology last sum- 
 mer. You knew you had passed bounds which 
 it was not safe to pass. The pride that helped 
 Kate to conceal her suffering, to bear neglect and 
 the petty tortures of her daily life, had driven 
 her to desperation. You did not care to face a 
 settlement with the Cartarets. For some reason 
 I was once almost silly enough to believe it a 
 sentiment of natural affection, and that you 
 wished to preserve the life of Kate's child. 
 
HAGAR. ;13;3 
 
 Possibly you have the instinct of parental love. 
 Your self-love may include your children in its 
 narrow circle. I remember you seemed really 
 fond of that woman's child— that poor 'Hagar' 
 you sent away." 
 
 It had been a fierce struggle, but he had mas- 
 tered his temper when at white heat. He re- 
 membered that he could not perfect his plans 
 for the future without his sisters assistance. 
 He believed he could win her assistance. Al- 
 though she knew him thoroughly and frequently 
 failed to withhold frank, contemptuous expres- 
 sion of that knowledge, he was sure that at heart 
 she loved him loyally. Had she not loved him 
 he would have had more respect for her ; it was 
 a weakness, something to be counted when he 
 reckoned up his chances, so he gave neither re- 
 spect nor love for love. But just then he needed 
 her help ; and w^ords are cheap tempters. "For- 
 give me, Julia. You know I have not over-much 
 patience, and you see with what contempt that 
 girl regards me. You talk of the sacrifice of her 
 pride. Do you think it has cost me nothing to 
 come to Oakhill and live here through the last 
 six weeks— six weeks given to the stubborn, si- 
 lent fool and that old idiot, her fatlier ?" 
 
134 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 "You are speaking of your wife and of my 
 husband ; that last I insist you shall remember." 
 
 " I cannot well forget the double relationship. 
 But I do not think you need take offence at what 
 I say. Neither of us has wholly neglected op- 
 portunities. You made one love-match which 
 taught you how dearly love could cost — " 
 
 '' Do not speak of that — you shall not ! " 
 
 ''I intend to say nothing which is disagree- 
 able, but I am summing up facts ; once for all let 
 us count them fairly. When you met Judge 
 Cartaret you were a beautiful widow with luxu- 
 rious tastes and no resources. Your patrimony, 
 never much, had been spent. Your life here 
 with old Simon Hartley was one of bitter de- 
 X)endence ; his housekeeper, the unacknowledged 
 daughter of our father, had a better position 
 than yours in the old miser s household. And 
 your position was likely to be more unbearable 
 when his son returned from Europe with the 
 wife who had taken the husband you refused in 
 your romantic girlish days. You did the very 
 best thing possible when you married Judge 
 Cartaret. You were wiser than I dared hope 
 you would be. You see you have a tendency 
 to the infeasible, the impracticable — just a touch 
 
HAGAB. 135 
 
 upon the brain, a weak place somewhere, a lean- 
 ing to romantic vagaries. But the old man here 
 taught you the value of wealth and the bitterness 
 of dependence. I do not wonder you esteem the 
 Carterets highly. What a contrast it must have 
 been ! — the princely hospitality, the elegant cour- 
 tesy of those Virginians ; after two years of 
 black bread salted with allusion to the husband 
 who left you penniless." 
 
 "I tell you, Wenner, you shall not speak of 
 him." 
 
 "I will not again offend. Your faithfulness 
 does you credit. I wonder where you came by 
 that quality? It does not run in the Hartley 
 blood, except in the channel of self. It is your 
 vagary alone. I do not suppose you e^er v/ould 
 have married again if that ship had gone down, 
 with the old miser's progeny aboard, four months 
 earlier, and had been hard followed, as it was 
 later, by old Simon's death. But it is better that 
 you did marry again. You have position as 
 well as wealth. Why, when I came into old 
 Simon's savings I married for like reasons." 
 
 ^' But Kate had no fortune." 
 
 "You will forget ' the great Cartaret estate '— 
 that semi-royal residence, 'the Cedars,'— I think 
 
13G THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 I shall prefer it to Oakliill ; and pray remember 
 tlie almost numberless investments of growing 
 capital made by your husband. IN'ow I shall 
 flatter you through him." They both smiled (her 
 anger was gone, his was hidden) as he continued : 
 '' Judge Cartaret's management of Mrs. Leszink- 
 sky^s inheritance has been simply admirable. 
 Her heirs are much indebted to him"— indicat- 
 ing himself by touch as one of the grateful 
 throng, he bowed mockingly. 
 
 *' But what possible chance has Kate to inherit 
 the Cedars? There is Mrs. Leszinksky^s child. 
 I have never heard that Rue is at all delicate. 
 Then before Kate— and even her interest you 
 do not seem likely to secure — there is Tom Car- 
 taret. You do not know the last news from 
 Tom. It is not to be publicly told before Christ- 
 mas. I thought you were the reason he would 
 not come here this summer ; but it seems he 
 stayed at Buffalo Springs, and lingered through 
 the hunting season this fall in Mecklenburg to- 
 some purpose. He is engaged to Mildred Ham- 
 ner. Kate has not the shadow of a chance to 
 own the 'Cedars.' " 
 
 *'No matter how shadowy the chance. It is 
 pne I have heavily backed. I have staked old 
 
HAGAR. 137 
 
 Simon Hartley's estate and my handsome per- 
 son on tliat glimmering shadow, and I expect 
 to win. So Tom is hunting in Mecklenburg T' 
 
 The long, white teeth were fully shown as Hart- 
 ley's clear, mocking laugh rang out. There was 
 a half -fearful, curious look in Mrs. Cartaret's 
 eyes. 
 
 *' What can you mean, Wenner ? " 
 
 '' Why, luck to the Mecklenburg hunt. The 
 hunters will sigh in vain for the brush of a fox. 
 Tom will take them all. He is a plucky rider 
 and will gallantly lead. Not a brush will he fail 
 to lay at his sweetheart' s feet, if he is only well 
 mounted. " 
 
 '' He has with him the best-bred horse in 'the 
 Cedars' ' stables and that English hunter you sent 
 over." Suddenly Mrs. Cartaret paled visibly. 
 Again her brother laughed. There was a short si- 
 lence, then she spoke ; her words showed where 
 her thoughts had strayed. *^ If you care for any 
 one in the world, Wenner, it is that beautiful 
 child of Lucy's. Had she been humpbacked or 
 plain I suppose you would have detested her. 
 But being an idealized likeness of yourself, your 
 vanity has won her a certain place in your affec- 
 tion. I do not believe that affection would out- 
 
138 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 live a case of confluent smallpox or a bad dis- 
 figurement, but it will exist while she pleases 
 your sense of beauty." 
 
 '' She is a beautiful child, and I am fond of 
 her, although I have long wanted to get rid of 
 her mother. It was the merest bosh for Kate to 
 be in such a rage that day. I would have ship- 
 ped Lucy long ago but for the child. And she 
 was not in the house here. I never did quite 
 know how Kate found her way to the cottage 
 that morning. I was there to tell Lucy of a 
 change I wished made. In some way this charm- 
 ing half-sister of ours, this hereditary house- 
 keeper planted by old Simon's will at Oakhill, 
 had taken Lucy under her sheltering wing — a 
 fellow-feeling, I presume, among these daughters 
 of nobody — so it was difficult to arrange Lucy's 
 separation from the child. And I wanted Mai 
 away from her. Lucy is unmistakably a quad- 
 roon. Any negro- trader could tell the taint in 
 her blood. But Mai is pure to sight as a lily — 
 much fairer than that little wild- cat of Leszink- 
 sky's." 
 
 Something in the comparison or in a memory 
 made Hartley's face darken. He was looking 
 out at the fast-flying, driving snow. His sister 
 
HAOAR. 139 
 
 sat watching Mm, thinking of Kate and the 
 chance of a reconciliation, when some one knock- 
 ed at the door leading to the library— the door 
 of the ciirtained recess. At Hartley's bidding 
 the door opened and Marten came in announc- 
 ing an arrival : 
 
 '' Mr. Richard Freeman is here, sir ; he drove 
 out from New York. He left Belleview yester- 
 day. There is very bad news, sir, for Judge 
 Cartaret." 
 
 ''What is it, do you know?" 
 
 ''Mr. Tom Cartaret is dead, sir." 
 
 *' Are you sure ?" 
 
 Mrs. Cartaret trembled violently. Her bro- 
 ther repeated the inquiry in an expectant, hush- 
 ed tone. 
 
 " Yes, sir. I saw Mr. Richard myself. He 
 sent for me to come out. He wanted you to be 
 told first, so you could break the news to Judge 
 Cartaret. He brought a letter for him from Doc- 
 tor Cabell. But the doctor cautioned him not 
 to deliver it until the judge was prepared." 
 
 "Do you know when Tom died?" 
 
 "Three days ago, sir. He was out hunting 
 in Mecklenburg. The English horse he was rid- 
 ing refused to take a fence. Mr. Tom sent him 
 
140 THE MODEBN HAfiAR. 
 
 at it, and lie reared and swerved. Mr. Tom was 
 on the ground when the horse struck him and 
 killed him. Mr. Eichard was with him ; he saw 
 the horse kill him. He says the brute was so 
 vicious he seemed gone mad." 
 
 "God have mercy! It is too horrible!" 
 moaned Mrs. Cartaret. Hartley's face was livid 
 in its pallor. With a quick glance at his sister 
 he asked : 
 
 "Where is Richard Freeman?" 
 
 " In the dining-room, sir. He gave me this 
 letter of Doctor Cabell's for you." 
 
 "Tell him I will see him soon. He must 
 come to the library and see Judge Cartaret as 
 soon as the judge comes down." As Marten 
 left the room Hartley said to his sister : 
 
 "Julia! command yourself. You must ex- 
 ert all your self-control. It will be best for you 
 to see Judge Cartaret and tell him there is a mes- 
 senger here from Belleview. Tell him nothing 
 more. I will wait in the hall and bring him 
 down to the library to see Eichard. You must 
 be careful not to alarm Kate. The doctor must 
 be here before she is told. I will try to break 
 the news to her father." 
 
 Mrs. Cartaret shuddered as her brother touch- 
 
HAGAR. 141 
 
 ed her shoulder ; she shrank from his hand and 
 turned to leave the room. He followed his sis- 
 ter up the stairway, first telling Marten, who 
 was waiting in the hall, to take Eichard Free- 
 man to the library, and then keep the servants 
 away and the house quiet. Mrs. Gartaret came 
 out of her room ; meeting her brother in the 
 doorway, she exclaimed in a frightened, an- 
 guished tone : 
 
 " My husband is not here. I think he is with 
 Kate. I cannot go to them. I will wait here 
 for him." 
 
 "Julia, you must go." 
 
 He took her hand and forced her into her 
 room, shutting the door after him. She strug- 
 gled to get free. Holding her firmly, he con- 
 tinued : 
 
 '' You are absurd in your terror. Are you so 
 stupid that you think me responsible for this 
 accident?" 
 
 "You bought that horse. Did you know he 
 was vicious ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and wrote Tom that at times he was 
 unmanageable.' ' 
 
 At some length he explained the orders he had 
 had from Tom about the purchase of a hunter, 
 
142 TJll-: MODERN HAGAB. 
 
 and why he liad bought this one. '' It was tho- 
 roughbred, of splendid action, and uj) to Tom's 
 weight ; cheaj) because difficult to manage. But 
 Tom, knowiDg all, wrote to buy it." Mrs. Car- 
 taret listened while bathing her face and waiting 
 for her husband. At last Hartley persuaded her 
 to go to Kate's room. She called Judge Cartaret 
 and then went back, leaving the rest to her bro- 
 ther. I liave told how the judge met Hartley. 
 As he came up the stairway, after sending Rose 
 with the message to his servant, the judge saw 
 Hartley on the landing. Without a word, as 
 Judge Cartaret passed, Hartley again offered 
 Doctor Cabell's letter. Without a word the 
 judge took it ; he opened it, glanced down the 
 page, and, turning, I'aised his clenched fist to 
 strike Hartley, shouting, "You—" The shout 
 died in his throat as he fell heavily on the floor. 
 It was the last effort of the outraged father. 
 The double shock had killed him. 
 
BOOK SECOND 
 
 PLEXUS. 
 
 ** * Who was it blundered '9 eh? 
 
 It is not mine to say. 
 
 But I, if breath hold out, will tell you what I saw" 
 
 PAR>T FIRST. 1856. 
 
 IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR 
 
CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 " 'Tis sad to hack into the roots of things, 
 
 They are so much intertwisted with the earth." 
 
 IN this act of the drama which I am writing 
 the scene opens at the Burnet Honse in 
 Cincinnati. The time was that particu- 
 lar week in June, 1856, when President-makers 
 were crowding the hotels of the little inland 
 city. 
 
 At that date Cincinnati was the commercial 
 centre of the territory which Virginia had given 
 to the federal government. The decline of the 
 fur-trade of St. Louis had scattered her ener- 
 getic and ambitious capitalists to distant points 
 in New Mexico and along the Pacific coast. 
 Louisville, with the great natural advantage of 
 ^her position at the falls of the Ohio, had not 
 then conquered the minor difficulties of the sit- 
 uation. Chicago, a swampy, spreading town, 
 just beginning to overlap the barriers of prairie 
 mud, although slowly gaining strength for that 
 struggle with obstruction which has securely 
 
14G THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 seated her upon a throne of converging rail- 
 ways, was apparently belated in the race for su- 
 premacy in the Northwest. Daring this pause 
 in the growth of her river rivals, and without 
 jealousy of the lakeside town, Cincinnati had 
 pushed steadily on in the road to wealth. 
 
 In the first decades of the State's existence 
 Ohio was intersected with a network of commer- 
 cial arteries — turnpikes that were paying divi- 
 dends which enriched stockholders, and canals 
 which were fed by rivers that watered and drain- 
 ed a fertile soil.* 
 
 The develoiDment of the natural wealth of the 
 State so changed the character and condition of 
 the inhabitants that it defeated one object of 
 the creators of the State. In the transfer of her 
 Northwest territory A'^irginia had dismembered 
 herself to relieve the vast extent of her unsettled 
 lands from the incubus of slavery. It needed 
 less than a century to prove the futility of the 
 gift as an aid to freedom. The Democratic eman-- 
 cipationists of the ''Old Dominion" believed 
 that the creation of free States upon the Ohio 
 River would hedge the growth and finally extir- 
 
 * These canals soon attracted the greed of politicians, who made avciy 
 profitable " ring'' of the Canal Board. 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 147 
 
 pate the evil that had been fastened upon the 
 commonwealth in colonial days. Dominated by 
 that belief, they set apart the Northwest territory 
 as a refuge and a future home for free labor, 
 which, it was hoped, would react upon the do- 
 mestic institutions of the State and make prac- 
 ticable some j)lan of gradual emancipation msely 
 framed to benefit the newly-created freedmen 
 without ruining the future of the emancipators. 
 Such a hope seemed natural and reasonable to a 
 people who had received as a cardinal point in the 
 doctrine of human rights the grand sophism in 
 the opening sentence of the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence. Their intention was excellent. But 
 in fact the creation of this intended strong- 
 hold for a poor and pure democracy served 
 only to develop and establish an autocratic slave- 
 power in the Southwest, altogether different in 
 temiDer and spirit from the mild and clannish 
 serfdom which domestic servitude had become in 
 Virginia.* The sentiment of the South Atlantic 
 States in the latter part of the last and the earlier 
 part of this century was largely in favor of 
 
 * With cause and effect before us it is easy to see that if Virginia 
 had held her territory its settlement would hare been less rapid and 
 slaveiy would have been abolished through gradual change in the con- 
 dition of the slave. 
 
148 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 emancipation for practical as well as philan- 
 thropic reasons. "^ Henry Clay's well-known 
 views on the question of emancipation were re- 
 flex ideas prevalent in his youth in the State in 
 which he was born. 
 
 Such sentiments were spreading and Avere be- 
 ginning to find favor. Louisiana had greatly 
 modified her laws of servitude. The shackles 
 of the slave were loosening, and would have 
 speedily fallen of themselves had not the transfer 
 of the Northwest territory to the federal gov- 
 ernment forced the removal of the Indians from 
 the Gulf States and the Mississippi Valley, that 
 cotton might be grown to enrich the trader, who 
 furnished food to feed the laborers. Thus the 
 extension of slavery was made practicable as well 
 as profitable. The greed of the trader, of the 
 speculator, infected the planter ; the burning lust 
 of wealth had but touched him, and his philan- 
 thropy shrivelled at the touch. 
 
 Tlirough wasteful methods the uplands in the 
 South Atlantic States had become worn out and 
 comparatively useless. Tobacco liad exhausted 
 
 * Tho Virginians who earned human chattels to Kentucky found such 
 property unprofitable. Frontier risks lor breakage and loss were too 
 costly. 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 140 
 
 the soil of Virginia (except strips of "low 
 grounds" on the borders of water-courses and 
 exceptional fields of ".new grounds" reclaimed 
 from the forests that had grown up upon the 
 waste lands). Under these conditions slavery 
 was not only unprofitable but it was becoming 
 burdensome ; worn-out lands were demonstrating 
 the expensiveness of slave-labor. 
 
 There were abundant and forcible economic 
 reasons for emancipation, when suddenly the 
 opening of a Northwestern granary which could 
 feed the cultivators of a staple that insured 
 wealth wrought a revolution in the situation. 
 
 Northwestern prosperity was generated in the 
 Southwest. There were countless acres in the 
 Mississippi Valley adapted to the growth of 
 cotton, and their settlement would more than 
 double the value of the slave. That these acres 
 belonged to the Indian tribes was but a trifling 
 difiiculty — a mere matter of temporary obstruc- 
 tion ; the Indian must go ! ^ Choctaws, Chicka- 
 saws, Seminoles, and Creeks f were forcibly re- 
 moved to the Indian Territory and settled upon 
 
 * In all the economic transactions of the United States Department of 
 the Intei-ior it has been necessary to remove the Indian. 
 
 •f A slave-catchinff contingent of Creeks were left in Georgia. 
 
150 THE MODEBN HAOAR. 
 
 lands now given to tliem ''in perpetnity " * by 
 a fresh but equally elastic treaty. 
 
 The removal of the Indian tribes opened a great 
 market, and a highway of traffic to it, for the 
 rapidly-increasing surplus of Northwestern pro- 
 duce, and transformed simple agriculturists into 
 grasping traders. The very fluctuation of profit 
 increased the attraction. The rage for specula- 
 tion which succeeds and co-exists with those 
 more simple and open forms of gambling which 
 follow the pioneer westward induced each little 
 settlement to adventure its surplus. Frontiers- 
 men were no longer content with the homely 
 comforts or modest lorofits of frontier farming. 
 Flatboats were launched from every settlement 
 on the Ohio and its northern tributaries to 
 trade with the equally adventurous planter who 
 took quick possession of the ''vacated lands." 
 Steamboats increased and extended this inter- 
 sectional trade— a trade that founded and foster- 
 ed the material prosperity of Ohio. Cincinnati f 
 
 * In the dictionary of wliitc trcatv-makcrs " in perpetuity " means 
 until the Indian reservations develop either aaricultural or mineral value — 
 in short, until they arc desirable to white settlers. 
 
 + The meat-pedlars, bakers, and well-to-do butchers of her village and 
 town days, incipient millionaires, were soon covering Mill Creek Bottom 
 with cattle-sheds, mills, and slaughter-houses. Year after year there wero 
 Steady and large accessions to the ever-active army of mill-owners and 
 
IN TEE GATEWAY OF WAR. 151 
 
 led the State in this mce for wealth, and drew 
 her profit from the labor of the slave upon the 
 land of the Indian.* The settlement of the va- 
 cated lands upon the Mississipi)i soon proved 
 that a staple could be as powerful a factor in 
 politics as in commerce. It was a fact of which 
 the world had long been dimly cognizant. The 
 feuds in the Democratic party and the dis- 
 ruption of the old conservative Whig party, by 
 one according and the other refusing consent to 
 the exactions of the cotton States, made the 
 power of the new factor apparent to the merest 
 tyro in state-craft. f 
 
 One fact universally patent was that the staple 
 was royally enriching the planters of the South 
 and their providers and factors in the North. 
 
 pork-packers, who were feeding the negi-oes on the cotton and sngar plan- 
 tations of the Mississippi Valley and the Gulf coast. The guild of dis- 
 tillers on the banks of the '' Big"" and " Little Miami " was no less active 
 in sending southwest the fiery juice of the yellow maize, xmtil every land- 
 ing on the Arkansas and the Mississippi, at high and low water, was flooded 
 with "Dean's Best'' and other less pretentious but no less dangerous 
 brands. 
 
 * The commercial spirit that brought the negro from Africa and drew 
 its profit from slave-ships, that made the negro-trader a possibility and a 
 power in the Southwest, built the cities of the Northwest, as it had the 
 factories of New England, upon the profit of slave-labor. 
 
 + It had such an effect upon the surface -thinkers that they rushed to 
 the other extreme of faith and stupidly believed in the illimitable rule of 
 •' King Cotton," 
 
152 THE MODERN HAOAB. 
 
 All increased their ventures, that more negroes 
 might be bought to raise cotton and more cotton 
 raised to buy negroes. Thus the freedom of the 
 slave was retarded by the unexampled growth of 
 Yirginia's free territory. 
 
 The disputes in and out of the Democratic 
 Convention which assembled at Cincinnati in 
 1856, the vindictive bitterness of rival delega- 
 tions, the quarrel of the "Hards" and the 
 *' Softs," foresliadowed the end of this factitious 
 prosperity. 
 
 The cause and its final consequence being part 
 of the force and movement of this drama, the 
 deus ex macMnd, it was needful to show that 
 the transfer of the larger j^ortion of the area of 
 Virginia to the federal government, and the 
 consequent removal of the Indian tribes, came 
 near ending the Union which it was intended to 
 strengthen.^' It is only fair to say that the sin 
 of slavery does not wholly rest at the door of the 
 South — certainly not upon the lintel of Virginia. 
 
 * Fiction is oftcu the most truthful aud faitliful couservator of history. 
 
CHAPTEE XIY. 
 
 " The -western Tvincl -was wild and dark with foanii 
 And all alone went she." 
 
 IN one of a suite of rooms on the first floor of 
 the Burnet House, near the Vine Street 
 entrance, Captain Hartley was seated at a 
 small table by an open window, busily writing. 
 A door of communication with a larger room was 
 slightly ajar. In there a party of delegates to 
 the convention, and some few of their attendant 
 satellites of the lobby, were noisily discussing 
 the chances of the Presidential candidates. They 
 had broken into groups of talkers, and the only 
 silent listeners were the smokers in the windows 
 opening on the balcony which overhung the 
 Vine Street pavement. 
 
 There was such a confusion of voices that the 
 writer in the small room could hear nothing dis- 
 tinctly except the repetition of certain names. 
 The constant arrival and departure of carriages 
 and stages that rattled up and down the hill and 
 
 153 
 
154 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 around the corners into Third Street increased 
 the medley of sound. 
 
 The entrance of a waiter with a fresh supply 
 of "Longworth's Simrkling" and many foam- 
 ing glasses of ''Catawba Cobblers" created a 
 temporary lull in the committee-room until a 
 squad of IS'ew York ''Hards" contemptuously 
 expressed their disgust with "this weak wine 
 slush," and, putting- on the straw hats with 
 which they had been trying to stir the breezeless 
 air, followed a leader who proposed to "go up 
 to the Waver] ey and see if Rynders has got 
 there. If he has we'll get the fellows and go 
 wake the echoes over the 'Rhine.' I would 
 rather swill beer with the Dutchmen than de- 
 moralize my^ stomach with such stuff as this." 
 With the departure of the disgusted detachment 
 the conversation became more coherent. 
 
 First disjointed sentences, and then, as they 
 settled to steady discussion, all the conversation 
 reached Hartley, accented by the popping of 
 corks, the fizzing of wine, and the rattle of ice 
 in the thin, resonant glasses. 
 
 " I say, Breckenridge is working for Buchanan 
 — working to push his own interest. He is bit- 
 ten with — " "We have to face the fact that the 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR, 155 
 
 Softs are well organized — " "A set of Missouri 
 Abolitionists gone off on the same craze — " ''But 
 the party must be kept out of the row ; they are 
 all crazy on color — " "It is simply the begin- 
 ning of the retrograde movement. The centri- 
 petal and centrifugal forces of the nation and 
 the State will do the rest." "The South is no 
 longer safe in the hands of a New-Englander. 
 There is a sinister motive in this bid for oar sup- 
 port. It is always the same cry : ' Help me. 
 Cassius, or I sink,' and when Caesar reaches the 
 shore he kicks Cassius into the water." "As if 
 Slidell could do anything to heal tlie breach be- 
 tween the split factions ! It is the extreme of 
 folly for any self-selected umpire to propose a 
 conference to New York rival delegations. Sli- 
 dell had better look at home ; there is Louisi- 
 ana divided, and Soule working furiously for 
 Douglas." "The Bonax^arte is proven as clear- 
 ly in Soule' s combinations as in his face : ' hon 
 sang ne ment pas.'' " "In the convention noise 
 and numbers will go for Old Buck, but brains 
 are against him." "As if brains ever won 
 against such odds !" 
 
 " Benton is for Buchanan." 
 
 " Then it is clear the brains go the other way. 
 
156 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 The Missourian is a man of one idea. Witli him 
 there is but one question, and I would like to 
 ask that for him : ' What is he to get ? ' " 
 
 *' I do not think he knows just what he wants. 
 Somebody asked him if he was coming to the 
 convention ; his answer was : ' Yes, sir ; yes. 
 Like the wild hog, sir, he can be tolled up to eat 
 corn, sir, but he can't be coaxed into the pen, 
 sir — can't be coaxed.' Those were the exact 
 words of the oracle. Can any priest of his tell 
 what they mean ? " 
 
 ** Why, that he wants the corn, but prefers to 
 pick it up outside the pen." 
 
 *' You do not understand Benton ; he is a great 
 man and a pure patriot." There was a burst of 
 laughter, but the Bentonite continued : " He is 
 abused as an Abolitionist ; but hear him. He 
 says : ' I consider a slavery agitation and its na- 
 tural offspring, sectional agitation, the greatest 
 curse, both socially and politically, which could 
 befall our Union.' Would an Abolitionist have 
 said that?" 
 
 " Dulce, et ccBiera — fine words. I wonder where 
 he stole 'em? There is nothing safer in politics 
 than a rhetorical burst. It is effective for the 
 time, and counts for notliing when the moment 
 
m THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 157 
 
 for action arrives. Do you think Benton will go 
 with the South should the sovereign States dis- 
 solve this federal Union, which Greeley defines 
 as a ' compact with hell,' and which Bob Toombs 
 designates as ' the devil's hund'' f " 
 
 '' Of course he would. Benton is first and last 
 a Missourian, and Missouri is a Southern State 
 with a large slave-holding population." 
 
 " man of much faith ! Missouri would 
 then be a border State in reality. The Free- 
 Soil party with which your favorite has affili- 
 ated would be a j)ower in Missouri. The North 
 would offer them the State as a bribe, and Ben- 
 ton would stick by the flesh-pots of Egypt. So 
 will our South-loving lUinoisians. I am a 
 "Southerner, but I am not blind. I know that 
 when the wind veers the weathercocks turn. 
 In my dictionary I define mat^ as ' an animal 
 which consults its own interest by seeking se- 
 curity and safety at the expense of its fellows.' 
 If the cyclone of secession ever strikes the Unit- 
 ed States we of the South will find in our lov- 
 ing Northwest a nest of malignants. New Eng- 
 land is tied to the slave-fields by the fibre of 
 cotton, and the Northwest is enamored of the 
 profit slave-labor pays as yearly tribute. The 
 
158 THE MODERN IIAOAR. 
 
 possessive case is endearing, but if yon change 
 it to the objective and shatter interest you kill 
 affection. North and South are in i)erfect unity 
 regarding the Indian, because he is unprofitable 
 and in the way ; but they are very ready to di- 
 vide on the negro question whenever interest is 
 divided. The national conscience is a chame- 
 leon, which changes its color to suit the crime 
 over which it crawls." 
 
 " ' Saul among the prophets' — a Virginian call- 
 ing slavery a crime ! " 
 
 *'So did Jefferson and Kandolph. I do not 
 belie my blood or breeding. I respect the ex- 
 treme Abolitionists who fight for a principle and 
 refuse a compromise. Had I been born among 
 them I should have been of them. As it is, 
 seeing the futility of Abolitionism, I am a Vir- 
 ginian Emancipationist." 
 
 "Little credit that will bring you with ex- 
 tremists. Listen to this from the New York 
 Tribune : ' Southern insolence keeps pace with 
 Northern pusillanimity.' Then Mr. Greeley 
 hopes that ' the first act of the new regime 
 will be to subject to ten years' imprisonment 
 in the X)enitentiary any one making an assault 
 upon a member of Congress while at Washing- 
 
iiV TEE GATEWAY OF WAR. 159 
 
 ton. or going or retnrning from there.' Then 
 he likens the Federal legislators to the Roman 
 ^Tribunes of the People,' andinsists that 'they 
 shall be clothed with an absolute personal invio- 
 lability.' " 
 
 ^'I believe the tendency of the Whig party 
 and its fragments is to imperialism ; and here 
 is fresh proof that my belief is well grounded : 
 A leader of opinion — and, mark it, a mxan born o:f 
 the working-class— advises the creation ol a pri- 
 vileged aristocracy. This advice is the forerun- 
 ner of what is to come, the beginning of the 
 end — the prologue in the tragedy of the Colum- 
 bian empire. It is accented by the resolution 
 introduced in the Massachusetts Legislature, in- 
 structing the adjutant-general of the State to fur- 
 nish its senators and representatives in Congress 
 with Colt's revolvers. And they do not stop 
 there. These Puritans propose an appropriation 
 to send Sumner a body-guard. In plain words, 
 they would commence a civil war by arming and 
 equipping the patricians and their followers." 
 
 '^ Oh ! that Sumner affair [there was a volley of 
 the strong Saxon words which foreigners catch 
 so quickly] has set those fool Carolinians to vot- 
 ing canes to Brooks." 
 
160 THE MODERN HA GAB. 
 
 **Yes; hold two bullies apart and the devil 
 coiildn' t wish them in a better fighting humor. 
 Massachusetts and South Carolina raise quarrels 
 to turn into their neighbors' grounds. They've 
 started a nice brood in New York — " 
 
 "The Softs are rotten Abolitionists at heart 
 — " (Here was a Babel of noise and interrup- 
 tion, then more broken x:)hrases.) 
 
 '' Davis, Gushing, and Pierce have no cohesive 
 attraction. They are explosive forces. The Ad- 
 ministration would never have held together 
 without Marcy's iron hand — " '^ISTonsense ! 
 Jefferson Davis is the real President ; Pierce 
 is a Aveak, vacillating — " "The Silver Grays 
 lean that way. The coalition Avill make a 
 desperate effort to coerce the convention." 
 "Wiggins won't be brow-beaten, but will de- 
 nounce Pierce. The cohesive power of the pub- 
 lic plunder—" "Will attract Ben Butler and 
 his following ; he has this advantage over Gris- 
 wold, that — " "He has no scruples, and he 
 comes with a cohort of rogues and roughs — " 
 "Mce backers for Sickles, Kelley, and Tom 
 Hyer ! He may do his level best ; and then 
 Pierce and Douglas — " "But Marcy's friends 
 are a solid phalanx — " "A pretty lot of fools. 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 161 
 
 Marcy has no fixed principle or policy. He 
 is equally ready to recognize Walker or to go in 
 partnerslii]p with John Bull. And he daresn't 
 squeak if Americans are shot — " 
 '*But it was Marcy' s suggestion — " 
 "All gammon!— as if the gray-eyed man of 
 destiny would be senator from Nicaragua. Such 
 a supposition is an insult to his future. He is 
 the Napoleon of the coming Central American 
 Confederation, the hope of the Creoles of Cuba. 
 Goicouria is pledged to him, and there will 
 be no lack of Anglo-Saxons to back him. 
 He has the sympathy of the United States, 
 and a closer bond — tliat of interest. We see 
 clearly our advantage in handling the products 
 of Mexican mines, to say nothing of the cot- 
 ton, sugar, and coffee districts, that promise 
 limitless trade and profit in the future. Why, 
 Walker's success would in the end give us the 
 whole of Mexico. We blundered by not tak- 
 ing every foot of it when we stopped at the Rio 
 Grande. The entire commercial world would 
 be benefited by Anglo-Saxon domination on this 
 continent. Spanish- American hybrids are a fail- 
 ure. Walker's success means social, political, 
 and religious progress ; and we'll have devilish 
 
1G4 THE MODERN EA€^AR. 
 
 zealous partisan. He vehemently cried out : 
 **Wliy, this Mosquito business is everything 
 to the Monroe doctrine. That doctrine is, ' The 
 American continents, by the free and inde- 
 pendent condition they have assumed and main- 
 tained, are henceforth not to be considered sub- 
 jects for future colonization by any European 
 powers.' " 
 
 A half-derisive yet good-natured laugh at the 
 declamatory recitation of the quoted ^' doctrine," 
 hushed as the drawling falsetto again claimed 
 a hearing : 
 
 *^ Well, my notion is if John Bull wants to 
 meddle with the Muskeeters, why, let him take 
 the chance of being stung. He' s thin-skinned and 
 tender, and he'll get enough of it pretty cussed 
 quick. He'll have to hop round lively to come 
 up with Walker ; and when he does Walker will 
 be mighty apt to play a lone hand with Johnny. 
 The New Nicaragua! an has a fistful of trumps 
 and a set of backers that won' t care a continental 
 damn for the British lion." 
 
 There was a rapturous assent to the sentiment 
 of this evident favorite. Then the Marcy advo- 
 cate began : 
 
 " From first to last Marcy has admirably man- 
 
JN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 165 
 
 aged the Walker affair. There were complications 
 and contingencies to be considered. Palmerston, 
 an aristocrat by birth, association, and ambition, 
 is the natural enemy of democratic progress. 
 He is making masterly moves in his effort to 
 give England control in the councils of the allied 
 European powers. His opposition to Louis Na- 
 poleon's design on Italy is altogether a matter of 
 show% a polite deference to the rival Continental 
 nations. England and France are constantly 
 coming into closer sympathy. We have proof 
 of this in Washington. The French minister is 
 Crampton's friend and confidential adviser. To 
 me it seems evident that the regulations which 
 are harassing American shipping in French ports 
 are due to the Franco-English alliance. If Ave 
 get into a w^ar with either, the other, if not an 
 active enemy, will be a watchful and cold neu- 
 tral. The Bonapartes do not forget that the 
 monarchy, not the empire, has- claim to our 
 gratitude ; that the best Bourbon Louis was 
 our first friend. AYe do not forget that in 
 France a Bonaparte is always the heir-at-law 
 ot a defunct republic. The first emperor taught 
 us that even in the nineteenth century military 
 conquests are fatal to a republic, that a Caesar 
 
164 TEE MODERN HA0AR. 
 
 zealous partisan. He vehemently cried out : 
 **Wliy, this Mosquito business is everything 
 to the Monroe doctrine. That doctrine is, ' The 
 American continents, by the free and inde- 
 pendent condition they have assumed and main- 
 tained, are henceforth not to. be considered sub- 
 jects for future colonization by any European 
 powers.' " 
 
 A half-derisive yet good-natured laugh at the 
 declamatory recitation of the quoted ^' doctrine," 
 hushed as the drawling falsetto again claimed 
 a hearing : 
 
 *^Well, my notion is if John Bull wants to 
 meddle with the Muskeeters, why, let him take 
 the chance of being stung. He' s thin-skinned and 
 tender, and he'll get enough of it pretty cussed 
 quick. He'll have to hop round lively to come 
 up with Walker ; and when he does Walker will 
 be mighty apt to play a lone hand with Johnny. 
 The New Mcaraguaian has a fistful of trumps 
 and a set of backers that won't care a continental 
 damn for the British lion." 
 
 There was a rapturous assent to the sentiment 
 of this evident favorite. Then the Marcy advo- 
 cate began : 
 
 " From first to last Marcy has admirably man- 
 
JN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 165 
 
 aged the Walker affair. There were complications 
 and contingencies to be considered. Palmerston, 
 an aristocrat by birth, association, and ambition, 
 is the natural enemy of democratic progress. 
 He is making masterly moves in his effort to 
 give England control in the councils of the allied 
 European powers. His opposition to Louis Na- 
 poleon's design on Italy is altogether a matter of 
 show% a polite deference to the rival Continental 
 nations. England and France are constantly 
 coming into closer sympathy. We have proof 
 of this in Washington. The French minister is 
 Crampton's friend and confidential adviser. To 
 me it seems evident that the regulations which 
 are harassing American shipping in French ports 
 are due to the Franco-English alliance. If we 
 get into a war with either, the other, if not an 
 active enemy, will be a watchful and cold neu- 
 tral. The Bonapartes do not forget that the 
 monarchy, not the empire, has- claim to our 
 gratitude; that the best Bourbon Louis was 
 our first friend. AVe do not forget that in 
 France a Bonaparte is always the heir-at-law 
 oi a defunct republic. The first emperor taught 
 us that even in the nineteenth century military 
 conquests are fatal to a republic, that a Csesar 
 
1G6 THE MODERN EAOAR. 
 
 may bridge with victories his way to a throne. 
 Louis Napoleon will teach the ' imperial child of 
 France ' to distrust even a Western republic ; to 
 neglect no occasion to limit its bounds and break 
 its strength. Upon the slightest x>retext the 
 emperor would quickly seize the Mexico we so 
 stupidly let go. Mr. Marcy has a difficult pro- 
 blem to solve ; but he is doing, colonel, just 
 what you Southerners wish. You cannot expect 
 a diplomatist to settle things with the audacity 
 and rapidity with which an Arkansian cuts his 
 way out of a difficulty?" 
 
 The tone expressed a question, and there was 
 a courteous i)ause for assent. The drawling an- 
 swer was of itself a slow disclaimer of undue 
 haste. 
 
 *' Arkansaw diplomacy is a different thing from 
 the civilized article. It don' t turn its back on 
 friend or foe. It has learnt one frontier lesson 
 which is worth knowing— that the best way out 
 of a quarrel is never to dodge fighting, and when 
 you do go in be cool but quick. Bowie-knives 
 are good weapons, and mighty reliable at close 
 quarters ; but the fellow who has a pair of 
 healthy derringers, and shoots recklessly from 
 his coat-tail pockets without caring for the holes 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 107 
 
 he makes in tlie cloth, vnR lay out his enemy 
 handsomer than a slasher can." 
 
 A clear voice, with that distinct enunciation 
 which proves breeding as unmistakably as will 
 tlie ears and pasterns of a racer, asked : 
 
 "Colonel, x^lease teir us something of that 
 fight out in the Indian Territory this spring— 
 the fight where the odds ag-ainst jow were so 
 heavy. I am sure we are all ready to cut poli- 
 tics after a day of constant discussion. This is 
 just tlie hour for a story like that. It will peo- 
 ple the twilight with ghosts." 
 
 *'Well, we made ghosts of some of them 
 sneaks, and I've been sorry ever since we didn't 
 get the balance. I will tell you of tliat fight, 
 Charley ; for it proves w^hat I was just saying 
 to Mr. Marcy's friend about the good sense of 
 not dodging." 
 
 He took a fresh glass of the sparkling Cataw- 
 ba and began: 
 
 " I was up in Kansas this spring just after the 
 crops got fairly growing. The trouble there was 
 by ordinary. What with the bother on' the Mis- 
 souri border and watching the Delawares, who 
 were swearing vengeance for the murder of one 
 of their tribe who was shot by a Lawrence mob 
 
168 TEE MODERN HAG AH. 
 
 just out of Simon-pure deviltry, everything was 
 going to the bad and the corn was 4n the 
 grass.' 
 
 '* This was hard on me, for I had settled a 
 place up there with Tom Sykes, and had sent up 
 six of my likeliest hands to raise corn enough 
 to run my Arkansaw Eiver plantation. I had 
 left everything flourishing at home. The cotton 
 was safe, so the crop to see to was the com. As 
 I told you, I found the devil to pay. 
 
 ' ' Some wool-stealing thieves, who had been 
 run out of Ohio by the people they were keep- 
 ing sheej) for, had come to Kansas and set up 
 in the business of missionary ' Free-Soilers.' Ask 
 old David Tod about them ; he knew the lot. 
 
 "Beechers Church had sent out a cargo of 
 Bibles and Sharpens rilles as the stock-in-trade 
 of the joint concern. It was to be a Western 
 revival of Puritan ways. If the sinners didn't 
 listen to their way of reading Scripture, what so 
 good as rifles to finish the argument ? Not alto- 
 gether a new method of teaching theology, but 
 effective. The logic of forcible conversion is 
 quite as easy to understand as Mr. Marcy's di- 
 plomacy. 
 
 "One of the missionary sharp-shooting shep- 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR, 169 
 
 herds, a tract- distributing, perambulating Chad- 
 band, had been tampering with our hands, and 
 Tom had him chased off the place. A short time 
 after — it was three days before I got there — Tom 
 was shot at from a thicket of undergrowth near 
 the road as he was coming home late in the even- 
 ing from Lawrence. One ballet went through 
 his arm and three grazed his horse, which luckily 
 sent the racer home in a dead run. 
 
 "The neighbors and a posse from Lawrence 
 organized a hunt for the murdering thieves. Two 
 days after I reached Tom's place news came that 
 the hunters had struck the trail and were run- 
 ning a hot chase. Tom was doing well, and his 
 brothers and two young fellows from Mississippi 
 were staying with him, so I could safely be 
 spared. 
 
 ''The hunt was over in the Ozark hills, not 
 much out of the way I had intended to take 
 going home. I had to see a half-breed cattle- 
 trader with whom I had had dealings, who lived 
 on the south bank of the Osage, so I thought to 
 see the catching and hanging of the rascals, and 
 then go down the Osage Elver to the Arkansaw. 
 
 "A trader from Memphis, named Forrest, had 
 come to Tom's the night before I left there. He 
 
170 THE 3I0DERN 11 AGAR. 
 
 had some army contracts, and was on his way 
 from Leavenworth to Fort Gibson. He was a 
 muscular, why chaj^, steady-nerved, and quick, 
 with a straightforward look and a sort of light- 
 ning flash of the eye that told of pluck you 
 could depend on in a squall, so I was not sorry 
 my road lay alongside bis. 
 
 *'We two started at daybreak. That evening 
 we met up with the Lawrence ^^^^e on their way 
 home. They had lost the trail of the wool-steal- 
 ers, and the Indians over on the hills either 
 couldn't or wouldn^t lielj) them find it, so they 
 had given up the chase. A half-breed had told 
 them some story of three men heading for a camp 
 of raiders who had been out in the Sioux coun- 
 try, but they thought he Avas lying. 
 
 '*We camx)ed together that night. The next 
 day the posse started for Lawrence. I went on 
 to the Osage with Forrest. We crossed to the 
 south bank, saw my cattle-dealer, and then made 
 for Fort Gibson. 
 
 "The evening we got to the ford, a few miles 
 above Fort Gibson, it was already dark. The 
 wind was shifting and heavy clouds were sweep- 
 ing u]) from the West. My horse had gone dead 
 lame and Forrest felt a chill coming on. He 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 171 
 
 had had the * shakes ' all spring. Taken by and 
 large, we were in a bad ^il ; and you may be sure 
 we were not sorry when we saw the light from a 
 cabin near the bridle-path we had struck at the 
 ford. 
 
 *^ As we turned a corner into a narrow lane a 
 hill loomed up above the cabin, and lights were 
 shining from the windows of a big house on the 
 hill-top. The cabin-door was open, and a blazing- 
 pine knot lit the room and the porch, where a 
 little girl was trying to see who was ' helloing ' 
 in the dark. My horse was so dead beat I had 
 got off and was leading him ; so I waited in the 
 path while Forrest rode u}) to the fence and ask- 
 ed, ' Can we stay here all night ? I have a chill 
 coming on, and my friend's horse is too lame to 
 go on to Fort Gibson.' An Indian had come out 
 and stood by the child. Inside I could see a 
 huge fellow stumping around upon crutches. 
 
 ' ' I thought it one of the half-breed settlements 
 so common near the forts ; but the child's first 
 word — and she was the only speaker — contradict- 
 ed that notion. She answered Forrest in a con- 
 founded sight better English than I speak, and 
 she had the strangest, queerest, prettiest manner, 
 so ladylike in modesty, so soldierlike in frank- 
 
172 THE MODERN HA6AR. 
 
 ness, that it set me grinning out in the dark at 
 the eifect upon Forrest. He had taken off his 
 hat and was holding it in his hand, utterly un- 
 conscious of himself or of anything but her. Mr. 
 Marcy's friend talks about the 'imperial child 
 of France.' I tell you the child standing on that 
 rough cabin porch in the blaze of the yellow- 
 light wood looked and talked like she might 
 have been a child of Julius Csesar. She said her 
 ^father was not at home, but that Bouie's Hill 
 was always open to neighbor or stranger' ; that 
 we were 'welcome.' Then to the Indian : 'Open 
 the gate, my chief, and please call Mead to take 
 the horses ; Pike will see what can be done for 
 the lame one. If you will come with me, gentle- 
 men, I will show you the path up the hill. 
 Good-night, Pike ; good-night, my chief.' After 
 giving her hand to each she led the way up and 
 into a large, comfortable room, where we found 
 two ladies and three children. 
 
 " Our little hostess introduced us to ' my step- 
 mother, Mrs. Leszinksky, and my friend Mrs. 
 Carson.' The stepmother was a pale, delicate 
 woman of mixed blood. Mrs. Carson was a pure 
 Seminole. There seemed to be no great love 
 between the stepmother and our little princess ; 
 
IN TEE GATEWAY OF WAR- 173 
 
 yet it could not have been prejudice against the 
 Indian blood of the stepmother, for no feeling 
 could have been stronger than the child's friend- 
 ship for Mrs. Carson and the chief, as you will 
 see. 
 
 ^'From the moment she spoke to us on the 
 porch of the cabin we were in love with our 
 princess. She had bewitched Forrest, and evi- 
 dently her high mightiness had taken to him. 
 
 "Forrest's chill and my lame horse kept us 
 two days at Bcuie's Hill. Captain Carson had 
 come, and with him a scout — a rough border 
 fellow, but a famous good fighter, mucli made 
 of by all at Bouie's Hill, and a special favorite 
 of our princess. He told us the baby adven- 
 tures of the gracious little lady he called 
 'Cap'n Rue' ; how she was captured by the 
 Indians, and saved from death and restored to 
 her family by the *Big Chief.' 
 
 "The third night, Charley," and the speaker 
 nodded at the gentleman who had asked for 
 the story, "the night before we were to start 
 on to Fort Gibson, came the scrimmage of which 
 you wished me to tell you. 
 
 " A company of frontier rowdies and roughs, 
 with the usual sprinkling of jail-birds, had been 
 
174 THE 310 BERN 11 AGAR. 
 
 out on tlie border of the Territory. The pre- 
 tence was a reported raid of the Comanches, but 
 the truth was they were hanging and shooting 
 inoffensive, friendly Indians. 
 
 ^'NoAv, I don't spin in on philanthropy ; and 
 I don' t believe an Indian is the equal of a white 
 man, or that he is fit to govern the country. I 
 am not ready to accept Doctor Clarendon's gratis 
 prescription ; for only a quack in statesmanshij) 
 would suggest savages as legislators. He had 
 better try his notion in some English annex in 
 Asia or Australia before ajDplying for an Ameri- 
 can patent. If the savages England has con- 
 quered don't take kindly to his pills he might 
 try them on Ireland. Why, the Irish would 
 swallow all the self-government the British min- 
 istry could manufacture from now until the 
 millennium. 
 
 "But to get back to our mutton. I feel 
 bound to say we have damnably overdone the 
 killing and stealing business in our dealings 
 with the Indian tribes. Believing that, and 
 having a personal feeling of liking for the 
 folks I was staying with, I was ready to put 
 my hide between one particular Indian and a 
 set of thieves and cut-throats. 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 175 
 
 ''It was about two o'clock in tlie morning 
 when a sound of shot, a rush on the joorch, 
 and a shouting in the house wakened me. For- 
 rest was sleeping in the same room. In less 
 time than I can tell it we got into our boots 
 and breeches and were in the hall, revolvers in 
 hand. 
 
 ''Captain Carson was barring the front door, 
 and some negro fellows were nailing up the 
 windows and the back door of the hall. Un- 
 der the hall-lamp stood the Indian chief and 
 Stearns, the scout ; they were breathing like 
 men who had had a sharp run. Blood was 
 dropping from the scout's arm and running 
 down the side of the chief's face, where a ball 
 had cut an ugly gash. Standing with them in 
 her night-dress and bare feet was our little prin- 
 cess. She was holding the Indian's hand and 
 listening intently to something he was saying. 
 The doors leading to the rooms each side of 
 the long hall were open, and women and chil- 
 dren were running hurriedly from room to room. 
 
 "Forrest called Stearns and asked, 'What is 
 ih^Q matter ? ' It seemed then, and it seems yet, 
 that somehow I half expected his ansAver: 
 'Them scoundrels that's been out a-stealin' 
 
1 76 THE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 bosses and a-killin' i^eaceable Injuns are 'round 
 the house and a-swearin' they're going to hang 
 the Big Chief.' I saw the child throw her arms 
 about the Indian and turn to listen as Stearns 
 went on. 'I'd hearn of tlie devil-seivin' gang 
 upon the Osage, and when I waked with the 
 noise of the hosses' feet in the stony lane I 
 thought most like it was them. I knowed thar 
 was a old spite all 'long the frontier agin the 
 Big Chief, so I called him and started with him 
 to the fort. But it was too late ; the bloody 
 varmints was all 'round Pike's house. To break 
 through and get here we had to run a reg'lar 
 gauntlet. We couldn't a-got twenty yards if 
 we'd a-kept on to the fort. I saw our on'y 
 chance was a sudden turn up the hill through 
 the orchard, whar they wahn't expectin' us. As 
 'twas they did cussed poor shootin', or we'd 
 a-never got here alive.' 
 
 "I asked 'if he was much hurt.' He said: 
 'No, it's on'y a skin-cut in my left arm; the 
 Big Chief got the Avust of it.' The child looked 
 up at the Indian's face and then ran into the 
 nearest room. As soon as she was gone the 
 chief sat down on the floor, and Stearns lowered 
 his voice as he continued : ' When them villains 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 177 
 
 called to Cap'n Carson to give np tlie Injim and 
 they'd make no more trouble tlie chief started 
 right out thar. Mrs. Leszinksky told him he'd 
 better go; that 'twould save the lives of the 
 balance. But Cap'n Rue said, when Cap'n Car- 
 son tried to stop the chief and he would go on, 
 that if he went out thar she would go with 
 him. He knowed and we knowed she'd a done 
 it, for thar was never a real Leszinksky yet 
 that left a friend in trouble. And her mo- 
 ther was the bravest lady that ever set foot on 
 the frontier ; but she is in heaven, and this Mrs. 
 Leszinksky is different stock. The chief saw 
 that if he kept on he'd take Cap'n Rue and 
 the balance of us right into trouble, so he 
 promised her to stay by Cap'n Carson and 
 obey orders. I'm feared we'll have a bloody 
 fight, sir, before we get through. Thar's nigh 
 on to two hundred o' them hell-hounds. I 
 wouldn't mind the odds if it wahn't for the wo- 
 men and children. I've fit with Cap'n Carson, 
 and the Big Chief, and Oscar before. I know 
 they'll do all men kin do ; and I'm sure we kin 
 count on you two gentlemen. I kin pretty 
 much tell how a man' 11 fight when I see his 
 mouth shut and his eyes ablaze.' He looked at 
 
178 THE MODERN EAGAR. 
 
 Forrest, and so did I ; and I knew I saw a man 
 that no odds in a fight and no storm of battle 
 could make quail. 
 
 '' You may tell me of Berserker madness and 
 the deeds of demigods, but I would back a 
 Western Anglo-American, when he is in a rage 
 at some wrong, against any son of Adam or the 
 gods that ever struck at an enemy. 
 
 " The child came back with a sheet she was 
 tearing into strips. Forrest looked at her as 
 Yirginius looks in tlie x^h^-y when he turns from 
 the judge to his daughter. The red light in his 
 eyes went out in mist, and he helped the child 
 with the deftness of a surgeon and the kindli- 
 ness of a woman. Together they bound up 
 the chiefs cuts and stanched the bleeding. 
 
 *' The child's courage was as cool as Forrest's. 
 Neither of tliem seemed to hear the yells and 
 devilish oatlis of the demons wlio were calling 
 for the rendition of the Indian, and threatening 
 fire and sword if he was not given up. Carson 
 was giving orders to the negroes and getting 
 ready for the villains all the time he parleyed 
 with them. 
 
 "Oscar had brought me all the weapons in the 
 house, and Stearns and I were cleaning and 
 
JN TUE GATEWAY OF WAR. 179 
 
 loading tliem as fast as we could. There were 
 four double-barrelled hunting-pieces, that we 
 loaded with buckshot, and three rifles, two of 
 them these new-fangled breech-loaders. Carson 
 and the scout had their revolvers, so had Forrest 
 and I. Besides the shooting-irons there were 
 three sabres and a half-dozen new axes. You 
 see with six fighting men tliese weapons were 
 equal to an undrilled mob. I would a-felt 
 mighty comfortable if it hadn't a-been for the 
 women and children. 
 
 "My only fear was that the murdering thieves 
 would set fire to the house, as they threatened, 
 but Carson seemed sure they would not. He 
 said : ' They knew that woidd alarm the fort 
 and bring every able-bodied man in the garri- 
 son to Bouie's Hill.' Then I asked if we could 
 not signal the fort or send a messenger. The 
 answer was, ' JSTo ; that the wind was blowing 
 from the fort, and even the firing was un- 
 heard ; that Stearns and the Indian would have 
 got through to the fort liad that been possible.' 
 To which Stearns added: 'Thar isn't a gap 
 wliar a weasel could get past—that is, thar wahn't 
 when me and the Big Chief came up. But if 
 the cap'n will let me try it alone, I'm 'mighty 
 
180 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 willin'. Thar sjDite seems to be agin nothin' but 
 Injuns ; and may be I could get through without 
 thar liurtin' me so I'd be stopped.' Here our 
 princess ^put in her word. I tell you that child 
 was cooler than I was. She asked Carson if 
 Oscar couldn' t go, saying : * He runs like a 
 deer, and you know Bob is a slow runner. Os- 
 car can clear every fence on the place in a run- 
 ning jump. It's down hill in the start, and he 
 could get to the fort in ten minutes. It is only a 
 mile and a half. Why, I could make the dis- 
 tance in fifteen minutes.' 
 
 "Oscar was not only willing, but he begged 
 leave to go. Carson again said : ' IS'o ; the 
 chances would be a hundred to one that any 
 man leaving the house would be shot the in- 
 stant he was outside. If Oscar escaped death 
 he would be captured, and we would lose one of 
 our force ; and you will soon see we have not a 
 man to spare.' 
 
 "The raiders were louder and more violent in 
 their threats. Carson recommenced a parley, 
 and begged them ' to respect the home and the 
 family of a brave officer who was out on the 
 plains in their service.' They yelled back: 
 ' Send out the Indian.' He told them ' the chief 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF^ WAR. 18L 
 
 was wounded,' wMcli did not quiet tlie liell- 
 liounds. They insisted tbat tliey be let iinisli 
 tlieir work, and they would go ; v/hile other 
 voices in the crowd called, ' Hang the white rene-" 
 gade who married Wild Cat's daughter. Hang 
 him and the squaw with her half-breed children! ' 
 Then for the first time our princess paled ; even 
 her scarlet lips lost their color as she looked at 
 Mrs. Carson, who was standing in one of the 
 bed-room doors, with her two boys beside her. 
 The child started to go to Mrs. Carson ; then, 
 turning back, she motioned to the chief, who 
 stooped to hear her whispered words. After a 
 moment's speech she put her arms around his 
 neck and kissed the stern face, which was half 
 covered with bloody bandages. Again she whis- 
 pered, and it was evident he had yielded to her 
 entreaty and made a reluctant promise. When 
 they parted the child was silently weeping, and 
 the Indian's eyes followed her through a mist 
 of unshed tears. 
 
 *' By this time our preparations were complete. 
 I think I explained how the house was built. 
 There was a long central hall, from which the 
 rooms opened on each side. Across the entire 
 front of the house was a broad, low-railed piazza. 
 
18'^ THE MODERN II AGAR 
 
 There was a narrow porch at the back hall-door, 
 which connected with a covered passage-way- 
 leading to the kitchen. All of the windows of 
 the house had strong, solid oak shutters ; only 
 the large store-room in the end of the house 
 nearest the kitchen had no window. Because 
 of that Carson made it the citadel of defence, 
 and provided for the attack by sending there 
 the women and children. The door of this 
 store-room was exactly opposite the door of the 
 dining-room, in which were gathered the servants 
 of the family. The young negro boys and one 
 old man were given axes with which to defend 
 the windows from assault. Across the hall we 
 had built a barrier, made of all the heavy furni- 
 ture and the mattresses, which cut off the dining- 
 room and the store-room from the front of the 
 house. At the side next to the dining-room door 
 was a narrow opening in the barricade through 
 which we could pass to the front part of the hall 
 and the rooms that opened there. 
 
 "We were fairly ready for the enemy when 
 we heard a rush of running feet and the end 
 of a heavy log came crashing through the panels 
 of the double door wiiich Carson had so secure- 
 ly barred. But for that work the doors would 
 
IN THE GATEWA Y OF WAR. 183 
 
 have gone entirely. As the panels gave way 
 there was an exultant yell, and we could see a 
 moving crowd out in the clear starlight. 
 
 ^'I was in doubt if Carson would be the first 
 to begin the fight ; but I was not left long in 
 doubt. I knew he was thinking of the threat- 
 ened murder of his wife and boys wdien the low- 
 spoken order was given : ' Fire the rifies at the 
 crowd out in the open space where the light is 
 clear. Sw-eep the porch with the buckshot. 
 Now — fire ! ' 
 
 ''It Avas a deadly volley. The rifle-balls cut 
 into the crowd, while the guns cleared the porch 
 in front of the shattered door. Five still bodies 
 were lying by the log that had dropped from 
 lifeless hands. There were cries and groans as 
 the stricken mob parted to the right and left, 
 and a few poor wounded wretches crawled away. 
 
 ''There were fifteen or twenty minutes of al- 
 most dead quiet— to us it seemed hours. Mrs. 
 Carson came for her husband : ' Mrs. Leszink- 
 sky was in violent hysterics,' and something 
 was whispered in an undertone of 'Rue' — what 
 we could not hear. The Indian and Stearns 
 were in a room to the right of the front door, 
 cautiously peering through a crack in the shut- 
 
184 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 ters. Behind tlie broken panels and the guard 
 of unbroken bars Forrest and I were watching 
 for the enemy. 
 
 *'Very soon after Carson left us we heard 
 him, in a low, cautious tone, call ' Oscar ! ' 
 
 *'Then, after a few more of those long watch- 
 ing minutes, Carson came to us with the worst 
 scared face I ever saw a brave man wear. He 
 said something to Stearns about watching from 
 the windows ; and then, i3ulling the door shut 
 upon the Indian and the scout, that they might 
 not hear, he said to Forrest and me : ' E-ue has 
 gone to the fort.' I sprang to the door. For- 
 rest, already there, was wrenching out the broken 
 panels, that we might pass, when Carson begged 
 us to stop and listen. 'Wait but one instant,' 
 he said, ' then we will charge the scoundrels. I 
 must tell you how Rue went, and in Avhat direc- 
 tion we must drive the mob.' 
 
 " The story was soon told. Rue had climbed 
 into the garret through an ojpening from the 
 ceiling of the store-room. Her stepmother and 
 two negro women were in the store-room at the 
 time, but they supposed she had gone to watch 
 from a small window that opened on the roof of 
 the back porch. Mrs. Leszinksky had called to 
 
IN THE GATEWA V OF WAB. 185 
 
 her to be cautious or some one outside would 
 discover the window ; but Rue leaned down and 
 said softly : ^ When Tncle Billy comes tell him 
 I have gone' — she still supposed the child meant 
 only to the window. Just then the attack be- 
 gan ; and in her fright, with her own child 
 crying in her arms, Mrs. Leszinksky forgot it all 
 until after the firing had ceased and Mrs. Car- 
 son, coming from the barricade, asked for Rue. 
 They both called, but there was no answering 
 sound from the garret. Mrs. Carson brought 
 her husband, who climbed into the loft and 
 found the child had gone. Telling us the story, 
 he said: 'The window was open. It is a low, 
 wide sash, completely hidden from sight of any 
 one below by the trellised poich, w^hich is close- 
 ly covered with vines that are trained over the 
 arched gable of the roof of the house. Xo one 
 could have seen her on the porch or the roof of 
 the covered passage. But she must have crawled 
 over the roof of the kitchen and gone down the 
 chimney, which is built of sticks and clay, and 
 which, for her light weight, would be a secure 
 footing, at the very moment they made that rush 
 at the front door. They were probably on the 
 back porch directly under the child, and so 
 
1 86 THE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 neglected to watch the path to the deep ravii^A 
 That was why she got through it and over t)ie 
 creek safely — for I think she is safe. From the 
 roof of the porch I saw a flying little figure on 
 the ridge beyond the creek vanish out of the 
 starlight into the shadow of the wood near the 
 fort. To make sure that it was Rue, and that 
 she is safe, Oscar will follow her. I ordered him 
 to wait until we charged here to draw attention 
 to this side of the house ; then he can risk 
 crossing the kitchen-roof and drojDping into the 
 path. Fortunately, the scoundrels are massed 
 over in the orchard. We will charge them there 
 and draw the eyes of their sentries away from 
 the ravine. Only do not tell Stearns or the In- 
 dian that Rue has gone. I could do nothing with 
 either of them. The chief would simply throw 
 his life aAvay. Mrs. Leszinksky's taunt, that 
 to save his life he was risking the family of 
 his benefactor, has stung him past endurance.' 
 ''Carson left two of the • young negroes to 
 guard the door, ordering them if attacked to 
 hold it as long as they could. Mrs. Carson and 
 her boys were behind the barricade, guns in 
 hand. Carson went to them for a moment. I 
 saw him kiss the boys and press their mother 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 187 
 
 to Ms heart. Then he called Stearns and the 
 chief, and we charged through the door into the 
 crowd massed on the end of the piazza and un- 
 der the trees near by. 
 
 ''If you could but have seen Forrest! 
 
 "I can never tell you just how we fought 
 that fight. 
 
 " First we gave them a volley from rifles and 
 guns. Then we rushed into the thick of the 
 crowd with clubbed weapons. 
 
 ''You can call it what you like, chance or 
 Providence ; but some special power, greater 
 th^n man's, fought for us and turned the lire 
 of the scoundrels upon each other. For when 
 they were driven down the hill there were over 
 a score of corpses and twice that number of 
 wounded and dying men in the house and on 
 the grounds of Bouie's Hill. 
 
 " Our losses were not many, but they were 
 grievous to be borne. A party of the raiders 
 got into the house. The Big Chief and Stearns, 
 watching for the safety of the household and 
 the child they believed there, followed them. 
 We heard cries of rage and defiance, a v/o- 
 man's shriek of agony, and the ring of an In- 
 dian war-whoop. Leaving the flying cowards 
 
188 THE MODFP.y HAGAR. 
 
 we were driving before us, we ran back to the 
 house. 
 
 ''Murder was at work in the hall. We were 
 too late to save, but not to avenge. "We had 
 our revolvers and bowie-knives, and we made 
 short work of it. 
 
 "But Mrs. Carson was shot through the 
 heart ; her youngest boy was lying dead beside 
 her. An old white-haired negro had been brain- 
 ed in the dining-room. There were others with 
 slight wounds. Mrs. Leszinksky had fastened 
 the door of the store-room, and, although safe 
 within it, was shrieking like a madwoman. In 
 her frantic fear for her own child and for her- 
 self she had fastened the door and so cut off 
 Mrs. Carson and her boys from their last place 
 of safety. Forrest tried in vain to make her 
 understand that the danger was over. 
 
 "I left Carson and his wounded boy with 
 the dead mother and son, and I went to where 
 Stearns was kneeling beside the Indian, wlio 
 had at least a dozen bullets in his body. Just 
 then I heard a fresh trampling on the porch, and, , 
 turning to face the enemy, saw the troopers from 
 tlie fort as a slight little figure with a wan, grief- 
 stricken face flitted past me in the gray dawn. 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 139 
 
 ''There was a pitiful wail, 'O my chief! my 
 chief ! ' followed by a child' s passionate sobbing, 
 and ' Captain Eue ' was clasped in the arms of 
 the Indian, who, struggling to rise, caught her, 
 and, pressing her to his heart, fell back dead." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " See ! on my bauds this freshening gore 
 Writes o'er again its crimson proof! " 
 
 THE teller of the story and his audience were 
 gone— all but tlie unseen listener in the 
 adjoining room, who had put aside his 
 writing when the story was aslied for. 
 
 During the recital the changes in his coun- 
 tenance would liave told to a physiognomist a 
 different story from the one he lieard. There 
 was the eagerness of a personal interest in 
 his eyes and the pallor of a white terror on 
 his face. 
 
 When the story ended a question was asked, 
 to which he listened witli indrawn breath. The 
 question had not been answered ; the rei)ly was 
 interrupted by the entrance of new-comers, by 
 complaints of the difficulty in finding quar- 
 ters, and a general move to the office to inter- 
 vieAv the genial autocrat who then ruled the 
 fortunes of the ''Burnet." 
 
 The twilight had closed in dusky shadows 
 
 190 
 
IN TITE GATEWAY OF WAR. 191 
 
 within the deserted committee-room. Outside 
 the lamps of the street were lit ; but the servant 
 who had come to light the gas had been sent 
 away by the listener, who wished" ' ' the twi- 
 light peopled with ghosts.'' 
 
 Hartley turned with a shudder to where the 
 street-jets flickered in broken lines across the 
 balcony, as he remembered the phrase. He" 
 dropped into a chair near an open window, 
 and, notwithstanding his effort to master 
 thought, he was haunted by a vague shadow 
 of the past. The ghosts would come. He had 
 neither the courage nor the strength to ban- 
 ish those intangible, outline spectres of the 
 phases through which he had passed in that 
 easy descent to the hell where he now was. 
 
 Tangled in the Aveb of his broken combina- 
 tions, with a burning sense of shame for crime 
 and rage at its defeat. Hartley believed he 
 would far rather ha.ve encountered palpable 
 personal ghosts, than these dim creations of re- 
 morseful fear. Looking back through the vista 
 whence he had come, he could see that he had 
 cheated himself in the game of life. 
 
 ''Curses were coming home to roost" ; wrongs 
 were returning "to plague the inventor." 
 
192 "TUB MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Fortune had been lavish of gifts ; and that lie 
 had undervalued the greater and overvalued the 
 less had not been counted against him. The 
 lioarded wealth of his uncle had not come to him 
 before he had learned the power of riches. It 
 had freed him from embarrassments. It had 
 opened to him a door of escape from a profes- 
 sion that was not only distasteful but a con- 
 stant menace to him. It had brought him ease, 
 luxury, social rank, and a certain influence in 
 politics that he had begun to crave. It had 
 put him upon a plane of material equality with 
 the proud family into which his sister had 
 married. Indirect^ly it had won him his wife, 
 for it had so placed him that the winning was 
 less difficult. 
 
 Up to this point the retroaction of thought 
 had but unveiled the spectres of regret, for thus 
 far it had only uncovered sins that the world 
 holds venial. Of sin in the sight of God, or 
 sin as a wrong to humanity, he was shameless — 
 as in truth most men are. 
 
 But the spectres that came after gave Hartley 
 pause. The buckler of his conscience was the 
 esteem of men, and through that buckler Neme- 
 sis was about to strike. Again and again he 
 
IJSr THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 193 
 
 asked himself : *' Wliat do they know ? What 
 did they discover at Bonie's Hill?" 
 
 With the mention of Bonie's Hill the spectre 
 of Margaret Leszinksky arose. The bine eyes 
 looked into the depths of his sonl and saw 
 where the garnered hate had festered into crime. 
 Yes, he hated all the prond Cartarets, most of 
 all the woman who was his wife only in appear- 
 ance — the wife so needful to his weal ; the wife 
 yet held to an ontward bondage through the 
 persuasion of his sister. But the thought of his 
 wife had conjured up other spectres — his wife's 
 brother and her father ? The boy killed in the 
 hunting-field ; surely that was an accident ! He 
 had warned Tom that the horse was vicious, 
 was given to mad outbreaks of temper at times. 
 But who would have believed the story of the 
 English dealer, that ''the horse would wait and 
 watch for his revenge if the spur was used " ? 
 As to Judge Cartaret, the family physician had 
 foretold what might happen from any sudden 
 shock. And the shock had been sudden because 
 he would not listen. "He would have the let- 
 ter, and would not hear the warning of what 
 was to come. It was his own fault." Then 
 Hartley cursed them all, and cursed himself, 
 
194 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 that a quadroon girl should have cost so 
 dear. 
 
 The first wrong to Lucy had never troubled 
 him, nor did it now. He did not count the 
 murder of Truth and Innocence a crime. They 
 were mere abstractions, or, at the most, essences 
 of entities that in the reasoning of a sensualist 
 were outside the life or the comprehension of a 
 quadroon. As for Oscar's spoilt life, that Avas 
 the merest nothing. A qualm there would have 
 been absurd. It was even beneath a jest. 
 
 But there was a later wrong to Lucy — an of- 
 fence that had violated law. In that he had 
 touched crime. "Would it come in judgment 
 against him?'' That was the question of his 
 conscience. Would he be found out? The ex- 
 posure would be awkward — that was all. He felt 
 no remorse for what he regarded as an expedient 
 to which the senseless obstina€y of a woman had 
 forced him. If Lucy had been content to give 
 up his child quietly there would have been no 
 trouble. It had never occun-ed to him that the 
 woman had right or part in the child. It did 
 not occur to him now that there was any injus- 
 tice or wrong in taking the child from her. His 
 only anxiety in the matter was whether the legal 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 195 
 
 offence would be brought home to him. For the 
 child's sake, as well as his own, he hoped the 
 expedient he had adopted would be successful. 
 
 The child was a beautiful and ideal likeness of 
 himself ; she touched the egoist through his van- 
 ity and his self-love. Next to himself he loved 
 the child ; so for her sake, almost as much as for 
 his own, he trusted that her mother would be 
 eternally dumb. Before this evening he had felt 
 secure of her silence. But that shadowy threat 
 from Bouie' s Hill had unnerved him, had made 
 him so fanciful in his terror that he dreaded all 
 uncovering of the past. Possibly the discovery 
 at Bouie' s Hill was a mere nothing— an uj)- 
 springing of iears started into life by the telling 
 of that story. He resolved to go and meet what- 
 ever Fate might bring. 
 
 Kising, Hartley looked out into the night, then 
 fell back in his seat shaking with the agony of 
 his apprehensions. He had seen the ghost of 
 Lucy, a pallid, corpse-like ghost, beneath the yel- 
 low glare of a street-lamp. From the upturned 
 face of the mother he had robbed he shrank 
 back aghast. 
 
CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 " Some who spoke on that summer evening are no longer here to 
 speak or listen. Some who were roung then have topped the hill and 
 are descending towards the valley of the shadows. ... Ah ! ghosts of 
 youth, again ye draw near! Old figures glimmer through the cloud. 
 Old songs echo out of the distance." — Thackebay. 
 
 THREE hours later a brilliant assembly had 
 gathered in that perfectly proportioned 
 room which was then the ladies' salon 
 of the ''Burnet Honse." This salon was on 
 the first floor of an oblong wing which was 
 thrown lengthwise from the south front ; thus 
 it formed a right angle with the fagade of the 
 main building above the Third Street entrance. 
 The windows opened to the floor upon the bal- 
 conies on the east side which overhung Yine 
 Street. To the south and west the ^vindows 
 gave upon a broad stone flagging which roofed 
 the shops and offices of the outer basement. On 
 the north two doors led to the main hall, which 
 ran parallel with Third Street until it crossed 
 tlie first door of entrance to the salon. There 
 it was intersected by the smaller hall leading 
 from the Vine Street entrance. 
 
 196 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 197 
 
 The central chandelier, from whicli hnng in 
 widening circles multitudinous pendants, the side- 
 lights with their flashing reflections in the su- 
 perb mirrors, illuminated the room, which was 
 the setting of the first scene of the drama that 
 opened in Cincinnati in the summer of 1856. In 
 it were gathered that night an assemblage of ac- 
 tors who were to be famous and i)rominent fig- 
 ures in that drama. 
 
 Near the southwest windoAv, through which 
 our Arkansian colonel and the friend to whom 
 he told that story of Bouie's Hill have just en- 
 tered, a party of gentlemen are discussing with 
 evident temper the Kansas-Nebraska bill and its 
 sponsor. Above the tallest of the group towers 
 the ambitious young candidate who, sure of the 
 vice-presidency— which he feels within his grasp 
 —is hoping for something more which a fortui- 
 tous shake of the political dice-box or a dead- 
 lock in the convention may give him. Some 
 over-crafty or over-timid move of the cautious, 
 secretive Buchanan may embroil him with the 
 partisans of Pierce and Douglas, yet leave a 
 clear field for the running of the youngster who 
 is entered under the Buchanan colors. Close to 
 Breckenridge, and talking with him, is a young 
 
198 THE MODERN EAGAR. 
 
 politician as yet scarcely known outside of Ohio, 
 although there he is already recognized as a leader 
 of the " Straight-outs." Listen to what he is saying: 
 
 ''It is speciously framed to deceive the very 
 elect. It will keep the promise to the ear and 
 break it to the sense. It is a cheap bid for the 
 Presidency — ' ' 
 
 A voice interrupted : 
 
 " I say, VaUandigham, is the Presidency to be 
 underlet to the lowest bidder ?" 
 
 "Hardly, else Pierce w^ere sure of the nomi- 
 nation, which might suit book-making ' Hards ' 
 and stall-fed treasury hacks, but which I trust in 
 the end will not suit you, Butler, or your Massa- 
 chusetts delegation." 
 
 " Oh ! I'm easily pleased, but it's devilish hard 
 to please Griswold. He's an obstinate ass and 
 an awkward marplot. Set him to cutting up- 
 pers for the Democracy, and he'll cut the three- 
 cornered hole by which the pattern hangs every 
 time. He' s a statesman through the saving grace 
 of old Deacon Adams's rule, who put his boy 
 John 'to learning because he hadn't sense 
 enough to be a shoemaker.' " • 
 
 "But with Pierce out of the way will not 
 Massachusetts go solid for Buchanan?" 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 199 
 
 '^ That is as difficult a conundrum as the ver- 
 dict of a petit jury. It would take the head 
 graduate of a guessing-school to answer your 
 question." 
 
 " But they will not go to Douglas ?" 
 
 " Which, from your face and accent, means— 
 to the devil." 
 
 ''It would be just that. Douglas is a dema- 
 gogue, but an able one. I was saying to Breck- 
 enridge, That Kansas-Nebraska bill is a two-sided 
 shield with which Douglas will draw to him the 
 Free- Soil desertei-s from the Democracy, as he has 
 drawn the Southern delegations, who will not 
 believe that he is only leading them to the 
 threshold of a new controversy." 
 
 But the Arkansian and his friend are forced 
 back by the incoming adherents of the little 
 lUinoisian, and they cross to a g2ij party in one 
 of the Vine Street windows. 
 
 " Who is that beautiful blonde, Charley, next 
 to Hayne?" 
 
 "Julia Dean. Have you never seen her 
 play?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then see her in Parthenia^ O uncivilized 
 Arkansian] and you will wish only to be a 
 
200 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 savage, and Ingoviar^ that she may crown your 
 cup with flowers and teach you the physiological 
 puzzle, ' two hearts that beat as one.' " 
 
 *•' Does she play as well as Agnes Robertson ? " 
 
 *'No, oh! no, most F/oZe^^- loving backwoods- 
 man. But you can see with your never-to-be- 
 bespectacled eyes, my sun- gazer, that the divine 
 Julia is divine through right of beauty. She 
 seems Aphrodite's self in the faint, rosy mist of 
 that diaphanous gown." 
 
 *'I am not sure of the likeness ; I never saw 
 the other one. And, come to think of it, none of 
 the old fellows that tell the story say anything 
 of a gown." 
 
 **You prosaic, literal, and most commonplace 
 of politicians, not a step nearer shall you go to 
 Julia 1 Turn this way ; now listen attentively to 
 the grandiloquent Toombs.*' Tliis is what they 
 heard : 
 
 ''The white is the superior race and the black 
 the inferior ; and subordination, with or without 
 law, will be the status of the African in this mix- 
 ed society. And, therefore, it is the interest of 
 both, and especially of the black race, and of 
 the whole society, that this status should be 
 fixed, controlled, and protected by law." 
 
IN TEE GATEWAY OF WAR. 201 
 
 Ay tlie ponderous sentence ended two gentle- 
 m'rn left the circle around the orator and joined 
 the friends. They shook hands cordially with 
 the Arkaasian, who presented ''Mr. Singleton 
 of Mississippi, Colonel Forsyth of Alabama, my 
 old frienil and college chum, the Hon. Charles 
 Grandison." 
 
 Fresh salutations, and then, as the newly -met 
 friends exchanged personal inquiries, Grandison 
 looked curiously at the Mobile editor, the lead- 
 ing opinion-maker of the Southern press. Small, 
 we/i formed, with an almost femininely beautiful 
 fau3, the shapely head crowned by clustering 
 curls, exquisitely and carefully dressed, the 
 famous editor had more of the air and manner of 
 a squire of dames than of one of the uncrowned 
 kings of the press. 
 
 Singleton was a very different type of the 
 genus Southerner. There was in his bearing a 
 very apparent mannerism, in which a slight pre- 
 tentiousness struggled with a naturally joyous 
 and mercurial temperament. But this surface 
 defect would wear off with age and the friction 
 of the file which the woiid is always ready to 
 furnish. There was substance enough beneath 
 to withstand, and be the better for, the scraping 
 
202 THE MODERN II A GAR. 
 
 of the bark. He was sound at tlie core, sturdy 
 and strong as heart of oak ; the peeling off of 
 small vanities would only assist growth ; it was 
 not as if a mere fibrous pith was to be exjDosed 
 to wind and weather. 
 
 But this study of Grandison's was not a one- 
 sided peering into flesh to find the quality of 
 spirit. The subjects of his mental scalpel were 
 in their turn taking his measure, and it was 
 evident that the measure pleased. Both were 
 cordial in their readiness to include him in that 
 mystic circle which fences in friends and turns 
 its infinitesimal thorns of resistance against its 
 antipathies. The evidence of the attraction was 
 that Singleton's mannerism succumbed to his 
 temperament, while Forsyth lost the bored air 
 of a drawing-room lounger. 
 
 To be perfectly fitted to his vocation the editor 
 must be a many-sided man of letters, with at 
 least one side of the polygon art-receptive, if not 
 art-creative. Being perfectly fitted to his voca- 
 tion, Forsyth was an artist in the perceptive and 
 appreciative sense. An interpreter of art in the 
 plastic sense he was not, nor could he be ; for 
 that the divine fire and the hand of the artisan 
 were lacking. 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 203 
 
 Tlirougli that perceptive and ai^preciative sense 
 Forsyth saw Gfrandison. Outline and color I can 
 describe for you as Forsyth saw them. (But the 
 worthlessness of words, the littleness of written 
 letters, oppress and restrain me when I try to 
 spell on this page the outer expression of the 
 qualities which bound and still bind me with 
 ''hooks of steel" to the old friend whose like- 
 ness was daguerreotyped in my memory in the 
 days of my childhood.) He saw a frank, fair- 
 faced gentleman of the Saxon type which sug- 
 gests a Roman ancestor, with eyes of that deep 
 blue which we find in the vaulted arch of the 
 sky Avhen we look through the fleecy, sun-driven 
 clouds of morning— a man of grand mien and 
 noble x)resence. 
 
 Singleton and the Arkansian had instantly 
 fallen into talk of their resjjective delegations, 
 which grew confidential and unconsciously ex- 
 clusive. Grandison and Forsyth — illuminated 
 by magnetic consciousness — each excused to the 
 other by a look the friend for wliom he felt re- 
 sponsible. Each smiled his acceptance of the ex- 
 cuse. Thus, under the glow of a nascent friend- 
 ship, their talk began — talk that wandered out- 
 side of the scene and the topics which were 
 
204 THE MODERN HAG Alt 
 
 echoed and re-echoed through the heated air of 
 the political furnace now ablaze in Cincinnati. 
 
 There was happy mention of mutual friends — 
 men of letters, artists, art ; that last was a road 
 that led to Rome. Then, in wider talk of Italy 
 free their sympathies grew together. They 
 were both enthusiasts. Grandison' s enthusiasm 
 was outspoken in eloquent, fiery bursts of feel- 
 ing ; Forsyth's was a lambent flame that flowed 
 from the pen's point in lines of light. So the 
 polished, elegant writer was a willing listener 
 to one of the most rarely eloquent talkers an 
 unripe civilization has ever produced. Such a 
 listener is an insj)iration, always putting a con- 
 versationalist at his best by a well-timed look 
 of question or of sympathetic assent. The tri- 
 umj)h of Cavour's success could not have been 
 more nobly told in the Roman forum by the 
 silver-tongued Cicero than it was in this West- 
 ern salon. Then Forsyth suggested : 
 
 ^' The actual state of Italy is not only danger- 
 ous to its neiglibors, but dangerous in its bear- 
 ing upon European alliances." 
 
 This brought such a picture of revolutionary 
 Italy that the listener seemed to hear the far-off 
 heart-beat of a throbbing volcano. 
 
IN TEE GATEWAY OF WAR. 205 
 
 Then description was lost in anticipation, and 
 the beantifully modulated voice grew calmly 
 sweet as the speaker wished for Italy ''only 
 that constitutional, moderate government which 
 will know how to assuage passion and conserve 
 the principle of development." 
 
 A gentleman touched Forsyth : " Sorry to in- 
 terrupt, but we must leave at once or we shall be 
 late. The ladies are ready, and you know," 
 with a bow to Grandison, "it is dangerous to 
 keep them waiting." And the handsome Alaba- 
 mian walked to where Governor Brown, of Ten- 
 nessee, stood beside his stepdaughter and two 
 friends who were waiting for the tardy gallants. 
 A hand-shake and a promise for the morrow, 
 and again the Arkansian and Grandison slowly 
 passed group after group of ladies and their at- 
 tendant courtiers, and of politicians and their 
 satellites. In the centre of one such group 
 stands and j^oses the saturnine Benton, too vain 
 to think he is but a foil to the handsome man be- 
 side him, whose leonine head and soldierly figure 
 attract universal attention. 
 
 "Who is that splendidly handsome feUow, 
 Roane 1" asked Grandison. 
 
 " From the paint you put on the description I 
 
206 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 suppose you mean Price. He is standing tliere 
 by Benton." 
 
 "Yes, standing there. I swear he looks a 
 demigod." 
 
 '*If you could hear him roar in a battle-field 
 you would swear he was a bull of Bashan. I 
 heard him once, in New Mexico, order a charge, 
 and his voice not only reached the squadron of 
 dragoons two hundred yards away and sent them 
 headlong at the enemy, but so frightened the 
 enemy's cannoneers that the dragoons caiotured 
 the battery without drawing a sabre. The Mexi- 
 cans were in full run before our fellows shook 
 themselves to try their saddles." 
 
 ''Is he not leading the cohorts now for Ben- 
 ton ? " 
 
 "Yes. Benton caught him young ; and Price, 
 for a man of more than ordinary common, and 
 uncommon, sense, is the most stubborn ass alive. 
 You'll see to-morrow how he'll carry Benton's 
 colors into that convention." 
 
 A movement of the crowd brought them near 
 the outer edge of a circle which surrounded a 
 group of talkers. The central figure of that 
 group was a queer, homely little woman, gaily- 
 plumaged and bright-eyed, who seemed the 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 207 
 
 quasi-president of tlie coterie which had at- 
 tracted the attention of the friends. 
 
 The speaker of the moment was so pronounced 
 in resemblance to the first Napoleon that the 
 likeness could not fail to strike the most care- 
 less observer. 
 
 *' Isn't that Soule who is speaking to Mrs. 
 Carisbrooke, Charley 1 " asked the Arkansian. 
 
 '' Yes. Do you not know him ? " 
 
 "Never set eyes on him before. But I had 
 heard of the likeness to Bonaparte. It is abso- 
 lutely wonderful. It is the same figure and 
 pose of the head — the very face, the clear, pene- 
 trating eyes that look at you out of David's por- 
 trait. Put the coronation robes on him and it 
 would seem a resurrection. He would electrify 
 the old sentimentalists who dream of past glory 
 in the Hotel des Invalides.^^ 
 
 "It is a perfect resemblance, and I fancy the 
 voice must be the same, it is so exquisite in 
 tone, so magnetic in quality. Every inflection, 
 every modulation tells of the orator who, if per- 
 suasion fail, will carry his auditors by his own 
 intensity. He hides imiDeriousness under the 
 guise of enthusiasm, and by seducing the im- 
 agination blinds the judgment. If Douglas's de- 
 
208 THE 3I0DERN HAGAR. 
 
 feat was not a foregone conclusion Sonle would 
 carry the convention to him ; as it is, even Louisi- 
 ana will finally follow Slidell to Buchanan. But 
 here comes William the saturnine. How are 
 you, Horry?" 
 
 ''As well as an honest man may be when he 
 breathes the air infected by politicians." 
 
 " Is there such contagion in it ? " 
 
 "It is pestilential, most foul and unnatural; 
 but how does this base world treat you, my 
 Hamlet?" 
 
 The new-comer placed his hand with a light, 
 caressing movement upon the shoulder of Gran- 
 dison. 
 
 "'Excellently well, i' faith' ; and I am glad 
 you have come out of your tub, O Diogenes ! 
 But 'what make you here,' my friend?" 
 
 " I am brought by 'the rash humor which my 
 mother gave me ' —the inheritance of a grain of 
 Eve's curiosity. I am watching by the death- 
 bed of this republican oligarchy. Do you know, 
 Charley, when this scene is shifted the last act 
 in the drama begins V 
 
 " O reddest of red-republicans ! you have come 
 back from France a male Cassandra. You are 
 deceived by the bubble of the caldi'on that boils 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 209 
 
 over the fire of the convention. It will settle, 
 my friend, and it will clear itself of tlie scum. 
 There is such potency in the master ingredients 
 that the j^oison which ignorance has gathered will 
 be neutralized. You forget, O prophet of evil! 
 tliat this turmoil of the nation is a recurrent 
 symptom — an ague-fit that shakes the body poli- 
 tic at each Presidential election." 
 
 *' This time, my optimist, the fit will shake the 
 nation into fragments. There is death in the 
 pot. And senseless quacks will try blood-let- 
 ting. Every sign proves that the end is near at 
 hand. Even so slight a tiling as a woman's 
 opinion leans that way. Listen to what our 
 little lady of ' the hill ' is saying to Soule," 
 They could hear distinctly the words : 
 '^ I believe with you, Mr. Soule, that if elected 
 Douglas would succeed in harmonizing the con- 
 tending factions for the time — but, mark you, 
 only for the time. Unfortunately the divisions 
 in the parties are widening into a national divi- 
 sion. The untoward contempt of Southern ex- 
 tremists is repaid by hatred that grows more 
 bitter as the North feels the balance of power 
 slipping Southward. A Southerner by birth 
 and a Northerner by residence, I can see both 
 
210 THE 3I0DERN HA GAR. 
 
 sides of the shield that is waiting the touch of 
 a hostile lance. In a federation like ours con- 
 tempt and hatred are deadly qualities. They 
 will kill the unity of the nation, as they have 
 killed the harmony of the States." 
 
 A movement in the group revealed the listen- 
 ers in the outer circle. A wave of the little 
 hand and a glad salutation called them nearer. 
 
 *' Ah ! I see, Mr. Soule, that you already know 
 my friends. Mr. Grandison thinks me slightly 
 demented on this sectional question ; but Mr. 
 Horry will prove to you that there is method in 
 my madness." 
 
 Touching the lady's hand as he bowed to 
 Soule, Horry said: "In plain words, the priest- 
 ess descends from the tripod and leaves me to 
 unravel the perplexed and mystic meaning of 
 the oracle." 
 
 Soule. '* Mrs. Carisbrooke has already proved 
 the soundness of her judgment by her selection 
 of an advocate." 
 
 Horry. "I deny the judgment. It was only 
 the sixth sense of a woman — the instinctive 
 tyranny of the sex that chooses the readiest 
 and most unsuspicious victim. Counting on my 
 good-nature, on my ignorance of Avoman's ha- 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 211 
 
 bitnal and inherent perfidy, she unhesitatingly 
 proceeds to immolate me upon the altar of her 
 vanity. She sacrifices the most devoted of her 
 subjects to a strange god." 
 
 The bow to Soule accented the last words. 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooJce. ''Now may Heaven keep 
 me from treacherous allies and need of aid! 
 I have proved nothing to Mr. Soule except my 
 poverty in friends. I abandon politics to the 
 Furies, and so will you all. A woman comes 
 who will make you forget that I exist. But 
 when the well-beloved Brutus stabs one is con- 
 tent to fall at the feet of a rival. Mr. Horry's 
 defection has driven me to such extremes that I 
 am glad to see my beautiful enemy." 
 
 She made place for tAvo ladies who had just 
 entered. The gentlemen rising, she presented 
 them to Mrs. Cartaret and Mrs. Hartley. ' ' The 
 Carisbrooke" kept the shuttle of conversation 
 flying. While the sparkling current of light talk 
 ripples and flows about Mrs. Hartley I can see 
 the change the last six years have wrought 
 in her. 
 
 Slight and stately she was ; slender and 
 haughty she is. Beautiful, as her pallid youth 
 promised ; but it is a dead, statuesque beauty, 
 
212 THE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 where life and warmtli are lacking. Expression- 
 less, except for the sombre light in the dark eyes 
 and the occasional deepening of the faint, down- 
 ward lines which droop from the corners of the 
 exquisitely curved lips ; but faint as they are, 
 the lines are hieroglyphic characters, that tell 
 how the soul of the woman is warj^ed by the 
 indwelling of contempt, which has perverted 
 faith and dislodged love and charity. 
 
 Messengers came for Soule and the Arkansian, 
 calling them to a caucus of the Southern dele- 
 gates — a summons both were loath to obey. For 
 the prince of conversationalists was talking to 
 intelligent and interested listeners, while the 
 Arkansian was watching, with unconscious be- 
 trayal of admiration, a face that held him by the 
 rare charm of perfect beauty. 
 
 The deep-set, gray eyes of "The Carisbrooke" 
 were of penetrative quality. As the two gentle- 
 men disappeared through one of the windows 
 which opened on the broad platform above the 
 Third Street entrance, she turned to Mrs. Hart- 
 ley : 
 
 *'I acquit you of flirtatious intent, my proud 
 Kate ; but nevertheless that poor ' Arkansaw 
 traveller' is pierced through and through. His 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF Y/AR. 213 
 
 indigenous bowie-knife could not liave made 
 deeper wounds than liave tlie eyes whicli 
 were shining so far above him. You cannot helj) 
 it, my dear, x^ll your scorn goes for naught. 
 Men are such simpletons, and a beautiful face is 
 the touchstone which tries them. The mask of 
 wisdom with which they manage to deceive us 
 falls before the talisman and gives to view the 
 folly of a fool. Those we blindly think the 
 wisest are often only the weakest. Now, Soule 
 has talked his best this evening, not because I 
 listened understandingly, my dear, but because 
 he looked at you while he talked to me. Could 
 there have been a more pronounced proof of the 
 constitutional tendency of the masculine brain to 
 idiocy?" 
 
 The action which accompanied her talk, fitting 
 a gesture to every xDhrase, gave to Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke's speech a certain indescribable piquancy. 
 All laughed. Even Mrs. Hartley's proud lips 
 unclosed, and as the wliite teeth flashed the 
 ghost of a lost dimple indented the oval round- 
 ness ; but the dimple vanished, and the smile 
 lost its sweetness as it fell under the scornful 
 arch of the thin nostrils. 
 
 Just then Doctor Carisbrooke came into the 
 
214 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 room and joined the group. All looked and 
 spoke a welcome. Tlie smile of Ms wife trans- 
 figured tlie plain face of the homely woman. 
 With the glowing light of love in it, it had a 
 positive and attractive beauty. 
 
 The doctor had a noble head and a sweet, 
 wholesome countenance. I can find no other 
 words which express my meaning so fully. If 
 some carping critic cavil at the expression let him 
 better it. I dare affirm that any lover of truth and 
 good English would say the words "sweet and 
 wholesome" were well chosen had he looked in- 
 to Doctor Carisbrooke' s honest face and met the 
 glance of those penetrative yet kindly eyes. The 
 breadth of the man's humanity made this healer 
 of the body a fit physician of the "mind dis- 
 eased" ; and besides there was in his manner a 
 self-reverence which proved that a pure soul was 
 lodged in a clean body. To get the best that is 
 possible out of the school of life these conditions 
 are imperative. 
 
 The wise teacher would have taught a more 
 philosophically practical lesson on the upbuild- 
 ing of character had he left out the question of 
 precedence and insisted that " cleanliness is the 
 beginning of godliness." 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 215 
 
 After cordial greetings had been exchang- 
 ed the doctor, refusing a seat, nodded t^ his 
 wife. 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooTce. ^'Yes, I understand that 
 Jovian signal. It orders a start, an instant leave- 
 taking. It means that I must quit this Eden of 
 budding and growing politicians, this convoca- 
 tion of great and small statesmen, to jog up Vine 
 Street hill behind a pair of balky horses that 
 Carisbrooke' s compassion forced him to buy from 
 a brutal expressman. His sympathy is a stream 
 that runs as evenly and full as a milh^ace for all 
 the animal kingdom — except his wife." 
 
 Dr. Carishrooke. ^'You are a woman, there- 
 fore to be — taken with several grains of salt. 
 You know, my dear, that they are excellent 
 horses. Sometimes they wish to stop on the 
 wayside to reason with you when you are im- 
 patient and would have them driven hurriedly 
 up a steep grade. But, like their master, they 
 give up and go on stolidly when reason cannot 
 get a hearing." 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooTce. "Having listened to. balky 
 reason, I am ready to try the horses. Our 
 friends have promised to take their luncheon 
 with us to-morrow. After you make your morn- 
 
216 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 ing visits you are to bring Mrs. Cartaret and Kate 
 home with yon." 
 
 Dr. Carisbrooke. *' I shall be delighted. The 
 ladies will know to-morrow that yon have slan- 
 dered my bays. Have yon left an invitation for 
 Captain Hartley?" 
 
 Mr. Grandison. ^^ Horry and I have promised 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke to bring him if he can leave 
 his delegation. We will wait until the last mo- 
 ment that he may come." 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooJce. " He mnst come, and my 
 luncheon must not wait. I shall expect you at 
 two o'clock." 
 
 Horry. ' ' The impossible shall come to pass 
 at your bidding. You shall eat your luncheon 
 smilingly, madam, * that good digestion may 
 wait on appetite. ' " 
 
CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 "■What! there's a heart inside me, and I've bought a candle for the 
 Most Holy Yirgin before now." 
 
 THE little group left the room together. At 
 the foot of the wide staircase near the door 
 ''Good-nights" were said to Mrs. Cartaret 
 and Mrs. Hartley.. 
 
 Horry and Grandison walked on with the doc- 
 tor and Mrs. Carisbrooke. Near the door of the 
 reception-room they met two gentlemen. One 
 had lost an arm, and both had that erect mili- 
 tary carriage which said plainly, "soldiers." 
 Doctor Carisbrooke' s hand was laid on the 
 empty sleeve: " Leszinksky ! " "Carisbrooke!" 
 were simultaneous exclamations. Then the doc- 
 tor shook hands with Leszinksky's compan- 
 ion, and the doctor's distant cousin, Major 
 Leszinksky, and Captain Carson were presented 
 to Mrs. Carisbrooke and the gentlemen stand- 
 ing beside her. 
 
 A swarthy, handsome boy, with high cheek- 
 bones, black hair, and flashing eyes, had come 
 
 217 
 
2 1 8 THE 310DERN JIA OAR. 
 
 from the reception-room and waited near the 
 officers. The race to which he belonged was so 
 evident, the features so marked, that when Car- 
 son introduced him as "my son Stanislaus" 
 there was surjirise in every face except Grandi- 
 son's. He instantly understood that these were 
 two of the actors in the story he had heard of 
 the tight at Bouie's Hill. He thought of the In- 
 dian mother and "Captain Rue" as he w^atch- 
 ed the boy's face and listened to Leszinksky 
 saying : 
 
 "It is not only a x)leasure to meet you, Caris- 
 brooke ; it is a special providence. We have just 
 arrived, and are told that it is impossible for 
 us to have rooms in the ' Burnet.' My daugh- 
 ter is quite ill. She is lying on a sofa in the 
 reception-room. I was going for a physician 
 first, and then to search for quarters. The doc- 
 tor is found, and I hope you can tell me where 
 we can find a place of rest for the night in this 
 crowded town. But first come and tell me what 
 to do for my child. She has been nervous and 
 ill for some time. Doctor Eandall ordered me 
 to come north with her. This afternoon she had 
 a severe chill, and now the fever has made her 
 slightly deliiious." 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 219 
 
 The doctor went into the room with Leszink- 
 sky. Carson and his son followed them. 
 
 Standing there waiting for their return, 
 Grandison rapidly told Mrs. Carisbrooke of 
 the fight at Bouie' s Hill, of Mrs. Carson, and of 
 "Cai3tain Rue." The talker was eloquent, the 
 listener impressionable and quick in symj^athy. 
 
 When the doctor returned with a hesitating, 
 half -questioning look on his face, his wife anti- 
 cipated his question : 
 
 "Bring these relatives of yours with us. They 
 must come. We have room — or somehow I will 
 make room — for them all. Why, Carisbrooke, 
 I would take Molly out of her bed or turn you 
 into the street, to find shelter for that child. Tell 
 Major Leszinksky — no, you stay here ; I will tell 
 them myself." 
 
 And she was heard talking to the gentlemen, 
 urging until they could no longer refuse. 
 
 Dr. Carisbrooke asked Grandison: "Charley, 
 what bee has stung my wife?" 
 
 "Generous sympath}^ with the heroic." 
 
 " Does the army march with the insect always 
 at the front, or is it the special privilege of these 
 two officers?" 
 
 For the third time that evening the story was 
 
220 THE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 told, tills last time in a quick grouping of gen- 
 eral facts. But the large-hearted man under- 
 stood how and why his wife was so moved. She 
 came back to them with the tears rolling down 
 her cheeks, but she said with a triumphant ring 
 in her voice : 
 
 ''They will come now, at once. Go out and 
 get a close carriage. You and Major Leszink- 
 sky and Lucy can go in that with Rue. I found 
 Lucy waiting in the reception-room for me. She 
 was already attending to the child's wants. She 
 can nurse her. You know how she nursed Mol- 
 ly and how devoted she is to children. She 
 will go in the carriage and hold the child so the 
 jolting will not disturb her. Captain Carson and 
 his son ^vill go with me and the balky bays." 
 She laughed nervously as she brushed aside her 
 tears. In less than twenty minutes Horry and 
 Grandison, having seen the carriages off, were 
 walking eastward on Fourth Street. 
 
CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 " Christ of the seven ^rounds, who look'dst through the dark 
 To the face of thy mother ! consider. I pray, 
 How we common mothers stand desolate." 
 
 BEFORE breakfast the doctor visited liis 
 young patient. Major Leszinksky was sit- 
 ting beside Ms daughter, who seemed to be 
 sleeping quietly. As the doctor touched the 
 slender little hand the child opened her eyes and 
 watched his face as he counted the pulse-beats. 
 
 '' You do not remember our bringing you here, 
 Rue?" asked the doctor. 
 
 '' No ; are you a doctor ? " 
 
 '' Yes ; and I am going to cure you. You are 
 very much better already. My wife will bring 
 you a cup of chocolate and some toast ; then, if 
 you feel strong enough to see a visitor, Molly 
 wishes to come." 
 
 ^*Whois JSIollyl" 
 
 " She is my daughter— an only daughter, like 
 yourself. ' ' 
 
 ''I am not papa's only daughter. Steenie is 
 with her mother in St. Louis. I was my mother's 
 
 221 
 
222 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 only daughter." There was a tremulous shiver 
 in the sweet, low voice. With one hand smooth- 
 ing back the clustering curls from the fair, open 
 brow, and the other holding firmly both the rest- 
 less, nervous little hands, the doctor continued : 
 
 ' ' Your father and I are relatives and old 
 friends. I knew him when he was a boy at 
 Mount Hope. The Albemarle Masons were cou- 
 sins of my mother. You and Molly are far-away 
 cousins. I hope you will be friends. I have 
 spent many happy days at Mount Hope. I 
 loved my kinspeople there dearly. For the sake 
 of those old days I trust you and Molly will care 
 for each other." 
 
 "I like you." And the slender fingers clasped 
 the doctor's broad palm. "Bring Molly to see 
 me. I hope I shall— I want to love her. I will 
 if I can. But you know love is free. I shall 
 never try again to love any one. I have tried to 
 love some one because it was right. But it was 
 not right ; and now I hate." 
 
 " My daughter ! " 
 
 " Yes, papa, I do. But I shall not say whom. 
 I am hurt, doctor— hurt terribly here." And she 
 slipped one little hand from liis clasp and laid it 
 on her breast. "But I am trying to live for 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 223 
 
 papa's sake and for Steenie's sake — for I do love 
 Steenie. I love her dearly. Papa knows that I 
 do. But Laha and my chief ! I cannot forget. 
 O Laha ! O my Chief ! ■' And the little frame 
 shook with quick- coming sobs. 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke, who had come in quietly and 
 was listening to the child, imjjulsively pushed 
 her husband aside and caught Rue in her arms. 
 
 ''God bless you, Rue! My darling, darling 
 Rue ! Your mother was my friend and play- 
 mate — your own mother, my child. For Mar- 
 garet Cartaret's sake I love her daughter. For 
 her sake will you love me, Rue ? " 
 
 As the child held back those long, quivering 
 sobs and raised a pale, thin little face to look 
 into Mrs. Carisbrooke' s eyes, the doctor was 
 more iDPOvoked and angry with his wife than he 
 had ever believed it possible for him to be. 
 
 But as Rue's arms were thrown around Mrs. 
 Carisbrooke' s neck, and her tears came in a full 
 shower the doctor put his hand in his friend's 
 arm, and they silently left the suffering child to 
 the ministration of that spirit of motherhood 
 which has strayed out of Paradise to dwell in the 
 hearts of the daughters of Eve. 
 
 As the gentlemen left the room a wild, scared 
 
224 THE MODERN IIAGAR. 
 
 face came from between the muslin curtains at 
 tlie foot of the bed. Tearless, aching eyes gazed 
 a moment at the lady and the child, who were 
 unconscious of the watcher. Then, crouching 
 down, the quadroon whom Mrs. Carisbrooke had 
 called "Lucy" crept through the door of the 
 adjoining room, and, throwing herself upon her 
 face, begged of the Eternal Giver, not life, but 
 death and forge tfulness. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Que scais-je." 
 
 DOCTOR CARISBROOKE and Leszinksky 
 found Molly Carisbrooke seated on tlie 
 steps of the vine-clad porcli. 
 
 Tonclied by the tliouglit of the child he had 
 just left, by her grief and comparative loneliness, 
 Doctor Carisbrooke made the most of the distant 
 relationship when he introduced his daughter. 
 
 "Major Leszinksky is a connection of ours, 
 Molly. His dark locks have bleached so much 
 sooner than my sandy pow that you scarcely dare 
 * cousin ' him ; so he is to be your ' Uncle 
 Stan.'" 
 
 There was a tender, compassionate look on the 
 girl's face as she gave her hand to the gentleman 
 thus presented and looked into the deep, mourn- 
 ful eyes that were bent upon her. 
 
 "I am very glad to see my Uncle Stan. I hope 
 Rue — my cousin Rue — is better." 
 
 "She is much better, my dear. Your good 
 father's skill found quick ways of help, and 
 
 225 
 
226 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 your mother's kindness was of equal value. I 
 had flattered myself that I was a tolerable nurse ; 
 but your mother and the woman Lucy are gra- 
 duates of the best school. No one could have 
 cared for my child more tenderly. And now I 
 can see in your eyes, my dear little cousin, the 
 help you will bring Rue. She is suffering, not 
 only from illness, but from a very grievous loss, 
 a sorrow hard for us all to bear, crushing to one 
 so young and so loving. I think, my dear, you 
 will helj) her to bear it." 
 
 ^ ' I will do my best, Uncle Stan. ' ' And the child, 
 just budding into maidenhood, with a modest, 
 blushing grace, turned her cheek to receive the 
 proffered kiss. 
 
 Molly had her father's kindly brown eyes and 
 frank, fair face. Fifteen years of age, well 
 grown, with a serious, womanly manner, she 
 seemed utterly unlike that bright butterfly, her 
 mother. But there was a decided though hid- 
 den resemblance. There was between mother 
 and daughter a mysterious unity of tastes and 
 ways of thought, a magnetic sympathy in likes 
 and dislikes, that completed the girl's dual na- 
 ture. In this fortunate child of a perfect 
 marriage there was a harmoniously blended in- 
 
IN TEE GATEWAY OF WAR. 227 
 
 heritance of responsive and appreciative quali- 
 ties. 
 
 Carson and his handsome son came up the 
 shaded country road and entered the gate. The 
 doctor and Leszinksky walked down to meet 
 them as Molly seated herself again upon the 
 steps. 
 
 ''You are early afoot, Captain Carson," said 
 the doctor. '' You should have let this young 
 friend of mine have eight hours' sleep after the 
 fatigue of yesterday." 
 
 '* He was the offender. He called me at day- 
 light. He wished to see his Uncle Stan and 
 hear news of Rue. After we learned she had 
 rested so quietly and was better we walked to 
 Avondale and arranged to go to Oxford to-day." 
 
 " Not to-day ; surely you will not leave us so 
 soon?" 
 
 ''My sister expects us. Delay would alarm 
 her, as she knows Hue has been ill since— since 
 our loss," The frowning brow and the flash of 
 the blue eyes gave angry emphasis to the trem- 
 bling lines about the grieved mouth. The boy's 
 hand touched his father's, who clasped it firmly 
 as he added : " My leave is nearly ended, and as 
 my son will remain with my sister I wish to see 
 
228 THE MODERN HAGAR 
 
 something of her new home. My sister's hus- 
 band, Mr. McCormack, is one of the professors 
 in the college, and it is the best I can do for my 
 son to leave him there until he is old enough to 
 enter West Point, He wishes to be a soldier." 
 
 All eyes were fastened on the boy. He was 
 looking at Molly. The girl, calmly unconscious 
 of self, or rather with the poise of superior age, 
 reached out her hand, and, drawing the boy to 
 her side, took his cap in one hand and with the 
 other smoothed the tumbled black locks that 
 were shading the dark, flashing eyes. The two 
 officers looked at her and then at each other, and 
 walked together to the gate. 
 
 "Whom does that young girl remind you of, 
 Stan?" 
 
 "Of Margaret — the same lovely, unselfish 
 nature, bright and sweet and womanly. I wish 
 my namesake was the elder of those two." 
 
 " It would be of no use. He would never love 
 her as he does Hue." 
 
 " Rue is the elder, and they are like brother 
 and sister." 
 
 ' ' I think you mistake the relationship. Eue 
 regards Stan as a younger brother, and now, sor- 
 rowing for and with him, she gives him the 
 
IN TEE GATEWAY OF WAB. 220 
 
 affection she gave his mother and Willy. But 
 the boy worships her as a queen absolute. I do 
 not suppose he would ever presume to offer her a 
 more personal love ; but it will keep him free. 
 He loves her as I loved her mother." 
 
 "And you know, Carson, what that brought. 
 You were her brother, as you have been mine. 
 But I do not know why you should say Stan 
 would presume if he loved Rue. Any gentleman 
 may love a xoure and free maiden. If they cared 
 for each other, as lovers do, you know how gladly 
 I would give my daughter to your son. There is 
 no inequality except age. But with Rue's im- 
 perious temper that would be a fatal inequality. 
 If she ever marries I think she will marry some 
 one many years her senior. And I am not sure 
 but that would be best. She has reverence for 
 age ; and, with her, love will go with reverence. 
 If it should not her life will be ruined. I wish 
 your son was nearer your own age, Carson." 
 
 And the solitary arm was thrown over his com- 
 rade' s shoulder. They smiled sadly in each 
 other's eyes and walked back to the steps. The 
 doctor, who Avas tying up a climbing rose, be- 
 gan: 
 
 *'My girl wants to keep your boy, Captain 
 
230 THE MODERN HA GA R. 
 
 Carson. The great grief of her life is that she 
 cannot be a soldier. She was at West Point last 
 summer with my sister ; and that visit to her 
 aunt, together with the influence of the cadets' 
 buttons, has developed a military mania that 
 threatens to be incurable. Now, this boy of 
 yours looks a born flghter, and her woman's 
 instinct tells her there is material for a hero. 
 So she would fain keep him. Her mother 
 will aid and abet her in her design. You 
 had better yield gracefully and stay two or 
 three days longer. Mrs. Carisbrooke mil 
 visit your defection upon me. I pray you 
 stay." 
 
 ^' If I had longer time at my disposal, doctor, 
 I would stay until I feared you were beginning 
 to regret your hospitality. I must go with my 
 son to-day ; but, if your invitation hold good 
 until then, I Avill return here day after to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 *'It holds good for then and for all the fu- 
 ture ; whenever you can give us a day, or a 
 week, or a month, we shall be glad to have you a 
 guest at ' Rosebank.' " 
 
 "Thanks! I shall remind you of that invita- 
 tion whenever a kindly fortune brings me near 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 231 
 
 Cincinnati. I hope I may see Mrs. Carisbrooke 
 before we go. I trust she has slept since day- 
 break. Leszinksky told me that she would stay 
 with Rue all night." 
 
 ''She had a short sleep. She says she is not 
 at all tired. She is with Rue now. I never knew 
 my wife to tire when either sympathy or regard 
 demanded endurance. She has a wonderful fund 
 of reserved vitality and nervous force ; and even 
 better staying qualities than my stolid, solid 
 little Molly, to whom I have neglected to present 
 you." 
 
 Molly shook hands with Captain Carson, and 
 then smilingly sank back into her favorite corner 
 with her head leaning against the vine- covered 
 baluster. 
 
 The doctor. "This is Molly's reception-room, 
 Captain Carson. Slie likes the upholstery of 
 vines and the gilding of sunlight. The child of 
 a butterfly, she revels in air and sunshine." 
 
 Holly. ' ' I shall tell mamma how you slander 
 her. It would serve you right, papa, if your 
 butterflies borrowed the bee's sting. But time 
 will do us justice. Uncle Stan and Captain Car- 
 son, if they stay with us a few days, will see 
 how you snub and ill-treat your womenkind." 
 
332 THE MODERN HA GA R. 
 
 Tlie doctor. "A houseliold of victims, upon 
 my word ! Would it disturb you too much, 
 yon trampled little worm — no, I mean you sun- 
 singed papillon — if I ask you to tell me how 
 soon we are likely to get our breakfast ? " 
 
 Molly. " I am glad there is something you can 
 learn of me, papa. Breakfast is ready and wait- 
 ing ; I made the waffles my own self with my 
 nice freckled hands. I told Samson not to ring 
 the bell ; it might disturb Cousin Rue. If you 
 think mamma cannot come I am ready to serve 
 at the coffee urn." 
 
 The doctor. " You are a miraculous golden but- 
 terfly. Why, child, you can think! You are 
 the loveliest specimen of the genus lepidoiotera 
 that was ever alight upon rose or honej^suckle. 
 Let me look closely at your speckled wings, that 
 I may classify you," taking her hands. ''And 
 with these you actually fanned common eggs 
 into cates that are fit for a royal table ? Come, 
 my friends ; with stomach expectant and mind 
 at ease, I can bid you come." 
 
 In the breakfast-room they met other guests ; 
 for the convention had brought visitors to every 
 private house in Cincinnati. 
 
 Breakfast was over, and yet Mrs. Carisbrooke 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 283 
 
 had not put in an appearance. The gentle- 
 men had gathered in '^Molly's reception-room," 
 but Molly herself had gone to visit her new 
 cousin. 
 
 Carson's conveyance was driven to the gate 
 and duly packed with his and his son's belong- 
 ings. The doctor had decided that Hue must 
 not be excited by adieus ; so, leaving messages 
 for Mrs. Carisbrooke and the two girls, Carson 
 and the boy went Oxfordwards. 
 
 Then the doctor again visited Rue. Meethig 
 Leszinksky as he left the child, he said : 
 
 '' Go and tell Rue that you are going to ride 
 with me ; then leave her with Molly. My wife 
 is sleeping now, but she will soon be with the 
 girls, and you can trust Molly." 
 
 Leszinksky found Molly by his daughter's 
 bedside, smiling down upon the child, whose 
 hand she held. There was a faint pink tinge 
 on Rue's pale face, and the eyes had lost their 
 sad mistiness. 
 
 " I am going to ride with Doctor Carisbrooke, 
 Rue. I shall leave your cousin Molly as your 
 guardian while 1 am gone.'' 
 
 "I will take good care of her. Uncle Stan. 
 Papa told me just what I might give her." 
 
234 THE MODERN HAGAR 
 
 As Leszinksky kissed his daughter she whis- 
 pered . 
 
 " I do like Molly, papa ; I did not have to try. 
 I am so glad she is my cousin. Good-by, papa. 
 I hope you will have a x)leasant ride." 
 
 After they had left the house, and the bays 
 were proving that they deserved the doctor's 
 praise, he began abruptly : 
 
 " Rue is decidedly better. I think Molly will 
 be the best physician we can call. Companion- 
 ship and nature will do more for the child than 
 drugs could. How old is Rue ? " 
 
 " She was thirteen last spring." 
 
 " She is a child in years and appearance, but a 
 woman in sorrows and intensity of feeling. Only 
 a child can bring back her childhood and make 
 her forget her griefs. The circle of her sym- 
 pathy has been too narrow and its personality too 
 intense. Her troubles are so near her that they 
 seem gigantic ; we must try to widen her hori- 
 zon. Hers is a perfect though a delicate organ- 
 ism. She has unflinching self-control and the 
 most exquisitely sensitive nerves : it is the true 
 heroic temperament. This morning, when she 
 told me she was trying to live for your sake, I 
 mentally resolved that with God's blessing she 
 
JN TEE GATEWAY OF WAR. 235 
 
 should live ; for I knew she could. With her 
 temperament and her strength of will, what she 
 may choose is a vital question. She has no real 
 physical disorder, but a very decided affectional 
 and moral ailment ; she has been most unheal th- 
 fuUy exposed to strong emotions. The cure is a 
 natural, child-like life, Avhere simple likings may 
 happily take the place of her uprooted attach- 
 ments. Molly's calmness and sweetness of dis- 
 position is a restful sedative for her — the best w^e 
 can give her w^hile her nerves are quivering from 
 this recent wrench. But to be wdth Molly for 
 any length of time would be a fresh injury. She 
 would make an idol of Molly ; and we must keep 
 her from idols. If I considered Molly, for her 
 sake I would beg you to leave Kue with us. She 
 could only do IMolly good ; and Rue has captured 
 my wdfe, and I think she could soon hang my 
 scalp at her girdle." 
 
 ''Nothing could be kinder, Carisbrooke, than 
 your frankness. I am sure you w^ould Avillingly 
 do ail or any one thing that would benefit Eue. 
 Nothing is so valuable to me as your advice. I 
 can see where I have failed to do what was best 
 for my child. She lost so much when she lost 
 her mother that I could not, even for her sake, 
 
236 THE MODERN HAGAIi. 
 
 force her to further loss. And there was a more 
 sacred consideration. The last promise I made 
 Margaret was never to separate the child from 
 the chief who had sacrificed all that an Indian 
 values to save her from a death of torture." 
 
 ''I think, Leszinksky, you take to yourself 
 needless blame. I do not think under any cii'- 
 cumstances you could have so ruled Rue's life 
 that there would have been no strong emotions, 
 no absorbing interests in it. The moral malady 
 — and it is a maladj^ — is in the blood ; she had 
 nothing from her mother except the i^ower of 
 loving absolutely and devotedly. From the long 
 line of Leszinkskys she gathered her imperious- 
 ness and her unfaltering adhesion to a friend or 
 a cause. You Avere modified by the Mason graft, 
 but Rue counts no graft this side of the stern 
 Macdonalds, except that one quality her mo- 
 ther's brooding love gave her. I had a long talk 
 with Carson last night, and I cross-questioned 
 him closely. To study this case and understand 
 my patient I had to make a moral diagnosis of 
 the symptoms shown in her life and character. 
 Knowing the disease, we may find that poisons 
 are curative. Sorrows are sometimes fevers that 
 acclimate the soul to its residence in the tiesh. 
 
iiV THE GA TEVTA Y OF WAR. 237 
 
 You and I both believe in a special Providence, 
 and with that belief conies faith in the ministra- 
 tion of sorrow. We do not know why evil ex- 
 ists, but we do know that God brings good out 
 of evil. Rue' s iDresent pain may be a safeguard 
 for the future, a training against a time of trou- 
 ble when neither you nor I could shield her. 
 All that we can do now is to try and teach 
 her to bear adversity as a God- sent trial of 
 obedience." 
 
 '' Where do you advise me to place her ? " 
 
 ^'With some one who is kindly but firm; 
 some one more just than loving. Carson told 
 me you had determined to leave her in Oxford 
 with his sister. What is she like ?" 
 
 '' She is Just what you describe, and E,ue likes 
 her without being fond of her." 
 
 '' Then Eue will be in good hands. But there 
 is a husband. Who and what is he ? " 
 
 "A Calvinist, an Abolitionist, and a fanatic, 
 but honest and sincere. At least so Carson says, 
 and Carson is the best judge of men that I know 
 — that is, when he is unprejudiced. And I as- 
 sure you that in the beginning he was not preju- 
 diced in Mr. McCormack's favor." 
 
 ' ' ' Honest and sincere ' — that sounds well. 
 
238 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 But if he makes his isms personal— for instance, 
 should he reflect upon you as a slave-holding 
 fiend, which as a fanatic he might do— he will 
 have a battle with Rue on the moment." 
 
 "If he is a kindly man and a man of sense he 
 will not be likely to antagonize a child." 
 
 " To be kindly and sensible would be inconsis- 
 tent with 'Calvinist, Abolitionist, and fanatic' 
 There is more of the diabolic than the divine in 
 that trinity. My hope is in his wife's good 
 qualities. But E-ue must stay with us until I 
 see that it is better she should go. You consent, 
 do you not?" 
 
 " Yes. I thank you no less for the invitation 
 than I do for the promise to send her to Oxford 
 when you see that it is well she should go. Now 
 that is settled, there is another and a very seri- 
 ous matter upon which I wish to consult you." 
 
 '^ You are not ill, Leszinksky ? " 
 
 ''No ; it is not the doctor I wish to consult 
 now, but the man of cool judgment and strict 
 honor." 
 
 "Your preamble confuses me. Do I blush 
 visibly?" 
 
 "Well, yes, I think you do ; there is a modest 
 tinge in your nose." 
 
IN TEE GATEWAY OF WAR. 239 
 
 *' Before you begin the 'serious matter' I 
 must make a five minutes' call at this house, 
 where I have a patient. The bays know they 
 are to stop. Will you hold the reins until I 
 return 1" 
 
 When the doctor came back he turned his 
 horses westward and drove out — the then favor- 
 ite drive — to the Mill Creek House. Not a word 
 was said until they were on the smooth turnpike. 
 Leszinksky was frowning at his thoughts when 
 the doctor reined in the bays and said : 
 
 '' ]N"ow I can hear what you have to tell me. I 
 have an hour to spare before my next visit." 
 
 Leszinksky began abruptly : 
 
 ''Did Carson tell you anything of the attack 
 upon Bouie's Hill? I do not mean the general 
 facts ; of course you know them — I told you 
 those last night when I was telling you the 
 causes of Rue's illness. But did Carson men- 
 tion a discovery that he believed proved the at- 
 tack to have been the result of criminal insti- 
 gation?" 
 
 " Yes ; and I could have strengthened his be- 
 lief, but did not. Until last night, when Carson 
 told this story, I had regarded as an unfounded 
 suspicion my brother Robert's idea thafc the 
 
240 THE MODERN HAG AR. 
 
 horse which killed Tom Cartaret was accessory 
 to a murder." 
 
 '' Kobert had such a suspicion ? " 
 
 "Had and has. I tried to reason him out 
 of the belief — for with him it is more than 
 a suspicion. I did succeed in keeping him 
 from any open expression of his opinion, but 
 I know he is not convinced of Hartley's inno- 
 cence." 
 
 '^Then he suspects Hartley of guilt there ?" 
 
 " I tell you he believes it. Hartley bought the 
 horse in England for Tom— an English thorough- 
 bred. He warned Tom that he was ill-tempered 
 and unruly in the hunting-field — a warning tliat 
 would have little effect with such a rider as Tom 
 Cartaret. It was a splendid animal, easy-gaited, 
 and with wonderful length of stride. Tom could 
 have sold him for three times the price he gave ; 
 it was an extraordinarily low price. But that was 
 explained by what Robert learned after Tom's 
 death. Hartley either did not know or did not 
 tell Tom that the brute was viciously revengeful. 
 He had killed a groom in the stable- yard of his 
 owner in Surrey, apparently without provoca- 
 tion. It was afterwards learned that tlie horse 
 IkkI refused a jump that morning which the 
 
m THE GATEWA Y OF WAR. 241 
 
 groom, with spur and wlii}), had forced him to 
 take. He killed Tom Cartaret much the same 
 way and for the same reason, after the hunt was 
 over and he had dismounted in the field." 
 ^^ Do you believe now that Hartley knew ? " 
 '^Frankly, I am somewhat in doubt. In a 
 jury-box I could not conscientiously- say, ' Not 
 guilty'; my verdict would be, 'Not j)roven.' 
 What do you think of the value of the man's 
 testimony who saw Hartley's servant with the 
 mob at Bouie's Hill? Is he a reliable witness?" 
 ^' Ha is an uneducated frontiersman. He was 
 in the First Dragoons and was afterwards a scout 
 with the regiment. He is cool in temper and 
 judgment, slow and cautious— a simple-minded, 
 honest, truthful, upright Christian. He was the 
 bravest soldier, the most courageously devoted 
 and loyal, that I ever knew. He is a cripple for 
 life through a martyrdom he suffered to save the 
 command from an ambush. I could not in any 
 way doubt his word if he was sure of the miscre- 
 ant's identity. But he has never said he was 
 sure. He saw the fellow only by starlight, and 
 was struck by a resemblance of outline and of 
 voice which j^uzzled him at the time. When 
 he recollected the resemblance afterwards he 
 
242 THE MODERN HAGAR, 
 
 thought it was this * familiar' of Hartley's. 
 But he has always insisted that there is an 
 uncertainty in his mind as to the identity." 
 
 *'But thatisnot all?" 
 
 '' No ; that is Pike's testimony. In the house 
 where Mrs. Carson w^as killed her youngest son 
 had a rifie-ball and a charge of buckshot sent 
 through him. Steams, another scout, a cool 
 though desperate fighter, says that as the Big 
 Chief fell beside him one of the attacking party 
 in the house called out, ' He is finished ; now- for 
 that little tiger-cat beside the squaw, then our 
 w^ork is done.' That would seem to mean the 
 last of the Indians; but Carson and Stearns 
 both think that Rue was meant— that in the 
 dim light Willy was mistaken for Rue. This 
 is the evidence upon which they found their 
 belief." 
 
 Leszinksky took a roughly-scrawled scrap of 
 paper from his pocket-book and gave it to the 
 doctor, who said : 
 
 ** Carson told me of this. To him it seems 
 conclusive. It is only part of a sentence." 
 
 "Yes; a mere fragment— a half -burned slip 
 crushed into a newly-filled pipe. It was found 
 in the pocket of a man the Big Chief killed. 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 243 
 
 When wounded and dying he sent his hatchet 
 through the fellow's skull. It was Lo-loch-ta- 
 hoo-la's last effort. If this scrap of writing 
 means what Carson tliinks, the dying Indian 
 struck down an assailant of the child for whose 
 sake he had given up his tribe and his place in 
 the councils of his people." 
 
 The doctor slowly spelled out these words : 
 *'kil the injun beef our we kin git at the yung 
 1 u want oute ov the wai. yu aint gin me en- 
 nuf munny to git bill 2." 
 
 ^' Who found this?" 
 
 " Stearns. He and Carson searched every 
 corpse that w^as left on the ground. I am sorry 
 to say they killed Iavo men after the troops got 
 there — two who were wounded in the hall. 
 Carson was crazed by his losses. I never knew 
 him vindictive before." 
 
 ' ' Not much to be wondered at when a man's 
 wife and child are cruelly murdered. Who was 
 the first to connect these words with intended in- 
 jury to Rue ? ' ' 
 
 "Carson. The moment Pike told the story of 
 the two men he saw and the resemblance to 
 Hartley's servant Carson insisted he had found 
 the key to the assault. It had been almost inex- 
 
244 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 plicable : to come so near tlie fort and make such 
 a persistent and determined attack upon a house 
 belonging to an officer, and which they found so 
 strongly guarded. I do not think that mob 
 would have gone such lengths unless some sin- 
 ister influence urged them on. It was proved 
 afterward that two men had spent money with- 
 out stint in furnishing whiskey to the crowd. 
 One of these men was identified as the man 
 killed in the hall — the fellow with this note in 
 his pocket." 
 
 ''Did Pike recognize the dead man as one of 
 those he saw?" 
 
 ''Not positively. Before he saw the corpse 
 Pike described the person who was with the 
 one he supposed to be Hartley's old servant as 
 'a black man 'most as big as me. He had a 
 long-barrelled rifle. T could see plain the star- 
 liglit a-shinin' along the barrel.' " 
 
 "Was it a good description of the dead 
 man?" 
 
 " One of those descriptions that may be made 
 to fit. The man measured six feet four inches 
 — Pike is over seven feet. His face was black- 
 ened. He had only a revolver in his hand and 
 another in his belt ; but there was a lons^ rifle in 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 245 
 
 tlie liall wMch might have been his. There is not 
 an iota of positive proof to sustain Carson's be- 
 lief. He has an okl prejudice against Hartley. 
 It would be horrible to ascribe such a crime to 
 an innocent man. You can see how I fear catch- 
 ing the infection of this suspicion. I cannot 
 banish it from my mind, and I dare not enter- 
 tain it without more direct and convincing evi- 
 dence." 
 
 " Carson tells me that Stearns is a very acute 
 observer, and that Stearns believes as he does." 
 
 "Stearns is like Carson in being read}^ to be- 
 lieve any evil of Hartley. Until last night I 
 have constantly combated Carson's susioicioiis, 
 but now — " 
 
 Apparently stopping for a word, Leszinksky 
 was silent until the doctor, as he turned his 
 horses citywards, suggested : 
 
 '' You mean that now you see differently ? " 
 
 "No, not differently in the affair at Bouie's 
 Hill — no absolute difference tbere — but I now 
 know that Hartley does not stop at crime when 
 he wishes to accom^^lish liis object." 
 
 " What ! something new since last night ? " 
 
 " Yes, something new that I learned last night 
 from an inmate of your liouse." 
 
346 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 "Lucy?" 
 
 *' Yes. Then you know her history ? " 
 "Not one syllable of her past, except a theory 
 deduced from circumstances. She came to us 
 a waif, and she remains a mystery. Four 
 years ago this fall I was one day at St. John's 
 Hospital. I had a private patient there. As 
 I was leaving I met Sister Anthony at the 
 door. We were talking of my patient when 
 a hollow-eyed, spectrally-thin, ill-clad woman 
 staggered up the walk and fell senseless on the 
 steps. Sister Anthony had her brought in, and 
 I stopped to see what could be done. It was 
 a case of exhaustion from fatigue and starva- 
 tion. The woman had evidently made a long 
 and weary journey on foot. I thought then 
 that she was an escaped slave, but I have since 
 concluded I was mistaken in that. There was 
 something so touching in her patient and hope- 
 less manner that it fairly haunted me. So 
 to ease my anxiety I turned her over to my 
 wife, although I might have known that was a 
 sure method of perpetuating the trouble. Her 
 recovery was slow, and she seemed to suffer 
 from the scenes in the ward, so we brought her 
 to the hill. I think the human interest she soon 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 24? 
 
 took in the family, and grateful appreciation of 
 my wife' s care, saved her life. From the day she 
 saw Molly she began to mend. I had studied 
 her closely, and I found there was an aj)parently 
 incurable mental trouble — not exactly insanity, 
 but a harmless mania. I can only characterize 
 it as an abnormal and passionately intense devo- 
 tion to children, especially young girls. It was 
 plain to me that Lucy had lost a child who if 
 living would, I imagine, be near Rue's age. 
 That first winter Lucy nursed Mollj^ through a 
 severe and dangerous attack of scarlet fever. I 
 have never known so careful and faithful a 
 nurse. In my wife's slight illnesses she is de- 
 voted and untiring. Now I come to the myste- 
 rious phase of Lucy. We soon found that any 
 question concerning her past threw her into a 
 state of great excitement, and, if incautiously 
 continued, of agonized terror. So the past was 
 tacitly dropped. We found her joerfectly honest 
 and trustworthy. But although unselfishly care- 
 less of sacrifice of her personal comfort, she care- 
 fully hoarded every cent that was given her. 
 My wife built up a romance on that one incon- 
 sistent trait, and imagined that Lucy had some 
 one near to her in great need. The sum grew 
 
248 THE 3I0DERN HAG AIL 
 
 rapidly to very fair proportions. In addition to 
 her wages presents of money were made to her. 
 She is an excellent hair-dresser, and my wife 
 found her a clientele at the Burnet House 
 and gave her time to attend these outside en- 
 gagements. The April after she came to us she 
 suddenly disappeared. She took nothing with 
 her except a small parcel no larger than her ordi- 
 nary daily jmckage and her savings, which were 
 in a little box Molly had given her. We were 
 much distressed and made all inquiry that 
 seemed prudent. I had not then given up my 
 idea of her being a runaway, and I do not mind 
 telling you that I thought I was harboring one. 
 My wife was sure she had been a slave, brought 
 up by a kind and lovingl}^ careful mistress. Her 
 manner and her affectionateness seemed to prove 
 it. Before our inquiries were of any avail she 
 returned as suddenly as she had disappeared. 
 Only in place of a certain excitement of manner 
 we had noticed just before she left there was 
 a fixed despondency. Question of any kind 
 brought on violent hysteria. We gave up all 
 questioning and left her, as she seemed to pre- 
 fer, free to come and go as she chose. She 
 gradually settled into her old place in the fami- 
 
iN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. ^49 
 
 1y, but the same history has rei^eated itself every 
 year. Now tell me what has this to do with 
 Hartley ? But wait ; here we are in Fourth 
 Street, and at this house I have a call to make 
 and another next door. Will you be good 
 enough to drive on to the Burnet. You will 
 find my coachman waiting there. In three- 
 quarters of an hour I will join you in the read- 
 ing-room. I am sorry I have to get out here. I 
 acknowledge the thorns of curiosity are pricking 
 me through and through." 
 
 Leszinksky drove on as Dr. Carisbrooke had 
 directed. He found the coachman waiting. He 
 went in by the Vine Street door, passed the re- 
 ception-room, and at the next door he came face 
 to face with Hartley. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ** He ■vraytied after no pompe ne reverence ; 
 Ne maked him a spiced conscience, 
 But Cristes and his apostles twelve 
 He taught, and first he folwed them himselve. 
 
 For such lawe as a man giveth another \right 
 He should himselve usen it hy right."' 
 
 LESZINKSKY, with Hartley in his thoughts, 
 instantly recognized him, which, had he 
 taken it, would have given him an advan- 
 tage in the interview that was to decide the 
 doubtful question of Hartley's guilt. If the 
 man was innocent of the crime of which he was 
 suspected he would be unconscious of the sus- 
 picion. The first instant of consciousness was 
 evidence against him ; for, seeing Leszinksky, he 
 turned deathly pale. Recovering by a quick 
 effort, he offered his hand, which offer Les- 
 zinksky ignored. Then a crimson flush eclipsed 
 the pallor of Hartley's face. 
 
 Witli such testimony Carson would have es- 
 sayed to force a confession, for Carson could be 
 
 250 
 
IX THE GATUWAY OF WAB. 251 
 
 pitiless. But the cliivalrous delicacy of Les- 
 zinksky's nature unfitted Mm for the position 
 of accuser. Not that he lacked strength or force 
 of character, but to be a willing accuser one 
 must be brutally aggressive, and that Leszink- 
 sky could not be. Physical courage was as 
 much in his blood as its red corpuscles ; there 
 was no peculiar merit in its presence, although 
 its absence would have been a defect. The moral 
 courage that combats wrong, like all his moral 
 qualities, even including justice, was set in tlie 
 tendernesses that are born of human symx)athy. 
 There was no guilt so dark that he could not 
 lighten it with pity. His very intolerance of evil 
 made him compassionate of the evil-doer. He 
 had the breadth of charity which prompted 
 Burns to seek excuse and find hope for ' ' cloven 
 Clootie." Knowing Hartley guilty of a lesser 
 crime, he hesitated to accuse him of a greater 
 which had not been, and possibly could not be, 
 proved. In one particular his sense of justice 
 made him Hartley's advocate. He distrusted 
 Carsous suspicions because of Carson's pre- 
 judice. 
 
 Thus Leszinksky lost the advantage which 
 Hartley's confusion gave him. Yet Hartley was 
 
252 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 not altogether the gainer by this loss. The same 
 delicate perceptive sense of right that forbade 
 Leszinksky's belief in unproved gnilt also for- 
 bade an appearance of trust in the good faith 
 of a man whom he suspected of a great crime, 
 and whom he knew to be guilty of a criminal 
 misdemeanor. 
 
 As I have said, Leszinksky refused to touch 
 Hartley's offered hand. The loyal Christian 
 gentleman had no arrogant self-righteousness. 
 There was nothing in his manner that could 
 wound even the sensitiveness of over-conscious 
 vanity. But there was a natural quality in the 
 manhood of the man which constrained him to 
 carry his self respect as reverently as Douglas 
 carried the heart of Bruce. Hartley withdi'ew 
 his extended hand. Pulling his hat over his 
 brows until it shaded his face, where the red 
 shame had burnt into a white heat of rage, he 
 turned to go into the room which he had just 
 left when Leszinksky spoke: ''Major Hartley, 
 I had intended to seek an interview with you 
 later, but if you are disengaged now I prefer not 
 to wait longer. Will you come with me, or, if 
 you are alone, can I see you here \ " 
 
 "This room is open at all times to our delega- 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 253 
 
 tion. If you will wait an instant at the next 
 door I will open it. That is my private room." 
 
 " Certainly I will wait." 
 
 As Hartley passed through the committee- 
 room Leszinksky saw, among others who were 
 seated around a long table, the two gentlemen to 
 whom Dr. Carisbrooke had introduced him the 
 preceding evening. To avoid tlie delay w^hich 
 chance encounter with the doctor's friends might 
 cause, and anxious, now that it w^as begun, to 
 have this explanation, Leszinksky crossed the 
 little space to i^Q next door, w^hich Hartley had 
 indicated as his private room. Leaning against 
 the casing, with his back to the committee-room, 
 he waited admittance. Hartley's request had 
 been that he should wait there ; consequently 
 he remained, although he could hear Hartley 
 talking with some one as he walked about the 
 room. The noise in the street, mingled with the 
 voices, made an indistinctness of sound which 
 was not broken except by an occasional word to 
 w-hich the half -unconscious listener attached no 
 meaning. The last few sentences were spoken 
 near the door wiiere he waited, and the w^ords 
 were clear and distinct : 
 
 '' Go directly to the depot. The train will not 
 
25-i THE MODERN II AGAR. 
 
 leave before two. Wait inside for me. I will 
 come before you leave." 
 
 Leszinksky thought he recognized the voice 
 that answered, ''Yes, sir." 
 
 At the same moment Hartley threw open the 
 door for Leszinksky to enter ; the door leading 
 to the committee-room closed after some one who 
 was leaving. 
 
 With a repression of embarrassment that re- 
 vealed the effort at self-control, Hartley mo- 
 tioned Leszinksky to a seat near the window and 
 turned to lock both doors while saying : 
 
 ' ' As you wish to see me alone, I will prevent 
 our being interrupted. ' ' 
 
 Leszinksky had walked on to the window. 
 AVith a rapid glance he recognized the man who 
 hurriedly ran dow^n the steps and then up Vine 
 Street. It was the fellow who had been Hart- 
 ley's servant when he and Leszinksky were in 
 the First Dragoons. The dark, Jewish face was 
 so marked that recognition was easy to one who 
 had seen him daily during his stay wdth the regi- 
 ment at Fort Gibson. 
 
 Hartley's nervousness made the turning of a 
 refractory lock more difficult. Before he had 
 mastered it and could see his visitor the visitor 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 255 
 
 was seated in the chair indicated with his back 
 to the window. 
 
 With Leszinksky's first word Hartley's ex- 
 pression grew confident. Before the sentence 
 was completed he was still more at ease. 
 
 ^' Major Hartley, when you purchased Lucy 
 from my wife did you not consider yourself 
 pledged to manumit her? Did you not under- 
 stand that the sale was made to you for one sole 
 reason— that you might give your child and its 
 mother their freedom?" 
 
 "Yes, I believe such was the understanding." 
 The question had so completely relieved his ftar 
 of a more dangerous subject that he carelessly 
 and half-sneeringly added: "I suppose I paid 
 the full value of the quadroon and the child — 
 possibly something over the market-price." 
 
 Leszinksky perfectly comprehended the chang- 
 ed manner. Believing that he was coming near 
 proof that would justify Carson's charge and his 
 own growing susx)icion, he resolved to guard 
 himself carefully from accepting the provocation 
 which he was sure was intended. It was plain 
 to him that Hartley wished to find cause of 
 quarrel behind which he could intrench him- 
 self, and, in case of need, make it a defence 
 
256 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 to more serious accusation. Very calmly lie 
 answered : 
 
 *^Yes, the full value. I think all who assist- 
 ed at the settlement so regarded it. My wife ac- 
 cepted ^something over the market-price,' be- 
 cause she intended it as a provision for Lucy's 
 future. As you know, we were very poor and 
 could have ill afforded her other assistance ; 
 yet neither of us would have consented to her 
 leaving her home without any means of support, 
 burdened as she was with the care of a young 
 child, unless some provision were made. You 
 know how small is the pay of a lieutenant ; and 
 you also know that when Miss Cartaret married 
 me, without her guardian's consent, Judge Car- 
 taret had the power to suspend her income until 
 she was twenty-seven ^^ears of age. Her income 
 was stopped. The sum was added to the Carta- 
 ret estate, to which your wife will succeed in 
 event of my daughter dying unmarried. I know 
 you perfectly understand this ; and you also 
 know that all Mrs. Leszinksky could do for 
 Lucy's support was to settle uj^on her the money 
 for which she was sold to the father of her 
 child. Mr. Page thought it a generous sum 
 that you offered. You remember vou named 
 
IN THE GATEWA Y OF WAR. 257 
 
 the sum ; you knew that Mr. Page kindly took 
 charge of it and invested it here in Cincinnati for 
 Lucy. In the conversation I had with you — we 
 had but one conversation on the subject, which I 
 think was in Dr. Kandall' s presence — you were 
 very grateful for Avhat you characterized as a 
 ' generous arrangement ' ; you afterwards begged 
 Mr. Page to keep it strictly in Lucy's name, for 
 you would ' provide for the child.' 
 
 " And I have always done so." 
 
 "Yes, I do not doubt that. But have you 
 kept your word to me, your obligation to Lucy \ 
 Have you manumitted Lucy ? " 
 
 ''I gave her free papers ; they were not regis- 
 tered, but they were valid without registration." 
 
 "Did you not hear that the papers Avere 
 stolen? Did not Lucy tell you of her loss?" 
 
 "Yes; but just then there were complica- 
 tions that annoyed me. And the woman was 
 obstinate. I refused to replace her papers unless 
 slie would give up the child ; I wished to sepa- 
 rate the child from her. I was determined my 
 daughter should not be brought up as the child 
 of a quadroon— of a slave. As you observed, she 
 is my child. It was but natural and proper for 
 me to consider what was best for lier.'' 
 
258 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 There was evidence of genuine feeling when 
 Hartley spoke of his daughter. In the dirt with 
 which he was trying to cover crime that one 
 shining ray showed the presence of a lost jewel. 
 Knowing Leszinksky as we do, it is easy to know 
 how the discovery touched him. 
 
 ^'I am very ready to admit that it was not 
 only ' natural and proper,' but your imperative 
 duty to consider what was ' best for your daugh- 
 ter.' A daughter is always very dear to a father. 
 There is no tie more purely tender. I can easily 
 believe that it would be intensely, pitifully strong 
 wlien conscience could find occasion to urge the 
 claim of a nameless daughter. I am glad you 
 spoke of your daughter." There was a wonderful 
 tenderness in the accent of Leszinksky as he said: 
 
 " It is an excuse that I did not make for you. 
 I can see how your love for her led you to a 
 wrong, thinking it best for her. But a wrong is 
 never the best ; it is always the worst thing we 
 can do for love's sake. It made you forget a 
 right that was more sacred than yours — tlie 
 right of the mother to her child. In such a 
 case as Lucy's thelaw is more strictly just than 
 it is to a wife who claims right of motherhood. 
 Law is Scriptural in its dealings with the un- 
 
IN TEE GATEWAY OF WAR. 259 
 
 wedded mother. Like the conscience of the pa- 
 triarch, it recognizes the supreme right of the 
 mother when it gives Ishmael to Hagar. You 
 have been more pitiless than the law. You 
 forced the child from the arms of the mother ; 
 and sent Hagar into tbe wilderness to die alone. 
 Lest she should cry out in her agony, should 
 show the world the spectacle of her bleeding 
 heart, you sold her as a slaved 
 
 The words of the inspired though unconse- 
 crated preacher went straight through the encas- 
 ing of crime that had dulled the sensibility of 
 conscience. Starting to his feet with the sudden 
 pain, shrinking from the steady light in the clear 
 eyes that seemed to look with a divine compas- 
 sion into the depths where the hidden guilt was 
 uncovered. Hartley walked the floor, staring 
 upon its sun-flecked surface, as if he found in the 
 tracery of shadows the crimes he had committed 
 and the cri'mes he had contemplated. Face to 
 face with the evil that had lived in him, that he 
 had nourished into life, the gigantic proportions 
 of the monster he had invoked terrified him. 
 Yet even in his terror he resented in a sort of 
 dull, uninstigative anger the moral height from 
 which Leszinksky's pity descended. 
 
2G0 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Conviction of guilt had not worked repent- 
 ance ; if it had such repentance would have been 
 short-lived. A sore must slough off its foulness. 
 The processes of nature are slow. They are phy- 
 sical revelations of the divine processes which 
 cleanse and heal a diseased moral nature. 
 
 The wise physician has learned the great les- 
 son to wait on nature. The wise moralist will 
 wait, while watching where he may help, for the 
 self-effort which is the first step in the purifica- 
 tion of a soul. 
 
 The only power which will pierce the dry rock 
 and bring forth a living stream had found Hart- 
 ley. The most humanly loving teacher of this 
 century has well said: "Charity, having life in 
 itself, is the opposite and destroyer of contempt 
 as well as hatred." The lovely spirit that dwelt 
 ill the heart of the great pagan avIio declared 
 that " nothing human is foreign to me," in keep- 
 ing Leszinksky from expression or feeling of 
 contempt, killed Hartley's hate. Yet the death 
 of hate did not bring repentance, but remorse — fit 
 companion for the great company of indw^elling 
 fiends which were gathered in the guest-chamber 
 of the soul. 
 
 Then a tentative question was asked : 
 
IN TEE GATEWAY OF WAR. gCl 
 
 '' Are you willing to do what is just ?— to keep 
 your promise and give Lucy lier freedom?" 
 
 ''Is she in Cincinnati?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The thought flashed through Hartley's mind 
 that as the ghost he had seen under the lamp- 
 light had proved a very real presence, there 
 might also be danger of that other fear clothing 
 itself in flesh and blood. With the mental re- 
 iteration of the question he had been pondering 
 through the sleepless hours of the night, '' What 
 did they discover at Bouie's Hill?" there grew 
 a belief that his safety in the future might de- 
 pend on the mercy of the man who, in event 
 of that discovery, would be the prosecutor of 
 certain persons whose conviction would — He 
 dared not pursue his own thought to its last 
 and logical consequence. Yet' out of this fear 
 grew defiance. 
 
 Pride, which in its higher manifestation is one 
 of the safeguards of a noble nature, is tlie springe 
 which holds a criminal in the slough of crime. 
 Pride born of self-respect is the guardian of 
 truth. But pride whicli is the offspring of 
 vanity is an instigator of lies. At its fatal 
 touch Hartley's remorse became exasperative, 
 
2G2 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 and the healing sx)irit of Repentance which was 
 hovering near sorrowfully took its flight. 
 
 *' I will manumit Lucy and the deed can be re- 
 corded ; in addition I will double or quadruple 
 the sum Mrs. Lesziuksky settled upon her, if she 
 will release all claim to the child." 
 
 ^'In plain words, you will free the mother if 
 she will consent to sell her child. AVith sucli. a 
 condition I do not think Lucy will accept her 
 freedom. If slie refuses I shall regard it as my 
 duty to insist upon your keeping your promise 
 to the letter. You admit that the manumission 
 of mother and child were the terms of their sale. 
 You admit that you gave Lucy ' free impers,' 
 which were either lost or stolen. 1 insist that 
 you replace those jDapers at once and without 
 condition. A trial of the case now and here 
 would be a scandal that I would gladly avoid for 
 your wife's sake. But even to save the soil- 
 ing of a name allied to the unsullied name of the 
 Cartarets 1 will not hold my peace in the face of 
 an injustice like this which you have done. I 
 insist upon its instant reparation." 
 
 "I make no condition as to Lucy's manumis- 
 sion. I will keep my promise. The offer of 
 settlement was the consideration for her release 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF ^YAR. 2G3 
 
 of claim to tlie child. I proposed it to you be- 
 cause Lucy would believe you, if you tell her it 
 is in the interest of the child that I ask her re- 
 linquishment of her right." 
 
 ''I am sure you need not offer her money to re- 
 pay her for the loss of her child or to tempt her 
 in its interest. You know of what avail were 
 such offers years ago before you dared the high- 
 handed crime of which you force me to speak. 
 When you urged your love for your daughter I 
 thought I saw a human motive for an inhuman 
 wrong. I waited for you to acknowledge that 
 wrong and offer to make what amend might yet 
 be possible to the wronged mother. Had you 
 made such acknowledgment and offered the one 
 reparation she would accej)t — actual, personal 
 knowledge of her child's well-being — I would 
 have ui^ed to her your love for the child, your 
 wish and your ability to secure its future. Now, 
 I ask you, what excuse have you to make to 
 Lucy, to me, for the crime of selling her? Six 
 years ago you sold her in Baltimore to a trader — 
 for a small sum, it is true, but the condition you 
 made was more to you than money. She was to be 
 taken to the SouthT^-est and sold to some inland 
 planter, who was to be told that she would be 
 
2C4 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 likely to run awaj^ It seems your caution was 
 needful. Slie did run away. Half insane from 
 the loss of her child and her betrayal into slav- 
 ery, suspected, watched, strong mother-love gave 
 her the patience to w^ait for opportunity to es- 
 cape and the endurance to thread her way 
 through forest and swamp and the more danger- 
 ous plantations and villages until she reached 
 Memphis and found the O'Dowds. They as- 
 sisted her, out of the pitiful pittance of poverty, 
 to reach Cincinnati. She has lived here, not dar- 
 ing to claim tlie money invested here for her, lest 
 you should know that she had escaped the fate 
 into which you sold her. She is living with the 
 Carisbrookes. I do not think you will care to 
 uncover to Robert Carisbrooke — the administra- 
 tor of the estate to which your wife is next in 
 succession should disease or some accident, UJce 
 the one at Bouie^ s Hill^ remove my daughter— 
 or to Br. Carisbrooke the crime you committed 
 when you sold a free woman into slavery. Again 
 I ask, what excuse, what repai*ation> will you 
 make to Lucy? " 
 
 '^I will do all you ask." The answer was ac- 
 quiescent ; the look was that of a tiger at bay. 
 
 *'Yery Avell; I will have the papers prepared 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 2G5 
 
 and will see you to-morrow. When this affair is 
 ended I have a caution to give you. I will tell 
 it you to-morrow. Is your wife with you in 
 Cincinnati i" 
 
 "Yes; and my sister, Mrs. Cartaret." He 
 slightly accented the "Cartaret.'' "They are 
 in the house now. Will you see them ? ' ' 
 
 "I will call on them to-morrow when I bring 
 you the papers. I am as anxious to spare them 
 any knowledge of all this as you could be. The 
 Cartaret name, Margaret's relatives, are very 
 dear to me. I am with my daughter at Dr. 
 Carisbrooke's. If they know the Carisbrookes 
 it will be a needful courtesy for me to call on 
 Judge Cartaret' s widow and daughter." 
 
 " They do know the Carisbrookes. Mrs. Hart- 
 ley and Mrs. Cartaret are to take luncheon there 
 to-day." 
 
 " Are you coming ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "It will probably be best for you to come. I 
 am willing, for the sake of the Cartarets, to help 
 you outlive faults and live down suspicions. It 
 is more necessary than you know for me to ac- 
 cord you public recognition, though I tell you 
 frankly that until I believe such suspicions ut- 
 
266 TEE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 terly false and baseless I cannot give my hand to 
 yon in friendsliiiD." 
 
 *' I know. ' The hand of Douglas is his own.' 
 A Christian must be scrupulous in his recogni- 
 tions." 
 
 In extremest danger Hartley could not restrain 
 a sneer. And he knew now from that mention 
 of the accident at Bouie's Hill that the danger 
 was extreme. Leszinksky's manner and Avords 
 had given him assurance of Leszinksky' s silence, 
 at least until suspicion should be certainty. But 
 then there was also in the words an intimation of 
 danger, of necessity for caution. Because of this 
 intimation, and the assurance it gave of Leszink- 
 sky's silence, it was safe to give the rein to rage, 
 which sought outlet in a sneer and a taunt. The 
 answer was simi^iy and calmly spoken: "A 
 loyal clasp of the hand is the seal of friendship. 
 I cannot give such greeting to a man whose ho- 
 nor I doubt. But I promise you a courtesy that 
 will pass current with the world. That much I 
 do for your wife and your sister. Anything 
 more will wait a pending verdict." There was a 
 flash in the gray eyes like sunlight upon steel, 
 and Hartley, warned into a semblance of respect- 
 ful courtesy, opened the door and bowed out his 
 unwelcome visitor. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " Shame is a shadow cast by sin ; yet shame 
 Itself mar be a glory and a gi-ace 
 Kefashioning the siu-disfashioued face." 
 
 ALL of Mrs. Carisbrooke' s guests liad arrived 
 punctually except Hartley. Grandison and 
 Horry brouglit his apology for ''an un- 
 avoidable detention. ' ' 
 
 At the luncheon-table there was again mention 
 of his absence and further explanation: "An 
 effort is being made to adjust the claims of the 
 New York rival delegations. Seymour and Til- 
 den have arranged a meeting of the ' Hards ' and 
 the ' Softs.' It is hoped a compromise may be 
 effected." 
 
 Then, with Mrs. Carisbrooke's questioning as 
 excuse, the conversation drifted, as all conver- 
 sation did this week in Cincinnati, into politics. 
 Grandison, an optimist, believed " the New York 
 deadlock a mere State quarrel which will be har- 
 monized by the necessity of union in face of the 
 enemy. The Presidential election and its impor- 
 
 267 
 
268 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 tance to the Democracy will force the factions to 
 yield to reason." 
 
 Dr. Carishrooke. "As if factions ever regard- 
 ed reason ! " 
 
 Horry. ' ' The revolution already begun in the 
 two great parties will not go backward. Look 
 at the bitter fight in the broken fragments of the 
 Whig party. See how they hate each other in 
 the antagonistic positions they have assumed 
 as 'Know-Nothings' and 'Black Republicans.' 
 The small element of decency which is left 
 claims to be a National Union party. In plain 
 words, they are Federalists. They have never 
 cordially surrendered the monarchical principle, 
 and they hate democracy ^vith the bitter hate of 
 — \vomen." A smile and a bow to the hostess 
 made this a challenge, but before it was taken up 
 he continued : " These broken fragments will die 
 in convulsions, but they will be fruitful. The 
 progeny of the dragon's- teeth will fill the land." 
 
 Colonel Roane. "What harm can they do a 
 solid democracy 1 There is a Saint George for 
 your dragon." 
 
 Horry. " Hear me out, O mildest and suavest 
 of Arkansians ! Your solid democracy is a pre- 
 tence. It is a lion's skin covering not c»uo but 
 
ly THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 269 
 
 many asses. In the beginning of the republic 
 it was a solid fallacy ; now it is a disintegrated 
 delusion." 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke. ''Mr. Horry, you are talk- 
 ing treason." 
 
 Horry. " Which statement, madam, is another 
 proof of the false quality of the principle you 
 worship as divine. In a pure democracy treason 
 cannot exist, either in sj^eech or in the feeling 
 that presupposes speech ; for in a pure demo- 
 cracy equality is perfect, and so speech would 
 always be free. Since the reign of our George 
 I., of bumptious temper and doubtful — well, I 
 will not enumerate all his public and private vir- 
 tues, — since that august personage took his place 
 in history as ruler of a nation made up of sove- 
 reign States we have had an oligarchical repub- 
 lic of confederate States, which is not a democ- 
 racy. Pardon ! Madam, I crave your patience ; 
 I beg leave to make my saying plain and co- 
 herent. We have a Democratic party which is 
 falsely named. It does in a measure represent 
 several dependencies of the democratic prin- 
 ciple, but the principle is slowly dying beneath 
 the superimposed fictions. Because of the weight 
 it carries this party is also breaking in twain. 
 
270 TEE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 If the break could release and save the impris- 
 oned principle it would be a fortunate issue. 
 But I fear the division will only loosen the evils 
 that are inherent in its organization." 
 
 Grandison. ^'Forgive his raving, Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke ; he is mad. He has been bitten by the 
 French Socialists. He blasphemes, but he is 
 not responsible for the blasphemy." 
 
 Horry. '^They are the words of truth and 
 soberness. I am not mad, most noble Festus. It 
 is simply this world of ours, which is given to 
 lying and to hugging its delusions. There is 
 that within me unsaid which is worse." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooike. ''Then say it. I had rather 
 know the worst than to be threatened with un- 
 told horrors." 
 
 Horry. "My dear Madam Eve ! You ask for 
 the apple, and you shall have it. I warn you that 
 it is sour and rotten at the core. It is, moreover, 
 a very apple of discord. When it is gathered the 
 gates of paradise will close and a flaming sword 
 will bar the entrance." 
 
 Mrs. Carlshrooke. "It cannot be worse than 
 your threats. Go on." 
 
 Horry. " You have spoken, and I live but to 
 obey your sex. If you rue the opening of this 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAB. 371 
 
 Pandora's box of politics — shake not your curls 
 at me ; thou canst not say I did it. I speak at 
 your order, and I bespeak your attention. 
 
 ^ ' This bad blood in the two great parties 
 would work itself out in boils which would be 
 sore to the touch, but would clear the politi- 
 cal system of humors, were it not fcr the growing 
 discord of States. Unfortunately, sectional ani- 
 mosity is dividing the country with a geograph- 
 ical line which will practically separate us into 
 two distinct communities or peoples. They are 
 already opposed in principles and interests, alien- 
 ated in feeling, and jealous of supremacy in 
 the federal relation, which has lost its protective 
 and friendly significance. The disruption of the 
 Whig party, which is an accomplished fact, and 
 the disruption of the Democratic party, which 
 is signalled by these rival delegations, uncovers 
 a political North and a political South tired of 
 the compact that united them in a common fede- 
 ral bond, and ready to divide upon the line re- 
 cognized in the framework of the Constitution." 
 
 Grandison. ' ' There is no provision in the Con- 
 stitution for division of the Union." 
 
 Horry. ' ' I beg your pardon, most learned ex- 
 pounder of the law. But there v/as such a pro- 
 
272 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 vision made not only by the convention which 
 formed the Constitution, but by the State con- 
 ventions which ratified it. The Constitution was 
 in the beginning a compromise between sections. 
 It is now an obsolete treaty between two nations 
 of opposite civilizations. In 1814 the Hartford 
 Convention did not regard the Constitution as a 
 sacred instrument ; else why did they cry out 
 for a change in the basis of representation? 
 Neither did Massachusetts regard the Constitu- 
 tion as the ark of liberty. Four times has she 
 threatened secession : first, with reference to 
 the adjustment of the State debts ; secondly, 
 on account of the Louisiana purchase ; thirdly, 
 because of the war of 1812-14, when, as Jeffer- 
 son said, 'four of the Eastern States are only 
 attached to the Union like so many inanimate 
 bodies to living men ' ; fourthly, upon the an- 
 nexation of Texas, when her Legislature resolved 
 in advance that such annexation would be good 
 cause for the dissolution of the Union." 
 
 Orandlson. " But you will admit, Horry, that 
 the question of secession was always distasteful 
 to the majority in those States." 
 
 Horry. ''What was distasteful is not the 
 question. We are looking at what was pro- 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 273 
 
 posed, to prove how the Constitution was under- 
 stood. Thus far the conservatism of the coun- 
 try, which always argues against change and for 
 delay, has kept the compact intact. But what 
 will conservatism do against the interest of the 
 majority ? There are commercial questions— un- 
 derlying pocket-questions— in the minds of the 
 agitators which will make them take the most 
 plausible pretext for separation. Possibly the 
 tariff, which is certainly unjust to the South and 
 hurtful to the West, may furnish excuse. Pos- 
 sibly slavery, which just now seems to come up- 
 permost in the quarrel, may be the pretext. Is 
 it true, Roane, that the split in the Missouri 
 delegation is on the slavery question ?" 
 
 Tlie ArJcansiam ''I fear it is undeniably 
 true." 
 
 Horry. " So ; it was the roughs of the Anti- 
 Slavery wing that tried this morning to light 
 their way into th« Convention at the edge of 
 the bowie-knife and the point of the pistol. I 
 wonder w^hat ' JS'orthern indignation ' will say to 
 thatr' 
 
 Dr. C%rishrooke. ''To quote the Tribune, 
 ' Northern indignation is a very uncertain force : 
 it comes in gusts, is powerful for the time, but 
 
274 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 soon subsides. The cares of the world and the 
 temj^tation of the devil consume it after a 
 little.' " 
 
 Horry. ''And now the devil will strongly 
 tempt them to approve bowie-knives and re- 
 volvers." 
 
 Grandlson. ' ' Roane, is the Price who led this 
 onset upon the convention the man I saw talking 
 with Benton? " 
 
 Roane. " Yes, the same ' splendidly handsome 
 fellow.' Has your admiration cooled at the j)ic- 
 ture of the raider and his following wdth their 
 bowie-knives and revolvers ? " 
 
 Grandlson. " Not at all. He looks every inch 
 a soldier, a born leader of men." 
 
 Roane. "I should think the Tribune would 
 be charmed with this last exploit of Price. It 
 counsels th« opponents of slavery to ' get posses- 
 sion of the government'; says the 'President 
 should be a man of iron nerve'; and insists that 
 ' fighting men are wanted as national representa- 
 tives.' I should think Price would suit them in 
 either capacity." 
 
 Dr. CarishrooJce. "I did not think Price an 
 Abolitionist. The Virginia Prices did not even 
 lean toward emancipation." 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 275 
 
 Roane. "Price is not an Abolitionist, al- 
 though he is a Bentonite. He has too much 
 common sense. He is too well-principled and 
 honest to fly headlong in the face of facts that 
 confront him every day. A Southerner may be 
 an emancipationist, but if he professes aboli- 
 tionism he is either a fool or a knave. It is easy 
 to preach philanthropy, but under the stress of 
 adverse circumstance it is rather difficult to prac- 
 tise what one may have preached. IS^ow, I do 
 not hesitate to say that I think slavery the curse 
 of the South. But I am not ready to lose my 
 all, or to ruin the fortunes of my friends and 
 kill the present prosperity of my section, by a 
 sudden and quixotic effort to elevate the African 
 at the expense of the Caucasian. New England 
 did no such thing. She stands now and mocks 
 us with her virtues ; but they put money in her 
 pocket. Slavery was unprofitable in the North, 
 and when they decided for emancix)ation it was 
 so gradual that when the time came for freedom 
 there were comparatively few slaves to profit 
 by the act. They had either died with most 
 frightful rapidity, or they had been sold in the 
 markets of Baltimore and Richmond. You can 
 judge which is the more probable. It is a sig- 
 
276 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 nificant fact that during the period of delay — of 
 ai3prenticeshii) for freedom — there was a plethora 
 of able-bodied young negroes in the border 
 States' markets. But I am not often tempted 
 into even a remote discussion of a question 
 where my interest and my sentiment — to put it 
 mildly — pull in opposite directions."" 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooTce. "Is Benton an emancipa- 
 tionist?" 
 
 Roane. "No, madam; he is simply a dema- 
 gogue. He is coquetting with the Free Soil 
 party. When the alliance is ratified it will be 
 for a consideration. There will be ante-nuptial 
 settlements." 
 
 Horry. "Which will assuredly be to Benton's 
 advantage. When the crash comes any South- 
 ern renegade who affiliates with the North will 
 put money in his purse." 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooJce. "You will persist in pro- 
 phecy. Do you see the crash so near V 
 
 Horry. "Yes, madam; the Ides of March will 
 see the incoming of the President we nominate in 
 Cincinnati this week. But after that inaugura- 
 tion — the deluge." 
 
 There was a general laugh at the mock-heroic 
 strain in which this was declaimed ; then the 
 
IN THE GA TFWA Y OF WAE. 271 
 
 talk broke into fragmentary dialogues — into tliose 
 airy nothings, tliose brilliant coruscations of com- 
 plimentary small-talk, tliat men of sense offer 
 women of brains as current society coin. 
 
 The guests were seated in that sensible French 
 fashion which completes the magnetic chain and 
 puts every one at ease. At Mrs. Carisbrooke' s 
 right was her friend and ally, the cynically pro- 
 phetic Horry ; at her left the Arkansian, who had 
 laid aside his dialect with his bowie-knife when 
 he quitted the hot, dusty town, where the conven- 
 tion was cooling itself with ''cobblers." Oppo- 
 site these two, in the places of honor beside the 
 doctor, were Mrs. Cartaret and Mrs. Hartley ; 
 next to the last Leszinksky ; at Mrs. Cartaret' s 
 right was Grandison. These four of the guests 
 who were staying in the house comjpleted the 
 circle to the Arkansian. From Leszinksky to 
 Horry the chain was broken by two empty 
 chairs. But as the fruit was served Molly came 
 in and took the seat next Leszinksky at the end 
 of the table. 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. "O Molly ! Molly ! to think 
 that you should be the usher of ill-fortune. 
 Why, child, you are the fatal thirteenth at 
 table!" 
 
278 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 Doctor Carishroolce. ' ' Do not let exclamation- 
 points frigliten yon, my Molly. Though you 
 brought all the Furies in your train, yet are you 
 welcome. Stay where you are and smile down 
 your mother's superstition." 
 
 Molly. " Thanks, pajm ; but I dare not vex the 
 mater P And she pushed back her chair and went 
 and stood by her mother. Whereupon Horry 
 turned side wise and held up a plate heaped with 
 lucent grapes to tempt her. 
 
 Horry. ' ' An angel comes to visit us and she 
 is banished! Most cruel of mothers, may she 
 not be fed?" 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooTce. ^^Yes, when time, place, 
 and numbers are propitious. If you are willing 
 to sacrifice yourself for the general good you can 
 go with Molly to her reception-room under the 
 leaves." 
 
 Horry. ^' With the grapes ? " 
 
 Mrs. Carishroolce. "With all the fruit you 
 care to take or that Molly cares to eat. Having 
 forced that horrid sour apple upon me in the 
 beginning of luncheon, you have grown amiable. 
 Your chronic anger modified, you are ready to 
 feed Molly with sweets." 
 
 Horry. " I wonder you did not say that I am 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 279 
 
 mollified ; you are quite capable of such an atro- 
 city. Madam, I leave you to your regrets ; I 
 am going to paradise with the angel you refused 
 to entertain." 
 
 The banished pair left the dining-room, and 
 the rippling sound of sweet girl-laughter coming 
 from the piazza proved the companionableness of 
 the kindly cynic. The doctor, slightly chafed at 
 the child's dismissal, proposed an adjournment 
 ''to the paradise without," and thither they all 
 went with plates and baskets of fruit. 
 
 A neighbor was sitting on the steps with Horry 
 and Molly ; so, without fear of the fatal number, 
 the feast ended. 
 
 Leszinksky, introduced by the doctor as her 
 attendant at table, had taken Mrs. Hartley in to 
 luncheon ; there they Lad been interested and 
 attentive listeners rather than participants in the 
 discursive conversation, rarely speaking to each 
 other, except in the monosyllabic talk of table 
 courtesy. 
 
 Leszinksky' s chief interest in his beautiful 
 neighbor was through her relationship to the 
 wife, ever beloved, of his youth. He watched 
 for some family trait, some likeness to the avo- 
 man who had made the only happiness of his 
 
280 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 life. But as yet he had seen nothing of Marga- 
 ret in the cold, proud, beautiful face of lier cou- 
 sin. Out on the steps, at the end of the piazza, 
 where they were seated somewhat apart from the 
 gay party, he tried to interest her, to change the 
 expression of the "icily-regular, dead perfec- 
 tion" of her face by talk of her childhood and 
 her home ; he wished to elicit a likeness which 
 he knew would be painfully sweet to him. 
 The result was such a disappointment that the 
 change in his own face could have been read by 
 the veriest tyro that ever tried to decipher a hu- 
 man countenance. A half-restrained sigh gave 
 the change double meaning. For the first time 
 the lovely face softened into sympathetic ex- 
 pression. As he caught the coming light in the 
 large, dark eyes, these words were the first volun- 
 tary utterance of the rich, low voice : 
 
 " I am not at all like my cousin Margaret. I 
 remember her perfectly. She had the SAveetest 
 face I ever saw." 
 
 " Ah ! I see a likeness now." 
 
 There was no intention of comi^liment. She 
 knew there Avas not. Yet of all the fine things 
 ever said to her of her beauty nothing had ever 
 so touched her. For the first time in all the long 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 281 
 
 years since the hardening process had begun, her 
 heart went out in sympathy to the sentiment of 
 love. She made no revolt to the unaccustomed 
 feeling; but, growing more and more tender, the 
 lovely eyes looked at him through tears that 
 gathered slowly and fell unnoticed by her as she 
 bent from the step above him waiting-for no- 
 thing that she could have put into words. In 
 truth, the feeling could not have shaped itself 
 into thought. It was simply a heaven-sent con- 
 tradiction of everything in her life, or rather a 
 divine touch that awakened her from spiritual 
 death. There was no actnal thought, but there 
 was a blissful consciousness that love was not all 
 a lie. Then, as consciousness grew fuller and 
 more perfect, she knew, not through the intelli- 
 gence but through feeling, that love, being love, 
 is truth. 
 
 The man there before her, her cousin's hus- 
 band, had loved her cousin truly. She remem- 
 bered the sacrifices their love had cost. She also 
 remembered and understood her father's expres- 
 sion of regret for his harshness to "the gen- 
 tleman who had married his ward." He had 
 said it to her the morning before they heard of 
 Tom's death, the morning before her father's 
 
282 THE 3I0DERN EAGAR. 
 
 deatli : liis death— and hers ! Yes, she had died 
 then ; at least her soul must have shut itself 
 in some inner chamber with her sorrow. Since 
 then she had existed physically and mentally, 
 but she had always known that the motive - 
 spring of life was gone. 
 
 Love' s first miracle was to take up her thought 
 just where it had stopped that snowy morning at 
 Oakhill, when the sense of her loss so magni- 
 fied the sense of self that, in her pain and ^vretch- 
 edness, and anger with her husband, all feeling 
 crystallized into hate. Again the phrase struck 
 her: "The gentleman who married my ward." 
 Her father had been speaking of the Leszink- 
 skys and of her husband when he said it. It 
 had come through talk of that looman. Thought 
 was growing definite now, and she wondered how 
 she could have been so pitiless to Lucy — how 
 she could have cared. Alas ! alas ! that Eros 
 and Anteros should both exist, that the false 
 should ever come before the true. She knew 
 already that she had never loved her husband. 
 Now she became conscious of love's worth, and 
 her face crimsoned as she bent over the grape- 
 leaves that she broke from the vine, and with 
 which she tried vainly to hide her tears. 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 283 
 
 *'Tlie gentleman who married—" The words 
 rang in a refrain through her ears. ''Well, he 
 is a gentleman." In her thought she said that 
 now. And then thought went on to compare 
 Leszinksky with that other man who, her father 
 had said, ''was not a gentleman." The proof of 
 the fitness of the word gentleman came to her, if 
 proof had been needed, when Leszinksky ran up 
 the steps and returned with an umbrella, which 
 he Opened and gave her to shield her from the 
 sun and from sight. He waited silently beside 
 her; then, as footsteps sounded on the piazza 
 above, he said : 
 
 "A walk will do you good. The lane is cool 
 and shady. Will you come 1 ' ' 
 
 Together they walked down the path, through 
 the gate, and on under the sheltering shade of 
 the trees. 
 
 The height of his companion, the fall of her 
 shapely shoulders, the rounded outline of the 
 drooping, oval face indistinctly seen under the 
 shade of the umbrella she carried, a certain 
 dainty, assured grace in her stately carriage— all 
 reminded Leszinksky of Margaret. They had 
 turned from the lane, through which occasional 
 carriages were passing, into a winding country 
 
284 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 road, and then into a silent and lonely path 
 along the line of hills which, in the rare open- 
 ings, gave a distant view of the Ohio with its 
 glassy surface yellowed in the sunligh t. Think- 
 ing of Margaret, Leszinksky had walked on un- 
 conscious of time and distance, hearing no sound 
 in the quiet of the hot summer afternoon save 
 the fluttering of birds in the low boughs that 
 bent over them and the musical rhythm of the 
 steps that keiot time together. 
 
 Both were quieted and soothed into forgetful- 
 ness of the grief and pain that waited their 
 awakening from this dream of green leaves and 
 musical paces by the magical influence that 
 dwells in summer woods, which lives in the ful- 
 ness of life that pervades glade and dingle, in the 
 fluttering of insect- wings about the fairy moss- 
 stems, in the joy of each tiny wild thing, in the 
 quivering delight of every upcurling tendril, of 
 every blade of grass and bloom of wild-flower 
 that stretched its opening leaves sunward. 
 
 A distant shot which echoed through the 
 wood, and the cry of a wounded bird as it fell 
 in the path, broke the charm. 
 
 With one impulse both stooi)ed. Leszinksky, 
 yielding the right of succor to his companion. 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 285 
 
 folded ttie umbrella she had dropped and waited 
 her pleasure. 
 
 Kate (as she softens into womanliness I forget 
 Mrs. Hartley and remember the Kate I found at 
 Oakhill) held the bird in her ungloved hand. 
 Crimson drops had fallen upon her white dress, 
 and there was a crimson stain upon the hand she 
 held out to Leszinksky. 
 
 *' See how it bleeds, poor little thing ! Will it 
 dier' 
 
 " It is dying now\" 
 
 And he took it from her unresistant hand and 
 laid it above the path upon a mossy bank which 
 partly covered the twisted roots of a giant oak. 
 She sat down on the bank and watched the bird ; 
 and as the robin, with a fluttering spasm of pain, 
 turned its breast to the sky and was still, her 
 tearful mood came back. Only now with the 
 showery tears there were quick, broken sigbs, 
 like the sobbing of a grieved child. 
 
 They were near the crossing of a little stream 
 w^hich issued from some spring hidden in the 
 hills. Leszinksky wetted his handkerchief and 
 wiped the stains from her hands, she looking 
 pitifully the while from them to the dead robin. 
 Then he brought her some water in a leafy cup. 
 
286 THE MODERN II AGAR. 
 
 saying : ^ ' If you will bathe your face you will 
 be better." 
 
 Meekly she held out her hands and obeyed 
 him, drying her face with her handkerchief. 
 Then, standing up, she said softly — there was 
 yet a sound of tears in her voice : 
 
 "Would you mind burying the poor little 
 thing ? I do not wish to leave it here like this." 
 
 "It is just w^hat I intended to do with these 
 leaves." 
 
 And gently taking up the moss, he made a 
 narrow bed in the curve of a gnarled root, and, 
 wrapping the bird in the wet leaves, he tilled in 
 the space and replaced the moss. 
 
 She, standing w^atching and Avondering, divid- 
 ing her pity between the bird and the one-armed 
 gentleman, whose careful, tender movement of 
 leaf and bird amazed her. Years ago she re- 
 membered something like this when she and 
 Tom had buried a mocking-bird which Tom had 
 caught and tamed for her. But Tom's tender- 
 ness had been for her, not for the bird ; his care 
 for that was a concession to her. 
 
 But this gentleman— in her thought she con- 
 stantly so called him — put love into the task he 
 had given himself. 
 
IN TEE GATEWAY OF WAR. 287 
 
 She did not forget what he had said he in- 
 tended to do with the leaves. That he had not 
 gathered them for her use alone did not alto- 
 gether please her. But that he had told her 
 frankly of hia purpose did iDlease her. She had 
 been living in an atmosphere of lies and hate. 
 That she esteemed tenderness and truth, and 
 the speaker of truth, proved that there was yet 
 in her a healthful moral nature which would 
 recover from the malarial taint, if the conditions 
 were changed. 
 
 As Leszinksky finished his task Kate again 
 sat down upon the bank. He asked, ' ' Are you 
 tired?" 
 
 " Yes. But it is not for that I am resting here. 
 It is that I wish to tell you something, to ask 
 you something." 
 
 She had decided, with the quick impulse of 
 woman, to give him confidence and ask advice. 
 But the manner of her preface was a step out of 
 the false toward the true. She had put aside 
 the courteous deceits of the world bravely, al- 
 though somewhat rudely, which in a well-bred 
 woman proved what the effort cost. Holding 
 her courage in both hands, she plunged into 
 question : 
 
288 THE 3I0DERN HAGAR. 
 
 '' Did yoM not sell Mr. Hartley a woman called 
 Lucy and her cliild ? " 
 
 A man of the world wonld have been astound- 
 ed at the question. A roue would have quickly 
 begun to reckon the chances it might give. The 
 Christian gentleman, with quick sympathy yet 
 truest speech, answered simply : 
 
 ''She was Margaret's maid. Margaret sold 
 her to Captain Hartley because of her child." 
 
 " If the woman had suffered a great wTong, 
 a great injustice, would you not right it, would 
 you not iDrotect her?" 
 
 '' Certainly. It would be my duty." 
 
 ''AVell, then, it is your dutj^ and it is also 
 mine, for it was because of me that this wrong 
 was done. I knew of the injustice and was 
 silent. But I did not know until to-day that 
 there was a crime back of the injustice. This 
 morning the woman Lucy was in my room with 
 my maid. I was in Julia's room, which adjoins 
 mine. Julia had gone down to see some visitors. 
 The door was open between the rooms. I heard 
 a woman shriek, and I found Lucy in a strange 
 hysterical fit. Rose was frightened, and she told 
 me she had just given the woman her free papers 
 —papers that Rose had found at Oakhill in a lit- 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR, 289 
 
 tie satchel six years ago. Do you understand 
 the crime ? Do you understand that Mr. Hartley 
 sold the woman after she lost the free papers he 
 had given her?" 
 
 *'Yes, I understand. But will you believe 
 what I may tell you?" 
 
 ^'I know you are a gentleman. I will be- 
 lieve anything you say. I am sure a falsehood 
 never soiled your lips. I could not say that 
 for myself." And there was a mournful tone 
 in those last words of that sweet, low voice 
 that made quick way to the heart of the lis- 
 tener. 
 
 "On my honor I believe there is excuse for 
 your husband I do not mean in the act— that 
 was wrong. But we should forgive him for the 
 motive. It was strong and it was human." 
 
 " You mean for my sake he did it. You are 
 mistaken in that. He did not sell her for my 
 sake. He simply wished to be rid of her. 
 Please do not speak of him as my husband. 
 There is no longer any real marriage tie between 
 us. There is only a lying appearance. My father 
 was going to take me from him ; but my father 
 died, and Tom was dead. I had no one I cared 
 for but Julia, and Julia held me by a promise I 
 
•>00 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 had made before my baby died." And the voice 
 broke. 
 
 ' ' You have lost a child ; you know what it is 
 to love a child ? Then you can learn to excuse 
 Captain Hartley. He sold Lucy because she 
 would not give up her right to his child." 
 
 ''Yes, I knew it was his child. I knew it 
 when I insisted, as one condition of my return to 
 Oakhill, that Lucy and the child should be sent 
 away." 
 
 " You were right in that. You need not blame 
 yourself for that." 
 
 " But I knew he separated that mother from 
 her child. I knew he had bought her, and I 
 knew he had sold her. I was glad she was 
 punished." She hid her fiice in her hands. 
 
 Leszinksky was silent. With all pity for her 
 he could not excuse her to herself. At last, 
 when the sweet face was suddenly lifted to him, 
 pale with shame and suffering, he prevented her 
 speech by saying : 
 
 ''But now you are sorry. And to-day, when 
 you found what great injustice Lucy had suf- 
 fered, you forgave her for pity's sake. To put 
 yourself right with God and your conscience 
 you resolved to defend her. It was not needed ; 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 291 
 
 for I knew tlie wrong, and Captain Hartley liad 
 promised me to right it. To-morrow he was to 
 replace the lost papers. Knowing his motive, 
 and that he was abont to repair the wrong, can 
 you not forgive him?" 
 
 She stood up before him. She was deathly 
 pale, but the scornful lines were deepening at 
 the corners of the beautiful lips, and there was 
 a set, hard look of resolve that seemed pain- 
 fully unnatural in the lovely face. 
 
 "You do not know what you ask. You can- 
 not judge for me, because you do not know what 
 I have endured. Not for love's sake! Ah! if 
 there had been love I could have forgiven even 
 that Mow.'''' 
 
 The gentleman standing there listening to her 
 trembled like some one in an ague-fit. He was 
 pale to the very lips. After a moment's pause 
 he said : 
 
 " You are the nearest living relative of my 
 daughter ; you are Rue' s heiress ; and so, as 
 your father and your brother are dead, you are 
 my ward. I am as ready to defend 3^ou, to right 
 your wrong, as I would be to defend my daugh- 
 ter. I do not believe that the marriage tie may 
 be broken though one suffer a wrong. But sepa- 
 
292 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 ration from an evil-doer is righteous and just. If 
 you will accept my protection I offer you a cliild's 
 place in my household and in my regard." 
 
 All her pride was gone. He was looking upon 
 the sweetest, the tenderest, the most loving face 
 that ever met the eyes of man. Her swaying 
 form seemed to bend before him, that she might 
 look upward as one would look at a messenger 
 of the gods. 
 
 "I have been separated from Mr. Hartley ever 
 since my father's death. I live with Julia, and 
 so the concealment of our separation is possible. 
 For some reason he seems to value my life and 
 this appearance of marriage. But it is not be- 
 cause of him or of Julia that I refuse your i>ro- 
 tection. There is no outward, no personal, dan- 
 ger in my life now that demands change. I can 
 and do rule the manner of it as I choose. Yet 
 none the less do I thank you. The memory of 
 this offer, the consciousness that I could, if need 
 were, find a place in your home, in your life, 
 will be both sweet and strengthening in the new 
 life which begins for me from to-day. To you I 
 owe this change which is from within. But, with 
 you, in unlearning hate I might learn another, 
 a more dangerous, lesson. 
 
IN THE GATEWAY OF WAR. 293 
 
 ''The truth should not offend. This truth 
 that I show you is the highest and the purest 
 which has ever come into my life. To be cared 
 for by you, to depend on your i3rotection, to 
 have the humblest place in your regard, is so 
 sweet, even in thought, that I dare not accept it. 
 Will you pardon me if I have said too much ? 
 But I could not keep back this new feeling wliich 
 has come into my life." 
 
 The lovely head bent in reverent lowliness, 
 and before he could i)revent her she had taken 
 his solitary hand in her soft palms and covered 
 it with kisses. Then as suddenly she turned, 
 and, walking rapidly, led the way out of the 
 wood. In the road he offered his arm, which 
 she accepted ; but the silence was unbroken ex- 
 cept by the fluttering birds and the regular 
 rhythm of steps in the leafy lane. 
 
BOOK SECOjSTD, 
 
 r^ART si:co:ne>. 
 
 a 
 
 KING STAN." 
 
 ' * Selfless man 
 And stainless gentleman^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ?s and encounteiyngs that I 
 here before in all this hystory, gi-eat or smalle, this battayle that 1 treat of 
 nowe was one of the sorest and best foughten." 
 
 (Scene. — The hreakfast-room of a handsome 
 residence in Washington. Mrs. Carisbrooke 
 and Mrs. Hartley, meeting in the hall^ enter 
 together.) 
 
 " T TRUST you are somewhat rested, Mrs. 
 
 I Carisbrooke. Julia and I waited uj) un- 
 til one o'clock. Then we had a message 
 from Mr. Hartley saying the train was delayed, 
 but that he would wait at the station." 
 
 "Yes; he was in the car before I knew the 
 
 294 
 
'^KING STANr 295 
 
 train had stopped. Molly was so sleepy and I 
 so tired that it was a great relief to hand over 
 checks and parcels to a courteous and able- 
 bodied protector. I have rarely travelled with- 
 out Carisbrooke. When I do I always have rea- 
 son to recant every declaration of feminine inde- 
 pendence I have ever uttered. I don' t mind con- 
 fessing to you, Kate, that a masterful man is 
 not a person to be desjnsed in a railroad smash." 
 
 ' ' Did you have an accident I Mr. Hartley 
 only said a delay." 
 
 " An accident ! We barely missed running at 
 full speed into a Tv^ecked freight-train. We es- 
 caped a collision, but we were detained three 
 hours. What a fright Carisbrooke will have 
 when he hears how his household goddesses were 
 risked ! Captain Hartley telegraphed Caris- 
 brooke of our safe arrival. He will probably 
 get the desimtch before he sees the morning 
 papers. They are very iDrompt in the delivery 
 of missives at the New York Hotel." 
 
 " Will Molly breakfast with us 1 " 
 
 ''No. I promised Molly last night to make 
 her excuses. She is still sleeping. She was out 
 until three o'clock the night before we left West 
 Point, which, with the earl}^ start to New York 
 
29G T'HE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 and the busy day there, axed her strength to 
 nearly its last ix)int of endurance. She sat with 
 ai^parently calm nerves and a most provokingly 
 placid expression through the first of the three 
 hours at the wreck, and then — she slept. Ima- 
 gine my temper ! Fortunately she was con- 
 sciously awake when we got here ; so I had op- 
 portunity to expend my indignation uiwn her 
 and my commiseration upon my spine before she 
 said 'Good-niglit,' which was all she said to 
 either indignation or commiseration." 
 
 During Mrs. Carisbrooke' s monologue Kate 
 had poured the coffee and dismissed the atten- 
 tive " Yellowplush " to his place in the council 
 of the Velimgerlcht below stairs. 
 
 The two ladies lingered at table. As their talk 
 will tell something of the four years that have 
 passed since we left the chief personatges of this 
 drama in Cincinnati, I shall use it to bridge the 
 gap in their history. 
 
 Kate. "And I have to make Julia's excuses. 
 Slie had an engagement to meet a New York 
 yachting jmrty this morning in Alexandria. As 
 they came there for her, she could not well disap- 
 point them. She is going with them to Mount 
 A^ernon, but hopes to be back to morrow. It is 
 
''KING STAN/* 297 
 
 a beautiful morning. Would you like to drive 
 to the Capitol at twelve? The Baltimore Con- 
 vention has depleted the galleries and they will 
 not be uncomfortably crowded. Or shall we 
 wait until after luncheon I Possibly Molly 
 would like to go.'' 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. "My si^ine is my majority, 
 and it says ' Wait.^ And I have chapters to tell 
 you and— unaccountable fact — questions to ask." 
 
 Kate. "I shall be delighted to listen to your 
 chapters. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Carishroolte. " And you will parry the 
 questions? Well, I am amiable this morning, 
 and will generously give unto you knowledge. 
 It was rather queer, Kate, that the two letters of 
 m.ine which never reached you were ]Deculiarly 
 news-letters. No reply coming to either, I wrote 
 Robert Carisbrooke to question you and cross- 
 question your post officials — which he did ef- 
 fectually. I believe no letters are missing since 
 then?" 
 
 Kate. "None. Possibly the numbering system 
 you adopted charmed the post into regularity. 
 But I have had very little news in the later let- 
 ters. AVliy did you not repeat the lost chap- 
 ters?" 
 
298 THE MODERN HA6AR. 
 
 Mrs. Carlshrooke. " It might again have been 
 love's labor lost. They were full, voluminous 
 despatches. I could not duplicate the work. 
 So, as I knew the news would keep, I waited to 
 tell it you." 
 
 Kate. "And now, first ?" 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. ''Well, first the news that 
 is of deepest interest and gravest import to the 
 Carisbrookes. In one of the lost letters I hint- 
 ed, in a sort of prophetic rage, that our very dear 
 and generous friend Major Carson was evincing a 
 certain willingness to be consoled for what I had 
 stupidly believed was his never-to-be-forgotten 
 matrimonial loss." 
 
 Kate. ' ' You mean Molly % ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke. " How did you hear it 1 " 
 
 Kate. "I have heard nothing, except, of 
 course, that his son was in Cincinnati. You 
 hinted just now his readiness to be consoled, 
 and knowing that he was often with you, and 
 thinking of the infallible recipe, 'propinquity 
 and opportunity,' I knew it must be Molly." 
 
 Mrs. Carlshrooke. "Natural enough, I admit, 
 for him to think of Molly. But for Molly to ac- 
 cept an old, battered, red-headed, army fossil, 
 whose sole fortune is his pay and his half- 
 
^'KING STAJSr:' 299 
 
 breed heir-apparent, is preposterous. And Ca- 
 risbrooke ! Do you not think Carisbrooke has 
 taken leave of that small modicum of sense and 
 judgment he certainly did display when he mar- 
 ried me, to aid and abet his only child in this 
 ruinous folly? " 
 
 Kate, ''You do not believe it folly, nor do 
 you believe it ruinous to give odds for love's 
 sake." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. "Oh! ho! A b-e-a-u-ti f ul 
 sentiment ! — very lovely in the mouth of an 
 heiress who married a New York Croesus. In 
 an elegant home with superb appointments, 
 talking across a service of solid silver in a 
 breakfast-room where Landseer's hounds look 
 longingly across twenty velveted feet of distance 
 at Beard's squirrels, such a sentiment does you 
 credit, my dear." 
 
 Kate. ' ' Better a crust of bread where love is 
 than the splendor of a king where love is not." 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooJce. ' ' The x)lay brightens ! Sen- 
 timent grows epigrammatically sententious ! I 
 am lost in admiration. But, an thou lovest me, 
 Kate, pose your splendor and not your sentiment 
 at Molly. Give me your epigrams, but give her 
 advice coined by judgment." 
 
300 THE MODERN HAGAR, 
 
 Kate. "I could say nothing to her, except to 
 warn her to be sure that her love is strong 
 enough to bear sorrow, and true enough to over- 
 come the v^^orld and the flesh — " 
 
 3Irs. Carisbrooke. " — And the devil. A very 
 pretty finish you make of it — calling me names, 
 Kate ! I vow — I would like to swear, but, being 
 a coAvard and a poor, broken-sx^irited, helpless 
 little woman, I won't— I do vow you are worse 
 than Carisbrooke. That he, being a man, should 
 find Major Carson furnished with attractions to 
 win a girl and heroic virtues to rivet her re- 
 gard is not utterly absurd. But that you, Kate 
 — you — should see the graces of a gallant or 
 the qualities of a lover in that rugged army 
 fiend is incomprehensible.*' 
 
 Kate. "Am I so destitute of discernment or of 
 heart that I would rate lightly a brave and loyal 
 gentleman \ ' ' 
 
 Mrs. CarlsbrooTie. " You were the daughter of 
 the proudest aristocrat in Virginia, and this man 
 is a nobody, a man of the people, a ' mud-sill.' 
 ' I thank thee (senator) for teaching me that 
 word.' You cannot think him a fit match for 
 a gentlewoman. You are the wife of an ac- 
 complished man of the world. That your hus- 
 
''KING STAN:' 301 
 
 band is immensely rich is the least of his ad- 
 vantages. He has influence, position. He is a 
 leader in his State, and the trusted representa- 
 tive of its interests in the councils of the na- 
 tion. When you preach from the text, 'All 
 for love, or the world well lost,' it is simply 
 the fatuous thought of the landsman who stands 
 upon the shore of a dangerous coast and shrouds 
 the warning pharos that he may see the light- 
 ning play with the white wings of the storm- 
 driven ships." 
 
 Kate. " You mistake : it is the cry of a ship- 
 wrecked wretch who was driven by merciless 
 waves where there was no warning light. Mrs. 
 Carisbrooke, save your child from chance of 
 such disaster. It would be better, far better, 
 that she should die now, in her springtime of 
 hope and youth, than that she should give up 
 the true heart of an honest man who has won 
 her love. Ah ! my friend, the lines have been 
 cast for you in very pleasant jilaces. You have 
 •been sheltered in the heart of a true and faith- 
 ful guardian. Do not take the bread of life 
 from Molly to give her the gilded apples of 
 Sodom. Believe me, the ashes are bitter, very 
 bitter, when one is an hungered and athirst." 
 
302 THE MODERN EA GAR. 
 
 She had risen from the table and had come 
 to the side of her friend. She knelt beside the 
 little lady, and, putting her arms about her, 
 said pleadingly: "You know Dr. Carisbrooke's 
 judgment can be trusted. You will give your 
 Molly where she has given her heart?" 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke. "O Kate! My beautiful, 
 proud Kate ! I did not know. I would not be- 
 lieve — " 
 
 Kate. " Please do not say it. I have given 
 you warning. Because of my pride I have hid- 
 den a wound. I was taught, by one sent of 
 God, to purify my pride. I am learning the law 
 of duty. But hope is gone, and sometimes re- 
 solution fails. The aj^ples are very bitter. You 
 will please not speak your thought, your loving 
 sympathy. I know it is coming in a full cur- 
 rent. But I tell you that will hurt. We will 
 simply never sj^eak again of my mistake. But 
 you will be good to Molly. You will not bar her 
 way to hapi^iness." 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke. "I will not say her nay, 
 my Kate. It is Carisbrooke' s place to decide, 
 not mine. He may take the responsibility on 
 his broad shoulders ; I will not assume the red- 
 headed future, Kate." There was a tinge of 
 
''KING STAN:* 303 
 
 bitterness in her laugh which spoilt its natural 
 mirthfulness. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley led the way into the cool con- 
 servatory, and, seated under the pink boughs of 
 a feathery crape-myrtle, their confidential talk 
 went on. 
 
 Kate. ''Were not the Leszinkskys with you 
 at West Point?" 
 
 Mrs. Carisbroolie. "Yes. Major Leszink- 
 sky has resigned. They are going to live at 
 'The Cedars.' But I suppose you know all 
 that." 
 
 Kate. "No, I had not heard. Julia and I 
 were at Oakhill for a few weeks this spring — 
 the only time we have been out of Washington 
 since our return from Paris in January. I wrote 
 to Rue inviting her to go with us for her Easter 
 holidays, but she declined. She has always de- 
 clined my invitations. This coolness, which I do 
 not understand, grieves me. I am her nearest 
 relative, and I would like to know her well— to 
 be friends with my cousin Margaret's daughter. 
 Do you know any reason why she should not 
 visit me % " 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke. "Nt)ne why she should not 
 visit you.^^ 
 
304 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Kate. " Your accented ' you ' implies objection 
 elsewhere." 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke. ''There is objection. Rue, 
 who is intolerant of all other control, obeys her 
 fatliers slightest expression of desire, and her 
 fatlier has very strongly expressed his unwill- 
 ingness for her to know Captain Hartley or 
 visit his house. Rue told me, at the same time 
 she told me of her father's wish, that she and 
 her father regretted the necessity which sepa- 
 rated her from ' her dear cousin Kate.' I be- 
 lieve there is some old difficulty between the 
 Leszinkskys and Captain Hartley — some frontier 
 grudge. Carisbrooke knows it all ; but Caris- 
 brooke keeps his friends' secrets in some pri- 
 vate corner of his inscrutable understanding. 
 Everybody confides in Carisbrooke, and he locks 
 up the confidences. The atmosphere of our home 
 on the hill is dense with hidden mysteries, and 
 I assure you that I cannot lay eyes on a key to 
 any one of their closets. Skeletons, my dear — 
 skeletons in every one of them. Whatever this 
 affair is, the charming red-topped aspirant for 
 the vacant situation of son-in-law to the Caris- 
 brookes is a very potefft influence in the matter. 
 I did not mean to tell vou. In fact, Carisbrooke 
 
''KING ST an:' 305 
 
 warned me not to tell it ; but you may as well 
 know it all. This swaggering dragoon, this scar- 
 let-poll, whose candidature you have so urged, 
 my dear, declines to visit Molly while she is a 
 visitor here. If I had not promised you before 
 I would have accepted your invitation after I 
 knew that fact. In truth, I would liave begged 
 for the invitation. It seems he had some per- 
 sonal collision with Captain Hartley the last day 
 of the convention in Cincinnati in 1856. I never 
 could get the facts from my imperial mystery- 
 keeper ; but I know there was talk of a dueL 
 For twenty-four hours there were constant pow- 
 wows in Carisbrooke's sanctum. He and Major 
 Leszinksky at last succeeded in cooling my Hot- 
 spur of a son-in-law- that-is- to-be." 
 
 Kate. "Are you sure it was Major Carson's 
 own quarrel ?" 
 
 IIts. CarlshrooTie. " Whose else could it be?" 
 
 Kate. "Major Leszinksky 's. I know he call- 
 ed Mr. Hartley to account for bad faith in selling 
 a slave 1h\ Hartley bought from my cousin Mar- 
 garet." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. "Ah! I see, I see. Why, 
 Kate, you have opened one of the closets. The 
 very mystery of all others Carisbrooke has most 
 
306 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 closely guarded is no longer a mystery. I think 
 you saw the quadroon Lucy Avhen you were with 
 us. She nursed Rue through that illness of the 
 child's, which was the result of the excitement 
 and exposure in the affair at Bouie's Hill when 
 Mrs. Carson was killed. I remember now that 
 there was a registration of free papers. I know 
 I thought it rather queer that Mr. Horry and 
 Major Leszinksky went with Carisbrooke and 
 Lucy to Mr. Grandison's office. But you say 
 Captain Hartley bought her from your cousin 
 Margaret ; then who freed her?" 
 
 Kate. ''Mr. Hartley." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. ''Oh! Mr. Hartley. It is 
 plain, my Kate, that you do not care to talk of 
 this. But do let me ask one little question : 
 What had the homely Hotspur to do with 
 the matter?" 
 
 Kate. "I do not think it was his personal 
 affair. Major Leszinksky possibly insisted that 
 a wTong should be redressed ; but Major Carson 
 may have resented the wrong. From what I 
 have heard of him he would be quick to take 
 up his friend's quarrel." 
 
 Mrs. CarisbrooJce. " Stanislaus Les2inksky is 
 my ideal of a Christian gentleman ; but yet he is 
 
''KING STANr 307 
 
 a soldier, and certainly he is a brave man. I do 
 not think he would 13a ss a quarrel to his friend. 
 The law of his life is duty ; but if you think he 
 would avert danger from himself through his 
 friend's risk, you simply do not know the 
 man." 
 
 Kate. '' You misunderstand. I do not doubt 
 Major Leszinksky's courage, neither do I doubt 
 his honor. I am sure there is no danger he 
 would not risk to save a friend. But you re- 
 member his friend was not exposed. The duel 
 that was talked of was prevented." 
 
 3Irs. Carisbrooke. "I am glad you properly 
 esteem Stanislaus Leszinksky, and I think you 
 are right. It is more tiian probable that Hotspur 
 split a hair in search of a quarrel and got snub- 
 bed for his pains. An amiable husband he will 
 make Molly!" 
 
 Kate. '' An excellent one, lam sure. Tender 
 and brave go together." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. ''Hunt in couples, eh? 
 Kate, will you be good enough to tell where you 
 got your liking for the Hlinois major? I be- 
 lieve, in the vernacular of his State, that he 
 'hails' from Illinois." 
 
 Kate. ''Colonel Roane esteems Major Carson 
 
308 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 highly. You shonld hear him tell the story of 
 Bouie's Hill — of Major Carson's brave defence 
 of the Indian chief ; of his devotion to his wife ; 
 of his gallantry and daring in coming alone 
 through the Indian country for help when Colo- 
 nel Kearney's command was cut off and sur- 
 rounded by enraged savages." 
 
 Mrs. CarlshrooJce. ''Oh! ho! The Arkansaw 
 Traveller? So he gives certificates of character 
 that pass current with my dainty Kate." And 
 the little lady nodded an emphasis to each word. 
 " He is your authority, my dear ? " 
 
 Kate. "An authority as to character that I 
 know you will resi)ect." 
 
 Mrs. Carishroolce. "I acknowledge him a sec- 
 ond Daniel come to judgment when it is ques- 
 tion of choice between bowie-knives or revolvers. 
 His opinion of a man's ability to take care of 
 himself, or even to help a friend, in an Arkan- 
 sas free fight, I should receive as an indis- 
 putable dictum. But I doubt if he is a Solo- 
 mon in his judgment of the qualifications of a 
 husband." 
 
 Kate. " To sustain the authority I have given 
 I refer you to another fact. Major Carson is 
 Major Leszinksky's dearest friend. My cousin 
 
''KING STAN." 309 
 
 Margaret loved him as a brother. He is her 
 child's godfather." 
 
 Mrs. Carlsbroolce. ^'Poor Rue! So that is 
 how she came by her temper and her vagaries. 
 No child could have withstood the ill-luck that 
 must come from the infliction of such a god- 
 father. Now I have at last a rational explana- 
 tion of all Rue' s escapades. I am no longer as- 
 tonished at the battle with the dominie, the flight 
 from Oxford, or her taste for low company." 
 
 Kate. '' Aly dear Mrs. Carisbrooke, will you be 
 good enough to tell me what my young cousin 
 has done to justify the indictment you prefer 
 against her?" 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooJie. ''Why, Kate, you are surely 
 not offended at a jest ? You know I love Rue 
 dearly." 
 
 Kate. "Not offended, but 'the taste for low 
 company ' is rather a strong expression ; and, 
 frankly. I will say it did not please me. I do 
 not forget that Rue represents the Cartarets. 
 She is the head of the house. I am jealous for 
 my chief tainess. But I hear she is an impulsive, 
 imperious, little lady. I can fancy she would 
 fight a dominie upon occasion. Please tell me 
 the story." The manner of the sj)eaker softened 
 
3 1 THE MODERN MA GAR. 
 
 the implied rebuke. The last phrase was spo- 
 ken in the jjleading tone of a child who asks the 
 telling of a fairy tale. 
 
 Mis. Carisbroolce. " If I tell you the story 
 you will have to confess that the temper of your 
 chief tainess would better become the frontier than 
 ' The Cedars.' Why, Kate, if you are going to do 
 battle with the friends who do not find Rue per- 
 fect, and who regret her bringing- up with sol- 
 diers and Indians, Avhat will you do when all 
 the starched proprieties of Virginia are drawn 
 up in line against her, as they will be ? Ah ! I 
 have not forgotten the conventional dames who 
 made my holidays days of torture. I fought my 
 best ; but those blue-blooded old tabbies gave 
 me scratches which were not altogether surface- 
 wounds. Scars are hidden, my dear, beneath 
 the pearl-powder and the laces, that were long 
 in healing. Why, even in Ohio, on the hill, 
 where life is free and talk floweth, like the wind, 
 where it listeth, if I laugh aloud — a clear, good, 
 lung-shaking laugh which has noise as well as 
 gayety in it — and then close my eyes, I can yet 
 breathe the odor and hear the rustle of those stiff, 
 lavender-kept ancestral silks, and see the stony 
 glare of the pale-blue, beady eyes of the ghosts 
 
'-KING STAN." 311 
 
 who are sitting a-row in some country-house where 
 the county grandees are gathered. Eugh! I see 
 them now peering through the leaves at me." 
 She caught her friend's arm with so natural an 
 expression of terror that Kate fell into the mime' s 
 trap and involuntarily looked around for the 
 spectres Mrs. Carisbrooke had summoned out of 
 the past. While the laugh of the little lady yet 
 lingered in the air Kate repeated the question : 
 "But the battle with the dominie ?" 
 
 Mrs. CarisbrooJce. "Rue fought it fairly, and 
 she routed the enemy, horse, foot, and dragoons. 
 Did you never hear of the encounter ?" 
 
 Kate. "Never." 
 
 3£7S. Carishrooke. "It should be told in a re- 
 citative epic to the sound of martial music. I am 
 convinced that Rue .is possessed, not of seven 
 devils, but of the souls of many ancestors. 
 Well, that day some old Macdonald had escaped 
 from his over-warm cell in the unmentionable 
 realm and liad command of the garrison. The 
 dominie in question is the husband of Major 
 Carson's sister." 
 
 Kate. "I remember — the McCormacks. She 
 was going to them the summer I saw her in 
 Ohio. They lived in Oxford." 
 
312 THE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke. ^' Right, my (Edipa. Per- 
 son and place you have named correctly. Now 
 that your memory has caught the thread of 
 the labyrinth, it may twist into its meshes 
 and bring before your mind's eye the boyish 
 descendant of the great sachemsj who was 
 also going to dwell with the McCormacks. 
 In the Yankee vernacular, do you seem to see 
 the wild young Tom-Kitten of the Seminoles % " 
 
 Kate. " You mean Major Carson's son— young 
 Stanislaus?" 
 
 Mrs, Carishrooke. ' ' Yes ; the grandson of the 
 discrowned chief does bear the name of the 
 kingliest of crowned or uncrowned Leszinkskys. 
 Red-top has a very pretty and pretentious taste 
 in the matter of names." 
 
 Kate. ''But the story T^ 
 
 Mrs. Carisltroolie. "You shall have the story. 
 But you see I am growing old. Thought goes 
 a-gadding. To understand the little history a 
 short i^reface is indispensable. Or do you pre- 
 fer an appendix with notes ? Take your choice. 
 Such small matters are triHes to me. I am ex- 
 traordinarily clever at either preface or appen- 
 dix. T am not one of your common historians, 
 ready to cram you witli facts. I have tnste and 
 
''KING STAN:' 313 
 
 discernment. I know and hnmor a listener's 
 fancy. Is it preface or appendix ? " 
 
 Kate. "Preface. I would ratlier swallow the 
 drauglit and have done with it." 
 
 Ifrs. CarisbrooTce. "For that 'zmcompliment 
 you shall have a double dose. I have half a 
 mind to commence with the discovery of Ame- 
 rica. But to spare my breath I shall begin with 
 the Florida war and the genealogy of my step- 
 grandson, who was the son of his mother, who 
 was the daughter of ' Wild-Cat,' who was the 
 son of King Philip, who— T/iere is a bar- 
 sinister which I dare not cross." 
 
 Kate. "Confess frankly that your knowledge 
 ends there." 
 
 Mrs. Carislrooke. " So it ought, my dear. 
 Am I not a Virginian, and do I not remember 
 the tabbies?" 
 
 Kate. "The story— please begin the story." 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke. " I do, and then you inter- 
 rupt. Where was I ? Oh ! King Philip, a most 
 illogical Indian, was the protector and friend of 
 a mixed tribe, called the Black Indians, who 
 were the natural increase of escaped slaves from 
 Georgia, with unnatural accessions of fresh run- 
 aways who, when the crops were wearing and 
 
314 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 overseers over-cruel, were constantly quitting the 
 plantations on the borders for the isles of the 
 Everglades, where the yams were indigenous and 
 the fishing X3erpetual. Do you seem to see King 
 Philip and his allies ? " 
 
 Kate. "King Philip, yes; the charge 'most 
 illogical Indian' not proven." 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooJce. "O learned Portia! I wish 
 your father had not been a judge. Beautiful 
 Paduan, I will prove the charge 'most illogical.' 
 This protector of runaways, this Lloyd Garrison 
 of the swamps, with his son Wild-Cat, the sil- 
 ver-tongued Wendell Phillips of the Seminoles 
 who most eloquently denounced the slave-catch- 
 ing government of the United States, were the 
 owners of many black men and women whom 
 they held enslaved. Did their practice and 
 theory correspond, most learned judge? Is it 
 logical to protect runaways and hold slaves, O 
 wise young barrister? " 
 
 Kate. " Where did they get their slaves ? " 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooJce. "I will wager thee my 
 bracelet against thy ring, out of which thou 
 hast befooled thy client's friend, that there is 
 a catch in thy question ; but I will answer thee. 
 They did not imj^ort the slaves from heathenish 
 
''KING STAN." aio 
 
 Africa, as good Christians should, but they 
 captured them from white owners." 
 
 Kate. ''Then they were the sx)oils of war. 
 These submissive slaves of the Indian's opi)res- 
 sor were the sinews of his strength. Nothing 
 illogical in keeping them to service while assist- 
 ing the unwilling slave to freedom. Their readi- 
 ness to strike has prevented the enslavement of 
 the Indian." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. "I commenced to narrate 
 history. I did not mean to invoke the perturbed 
 spirit of Political Economy. If we are going to 
 do that thing, Kate, we liad better commence 
 with the moral effect upon contemporary art of 
 the landing of the Pilgrims. Let us epitomize 
 the abstruse, and do it well and weightily. 
 When a woman goes in for moral results in 
 political science, sex and results are equipon- 
 derate." 
 
 Kate. "I cry you mercy! Now tell me the 
 story of Rue ; we have surely finished with gene- 
 alogies. What of the dominie ? " 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooTce. ' ' Keep in mind the facts 
 which I have given you. Also please remember 
 the few family servants Stanislaus Leszinksky 
 inherited from his grandfather, and the hun- 
 
31G THE MODERN UA6AR. 
 
 dreds that wait Rue's majority to call her mis- 
 tress. In short, if you have memorized and di- 
 gested my preface you will easily perceive the 
 dominie's unfitness to be guardian and precep- 
 tor of these imperious and wilful scions of two 
 kingly races — who have been owners of serfs and 
 slaves for numberless generations — when you un- 
 derstand that the Rev. Mr. McCormack is a teach- 
 er and a light in the councils of abolitionism." 
 
 Kate. "Why did Major Leszinksky choose 
 such a home for my cousin 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. ' There spoke the pride and 
 prejudice of the Cartarets. ' 3fy cousin' / It 
 was the outcropping of the underlying thought 
 of all Virginians— a race that do not thank God 
 but rather congratulate him that they ' are not 
 as other men.' When I see how these absurdi- 
 ties of the old colonial aristocracy are believed in 
 and perpetuated, how the traditions of race and 
 caste keep the representatives of the old lords 
 paramount uppermost in the State, I know they 
 will finally rule it to its ruin. They are proudly 
 and profoundly ignorant." 
 
 Kate {interrupting). "You are scourging your 
 own people." 
 
 Mrs. Carishroolce. "Because they are my own 
 
''KING STANr 317 
 
 people I have the right to speak. Truth should 
 be critic as well as counsellor in family discus- 
 sion. I repeat, these representatives, encased in 
 the ideas of the last century, scorning the pro- 
 gress which they do not understand, are con- 
 sistently and deliberately ignorant of that which, 
 for their country's good, they most need to 
 know." 
 
 Kate. "Was Major Leszinksky's ignorance 
 the foundation of his error in placing Rue with 
 those abolitionists ?" 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke. "It was an error in judg- 
 ment from diametrically opposite reasoning to 
 that, or rather to the non-reason, of our con- 
 servatists." 
 
 Kate. ' ' Then progress can be error ? ' ' 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooTce. "My dear, Progress is often 
 a fool. The wise statesman and the wise teacher 
 ' hasten slowly.' Stanislaus Leszinksky and my 
 illustrious mystery -keeper — I am glad Caris- 
 hrooke was advisory counsel and backer of his 
 cousin's stupid choice — decided that, as Rue had 
 been over-served and too devotedly loved, a 
 change from the tropic to the frigid zone was 
 the only and the specific rem.edy. You see that 
 was the folly of intemperate progress. It was 
 
318 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 the wisdom of men, my dear — to twist a girl out 
 of her natural place and put her where the affec- 
 tions would be stunted and killed. Two Solo- 
 mons did it, but any Queen of Sheba would have 
 known better. I talked wdtli the child' s father 
 and reasoned with the high-priest of my own 
 household. The first urged the necessity of 
 moderating Rue's intensity and the wisdom of 
 teaching her betimes her responsibility for the 
 people committed to her care ; the other jDer- 
 sonage to Avhom I appealed ' pooh-poohed ' my 
 understanding of the matter. Candidl}^ I was 
 not over-sorry at the upshot. You know a wo- 
 man likes to liave her beliefs justified. But at 
 last we are coming to the battle, my dear." 
 
 Kate. " I see that foreshadowed in your eyes, 
 OBellona!" 
 
 Mrs, Carisbrooke. "Rue, who is Truth in a 
 slender little body, told me the story ; so did 
 the dominie when he came in wrath to de- 
 nounce the children of wrath. You shall have 
 the history, divested of partisan i)rejudice, as 
 my judicial mind seized and grouped the facts. 
 The first week in June the Indian representa- 
 tive of the red-headed Carsons took up his 
 abode with his father's sister and her husband. 
 
''KING STAN." 319 
 
 The last of the same month Rue left us for 
 Oxford. When she arrived there the village 
 was in a ferment, and the house of the McCor- 
 macks was the centre of the disturbance. Three 
 days before her arrival the dominie had thrash- 
 ed the grandson of kings, and the young ' Wild- 
 Kitten' had tried his claws and teeth on his 
 uncle-in-law. The wild thing was tied hand 
 and foot ; the dominie's eye was in eclipse, and 
 he carried one hand in a sling. Mrs. McCor- 
 mack was divided in affection, but clear as to 
 duty. (The most detestable of mortals are those 
 duty-dames who are such experts at self-control 
 when Murdstone gets his fling at child-torture.) 
 She made no moan of remonstrance — at least 
 none heard by the compassionate villagers — when 
 the manacled young savage was consigned to the 
 limbo of a hot garret under the roof. Professor 
 Mitre, one of the Oxford dons who had been vis- 
 iting us, took charge of Hue for the short jour- 
 ney. I had wished to go with the child, but 
 Solomon decided it was better for her to arrive 
 alone at the McCormacks' , ' so that she would at 
 once, and naturally, fall into her place in the 
 household.' As it happened, Solomon's decision 
 was a remarkable instance of the twinship of wis- 
 
320 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 dom with — well, with the other thing. You re- 
 member 'the princess,' as Colonel Roane calls 
 her, has the prettiest little manner ever seen out 
 of a French comedy. There is an unconscious 
 royalty in her imperiously courteous speech, a 
 dignified yet girlish shyness in her carriage, 
 which, united as it is to a certain soldierly 
 directness, almost bluntness, in manner when 
 stating a wish or asking a question — demands 
 and obtains for her instant and deferential at- 
 tention. After a very short conversation with 
 Mrs. McCormack, and a bare interchange of 
 polite greeting with the dominie, whom she 
 confesses to have disliked at sight, she very na- 
 turally soon asked for her ' cousin.' (You know 
 Eue has been brought uj) to consider herself 
 akin to the 'red- tops.') Mrs. McConnack said 
 she was ' sorry her nephew could not be with 
 them that evening,' which Rue accepted as ex- 
 cuse for some unavoidable absence from the 
 house that she could not understand, but which 
 it might be discourteous to question. As for the 
 boy's welfare or safety she had not tlie slightest 
 uneasiness. How could she in the house of his 
 father's sister 'i 
 
 " The next morning a slight but courteous in- 
 
''KING STAN.'* 321 
 
 qniry was skilfully parried. To do the dominie 
 justice, he made neither excuse nor apology. 
 After breakfast he set himself to his task as 
 instructor, and Rue settled steadily to work 
 without a day' s delay. Several days passed and 
 the boy had not appeared. By this time Rue 
 had doubts and preoccupations of her own, and 
 was rather glad little ' Stan ' was not there un- 
 til her doubts should be resolved. Since the 
 first day of her anival, morning and evening, 
 she heard earnest, agonizing prayer — it was real- 
 ly sincere — for the liberation of the black men 
 and women who were so cruelly held in bondage. 
 Continued repetition fixed these words in the 
 child's memory: 'May Thy trials and plagues 
 come upon these worse than Egyptian task-mas- 
 ters until they let the slave go free ! May the 
 plague-spot be cleaned from the nation, and 
 the shedders of innocent blood and the doers of 
 violence be punished ! '* Rue's thought had be- 
 gun to take knowledge of the petitioner's mean- 
 ing, when one morning, in an unusually fervid 
 heat, the dominie prayed * that the lesson of 
 God's vengeance might be taught to the slave- 
 owners, if need be, through the death of the 
 
 * Quoted from Helper's book. 
 
322 THE MODERN EAOAR. 
 
 tirst-born ; that the Union might be broken 
 into fragments and the innocent freed from 
 blood-guiltiness and crime ; that the criminal 
 might be scourged away from his sin.' When 
 that prayer ended Hue's question was very di- 
 rect : ' Are all who own negroes sinners and 
 criminals ? ' ' Yes,' said the dominie stoutly, 
 'all.' Rue continued : ' My father owns the ser- 
 vants who belonged to Grandpapa Mason. I will 
 own all the people on my Grandpapa Cartaret's 
 estates. My father told me you would teach me 
 how to care for and protect my black people. 
 He wished me to come ISorth, that I might learn 
 the value of labor and how to educate my labor- 
 ers for the future in which he hoped they would 
 be free. He said if the people of the ]S"orth and 
 South knew each other's thoughts and troubles 
 it would teach them to be more charitable. He 
 wished me to. love the whole country and to feel 
 that we are one people. He explained this to me 
 over and over, that I might understand. But you 
 have slandered my father in your prayers. You 
 hate us, and you do not really love our black 
 people. If you did you would not pray for evil 
 to come upon us, for they love" us. My father 
 prays for them and for me, that I may do them 
 
''KING STANr 323 
 
 good. But you — I cannot teacli you all my father 
 has taught me, but I will never listen to another 
 of your prayers. They do not make me try to do 
 good, to be better ; they only make me angry.' 
 She was leaving the room, after preaching her ser- 
 mon on charity, when he rudely caught her arm. 
 He hurt the tender flesh — the print of his fingers 
 lasted for days — but she would not cry out at 
 the pain, because she thought it was not intend- 
 ed. Holding her there, he denounced her spirit 
 as ' the spirit of the slave-holder, which should 
 and would be fettered.' The Southerners, he 
 said, were ' ruffians, criminals, outlaws ; their 
 treatment of their slaves wicked, monstrous, 
 damnable ; an honest man could have no fel- 
 lowship with them in religion or society.' "^ 
 This much the child remembered, and he him- 
 self repeated it when he was defending what he 
 had said. There were other expressions, descrip- 
 tive of social crimes and horrors, that fortunate- 
 ly Rue did not understand. From his own show- 
 ing he raved himself breathless. When he could 
 listen she ordered him to release her, and to be 
 silent in her presence until her father should 
 come and take her from his house. He com- 
 
 * Helper's book. 
 
324 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 plained that she ordered him, and she admitted 
 the ordering. I can imagine her steadily cou- 
 rageous and haughtily imperious manner in giv- 
 ing her orders. Then the man must have lost 
 his senses — he says he lost his temper, but I am 
 sure he did not ; the most charitable conclusion 
 is that he is demented. He shook her violently, 
 and then as he released her, throwing her from 
 him, her shoulder struck against the low mantel- 
 piece and dislocated her left arm. Tlie dominie 
 sprang forward — he says to catch her from fall- 
 ing ; she thought to strike her. Rue is active and 
 quick, and in her life on the frontier has learned 
 to improvise weapons. She caught up the fire- 
 tongs — which, from their effect upon a hard sub- 
 stance, I imagine were excellent steel— and floor- 
 ed the dominie." 
 
 Kate. ''She was perfectly in the right. I hope 
 she hurt him." 
 
 Mrs. Carishroolce. ''I tell you, my dear, she 
 laid him out. Mrs. McCormack's shrieks brought 
 a servant, who, finding the dominie senseless on 
 the floor and Rue pale and faint on a lounge, 
 rushed out and gave the quiet village an unac- 
 customed sensation by crying ' Murder ! ' Tlie 
 little study was soon crowded. Our friend Pro- 
 
^^KING STAN:' 325 
 
 fessor Mitre arrived witli two of the village doc- 
 tors. By tliat time tlie child's arm was so swoll- 
 en and painful that Mrs. McCormack's accu- 
 sations of murderous intention were met by 
 counter-accusations, made by persons who had 
 already heard whisperings of the dominie' s cruel- 
 ty to his wife's nephew, and who now found con- 
 firmation of that story in the injury to Rue. 
 When the dominie recovered consciousness he 
 was alone with his wife and one physician. 
 Rue's arm had been set and bandaged, and 
 an indignation meeting was being held in the 
 hall. The universal opinion of the doctor's 
 knock-down was, * Served him right.' For Rue 
 there was the kindliest and most outspoken sym- 
 pathy. Then there was talk of the child in the 
 garret. Rue, hearing this, asked quick, anxious 
 questions ; and regardless of the cautions of her 
 new-found friends, who begged her to vrait the 
 return of the gentleman who had gone to liberate 
 the boy, she ran up the stairs. The little, dark 
 garret was open, and Rue heard Professor Mitre's 
 voice in pitying accents — ' My poor boy ! poor 
 child ! poor child ! ' The professor had cut the 
 rope that tied the child to the sloping rafters, 
 and which confined him to a small pallet-bed. 
 
326 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 His liands were tied together behind Ms back 
 with a soft but strong cloth bandage. The 
 avoidance of injury in the manner of the band- 
 age had been the dominie's only mercy. The 
 meeting of the children, Rue's heart-broken sobs 
 for the boy' s suffering — she had never uttered a 
 complaint when her arm was set — his pitiful 
 manner of looking at her and stroking her band- 
 aged arm, brought tlie temper of the sympa- 
 thetic on-lookers to siicli heat that bnt for the 
 physician' s assurance that the dominie' s case was 
 critical he would have been lynched then and 
 there. Mrs. McCormack came into the hall and 
 loyally defended her husband. I tell you, Kate, 
 there are women born to reverence the Murd- 
 stones of this world. She insisted that the domi- 
 nie had acted from a sense of duty in iDunishing 
 the boy, who Avas obdurate, and who had con- 
 stantly fought his uncle, refusing to promise 
 amendment if he was released. She said his In- 
 dian blood and his untamed spirit made discipline 
 difficult, but that his father had wished him to 
 be controlled and taught to obey. As to Rue, 
 she had been 'insolent and aggressive' ; that her 
 husband had only held the girl's arm when he 
 was speaking to her ; and that as soon as he re- 
 
''KING STAN:' 327 
 
 leased it she liad caiight the tongs and struck him 
 a blow that might yet be fatal. Her story was 
 listened to coldly, but it made impression. The 
 noise quieted and the little assembly dispersed. 
 Professor Mitre waited until all were gone. He 
 then frankly expressed to Mrs. McCormack his 
 disapprobation of the dominie's methods of in- 
 struction and his own determination to write to 
 us. He said that as Rue had been sent to Ox- 
 ford under his protection as escort, it was his 
 duty to let us know at once the very difficult 
 situation of affairs. Mrs. McCormack agreed 
 that it was his duty. He offered to take Rue 
 home with him until her friends came. But Rue 
 refused to leave the boy, and Mrs. McCormack 
 said firmly ' Stan ' should not leave the house ex- 
 cept with his father. She promised that the chil- 
 dren should not be separated or punished in any 
 manner. So the professor was obliged to accept 
 her promise and leave the children. All that 
 day they stayed quietly in Rue's room. Twice 
 the sympathetic servant took them food. In the 
 evening, when the doctor came to see the domi- 
 nie, he went up to Rue, telling her Mr. McCor- 
 mack was ^ much better, that he would soon be 
 well,' and rearranging the bandages. The next 
 
328 TEE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 morning, before breakfast, I heard Molly call her 
 fatlier in sucli quick, excited tones that I was 
 frightened. Such noise from that placid person 
 made me think the house afire. I rushed to the 
 piazza and found two trembling, feverish, foot- 
 sore childi^en telling the tale I have just told 
 you. They had left the McConnacks at mid- 
 night and walked twelve miles to Hamilton. 
 From there they took the first train to the Mill 
 Creek station, where they hired an expressman 
 to bring them to us. Rue's arm was terribly in- 
 flamed ; she was sick for a week. I never saw 
 such dog-like devotion — the comparison, I as- 
 sure you, is meant as a compliment — as that the 
 Wild-Kitten showed your chieftainess. Night 
 and day he was seated on the mat at her door. 
 Carisbrooke, who never threatens, actually did 
 say he would send him back to the dominie if he 
 would not go to bed." 
 
 Kate. ' ' You see there is good blood in the 
 boy." 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooTce. "Possibly — on the Indian 
 side. I am sure he did not get many good drops 
 from his Aunt McCormack." 
 
 Kate. ''There is excuse for her: she believed 
 in her husband. You admit that he is an 
 
'^KINO STANr 329 
 
 honest fanatic. But when did you hear his 
 story?" 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. *'The morning after the 
 children arrived Carisbrooke wrote to the do- 
 minie that he intended to keep the children until 
 he heard from their parents. But the dominie 
 came within a week to demand the boy. I be- 
 lieve Carisbrooke would have trusted his pro- 
 mises and given Wild-Kitten up but for me, or 
 rather for what I knew the result would be to 
 Hue. The excitement of her campaign with the 
 Abolition forces had brought back the nervous 
 fever from which she had so lately recovered." 
 
 Kaie. "It was during the next spring that 
 Major Leszinksky took her to Philadelphia % " 
 
 Mrs, Carisbrooke. "Yes; and the young 
 'Wild-Cat' remained with us. So you see 
 Rue's battle with the dominie brought Red-top 
 about our house at all times and seasons, and 
 was the primal cause of my affliction in this mat- 
 ter of a son-in-law." 
 
 Ko.te. "At last. 'Mary-buds 'gin ope their 
 eyes,' and here is my dear Molly." Then a femi- 
 nine osculation began which so enraged this his- 
 torian that he gathered up his notes and abrupt- 
 ly closed the chapter. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 '^ A calm, restful nature, -vrhicli brings solace and blessing to th-. poor, 
 worn, tired wayfarers who are all a-quiver with the agonj of life's de- 
 feat."— Old MS. 
 
 SUCH a nature was Molly's : not beautiful — 
 her motlier's daughter could not well have 
 been a beauty — but lovable, and lovely as 
 the mignonette through that subtle radiation, 
 that aronia of quality, which is the greatest as 
 it is also the rarest charm of girlhood. Stand- 
 ing there between two representative women — 
 the beauty and the woman of spirit — Molly' s at- 
 tractiveness was heightened and defined. It 
 was the simple charm of perfect womanliness. 
 
 The rose is queen of the garden, the flame of 
 the marigold kindles the fancy of poet and ar- 
 tist, but the mignonette is tenderly gathered 
 and pressed to the lips and heart of the lover. 
 
 Kate. ' ' I am so glad to have you here ; and 
 so glad for you, my Molly." 
 
 Molly. " And I to see you. But why are you 
 glad for me, Cousin Kate ? " 
 
 880 . 
 
'^KINQ STAN.'' 331 
 
 Kate. "That 'the prince has come,' and that 
 he is a true prince and lover." 
 
 Mrs. CarisbrooTce. "A fiddlestick for such a 
 prince ! A carroty -headed sachem of the Illi- 
 nois swamiDS ! A girl's wits must have gone 
 vrool-gathering when she picks up such a 
 prize." 
 
 Holly. "The matei^ does not mean it, Cousin 
 Kate.' ' The girl bent her blushing face to kiss 
 her mother's eyes, saying: "She is the dearest 
 and kindest of mothers ; but she is a tempery 
 little woman, and sometimes she forgets that 
 words are bees, which sting when they are 
 roughly or carelessly handled." 
 
 Hrs. Carishrooke. "I wish you joy of your 
 sachem, ]^[ow are you content?" 
 
 Molly. ' ' Perfectly content, mamma. The ring 
 of sarcasm in jour tone does not deceive me. I 
 hear under it full and true joy-wishes. Cousin 
 Kate will xDardon me for thanking you for your 
 tardy congratulation before I thank her for her 
 free-will offering. You make me very happy, 
 mamma." Again the girl bent to her mother, 
 who fondly kissed her and then quietly turned 
 and left the conservatory, Molly, looking after 
 her, said softly : " Poor mamma ! That spoken 
 
332 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 consent has cost her dear. We shall know how 
 to thank her for it." 
 
 The plural was the proof of love's truth and 
 love's strength. But just here the ghi and her 
 friend, after their feminine fashion, again fell 
 a-kissing. With that I left the house. 
 
 Putting in my pocket the ring of Gryges, I 
 sauntered up Pennsylvania Avenue. Stopping 
 to exchange salutations with the dandies who 
 were posing under the canopied entrance of the 
 National Hotel, I met that prince of humorists 
 and king of good fellows, the greatest popular 
 orator of his time— the Hon. Thomas Corwin, 
 of Ohio. He, using me as a providential and 
 convenient crutch to his carriage, took me to 
 the Capitol. Strange to say, in that seething 
 political period our talk was not of sections nor 
 of parties. It was of Thackeray. This was how 
 it came about. Asking about an acquaintance, 
 the answer was a story of misfortune ending in 
 disgrace. We were both silent for a little while, 
 when Mr. Corwin began : ^' 'It is so easy to be 
 good upon five thousand a year.' In that sen- 
 tence Becky Sharp gives the pith and substance 
 of human ethics. Poverty is the touchstone 
 of virtue, my friend. If you wiU watch the 
 
*'KINQ STANr 333 
 
 working of ProTidence yon will see that it 
 mostly spares tlie weakest, the meanest, and the 
 most nnscrnpnlons from tonch of the talis- 
 man. Those are the three classes that wax fat 
 with riches. In the world's economy they serve 
 base nses. Like their ducats, they are moulded 
 of malleable metal. Now, the human wedges 
 that are made to split difficulties must be 
 wrought of solid iron or fibrous steel. If a bit 
 of rotten old stuff from a wedge that served a 
 rougher generation has been carelessly thrown 
 into the furnace with the new ore, it will crumble 
 to pieces upon the anvil ; or if the steel has a 
 flaw in it, it will damage things as it breaks un- 
 der the hammer. But at least it has been put to 
 the proof. Poor B ! He would have mould- 
 ed into f -od and passable pennies ; but he had 
 not the smff in him for a wedge. He would have 
 been very 'good upon five thousand a year.' 
 Did you see Thackeray when he was here ? " 
 
 ^'IS^o." 
 
 ''Ah! what a miss was that — not to have 
 seen the wisest and humanest of living English 
 essayists, and, save Shakespeare, the greatest of 
 living or dead creators and analysts of men 
 and women! x\nd the man himself is so leva- 
 
334 TEE MODERN EAGAR. 
 
 ble, SO full of quips and quirks of humor and 
 patlios, of playfulness and melancholy." 
 
 " I thought him the grimmest of cynics." 
 
 '^I credited you with better judgment. I did 
 not think you would pin your faith upon the 
 shallow evidence which tickles the ears of the 
 groundlings. Study ' Henry Esmond.' Take 
 ' Vanity Fair ' itself — that picture which is al- 
 most awful in its truth ; that Hogarthian pano- 
 rama of London, which is to say of the world's 
 heart — and you will find that the true artist who 
 sees men and women as they are, gives them at 
 their best, whilst preserving the human likeness. 
 He lets in the sunlight, but he softens the sha- 
 dows. Why, I tell you I love Becky Sharp, 
 and so did Thackeray." 
 
 "I am glad to hear what yon say, for of all 
 of the writers of this century I admire him most." 
 
 * ' Which seems to me damnable and faint 
 praise. Why, man, he is the last of the demi- 
 gods. The nearest approach to him in this cen- 
 tury is the Frenchman Balzac. Yet see the dif- 
 ference : both give realistic pictures of life, but 
 one saddens and teaches you to excuse, while the 
 other disgusts and teaches you to contemn, hu- 
 manity." 
 
''KING STAN." 335 
 
 *^ I have never read Balzac." 
 
 **Then read ' Pere Goriot'; it is the 'King 
 Lear' of French literature. The best recom- 
 mendation of Balzac that I can give you is 
 Thackeray's admiration for him. He told me 
 he was content with the days when he was too 
 ill to work, for then he could shut the door 
 against bores and read Balzac." 
 
 ''Did you see much of Thackeray?" 
 
 "He visited me at Lebanon. They were 
 weeks of perfect delight to every member of 
 my household. It is the period of time which 
 of all others it would most grieve me to for- 
 get." 
 
 " It must have been a good time for Thackeray 
 — that is, if an Englishman could understand 
 your humor. But your very face is a comedy ; 
 he would surely understand that." 
 
 The wry face that was twisted at me then set 
 me in a roar of laughter, which was hushed as 
 wen as might be when Mr. Corwin spoke ; but 
 even then there was a running cackle that I 
 found it impossible to check as that most mo- 
 bile of faces gave a rich, humorous meaning and 
 comic emphasis to every word. 
 
 "So you have fallen into that fool's trap? I 
 
336 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 "pledge you my honor I am the most serious man 
 alive. Can I help it if, when I talk words of 
 soberness and wisdom, asses will laugh ? I am 
 the most unfortunate of men — plain, blunt, ear- 
 nest, and yet when 1 sjDeak men grin at me as 
 if Harlequin had that minute jumped from my 
 throat. It is a curse, sir — I tell you it is a curse. 
 It has lamed my life and killed my ambition. I 
 am constantly taken for a buffoon, sir — a sense- 
 less jest-maker. I no sooner appear upon the 
 stump, sir, to instruct my fellow-citizens upon 
 grave questions of public polity, than I find my- 
 self face to face with countless grinning apes, 
 who think they see in me an instigator and pro- 
 moter of their diabolical mirth. I tell you it has 
 killed me, sir. It has killed me politically and 
 judicially. When I argue a point of law the 
 court grins. When I defend a murderer, and 
 paint a picture of remorse and despair which 
 would move an angel to tears, sir, twelve idiots 
 laugh in the jury-box. In the Senate, sir, even 
 in the Senate, when I am only anxious to have 
 my rare and rarely eloquent attempts to save the 
 country listened to and put in print, sir — like the 
 balance of 'em — I tell you, sir, senators roar at 
 me — roar at me." 
 
''KINO STAN."' 337 
 
 I could hear no more, for just then we en- 
 tered tlie Capitol and passed into the Vice-Presi- 
 dent's room. A party of ladies and gentlemen 
 were talking with the second citizen of the 
 United States, and, recognizing my people, I 
 left Mr. Corwin dolefully facing a gaunt, tall 
 millionaire from New York, who immediately 
 began boring him with a steamship mail con- 
 tract. Slipping on my j)recious ring, I glided 
 into place near Mrs. Carisbrooke, Mrs. Hartley, 
 and Molly. Captain Hartley, who for three 
 years had been a member of the House of Rep- 
 resentatives, was in attendance upon Mrs. Ca- 
 risbrooke. The Arkansian, Colonel Roane — also 
 a member — was the escort of Mrs. Hartley and 
 Molly. Washington is the city of surprises as 
 well as ^'magnificent distances." When the 
 door-bell of a resident rings it may be a 
 neighbor from next door or a gentleman from 
 Timbuctoo who is announced. ''It is the un- 
 expected that always arrives" at the Colum- 
 bian city. Having learned this truism, Mrs. 
 Hartley was not at all astonished at the 
 sudden appearance of Grandison and Horry 
 while Mr. Breckenridge was cordially wel- 
 coming his old friends the Carisbrookes -to 
 
338 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 Washington. Th(^n there was half an honr of 
 greeting, of mutual inquiry and desultory talk 
 of old friends and of x^ast and coming changes. 
 Grandison had been for two years a resident of 
 Texas, Coming through Cincinnati on his way 
 to Washington, he had brought Hon-y with him 
 — a willing captive. There were politicians^ in 
 and out of place, waiting for a w^ord with Breck- 
 enridge. The Vice-President was in a chr3^salis 
 state. This week his wings were opening to 
 carry the Presidency, and an astounding num- 
 ber of assistants were making mad rushes from 
 Baltimore, that they might be ready to brush the 
 expanding wings. 
 
 Such courtiers soon grow impatient of their 
 lord's delay. Why should he waste speech 
 upon the ears of women wdiile the cringing, 
 fawning parasites w^ait to begin their chorus? 
 The murmur of their discontent reached him, 
 and with hurried adieux the ambitious aspirant 
 for the first place in the republic rustled his bud- 
 ding wings and flew to listen to the ambassadors 
 from the caucuses — those spokesmen of the peo- 
 ple, those democratic high-x^riests, who have 
 proved to the ages that grand ^T^truth ; that 
 the voice of the people is the voice of God. 
 
''KiNa stan:' 339 
 
 Horry offered his arm to Molly, saying: ''Be- 
 ing a youtlil'ul and unshackled knight, I dare 
 offer my arm where I have vainly tendered my 
 hand. Possibly, Miss Molly, I may win grati- 
 tude for taking you out of danger, though love 
 failed me. When you think I have had time 
 to enumerate my virtues and charms, Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke, you will find us in the library." 
 
 Captain Hartley was about to leave his wife 
 and Mrs. Carisbrooke in the rotunda near the 
 library door, with Grandison and Roane, when 
 his sister, Mrs. Cartaret, met them. 
 
 It was explained that, the wind being unfavor- 
 able, the yachting party had decided to visit the 
 Cajpitol. They had but just arrived from Alex- 
 andria. Some of the party knew Mrs,. Caris- 
 brooke ; all but two were friends of Mrs. Hartley. 
 
 Captain Hartley had a queer look on his face, 
 and Mrs. Cartaret seemed much embarrassed 
 when she introduced the two strangers to her 
 sister-in-law. One was a beautiful young girl, 
 child-like in face, but developed in form to such 
 perfectness that face and figure were sufficiently 
 contradictory to be puzzling in their definition of 
 age. The other was an exceedingly handsome, 
 self-satisfied young dandy, who was introduced 
 
340 THE MODERN HA GA R. 
 
 as "my cousin, Mr. Bradnor." The- girl's name 
 had been too indistinctly spoken to be heard. 
 Kate looked inquiringly at her sister-in-law, and 
 the name was repeated — ''Miss Mai Hilton." 
 The name implied kinship to Mrs. Cartaret's first 
 husband. The second inquiry was spoken : "A 
 relative?" 
 
 Mrs. Cartaret. ''Yes, a relative." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley. "I am glad to welcome a rela- 
 tive of my sister's to Washington. I hope she 
 wili persuade you to stay with us, Miss Hilton. 
 We can offer you unusual attraction. Mrs. Ca- 
 risbrooke and her daughter will help us make 
 your visit pleasant. Before you decide let me 
 introduce you to Molly ; I am sure you will then 
 decide in our favor." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley was about to lead the way in 
 search of Molly. She had not waited for an an- 
 swer. She wished first to prepare the girl for 
 acceptance. She saw her sister-in-law's embar- 
 rassment and misinterpreted it. She thought it 
 a scruple of Mrs. Cartaret' s — a desire not to 
 force an offer of hospitality to a Hilton, to a rela- 
 tive of her first husband. She turned and took 
 the young girl' s hand to lead her to the library. 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke and Mrs. Cartaret were to- 
 
KING STAN:' 841 
 
 gether, but Mrs. Cartaret was evidently only 
 half listening to her companion. Captain Hart- 
 ley liad either forgotten the business which he 
 had urged as an excuse for leaving them, or the 
 presence of the New-Yorkers had determined 
 him to break his engagement. Grandison and 
 Koane were just without the library door, waiting 
 for the ladies. Thus they were in broken groups, 
 but all interest evidently centred upon Mrs. Hart- 
 ley and her companion. 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke, conscious of Mrs. Cartaret' s 
 absorption, again looked at Miss Hilton, wonder- 
 ing what likeness it was she saw. Suddenly the 
 strangest recollection came to her. As she looked 
 at the full, sensuous beauty of the girl, through 
 some subtle likeness that worked the transforma- 
 tion the pale, worn face, the shrunken, fragile 
 form, of the quadroon Lucy seemed to stand be- 
 fore her. She was so startled at the thought 
 that she looked quickly around, as if in fear of 
 some one reading her thought. She saw Captain 
 Hartley, pale and eager, watching his wife ; and 
 the mystery of Mrs. Cartaret' s embarrassment 
 was solved. 
 
 The yachting party were busy with a cLance 
 acquaintance they had met in the rotunda. Mrs. 
 
342 THE MODERN HAG AM. 
 
 Cartaret had turned to them, and Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke was close to Kate, who was now looking 
 in a bewildered way into the girl's eyes. They 
 seemed to her the violet eyes of the baby who 
 died in her aims years ago at Oakhill. Tliere 
 was a quick spasm of pain at her heart ; she w^as 
 pale to the very lips, but she said to the girl : 
 
 «< Forgive my rudeness. Your eyes are my ex- 
 cuse. They are very like — like eyes that were 
 dear to me lon'g ago." There was a questioning 
 look in the girl's beautiful eyes ; but they closed 
 softly as Kate, knowing this was '^ Bagar^ s^'' 
 cliild, stooped and kissed the blue- veined lids. 
 
 Need we wonder that the divine spirit of mo- 
 therhood has been cro^\^led Queen of Heaven 
 when day after day we see the miracles it works 
 in the hearts of flesh ? Hand-in-hand the two 
 went in search of Molly, leaving Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke, who was quickly joined by Grandison 
 and Roane. 
 
 The yachting party, with Mrs. Cartaret as cice- 
 rone — who was glad to get aw^ay from the ex- 
 plosion she feared — were busy examining those 
 w^onderful si^ecimens of crude art, those unique 
 illustrations of the Pocahontian period, and the 
 later historic absurdities which now decorate 
 
''KING STAN." 343 
 
 (and disfigure) the central gallery of the Capi- 
 tol. 
 
 As his wife and his daughter went through the 
 door leading to the library Cai^tain Hartley again 
 hastily made his excuses to his friends: ''they 
 were waiting for him in his committee-room.'' 
 
 Hartley had need to be alone. The eternal bat- 
 tle of good and evil was raging within him. In 
 the beginning he had loved his daughter because 
 of her beauty and of a resemblance that flatter- 
 ed his vanity. But love, that works ]3urification 
 through ways that mere reason cannot follow nor 
 understand, was gradually purging the dross of 
 self from his affection for his child. He w^as be- 
 coming capable of sacrifice and of gratitude for 
 her sake. This love for her and his life in her 
 were already apart from that other life he had 
 lived. I can best express my meaning by saying 
 that in his heart he had set up a wall of par- 
 tition between his vices, Avith their resultant 
 crimes, and his daughter. His wife's recogni- 
 tion of his daughter — for he did not doubt that 
 Kate had recognijsed the child she had seen 
 at Oakhill— endangei'ed his wall of partition. 
 Their clasping hands linked his daughter to his 
 crimes. Then, in his thought, he cursed his 
 
344 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 sister for the folly of her management. From 
 the first he had felt no particular thankful- 
 ness for her interest in the child. Nor did he 
 credit her now with the care, the protection, 
 and name she had given his daughter. With 
 the fatuity of anger he insisted to himself, "that 
 he could have done much better for Mai if 
 Julia had not meddled.'' Mrs. Cartaret's in- 
 dulgent kindness to her "ward" had brought 
 about this conjunction that threatened a fresh at- 
 tack from the tormentors that had found him in 
 Cincinnati, where remorse had so nearly forced 
 him to confession, and where terror had con- 
 fronted him with a ghost under the lamp-light 
 that had not been altogether laid, for in waking 
 and sleeping dreams he had been pursued by the 
 dumb pleading of the robbed mother. Would 
 she always be dumb ? She had refused his offer 
 of money for release of her right in her child. 
 She had left the child with him, but she had made 
 no promise. Would she not assert her right ? 
 Twice he had seen her in the hallway of the 
 school in Philadelphia where Mai was. Twice 
 she had nursed the child through slight illnesses. 
 After each of these attacks of her child Lucy's 
 own malady had returned and fshe had disap- 
 
^'KING ST an:' 345 
 
 peared. Slie was slightly insane— even Dr. 
 Carisbrooke admitted that— and Hartley dared 
 not have her consigned to a mad-house, because 
 of the Carisbrookes and of Leszinksky. And 
 now Julia's folly had brought Mai face to face 
 with the Carisbrookes. They would know ; and 
 he fell a-cursing not only in thought but in 
 words. Remorse had not yet brought repen- 
 tance. 
 
 As Grandison and Roane joined Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke, Grandison asked: "Who is this new 
 beauty, this rising star, Mrs. Carisbrooke ? " 
 
 Mrs. Carishroolce. "Miss Hilton— some con- 
 nection of Mrs. Cartaret's. Her first husband 
 was a Hilton, and a precious scamp." 
 
 She could not resist this fling at the girl. Con- 
 sciously—for she understood the hidden relation- 
 jgliip_s]ie resented what she defined to herself as 
 "an insult to Kate, this presentation of a rela- 
 tive whom Mrs. Cartaret should have ignored." 
 Unconsciously she was provoked and jealous of 
 the beauty which so eclipsed Molly's. 
 
 Colonel Boane. "Had the 'precious scamp' a 
 ^ ' visible admixture ' of African blood \ " 
 
 Mrs. Carishroolte. "No; I think the Anglo- 
 Saxon race has to bear the burden of his ill- 
 
34G THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 deeds. The blood was bad, but I believe it ran 
 in the veins of a white man." 
 
 There was a secret triumph in her thought, 
 which it was hard to keep from expression, that, 
 despite the giiTs beauty, something betrayed the 
 octoroon to eyes so keen and so experienced as 
 those of the Arkansian slave- owner. 
 
 Grandison. "\ was sure you were mistaken, 
 Eoane. He insisted, Mrs. Carisbrooke, that there 
 was an unmistakable taint of the African in the 
 very perfectness of that rare beauty." 
 
 Roane. " Knowing Mrs. Carisbrooke is neither 
 indiscreet in speech nor intolerant of expression 
 of belief founded on reason, I still insist that an 
 honest eighth of the ' Beauty' s ' blood came from 
 Africa." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. ''What are your proofs?" 
 
 Grandison. "Yes, proofs — give us proofs ! " 
 
 Roane. ''They are difficult to classify, but 
 they are irrefutable. Any negro-trader would 
 see them at once. First, the peculiar color of the 
 eyes." 
 
 Grandison. "They are pure violet eyes — 
 'deeply, darkly blue.' " 
 
 Roane. "Blue sat in ivory. There is no re- 
 flection of their color in the surrounding white. 
 
"KING STANr 347 
 
 It is simply a dead white up to the line of the 
 iris. Captain Hartley has eyes of the same 
 color, but observe the difference in the reflec- 
 tion." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke {blankly). '* Captain Hart- 
 ley?" 
 
 Grandison {repeats). " Captain Hartley ! By 
 Jove, there is a likeness ! What do you mean, 
 Roane?" 
 
 Roane. "Simply to point the difference there 
 is between the violet eyes of an octoroon and 
 those of a Caucasian." 
 
 A woman's persistence in inquiry, always re- 
 markable, is peculiarly so when her flounces 
 skirt the edge of a question which it would be 
 indiscreet to attack directly. The ingenuity, the 
 dexterity, the mental agility then shown by a 
 daughter* of Eve have a certain charm for me. 
 A stolid man is always wondering what next. 
 It is the much-vaunted attraction of the un- 
 known. 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. "The eye-proof is not de- 
 cisive." 
 
 Grandison. ' ' Nor satisfactory. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. " You are silenced ? " 
 
 Roane. ' ' Neither the color nor the wave of 
 
348 THE MODERN EAGAR. 
 
 the silky hair do I claiin as proofs positive, but 
 they are aids to opinion." 
 
 3Trs. Carisbrooke. '' They are not proofs." 
 
 Roane, " jS'o, madam; I admit tliey are not. 
 But there is a test, an infallible test ; only I can- 
 not api^ly it. I^either could I see the base of 
 the glove-covered nails." 
 
 Mrs. Garisbrooke. "Then the nails are 
 proofs \ " 
 
 Roane. ''Assuredly. Where there is mixed 
 blood the base of the rosiest nails will be slightly 
 discolored. Just the faintest tinge of yellow or 
 brown is proof." 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooJce. "And the infallible test ? " 
 
 Roane. " Is the point of the nose." 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooJce. "What absurdity is that? 
 Why, the girl's nose is simply perfect ! " 
 
 Grandison. " Could not be purer Greek if it 
 had been cut by Phidias or Praxiteles." 
 
 Roane. " Shape is nothing in the proof. The 
 test is not a question of shape, neither is it of 
 color. And who dare touch that lovely nose to 
 resolve the question?" 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooJie and Grandison at once. 
 "Touch the nose!" 
 
 Roane. "Yes; to feel if the cartilage is di- 
 
''KING STANr 349 
 
 vided at the point. In the pure-blooded African 
 the cartilage of the nose is undivided and wholly 
 unsupported by an upspringing bridge. With 
 the ' visible admixture ' you get the supx)ort, 
 but there is still a drooping and undivided carti- 
 lage. In the octoroon, and even the quadroon, 
 the nose may be the arched Roman or the 
 straight and shapely Greek, but as long as 
 there is a drop of the African blood there is 
 no percex)tible division of the cartilage of the 
 nostrils at the outer point of the nose. In the 
 white race the division is marked." 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke and Grandison^ feeling their 
 noses. "Yes!" 
 
 Roane, ' ' That is the infallible test. But who 
 dare apply it to the ' Beauty ' ? " 
 
 Nothing more was said, and the "nosologists " 
 looked guiltily at each other as the "Beauty" 
 appeared with Molly in tlie open doorvv^ay. But 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke had privately determined that a 
 certain scientific looking into things is not only 
 permissible but laudable. 
 
 Kate had joined the girls, and Horry came to 
 the waiting trio of scientists and made this com- 
 plaint to Mrs. Carisbrooke : 
 
 Horry. "Madam, I am thrown overboard. I 
 
350 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 am an offering to the sharks that swim in the 
 troubled waters through which sail the ships 
 that carry the fortunes of bachelors. Once again, 
 madam, your daughter has discarded me. It is 
 a vicious habit she acquired in her childhood. 
 You should look to it that she correct it. She 
 hinted an apology that adds to the bitterness of 
 defeat. T did not dare disturb the calm seren- 
 ity of her soul with question, but I ask you to 
 settle my doubt, to end my misery. Is there 
 another Richmond in the field— another and a 
 better?" 
 
 The tall, thin figure was stiffened to its utmost 
 height, and the long, thin, shapely fingers and 
 the clear hazel eyes pointed and flashed the 
 question. 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke, ''Your regrets are as no- 
 thing to mine. You know you were my ideal of 
 my coming son-in-law. But, alas for my dream ! 
 there is another — and such another ! Where you 
 are tall, he is short ; where you are thin, he is 
 thick ; where you are courteous, and wise, and 
 witty, he is brusque and — well, he is solidly sen- 
 sible, but not bright. Then he is bullet-headed 
 and red-headed, w^here you are — " 
 
 She paused, and Horry, who had accented each 
 
''KING STAN." 351 
 
 comparison by a tragi-comic pose, touched his 
 thin gray hair. 
 
 Horry. ^'I see him, madam! More for you 
 than for myself — though the gods know how 
 I suffer — do I regret his success. Why, 
 look on that picture and on this. You had 
 not finished your sketch? But see this clas- 
 sic front, these abundant locks, sable-silver- 
 ed. Why, madam, for her to make such a 
 choice, to give me such a rival, is the poisoned 
 sting in the arrow of fate. The subtle irony 
 of malignant fortune runs through every word 
 that has thus brought me face to face with 
 disaster." 
 
 Roane, "Is this a farce, Mrs. Carisbrooke, 
 or is Miss Molly engaged ? I presume so old a 
 friend of yours, so devoted an admirer of Miss 
 Molly' s, as I am may ask.' ' 
 
 Mrs, Carislrooke. ' ' I thought your friend had 
 told you — for he is your friend. Molly is en- 
 gaged to Major Carson." 
 
 Roane. "Then I can most sincerely offer my 
 congratulations. May I congratulate Miss Molly, 
 or is it not to be told ? ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. "It is not to be proclaim- 
 ed from the house-tops, but it may be quietly 
 
352 THE MODERN IIAGAR. 
 
 spoken. To me it is yet more a subject for con- 
 dolence than congratulation." 
 
 Grandlson. ''Your loss is great — an only 
 daughter." 
 
 Roane. "But you gain a son, Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke." 
 
 Mrs, Carishrooke. " Sucli a son ! " 
 
 Horry. " And to lose such a daughter ! " 
 
 Roane. " That is Carson' s gain. If it offends 
 you, Mrs. Carisbrooke — but I do not believe 
 it will — I must say it. I think they are very 
 fairly mated. A brave, true, and loyal gentle- 
 man has won a very perfect wife." 
 
 Horry. ' ' Is the end of all things near at 
 hand \ When will this marriage come to pass V 
 
 Mrs, Carishroolie. " When she and Carisbrooke 
 please ; I wash my hands of the matter." 
 
 Roane. " I do not think it will be long before 
 you are out of your agony, Horry ; the proclama- 
 tion is now being made, Mrs. Carisbrooke." 
 
 She turned to see both Molly's hands in Car- 
 son' s, who, regardless of the place and the little 
 assembly, kissed the broad, fair brow of his pro- 
 mised wife. 
 
CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 The coachman ^v]\o drives a four-in-hand needs to keep his wits 
 ahout him and his reins untangled. Since I started with these slviltish 
 and badly-broken colts I have put down but few of the people booked at 
 the start, though I have been forced to take up fresh passengers at every 
 stopping-place. The shadowy and silent ■' Hagar " still sits beside me, and 
 1 have dropped but two of the outsiders. But the places inside are fast 
 being filled by the people I pick up by the way. I know the colts are 
 likely to be over-weighted, but what can I do ? There are yet empty 
 places, and when I would fain pass the wayfarer who beckons, some " nob" 
 on top calls out, " That is the person I told you we should find about here. 
 Halloo, driver! do you hear? Let me down or take him (or her) up!" 
 So another is entered for the trip, as there are empty places inside and 
 seats in the rumble. TThat am I to do ? I dare not lose a first-class pas- 
 senger and bring the contractors in for damages, though in this over- 
 effort there is danger of an upset. 
 
 [Let us drop this prolonged simile for a grievance.] 
 
 A WISE reviewer found a double autliorship in 
 my last book. I think the same sagacious 
 critic may by the same rule find a dozen 
 hands in this. There are ^'pot-hooks and hang- 
 ers," the round letters of the school-boy and es- 
 says at copper-plate ; there are the long, skipping 
 lines of a French running-hand and the heavy 
 down-slopes of an English writer, the slant of a 
 cynic and the slow uprise of a melancholy hu- 
 morist. The critic had and he shall have reason 
 
354 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 for the petty sarcasm. To save a re\\Titing, which 
 might give him pain, I am willing to confess 
 there are many of me. There is the penny-a- 
 liner ; he, poor wretch, comes in the headachy 
 days when debts are pressing and there is a 
 general emptiness in this work-a-day world. 
 There is the valiant braggart who would fain be 
 fine and ruffle it with the wits who have swag- 
 gered in the sunshine of popular favor ; what 
 splashes and dashes he leaves upon the page ! 
 There is the poor scholar who courts the muses 
 and sighs after greatness ; he tenders me broken 
 hexameters and scraps from the Yirgilians. And 
 on rare days— alackaday tliat the white stones are 
 so few ! — comes the honest worker, who writes 
 the truths he has gathered in the school of a 
 bitter experience, which he pitifully tries to 
 sweeten with the pictured reflection of the good 
 deeds he has seen shining in this naughty world. 
 Having headed this chapter with sops, with 
 which I pray the gods may soften Cerberus, I 
 shall leave those people we met in the rotunda 
 to talk love (as a few of them will do without 
 our leave) or politics (which is hot work with the 
 thermometer up in the nineties and threats of 
 secession in the throats of all the Southerners) 
 
''KING STAN.'* 355 
 
 while I go back and see what changes these four 
 years have worked to the Leszinkskys. 
 
 I think I have said somewhere — but if I have 
 it will bear repetition, and if I have not I say it 
 now — that there was always in the manner of 
 Stanislaus Leszinksky to any woman thrown 
 upon his care a tender solicitude, a careful 
 watching of little things, an anxious haste to 
 shield from the small discomforts of life, a mag- 
 netic consciousness of feminine wants, a sym- 
 pathetic softening of harsh or discordant sur- 
 roundings, which won him the loving gratitude 
 of every woman thus X3laced. 
 
 Kue's experience with the dominie, though it 
 may have failed to teach her aught else, had 
 taught her to understand and appreciate the rare 
 minor excellences of her father's character. 
 
 After the Oxford fiasco Rue was for two 
 months at Rosebank — neither ill nor well, but, 
 as Dr. Carisbrooke decided, needing careful 
 watching, good nursing, and rest. The watch- 
 ing the doctor gave, Lucy was the nurse, and 
 Molly the restful companion. 
 
 In September Major Leszinksky came and took 
 Rue for a short visit to Mount Hope, intending 
 to go thence to Philadelphia. But there was 
 
356 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 such a nervous outbreak when the time of part- 
 ing with her father came that he could not resist 
 her prayer to go home with him, although there 
 she was a discordant element — she had never for- 
 given her stepmother for the tannt which she 
 believed had driven the Big Chief to his death, 
 nor for the selfishness of fright which had shut 
 Mrs. Carson off from a place of refuge. Had the 
 family still been at Bouie's Hill, where all these 
 mournful recollections centred, Rue would have 
 steeled herself to the parting with her father and 
 conquered her dislike to Northern schools. But 
 Leszinksky had been ordered to one of the posts 
 on the Rio Grande, and the change and the free 
 life on the frontier, to which Rue had long been 
 accustomed, seemed to him the most promising 
 cure for a malady which threatened to undermine 
 the child's strength. 
 
 The difficulty for Major Leszinksky was to 
 harmonize his household. His mfe's health was 
 frail, and her temper sullenly jealous and easy 
 to take offence. To keep Rue out of the house, 
 to restore her strength and build up her mental 
 as well as bodily health, he made her his com- 
 rade. 
 
 At drill, in camp inspection, in the short ex- 
 
^^KING STANr 357 
 
 cursions to the neigliboring settlements, even in 
 the busy hours of his office-work, Rue was al- 
 ways by her father's side. She had been taught 
 to ride in her babyhood ; she was now taught to 
 swim, to shoot, to fence. She was truly a child 
 of the camp. Every soldier in the old regiment 
 was her personal acquaintance and comrade. 
 She was first at parade, first in the saddle when 
 the bugle sounded. ]N"o words of compliment 
 ever brought to her the thrill of delight she felt 
 when she heard Carson say to her father : " That 
 child does more for the behavior of the troops 
 than the entire War Department could do. The 
 greatest blackguard among them is a gentleman 
 in her presence. I am sure they would follow 
 her lead if she charged the very devil him- 
 self." 
 
 The last phrase so captivated Rue's fancy 
 that it led to results that changed the manner of 
 her life. Her accomplishments were already 
 those of a boy. Her education was of necessity 
 masculine and desultory. Her father was her 
 tutor ; the few hours he could spare from his 
 regimental work were spent in study with his 
 daughter, and then he never tolerated careless- 
 ness or idleness. But the great evil in this way 
 
358 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 of life was that Rue was rapidly acquiring the 
 manner of a boy accustomed to rule by the slight- 
 est expression of will, and to whom instant obe- 
 dience was given. 
 
 During that fall a young officer, just graduated 
 from West Point, had joined the regiment. With 
 the unreasoning prejudice of a child, which, with 
 the frankness of a child, Rue took no pains to 
 hide, she disliked the new-comer. Her father's 
 reproof forced a cold X)oliteness, though even that 
 was grudgingly given. Either from quick mag- 
 netic sympathy with their favorite, or else from 
 the same indefinable sensation of repulsion, the 
 regiment disliked the young fellow. When on 
 duty he was obeyed, but the obedience was not 
 the warm, spontaneous acceptance of command 
 which is given where rule is enforced by respect 
 and personal regard. With the quick percep- 
 tion of a child Rue felt this, and felt also that 
 the officers were in a measure affected by it. 
 
 The young lieutenant was exceedingly hand- 
 some and something of a dandy. Through tliat 
 quality a way of offence was found. 
 
 In Lieutenant Bradnor's first scouting expe- 
 dition he had Bob Stearns for guide. The lieu- 
 tenant, unlearned in frontier life, came to the 
 
'*KING STAN." 359 
 
 start in a spotless new uniform. Rue's ste^D- 
 motlier was unusually ill, and lier father had 
 gone with the surgeon to his wife's room, so 
 Kue was alone at the office. She called Bob to 
 make some change in a new collar he had given 
 Bruno, and said in an undertone : 
 
 " Take the lieutenant through the swamp, 
 Bob, through the black mud and the under- 
 growth." 
 
 " Yes, Cap'n Eue," he answered, with a 
 broad grin of approval. 
 
 ''If he stands that without spoiling, swim the 
 'cut-off.' That dandy rig needs christening." 
 
 He touched his cap ; and as the men rode by 
 she saw the mirthful mischief in the bronzed 
 faces, and knew the order had passed doAvn 
 the line. They returned at sundown. The lieu- 
 tenant, wet, scratched, dirty, and furious, dis- 
 mounted to give his report to Major Leszink- 
 sky. As he passed Rue .she laughed and walk- 
 ed carelessly to where the men waited. 
 
 " You did it well, Bob." 
 
 " Yes, Cap'n Rue ; the chaparral was tougher 
 and the mud blacker 'n usual." 
 
 There was half -suppressed laughter, and the 
 lieutenant turned to look. He understood the 
 
360 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 conspiracy. His report was soon made and he 
 left hurriedly for his quarters. Major Leszink- 
 sky came to the door and called, in a voice Avhich 
 indicated that he was angry : 
 
 ''Stearns!" 
 
 " Here, major." 
 
 "Go to the guard-house and report yourself 
 under arrest." 
 
 " Yes, major." 
 
 "Take the men with you." 
 
 " Are they all under arrest, major?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Papa ! papa ! please do not punish the men. 
 It was my fault. I gave the order." 
 
 "What order?" 
 
 "The order — to — to — spoil the lieutenant's 
 dandy uniform and scratch him in the bushes." 
 
 Her father went hastily into the office, wliilst 
 she followed the squad to the guard-house with 
 words of cheer, and then rushed off to beg Car- 
 son's intercession in their behalf. On her Avay 
 back she met Lieutenant Bradnor, who had 
 changed his clothing and was going to supper. 
 Slie laughed and saluted him, Jbut he passed 
 without look or sign of recognition. Bruno, 
 accustomed to friendly greeting, stopped with 
 
''KINO STAN.*' 3G1 
 
 a mild look of expectancy, and received only a 
 vicious and severe kick. The dog growled, then 
 Icfoked at his mistress ; the kick was repeated 
 and he sprang at the aggressor. In an instant 
 Rue caught Bruno's collar and held him, say- 
 ing: 
 
 ' ' You are a coward or you would not have 
 kicked my dog. You would like to strike me, if 
 you dared. Although you are not a gentleman, 
 and not entitled to be treated like a gentleman, 
 you belong to our regiment. / ordered you to 
 be swamped and scratched, so I will give you 
 your revenge. I shoot better than you, but 
 you fence well and the chances are equal. Will 
 you try the foils ? You can take the buttons off." 
 
 ''My daughter!" And her fathers arm was 
 around her and she was led to the house. He 
 shov/ed that he was grieved and annoyed. He 
 reasoned with her, ridiculed her outburst, and 
 tried in all ways to make her see the enormity of 
 her offence. When this failed to cool her tem- 
 per he drew her to him, held her in his arms, and 
 talked to her lovingly and tenderly, blaming him- 
 self for her rough training. This broke her stub- 
 bornness, and in a rush of repentant feeling she 
 offered to apologize to the lieutenant. 
 
362 THE MODEHN II AGAR. 
 
 '^ No, yoii sliall not do that. You shall never 
 violate your conscience through your affection 
 for me. You are not sorry for tlie wrong — ycTu 
 are only sorry I am grieved." 
 
 ''Yes, sir; but that is enough. I do dislike 
 the dandy, but I did wrong to give that order to 
 Bob. The men Avould risk any punishment to 
 please me ; so all the more it was selfish to send 
 them where I did not go. I know they would 
 charge the devil himself, if I bid them." 
 
 '* I did not know you used such language. I 
 did not believe you had learned such expres- 
 sions. I trusted the regiment — its affection for 
 you, its respect for me." 
 
 '' Do not blame the men, papa. I heard Uncle 
 Billy tell you that. The men never swear if they 
 see me, but — I JiaDe caught some phrases in the 
 garrison." 
 
 ''Such as—?" 
 
 "Well, I don't swear wickedly. I say 'the 
 devil ' sometimes, and the other day when 1 cut 
 my hand with Bruno's collar — " 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "I did say — well, I swore. Uncle Billy heard 
 me. He spoke to me about it and about mam- 
 ma ; so you see I have dropped it." 
 
*'KIXG STAN." 363. 
 
 *'I hear how you liave dropped it." 
 
 *'But, papa, about the men— I was the only 
 one to blame. I wish yon would put me in the 
 guard-house and let off Bob and the others." 
 
 ''And when you were out again I presume 
 you would still insist upon a duel with Brad- 
 nor?" 
 
 " I would rather like it, but I suppose it can 
 be arranged without that. If he will apologize 
 for kicking Bruno I shall be perfectly willing to 
 apologize for the mud and the briers." 
 
 Eue's ludicrous earnestness made further re- 
 proof impossible. But the result was worse than 
 reproof. The next day Major Leszinksky wrote 
 to arrange for her going to Philadelphia. She 
 might stay at home until after Easter ; with two 
 months more of liberty she must perforce be 
 content. 
 
 Bob and the men were released with a rep- 
 rimand for their "stupidity as guides." Car- 
 son was the orator on that occasion. 
 
 The entire story was soon garrison property. 
 
 The swamp and the duel were too much for 
 Bradnor. The ridicule of the "juniors " and the 
 severely respectful demeanor of the men m.ade 
 life on the frontier (where so much depends on 
 
3G4 THE MODERN IIAGAR. 
 
 friendly relations with associates) unendumble. 
 He asked to be exchanged, and, that failing, re- 
 signed. 
 
 The last two months Rue passed at the fort 
 brought her more of pain than happiness. It 
 was a constant leave-taking which seemed to 
 pull at every fibre of Rue's being. She was a 
 product of the jjlains, and she instinctively 
 dreaded the trammels of a more formal society. 
 The stalwart troopers and rough border settlers 
 were devoted to the child born and brought 
 up in their own rugged Avay of life. But from 
 the formalists of an older civilization she knew 
 she could only expect a patronizing toleration. 
 Every reproof, every suggestion of improvement 
 she had heretofore received was put in the form 
 of a comiDarison. There were in the far-off East 
 models of deportment that she detested — correct 
 and perfect jDatterns that made Rue despair of 
 the future. So her grief grew witli what it fed 
 on, and a longing for solitude came upon her. 
 She took lonely rides to outlying ranches and 
 Indian lodges, until one evening, after a late re- 
 turn, her father, seeing the blown condition of her 
 pony, inquired the distance she had gone and 
 forbade her leaving the fort without an escort. 
 
''KING STAN." zm 
 
 For the last two weeks of her stay at the 
 fort, accompanied by Bob Stearns and "the 
 squad," Rue was almost constantly in the sad- 
 dle. The unrest and fever of grief were upon 
 her, a wild yearning for escape from what she 
 regarded as a coming imprisonment. She could 
 only lose thought in the rush of a mad gallop, 
 in the flying feet of a wild mustang, until even 
 those hard riders found the following difficult. 
 It was wonderful, their sympathy with her moods 
 and her sorrow. Not a word of remonstrance 
 was uttered, no matter into what difficulties her 
 reckless disregard of paths led ; always a sub- 
 dued, respectful tone. Once when she left them, 
 bidding them wait, and climbed the steep bluff, 
 driven by the savage instinct that would hide 
 pain, she dismounted and threw herself on the 
 ground in a tempest of grief. The mustang 
 started back to the fort ; the men caught him 
 and waited whilst Bob sought the unhorsed 
 rider. 
 
 "Cap'n! Cap'n Rue!" he said softly, and 
 when she looked up, through blinded eyes, it 
 was to see great tears falling over his weather- 
 beaten face. 
 
 ''I was oneasy, Cap'n Rue, and thought I had 
 
366 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 better come whar I mought hear you call, so be I 
 was needed. You're lookin' mighty white and 
 peaked lately. And the pity on it's a-wearin' 
 all the good out-en the regiment. I wish we'd 
 broke that pesky lef tenant's neck the day we 
 ' swamped ' him, so be an' half on us had been 
 court-martialled and shot for it. Then the 
 major wouldn't a-got this school projec' in his 
 head." 
 
 '*It was not that— not altogether that. Bob— 
 I need the school — papa is right to send me — 
 and you fellows— must save him trouble when I 
 am gone — I won' t have any grumbling or insub- 
 ordination among the men." 
 
 ^'No, Cap'n Eue." 
 
 *'You will be good to my little sister— and 
 teach her to ride, Bob — you taught me — make 
 her strong and healthy — let her have my old 
 pony — it's gentle — and — talk of me to lier some- 
 times — you must never forget me — you — all — " 
 
 Here there was a complete double break, until, 
 with a gasp and a broken sob, the girl stilled 
 herself and led the way to where the men waited. 
 The hardest of the wrench was over. That day 
 was the burial of Rue's childhood. 
 
 In the beginning of the spring Rue was in her 
 
''KING STAN." 367 
 
 place at school, a solitary child in that busy,' 
 miniature world. The heiress of the great Carta- 
 ret estate would have given it all for one wild 
 ride over the rolling prairie ; as for friendship, 
 she had left that out there with "Bob Stearns 
 N and the squad," with the comrades of the camp. 
 She had nothing in common with these well- 
 bred, conventional young ladies ; their conversa- 
 tion was to her an unknown tongue. She had, 
 however, the quick perception of a savage, and 
 felt that she was being scrutinized, and criticised, 
 and judged. Her refuge was her pride, her 
 shield her dogged will ; so they thought her 
 cold and haughty, when she was only shy and 
 sorrow- stricken with a terrible homesickness, 
 with a craving for the free, glad life she had left. 
 Day after day some ne^v lesson was learned 
 from human books. The shams and deceits of 
 this little world of school were transparent to 
 the inexperienced but truthful child. She had 
 a boy' s respect for truth, a boy' s scorn of a lie ; 
 she could not understand those feminine twists 
 of reasoning that accepted as eminently proper 
 the polite deceptions of society. So out of her 
 pride and her shyness Rue built up a w^all of 
 separation that was also a wall of defence. She 
 
8G8 THE 31i)DERN II AGAR. 
 
 had been forced by her obedience to her father 
 to give up the ways of life that delighted her. 
 She would not be forced to adopt other ways 
 that were distasteful, that were utterly rejoug- 
 nant to her. IMoreover, she knew her fatlier 
 would forgive lier even should she outrage the 
 decorous dignity of varnished respectability with 
 a wild protest against its shams. 
 
 Altogether this school was an evil in Rue's 
 life. The fault was partly that she so antago- 
 nized her surroundings that she failed to see 
 the good that modestly retired before the bar- 
 riers she had built. The failure was partly 
 her fault ; it was also her misfortune. It supple- 
 mented all the evil of her early training with a 
 greater evil — it made her distrustful of culture, 
 of refinement ; honesty must have a rugged ex- 
 terior or it could not be honesty. To self-will 
 and 'self -assertion, grown out of tlie old habit of 
 command, was now added indifference to opin- 
 ion, contempt of judgment, and utter scorn for 
 the rules and conventionalities of society. She 
 had so confounded the true and the false with 
 this absurd classification, which recognized only 
 extremes, that but for her father and her faith 
 in him her life would have set itself in fruitless 
 
*'KINO STANr 369 
 
 opposition to all order, to all law. Her belief 
 in her father was the anchor that held through 
 it all. 
 
 Three years had passed when one morning 
 Kue was sent for to the parlor. Her father was 
 there, but aged and broken, his hair silvered; 
 the strong man was bent vvitli the burden of life. 
 He pressed his daughter to his heart, and then 
 put in her arms a delicate little girl clad in 
 mourning. 
 
 " Her mother is dead. Rue, and I brought her 
 to you. When I die she will have nothing, no 
 one to look to but you. I know I can trust her 
 with you, my daughter." 
 
 *'She is your child, she is my sister; she is 
 the Benjamin of our house. On my faith as 
 your daughter, on my honor as my mother's 
 child, I promise you to prefer her happiness to 
 my o\Yn. If I ever fail in this, or swerve from 
 it a hair's-breadth, may God desert me in my 
 need 1 '' . 
 
The Modern Hagar, 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 BOOK SECOND-PAET SECOND, 
 
 CONTINUED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXY. 
 
 " Let what is broken so remain : 
 The gods are hard to reconcile." 
 
 THE gathering in the rotunda was soon broken. 
 The yachting party accepted Mrs. Hartley's 
 invitation to an informal dinner ; so did 
 Grandison and Horry. 
 
 Carson's refusal was a courteous but inflexible 
 excuse. He was ''to meet the Leszinkskys, who 
 were coming from Philadelphia in the evening 
 train, and go on with them to 'The Cedars.' " 
 Roane also declined the dinner, but said he 
 
4 THE 3I0DERN HAGAR. 
 
 would come later after seeing the Leszinkskys 
 and Carson off for Riclimond. 
 
 At tlie door of the Senate gallery Carson took 
 leave of Molly and her mother. 
 
 Our ''lady of the hill" had grown more gra- 
 cious. The inevitable son-in-law, after being re- 
 ceived as a disagreeable fact, was finally taken 
 into favor. Carson asked : 
 
 "Then I am to tell Leszinksky you will cer- 
 tainly come to ' The Cedars ' ? One Aveek from 
 to-day we shall be waiting at the station for the 
 morning train." 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke. "One week from to-mor- 
 row. Carisbrooke will not be with us until 
 then, and I have had my lesson. One railroad 
 accident has taught me to wait Carisbrooke'S 
 pleasure." 
 
 Carson. "If you will permit me I will be glad 
 to come for you." 
 
 Mrs. Carishroolce. " Thank you, no. We will 
 not supersede Carisbrooke just yet." Relent- 
 ing, she added with a smile: "You will come 
 on duty later." Then she and Molly gave mes- 
 sages for the Leszinkskys, and adieux were said. 
 
 Walking down Pennsylvania Avenue, Roane 
 asked abruptly : 
 
''KING STAN:' 5 
 
 "Carson, what has Hartley done? You will 
 not even visit the Carisbrookes at his house ; 
 and I know Leszinksky will not ]Dermit Miss 
 Rue to accept any of her cousin's invita- 
 tions.'- 
 
 ''I do not know positively that he has done 
 anything ; and Leszinksky always insists that I 
 shall not speak my suspicion. But I do not 
 mind telling you, Roane, that I think him an 
 infernal scoundrel." 
 
 "Grandison told me you had some difficulty 
 with him in Cincinnati in ^5Q.^^ 
 
 Carson's face had grown stern and set. He 
 was silent for a few minutes, and then said : 
 
 ''You remember the note we found in that 
 dead man's pocket at Bouie's Hill ? " 
 
 "• Yes ; and that you thought it proved the at- 
 tack to be something more than a mere Indian 
 border feud." 
 
 " I believe yet that it was. Mrs. Leszinksky— 
 Rue's mother— offended Hartley mortally at the 
 time of that affair of the quadroon. You remem- 
 ber the story ; you must have seen the woman at 
 Doctor Carisbrooke's." 
 
 "Yes. Grandison told me something of her 
 history. Hartley sold her to a negro-trader in 
 
6 THE MODERN II AGAR. 
 
 Baltimore, who took her to Mississij)pi. She ran 
 away, was insane or something, and Hartley re- 
 paid the Mississippian and freed her." 
 
 *^ Are you sure Hartley had sold her? " 
 
 ''Yes; I was in Grandison's office when the 
 woman came there with Dr. Carisbrooke, Les- 
 zinksky, and Horry. Hartley met them tliere." 
 
 *'Stan never told me of that. He knew I 
 wonld regard it as additional proof of Hartley's 
 guilt — a fresh certificate of character. Why, Mrs. 
 Leszinksky sold the woman to him that he might 
 free her. She had his written promise to free 
 her and her child — his child, the infernal hound ! 
 I am more than ever sorry I took my hands oif 
 his throat in Cincinnati." 
 
 ''But about Bouie's Hill ?" 
 
 " I feel morally sure he was the plotter of that 
 villany." 
 
 "Carson, isn't that pure prejudice? What 
 would he gain by that?" 
 
 "His wife would gain the Cartaret estate." 
 
 "She is the last woman in the world who 
 would care for such gain." 
 
 " It is not a question of her, but of Hartley. I 
 have no doubt of his guilt, nor of her truth and 
 goodness. I know the Carisbrookes love her, 
 
''KINO STAN/' 7 
 
 and I know that Stan esteems her highly ; that 
 he is sorry Kue cannot know her cousin more in- 
 timately. But his very estrangement from the 
 Hartleys proves that he must believe ill of Hart- 
 ley, although, to keep the peace, he meddled in 
 my quarrel in Cincinnati and stopped a duel." 
 
 " I heard there was a difficulty, but I did not 
 hear of any duel." 
 
 " If it had come to extremes I would have told 
 you— would have called on you as a friend, for 
 Leszinksky would have refused to be a second in 
 a duel. Hartley affected high moral ground and 
 would not fight. He was peaceful under insult ; 
 but I am not fool enough to believe that he for- 
 gets." 
 
 *' How did it happen?" 
 
 ''I had left Leszinksky at the Carisbrookes' 
 and gone with my son to Oxford. Some package 
 of my boy' s was missing, and when I returned to 
 Cincinnati I went to the Burnet to hunt up the 
 luggage. In the hall I saw Hartley. He was 
 standing in the door of one of the imvate rooms 
 on Vine Street. I do not know just how it 
 was — for I was conscious of neither thought nor 
 action — ^but I had him by the throat, and I think 
 most probably I should have for ever stopped 
 
3 THE MODERN HAG A II. 
 
 Ms breathing, when Leszinksky and Carisbrooke 
 interfered. It was lucky for Hartley that it was 
 Leszinksky. I would liave made short work of it 
 with any one else that had come between me and 
 the scoundrel. But that one-armed old comrade ! 
 What could I do ? I should have liad to let go 
 if it had been the devil himself I had by the 
 throat. Not that the devil isn't a dashed sight 
 better fellow than that mean wlielj^, v/hose dirty 
 work and spotted little soul he must scorn." 
 
 "It did not end there?" 
 
 "Hartley would have been willing that it 
 should. A crowd gathered — no matter how 
 quiet or out of the way a place is, it's wonder- 
 ful how quick a crowd will gather if there's a 
 knock-down — but before we separated I said a 
 few words that a co\vard wonld hardly fail to 
 resent, and I made him understand I would wait 
 to hear from him. I did wait — three whole days. 
 Then I went to the Burnet House and waited, 
 Leszinksky and Dr. Carisbrooke all the time try- 
 ing to patch lip the difficulty and urging that I 
 was to blame, that I knew of no cause of quar- 
 rel. As if a man coukl not sometimes scent a 
 cause in the very fact that hatred seems cause- 
 less. At last I promised Leszinksky that if I 
 
*'KINa STANr 9 
 
 coLilcl see Hartley I would say all I liad to say 
 in Dr. Carisbrooke' s presence, and tlien, unless 
 Hartley wished to nglit, I would leave town. So 
 it was settled." 
 
 "And you told Mm r' 
 
 "Of the affair at Bouie's Hill and my belief . 
 Of course he protested his innocence. I told 
 him I would insure the future in just one way : 
 that if Rue died by any accident, any violence- 
 no matter what that accident or violence might 
 seem— I would kill him like a dog, if I had to 
 search the v/orld to find him. Since then I have 
 felt easy about Rue. I do not think the scoun- 
 drel will hire more murderers for her while I 
 live." 
 
 " What did he say afterward ?" 
 
 "Nothing. He looked like a man in an ague 
 when we left him." 
 
 " And Leszinksky— does he know ? " 
 
 "He only knows that I accused Hartley of 
 that attack and that Hartley pleaded not guilty. 
 Neither Carisbrooke nor I told him of the way I 
 took to insure Rue's life. But I can see that, in 
 ' spite of his fear of being unjust, ' King Stan ' 
 distrusts Hartley yet. And there is another 
 thing I suspect —Hartley has ill-treated his wife. 
 
10 THE MODERN H AGAR. 
 
 Dr. Carisbrooke hinted as mucli. He detests 
 Hartley, but lie lias told Mrs. Carisbrooke no- 
 thing. He makes a sacrifice of his own feeling, 
 and permits his wife and daughter to visit Mrs. 
 Hartley. He told me that was at ' King Stan's' 
 instance, adding that Kate' s life was so unhappy 
 that we must all think of her. You know how a 
 woman's unhappiness would touch Leszinksky. 
 Well, if you had know^n Mrs. Leszinksky — I 
 mean Rue' s mother — you w^ould understand 
 what his sympathy would be with her cousin's 
 unhappiness." 
 
 Roane was silent; he asked no further ques- 
 tion, but there was a flash of color across the 
 sun-browned face that contrasted strangely with 
 tlie frowning brow and the set look of the firm 
 mouth. When Roane parted with Carson and 
 the Leszinkskys, after promising to come to 
 ''The Cedars" with the Carisbrookes, he w^ent 
 to his rooms. An hour later he entered Mrs. 
 Hartley's drawing-room. Dazzled by the light, 
 charmed by the sound, he stopped in the door- 
 way to listen to a fresh, sweet young voice w^liich 
 seemed to lead a chorus of w^histling birds. The 
 very air was vibrant with the melody of summer 
 woods. Mrs. Carisbrooke motioned him to a 
 
''KING stan:' 11 
 
 place beside her. Then he saw Molly at the 
 piano playing an accompaniment to Miss Hil- 
 ton's song : 
 
 " A robin whistled his dream to me — 
 Yesterday, yesterday ; 
 He whistled and sang his dream to me — 
 
 Tra la la la ! 
 Whistled and san^ till the wild wood rang 
 With the echoing clang 
 Of his roundelay. 
 
 " A bluebell rang its sweet chime for me — 
 
 Yesterday, yesterday; 
 Tremblingly rang its sweet chime for me — 
 
 Tra la la la ! 
 Tremblingly rang what the robin sang 
 
 In the carolling clang 
 
 Of his roundelay. 
 
 *' A wild rose blushed and whispered to me — 
 Yesterday, yesterday ; 
 Whispered and blushed its secret to me — 
 
 Tra la la la! 
 Whispered and blushed till the daisy flushed 
 And a zephyr hushed 
 At the roundelay. 
 
 " What was the secret the flowers told me — 
 Yesterday, yesterday ? 
 The secret the bird whistled to me — 
 Tra la la la! 
 
12 TEE MOIJEIIX EAGAR. 
 
 Flowers and bird? Oh! the wild wind heard 
 Every word, every word 
 Of that roundelay." 
 
 The mocking laiigli of the wandering zephyr, 
 the whistle of the robin, tilled the room with 
 fairy music. And when the singer turned to 
 bow her acknowledgment of the enthusiastic 
 plaudits Roane thought, ^'Titania's self could 
 not have been more beautiful." Even Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke's light touch of his arm seemed a rough 
 awakening, a rude recall from the court of Obe- 
 ron. 
 
 '*You saw the Leszinkskys ? " 
 
 ^' Yes ; and i)romised to go with you and Miss 
 Molly to ' The Cedars ' next week.'' 
 
 Horry, standing near them, resumed a political 
 argument which the song had interrupted. He 
 ajDpealed to Roane to settle a disputed i^oint in 
 the early history of the tariff. This appeal drew 
 Roane and also Mrs. Carisbrooke, whose educa- 
 tion and training had been solid and thorough, 
 into the discussion. It was almost impossible 
 for man or woman to avoid these vexed and vex- 
 ing questions that week in Washington. The 
 patriots and the wise statesmen — I fear there 
 were })ut few^ of either — touched the fever i^ulse 
 
''KING STAN:' 13 
 
 of the nation with awe at its approaching disso- 
 lution. But their reticence was not copied by 
 the general public. 
 
 The men with least brains were the loudest 
 brawlers ; and women who could not under- 
 standingly have emphasized the false prefatory 
 sentence in the Declaration of Independence 
 now ruffled their flounces at toucli of each grave 
 question, and referred to the Constitution as 
 they expounded the rights and duties of States 
 with the same easy, graceful, imj^ertinent flip- 
 pancy with which they would have discussed a 
 character or given a critical summary of the last 
 new novel. 
 
 Horry had found a foeman worthy of his steel 
 in an enthusiastic disciple of the new Republican 
 party, which had swept the North in the elec- 
 tions- of '54 and ^^5, and which now presented a 
 solid front to a divided Democracy. From op- 
 posite points of view the foemen were both 
 bitter revolutionists. 
 
 Horry. "The tariff of '33 was a Machiavelian 
 compromise to which the Korth never intended 
 to adhere. This was proved in '42 when duties 
 on manufactures were advanced. Since then 
 the fiscal system of the nation has been persis- 
 
14 THE MODERN BAG AH. 
 
 tently protective, which is an unjust discrimina- 
 tion against the agricultural States, whose pro- 
 ductions are the basis of all foreign commerce. 
 The Union is an incubus upon the West and the 
 South. It is time it was broken. For one I am 
 glad Ave are about to bury the foul corpse." 
 
 Rejpuhlican. "And I, for different reasons, 
 am glad to ' let the Union slide ' ; I agree with 
 Banks there. I am ready for extremes. Dis- 
 solve the Union, bring on civil war — you can 
 neither foil nor intimidate us ; our purpose is 
 as fixed as the eternal pillars of heaven. Three- 
 quarters of a century hence, if the South retains 
 slavery, she A^dll be to the North what Poland 
 is to Eussia, Cuba to Spain, and Ireland to Eng- 
 land." 
 
 Horry. "The glittering i^hrases of abolition 
 prophecy are philanthropical bank-bills which 
 are discounted by the utterers. Plain common 
 sense is hard cash ; it has a fixed value and is 
 always current. The North imported the negro, 
 grew rich from the slave-trade, and then got rid 
 of its unprofitable property without loss. It has 
 never offered the South emancipation with com- 
 pensation. Try that." 
 
 Republican. "The idea is preposterous, the 
 
''KING STAN." 15 
 
 suggestion criminal. What ! feed the curs of 
 slavery to make them rich at our expense?" 
 
 Horry. ''They enriched you." 
 
 BepubUcan. " They have disgraced us until we 
 blush to confess we are Americans. The Union 
 is a concession on the part of the North. We, 
 through a sentimental weakness, have tolerated 
 the South in the Union which they now threaten. 
 Let them break that Union. We lose nothing, 
 they will lose everything. The association with, 
 the protection of, the North has been their palla- 
 dium. We will gladly withdraw our protection. 
 But they are only talking like braggarts ; they 
 could not be kicked out of the Union." 
 
 Roane. " If your party wins you will find that 
 they will go ; and the North will resist their 
 going. Yankee reasoning is a thing of the 
 ledger ; its philanthropy is put on and off with its 
 Sunday clothes, but the account-book is carried 
 in the week-day pocket. Extremists may drive 
 us to leave, but the same extremists will try to 
 prevent our leaving. The cohorts of Pharaoh 
 will follow us to bring us back into Egypt. But 
 there is the Red Sea." 
 
 And he pointed to the Potomac. His impres- 
 sive manner commanded attention and silence. 
 
16 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 From tlie open window they saw the broad river, 
 and over on the heights lights were gleaming 
 from behind the shadowy columns of the house 
 at Arlington. 
 
 The New-Yorkers were about to leave, and 
 the Northern advocate bowed to his antacronists 
 and went to make his adieux to his host and 
 hostess. 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke, looking at Horry and Roane, 
 said: ''It is coming." 
 
 Horry. ' ' What is coming ? ' ' 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooTie. "The end of all things. 
 You will get your own way, you disunionists 
 of the North and the South. You pull from 
 opposite extremes, but the break and the suf- 
 fering is to affect the people who stand between. 
 My house will surely fall in the general wreck." 
 
 Roane. ''You have a chance yet, and a strong 
 one. The Democracy may win." 
 
 Mrs. Carishroolte. "That is a house divided 
 against itself. The last hope I had died at 
 Charleston." / 
 
 Roane. "The resurrection of your hope may 
 be there. If the Democracy should be defeated 
 South Carolina will lead us into a new and a 
 more homogeneous confederation." 
 
''KING stan:' 17 
 
 Mrs. CarishrooJce. " What has South Carolina 
 to do with me ? I am an Ohioan." 
 
 Roane, '' Before that a Virginian \ " 
 
 Mrs. Carishroolie. ''No; I transferred myself 
 and Virginia transferred the land. Carisbrooke 
 is thoroughly de-stated and rein-stated. We 
 are Ohioans. And now we have a Northern son- 
 in-law. Yon may yet see your red-headed friend 
 heading a column to cross your Red Sea." 
 
 Horry. "Possibly. We recognize the fact 
 that a man's first duty is to his State." 
 
 Mrs. Carishrooke. ''I recognize the fact that 
 the times are out of joint. cursed spite, there's 
 not a man alive can set 'em right!— at least 
 honest men cannot and the politicians will not. 
 The wise men are all dead, and V^isdom goes 
 a-mourning in petticoats." 
 
 Horry. ''She has Folly in the same dress to 
 keep her in countenance. I heard her to-day 
 talking like Bellona." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke. " Yes ; there are a few asses 
 who do not wear the regulation dress. But 
 Molly comes with ' Beauty ' to say ' good- 
 night.' " 
 
 Molly was going Avith the yachting party for 
 the next day's expedition to Mount Vernon. 
 
CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 " Love in a hut, with tratcr and a crust, 
 Is — Lore forgive us ! — cinders, ashes, dust : 
 Love in a palace is perhaps at last 
 More grievous torment than a hermit's fast — 
 That is a doubtful tale from fairj land, 
 Hard for the non-elect to understand." 
 
 WHEN Molly returned from Mount Yernon 
 Miss Hilton came with her and Mrs. 
 Carta ret. Before the Carisbrookes left 
 Washington Mai Hilton was a recognized re- 
 lative of the Hartleys. The Hartleys' hand- 
 some young kinsman had also taken an assured 
 place in the family. The old money-gatherer, 
 from whom Captain Hartley had inherited mil- 
 lions, had left his sister's grandson three hun- 
 dred thousand dollars, to which were attached 
 two conditions : he would forfeit the inheri- 
 tance if he married a wife whose fortune did not 
 equal his own or if lie remained unmarried at 
 thirty-five years of age. The forfeited estate 
 would then revert to Simon Hartley's heirs-at- 
 law, Mrs. Cartaret and her brother. This con- 
 is 
 
''KING STAN:' 19 
 
 tingent bequest was the only one the old man 
 made to Mrs. Cartaret. He had given her shelter 
 after George Hilton's death, but she had been so 
 unfortunate in that marriage that he resented her 
 misfortune as a personal injury. By covert 
 bints and sneering allusions to faults through 
 which she had suffered he had made her de- 
 pendent position intolerable. 
 
 The marriage with Judge Cartaret had changed 
 all that. It was in every respect a desirable alli- 
 ance. It reinstated his niece in the opinion of 
 the millionaire, as it did in the good things of this 
 world. It gave her honors, dignities, and troops 
 of friends. It would also have given her a large 
 share in the fortuna of her now proudly-attach- 
 ed uncle but for his sudden death — a death 
 that insured Hartley the inheritance. For the 
 only will that could be found was the will Simon 
 Hartley had made the week after the news came 
 of that disaster at sea and while his niece was 
 still the widow of George Hilton. 
 
 Mrs. Cartaret was a Avoman of fierce temjDer 
 and many faults, but she was capable of the 
 most intense and devoted attachments. She had 
 married George Hilton in the face of her uncle's 
 threats and her brother's remonstrance. She 
 
20 THE MODERN HAG AH. 
 
 had clung to him through disgrace, and after his 
 death had loyally defended his memory. Neither 
 uncle nor brother, although both were given to 
 sneer and taunt, had ever dared utter unveiled 
 condemnation of the dead. Even implied re- 
 proach to her grief had been met with stormy 
 outbreaks of indignant resentment. 
 
 She had always been devoted to her brother. 
 They were left orphans at an early age, and she 
 was the elder. But her attachment to her brother 
 had a hard wrench that Christmas at Oakhill 
 when the news of Tom Cartaret's death was so 
 maladroitly told to Judge Cartaret. From that 
 moment she was tortured by susi^icions which 
 she vainly tried to banish. Her affection for 
 Kate grew stronger, and would have been de- 
 veloped into an antagonism to her brother but 
 for the hold he had upon her through her affec- 
 tion for the child that she had adopted as a re- 
 lative. 
 
 Mai's beauty and helplessness had first attract- 
 ed Mrs. Cartaret. Lucy's unmerited suffering 
 had brought the child near to her in her lAty for 
 its mother. She had tried to trace Lucy after 
 her disappearance, and then learned the story of 
 the sale of the woman in Baltimore. Mrs. Carta- 
 
"KIXG STA^-." 21 
 
 ret had seen the trader who bought Lucy, and 
 heard of her suffering on the route to New Or- 
 leans, of her illness and her long stay in the hos- 
 pital, of her recovery from that illness, which left 
 her a harmless monomaniac — claiming all suffer- 
 ing children as her own (her child was ill when 
 it was taken from her) and nursing them with 
 tireless devotion — of her sale to a planter near 
 Yicksburg, and her sudden disapiDearance. Fur- 
 ther than that all trace was lost. 
 
 Mrs. Cartaret, believing that Lucy had drowned 
 herself (she was last seen standing on the river 
 bank), redoubled her care for the child through 
 pity for the dead mother. 
 
 Hartley had grown more openly considerate of 
 his daughter because of his belief that her mo- 
 ther was dead. Not that he had ever thought to 
 pity her mother ; he simply regarded her as an 
 obstruction, now happily removed. 
 
 The surname Mrs. Cartaret had given Mai and 
 her appearance freed the child from apparent 
 taint of mixed blood. Mrs. Cartaret' s ward, as 
 George Hilton's cousin, was alone in the world. 
 The world only seeks or acknowledges a relation- 
 ship when it is profitable or creditable. And 
 this name was stained by disgrace. Besides, the 
 
22 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 child had no fortune. She was only Mrs. Carta- 
 ret' s ward and pensioner. 
 
 To one guilty soul she was a constant threat 
 and a constant promise. Her father really loved 
 Mai ; she was the first human being he had ever 
 really loved. He had had a selfish liking for 
 his sister ; she had alwa}- s smoothed the difficult 
 places for him as far as she could. Careless of 
 her own interests, after George Hilton's death 
 she had never forgotten her brother's; she had 
 concealed from her uncle, at cost to herself, her 
 brother's shortcomings. She had stinted herself 
 out of the very moderate income the old miser 
 gave her, to assist her biother. The old man was 
 watchful and suspicious ; he observed all her ex- 
 penditures, and when she could not, or would 
 not, explain this default in her income he ex- 
 plained it to himself in a manner not creditable 
 to her. And to shield her brother she endured 
 unjust and harsh judgment. But she did not 
 bear it patiently, and that impatience counted 
 against her and for her brother. 
 
 In Captain Hartley's rare visits uncle and 
 nephew had neither time nor occasion for differ- 
 ence. The old man's family pride and feeling, 
 so potent against his niece, were engaged in Cap- 
 
''KING STAN." 23 
 
 tain Hartley's behalf. And then, thanks to his 
 sister's timely aid, the nephew never asked or 
 hinted any need of money. In fact, he had once 
 refused a proffered loan ; that refusal had much 
 to do with making him his uncle's heir. His 
 sister asked too often. And since George Hil- 
 ton' s death her uncle could not understand such 
 requests. They were complied with, but in a re- 
 duced measure. The sum asked for was rarely 
 given, but caution against extravagance was not 
 withheld ; in that the miser was prodigal. And 
 so Mrs. Cartaret secured the Hartley fortune for 
 her brother. 
 
 To go back to Hartley and his daughter. His 
 love for her was daily growing stronger. It 
 was not yet sufficiently unselfish to be purify- 
 ing, but it made him cautious. He resolved to 
 risk nothing in the future. Carson was an ar- 
 gument, and a weighty one, in the affair of the 
 Cartaret estate, but Mai was also in his mind. 
 To risk himself was to risk Mai's interest, 
 and that he would not risk. He was self- 
 ish for his child, and through that he put re- 
 straint on revenge and cupidity and was pru- 
 dent. Prudence made him fearful. In the pur- 
 suit of the plan that had so long led him into 
 
34 THE MODER]^ HAQAR, 
 
 criminal paths he had acquired a certain reck- 
 lessness which is, indeed, the sole element in tlie 
 daring of crime. But now there was nothing to 
 dare, and so there was everything to fear. Inac- 
 tion forced him to look backward ; and looking 
 backward, he saw where concealments which he 
 had fancied secure either were or were likel}^ to 
 be uncovered. 
 
 Carson's susiDicion was the sword of Damocles, 
 and Carson's threat the hair by which it was sus- 
 pended. For Hartley knew that the threat was 
 retrospective. If the suspicion of tlie resolute 
 soldier was confirmed beyond shadow of doubt — 
 and it might be — Carson would be quick to settle 
 that past account. In the mention of it only 
 Eue's name had been used, but there were two 
 ghostly shadows behind Rue. Let suspicion 
 become certainty, then Mrs. Carson and Willy 
 would be avenged. 
 
 Cursing himself for having set an enemy upon 
 his track. Hartley would sometimes think how 
 much better he had managed with the Cartarets- 
 But it was only sometimes that he thought of 
 them. There was no danger now from the Car- 
 tarets ; and, now that he had grown familiar 
 with crime, danger would have to rouse con- 
 
"KING STAN." 25 
 
 science from its lethargy before it would listen 
 to either remorse or repentance. 
 
 The accident to Tom Cartaret, the shock that 
 killed Judge Cartaret, rarely disturbed Hartley's 
 recollection— never unless his wife gave him fresh 
 cause of offence. Then, in a sort of involuntary 
 mechanical reckoning, he would count them as 
 two pieces off the board that might have lost him 
 the game he so coveted. As to Kate herself, she 
 had fallen into a trap that he had set. He had 
 paid some debts of Tom's — debts of honor— had 
 settled a mortgage that burdened Belleview, had 
 paid his sister's marriage settlement, and — the 
 thing that touched Kate most of all — had taken 
 vq) a note of Judge Cartaret' s w^hich was secured 
 by a chattel mortgage that included every negro 
 on the plantation. Yery proudly Kate offered to 
 release the entire property to him ; she insisted 
 that his outlay should be repaired. Then he men- 
 tioned a suit Judge Cartaret had in the Supreme 
 Court — a disputed succession to some property of 
 his father's brother, who had resided in Alabama 
 — which Hartley said he was confident would 
 be decided in favor of the Virginian Cartarets, 
 and which would pay all, or nearly all, he had 
 advanced ; and he added that if Kate would 
 
26 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 transfer to liim all future right of inheritance 
 through the Cartarets he would be fully paid. 
 The deed of transfer was made and signed after 
 Kate insisted to the lawyers and the notary who 
 came to witness the signature that she under- 
 stood fully the entire transaction and had re- 
 ceived full value for all she signed away. 
 
 Never having counted the chances of Rue's in- 
 heritance or of her own succession to Colonel 
 Tom Cartaret's estate, Kate did not know that 
 she had relinquished to Captain Hartley a pos- 
 sible ownership of *'The Cedars." 
 
 The arrangement of all these matters had 
 dragged through the ten years since Judge Car- 
 taref s death. 
 
 Hartley had very reluctantly agreed to accept 
 the payment his wife offered, and his sister firm- 
 ly believed, and convinced Kate of her belief, 
 that he had behaved very generously, and had 
 finally accepted the transfer in order that 
 Belleview and tlie negroes might be secured 
 beyond cavil to Kate, as her father's will had 
 provided. 
 
 In the early si:)ring the deed of transfer was 
 signed. From the first moment there had been 
 mention made of this manner of settling the in- 
 
"KlXCr STAX." 27 
 
 debtedness of lier fathers estate to Captain 
 Hartley, Kate was anxious and insistent to have 
 it done. Knowing that her father s will had so 
 placed his estate that Hartley could have no pre- 
 sent or future interest in it, she feared the long- 
 standing debt would embarrass her at every 
 turn. And when, some six weeks after the 
 deed of transfer had been signed, the Supreme 
 Court decided the "Cartaret will case" in favor 
 of Judge Cartaret's heirs, Kate was delighted at 
 her release from money obligation to the man 
 whose name she bore— the man to whom, from a 
 forced sense of duty, she paid a certain out- 
 ward respect, although every additional year 
 convinced her, with fresh reason, of the impossi- 
 bility of any real reconciliation that would bring 
 about their reunion. Kate's isolation, the ab- 
 sence of those homely but sweet domestic ties 
 which are so much in the daily count of happi- 
 ness, the vacancy in the life where affection was 
 not (her tolerant regard for Mrs. Cartaret was 
 scarcely an affection), had left her in that col- 
 lapse of i)ersonal interest, that absence of bal- 
 last, in her own life which so surely drives a 
 weak woman downward. 
 But Kate was in no sense weak ; her faults had 
 
28 THE MODERN HAOAK. 
 
 not that excuse. The hate that shut out love 
 had found an ally in her pride— an ally Avhich 
 effectually barred out of her life the idle caprices 
 of an unoccupied heart. At any period the life 
 of the coquette would have been impossible to 
 her. She was neither vain, petty, nor untruth- 
 ful ; she lacked the three essentials which make 
 the species. But a hardening x)rocess even more 
 fatal than the heartlessness of the coquette was 
 nearly complete when she met Leszinksky. She 
 was slowly but surely losing that intangible 
 sweetness, that aroma of goodness, which is as 
 perceptible to the moral sense as the perfume of 
 the rose is to the physical sense. She would 
 have always carried her head erect in the face 
 of all the conventional respectabilities that deco- 
 rate this world and often outrage heaven ; but 
 she would have died unrepentant and almost 
 unconscious of her sin in keeping pride nnd hate 
 alive through an unforgiven wrong. This petres- 
 cence began the moment she recognized the liv- 
 ing original of the pictured Hagar under the 
 vine-covered arbor at Oakliill. It half melted 
 in the rays of her child's eyes ; but those rays 
 were too soon withdrawn. Then Tom's death 
 and her father's chilled all the warmth out of 
 
^^KING STAN.'' 29 
 
 life. But the warmth came again at the toucli 
 of a wounded bird. 
 
 The lowliest messenger, if he so touches the 
 heart that it throbs in its casing of clay with a 
 divine pity for the suffering of any eartli-born 
 creature, has brought the promethean fire which 
 proves him a messenger of the gods. 
 
 A new life commenced for Kate from that day. 
 Yet the sacred fire was but a spark, and even 
 with the kindling of the spark came a new 
 danger. Kate had loved so little, now she 
 might love too much. And she did love Les- 
 zinksky with that perfect, trustful love which is 
 instantly and unwittingly given. She was no 
 more conscious of wrong or ashamed in the reve- 
 lation of this feeling to him than a child would 
 have been ashamed of the expression of its pre- 
 ference. She had kissed his hand as a devotee 
 might kiss the hand of a saint. It was love born 
 of reverence, and both love and reverence were 
 strangely new guests in this great heart which 
 had so grand a capacity for loving. 
 
 The loyal and open expression of each thought 
 and feeling as it was born into consciousness was 
 ^vitness of Kate's truth and of her purity. Re- 
 cognizing her love, giving it full expression, yet 
 
30 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 saying that because of that she dare not accept 
 Leszinksky's offered protection, was, in an in- 
 verse sense, the noblest expression of that per- 
 fect love which casteth out fear. Neither was 
 there the shyness • of any shame in her silence 
 afterward. It w^as simply that she had said all, 
 that she accepted nothing. She had neither 
 hope nor thought of his loving her. He might 
 give her the same pitying, protecting care he had 
 given the wounded bird. He would do his best 
 for her, she was sure of that — his best because of 
 her need and because of her cousin Margaret. 
 Then she thought of the wife who had taken her 
 cousin's i^lace. Could there be such capacity for 
 loving in the heart that one might love twice ? 
 Yet in all her thought of him at that time there 
 was absolutely no thought of herself. 
 
 But later, after she had known Hue — and with 
 what joy she always remembered that she and 
 Rue were instantly friends, as well as kins- 
 women, when they met at the Carisbrookes'— Rue 
 had talked to her of her mother, but had avoided 
 mention of her stepmother's name. Then Kate 
 did think of herself. She thought of the wife 
 who had given up all to marry him, and she 
 thought of the delight of such sacrifice. Through 
 
''KINO STANr 31 
 
 that Kate learned tlie danger of her thought. 
 Then she resolved to keep love so pure that 
 she would not blush to tell it to men and angels. 
 After the parting with these newly-found re- 
 latives the sj)ark kindled into flame, and its 
 warmth went from the woman's heart into her 
 life. She put her love into the visible form of 
 human sympathy. 
 
 There was no outward show or observance of 
 good works, but day by day the shadowy rounds 
 of the ladder were being lifted heavenward. 
 
 As I said, Kate put her love in her daily life. 
 She also iDut duty there. Yet under all was a 
 subordinate thought that strengthened and com- 
 forted her. She would never speak her love 
 again to him, but some time, in the future out- 
 side of time and the bonds of the flesh, she 
 would tell it all to Margaret. Margaret would 
 understand. 
 
 But, in one of those occult mysteries of sense 
 and feeling that only a woman or a man with the 
 feminine intuition of a poet could understand, 
 the very love and sense of duty which ruled 
 her life, and not only influenced but led her to 
 sacrifice, ruled Hartley out of the sphere of her 
 own personality. She had forgiven him, but of 
 
32 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 necessity it must always be a barren forgiveness. 
 The marriage- tie was eternally broken. Kate 
 would make any worldly sacrifice for the man 
 who had been her husband. In fact, she would 
 have courted such sacrifice. She would have en- 
 dured anything for his good — anything except 
 his presence in her life as her husband. That 
 she could not endure. The narrowness of the 
 circle that bound them to the same house made 
 this feeling more intense. 
 
 Their divorce was all the more complete be- 
 cause human law had never pronounced it. And 
 because of the entirety of this divorce Kate grew 
 considerate of Hartley's happiness. 
 
 Her meeting with Mai was so purely unex- 
 pected that she would probabl}^ have failed in 
 the law she had made unto herself but for the 
 eyes so like her child's. That likeness brought a 
 burst of feeling. If she Lad known she was about 
 to meet Hagar's child — in her thought she always 
 called Lucy "Hagar" — it would have been diffe- 
 rent. She would have been kind and courteous, 
 she would have made the child welcome, for the 
 child's sake, for its father s happiness, and as 
 some compensation for the wrong she believed 
 she had brought upon Lucy. But now Mai 
 
^'KINQ STAN." 33 
 
 would always be personally dear to lier. Kate 
 could never go back of tliat first greeting. She 
 would now always see in Mai tlie sister of her child. 
 
 Yet this brought her no nearer Mai's father. 
 If anything it was another infinitesimal wedge 
 of sej^arationr 
 
 All that summer vacation the girl was with the 
 Hartleys. They left Washington for Oakhill— 
 after a short visit which Kate made to Belleview 
 — as soon as that long, heated session closed. 
 Mai and Bradnor were not so much guests as 
 members of the household on the Hudson. 
 
 Kate was trying to settle old scores with her 
 conscience in her devotion to Mai's good. She 
 soon understood Hartley's views as to Bradnor, 
 and as much as she dared, although she hated 
 ma.tch-making, she furthered his wish. 
 
 The girl's childlike expression of her liking for 
 the handsome kinsman made this easy for Kate. 
 The summer i)assed uneventfully at Oakhill. 
 
 Mai went back to school in the fall, and Brad- 
 nor had not spoken. The girl seemed content. 
 Kate could see Hartley's disappointment. Then 
 she puzzled herself in a vain effort to understand 
 whether Bradnor did not care for the girl, or were 
 prudently waiting until the time should be more fit. 
 
CHAPTER XXYII. 
 
 " Others shall right the wrong- 
 Finish what I begin, 
 And all I fail of win." 
 
 SELECTIOXS FROM A BUNDLE OF OLD LETTEKS. 
 
 {3Irs. Carisbroolce to the Doctor, July 5, 1860.) 
 
 *' TT'OU will be surprised, O supreme chief! 
 I that your womenkind are still at 'The 
 Cedars.' 
 
 '' Steenie was quite ill on Monday. That de- 
 lay and 'King Stans' persuasion induced me 
 to telegraph a change of date and an order for 
 our letters to our waiting landlord at the White 
 Sulphur. 
 
 "The letters were promptly forwarded. So 
 I have your Chicago musings. I am still angry 
 at your throwing us over to go there. 
 
 "Molly has her present from her Uncle Rob- 
 ert. Did you know of the gift \ A check for 
 five thousand dollars on the Bank of Virginia 
 — an over-generous sum for the purpose. It is 
 rather too much to spend in wedding raiment 
 
''KING STANr 35 
 
 when a girl marries a iDenniless ^ sojer-man.' 
 But Molly is the child of her father, and so 
 my lovely Lady Prudence decided to spend one 
 thousand, and with the balance make a first 
 payment on the Avondale place which she has 
 just bought from Horry. It is the corner near us, 
 wath the three walnut-trees, and Horry has been 
 very generous in the matter. You know they 
 have for a long time jestingly talked of her in- 
 tended purchase. As soon as she opened Eob- 
 ert\s letter, check in hand, she turned to Horry, 
 and the bargain was concluded and the first pay- 
 ment made. So your daughter is chatelaine of 
 ' The Walnuts.' 
 
 " Talking of chatelaines, I have a queer bit of 
 news to tell. The mistress of Belleview came 
 from Washington to her ' seat on the Chicka- 
 hominy ' to dispense gifts and justice before go- 
 ing to Oakhill for the summer. We learned that 
 fact through her neighbors, the Shirleys. They 
 dined here on the 1st and brought Miss Anne 
 Esmond's excuses. She and her brother Harry 
 Avere staying with Mrs. Hartley, who was alone 
 at Belleview. It was embarrassing news for ' King 
 Stan.' 
 
 " With all his dislike or disapproval of Hart- 
 
36 THE MODERN II A OAR. 
 
 ley — I do not suppose ' King Stan ' could dislike 
 even any thing so little human as Hartley — he 
 could not be discourteous to his daughter's cou- 
 sin. After much private pow-wowing with our 
 admirable prosj^ective son-in-law, and after a 
 grave consultation with Colonel Roane — who I 
 could see out of the corner of my eye was an 
 advocate of a peace-and-propriety arrangement 
 — peace and i)ropriety won the day. 
 
 ' ' On Tuesday Molly and I drove over to Belle- 
 view with her high mightiness the ' Princess of 
 the Cedars.' Horry was our escort. Neither 
 Leszinksky nor Carson would put foot where it 
 could be construed as a visit of courtesy to Hart- 
 ley, and something kept Roane away. I cannot 
 just tell whether it was dislike or over-liking. Of 
 course you will frown at this, but I think he 
 does admire Kate and would give scant measure 
 of mourning if Hartley should go to his fathers. 
 You see I interlard my news with gossip. 
 
 *' A twelve-mile morning drive in old colonial 
 style— a coach drawn by four thoroughbreds— over 
 Virginian roads and across the rough logs that 
 bridge Virginian gullies, so tortured my back and 
 enraged my nerves that I gladly accepted Kate' s 
 invitation to sleep at Belle view, especially as I 
 
''KING STAN:' 37 
 
 was to be paid for my comi3laisance — to my 
 si)ine. My stay insured Kate's acceptance of 
 Rue's invitation to visit 'The Cedars.' 
 
 ''What a ]Duzzle Rue is ! She can be, and is, 
 the sweetest and simplest of girls ; but the maid- 
 en of seventeen can just as readily freeze into the 
 haughtiest grande dame of the Leszinksky line. 
 What a queen she would have made for Poland 
 if she had lived a century sooner ! 
 
 ' ' Warsaw w^ould have worshipped her as a 
 goddess. I have never seen her on one of those 
 famous Cartaret thoroughbreds, which she rides 
 so well and fearlessly, without thinking how she 
 would look at the head of the Polish legion. If 
 the Bonaparte had known Rue, if she had been 
 born the daughter and not the great-grand- 
 daughter of old King Stanislaus, in spite of 
 the Mohammedan mother the king-maker would 
 have established a modern Semiramis in the Po- 
 lish capital. 
 
 " What a pity it is that people slip out of the 
 century to which they are akin ! If Rue had not 
 fallen, in the chrysalis state, out of the niche in 
 which slie belonged, she might have been a Po- 
 lish empress and conqueror of the Cossacks. 
 
 " But to go back to our visit to Belleview : 
 
38 THE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 *' The Shirleys were ill-informed in one parti- 
 cular : Kate had not come alone to the classic 
 banks of the Chickahominy. She bad brought 
 'Beauty' with her. The Beauty you did not 
 see, because you failed to come to Washington. 
 You will not tell me all you know, but 1 am sure 
 ' Beauty ' is Captain Hartley's daughter— his and 
 Lucy's. She has Hartley's eyes, and there is 
 something of Lucy too. I never made out all 
 the likeness until I saw the Hoyts at church last 
 Sunday. 
 
 *' You are very wise and very close-mouthed, 
 my master ; but I am neither blind nor stupid. 
 I can see some little distance into a millstone 
 when it is translucent. 
 
 "So Lucy's father was Hoyt, the gambler. I 
 remember perfectly what he was like. You have 
 heard me tell the story of Grandmamma Archer's 
 English horses— how they got frightened one 
 day in Richmond at a boy's kite, and, turning 
 suddenly, threw the driver from his seat and ran 
 away with the carriage full of us children. Well, 
 that man Hoyt, the gambler, was the man who 
 risked his life to save us. He caught the horses 
 and held to them, although they lifted him from 
 the ground and carried him nearly half a square. 
 
*'KJNG STAN:' 39 
 
 I saw it all. I leaned out of the window to see 
 — leaned so far tliat I fell out just as he did 
 stop, the in. 
 
 "I have never forgotten Hoyt. Twice after 
 that rescue he was out at grandmamma' s. To tell 
 you the truth, I think I was in love with him be- 
 fore I knew you. He must have been my first 
 love. I was only twelve years old when he was 
 killed. But I did not know Lucy was his child 
 until I saw the Hoyts last Sunday — I mean the 
 gambler's brother's children. One of them re- 
 sembled my first love, and ' Beauty ' resembles 
 that very one. Suddenly Lucy' s Sunday name — 
 the one I had never heard, but the one I had seen 
 on her free paiDers, which I am happy to tell you 
 I did examine — flashed into my memory, and 
 flashed a very clear light into one of those mys- 
 teries you have made such a pother about. 
 
 " It would have economized time and trouble if 
 you had told me several things, and it would 
 also have saved the wear and tear of mental 
 study and painstaking detective construction. 
 
 *' Take warning, my dear. It is better to trust 
 me. I will keep close what you confide ; but I 
 will use my own discretion about my discoveries. 
 There are two or three more points that are cost^ 
 
40 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 ing me thought, though there are others that I 
 have already unravelled. 
 
 *'The truth is, a man never does know how to 
 keep a secret ; he is a very ostrich in his manner 
 of hiding— that is, if any one is tracking him. 
 I know a man can hold his tongue. You have 
 remarkable power of restraint in that. But, 
 being a man, you do not know the thousand 
 ways in which a secret is involuntarily told. 
 
 " Xow that my conscience is relieved, and you 
 have had your shortcomings shown you, I will 
 get back to my story. 
 
 "Rue was delighted to visit her cousin Kate, 
 and charmed with the warm welcome she got. 
 There is something in the tie of blood, for the 
 proud lady and the haughty young princess 
 gushed into wannest friendship. 
 
 " Then the ride and my spine were up for dis- 
 cussion ; and the arrangement was all complete 
 for that day's stay and Kate's coming to 'The 
 Cedars ' with me the next day, together with the 
 * young friend,' name not mentioned, who had 
 come with her from Washington, and the Es- 
 monds' . But just then the entrance of the Es- 
 monds with that 'young friend' sfoj^ped the 
 gush and petrified the princess. 
 
'•KIXG STAXr 41 
 
 '' Rue did courteously unbend to the Esmonds, 
 but slie was royally icy to 'Beauty.' Kate's 
 look of appeal melted her somewhat, and the 
 proper invitations were properly given to her 
 Philadelphia school-mate, Miss Hilton, Miss 
 Hilton was glad to accept — too glad ! She is 
 more a Hartley than a Hoyt. My gambler 
 would have thrown such an invitation at the 
 head of the giver. 
 
 "But Miss Hilton accepted. Miss Hilton is 
 here at ' The Cedars' ; and so is my Kate. 
 
 "And my Kate— my Kate! O Carisbrooke, 
 what a gossip you will say I am ! But I do wish 
 Captain Hartley was removed to paradise, which 
 I am sure is a better wish than he deserves and 
 a finer place than lie will ever see. But I will 
 stop just here. You have secrets. My only se- 
 crets are my thoughts and my discoveries. They 
 are my mysteries. 
 
 " But I Avill tell you how we kept the glorious 
 Fourth at ' The Cedars.' Think of it— it may be 
 the last we shall ever keep in Yii-ginia. 
 
 "For, Carisbrooke! this secession fever is 
 spreading and spreading. People have taken it 
 that we would have thought fever-proof. The 
 Shirley s and the Esmonds are rabid. Roane 
 
42 THE MODERN HAG AH. 
 
 is in the crisis of the delirium. Hony is a 
 sympathizing Northern assistant helping his 
 very utmost to inoculate the Virginians. And 
 oh I and oh ! ' King Stan ' has the disease. He 
 has it so mildly that there is method in his mad- 
 ness. He judges the North fairly — Avhicli is 
 more than the rabid can do — and he deplores 
 the factious spirit which is rending the nation 
 in twain. Because he is just and honest, and 
 calm and truthful, he is more to be feared as a 
 power that will roll Virginia secessionward than 
 a cohort of these breezy orators, who, I pray 
 heaven, talk more than they will ever fight. 
 
 ''But we have one little bit of comfort in 
 ' Red-head'— he is loyal to the Union. 
 
 ''The sachem from the Illinois, though he says 
 but little, says that little well. 
 
 " It is strange for Carson to take sides against 
 Leszinksk3^ I said as much to him. And I 
 think better of him for his frank explanation. 
 He told me that in the beginning of the talk of 
 secession he was inclined to take sides with the 
 South ; that, being a Democrat, his conviction 
 was in favor of the right of secession ; but that 
 ' King Stan ' had urged upon him his duty to his 
 State. And so our beloved son-in-law, through 
 
''KING STAN:- 43 
 
 the wisdom of States-rightsism, will stay witli Ms 
 section. 
 
 "A little because of the obstinacy of women, 
 and just a little to try a patriotic missionary 
 enterprise, I proposed an old-fashioned spread- 
 eagle celebration of the Fourth of July, that 
 it might be at least a remembrance for the fu- 
 ture. 
 
 "Roane and Horry gave cynical assent ; Les- 
 zinksky a very cordial but very solemn consent. 
 Red-head was enthusiastic. He had the flag up 
 at daybreak, and, thinking it something uncom- 
 mon, all the uninvited neighbors came as look- 
 ers-on. 
 
 "Leszinksky read the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence. Carson made a very manly and sen- 
 sible speech, which Roane was gracious enough 
 to characterize as 'a model of soldierly common 
 sense and good taste.' Mai sang the ' Star- 
 Spangled Banner ' as I never have heard it sung 
 and never shall hear it sung again by any one 
 but her, unless United States patriotism is prac- 
 tised in paradise. 
 
 "Kate, and Molly, and Anne Esmond, and I 
 cried like simpletons. 
 
 ' ' Rue' s eyes shone like stars, and her cheeks 
 
44 THE MODERN J J AGAR. 
 
 and lips were scarlet. How martial music must 
 have stirred the blood of those old Leszinkskys ! 
 
 '''King Stan' was very pale. But 'Red- 
 head ' ? Why, ' Red-head ' nearly split his 
 throat with wild 'hurrahs.' And Horry, and 
 Roane, and Harry Esmond, and all llie multi- 
 tude applauded to the echo. 
 
 "I do not like Miss Hilton over-much. But I 
 wipe out the dislike from this day. She has one 
 great gift : she is one of earth's rarest singers. 
 
 ' ' To-morrow Kate goes back to Belleview. Tlie 
 next day they start to Washington, and then to 
 Oakhill. They have j^romised to visit us at 
 Christmas. We all leave for the White Sulphur 
 next week. Steenie is much better, I trust the 
 mountain-air will give her strength. I am de- 
 voted to the lovely child, and so is Rue. Molly 
 spoils her ; and, for that matter, so do all. I ex- 
 pect a letter to meet me at the White Sulphur." 
 
 {'^ From Miss Hilton at Belleview, July 17, to 
 Miss Rachel Pyle at Pliiladelpliia.) 
 
 " My darling, precious Miss Pyle : I have had 
 such a delightful time since I last wrote you ! 
 Cousin Julia sent your dear, sweet letter here to 
 me. But as you wished me to write you a regu- 
 
^'KINQ STANr 45 
 
 lar journal of my vacation, I must go back to 
 the week of our visit to Mount Vernon, where I 
 saw the tomb that contains the honored and re- 
 vered remains of the greatest and best man that 
 ever deigned to protect and Ijless our country. 
 After standing in silent aioe before that aJtar of 
 patriotism I came back to Washington with 
 Cousin Julia, and Molly Carisbrooke, and the 
 elegant Mr. Bradnor. We were all invited to 
 make a visit to Captain Hartlej^ and Mrs. Hartley 
 insisted on my going with them to their place 
 on the Hudson for the summer, which I gladly 
 consented to do. I knew Madame Detontville 
 would be very loilllng to let me go for the lohole 
 vacation, as she is paid by the year for me, and 
 also for the Manapanes, who are orphans like 
 rriyself. Last year she was only too pleased 
 when Cecelia Manapane was invited to stay with 
 that queer old uncle who lives at Kennett. 
 
 ' ' But for my journal. I described to you as 
 well as iDords could Molly Carisbrooke' s poky, 
 red-headed lover. When I saw him kiss her in 
 that brazen public manner I thought I should 
 go through the floor. It is such a strange match 
 for an only daughter ; and Cousin Julia says the 
 Carisbrookes sont tres riches et Men commeilfaut. 
 
46 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 " They are to be married some time next winter. 
 Mrs. Hartley is going to Cincinnati to visit the 
 Carisbrookes Christmas ; they have also invited 
 me^ and I have promised to go. I suppose the 
 wedding will be a grand affair. Cousin Julia 
 will arrange to get leave for me from Madame 
 Detontville to go to Cincinnati Christmas^ and 
 also for the loedding. If it was not that I 
 might not afterwards be asked to the wedding 
 I would rather stay in Washington Christmas 
 with Cousin Julia. She has to stay to re- 
 ceive ; and Washington is so nice, and the 
 Hartleys live in splendid style. Don't you 
 think it very queer I have never been invited 
 to them before, when Captain Hartley is my 
 guardian? Cousin Julia has explained to me 
 that she did not like to take charge of my 
 affairs. I know there must have been some- 
 thing wrong about her husband. She asked me 
 never to speak of him here, or of the Hiltons ! 
 But I mean to find out what I can. If there is 
 any disgrace it will not hurt Qiie. Her hus- 
 band was only a distant relation of my father' s. 
 She told me that. But she will not tell me any- 
 thing of my mothef s family^ except that she 
 was a Spaniard my father married in Cuba, and 
 
''KING ST an:' 47 
 
 that I was born in Cuba. I have asked her all I 
 could, but there must be some mystery, she is 
 so anxious to change the subject. But she did 
 ask me about my early recollection. I told her, 
 of course, what I remembered about being at 
 sea when I was a tiny little thing, and all about 
 the sisters in Montreal. I wonder if that sea- 
 trip was when I came from Cuba f But it seems 
 to me I remember a great river, and a beautiful 
 garden, and a grapery before that, and people ; 
 but I did not tell Cousin Julia all that. Some- 
 times it seems to me that I remember Cousin 
 Julia in the garden. I do remember another wo- 
 man, loho was my nurse. When that woman 
 Lucy came to me — when the scarlet fever broke 
 out at Madame Detontville's — I thought ^/z^ re- 
 minded me of my old nurse. She came twice 
 afterward when I was ill. Yoit were not with 
 madame then. The last time was in the va- 
 cation. I had been walking all day in the 
 sun, and I fainted on Chestnut Street. There 
 was only Cecelia Manapane and one of the little 
 children with me. It had happened that Lu?3y 
 saw me fall ; I do not know why she was on 
 Chestnut Street. I was ill and delirious a long 
 time. I can scarcely remember anything, but I 
 
48 THE MODERN HAQAR, 
 
 do remember seeing Cousin Julia, and also Cap- 
 tain Hartley^ I do not know how often. But 
 IjWGJ was always there ; and so I got lier mixed 
 up more than ever with my old nurse. The week 
 I came to myself two or three of the girls had 
 come back. Bue LesziriksTiy had been back 
 some time. That was before her stei)mother 
 died, and- then she did not go home ; she had 
 been to the sea-shore with one of the teachers. 
 Well, she is very fond of Lucy. Just like her 
 — proud as a peacock to white people, and great 
 friends with a colored woman. She did help 
 Lucy take care of me ; and I would have been 
 thanTtful but for what she said to me that spoilt 
 it all. It was one day when I was sitting up, 
 and Lncy said I had been up too long. I would 
 not go to bed, just to show her her place. I was 
 tired of her and indignant at her presumj^tion. 
 I knew she had been kissing my hands, and even 
 my face, when I was ill. I supi^ose I did sit up 
 too long, for I nearly fainted, and Rue helped 
 Lucy put me in bed. Rue Avent after some co- 
 logne or something, and Lucy commenced to 
 kiss me, calling me her 'own precious child.'' 
 I asked her then if she had not been my nurse 
 when I was a baby. But she shook all over, and 
 
began crying out : ' My child ! My own child ! 
 Don't yon know I am your mother, your own 
 mother ? ' Then I told her to go away and never 
 come near me again ; that she was telling a 
 wicked lie; that I would rather be ill and die 
 than have a negro for a mother. I pushed her 
 away, when she kept on begging me to remembei* 
 her. I was really angry then, and I sup^Dose I 
 did call her a wicked woman and several other 
 things. She ran away, and I never saw her 
 again. But just think of Rue Leszlnksky tak- 
 ing it up and telling me that I was an ungrate- 
 ful, despicable creature ; that I knew Lucy was 
 a harmless woman, who had lost her only child ; 
 that Lucy could not be my mother, for I was not 
 'true or faithful enough to be the cliiUl of so 
 good a looman.^ I have never liked the nasty, 
 proud thing since. But you idUI be surprised 
 to hear that I have visited her. Mrs. Hart- 
 ley brought me here to her old home — ' The 
 Bellemew Estate- it is called. You would 
 be shocked here every day, for we are wait- 
 ed on by slaves ; though I must say I like 
 them better than I do Northern colored people, 
 they are so respectful and attentive. x\nd you 
 know you say you would never have colored ser- 
 
50 THE JilODERS HAGAR. 
 
 vants ill the North, that they are too imfpudent 
 and worthless. But if you did not think slavery 
 such a sin I am sure you would Wee such a maid 
 as Mrs. Hartley's Rose — so much better than 
 that Irish creature who complained to madanie 
 that you took so much of her time waiting on you, 
 and that you were so difficult to please. I suj)- 
 pose the principle is wrong, but I have an excel- 
 lent girl to wait on me and dress me, and it is 
 very nice. There are two hundred slaves on this 
 place. It is Mrs. Hartley's own property, and 
 they seem very happy and very fond of their 
 mistress. But probably you would say it Avas all 
 fear. Eue Leszinksky o^NH^Jim hundred. Is it 
 not a terrible sin for her to hold so msinj human 
 beings in bondage ? I would not be in her place 
 for the world! A slam- owner ! I am sure you 
 did not know what a tor etched,, sinful thing she 
 is. She came over to Belleview in a coach and 
 four with tico outriders. Mr. Harry Esmond and 
 Miss Esmond, who are what \\\q slaves call ' qua- 
 lity,' were staying here with Mrs. Hartley. ]\Ir. 
 Harry Esmond met us on the cars. We got off 
 at the same station, and Mrs. Hartley asked him 
 to bring his sister, as Ave were alone at Belleview. 
 You know I am not vain, but it was easy to see 
 
''KING ST an:' 51. 
 
 that Mr. Harry Esmond was not displeased with 
 the invitation. They had an engagement at 
 ^The Cedars,' the Leszinlzs'kys' place^ and hrolce 
 it to come to us. As I told you, Rue Leszinksky 
 came to invite us to 'The Cedars.' And then 
 the Esmonds went. I would not have gone to 
 lier house, but I did want to see how they lived. 
 How shocked you would be ! Why, the place is 
 fairly covered with slaves. And just ikliik what 
 airs she gives herself ! Some of the people who 
 were visiting there called her the Princess ! 
 Oh ! I know what you will say when I tell you 
 they are secessionists ! I am so glad you think 
 the slaves will soon be freed ! And if they do 
 have to kill their owners, who can blame them % 
 I am sure you are just right in your feeling 
 about slavery^ and that poor, dear, good John 
 Brown loas a martyr. It would make any one 
 ahhor slavery to see that stuck-up thing on her 
 plantation. And, with all Ihqv haughty ways, she 
 is on perfectly familiar terms with these com- 
 Qnon negroes. No wonder she wanted me to 
 listen to the insane raving of that wretched, crazy 
 colored woman ; she would be glad if it was all 
 true. Why, she actuaUy calls a mulatto Mam- 
 my Sara ! ' The Cedars ' is a larger hou ;e than 
 
52 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Belleview, but it is Jiorribly iwrnisXiedi — old trum- 
 pery stuff a hundred years old, and that foolish 
 girl seemed proud of it. I heard her tell Colonel 
 Roane that some of the shackling, black old 
 tables, and secretaires^ and queer odds and ends 
 were brought over by the first Cartarct that came 
 from Encjland. Rich as tliey are, to keep such 
 trash ! How mean ! The dining-room is rather 
 better. Mrs. Carisbrooke says it is :\. perfect pic- 
 ture of an old baronial hall. But the furniture 
 is old hlaclc ocik, with the most horrid carvings 
 of hears and things — enough to give one frightful 
 dreams to go in it when the big light-wood Jcnots 
 are blazing in the liearth and the horrid things all 
 seem alixe. Just think of burning light-ioood in 
 July evenings because it happened to rain ! And 
 Rue said she was ' glad of the excuse to do away 
 with candles when the woods were full of pine- 
 knots.'' Princess, indeed ! A miser I should say. 
 "They ham very pretty horses, and Colonel 
 Roane gave me a lesson every morning and eve- 
 ning of the three days we were there. Colonel 
 Roane is a member of Congress. He was vei'y 
 nice to me. And so was Mr. Harry Esmond. 
 I ride now at Belleview with the Esmonds and 
 sometimes Mrs. Hartley. 
 
''KINO stan:' 63 
 
 '' How did you kee]3 the Fourth of July ? We 
 had a perfectly splendid time at ' Tiie Cedars.' 
 I sang the ' Star-Spangled Banner ' most effec- 
 tively. I am glad now that madame always in- 
 sisted' on my practising for those horrid concerts. 
 I know I do sing well. Signor Solfeggio always 
 said I caught the exact expression as he gave it 
 me. And the poor man did take great pains. 
 What a stupid he was to let madame catch him 
 on his knees that day ! As I assured you at the 
 time, / was not at all to blame. Of course I was 
 polite to him. But I always tried not to seem to 
 understand his nonsense ; for I knew he gave 
 me more time and made my lessons easy by the 
 pains he took. And I had so much rather sing 
 with a master than to practise alone. Tliei^e was 
 something to sing for when he went mad over 
 my voice, as he used to do, poor fool ! I never 
 had a greater success than on the Fourth. I did 
 not miss a point of acting or an expression Sol- 
 feggio had taught me. I think he would have 
 given his eyes to have heard me. Music is the 
 only thing I ever ham cared to learn. I am sure 
 if Captain Hartley had not arranged for you to 
 room with me and help me in my studies I would 
 never have got through with my classes. How 
 
54 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 good you have been to get those horrid ^ologies 
 in my poor head^ and, best of all, to teach me to 
 idiidi poetry and put some expression in it. TJiat 
 is what poor Solfeggio did with my singing. I 
 wonder if madame would let him come a^ain and 
 give me lessons if you would stay in the room ? 
 Will you try to persuade her f She knows Cap- 
 tain Hartley trusts you^ and that he has arranged 
 for you to go to Europe with me when I have 
 finished in Philadelphia. Now-, dear Miss Pyle, 
 wor}]t you get old Solfeggio back ? Do ! That's 
 a dear.^ lovely^ sweet Mentor. You know you 
 call yourself my Mentor. Please, my darling 
 Mentor, I want to sing as well as Lind or Son- 
 tag ; and the signor said I could in time. 
 
 ^ ' We go to Washington to-morrow. I will 
 heg to stop and see you a day in Philadelphia as 
 we go through. 
 
 '' Your own loving^ devoted 
 
 "Mai Hiltois^" 
 
 {White Sulphur Springs, August 17, 1860. 
 Roane to Horry.) 
 
 "My dear Hokry : I perfectly agree with 
 your statement — let me quote it : ' The union of 
 the States was in no sense a constitutional revo- 
 
''KING STAN." 65 
 
 lution or a proclamation of a new civil polity ; it 
 was, in fact, a mere Bund for the general con- 
 venience of tlie States and had no mission apart 
 from them. The value of the federal Constitu- 
 tion was simply in the adjustment of the rela- 
 tions of the States, by which they became a har- 
 monious whole in their foreign polity. The prac- 
 tical idea of the federal Union, which left to the 
 States the exclusive guardianship of their domes- 
 tic affairs, was a perfect recognition of the States 
 as creators of the federal government, which was 
 only the creature to whom certain x)owers were 
 delegated for the convenience of international 
 and inter- State relations.' 
 
 ''I repeat, while believing this, I believe that 
 our present national difficulty has in reality but 
 small foundation in the much-argued question 
 of State-rights. It is something more serious 
 — something which is already past all chance of 
 peaceful adjudication. 
 
 " In truth, sectional animosity has already di- 
 vided the country into two distinct nations, and 
 slavery furnishes a convenient cause of rupture. 
 It is slavery which is the prominent distinction 
 between the North and the South, therefore it has 
 been urged as a subject of controversy. As the 
 
66 THE MODERX HAGAR. 
 
 occasion of discord it has become so conspicuous 
 and feeling is so violent that careless thinkers 
 mistake the occasion for the cause. It has the 
 great advantage of being a specious plea for the 
 North with the outside world ; and it will pro- 
 bably win to that section the symj)athy of lovers 
 of freedom, though in reality the slavery agita- 
 tion is not the offspring of philanthropy but of 
 jealousy. 
 
 ' ' JS'othing has ever been more falsely attacked 
 nor more unscrupulously misrepresented than 
 the system of servitude in the South. It is the 
 mildest system of obligatory labor the world has 
 ever known. To the African it is not slavery in 
 the sense of debasement. It has elevated the 
 negro. It has lifted him from barbarism into 
 the only civilization for which he is litted — a 
 subordinate place, it is true, but a place where he 
 is protected in life and limb and where certain 
 personal rights are recognized, and which gives 
 him a safety and security unknown to tlie negro 
 race in Africa. 
 
 " So much for slavery as an actual fact. As a 
 pretext in our national division it is an admirable 
 cause of quarrel. Yet slavery is but the excuse. 
 The true difference is in the personal qualities of 
 
''KINGSTANr 57 
 
 the different stock from which the two sections 
 have sprung. 
 
 ^' The quarrel of the North and the South is 
 but a new phase of the old fight between the 
 Puritan and the Cavalier — a dangerous revival 
 of ancestral feuds which originated in political 
 and religious difference. 
 
 *^ African slave-traders, who were assuredly not 
 Southerners, made a feudal system j)ossible in 
 the plantations and colonies of the South in the 
 eighteenth century. That system was founded 
 and perpetuated, and is now sustained, by a 
 landed gentry who in a great measure control the 
 nation. ' 
 
 "The South has been the dominant power 
 since the Revolution, but it has not been an as- 
 gressive power It has, on the contrary, threat- 
 ened nothing to the North. It has enriched the 
 North with its products. It has ruled the coun- 
 try for sixty years and there is no stain upon its 
 honor. But all this has provoked the jealousy 
 of the thrifty tradespeople, who are busy with 
 their gains during the week and intolerant bigots 
 in their Sunday conventicles. Unfit for legis- 
 lators, they are envious foes of Southern states- 
 manship. Their innate conviction of inferiority 
 
58 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 adds to their hatred. Should they once get into 
 power the Saturnalia of fraud and corruption 
 will begin, and will end only with that last ter- 
 rible protest against excess— an absolute ruler. 
 The conservatism of tlie South— a conservatism 
 due to its great landed interests— has been the 
 guardian of the republic. 
 
 ''Your suggestive letter provoked all this, so 
 that letter must be my excuse. 
 
 " To droi) argument for results— and in fact 
 all argument is now too late— I have lost all hope 
 in the elections. The vague platitudes of the 
 Bell and Everett platform are capturing the timid 
 remnant of the Whigs, and also some fearful 
 souls out of, or in, the Democratic ranks. But 
 this could have done no harm had not our Sol- 
 omons cut the Democrac}^ in twain. 
 
 " Mr. Lincoln ^dll come in and we needs must 
 go. His inauguration will be the declaration, on 
 the part of the Xorth, of a geographical seve- 
 rance of ties. 
 
 "The clause in tlie Chicago platform on the 
 Dred Scott decision is the handwriting upon the 
 wall. Judicial authority is to be squelched and 
 we are left to take 'Hobson's choice.' It is to 
 be submission to abolitionism or nothing. 
 
''KING STAN." 59 
 
 'Tor me I prefer — nothing; so I have com- 
 menced my preparations for the futnre. I shall 
 sell my j)roj)erty in the North, and I have writ- 
 ten to my overseer to put grain this fall in every 
 acre of arable land on my plantation. Next year 
 there will be lighting men to feed. 
 
 "I do not share the general delusion of my 
 people ; I knov/ the North will fight. Those 
 cursed Puritans fought well with Cromw^ell ; 
 and here — with sucli a heavenly pious pretext 
 — they will put their persons in iDeril for their 
 pocket's sake. 
 
 ' ' Moreover, the war will be no child' s play, nor 
 will it end speedily unless we carry the war 
 into Africa. And that I am afraid we will not 
 do. The very State-rights doctrine that honest 
 men like you so sturdily believe in will forbid 
 that. 
 
 " The fight will be here in Virginia. 
 
 '' I had a long talk to-day with Colonel Robert 
 Lee, a man wdio, I fancy, wdll be our future 
 leader — a greater than Washington, because he 
 is Washington Avithout the faults of the irasci- 
 ble 'Pater: 
 
 "Lee and Leszinksky are old friends. They 
 are much together here, and are much alike in 
 
60 THE iMODERX IIAOAR. 
 
 character. They have a favorite seat under the 
 riistlinf^ leaves of a i:>iirple ash ; and ^Yhen I can 
 get away from the noisy declamation of our bat- 
 tle-hungry politicians I find my way to tlie shade 
 that shelters the two soldiers. Listening to the 
 sad reflections and grave apprehensions of tliese 
 patriotic and peace wishing warriors, I shut my 
 eyes and dream that the summer wind is blowing 
 from the Ionian Isles, while two of Plutarch's 
 worthies are talking of a threatening oracle from 
 Delphos and pre^Daring for a sacrifice which may 
 appease the wrath of the gods. 
 
 "The noisy politicians will only talk. The 
 burden and heat of the day that is coming will 
 fall most heavily on such men as Lee and Les- 
 zinksky. 
 
 ' ' Carson is still here, and his days are full 
 of softer cares. I am glad to tell you that Mrs. 
 Carisbrooke has fully taken him into favor. His 
 time of probation is shortened, and I hear from 
 Miss Rue that we are all likely to meet in Cin- 
 cinnati in the first week of the coming year for a 
 wedding. It is well that Carson is busy love- 
 making. Discussion is intrenching him more 
 strongly in his opinions ; from being the mildest 
 he is growing to be the most intense of Union- 
 
''KING STANr 61 
 
 ists. He lias had a few word-passages, whicli I 
 feared might lead to a passage-at-arms, with one 
 or two of our hot-blooded, unreasoning Hot- 
 spurs, who are so near-sighted and color-blind 
 that they see only the side of the shield that 
 is turned their way, and refuse belief to any 
 other. 
 
 "Miss Molly is fully occupied smoothing tlie 
 ruffled plumes of her gallant knight. But she 
 does keep him in order. What a perfect wife she 
 will make ! 
 
 ' ' Once in a while my teeth are set on edge with 
 envy of some fellow's luck who may be more 
 deserving, but who certainly is no more appreci- 
 ative of the (half) divine sex than I. 
 
 " ' The Princess ' walks in maiden meditation, 
 fancy free. Her adoration for her father has had 
 one excellent effect. Her standard is a good one, 
 and she is not in danger from any of these cox- 
 combs who flutter about her fortune. I often 
 wonder what fate is reserving for her. She, too, 
 is of the Plutarchian type. In one thing she is 
 all wrong— she is spoiling that dainty little half- 
 sister with over-much devotion. One counts sac- 
 rifice nothing, and the other will, I fear, as she 
 grows older take it as nothing. 
 
62 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 "If you have time and inclination, write me 
 what further signs you may see in the times. 
 
 "I will be liere until the last of September, 
 and then we break our party to meet again at 
 the Carisbrooke wedding. In November I will 
 be in Arkansas. Letters addressed to Little 
 Rock Avill always follow and find me. All here 
 regret that you would leave us when we left ' The 
 Cedars.' You should have come with us." 
 
 {Leszinlcsky to Carson from '' TJie Cedars^''' 
 January 1, 1861.) 
 
 "Rue and I have both written to the Caris- 
 brookes accepting their invitation for the 7th. 
 
 " I am ^particularly glad, my dear Carson, that 
 we will be together several days before your mar- 
 riage. 
 
 " Our long friendship has been so much to me 
 that I look anxiously for a renewal of old ties of 
 confidence and comradeship before the new ties 
 are formed that will necessarily in some measure 
 set aside tlie past. Not that I think the past 
 will be forgotten or that our tried aifection will 
 grow cold — that would be impossible to either of 
 us — but I foresee in the future a separation of 
 hopes and interests that may keep us apart for 
 
KING STAN: 
 
 63 
 
 years, whicli will be a hard trial to a friendship 
 like ours ; not a trial in the sense of loss of re- 
 gard, but a trial in the sense of sorrow because 
 of our separation. 
 
 *' The long- threatening storm is no longer at a 
 distance. It is upon us. Danger is now a live 
 thing with which we have to grapple. 
 
 " When the telegraph announced the election 
 of Mr. Lincoln I knew the danger— which a brave 
 man may fear because it menaces his home and 
 his country— was near. The call of the Legisla- 
 ture of South Carolina for a convention, the 
 meeting of that convention in Columbia on the 
 17th of last month, the adjournment to Charles- 
 ton, and the passage on the 20th of the ordinance 
 of secession were rapid steps on the onward 
 march. 
 
 ''Major Anderson's evacuation of Fort Moul- 
 trie, after spiking the guns and burning the gun- 
 carriages, together with the removal to and the 
 occupation of Fort Sumter, is a virtual assump- 
 tion of liostility on the part of the federal gov- 
 ernment. An armed threat to a sovereign State 
 is of itself, as I understand the federal Union, 
 the inauguration of civil war, which is the most 
 frightful of national calamities. And, as if to 
 
64 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 make a way out of difficulty impossible, the 
 North receives the intelligence of the momentous 
 change in the sentiment of our peoj^le with sneers 
 and derision, and of the warlike attitude of the 
 government with acclaim and congratulation. 
 Yet the congratulations prove how hypocritical 
 are the sneers. 
 
 " Northern newspapers scoff at South Caro- 
 lina ^chivalry.' The pictorial papers are tilled 
 with slanderous and derisive caricatures. The 
 South is called ' a spoilt child.' A really great 
 preacher, in a partisan and iin-Christlike sjiirit, 
 exclaims, ' Let the prodigal go ! ' 
 
 " ' Mr. Greeley, who is certainly an authorita- 
 tive mouthpiece of his i)arty, says in the Tri- 
 bune^ that 'if the cotton States are satisfied 
 they can do better' out of the Union than in it 
 we insist on letting them go in peace. The right 
 to secede exists, and we do not see how one 
 party can have a right to do what another party 
 has a right to prevent. We hope never to live 
 in a republic whereof one section is i)inned to 
 the residue by bayonets. If ever seven or eight 
 States send agents to Washington to say, ''We 
 want to go out of the Union," we shall feel con- 
 strained by our devotion to human liberty to 
 
''KING STAN." 65 
 
 say, '' Let them go ! " And we do not seo liow 
 we could take the other side without coming in 
 direct conflict with the rights of man.' 
 
 ^'Thus South Carolina is invited and sneered 
 into secession at the very moment that an armed 
 force is set threateningly in the harbor of her 
 chief city. 
 
 " It seems that the IS^orth is anxious to j)reci- 
 pitate disunion. At least it is taking great pains 
 to provide South Carolina with cause and reason 
 for secession. The Abolition papers are evident- 
 ly fearful that result will not be attained, and 
 they honestly proclaim their fears and their 
 purposes. But the self-called Unionists dis- 
 claim an intended interference with slavery at 
 the moment they adopt a bold move toward 
 Federal centralization, supported by an armed 
 force which threatens to subvert the rights of a 
 State. 
 
 ^'The sorrowful attitude of the people of Vir- 
 ginia, who deplore the rending asunder of the 
 Union, is also a matter of amusement and deri- 
 sion to the North. In one breath we are de- 
 scribed as ' cowardly pacificators caring only for 
 federal patronage and federal offices,' and in the 
 next we are called ' braggarts and bullies,' who 
 
66 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 ^talk valiantly for the Sontli, but who will de- 
 sert it in the moment of need.' 
 
 "• 1 cannot believe that all Northern writers are 
 so utterly ignorant of the temper and history 
 of our people ; consequently I must believe they 
 are working understanding! y to bring about a 
 result they desire. 
 
 *' Yet, despite the misrepresentation and vilifi- 
 cation, Virginia will not secede as long as there 
 is the slightest and most feeble hope of reconcili- 
 ation, or even of adjustment looking to peaceable 
 separation. When hope is gone she will cast her 
 fortune with the advocates of the rights of the 
 States ; and the most peace-loving and Union- 
 loving of her children will fight more fearlessly 
 in her cause because of her spirit of justice and 
 moderation. She vdW have done her best for 
 peace and unity before taking up arms, and she 
 will be a rampart of defence to the South in the 
 desperate struggle which will ensue. 
 
 *' It is certain that Virginia will be the battle- 
 ground. Her central position, her nearness to 
 the Capital, will force it as a militarj^ necessity. 
 
 '^You know what will then be my duty and 
 what is my resolve. I had given up the j)rofes- 
 sion of arms. If we ever can judge ourselves 
 
'^ KING STAN." 67 
 
 fairly— if I know myself— my only ambition as a 
 soldier was to do my duty and, wherever it was 
 in my power, to spare and to save life. If I had 
 felt that I was growing eager for success for 
 selfish reason— avaricious of glory— I should 
 have known that it was my duty, and I would 
 have left the army at once. For we should not 
 only pray not to be led, but we should instantly 
 get out of the w^ay of temptation. 
 
 " But I felt the army was a good school of dis- 
 cipline for me, and I was of use there to my fel- 
 low-soldiers. I resigned only from conviction of 
 the necessity I was under to devote the remnant 
 of my life to a higher duty. My children, both 
 motherless daughters, needed me and needed a 
 home. 
 
 'M shall never again draw sword from scab- 
 bard, except in defence of Virginia. 
 
 " The first duty of every American citizen is to 
 his State. 
 
 "It is to the federal Union only when that re- 
 presents his State. 
 
 "I have the common debt of all patriots to 
 pay, and I have a more particular obligation. I 
 was one of Virginia's pupils in the military 
 school which she, in common with all the States, 
 
68 THE JIOBEBX HAGAR. 
 
 established and supported. As a rei)resentative 
 of lier bounty I had the training, the education 
 which prepares a soldier for the profession of 
 arms. In addition to the common debt of pa- 
 triotism I owe a personal debt. Virginia gave 
 me place in the federal Union which her sons 
 and her treasure had so largely contributed to 
 create, and also the profession of arms in the 
 Military Academy which her tribute, in revenue 
 paid to the federal government, assisted to sup- 
 port. 
 
 " But, my dear Carson, you owe the same debt 
 to Illinois. The heaviness of a great sorrow 
 comes over me when I think of the parting of 
 comrades who have been to each other the truest 
 and most devoted of brothers. 
 
 ^' Your goddaughter has never asked me but 
 one question about the chances of the future, 
 although I know she is keenly alive to the 
 change that has come and the change that is 
 coming. Her question, onlj^ yesterday, was : 
 ^ Papa, will the old regiment go with the North \ 
 Will all of them be against us ? ' I do not know 
 which of us was sorest at heart when I said, 
 ^Yes.' 
 
 " I write this that it may not be necessary to 
 
''KING STANr 69 
 
 tell it in words when we meet. We will hold to 
 our friendship, Carson, and be silent as to the in- 
 evitable. I know you will go with Illinois, and 
 I know Illinois will go with the North. Mr. 
 Douglas's influence will be as jDotent to hold, 
 and will be as potently used to hold, the State in 
 the Union as Mr. Lincoln' s would be. 
 
 ' ' The Democratic alliance with the South has 
 been only an alliance of parties. It will now side 
 with its section and its interests in its section. 
 
 ^' But come what may, old comrade, we will 
 love one another. I trust you will keep to our 
 old compact and be the guardian of my daugh- 
 ters. My will is made, and all arranged so that 
 the date may be on record and nothing may be 
 urged as to our antagonistic position at the time 
 when it may come into effect. 
 
 "Rue's faults are generous faults, and she 
 will be amenable to your rule through love to 
 me as well as to you. But my great fear for 
 her is that she may sacrifice her own life and 
 happiness in some hot-tempered outburst of 
 sympathetic defence of another, or in some pas- 
 sionate tempest of enthusiasm or gratitude. I 
 am glad I owe no debt of friendship or favor to 
 any one I could not trust my darling to love. 
 
70 THE MODERX HAGAR. 
 
 '' Steenie is so sweet and gentle and attractiv-? 
 that I fear we are spoiling her. Rue is devoted 
 to her, and we know what Rue's devotion means. 
 
 "I beg of you, Carson, do not let Margaret's 
 child sacrifice herself even for her sister. I tell 
 you frankly that is the danger I most fear. 
 
 ^'I have sometimes hoped Rue and Roane 
 would care for each other. That is rather badly 
 put, for they do care for each other ; but their 
 mutual regard is too openly and too frankly ex- 
 pressed to promise the fulfilment of my hope — 
 which is a mere thought with me, but one you 
 will understand. With love to the Carisbrookes 
 from us all — and as that includes you, why you 
 and Miss Molly must take the largest share — 
 
 ** Always your comrade and brother, 
 
 •'Stanislaus Leszinksky." 
 
CHAPTEH XXYIII. 
 
 The bridegroom may forget liis bride 
 "Was made bis wedded wife yestreen ; 
 The mouarch may forget the crown 
 That ou his head an hour has been j 
 The mother may forget the child 
 That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; 
 But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 
 And a' that thou has done for me." 
 
 OlS^ tlie 4tli of January the Leszinkskys ar- 
 rived in Washington on their way to Cin- 
 cinnati. E-oane was to accompany them, 
 and one day's stay in Washington had been 
 arranged for his convenience. But he met them 
 at Willard' s with two excellent reasons for post- 
 poning his departure until the 10th ; he would 
 then arrive in Cincinnati one day before the wed- 
 ding. Excuse No. 1 : A delegation had arrived 
 during the holidays from Arkansas, and were in 
 daily conference with their senators and rej^re- 
 sentatives as to the action of Arkansas in the 
 secession movement. Excuse No. 2 was more 
 personal. Captain Hartley, v,diose political po- 
 sition brought him into rather close relation withi 
 
 71 . 
 
TZ THE 3I()DJ:BX hagar. 
 
 Roane in committee-rooms and caucus meetings, 
 liacl asked Roane to escort Mrs. Hartle}^ and 
 Miss Hilton to Cincinnati. Tliey conld not leave 
 until the lOtli. Mrs. Hartley had to preside at 
 a grand political dinner and reception, where the 
 delicate threads of political webs were to be 
 skilfully set to catch the timid. EA^ery house 
 in "Washington that winter was a focal point for 
 some large or little intrigue, and Hartley's was 
 the centre around which revolved the jS^orthern 
 sympathizers Avith secession. 
 
 Kate Avas a Virginian of the Virginians, which 
 expressed at that time the utmost intensity of 
 Unionism yet left in the State-rights school. In 
 good truth, every Virginian then in Washington 
 from the old Dominion (and they Avere there in 
 shoals : merchants, professional men, planters, 
 and idlers — I give the ascending grade of rank) 
 walked Pennsylvania Avenue Avith the confi- 
 dent mien of one AA^ho, knoAA'ing he is born to 
 greatness, is AA^aiting to have it thrust upon him. 
 
 There AA^as a plethora of embryo Washingtons, 
 Jeffersons, Patrick Henrys, and Randolphs in 
 the Capitol City equally ready to be "Fathers 
 of the Country"' ; authors of ncAv resolutions 
 framing "the mode and measure of redress"; 
 
orators proudly threatening, '' If this be treason 
 make the most of it" ; duelists coolly selecting 
 a location for the inevitable bullet ; or debaters 
 stabbing an antagonist with the point of a sting- 
 ing sarcasm. That they were not already winged 
 and fully feathered was the misfortune of the 
 country. But their "sheathed thoughts" were 
 unheard, and after weeks of patient waiting and 
 unremunerative effort they disap]3eared from lob- 
 bies and avenues, and sank into silence with the 
 "mute, inglorious Miltons and Hampdens" of 
 their resx)ective counties. 
 
 Poor felloAvs ! The embryos missed greatness, 
 but they died heroes, droj^xDing one by one upon 
 those bloody battle-fields of Yirginia. Recog- 
 nized too late ! Why did they not cry, as they 
 filed past that unfinished monument to the first 
 and greatest of American rebels, Morituri te 
 salutamns ! 
 
 Dr. Carisbrooke and Carson were waiting on 
 the x>latform of the Hamilton and Dayton Rail- 
 road station for the coming of the eight o'clock 
 train, now some minutes overdue. There was 
 the hoarse scream of an engine at Brighton, fol- 
 lowed by the rumbling thunder of lieavy wheels 
 
74 THE MODERN II A OAR. 
 
 on an iron track, and with short, angry puffs 
 and a red glare in its cyclopean eye the belated 
 locomotive rolled heavily into the station at Cin- 
 cinnati. 
 
 It was a clear, cold, frosty evening. The street- 
 lamps flickered in little, waving tongues of flame, 
 which sent their quivering red rays against the 
 window-panes of the station and into the shadowy 
 angles of the houses on the opposite side of the 
 way. 
 
 In the distance stretched lengths and cross- 
 lengths of lights which traversed the city and 
 climbed the encircling hills. 
 
 Overhead the multitudinous stars shone 
 through the soft radiance of the mystic twi- 
 light which lingers over cities when skies are 
 stormless, from the setting until the rising of 
 the sun ; while below the curving river reflected 
 the glittering chain, the tongues of flame and the 
 radiant stars. 
 
 Doctor Carisbrooke took charge of Rue and 
 Steenie, Mammy Sara and Oscar were packed in 
 a hackney coach with the numerous packages 
 of the travellers, while Carson and Leszinksky 
 drove on rapidly in the light buggy with the fast 
 trotter which Carson had driven over fi^om the 
 
- KING STAN." 75 
 
 garrison at Newport, where lie was now sta- 
 tioned. 
 
 There had been a silent but more than usually 
 cordial greeting between the two friends. The 
 silence was unbroken, except by some casual 
 question and reply as to change in the route and 
 the streets, until they commenced the ascent of 
 Vine Street hill. 
 
 Carson checked the rapid gait of his horse as 
 he said : '' I had not time to answer your letter, 
 Stan, and, although you do not seem to think so, 
 words are better and easier of understanding 
 when we are face to face. I perfectly compre- 
 hend your position and your feeling. In your 
 place I should be governed by the decision of 
 Virginia. I hope to God Virginia will do no- 
 thing that will separate us ! I don' t care a damn 
 for the cotton States, and I would be glad if they 
 were out. If New England would go too, as her 
 States have threatened to do from time to time, it 
 would be a blessed riddance to the West and to 
 the Middle States. ' But I am in the army, and I 
 certainly will not resign just as those Carolina 
 game-cocks begin to crow. If I was in Ander- 
 son's place I would send over a few shells and 
 make it hot for them." 
 
76 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 "I do not think yon would, Carson. You 
 would know, as Anderson does, that the State is 
 a powder-magazine. A shell thrown wdth hostile 
 intent into Charleston would blow \\\) the Union.'' 
 " Have you any ho^De of its existence?" 
 ''Not much. But in a good cause the faintest 
 hope is worth cherishing. Unfortunately, men's 
 passions are so inflamed tlie}^ will not listen to 
 reason. I am very glad Anderson is in the place 
 of danger. He is an excellent soldier, and as a 
 man he is moderate, modest, and just. If any 
 federal officer can maintain peaceful relations 
 with Charleston he will. I am only fearful of 
 the orders he may receive from Washington. I 
 regretted his change from Moultrie to Fort Sum- 
 ter ; but then I cannot judge for him — no one 
 could who was not in his position. Fortunately, 
 he is popular with the Charleston people, and 
 they will not forget that Mrs. Anderson is a 
 Southerner. Family relationships are exceed- 
 ingly influential in a crisis like this. If you were 
 going to Sumter to spend your honeymoon I 
 w^ould feel confident that you would be a very 
 gallant and courteous enemy to the Charleston- 
 ians. Miss Molly would capture them as a 
 charming: woman and as a Carisbrooke." 
 
^' KING STAN." 117 
 
 *^ Doctor Carisbrooke is a Unionist." 
 ''Yes, I grant he is in principle. But lie be- 
 longs to one of the old Virginian families. I 
 think he will find that he loves Virginia dearly 
 when war has desolated her green lields and 
 quiet homes. From Mrs. Carisbrooke' s letters I 
 infer, although she does not absolutely admit it 
 in words, that her feeling for Virginia is likely 
 to outweigh her attachment to the federal idea." 
 " Do you thii^dt only an idea, Stan ? " 
 "An idea is a great thing; sometimes it is 
 a great truth. Ideas make and undo treaties, 
 states, and peoples. Because of ideas came the 
 truism that the poet, ' the ballad-maker, is greater 
 than the law-maker.' One deals with ideas, the 
 other with facts. And because facts are stub- 
 born things they excite and beget stubbornness. 
 Ideas capture through their suavity. Feeling 
 may conquer ideas ; facts rarely do. I think 
 feeling is conquering Mrs. Carisbrooke." 
 
 " The cursed ill-temper and spite of her North- 
 ern neighbors is doing it. She was an excellent 
 Unionist last summer in Virginia." 
 
 Leszinksky laughed as he answered: "For 
 your sake, Carson, I will try my best to per- 
 suade her to make us a winter visit. I assure 
 
78 THE MODERN HAGAR, 
 
 you she will liear very few kind things said of 
 the North. Virginian women are not Griseldas. 
 The patient quality in their patriotism is soon 
 exhausted. Personal bitterness is intense now, 
 and it is growing fierce and aggressive. There 
 is the pity of it ! Friendship, affections, even 
 family relationships, will hardly survive the 
 wrench that is coming." 
 
 He held out his hand to Carson, who caught it 
 in a mighty grasp — the clasp ^le might take if 
 two shipwrecked friends were going down to- 
 gether in a stormy sea. They looked at each 
 other, but somehow there was a misty quality 
 in the starlight. The faces seemed already far 
 apart. With a sigh that was almost a sob Car- 
 son said : 
 
 ^'We vdYL never let go our friendship, old 
 comrade ?" 
 
 "Never. We are J^ound by a past we can 
 neither of us forget. And then — there is Mar- 
 garet ; she loved you as a brother, and slie is 
 yet the star of my life. The sweetness of hea- 
 ven, Carson, is reunion. We will find there our 
 broken affections and friendshix">s. If we are ever 
 face to face in a battle-field — not as foes (we could 
 never be foes), but each in the service of his 
 
'' KING STAN." 79 
 
 countT}^ — thougli ' you slay me yet will I love 
 you.' " 
 
 The stars shone out clear and bright. The mist 
 had gathered into tears. 
 
 An hour later they came into the drawing- 
 room at Rosebank together. Carson had given 
 his horse in charge to the servant who was wait- 
 ing at the gate, and they had turned away from 
 the house and walked in the dim light through 
 the wood. Leszinksky had thought of the sum- 
 mer day and the beautiful woman when he sat 
 down on the bank above the path where the 
 robin was buried. 
 
 Sitting there, he gave Carson his last charge to 
 and of his daughters ; last directions for the 
 care of the people whose progenitors had been 
 for generations faithful servants of the Masons ; 
 last messages for his friends ; and a request to 
 Carson to care for Kate if she should have need 
 of a protector. And Carson made every pro- 
 mise his comrade asked. 
 
 Then, standing in the shadows, they clasped 
 each other in an embrace which was the seal 
 of the past and the sign and the promise in the 
 future. 
 
 When they entered the drawing-room Mrs. 
 
80 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Carisbrooke's quick exclamation of reproach was 
 hushed when half uttered. She saw the reason 
 for their delay in the faces of the friends. 
 
 Doctor Carisbrooke came from his study as 
 supi)er was announced. Molly, Rue, and Steenie 
 were in the supper-room when the elders entered 
 from the drawing-room. As Leszinksky kissed 
 Molly he placed in her hands two small pack- 
 ages. 
 
 *< My gift and Steenie' s, with our love to Cou- 
 sin Molly." 
 
 Molly opened the packages. One was an ex- 
 quisitely-painted miniature of Margaret, the 
 other of Eue and Steenie. 
 
 Molly. ^'Thanks, Uncle Stan— thanks to you 
 and Steenie ; nothing could be more valued as a 
 wedding-gift than we will value these." 
 
 Rue hurriedly left the room ; returning before 
 the examination of the miniatures was finished, 
 she gave a small parcel to Carson, and to Molly 
 an open case containing a superb set of pearls. 
 
 Molly. "ORue! I have no words with which 
 to thank you." 
 
 Bue. "Then, Molly, I will be glad if you do 
 not try to find any. Tlie pearls are a Cartaret 
 gift of ceremony from ' the heiress of The Ce- 
 
'' KING STAN.'' 81 
 
 dars.' I tliink their selection is rather cred- 
 itable to that disagreeable and much-worried 
 personage ; further than recognition of taste in 
 the selection there is no need of thanks. But, 
 Molly, do not take it to heart that Rucheil Les- 
 zinksky has given something of higher value to 
 your sweetheart. ' ' 
 
 Carson opened the parcel, which contained an- 
 other miniature. Molly leaning on his shoulder, 
 they saw the face at the same moment and with 
 one impulse turned to kiss Rue, Carson ex- 
 claiming : 
 
 "You have fulfilled the wisli I made as I look- 
 ed at the miniature of your mother. But how 
 did you persuade ' King Stan ' to this, Rue ? He 
 has always been obstinate in the matter of pic- 
 tures—even mulish about so simple a thing as a 
 daguerreotype." 
 
 Bue. " I did not persuade, nor did he consent. 
 He knew nothing of it." 
 
 LeszinTislzy . ' ' My picture ? In what trap have 
 I fallen?" 
 
 Rice. " The trap, papa, was the painting of the 
 other miniatures. The artist caught the likeness 
 as he could. I knew you thought I Avas rather im- 
 portunate in begging you to come and keep our 
 
82 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 ' Humming-Bird ' in order during those long sit- 
 tings. Til en you were there so often about mam- 
 ma's picture ; and, if you remember, there was 
 always some reason for your going, and you 
 always had the same seat given you. This is the 
 result, and not the only one. There are two 
 others ; see, I am wearing one, and here, ' Hum- 
 ming-Bird,' liere is yours." 
 
 Rue pointed to a brooch she wore — her father s 
 head painted on ivory and set in pearls. She 
 gave one like it to the beautiful child, who 
 danced and sang lier delight. 
 
 "Bring it here, ' Humming-Bird,' " called Les- 
 zinksky ; then, as the child did not hear, he 
 whistled a few soft notes. There was a rush of 
 white drapery that rustled like wings, and Stee- 
 nie was nestling in her fatlier's arms. He, look- 
 ing at the miniature, said : 
 
 ''I do not know, Rue— in truth, I think one 
 never does know one's own face — but I fancy the 
 painter of this has won your patronage by flat- 
 tering me." 
 
 Rue. *'Is mamma's flattered, or Steenie's, or 
 mine?" 
 
 Leszinksyy. " No, I do not think they are." 
 
 Rue. '^ Neither do I think is this. In fact, I 
 
^'KING STAN:' 83 
 
 quarrelled over it daily. I am afraid I bullied 
 the poor little painter ; I know I frightened him 
 prodigiously. But the result was worth it. He 
 said himself that yours is the best of the minia- 
 tures." 
 
 LeszinksTcy. * ' All of which proves the flat- 
 tery. The poor fellow dared not paint me in my 
 very habit as I live. He had the fear of you be- 
 fore his eyes. He was wise enough to find your 
 weak point. Your vanity is not personal, my 
 Kue." 
 
 The tenderness of Leszinksky ' s tone and glance 
 brought his daughter to his side. Steenie had 
 flown to Mrs. Carisbrooke, and all were busy 
 with the miniatures. Stooping low, with her 
 arms about her father' s neck, Rue said : 
 
 '^ You are my especial vanity, papa. But yet 
 it is personal, for you are my very own— the 
 dearest treasure I have in all the world." 
 
 A tear dropped on the hand Rue raised to her 
 lips. Looking into her eyes, her father saw 
 shadowed in their depths the fear that was 
 haunting her — fear for that which is dearest. 
 
 The doctor's voice grumbling a complaint was 
 heard. 
 
 "Very fine, very pleasant — looking at pearls 
 
84 THE MODERN IIAGAR. 
 
 and flattering Leszinksky. But it would be bet- 
 ter for you all to eat your supper while it is 
 w^arm. Hot biscuit and hot waffles have come 
 and gone. The prairie chickens will be burnt, 
 not broiled. Our Rosebank cook is a long-suf- 
 fering and patient woman, but human nature 
 linds a point where revolt to oppression is obliga- 
 tory. Supper has been half an hour on the 
 table, and travellers that ouglit to be hungry are 
 yet unfed. Come here, Steenie. Your jilace is 
 here beside me ; we will eat our supper like 
 sensible people." 
 
 The days the Leszinkskys spent at Rosebank 
 that w^eek were very quiet, happy days that 
 lived always in the recollection of the guests and 
 the hosts. 
 
 Carson's presence and Carson's happiness were 
 the most salutary of tonics to Leszinksky. 
 
 Steenie, much to her own deliglit and his, was 
 the doctor's constant companion. She would 
 make quick rushes into his study, following 
 him from the conservatory to tlie hot-houses, 
 going with him to the stable with pockets filled 
 with lumps of sugar for the horses, watch- 
 ing the harnessing, asking, with the soft, be- 
 seeching appeal of her beautiful dark eyes, 
 
^^KINQ STAN." 85 
 
 to go witli him in his long morning drives. 
 Whenever the weather was fit consent was al- 
 Avays given. A basket would be quickly filled 
 with hastily-improvised bouquets, which were left 
 with suffering patients of the doctor's as visible 
 reminders of the child who brought into those 
 dull, wintry days of pain the loveliness and 
 freshness of the spring-time. 
 
 Molly and Eue were equally inseparable, and 
 in the long hours of their companionship their 
 early attachment grew into a strong and noble 
 friendship — a friendship rarely possible to wo- 
 men, for the lives of women are so absorbed by 
 the affection they give in such measureless quan- 
 tity that there is scarcely place for friendship. 
 They are very ready to pledge themselves — be- 
 lieving, mayhap, at the time the pledge is made, 
 in its eternal duration — to a sentiment they call 
 friendship, which is simply another phase of the 
 affection they lavish on their last caprice. 
 
 But between these two maidens the reality 
 was possible, because the conditions of that tru- 
 est, noblest, and most unselfish of sentiments 
 were present. Their temperaments and way of 
 thought were as widely different as had been 
 their training and manner of life. But these dif- 
 
86 THE MODERN HA GAR 
 
 ferences were harmonized through strong points 
 of likeness. They were equally tenacious in lik- 
 ing and stubborn in surrender of such liking. 
 Molly's was the more amiable but not the sweeter 
 character of the two ; yet Molly would seem the 
 sweeter because of her steadfast calmness. 
 
 Both were truthful and honest beyond the or- 
 dinary measure of woman, ^'either was given 
 to that small lying, that petty duplicity, with 
 which the sex too often think it needful to hide 
 the rough edges of life. Yet here again results 
 Avere different because their temperaments were 
 different. 
 
 Molly's truthfulness was an adornment be- 
 cause it was never discourteous. Rue's kept her 
 too constantly in the objective case. Her truth- 
 fulness was disputative, and thus it was fre- 
 quently offensive. But after admitting that the 
 balance turns again in Rue's favor. Molly never, 
 or rarely, offended ; consequently she was never 
 humbled through confession of offence. Nor 
 had she learned from the teaching of humilia- 
 tion to make quick and cordial concession to 
 others. All this Rue had learned through the 
 misadventures into which she had strayed or 
 fallen ; and the impulsiveness that prompted 
 
''KING STAN." 87 
 
 instant reparation won her from geilerous na- 
 tures the liking which is all the stronger be- 
 cause it is conquered. 
 
 The stability of this new friendship, founded 
 as I have shown, was made sure by mutual re- 
 spect and esteem. It widened Molly's ways of 
 thought and gave breadth to her judgment. She 
 learned to be tolerant— the lesson which is so 
 difficult to the well-trained and carefully-nur- 
 tured ornaments of society. To E,ue this friend- 
 ship was a still greater good— it had a decided 
 and beneficial effect in the qualities she acquired 
 from her friend. 
 
 I have made but a poor exhibit of Rucheil 
 Leszinksky if I have not made the reader see 
 and understand the strength and simplicity of 
 her character. But I insist that just such char- 
 acters are most susceptible to impression. They 
 always catch some measure of the quality of 
 those they love. Carson understood this truth 
 so well that in her babyhood he had said of Eue: 
 '' She is not one who can touch pitch and not be 
 defiled. I thank Ood, when she sees a scoundrel 
 she scorns him." 
 
 Through her susceptibility Rue caught a small 
 modicum of Molly's serene and calmly impartial 
 
88 THE 3I0DErtN HA GA R. 
 
 sense of right. One naturally speculates upon 
 wliat deei)er cliange might have been wrought 
 in Rue if this companionship had lasted. Un- 
 happily the companionsliii) was broken by the 
 onward marcli of the national calamity, which 
 was approaching day by day with the swift re- 
 lentlessness of Fate. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley, Miss Hilton, and their attendant 
 cavaliers arrived the day before the wedding. 
 Besides Roane, Bradnor was on duty ; he had 
 been invited at Mrs. Hartley's request. 
 
 Kate and the Carisbrookes were sincerely glad 
 to meet again. Mai Hilton was, as Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke thought, too effusive ; which effusive- 
 ness Rue rather haughtily repelled, until Molly 
 begged her consideration for the girl who had 
 *' never known either home or family ties." 
 
 Then our Princess softened— over-much, in 
 fact, for her relinquishment of a i)rejudice sug- 
 gested mistrust of that intuition Avhich is wo- 
 man's divinely-given safeguard, and more espe- 
 cially the safeguard of an intense and trustfnl 
 nature. 
 
 While in this softened and contrite frame, that 
 had already surrendered her to repentance, Rue 
 
''KING STANr 89 
 
 was introduced to "Mr. Bradnor " and recog- 
 nized the '' swamped lieutenant." Her unaccus- 
 tomed humor, and her loving memory of the 
 "squad" and the life that had been so dear to 
 her, swept away all recollection of offence, ex- 
 cept remembrance of herself as an offender. 
 
 A swift, amused glance from Carson brought 
 a deep rose-tint into her usually pale cheeks. 
 Both had thought of "the duel." Rue's wo- 
 manliness was proved by her blushing face, and 
 still more by her prettily apologetic greeting of 
 her old enemy. Even her father, who was con- 
 stantly expecting from her the new development 
 of some hitherto unknown perfection, was sur- 
 prised at her frank confession of the wrong she 
 had done, joined to expression of regret for the 
 
 WTTOng. 
 
 But her father's surprise was a mildly appro- 
 bative wonder, very different from Carson's as- 
 tonishment. For Carson, who had watched all 
 the moods of her stormy childhood, would 
 . have been less exasperated, less dismayed, at re- 
 newal of her challenge than at this sweet apo- 
 logy. From that moment the "swamped lieu- 
 tenant" was a hete noire to the fiery dragoon. 
 
 Then, too, Bradnor's manner of accepting ex- 
 
90 THE MODERN II AGAR. 
 
 cuse and apology as things of small moment, 
 and the gracious effort he made to reconcile his 
 old antagonist — to herself — did not tend to sweet- 
 en Carson's temper. Internally he even swore 
 at Leszinksky for his courteous show of interest 
 in his daughter's interlocutor. With an uncon- 
 cealed expression of disgusted disapproval he 
 was about to leave in search of his consoler 
 when he suddenly recollected a forgotten ap- 
 pointment — a reason for interrupting Rue's col- 
 loquy. There w^as a very apparent spice of mal- 
 ice in his eagerness of speech : 
 
 "Excuse me, Rue. But some one is waiting 
 in Dr. Carisbrooke' s study to see you — some 
 one I think you will be glad to see. A detach- 
 ment from the old regiment arrived at Newport 
 to-day." 
 
 At the new^s of *'some one waiting" Rue 
 turned to make her excuses to Bradnor ; but the 
 words, "a detachment from the old regiment," 
 swept away all other thought. She was in the 
 hallway when she met Oscar. 
 
 " Who is in the study to see me, Oscar ? " 
 
 " Nobody now, Miss Rue. Marse Bob Stearns 
 was thar a long time waitin', but he thought at 
 las' may be you couldn't come, I think he was 
 
^^KING STAN:' 91 
 
 kinder hurt, Miss Rue. He's jes' started back to 
 tlie garrison with Major Carson's liorse. The 
 major ain't goin' thar to-night." 
 
 " How long has lie been gone ? " 
 
 "I'se jes' been helpin' him with his bosses at 
 the stable ; he ain't more 'an got out the gate." 
 
 " Go after him ! Run, Oscar ! Run ! Bring 
 him back to me ! " They had both reached the 
 door while she was speaking. She pulled it shut 
 behind her. Oscar was already at the gate, she 
 calling after him, " Faster ! Oscar, faster ! " 
 
 Through the fading twilight she could see the 
 strong, active runner fairly flying down the road 
 toward the city. A light snow was falling, which 
 the wind caught and whirled in feathery col- 
 umns. She stood for a moment or two on the 
 steps, the fleecy folds of her white evening dress 
 seeming a part of the drifting snow. Unable to 
 restrain her impatience, she ran down to the gate 
 and then through it into the road to watch Os- 
 car. Yes, he had overtaken the rider, who was 
 forced to go slowly with the spirited horse he 
 was leading. 
 
 Oscar had mounted the led horse, and they 
 were coming back in a gallop. They saw her 
 waiting in the road. A soldier muffled in a di-a- 
 
02 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 goon's cloak shouted: ^'Capin Rue! O Capin 
 Rue ! out here in this snow !" And he sprang 
 to the ground beside her. Through sobs and 
 laughter, laughter and sobs, she was crying : 
 
 "O Bob ! O Bob ! I did not know you were 
 here. I did not know you w^ere waiting. For- 
 give me, Bob. O Bob ! I am so glad, so glad." 
 
 Without a word he caught her in his arms and 
 lifted her to the saddle, wrapping her in the 
 cape he took from his shoulders. Then, walk- 
 ing beside her, he led the horse to the little shel- 
 tered XDorch upon which Dr. Carisbrooke' s study 
 door opened. Throwing Oscar the reins, he lift- 
 ed her down and carried her in. As he placed 
 her in an easy-chair by the fire he said : 
 
 " You oughtn't to a-done it, Capin Rue. No, 
 Capin Rue, you oughtn't to a-done it. I didn't 
 think I ever would a-been sorry to see you, 
 capin, but I'd a-ruther had nine-and-tliirty on 
 my bar' back than to a-seen you out thar in this 
 weather. An' it's my fault, cajun. If you war 
 to die 'twould be my fault. I w^ar a fool — a 
 cussed, onery fool ; beg your pardon, capin, but 
 I can't help a-sayin' it. That's jes what I war. 
 I mought a-knowed it war a mistake. I ought 
 to a-knowed you better, and yoii a Leszinksky." 
 
-KIXG STAXr 93 
 
 She was quieted now, but she was very pale, 
 and she breathed in little, gasj^ing sighs, each 
 one of which pierced Bob like a knife He knelt 
 down beside her, and, warming the rug, wraj^ped 
 it about her feet, looking up at her with a wist- 
 ful, Avatchful look of sympathy. She threw 
 back the cape and extended her hands. 
 
 ^'I am so glad to see you. Bob— so glad! I 
 don't think I have ever quite left the regiment, 
 Bob. Half of mv heart has always been Avith 
 you all out there on the plains. How could you 
 think I would forget — that I did not care ? Did 
 you think I had forgotten how you followed me 
 into the Comanche country ? Did you think I 
 could forget Pike ? or Bouie' s Hill and those we 
 lost there 1 Did you think I had forgotten my 
 chief, or how you fought to save him ? My 
 chief ! my chief ! — could I forget my chief '\ " 
 
 She was sobbing bitterly and Bob was blubber- 
 ing like a whipped school-boy. There was a 
 scraping of feet at the outer door, and then some 
 one knocked. Mastering her sobs. Rue rose 
 from her chair as she motioned to Bob to open 
 the door. It was Oscar. The two men stood 
 back in the shadow waiting. Rue was standing 
 by the open fire, putting first one and then the 
 
94 THE MODERN II AGAR. 
 
 other little slippered foot on the fender to dry. 
 Carson came in, and she asked : 
 
 '' Cannot Bob put up the horses and stay here 
 to-night ? I wish to see liim in the morning." 
 
 ^'Certainly, if you wish it, Rue." 
 
 *' Good-night, Bob. Oscar will see that you 
 are comfortable for the night." She gave him 
 her hand, which he kissed with the strange de- 
 light and awe with which he liad kissed her baby 
 fingers when he first touched them ; that was 
 years ago at the time he was so nearly drowned 
 saving her and her mother. 
 
 When the men were gone Hue bid Carson 
 ''good-night," saying she would go to her room. 
 
 Oscar sent Mammy Sara to her, and the child 
 — in many ways she was yet but a child — was 
 warmed and hushed to sleep upon the faithful 
 breast that had been her shelter in her mother- 
 less babyhood. 
 
 Carson made her excuses to the Carisbrookes 
 and told Leszinksky of her interview with Bob. 
 Neither spoke the thought aloud, but that last 
 scene in her life at Bouie's Hill was the picture 
 that came out of the past. 
 
 The wind had died away after wrapping Rue 
 in its fieecy gathering, nnd frozen drops from the 
 
"KING STANr 95 
 
 vaporous clouds had fallen steadily until day- 
 break. Then the sun came out and every little 
 particle lying in the sheeted fields reflected the 
 broken rays, until the air was luminous and the 
 world a-dazzle with the white radiance of the 
 snow. In the morning Rue had a long, quiet 
 talk with Bob before he went over to the garrison. 
 
 After Bob was gone she asked Mammy Sara 
 where he had slept — she was thoughtful of the 
 comfort of this dear friend. She was told that 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke had given Oscar the key of the 
 little cottage in the orchard. Rue remembered 
 that Lucy had lived there, and she knew Lucy 
 had never returned to Rosebank since she was in 
 Philadelphia nearly two years before, the sum- 
 mer she nursed Mai Hilton. 
 
 Then she remembered her new resolve, and so 
 Mai Hilton was surprised by generous and deli- 
 cate kindness, which kindness, w^ith her usual 
 penetration, Miss Hilton translated into jealousy. 
 
 One bit of news in that day's letter to Rachel 
 Pyle was : '' Rue Leszinksky is desperately in 
 love with Mr. Bradnor and nearly wild through 
 her jealousy of me. She has found that her 
 pride hurts no one but herself, and now she 
 plays sweetness." 
 
96 THE MODERN IIAGAR. 
 
 The wedding guests were assembling ; the day 
 was one of mild expectancy. There was feast- 
 ing, and drinking, and music, and dancing, and 
 smiles, and laughter. But Erinnys was ready 
 to cut the threads of a nation's life. She must 
 have let go some cobwebby spinning of lesser 
 moment ; liow else can I explain the thrown- 
 away tangle Bob and Oscar found in the cottage 
 that had been so long tenantless ? 
 
 Molly Carisbrooke was no longer Molly Caris- 
 brooke. A reverend bishop — whose good life, 
 now that he is dead, keeps his memory green in 
 the hearts of the many that loved liini; — pro- 
 nounced the nuiDtial benediction. Beautiful wo- 
 men and brave men assisted at the ceremony. 
 But beauty withers in the long days of mourn- 
 ing, and the brave ^vill fall in the storm of battle 
 like leaves in the autumn woods. 
 
 O dread Erinnys ! It is well that you dwell in 
 those awful regions with the grim terror-breed- 
 ing Shades, and that your spinning is unseen of 
 mortals. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 " This point is, to be sure, a very delicate one to treat ; for m -^rords, 
 at least, the age has grown to be wonderfully moral. . . . But human na- 
 ture, as far as I am able to learn, has not much changed since the time 
 \rhen Richardson wrote and Hogarth painted a century ago." 
 
 TFIE morning after the marriage the short dis- 
 tance of Carson's wedding- journey was ac- 
 complished in an hours drive. Ke had been 
 on leave of absence nearly all the previous sum- 
 mer. The changes in the disposition of the few 
 regiments that were not actually needed in Utah 
 and New Mexico, and the movement of troops 
 in view of the threatening state of affairs in 
 South Carolina, made it difficult for Carson to 
 ask or obtain fresh leave. But Molly had al- 
 ready taken her place as helper. She decided 
 that they would go from Rosebank to Carson's 
 quarters in the garrison. She so strenuously in- 
 sisted upon her preference for IS'ewport that Car- 
 son delightedly yielded to her decision. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley, Miss Hilton, Roane, and Brad- 
 nor left the same morning for Washington. 
 • The Leszinkskys, Carson's son, and Carson's 
 
 97 
 
98 THE MODERN HAG AM. 
 
 sister, Mrs. McCormack, were tlie only visitors 
 left at Rosebank, and Mrs. McCormack was to 
 meet lier liiisbancl at tlie station for tlie evening 
 train. 
 
 Dominie McCormack liad left Eosebank im- 
 mediately after an early breakfast. He had af- 
 fairs of moment that needed his attention in the 
 office of Friend Fisher. 
 
 It had cost the honest zealot the sacrifice of 
 what he regarded as valuable time and a painfnl 
 effort at onter adornment to come to the wedding 
 of his wife's brother. Not that the dominie felt 
 the slightest embarrassment over past difficul- 
 ties. The time when, according to his judgment, 
 though physically vanquished, he was morally 
 victor in his combat with principalities and 
 powers, had left him comforting, not mortify- 
 ing, recollections. He had simply gone through 
 the tribulations to which the just are called. He 
 had suffered for conscience' sake, for which he 
 had an indwelling sense of triumph and — that 
 rarest and most perfect bliss to a bigot — the feel- 
 ing that he had been a martyr to his beliefs. 
 
 He had rather a feeling of gratitude than re- 
 sentment to those who had, however uninten- 
 tionally, lifted liim to eminence in the categorv 
 
of witnesses who testify to truth through the 
 shedding of their blood. Moreover, when you 
 could get through the crusts that covered it, the 
 dominie had a Idndly disposition. 
 
 Thus the things which would have kept a 
 resentful or sullen tenix)er at slumberous heat 
 brought forth the dominie' s friendliness. 
 
 The invitation to Carson's wedding was the 
 holding out of an olive-branch which seemed to 
 him an amend, if not an apology, for the time 
 when Carson had blazed out in fierce and profane 
 words in a letter which threatened the dominie 
 with personal chastisement — words of unholy 
 and irreverent anger, that had made no more im- 
 pression than would a passing blast of sounding 
 trumpets and tinkling cymbals. For the domi- 
 nie had never been self- convicted of wrong in the 
 punishment inflicted upon his wife's nephew. 
 He had himself been trained to a virtuous and 
 orthodox manhood through the same argument ; 
 a fortiori^ why should he not apply it to 
 others 1 
 
 As to Rue, the dominie felt there could be no 
 doubt that she was the aggressor. Had she not 
 ansv/ered words of wisdom and truth with the 
 application of an instrument to the magisterial 
 
100 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 cranium, that came near trepanning him without 
 help of surgery or benefit of clergy ? 
 
 When the olive-branch was handed the domi- 
 nie he asked his wife, as he had often asked 
 himself : " Why should the just chastisement of 
 an obstinate boy and a warning shake given to 
 an impertinent little minx"— he was not classi- 
 cally clioice in his selection of words, but he did 
 have a hearty liking for strong old English — 
 " keep us from friendly relationship or from ac- 
 ceptance of this invitation? — though you must 
 excuse me for saying, my dear, that I consider 
 your brother an unreasonable and profane blas- 
 phemer." 
 
 After thus relieving his mind of its burden of 
 condemnation the dominie was silently acqui- 
 escent to the note and burden of preparation. 
 Punctually at the hour named the McCormacks 
 arrived at Rosebank and the Carisbrookes made 
 them welcome. 
 
 The dominie was amiable, I might even say 
 conciliating, to his old young antagonists and 
 their respective progenitors. At the dancing he 
 blew his arched j^roboscis with a note of defiant 
 displeasure, but he did wisely manage to hold 
 his tongue from further utterance. Mentally he 
 
''KING stan:' 101 
 
 disapproved of many things he saw, but he most 
 cordially approved of the supper. His '"isms" 
 had not interfered with his digestion or made 
 him a dyspeptic, as 'isms of their class are wont 
 to do. His twists were in his brain, not in his 
 stomach. The last had a keen and sensitive de- 
 light in the things of the flesh ; and, happily, 
 his next neighbor at the table was a divine 
 of his own persuasion, celebrated as a contro- 
 versialist and distinguished as an epicure. Thus 
 the conversation was much to the dominie's 
 taste, and the interruptions to conversation 
 equally agreeable to his palate. Fortunately for 
 his hosts, the frame of mind begotten of this 
 doubled iDleasure kept the dominie in a ra- 
 diantly agreeable mood until he was shown to 
 his room. 
 
 Then, as the gods of discord would have it, 
 Oscar was usher. To the Rev. Mr. McCormack 
 a negro was always an interrogation-point, or 
 rather tlie finger-post of destiny in the march of 
 the universe. Mrs. McCormack had remained 
 downstairs with the revellers, so Oscar's stay 
 was prolonged with offer of service. As "the 
 man and the brother ' ' drew off the new boots, 
 which had been the crumpled rose-leaves in the 
 
102 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 evening of the epicurean reformer, lie commenced 
 questioning : 
 
 " Were you born a slave or a freeman ? " 
 
 "Me, sail?" 
 
 ' ' Yes ; were you born free ? ' ' 
 
 "I belongs to Marse Stan, sail." 
 
 ''What!!!" 
 
 Half frightened by the tone, Oscar added, in 
 his most suave and apologetic manner : 
 
 "To Major Leszinksky, sah. I was lef to 
 him from the Masons, sah — the Masons of Mount 
 Hope. Doctor Carisbrooke was kin to 'em. 
 Marse Stan's mother was a Mason, and his 
 grandfather, old Judge Mason, raised me, sah." 
 
 ' ' You mean you are a slave ? " 
 
 "Yes, sail ; I belongs to Marse Stan." 
 
 " And he brought you to Ohio ? " 
 
 ' ' Oh ! yes, sah. He hardly ever goes any whar, 
 sail, without Oscar — leastways when I can be 
 spar'd from home." 
 
 There was a ring of pride and triumph in the 
 last words. And Oscar looked at his interroga- 
 tor as if he could say more but modesty for- 
 bade. 
 
 "You unfortunate and cruelly oppressed vic- 
 tim, you unhappy slave ! your rufRanly tyrant 
 
''KING STAN." x03 
 
 must and shall release his unlawful hold. You 
 were made free the instant you touched this 
 blessed soiL, coming as you did with his know- 
 ledge and consent." 
 
 "I don't know nothin' 'bout none o' them 
 folks, sah. I belong, sah, to Major Leszinksky." 
 
 "Do you mean to say you do not know what 
 freedom is— that you are willing to remain a 
 slave?" 
 
 ' ' I know plenty of free niggers, sah ; I' ve seen 
 'em mostly in the North, sah, but we has got a 
 few in Virginia. But me ? I was raised by old 
 Judge Mason. I belong to that family, sah — 
 one of the very best, sah, in the State." 
 
 " You do not understand me, my poor friend. 
 I mean to tell you that the instant you came into 
 Ohio with your master's knowledge and consent 
 you were free. The law frees you. Do you 
 not want to be free ? ' ' 
 
 " I ain't never studied 'bout that, sir. But if 
 you means do I want to leave Marse Stan, sah, 
 or my Miss Rue, or the family, sah — no, sah ! I 
 was raised with Marse Stan, sah. Why, this 
 fam'ly wouldn't sell me, sah, for all the money 
 anybody mought offer. No, sir ; no nioney 
 wouldn't buy me, sah," 
 
104 THE MODERN HAG Ah'. 
 
 ''But you can leave them. I will put on my 
 boots and go with you this night to Friend 
 Fisher. He' s an anti-slavery law^yer ; you can 
 be free to-morrow." 
 
 " 1 ain't got no 'casion, sah, to go to no Marse 
 Friend Fisher. I wouldn't leave Marse Stan no 
 more 'ner he'd sell me, sah." 
 
 "But do you prefer to be a slave ? Have you 
 no sense of manhood ? Do you not want your 
 freedom ? And your wife and children — would 
 you not have them free?" 
 
 " I ain't got no children, and my wife was — " 
 
 He stopped abruptly as the sore spot in his life 
 w^as touched. "Words would have been impotent, 
 even if he could have told of his marriage with 
 Lucy, and how and why he lost her. Speech 
 was impossible ; but the gleaming eyes and the 
 pose of the tall, strong figure, with the clenched 
 fists and the head thrown back until the swollen 
 muscles were brought into full relief, expressed 
 a grief so deej) that it was speechless.* 
 
 * The ston- of Oscar, which is only indistinctly outlined here from the 
 necessities of the drama, is fully told in " Baby Rue."' The author would 
 like, if it were possible, to write again the narrative of the life of the Les- 
 zinkskys on the plains, and of the ucble devotion of the black man who, 
 alone with Bob Stearns, followed his master's child, when she had been 
 captured by the Pawnees, into the heart of the Indian country. 
 
''KING ST an:' 105 
 
 *'Sold aAvay from yon? I knew it! Taken, 
 possibly, for a concubine. A slave's wife is not 
 Ms ; slie belongs to his master. Your master 
 robbed you of your wife ! " 
 
 " What ! " The negro advanced threateningly 
 and the dominie retreated rapidly toward the 
 door. But Oscar stopped. 
 
 '' You don't know Marse Stan, sah, so I won't 
 take no 'count o' what you said. He would no 
 more a-took my wife, sah, than he would take 
 yourn — an' she' s Marse Carson' s sister, an' Marse 
 Carson's like a brother to him, sah. But me? 
 AVhy, my mammy nussed him when she nussed 
 me. Why, he' d— yes, sah— die to keep me from 
 bein' put upon and wronged, Marse Stan hurt 
 me? Marse Stan! You don't know Marse 
 Stan. An' you'se made a mistake, sah, 'bout 
 me." And Oscar strode out of the room without 
 waiting for dismissal. 
 
 The next morning after his early breakfast the 
 dominie asked for Leszinksky. He told him 
 frankly how he had questioned Oscar, and his 
 determination to take advantage of his having 
 brought Oscar into the State. He said he was 
 not yet satisfied that the slave understood his 
 rights, and that he intended to send Friend 
 
lOG THE MODERN HA GA R. 
 
 Fisher up to see and question him, but that 
 after Oscar's testimony to his master s Idndness 
 he thought it only right to be frank. 
 
 Leszinksky thanked him for the complimen- 
 tary confidence, and pledged his word that 
 Friend Fisher might talk as long as he liked 
 with Oscar, or at least as long as Oscar would 
 listen, adding that Oscar might decide the ques- 
 tion of freedom for himself. 
 
 Coming into the library half an hour later, Mrs. 
 Carisbrooke was astonished to find the dominie a 
 pleased listener to Leszinksky, who was earnest- 
 ly discussing with him the possibilities and fu- 
 ture of the negro race. They differed vridely in 
 views and methods, but Leszinksky's courtesy 
 was conquering the dominie's prejudice when 
 Roane appeared, and Mrs. Carisbrooke managed 
 to inveigle him into the discussion. I am not 
 sure her malice was not more sj)ecially aimed 
 at Roane than the dominie. But when the doc • 
 tor and Carson came down Leszinksky was a 
 silent listener and the wordy war was hot and 
 bitter. 
 
 The dominie took leave, and in the afternoon 
 Friend Fisher came and interrogated Oscar. 
 Then he had a long interview with Oscar's mas- 
 
''KING STAN." 107 
 
 ter, and left in a rather depressed and contem- 
 plative mood. 
 
 Rue spent the day shopping in the city with 
 Mammy Sara and Stanislaus Carson. Steenie 
 was out with the doctor. After luncheon and 
 after Friend Fisher's visit Leszinksky was alone 
 in the library, writing, when Mrs. Carisbrooke 
 opened the door. 
 
 '' You are busy ? " 
 
 ' ' Something that can wait. I will be very glad 
 to put the writing aside and talk with you." 
 
 " Then I will come in, for I have something to 
 say." 
 
 Leszinksky placed a low easy-chair on one side 
 of the open fireplace and arranged a screen to 
 shade the face of the lady, who, busied with 
 some knitting- work, seemed to forget the "some- 
 thing to say,-' although the willing listener was 
 seated opposite, waiting. 
 
 ''What fascination there is in knitting! It 
 always seems to charm women. Is it the weav- 
 ing of meshes or the playing with steel that is 
 the attraction ? Or are you conscious that your 
 beautiful hands are shown at their best in the 
 flash of the long, slender needles and in the rosy 
 glow of the firelight in that crimson wool ?" 
 
108 THE 310DERX HA OA R. 
 
 **Tlie exliibition and the i)leased vanity, of 
 course." 
 
 '' Which acceptance of motive your tone de- 
 nies. But you know you have beautiful liands ; 
 and why should you not wish them to be seen ? " 
 
 *'Did that coxcomb Bradnor bite you before 
 he left ? I never knew you to talli: folly before. 
 Isn't it rather late for you io bloom out in such 
 flower r' She was so evidently nettled that 
 he laughed ; then she laid aside her work with 
 an affectation of great carefulness, at which he 
 laughed afresh. 
 
 "Stan, I do not like to be rude to you, but 
 silliness in you is so unexpected that it puts me 
 out of temper. Moreover, I wished to consult 
 you about something which is serious and which 
 worries me." 
 
 His manner was instantly attentive and sym- 
 pathetic : 
 
 " I am serious ; and you know I am always at 
 your service." 
 
 " I sent Oscar night before last to the cottage 
 in the orchard with that soldier from the gar- 
 rison. The servants' quarters as well as the 
 house were crowded. There was no other place 
 to give the man. Lucy had ])een away so long 
 
''KING STAN." 109 
 
 that it seemed needless to keep it always unoc- 
 cupied — though the furniture is Lucy's own, and 
 I have always respected her right to her home. 
 Carisbrooke had it repaired and j)ut in order for 
 Lucy. She seemed happier out there, and she 
 had nothing in common with our servants. There 
 are two rooms and a roughly-finished shed. 
 Every time Lucy vanishes I find the front-door 
 key left in my basket. She always takes with 
 her the key out of the padlock which fastens the 
 back door, or else hides it somewhere in the shed. 
 When she returns from one of her long absences 
 she always goes to the cottage before coming to 
 the house ; and, as you know, we never speak of 
 her absence. She simply resumes her i)lace in 
 the household. ' 
 
 '' I had given the key of the front door to Os- 
 car. I did not think of his relationship to Lucy ; 
 I had forgotten it. An hour later I met him in 
 the hall near the dining-room. I think he was 
 going to your room. I knew you had gone to 
 your room. I asked him if he had made a fire 
 in the cottage, and if it was in order, or did he 
 need anything ? He hesitated, and I questioned 
 Inm sharply, and then he told me that the house 
 had been opened before they went out there. He 
 
110 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 found a fire nearly burned out in tlie stove. I 
 said, 'Lucy must have come back,' and he an- 
 swered, 'Yes, madam, Lucy is here. She's 
 somewhere in the house here now.' He seemed 
 intensely eager and excited, which made me re- 
 member all of Lucy's story. So I asked : 
 
 *' 'Do you want a place for the soldier? If 
 that is it you must make a pallet for him in the 
 doctor's study. Where is he?' He told me 
 the man was in the kitchen, and I bade him go 
 vrith him to the outside door of the study. When 
 I opened the study door Oscar started to go into 
 the hall. I told him that Major Carson was with 
 you, and again I asked what he wanted. Then 
 he said he wanted to see Lucy. I told him I 
 would see if she was in the hoitse. I left them 
 in the study, intending to speak to Carisbrooke, 
 but Carisbrooke w^as Avitli you. 
 
 " Now, no one has told me, but I know Mai Hil- 
 ton is Lucy's child. I thought instantly Lucy 
 was in Kate's room. Mai Hilton roomed with 
 Kate. 
 
 " As I passed Molly's door I heard Kate talk- 
 ing with Molly. Rue was asleep, so I knew that 
 Mai Hilton must be alone. But as I knocked at 
 her door I heard voices. They did not hear me. 
 
^^KING stan:' 111 
 
 Before I could knock again the door was partly 
 opened and Lucy stood on the threshold, looking 
 back with a wild, scared expression into the room. 
 I heard Mai Hilton say : 'N'ever come to me with 
 that lie again. I detest, I abhor you ! I would 
 take my own life if I thought I was your child ! ' 
 Lucy's hands were now clasped and extended to 
 the girl in piteous entreaty. I never saw such 
 an expression of suffering, agonized mother- 
 hood. I suppose I did wrong, but I could not 
 help it ; the feeling for Lucy, sj^mpathy for 
 her lonely life, recollection of her suffering, of 
 her half-insanity, made me identify Mai with 
 Hartley. One had robbed Lucy, the other de- 
 nied her. 
 
 " I took Lucy's hand and led her up to Mai, 
 saying : ' She is your mother. You were taken 
 from her. She was robbed of her child and sold 
 as a slave. She never deserted you or consented 
 to give you away. Lucy will not ruin your po- 
 sition in the world by telling the story. For 
 Lucy's sake I will not tell it to any but one; 
 and that person is not one of my own family. 
 Molly does not and shall not know. The world 
 shall never know, but you must acknowledge 
 your mother. You must think of her and not of 
 
113 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 yourself. She has suffered cruelly for you and 
 because of you. She is your mother ! ' 
 
 "Lucy had fallen on her knees at the girl's 
 feet. The girl is a Hoyt. I had thought her all 
 Hartley until that moment. But she is akin to 
 her grandfather the gambler. She faced me with- 
 out a tremor, saying: ^I know you have never 
 liked me and that you are willing to humiliate 
 me. But I do not think you would lie. What 
 proof is there that this woman is my mother?' 
 I told her the plain, unvarnished truth, saying: 
 ' She belonged to the first Mrs. Leszinksky, who 
 was, as you know, a Cartaret. Mrs. Leszinksky 
 sold her to Major Hartley when you w^ere born, 
 that 3^our father might free you both. Major 
 Hartley is your father. Mrs. Cartaret gave you 
 the name of her first husband. 
 
 '' 'Your mother refused to give you up, and 
 your father sold her to a negro-trader. Major 
 Leszinksky forced your father to redeem her and 
 free her.' The girl looked me steadily in the 
 eyes as the tale w^as told. Lucy w-as prone 
 upon the fioor wath her arms about the girl's 
 knees. Suddenly Mai stooped and lifted Lucy's 
 head, and tho two faces were close together. 
 ' Yes,' she said, ' I believe you are my mother, 
 
'*Kijsra STAX.'' 113 
 
 but I will not live to acknowledge it. If you 
 prove this disgrace ujwn me you will drive me to 
 my death.' Without a word Lucy got up on her 
 feet. She kissed the girl' s hands. I knew, and 
 Mai knew, that her mother had given up all 
 claim, that it Avas their last parting. Once more 
 the girl spoke : ' I am sorry for you — for your 
 sake I am sorry that I am your child — but I 
 swear that the man who has caused you to suf- 
 fer and caused me this torture shall i^ay dearly 
 for it. I never wish to look upon your face 
 again ; but I am sorry for you.' Lucy silently 
 came with me from the room. I went with her 
 to the cottage and left her there with Kate's 
 maid. We had met Rose in the hall, and I 
 knew that Rose had recognized Lucy, Some one 
 must stay with Lucy, and I thought it had better 
 be Rose. It was well that Rose was there and 
 that Oscar was watching the cottage — for Oscar 
 did watch. Before morning Lucy had one of 
 those frightful attacks. And she is now in such 
 a condition that €arisbrooke thinks it will be nec- 
 essary to send her to an asylum. I knew Rose 
 would tell Kate, so I told her that night. She 
 was with Lucy nearly all yesterday and part of 
 last night. A nurse came from Longview y ester- 
 
114 THE MODERN HA GA R. 
 
 day, and Oscar is almost constantly in tlie next 
 room. He is often needed, for she is violent. 
 Carisbrooke and I both thonght it best to keep 
 the story from you until after Molly and Car- 
 son were gone. Besides, Kate asked me not to 
 tell yon while they were here." 
 
 '' Was Miss Hilton told of her mother's situa- 
 tion V 
 
 ''No; Kate said the girl was suffering terri- 
 bly. It is a horrible blow to her vanity. But I 
 assure you since I saw the Hoyt blood show in 
 her I think better of her. It was not a mere 
 threat that she made of death. I saw she meant 
 it, and that if driven to extremes she would keep 
 her word." 
 
 "I must go to Oscar," said Leszinksky, ris- 
 ing. 
 
 ' ' Yes, I think it will be well ; there is a look 
 in his face that frightens me. Did you ever 
 think that he might kill Captain Hartley ? ' ' 
 
 '■^ Oscar once expressed a fear that he would, to 
 Margaret ; and Carson believed that he would 
 have done so if he had not been sent away. If 
 the dominie knew what Avould be the result of 
 Oscar s being made free I do not think he would 
 have sent Friend Fisher to ask for so doubtful a 
 
'KING STAN.'' 115 
 
 boon . Has Carisbrooke decided when Lucy is to 
 
 be moved?" 
 
 " Yes ; she will go to Longview to-morrow." 
 ''I am glad of that. I could not take Oscar 
 
 away while she was here and he could be of use. 
 
 But when she is gone I must get him home at 
 
 once." 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 " Bounded the fiery steed in air, 
 The rider sate erect and fair, 
 Then like a bolt from steel crossbow 
 Forth laimch"d along the plain they go. 
 They dash'd the rapid torrent through, 
 And up Carhonie's hill they flew." 
 
 IT was a quiet, uneventful winter at "The Ce- 
 dars." Steenie was a pupil at tlie conyent 
 in Kiclimond, and Rue was reading indus- 
 triously with her father. She had objected to 
 going back to Philadelphia, and in the general 
 uncertainty as to public events Leszinksky was 
 glad to devote himself to his daughters. 
 
 Every Friday afternoon Rue and her father, on 
 two of the famous Cartaret thoroughbreds, fol- 
 lowed by Oscar leading Steenie' s pony, arrived 
 punctually at the convent gate— much to the de- 
 light of a gaping crowd of idle negroes and small 
 children — unless the weather was stormy. But 
 even then the neighborhood was no less moved ; 
 for the high -swung family coach with its four 
 thoroughbreds and two outriders was an equally 
 attractive sensation. 
 
 116 
 
"KING STAN." 117 
 
 Outside of "The Cedars" tlie world was less 
 quiet ; it marched to a more martial strain. Vir- 
 ginia was still waiting and striving to patch up a 
 peace, but in the distant South ' ' the sound of 
 the trumpet mingled with that of the clarion." 
 
 The cotton States had seceded, and their 
 senators and representatives had resigned the 
 places they held at the federal Capitol. 
 
 The "Peace Conference," which represented 
 all the border States, had their report summarily- 
 voted down in the Senate, while in the House it 
 was contemptuously refused reception. 
 
 The State of Virginia had called a conven- 
 tion, which was elected on the 4th of Febru- 
 ary. The majority of those returned to this as- 
 sembly were Union men. But the action of the 
 federal Congress upon the report of the "Peace 
 Conference" had so changed the feeling of the 
 State that delegates who were sent as Unionists 
 were now ready to vote for secession. Then 
 came the bloodless affair at Sumter, followed by 
 President Lincoln's proclamation of the 15th of 
 April calling for seventy-five thousand troops. 
 And the secession of Virginia was the immediate 
 result. 
 .Eoane made a hurried visit to "The Cedars" 
 
lis THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 on his way to Arkansas. When Roane left 
 Leszinksky accompanied him as far as Rich- 
 mond. 
 
 Roane only tarried a day in the capital of 
 Virginia, but before he started for Arkansas 
 Leszinksky had tendered his services to Gover- 
 nor Letcher. He was appointed lieutenant-colo- 
 nel of one of the first regiments raised in the 
 State. That was the third week in April. On 
 the 6th of May Virginia was admitted into the 
 *' Southern Confederacy," and the regiment to 
 which Leszinksky belonged was assigned to the 
 brigade of General Robert E. Lee. 
 
 One perfect year had been framed in the set- 
 ting of Rue's stormy life, and then the land was 
 aflame with War! The household at *'The 
 Cedars " was broken up. 
 
 Steenie's home was to be permanently in the 
 convent, and "Mammy Sara" was to go with 
 her delicate nursling. 
 
 Despite Leszinksky' s feebly-expressed remon- 
 strance Rue decided for herself— she would fol- 
 low his fortune. 
 
 Rue's maid and Oscar completed the camp 
 household. The chances were that Leszinksky' s 
 regiment would not leave Virginia, and it would 
 
'^ KING STAN." 119 
 
 always be easy to find quarters sufficiently near 
 camp. 
 
 Of lier father's command Rue knew compara- 
 tively notliing. Comradeship would have been 
 possible only with the old regiment ; now that 
 old regiment was sure at some time to face them 
 in the fight. That was the one stinging fact she 
 felt pierce the heart of her patriotism. Ah ! if 
 they were only with her how gladly would she 
 have fallen into the old grooves. Side by side 
 with them and her father, little would she have 
 recked the leaden rain and the iron thunderbolts 
 of the battle. 
 
 Of the war only one scene comes necessarily 
 into our history. 
 
 In the earlier battles Colonel Leszinksky had 
 come out unhurt. The brigade to which he 
 belonged had become accustomed to the little 
 group which always waited near the ambu- 
 lances. 
 
 A slight, pale girl with a cold, set face, 
 
 « 
 
 scarcely conscious of the impatient fretting 
 of the thoroughbred that would have been ofl! 
 with every rattle of musketry had not the hand 
 been as firm as the face was resolute, was al- 
 ways waiting there, attended only by a groom. 
 
120 TEE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 A quick glance as the wounded were brought out 
 of the fight, a tightened grasp of the reins, a 
 whitening of the scarlet lips — no other expres- 
 sion ; neither question nor murmur, always the 
 same proud, j)atient composure until the battle 
 ended. Then a rush forward, if it Avere possible, 
 until she joined a silvery-haired officer. There 
 was a quick look that for these two had all of 
 inquiry, all of reply, a grasp of the hand, and 
 side by side they rode silently until they were 
 alone and speech was unrestrained. 
 
 So the time had sped ; they had never yet 
 met any of the old comrades, but father and 
 daughter knew they Avere there, at the front. 
 Day after day the panorama of war was un- 
 rolled. They Avere never out of hearing of the 
 guns and sight of troops. 
 
 Even in their infrequent visits to Steenie Rue 
 found that social life in Richmond meant cami3 
 life, garrison life, the life of a beleaguered city — 
 a life that from its very intensity was natural, 
 simple, earnest. Conventionalities grew into 
 traditions or took new fonns. EvcTy thing 
 fashioned itself to suit the change. Men of the 
 heroic type developed under the trials, while the 
 baser soit were more aggressive, more boastful. 
 
'^ KJJSra STAN." 121 
 
 Modern and multiplied editions of Falstafr, 
 Bardolph, and Poins were in every camp. Yet 
 as offset many a noble and princely Hal, wlio 
 liad run riot througli idleness and the imper- 
 fectly trained and untamed energy of youth, 
 broke the bonds that held him and came out of 
 the sulphurous smoke of battle purged and puri- 
 fied by dangers met and self-denial practised in 
 the service of some wounded comrade. 
 
 Woman also changed with the time and re- 
 flected the time. 
 
 The motherhood that had been restricted into 
 the narrow channel of family grew broader and 
 fuller with a boy at the front. The woman's 
 heart overflowed and poured out in kindly deeds. 
 Her life was busy with its sweet charities. She 
 brought cheer and comfort to the soldier stricken 
 down by bullet or disease that destiny brought 
 to her door. Light seemed the task, precious 
 the labor, when she thought for whose sake it 
 was done and to whom the return would be 
 made. 
 
 Mothers were not alone in their devotion : 
 wives, sisters, daughters lost what was dearest 
 and bravely took up the burden of the life that 
 was left. 
 
122 THE MODERN H AGAR. 
 
 I claim for my countrywomen — and I know 
 that I do not claim too much in so saying — that 
 in all the history of the world no women ever 
 sacrificed so much, suffered so much, endured so 
 much, yet met sacrifice with such cheerfulness. 
 Their heaviest losses were borne with a fortitude 
 and constancy that brought hojie to men who 
 Avere faint and helpless in the presence of ills 
 that seemed too grievous to be borne. 
 
 To understand the social life of that time we 
 have to take into consideration the fateful ele- 
 ments of which it was constructed. Xo mere 
 narrative of daily events can portray life as it 
 really is, if the deeper meanings of resultant ef- 
 fects are not studied. Social life is always of 
 necessity a surface picture ; yet we are more in 
 accord with the artist if we know why the sha- 
 dows deepen and from what point light is re- 
 flected. 
 
 In those long years active causes, terrible 
 forces, were brought into play, while all softer 
 sounds were drowned in the sobs of the tragedy 
 chorus. In the presence of such elements men 
 led nobler and women more natural lives. 
 
 In the camp with its chances, in the battle with 
 its dangers, education went on. Yet reason was 
 
''KING STAN," 123 
 
 not altogether free ; there was of necessity the 
 restraint that grows out of the habitudes of mil- 
 itary rule. Thought wore deeper channels, but 
 the channels were in a measure marked and nar- 
 rowed within fixed limits. Discipline taught the 
 patience that waits on supreme direction. 
 
 In the Confederate army each soldier felt the 
 influence of illustrious example. The first cap- 
 tain of the age was also the humblest Christian of 
 his day— peerless in battle, pure in heart, brave 
 because it was his nature to be brave, but confi- 
 dent in his courage because, with the simple faith 
 of a little child, he left results to the Highest. 
 
 He did his duty manfully, resolutely, not for 
 man's praise, but for God's approval. How 
 could such a man fail to stamp his likeness on 
 his epoch ? So from the highest to tlie loAvest 
 through society, through the army, if men were 
 not ruled by the right they at least respected the 
 right. 
 
 A great leader always grows to be the con- 
 science of a people ; his character expresses the 
 time, because in a measure he makes and rules 
 it. And so that time could not fail to touch the 
 highest, at least in endeavor, when Lee and Jack- 
 son were its exponents. 
 
124 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 By the happiest combination of characteristics 
 Jackson's greatness in nowise lessened that of 
 his chief. Each seemed the complement of the 
 other ; and thus was preserved the jDerfect fit- 
 ness that won their marvellous successes in the 
 field and in camj), through the effect of their 
 characters u^Don the character of the army. 
 From them the w^ave circled and widened. 
 
 Another influence, less marked because it lack- 
 ed the brilliant setting of action, though not less 
 real in effect from the example it afforded of for- 
 titude and resolution, was that of the head of the 
 government. It has been so constant a practice 
 since and during the war to misrex)resent, slan- 
 der, and condemn President Davis that the world 
 looks only for such base and baseless attack, and 
 would regard as misplaced praise any expression 
 which did him the most meagre justice. Even 
 his own people have fallen into the mistake of 
 avoidance of his name ; and that from no want 
 of affecflon or grateful appreciation, but for 
 fear it would needlessly rouse more bitter ani- 
 mosity, more envenomed criticism. 
 
 Now that this most cowardly of all virtues, 
 discretion, has failed to silence slander, now that 
 the failure is felt, it is tlie duty of every lover of 
 
'' KING J^TAN." 125 
 
 honor and truth to declare the fact that Jefferson 
 Davis represented the beliefs of the South. The 
 place of president came to him nnsought, un- 
 solicited ; his own personal i^reference was the 
 army. Who that knew him as a soldier in the 
 early days in the Northwest, or later on the plains 
 of Mexico, where" his gallantry forced praise and 
 thanks on the battle-field from that stubborn old 
 hero, Gen. Taylor, can doubt what a good sword 
 was lost to the Confederacy when he was made 
 X)resident and his own cherished ambition was 
 laid aside ? All of this is easily seen now that 
 we are face to face with results. 
 
 In '61 it was difficult to foretell events or their 
 effect upon the future of peoples and States. 
 But few believed in a long duration of the war ; 
 consequently it was a grand pageant, at which 
 all assisted. 
 
 That hot July day when bullets were flying at 
 Bull Run had failed to teach the South at what 
 cost battles must be won. It had flushed the 
 soldiers with j)ride and with the rank lust of 
 war. It disorganized and reorganized society, 
 which took upon itself a semi-military state. 
 
 In every drawing-room grand campaigns were 
 planned by loiterers who thought it needful to 
 
126 THE MODERN II A GAR. 
 
 return to the army only wlien the enemy's guns 
 sounded a recall. The Richmond drawing-rooms 
 were crowded with volunteer officers who flocked 
 to the city upon the slightest of pretexts, while 
 masses of raw and undisci]3lined troops repre- 
 sented at the front the bravery and patriotism 
 of the new nation. 
 
 All was in an inchoate and unsettled condition, 
 and the discipline of the army was a fluctuating 
 impulse dependent upon the accidents of victory 
 and the temper of its commanders. 
 
 One of those commanders was busy with his 
 political aspirations. ^'Within hearing of the 
 enemy's guns" he was amusing the enemy with 
 his newsi^aper effusions, declining the nomination 
 as Mr. Davis's successor in the presidential office 
 six years before it was vacant. Yet the harmless 
 vanity of the poseur for greatness was less hurt- 
 ful to his subordinates than the ambition and 
 jealousy of the Bazaine of the South, then in 
 command of the army in Virginia. 
 
 The two men who were to weld that army into 
 formidable shape and win for it imperishable re- 
 nown were yet unknown outside of Virginia. 
 
 Lee's only record was that he had patiently sus- 
 tained reverses while endeavoring to repair the 
 
"KING STAN." Ije7 
 
 disaster at Rich Mountain ; and Stonewall Jack- 
 son, in a subordinate position, was as yet only a 
 vague outline of prophecy. 
 
 Leszinksky's regiment had been ordered to 
 Western Virginia in the early summer of '61. 
 After the failure at Cheat Mountain Lee was sent 
 to take charge of the coast defences in South 
 Carolina and Georgia, and Leszinksky's regiment 
 joined General Evans's brigade. 
 
 After the battle of Leesburg Leszinksky was 
 promoted and given command of a regiment 
 which was ordered to join General Jackson at 
 Winchester. 
 
 From that time he was in constant and active 
 service, being in every engagement during Jack- 
 son's famous campaign in the Valley of Virginia 
 until the 10th of June, when he was ordered 
 to Richmond. 
 
 McClellan was closing in his advance upon 
 Richmond. The brigade of General Leszinksky 
 (promoted again at the capture of Winchester) 
 was encamped at "The Cedars." Steenie had 
 not been well, and the child begged to come 
 home now that her father was there. In event of 
 a change in the position of the troops she could 
 easily be sent back to the convent. During 
 
1.38 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Steenie's visit Rue yielded to her father's wish 
 and stayed at ''The Cedars," although his divi- 
 sion had been ordered some twelve miles away 
 and there w^as constant skirmishing along the 
 line. The heavy guns w^ere never silent, and the 
 constant movement and massing of troops fore- 
 told the nearness of the great struggle for the 
 possession of the Confederate capital. 
 
 It was the 26th day of June, 1862. The day 
 had been unusually hot, and Steenie was more 
 restless and impatient than usual ; this excite- 
 ment was telling upon a peculiarly delicate and 
 sensitive organization. General Leszinksky al- 
 ways, if jDossible, came to his daughters during 
 the evening. This night he- came late and 
 brought new^s of the near approach of the Fed- 
 eml forces. In view of the effect of further 
 excitement on Steenie he insisted on her re- 
 moval to Richmond ; he was anxious and wor- 
 ried, and therefore Rue made no objections. The 
 needful directions were given to the servants, and 
 at midnight General Leszinksky returned to his 
 command, not, however, before Rue had given an 
 order to Oscar that she knew^ would be obeyed. 
 
 ''If the battle commences to-morrow stay near 
 your master. Follow him with an extra horse ; 
 
'^ KING STAN." 129 
 
 he or you may need it. Take ' Grey Duke,' and 
 if anything happens to my father, at the risk of 
 your life come to me here. You can be sure of 
 finding me here." 
 
 "Yes, Miss Rue. You kin count' n Oscar's 
 comin' if thar's anything wrong." 
 
 " To-morrow night you can tell my father that 
 I am here and that I am waiting to come to 
 him." 
 
 "Yes, Miss Rue." 
 
 "Do you perfectly understand these direc- 
 tions?" 
 
 " Yes,'m. Tse to come fur you if marster's 
 hurt. If he's all right to-morrow night I'se to 
 tell him to send you word whar to come." 
 
 Early the next day Steenie and her faithful old 
 nurse left for Richmond under the escort of an 
 invalid officer of her father's brigade. At ten 
 o'clock a brigade from General Jackson's com- 
 mand arrived from the Valley and were met with 
 an order to encamp at "The Cedars." There 
 were old friends of General Leszinksky' s in the 
 party, whose families Rue had visited when the 
 Avar had swept near them. Now she was glad to 
 make them Avelcome, and the day vras shortened 
 from the duties it brought, although that dis- 
 
130 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 tant cannonading was never silent ! The night 
 passed— no message. They had breakfasted 
 when Rue was told ' ' Oscar is on the porch thar, 
 Miss Rue, waiting to see you." She went di- 
 rectly, extending her hand. 
 
 ''You have a letter r' 
 
 *'No, Miss Rue." 
 
 ''A message?" 
 
 "Not exactly a message; marster didn't tole 
 me, but I thought I had better cum." 
 
 ''You did right to come. Will you know 
 where to find the division ? ' ' 
 
 " Marster' s not gone with the division." 
 
 "Well, the brigade?" 
 
 "He isn't with the brigade nuther ; he's at 
 old Mr. Shirley's 'folks' quaiters,' in old Uncle 
 Ben's cabin. Don't be skur'ed. Miss Rue ; he's 
 a livin', but he's hurt mighty bad. Dr. Wilson 
 and ole Uncle Ben's with him; but I did jes' 
 what you tole me, Miss Rue— I come straight fur 
 you." 
 
 Trembling and faint. Rue sat down on the 
 steps ; the servants crowded around with kindly 
 words. 
 
 "Don't, don't cry. Miss Rue; don't cry, 
 honey! Marster' 11 get well. You'll find him 
 
^'KING STAN." 131 
 
 all right. 'Tain't long since Oscar lef him; he 
 mos' killed ' Grey Duke ' a-comin'." 
 
 She had no time for grief — that must come 
 after — so resolutely she got on her feet. 
 
 '' When did you leave my father ? " 
 
 ' ' Jes' abou t nine o' clock. I wa' n' t much mor' n 
 an hour a-comin'. We can get thar, Miss Rue, 
 'fore noon." 
 
 ''Saddle 'Kubleh' for me; you must ride 
 'Blackhawk.' We have no time to lose." 
 
 She turned and met her guests ; they had heard 
 the news. 
 
 " What could they do ? " 
 
 "Nothing, gentlemen. Yes: general, please 
 write me a pass ; it may ^^revent delay." 
 
 In ten minutes Rue and Oscar were off. Much 
 as she wished it, she dared not go at racing speed. 
 The horses must not give out. If troops were in 
 the way it might double, treble the distance to 
 be traversed; fifteen miles might stretch into 
 thirty, or even fifty. Oscar's knowledge of 
 wood-paths and cross-cuts was of great help. 
 Twice they were halted ; the pass must be 
 shown. The last time the ofiicer, having read it, 
 said : 
 
 "I have seen you on several battle-fields, Miss 
 
132 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Leszinksky. The boy says your father is shot ; 
 I hope not fatally ? " 
 
 The rude question was kindly meant, but the 
 words "your father is shot" for a moment stag- 
 gered Rue as if she had received a blow. Then 
 a resolute effort of will and she was riding on 
 "to the front," leaving distance behind. Only 
 two miles more — two miles— and she would be 
 with her father. Every pulse beat, every nerve 
 quivered with eager hope and desire, every 
 thought was a i^rayer only to reach him, to 
 find him alive and conscious. 
 
 Again the road swarmed with troops. Beyond 
 were heavy guns to which they were harnessing 
 fresh horses ; passing them was impossible for 
 the present, so again she turned into the tobacco 
 and corn fields. 
 
 Just at the head of the narrow gorge through 
 which her path led she suddenly rode into a 
 group of Confederate ofiicers lying at ease un- 
 der cover of the undergrowth of scrub-oak and 
 hazel-bushes which fringed the hillside. 
 
 The creek in the ravine ran in a southeasterly 
 direction. On the l^row of the hill, or rather 
 heights, on the right were newly-constructed 
 earthworks held by the Confederate forces. The 
 
''KINO stan:' 133 
 
 creek was nearly at the base of this ascent, with 
 only the road between. 
 
 On the left of the creek the valley was possi- 
 bly some fifty feet wide ; then there was a gra- 
 dual ascent through an open woods that had, 
 however, a close fringe of willows on the bank. 
 Three-quarters of a mile down the ravine, or 
 gorge, a little rivulet cut the hillside on the left 
 of the creek, and below it rose suddenly a bold, 
 high cliff ; around that a bridle-path led to the 
 "folks' quarters" of the Shirley estate. There 
 in old Ben's house was General Leszinksky. 
 
 Within an instant after Eue came upon the 
 group of officers they were around her. Many 
 of them she knew slightly. She could see 
 they understood how terribly she was stricken. 
 Kindly hands were extended. General Stuart, 
 as he lifted her from her horse, said : 
 
 ''Your father is inside the enemy's line. 
 There was a blunder as to orders after he fell, 
 and the hill down below the gap is in possession 
 of the Federals. So are the woods on the left 
 of the creek. Fortunately the Stonewall brig- 
 ade hold the heights on this side. "We are mass- 
 ing troops here to dislodge the enemy. Pel- 
 ham's battery is there on that knoll, just getting 
 
134 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 into position. Before night we will take you to 
 your father, if they have not removed him." 
 " Is my father mortally wounded ? " 
 '* I trusf and hope not. I saw one of his aids. 
 He thinks the enemy may not find General Les- 
 zinsky. Old Ben is faithful and trustworthy, 
 and Dr. Wilson is there." 
 
 '' General, I must go to my father." 
 *' You cannot. I dare not permit you. It is 
 not an hour since the enemy were driven back 
 in an attempt to storm the heights. This is only 
 the lull before a fresh storm. Here is Pelham. 
 He will tell you it would be madness to attempt 
 to go do\vn that gorge. Major Pelham — Miss 
 Leszinksky, the daughter of General Leszink- 
 sky. You know, major, he is wounded and at 
 the Shirley quarters. You will tell Miss Les- 
 zinksky how utterly impossible it is for her to 
 go there." 
 
 '* Major, my father is desj^erately wounded; 
 he has no son, so I, his daughter, have the right 
 to dare all, to risk all, to reach him. Only one 
 mile to go ! — only one mile, and my thorough- 
 bred will do it in less than two minutes." 
 
 '^Not down that rocky valley. If it were at 
 all possible no one would stay you a second. 
 
''KINO STAN:' 135 
 
 But you would risk almost certain death. War 
 is no longer chivalry — it is war^ 
 
 *'I would rather die in the way than wait — 
 than fail my father in his need." 
 
 *'If it were possible I would send a flag of 
 truce. There are United States regulars on the 
 hill — General Carson's brigade." 
 
 ^* Oh ! I know him welL I am his goddaugh- 
 ter. I was born and brought uj) with his old 
 regiment. You see how safe it would be for me. ' ' 
 
 ''If they knew you, yes ; but in the woods be- 
 tween are Connecticut volunteers. As a soldier's 
 daughter you must know Ave cannot send a flag 
 now during an engagement. In a few hours the 
 hottest of the fight will probably be here. Gene- 
 ral Carson will hold the cliff stubbornly. If you 
 will be patient we will all do our utmost to make 
 the waiting short. General, let me see you one 
 instant." 
 
 A few moments, and as Major Pelham crossed 
 the open space below where Hue waited a volley 
 of bullets whistled by. Oscar was rubbing the 
 foam from "Kubleh's" flanks, whilst a soldier 
 held the bridle of "Blackhawk." Rue called 
 Oscar as a scout came up to the general to re- 
 poi't. Her directions were quickly given : 
 
13G THE MUDERX llAUAn. 
 
 ''See to the girths, then put me up. Do not 
 try to follow me ; it would endanger us both. 
 Come to-night if it is possible. You know the 
 country well enough to pass the jjickets." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Rue ; you can 'pend on me." 
 
 The general came with the information : 
 
 ''The enemy are crowding reinforcements to 
 this point and to the left. I must leave ; but 
 Pelham will keep his promise. Now I must 
 send you back with an escort." 
 
 Rue beckoned Oscar and he put her upon 
 "Kubleli." Gathering the reins hastily before 
 the others should mount, she moved toward 
 the jjath down the hillside, saying: 
 
 "General, you have done your duty as gen- 
 tleman and soldier. I must do mine as a sol- 
 dier's daughter. I am going down that ravine — 
 straight to my father." 
 
 And she was oif, down the hillside where the 
 bridle-path wound through the bushes into the 
 road, calling back to them : 
 
 "Do not come after me; you will make the 
 danger greater : you will only draw on me the 
 enemy's fire." 
 
 Seeing them halt, she recklessly rode on — the 
 tlioroughbred at racing speed — one hundred 
 
''KING JSTAN." 137 
 
 yards, and as slie crossed an opening between 
 the willows on tlie bank tliere rained a shower 
 of bullets. The distance before she must cross 
 the creek was nearly made when "Kubleh. " 
 stumbled. 
 
 The mare quickly recovered, but the speed 
 slackened. Was she shot ? Rue did not know. 
 Still the balls whistled by. Not a sound from 
 the Confederates on the heights until then, 
 when the shells screamed over Rue and she 
 knew Pelham was trying to clear the woods to 
 her left. 
 
 But there on the cliff were the marksmen of 
 the plains. One volley from them and her doom 
 was sealed. How to make them know her ? how 
 to live long enough to reach her father? Only 
 to reach her father — she had no thought, no 
 care but that. As she turned to cross the creek 
 a ball touched her. It took her hat and un- 
 bound her hair. Again "Kubleh" staggered, 
 then struggled on. How to make them under- 
 stand?— Bob Stearns and those men up there, 
 who would rather die than harm her. Yes ; 
 she thought it out at last— an old trick they 
 had taught her. They had called it ''Captain 
 Rue's Salute," 
 
138 THE MODERN IIAUAH. 
 
 Eiding now steadily, slowly, perfectly erect, 
 that tliey might see, she took the bridle in 
 her teeth, and bending her whip, holding it as 
 the arc of a bow with her arms high over head, 
 on she rode, steadily on, slowly ujd the slope. 
 For a minute the firing of Federals and Confede- 
 rates had ceased. One minute, then a sharp vol- 
 ley whistled from the left. As that sound died, 
 above from the cliff stalwart men swanned down. 
 Bob Stearns's voice bellowing out: 
 
 *' It's Cap'n Rue, and them damned volunteers 
 keep firing at her. Stop it ! stop it ! ! or we' 11 
 sweep you to h— 1." 
 
 The thoroughbred had won her last race — won 
 it with a bullet through her. 
 
 As the mare fell Rue was caught in strong 
 arms and carried up the cliff, while a wild, pierc- 
 ing Confederate yell from the earthworks across 
 the ravine rang out congratulation, Unhurt, 
 safe, in the centre of a group of men who were 
 sobbing around her like children. 
 
 Rue looked in their faces through blinding 
 tears, gasping brokenly : 
 
 *' My father is down there in the Shirley quar- 
 ters, desperately wounded. Will you take me 
 to bim ? They tried to stop me up there— Gene- 
 
''KING STAN." 139 
 
 ral Stuart and Major Pelham — but I would come. 
 I thouglit you would know me ; some one would 
 be sure to remember." 
 
 Here General Carson broke through the circle 
 and the men fell back. He took Eue in his arms 
 and kissed her. In a few moments she was with 
 her father, crying tears of mingled grief and joy. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 •' No more in soldier fashion will he greet 
 With lifted hand the gazer in the street. 
 
 Oh ! fallen at length that tower of strength 
 
 Which stood four square to all the winds that blew.** 
 
 I]Sr a sheltered spot, out of reach of the storm 
 of battle which raged furiously, they pitched 
 a tent, and there they carried Leszinksky. 
 Words fail in telling the kindness of those rough 
 men, the loving sympathy of his old comrades 
 among the officers. 
 
 At times, in a half-conscious waking, he seem- 
 ed to recognize the old, familiar faces, and then 
 would talk in broken sentences of the camp out 
 there, of the life on the plains, and of Margaret. 
 All between was effaced. 
 
 At nightfall came General Carson, calling Rue 
 to one side : 
 
 ''We are going to move from here. Rue. 
 Which had you rather do, my child— go with 
 us or try to get your father home ? " 
 
 "Home, if possible ; when my father is fully 
 
 140 
 
''KLY(x STAN: 14:1 
 
 conscious lie will want my sister. But how am I 
 to get him to ' The Cedars M " 
 
 *' Those Connecticut fellows are coming over 
 here to hold the cliff— if they can when Jackson 
 wants it. You know their colonel— Bradnor, the 
 ' swamped ' lieutenant. Of course the dandy has 
 everything they will give at the War Depart- 
 ment. He has the best ambulance in the service. 
 I will ask him for it. He will hardly dare refuse 
 me, and I will leave Bob and three of the men 
 with you. Oh ! did you know Oscar has got in 
 with a horse of yours ? " 
 
 ;^ He is unhurt r' 
 
 ''Yes ; he flanked your pickets and ours, and 
 made it safely. I believe a negro would squeeze 
 through a snake-hole to pass a picket-line. Can 
 he drive well?" 
 
 '' Yes, rapidly and carefully." 
 
 *' Then he can drive the ambulance. Your fa- 
 ther can have the doctor in with him. I can 
 mount two of the men, and they can change with 
 the others. Two must walk by the ambulance. 
 These Virginian gullies are something to cross. 
 You have the horse Oscar brought, and you know 
 the Confederate officers in front of us. The only 
 trouble will be when these volunteers of ours 
 
142 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 leave (and they will leave, with Jackson over 
 there). Stearns can hold your horses and ambu- 
 lance until then ; but in the rush of the rebels?" 
 
 "Major Pelham is sure to remember that we 
 are here. We will be safe with the Confederate 
 advance, but Bob and the men—" 
 
 "Must see you home. There is no time to 
 change escorts in a fight, and this one is no 
 child's play. The men must take their chance 
 about getting back to the brigade. I will have 
 to parole your father and Dr. Wilson ; then 
 Bradnor can make no difficulty about it." 
 
 " I do not need to thank you, general ? " 
 
 "Yes, you do, Rue ; it's confounded hard to 
 give you up. D—n the war ! ' ' 
 
 " You forget I have a way of catching your ex- 
 pressions. They brought me to grief once, and 
 that last is tempting." 
 
 " You know we all love you, Rue, but I don't 
 think you realize how devotedly. If you are in 
 any need, if any help is wanted, let us know ; we 
 will come to you, if possible. If it is impossible, 
 some one will come — Molly or Mrs. Carisbrooke. 
 Good-by, my child. May God spare your fa- 
 ther ! " 
 
''KING STANr . 143 
 
 Colonel Bradnor came with offer of help, with 
 words of sympathy, all courteous attention to 
 Miss Leszinksky, to Dr. Wilson, and the most 
 considerate kindness to General Leszinksky. He 
 anticipated every possible want. Until then Rue 
 had let liking be ruled by attraction and repul- 
 sion. She now thought that an unjust prejudice 
 had blinded her to Bradnor' s good qualities, so 
 she forced a reversal of judgment, or rather forced 
 judgment to the other extreme, and credited the 
 man with every chivalrous, every noble quality. 
 
 General Carson had said truly — the Connecti- 
 cut brigade did leave when Jackson advanced in 
 the early morning. They did not stand upon the 
 order of their going. In an instant, it seemed, 
 after hearing that wild rebel yell there was a 
 rush of pursuers and pursued. 
 
 The Stonewall brigade were in the advance. 
 There was a hurried greeting, and the little party 
 were left to wait until the division had passed 
 and then commence their slow movement home- 
 ward. 
 
 Rue was on ' ' Blackhaw^k,' ' escorted by Bob and 
 one of the men. The two others walked by the 
 ambulance. Doctor Wilson was in it with Les- 
 
144 THE MODERN HAG AIL 
 
 zinksky. Oscar was driving. Slowly they passed 
 \\\) the ravine. On the heights was a division 
 unknown to Rue. Her father had grown faint ; 
 they stopped. 
 
 Bob and the men were standing a little apart 
 when an officer and his staff rode up to them and 
 asked : 
 
 *'Are you prisoners? Where are your 
 passes?" 
 
 Bob answered: ''We ain't got no passes, and 
 we ain't prisoners, so be an' Cap'n Rue don't 
 keer to make us sich." 
 
 "Then what the h— 1 are you doing here in 
 that Yankee uniform ? ' ' 
 
 "It's ourn. We belong to the United States 
 regulars. 'Tain't exackly a parade uniform (we 
 ain't got on our best), but this is good enough to 
 fight in. Nobody's complained on it yet." 
 
 " You d — d impudent Yankee, I'll put you in 
 irons— I'll— " 
 
 Rue rode in front of the men. 
 
 " I am Miss Leszinksky. My father. General 
 Leszinksky, of General Jackson's division, was 
 wounded yesterday and taken prisoner. He was 
 paroled by General Carson, of the United States 
 regulars, and these men were left with us as 
 
''KING STAN." 145 
 
 escort and protectors when General Carson re- 
 treated." 
 
 " Very well, miss. You do not need the pro- 
 tection of Yankees now. I will give you an es- 
 cort. These men are my prisoners. I will not 
 have such impudent scoundrels loose here in that 
 uniform." 
 
 ''They are not prisoners. They were given as 
 an escort to my father, and you touch his 
 honor if you fail to treat them with the courtesy 
 due to gallant men who are here in obedience to 
 the order of their general. ' ' 
 
 A young officer touched Rue^s arm and said in 
 a low tone : 
 
 "Your appeal to that man is useless, Miss 
 Leszinksky. He does not understand the code 
 of gentlemen Do you know General Lee ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "There he comes across that field with those 
 officers. Go to him." 
 
 She rode rapidly to meet the advancing group. 
 General Lee stopped. 
 
 '' Miss Leszinksky, to meet you here proves 
 that your father is better than I had feared. 
 Pelham told me of your desperate ride. Were 
 you any other than your father's daughter I 
 
146 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 should compliment your noble devotion. To 
 your father's daughter I can only say you have 
 fulfilled his expectation and mine." 
 
 "Thanks. My father is there in that ambu- 
 lance, badly wounded, unconscious most of the 
 time. I come to ask a favor." 
 
 " It is granted before the asking. I have faith 
 in your discretion." 
 
 " Did you know my father w^as a prisoner with 
 the regulars of his old regiment ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Yes ; Pelham told me they were there. I 
 know Carson." 
 
 ''Then you know how kind he is and what 
 gallant men they are — oihcers and soldiers. I 
 Avas brouglit up with them. General Carson 
 feared I might need assistance and protection, 
 and he left with me four men of our old com- 
 mand. There were changes of troops before 
 General Jackson captured the heights, so these 
 men were needed to keep the ambulance — you 
 see they gave us an ambulance. And now an 
 officer there, the one near the ambulance, has 
 ordered the men held as prisoners. He threat- 
 ened to put them in irons. Will you permit 
 itr' 
 
 "Certainly not !" 
 
''KING STAN:' 147 
 
 And lie rode on with Rue rapidly to where 
 they had dismounted Bob. 
 
 '' Colonel, who are those Federal soldiers V 
 
 "They are my prisoners, sir." 
 
 "Where did you cax)ture them ? " 
 
 "Here." 
 
 ' ' I did not know your regiment had been en- 
 gaged. From what command did jou capture 
 them?" 
 
 "From no command, sir; these were inside of 
 our lines." 
 
 "A safe place to capture prisoners. I trust 
 you will do as well at the front. Who is in that 
 ambulance T' 
 
 "A wounded officer, sir — Gfeneral Leszink- 
 sky." 
 
 "Did you not know these men were given to 
 him by a brave enemy as a guard of honor ? " 
 
 He hesitated, then commenced a muttered "I 
 knew they were in the Yankee uniform." 
 
 " Did you not know they were with a wounded 
 general officer and his daughter?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Then, sir, report yourself under arrest." 
 
 The superb gentleman took off his hat to Bob 
 and the men. 
 
148 TH£ 3I0DERN HAGAR. 
 
 ''Yoli are gallant and brave men. As a sol- 
 dier I honor you. Will you excuse the blunder 
 in your reception ? " 
 
 "It don't make no difference, sir; you see I 
 never expect much of volunteers. Now, I'd 
 a-know'd you was a reg'lar, sir, anywhar. I'm 
 powerful glad we come up with you. You see 
 we'd a-been disapp'inted and the regiment would 
 a-been disapp'inted if we hadn't a seen Cap'n 
 Rue and the major safe in quarters." 
 
 " Who is Captain Rue?" 
 
 "She's thar, sir. She's our child. You see 
 her father was our old major, and her mother 
 was one o' God's angels. Never a poor woman 
 sick on the frontier thar — even so be an' 'twas an 
 Injun — but she helped her. Nothing ever hurt 
 the regiment like when she died, an' we jes' took 
 her darter for ourn. An' you see what we made 
 on her, sir. If you'd a-seen her yesterday, sir, 
 riding down that gorge, her father behind us 
 thar, sir, hard hit, and we didn' t know it ! An' 
 we didn' t know her, sir. We saw them damned 
 volunteers — beg pardon, sir — a-firing at some- 
 body. And then we saw it was a woman, so we 
 didn't shoot, sir. God's marcy, sir, we didn't! 
 She jus' rode slow at us — sloic^ sir— an' they a-fir- 
 
''KING STAN." 149 
 
 ing at her, till we knowed who she was. Then, 
 sir, if they'd a-killed her there wouldn't a-bin 
 one on them left this side of hell, sir — beg par- 
 don, sir." 
 
 "Tell your regiment how I respect, how I 
 honor them. They are kind as they are brave. 
 When you have seen your captain home and 
 have had time to try her hospitality I will send 
 you back with a flag of truce and a letter for your 
 general. Until then you are Captain Rue' s pri- 
 soners. Miss Leszinksky, Captain Baskerville 
 will go with you to ' The Cedars.' I do not think 
 there is another man in the army would give you 
 any trouble, but we will risk nothing." 
 
 Then he rode to the ambulance, talked with 
 Dr Wilson a few moments, and was gone. 
 
 It was night when the sad little company 
 reached ''The Cedars." When they were within 
 three miles of the house R-ue rode rapidly for- 
 ward with her escort to prepare for her father. 
 She found the house nearly filled with wounded 
 officers. The division encamped there on the 27th 
 was gone, and roughly-built wooden sheds had 
 been put up and tents hurriedly pitched to shelter 
 the wounded who had been able to bear the re- 
 moval this fax from the battle-field. 
 
150 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 The beautiful lawn sloped from the house to a 
 wooded creek which wound in many twisting 
 backward folds through the plantation before it 
 was finally lost in a larger and more sluggish 
 stream that crept through swamps and deep mo- 
 rasses to the Chickahominy. The crowded house 
 and the noisy lawn determined Rue to take the 
 library for her father. 
 
 It was in a quiet wing, half-detached from the 
 old mansion by a square hall which made a pri- 
 vate entrance to the library while separating it 
 from the main building. It opened in front upon 
 a garden, or pleasaunce, as it was called in early 
 colonial times, and was hidden from view, and 
 almost from sound, of the tents on the lawn by a 
 close, thick hedge of old clipped cedars and a 
 tangle of untrimmed cedars beyond the hedge, 
 which, with the scattered clumps of loftier trees 
 that dotted the grounds, gave its name to the 
 estate. 
 
 Behind the library a grassy slope of velvety 
 turf stretched in long, billowy rolls to the peb- 
 bled bank of the encircling creek. 
 
 A hedge, so wide that it seemed rather a strip 
 of tangled undergrowth and dwarfed cedars, en- 
 tirely defended these grounds from view or en- 
 
''KING STAN," 15i 
 
 trance from the offices and outbuildings which 
 were behind the opposite wing. 
 
 At nine o' clock the ambulance arrived. Rue' s 
 hurried arrangements were all completed, and in 
 less than half an hour her father was in the bed 
 she had prepared, and with him were the sur- 
 geons, who had been hastily called from their 
 quarters on the lawn to the consultation in the 
 library. 
 
 Shut out from her father's presence Eue'« first 
 thought was to send for Steenie ; and then she 
 busied herself with other tasks— with care of 
 the wounded in the house, and with the prepa- 
 ration and distribution of things needed in the 
 meagrely-provided hospital tents, and with ar- 
 rangements for Bob and her escort 
 
 Notwithstanding Rue's intensity and the zeai 
 with which she undertook these new duties, there 
 was in everything she did thought of her father, 
 but thought that was entirely unlike the con- 
 fident looking forward to affectionate approval 
 which had been so large an influence in her life. 
 Now there was a half-formed sub-consciousness 
 that she was doing what her father would have 
 wished her to do, at terrible cost to herself, and 
 that he might never know, mi^ht never under- 
 
153 THE MODERN ffAOAR. 
 
 Stand, that it was because of his teaching, and of 
 her love for him and reverence for his teaching, 
 that she was forcing herself to think of duty. 
 To think of duty when she knew she was about 
 to lose the father who had always been nearer 
 and dearer to her than all others ! From her 
 babyhood he had been her idol. Her friendships 
 had always been loves, but her father had been 
 supreme in her life. For his sake she had put 
 aside sorrows that she had never forgotten. 
 
 But with the thought of his loss— and the 
 thought had been present with her as a convic- 
 tion from the instant she had understood that he 
 was wounded — came the old griefs. 
 
 When the work she had set herself was finish- 
 ed she went into the hall next the library to wait 
 for the coming of the surgeons, who were still 
 there. She could hear quick steps uiDon the un- 
 carpeted floor and subdued voices. Then in a still 
 interval she heard a gasping moan. With a 
 shriek, which even in that outburst of agon}^ she 
 tried to repress, she fell senseless on the floor. 
 Dr. Wilson found her there. The}^ carried 
 her to her room, and when she recovered con- 
 sciousness pain and grief were lost in the dull 
 lethargy produced by narcotics. 
 
BOOK THIED 
 
 FIDUS ET AUDAX, 
 
 Phcehus volentem pi'celia me loqui, 
 Vict as et urbes, increpuit lyra; 
 Ne parva Tyrrhenum per cequor 
 Vela darem." 
 
 — Horace, liber iv. ode xv. 
 
 TKTIT FIK,ST, '61 TO '68 
 
 THE PANORAMA OF WAB. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 *' A greater power than we can contradict 
 Hath thwarted our intents." 
 
 THE messenger sent for Steenie the day after 
 her father was brought home to "The Ce- 
 dars" found her with Mrs. Hartley. The 
 noise of the cannonade and the knowledge that 
 her father was in the battle had such effect 
 upon the nervous, delicate child that the sisters 
 at the convent had yielded to Mrs. Hartley's en- 
 treaty that Steenie might stay with her until the 
 battle, which must decide the fate of Richmond, 
 should be lost or won. 
 
 Kate and Anne Warrington were domiciled 
 with a maiden lady, a kinswoman of the War- 
 ringtons. For a picture of the past and the 
 reason of Kate's residence in Richmond I will 
 transcribe two letters lying upon Kate's desk- 
 one from Mrs. Carisbrooke and an unfinished re- 
 ply, which were hastily gathered up and carried 
 to " The Cedars " when the messenger arrived at 
 Miss Esmond's, whither he had been sent from 
 the convent ; 
 
158 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 {Mrs. Carisbrooke to Mrs. Hartley from St. 
 
 Catherine's Wells, Canada, May 10, 1862.) 
 
 ^ ' My deae Kate ; A Kentucky friend has 
 offered to send any letters I could have ready for 
 Richmond to-morrow with assurance of their safe 
 and speedy arrival. I shall obey the instructions 
 you gave Mrs. Cartaret and send this care of 
 Miss Esmond, Richmond, mth whom Mrs. Carta- 
 ret thinks you and Anne Warrington may be 
 staying. I am assured that it will be put in her 
 hands. 
 
 *' I have had no news of you since Mrs. Carta- 
 ret left you at Belle view in March and so success- 
 fully ran the blockade w^hile McClellan was 
 watching Johnston's Quaker guns. That ex- 
 ceedingly limited note which Mrs. Cartaret en- 
 closed in a letter from Oakhill is the only scrap 
 of your writing I have seen since I parted with 
 you in Washington last September. 
 
 "Mrs. Cartaret Avi'ote me that she left Anne 
 Warrington at Belle view ; and she also wrote of 
 this second burning of ' Castlewood.' You will 
 know how sorry we were to hear of tliat loss. 
 It is one that must affect all Virginians ; for 
 the home of the Esmond- Warringtons was the 
 scene of many famous gatherings of the old 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 159 
 
 colonial gentry, and there were found the MS. 
 notes of that wonderful autobiography of their 
 illustrious ancestor which Mr. Thackeray has so 
 happily edited. It is a matter of congratulation 
 to us all that the old family portraits were saved. 
 
 ' ' My dear rebel friend, if this burning goes on 
 it will disturb and i^ossibly kill my known loy- 
 alty. 
 
 " Now, you know that I was particularly dis- 
 gusted with Southern assumption before and 
 after the battle of Bull Run, just as I had been 
 with the contemptuous phrases with which the 
 Northern newspapers were filled apropos of ' chi- 
 valry' and of 'fieet-footed Virginians.' 
 
 " I assure you, my Kate, that after you left us 
 I was in the most vibratory state of mind. I had 
 become impressed with the idea that I was the 
 only sane person of my acquaintance ; and when 
 the wildly insane of the Northern or Southern 
 incurables opened up in my presence in rabid 
 abuse of the unfortunate section which their 
 geographical lunacy opposed, why somehow, be- 
 fore I was exactly conscious a dispute was be- 
 gun, I was in the thick of a wordy battle. 
 
 "The only peculiarity in my case was the 
 double lunacy. My interlocutors had one indi- 
 
160 . THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 visible and well-defined mania. In spite of my- 
 self I had either two or none. Before a battle 
 I was for both sections. After the lists of the 
 killed and wounded came, I was ready to cry out 
 with Mercutio, ' A plague o' both your houses.' 
 
 '^If I had gone South with you, Kate, what a 
 Unionist I should have become ! It would have 
 completely reunited the Cincinnati 'house of 
 the Carisbrookes.' 
 
 *' Confidentially I will tell you that Caris- 
 brooke and Molly are nearly rabid. Carisbrooke 
 was always a Federalist ; and Molly, through 
 sympathy with 'Eed-head,' out-Herods Caris- 
 brooke and completely distances 'Red-head' 
 himself. He, poor fellow, is my only support in 
 my opposing household. He— well, he dashes 
 the Abolitionists, and fights sturdily on because 
 of the flag above him and the one that chal- 
 lenges it across the way. 
 
 " To prove to you how broad-church I have 
 become in these modern days I need only men- 
 tion that I smile patiently when 'Red-head's' 
 dashes are most resonantly audible. 
 
 " Now for what I hear from Paris. 
 
 *' My friend's news is told in this wise 
 
 *' ' The gi-eat sensation of Paris is the beautiful 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 161 
 
 Miss Hilton, whom I met at Molly's wedding. 
 Her beanty and her eccentricities are a wonder 
 to the French, and even startle the American 
 colony. Were she one atom less beantiful the 
 "eccentricities" wonld be quickly transposed 
 into " shocking imprudences." But when a wo- 
 man is a living, breathing goddess she is above 
 the plane of feminine jealousy. It is now a thing 
 of national pride to challenge the world with her 
 perfections. It seems she quarrelled with Mrs. 
 Cartaret, whose first husband was her relative, 
 and thus lost a discreet chaperone — a chaperone 
 rated in Paris (outside of the colony) as en- 
 tirely comme il faut. Since then Miss Hilton 
 has a sheep-dog— a retired governess promoted 
 to companion. This would be suflicient for an 
 emancipated young married woman, but it is 
 hardly the thing for a young girl who drives in 
 the Bois in the centre of a cavalcade of admirers. 
 '''Even the philosophic "colony" smiled 
 cynically last week when they saw a young 
 American officer by her side and the "sheep- 
 dog" alone on the opposite seat, its innocent 
 pug cocked at the passers-by or else turned 
 with a mildly contemplative glance at the lake- 
 side. 
 
Ifi2 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 '' ' The goddess plays the American against the 
 fast and disreputable — if dukes can be disreputa- 
 ble — Due de Rameaux. It is currently reported 
 that she is engaged to the man of buttons, but is 
 ready to throw him over for a ducal title and a 
 place at court. Query, Will the due propose? 
 That depends ! Is Miss Hilton an heiress ? If 
 she is not I suppose her engagement with the 
 young officer will bloom into orange-flowers 
 another season.' 
 
 " My conclusion, from what my correspondent 
 writes, is that the engagement is real — real, un- 
 less the grandchild of the prince of gamblers 
 shuffles a court-card from the pack of — follow- 
 ers. But I suppose you know more of Miss 
 Hilton, nee Hoyt, than I do. Mrs. Cartaret went 
 straight to you when she returned from Paris 
 last January. 
 
 ' ' How queer seems this talk of dukes and Miss 
 Hilton with Lucy sitting by the window sewing ! 
 I am sure you will be glad that she is much 
 better. We brought her home from the asylum 
 in March, and Carisbrooke thought she had best 
 come with me here. 
 
 " I will let the subject slip off my table. There 
 are other bits to write 3'ou. You have heard the 
 
THE FAXOMAMA OF WAB, l(j3 
 
 senile raptures of grandmothers, and yon shall 
 not catch me sinning that fashion. But I do 
 wish, my Kate, you could see the infant that bears 
 the name Carisbrooke Carson. I think the ab- 
 breviation far prettier, and to please me Molly 
 calls my grandson ' Brooke.' Of course there are, 
 and have been, wonderful exhibitions of infan- 
 tile wisdom in the house since he oame, ' trailing 
 his clouds of glory.' But for the telling of these 
 things look not to me. Since I left home — to 
 cool my own and my neighbors' tempers — I have 
 pages from Molly that are chronicles of the book 
 of perfections she is busy comi3iling. You will 
 be surprised to hear that Carisbrooke himself is 
 no wiser. I did not think to live to see his pre- 
 mature dotage. 
 
 " I suppose I ought to end this letter without 
 a word of military comment. I cannot resist the 
 whisi^er of a question. Do you not thinlv ice 
 have so set our nets that we shall catch Rich- 
 mond? If we do capture the virgin city wliat 
 will you do, my Kate '\ That you could not go 
 to Paris with Mrs. Cartaret and leave your peo- 
 ple at Belle view to the chan€es of war I easih^ 
 understand. That you would not stay in Wash- 
 ington ^\dthont her I also understood. But now 
 
164 TUJ:: MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Mrs. Cartaret is at Oakhill. Will you not come 
 there, Kate? 
 
 *' I will offer you a bribe. If you will come to 
 Oakliill, iDlien the road to Richmond is opened^ 
 I will meet you there and stay until after peace 
 is made. Frankly, I would not care to be in 
 Cincinnati while peace is a-making. I am sure 
 I should turn secessionist or mad with the 
 cackle I should hear. At Oakhill you and Ju- 
 lia and I would go into mourning for the 'na- 
 tion that had not the strength to be born.' 
 
 "Now, Kate, my dainty Kate, write, 'an thou 
 lovest me.' I know you can and will find a 
 trustworthy bearer of despatches. And do not 
 fail to write news of Leszinksky, and Rue, and 
 Steenie. Where is Roane ? You can direct here 
 — until the road opens — for I will not return to 
 Cincinnati until the malady that tr ought me 
 here is cured. 
 
 ''Always yours, 
 
 "Virginia Caeisbrooke.'* 
 
 {Mrs. Hartley to 3Irs. Carishrooke from Rich- 
 mondy June 25^ 1862.) 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Carisbrooke: To prove to 
 you how glad I was at sight of your letter I 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 165 
 
 have only just finished the reading and am 
 already commencing an answer. It will have to 
 be written in patchwork fashion. 
 
 *'The excitement here is too great for me to 
 settle steadily even to a talk on paper with you. 
 Everybody in the town is in some way busy wdth 
 the iDreparations for the defence of Richmond— 
 which, let me assure you now, your people will 
 not capture. But I do not believQ one iota of 
 what you say of your Unionism. Blood is 
 thicker than water, and you are a Virginian. So 
 hereafter when I say your people I shall mean us. 
 
 "I am glad you have quarrelled with your 
 bloodthirsty Yankee neighbors. You might as 
 well have told me the story : I know you have 
 quarrelled mth every one of them, else why are 
 you in St. Catherine' s with a malady that has no 
 name? It must have been a battle-royal before 
 they routed you. Yes, I knov/ it aU : you were 
 routed, horse, foot, and dragoons, or you would 
 never have retreated from before the enemy. Let 
 me console you wdth one reflection : we are 
 fighting your battle here, and we wiU win it. 
 
 " When General McClellan is captured, or flies 
 before Stonewall Jackson's foot-cavalry, you can 
 go back to Cincinnati in a most serene and for- 
 
166 THE MOUERy HAiJAlL 
 
 giving state of mind. It makes me laugh to 
 think of the amiable manner with which you 
 will salute your neighbors, and the grum and re- 
 luctant way with which they will receive your 
 sisterly advances. O my dearly beloved Vir- 
 ginia ! you cannot go back of your certificate of 
 birth and baptism. Your 'State' is your mo- 
 ther and your godmother. Yet for Molly's sake 
 and for Doctor Carisbrooke' s (how did he ever 
 get so twisted?) you may smile your very sweet- 
 est at your foes on ' the hill ' after we have made 
 Richmond as mournful a sound to them as Bull 
 Run was last summer. Don't I know? Did I 
 not walk down to the Potomac and glorify at the 
 return of the champagne brigade who had gone" 
 out to see Beauregard captured and to take their 
 luncheon on the battle-field? And did I not 
 smile at women who, I knew, were wishing they 
 could strangle me ? 
 
 ''I stopped writing just here to see a brigade 
 of Mississippians go by. They were with Jack- 
 son in the Valley. I can hear the people shout- 
 ing down the street as the battle-scarred flags 
 float out and show who they are and where they 
 have been. 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 1C7 
 
 " You, who knew Richmond in its old ' Sleepy 
 Hollow' days, would never think it the same 
 town. When I for an instant forget our sur- 
 roundings and put on my bonnet for a ' constitu- 
 tional,' the moment the front door is closed be- 
 hind me I find myself in a military camp — sol- 
 diers everywhere, and in these last two months 
 heavy guns always passing through the city. 
 There is a constant tramp, tramp of infantry 
 and the clash of cavalry sabres as the horsemen 
 go by. 
 
 ''I make morning calls and find every draw- 
 ing-room crowded with officers— not merelj^ those 
 on duty here, but those sent here on army re- 
 quirements. There are also navy officers wait- 
 ing for ships. When they are to get them is the 
 question. If I were a man I would volunteer in 
 the trenches sooner than stand idly by and let 
 some one else win my independence for me. 
 
 ''How delighted you would be, despite your 
 Unionism, with the spirit of our women I Not 
 a break in the line ; no faltering where sacrifice 
 is called for. They have dropped their petti- 
 nesses and affectations as they would in other 
 days have discarded obsolete fashions. 
 
 "All are alike,, high and low, rich and poor. 
 
168 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 doing their very best ; and it is sometMng to see 
 such women at their best. It makes one feel 
 that the country is worth living and dying for. 
 Without that how terrible would be these scenes : 
 these broken families, the suffering wounded, 
 and^ worst of all, the dead — our dead — that we 
 are all resolved shall not have died in vain ! 
 
 *' A little over a year ago we laughed at society 
 doing the military and at the declamatory talk of 
 pretty viragoes ; six months, we thought, would 
 finish the worry. A year has gone since then — a 
 3^ear — with the end no nearer. But the pretty 
 viragoes are changed ; they are patient women 
 now, prayerfully waiting events, taking up ear- 
 nestly the duties of each hour. The most frivo- 
 lous are hushed and awe-stricken in the presence 
 of the griefs that are in our midst. Poor little 
 butterflies ! the gloss is brushed from their wings. 
 
 '^June 27. — But you want personal news of 
 your relatives and your old friends. General 
 Leszinksky has been at 'The Cedars,' or near 
 there, for the last two weeks. He was in the Val- 
 ley with Jackson and was promoted this month for 
 ' gallantry in the field.' He now commands a bri- 
 gade which was camped at 'The Cedars' until 
 Inst week. Three days ago he was in Riclimond. 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 1G9 
 
 I met liim on the liill near Mr. Davis's residence. 
 He was on horseback, riding with a gentleman in 
 a plain gray suit who wore no insignia of rank. 
 As I bowed they rode over to the sidewalk to 
 speak to me, and under the slouch hat of Gene- 
 ral Leszinksky's companion I recognized the 
 calm, grand face and soft, dark eyes of our com- 
 manding general. Our talk was the very brief- 
 est, but your cousin asked if I ' had any news of 
 the Carisbrookes and Carson.' He said he would 
 send Rue and Steenie to Richmond, and pro- 
 mised they might come with me from the con- 
 vent if ^things grew dangerous.' I looked at 
 General Lee as I said, ' You mean if the enemy 
 are likely to take the city ? ' I did not mean to 
 ask Mm the question, but he answered it : ' Do 
 not be alarmed. You are safe in Richmond. 
 These people will be captured or driven back to 
 Hampton Roads.' Then w^e shook hands and I 
 walked on with tearful eyes and a swelling in my 
 throat. ' TJiese people will he crushed or driv- 
 en^^ hut oh ! at what cost. 
 
 *' Yesterday Mammy Sara came and brought 
 me a note from Rue. General Leszinksky had 
 directed her to come with Steenie to Richmond. 
 She sent Steenie, but Rue would not come. 
 
170 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 I think it is the first time she ever disobeyed 
 her father. He must doubt the result ; at 
 least there is apprehension when he sends his 
 daughters to town. And ' The Cedai^ ' are fur- 
 ther from the enemy than the enemy is from 
 Richmond. Mammy Sara said that Steenie was 
 ill from pure fright and nervousness, so Anne 
 Warrington and I went to the convent for the 
 child. The sisters let her come with us, and she 
 is now out with Anne and Miss Esmond. 
 
 "I thank you for news from Paris. 
 
 "I am fond of Mai in a way that I cannot 
 make you understand, unless your feminine in- 
 tuition has already given to you the whys and 
 wherefores. I pray she may marry wisely — 
 wisely meaning a marriage of affection, not am- 
 bition. 
 
 "It is pitiful when one thinks how few are 
 drawn together, and so heavenward, by a love 
 that touches the soul. We are all, or almost all, 
 of the earth, eartliy ; and so we go on stooping 
 in constant search of the dross that glitters, and 
 we forget to look upward for the light and 
 Avarmth that come from heaven. So the eyes 
 see only the things for which the baser senses cry 
 out, and we are blinded by the darkness in which 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR 171 
 
 we have lived — so blinded that if we are turned 
 at last to the light we stumble. 
 
 *'I have already said something of what the 
 war is doing in the w^ay of transformation ; I Avas 
 about to add Rue as an example. But Rue is 
 simply Rue — nothing more nor less than she 
 was. The war is but the sombre setting of a 
 peerless jewel ; the dark background only brings 
 its facets into full relief. 
 
 "The rich heiress of ' The Cedars ' is the most 
 unselfish and simple-minded woman I have ever 
 known. She is also one of the most scholarly 
 and unpretentious. She w^as reading wdth her 
 father the winter before the war. Since then she 
 has been a hard and constant student in every 
 spare moment. When I laughed at her heavy 
 reading she said, with that slight flush and reso- 
 lute look you know : ' I do not care for the 
 books— I am sorry I do not — but I do care to be 
 my father's companion and comrade, and I wish 
 to understand a subject that is of such interest 
 to him.' The books were on military history 
 and military tactics ! I remember your saying 
 she ought to be queen of Poland. With what 
 strengthened conviction you w^ould say it now! 
 She has no rose-and-lily beauty ; nothing to sug- 
 
172 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 gest comparison with the girl your correspondent 
 describes as a goddess. But Rue lias the most 
 wonderfully refined and s^Diritual face. It is a 
 dainty, delicate face at first view, an Ariel face ; 
 but I heard an artist say last week — an artist 
 who had seen hsr riding by her father s side at 
 Leesburg under the fire of the enemy' s artillery : 
 you see even our artists are soldiers now — that 
 her face was * an inspiration and a revelation ; 
 one only needed to see it to understand the 
 battle-face of the young girl who led the French 
 to victory.' 
 
 " I could, and would if I were with you, talk of 
 Rue for hours, but I must tell you of your other 
 friends. 
 
 *' General Roane is in Richmond, or rather out 
 on the line of Richmond's defences. He is in 
 Longstreet's division, and was with him at Wil- 
 liamsburg, where he took five guns from your 
 General Hooker. When you hear of Long- 
 street's next victory, which I trust and believe 
 you will this week, you will forget your Union- 
 ism long enough to rejoice in your friend's suc- 
 cess. 
 
 ' ' General Roane is and has been very kind to 
 me. On his way from Williamsburg, after he 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 173 
 
 had whipped Hooker, he stopped at Bellevievv, 
 sending one of his aids to Richmond to ask 
 my permission to send the servants here and 
 with them everything of any value. The house, 
 he said, would probably be in the line of the ene- 
 my's march (they occupy it now ; a servant who 
 had been left there slipped the lines and brought 
 me the news), and the able-bodied negro men 
 had better come here. I sent him discretionary 
 powers. The result is, the greater number of 
 the servants and everything of value have been 
 sent to Danville. Mr. Robert Carisbrooke is 
 there with his family, and he has been most kind 
 —as he always is and has been. Having been 
 my father's executor, it seems right and proper 
 for me to transfer my worries to him. 
 
 "I dined with Rue at 'The Cedars' the day 
 after they arrived from the Valley. General 
 Roane was there. He is kind and thoughtful and 
 watchful for me, as his going to Belleview proved. 
 But his courtesy is distant, and there is an em- 
 barrassing quality in his manner that I cannot 
 well describe and that would be difficult to de- 
 fine. 
 
 ''He never mentions Major Hartley, nor do 
 any of the family at 'The Cedars ' —which brings 
 
1 72 THE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 gest comparison with the girl your correspondent 
 describes as a goddess. But Rue has the most 
 wonderfully refined and spiritual face. It is a 
 dainty, delicate face at first view, an Ariel face ; 
 but I heard an artist say last week — an artist 
 w^ho had seen hsr riding by her father's side at 
 Leesburg imder the fire of the enemy' s artillery : 
 you see even our artists are soldiers now — that 
 her face was ' an inspiration and a revelation ; 
 one only needed to see it to understand the 
 battle-face of the young girl who led the French 
 to victory.' 
 
 " I could, and would if I were with you, talk of 
 Rue for hours, but I must tell you of your other 
 friends. 
 
 *' General Roane is in Richmond, or rather out 
 on the line of Richmond's defences. He is in 
 Longstreet's division, and was with him at Wil- 
 liamsburg, where he took five guns from your 
 General Hooker. When you hear of Long- 
 street's next victory, which I trust and believe 
 you will this week, you will forget your Union- 
 ism long enough to rejoice in your friend's suc- 
 cess. 
 
 ' ' General Roane is and has been very kind to 
 me. On his way from Williamsburg, after he 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 173 
 
 had whipped Hooker, he stopped at Bellevievv, 
 sending one of his aids to Richmond to ask 
 my permission to send the servants here and 
 with them everything of any value. The house, 
 he said, would probably be in the line of the ene- 
 my's march (they occupy it now ; a servant who 
 had been left there slipped the lines and brought 
 me the news), and the able-bodied negro men 
 had better come here. I sent him discretionary 
 powers. The result is, the greater number of 
 the servants and everything of value have been 
 sent to Danville. Mr. Robert Carisbrooke is 
 there with his family, and he has been most kind 
 —as he always is and has been. Having been 
 my father's executor, it seems right and proper 
 for me to transfer my worries to him. 
 
 "I dined with Rue at 'The Cedars' the day 
 after they arrived from the Valley. General 
 Roane was there. He is kind and thoughtful and 
 watchful for me, as his going to Belleview proved. 
 But his courtesy is distant, and there is an em- 
 barrassing quality in his manner that I cannot 
 well describe and that would be difficult to de- 
 fine. 
 
 '^ He never mentions Major Hartley^ nor do 
 any of the family at 'The Cedars ' —which brings 
 
174 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 me to a question I wish to ask : Have you ever 
 heard of Major Hartley's saying publicly that 
 my residence in Virginia ' was in opposition to 
 liis wishes and entreaties, and that he would be 
 glad if the separation were com^^leted by a di- 
 vorce ' ? It is told in Richmond that he said it, 
 and the reason given is that ' he is going over to 
 the Eepublican party.' Miss Esmond heard it 
 and very properly told it to me. 
 
 ^'I cannot talk of this to General Leszinksky, 
 and there is no one else here I could ask. 
 
 "Can this be a reason for General Roane's 
 changed manner ? 
 
 '' You can learn the truth and you will tell it 
 to me. 
 
 ' ' You know that I came South with Captain 
 Hartley's api)robation. Of course I wanted to 
 come, but I would have gone with Julia to Paris 
 if he had advised it. He did advise the very 
 course I would have chosen, and I came here be- 
 cause of his counsel. He gave me reasons that I 
 suj)posed really influenced his opinion. He said 
 that the negroes might leave Belleview or be 
 seized by the Confederate government if none of 
 the family were iu the South. Did you not hear 
 the subject mentioned when you were in Wash- 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 175 
 
 ington ? I could write to Julia, but she loves me, 
 I tliiuk, better than she loves her brother, and it 
 would embroil her with him if she questioned 
 him. Julia's temper is hot and her words quick 
 and biting ; I will not be the cause of her quar- 
 relling with her brother. 
 
 '' A young English gentleman is now in Rich- 
 mond who was in Paris for some time this spring. 
 He brought me a letter of introduction from Mai. 
 Very frankly and innocently he spoke of her as 
 a kinswoman and ward of Captain Hartley's. 
 Do you think he has recognized or intends to 
 recognize Mai as his daughter ? Do not think I 
 should object ; on the contrary, I feel it is what 
 he should have done when he placed her at 
 school in Montreal. Now explanations will be 
 awkward for Mai's own sake. 
 
 " Steenie has returned from her walk. I will 
 finish this letter to-morrow. 
 
 ''O my friend! my friend! a messenger has 
 just arrived from ' The Cedars.' Eue has sent 
 for me to bring Steenie home. Their father is 
 mortally wounded. 
 
 '' ' The Cedar s^'^ June 29. — General Leszinksky 
 may linger some time ; that is what the surgeons 
 
176 TEE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 say this morning. He has two wounds — one in 
 the right side ; the ball has been extracted ; an- 
 other wound in the head. Dr. Wilson tells me 
 that either would be fatal, but you w^ill hear 
 more than I can write from General Carson. 
 How good he was to Rue, and how we all love 
 him ! Rue' s escort will be sent back by General 
 Lee after this horrible battle is ended. I shall 
 finish this scrawl before they go. 
 
 ''June 30. — General Roane has just arrived with 
 a broken arm and a slight wound in the leg. He 
 had heard that General Leszinksky was dying 
 and he would be brought here. At last ! at 
 last ! war has come to us in all its terror. Gen- 
 eral Leszinksky is hardly ever conscious. Rue 
 is with him night and day, except when Dr. 
 Wilson forces her to rest. She does that only 
 that she may keep strength enough to nurse 
 her father. All his talk is of long ago and 
 of my cousin Margaret. Love is stronger than 
 death. 
 
 ''July 7. — The men are to go to Hampton 
 Roads to-day. An aide of General Lee's and 
 one of General Roane' s are to go with a flag of 
 truce in charge of Rue's escort. I shall send 
 open letters by the officers, but Bob Stearns 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR, 177 
 
 takes this sewed securely in Ms jacket. I know 
 you will get it. Can you not come to Eue ? O 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke ! come if possible. I fear tliis 
 grief will kill ker. I pray nigkt and day that 
 her father may recover consciousness. He alone 
 can reason with her. 
 
 " Lovingly your friend, 
 
 ''Kate." 
 
 Sometimes better, but never entirely conscious, 
 General Leszinksky lingered through the sum- 
 mer. Mrs. Hartley and Anne Warrington stayed 
 constantly with Eue. Col. Bradnor was at Fort- 
 ress Monroe, and everything an invalid needed 
 was sent by him to ''The Cedars." Medicine 
 and delicacies, even at that date difficult to get in 
 the Confederacy, arrived weekly. So the chain 
 was being forged ! 
 
 In the early fall Leszinksky died. His suffer- 
 ing made Rue willing to let him go. In the last 
 moment he was perfectly conscious. Rue held 
 Steenie in her arms to kiss him ; he motioned for 
 Rue herself, and struggled for speech : 
 
 " Kiss me — you, Rue— my blessing— my pride 
 — my darling — promise — " 
 
 " Yes, my father, you can trust me. I will 
 
i;8 THE MODERN EAGAR, 
 
 keep my promise. I will prefer Steenie's happi- 
 ness to mine." 
 
 Again througli difficult effort at speech : " Not 
 — that — promise — you won' t — sacrifice — you — 
 Rue — my Margaret's child." And Rue was 
 fatherless in the instant she knew what place 
 she held in his heaxt. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 " O Navis! referent in mare te novi 
 Flv.ctu^:' 
 
 {Mrs. Hartley to Mrs, Car ishrooke from "The 
 Cedars;' October 25, 1862.) 
 
 "" 11 /FY DEAR Mrs. Carisbrooke : You sure- 
 |i ly never received the long letter I sent 
 by Bob Stearns. And yet tlie one short 
 letter Rue had from General Carson, sent through 
 'the authorities that be in command over us,' 
 mentioned Stearns's arrival. In that letter I 
 begged you to come to ' The Cedars ' ; and I am 
 very sure the request Avould have been heeded. 
 
 ^'Rue knew that I had written you to come, 
 and it is evident to me that she is desperately 
 hurt at the failure. She had been so confident 
 of your coming, and she also seemed sure Doc- 
 tor Carisbrooke would come with you. 
 
 " Her father was conscious for a short time be- 
 fore his death. His dying words were aU for 
 Rue ; but there was a pitiful look of appeal in 
 his face, as though he missed some one in whose 
 care his daughters could be left. 
 
 179 
 
180 THE JlOLEUy HAGAR. 
 
 " Rue spoke to me once, a few days after his 
 death, in a manner that proved the bitterness of 
 her disappointment. It was only a short sen- 
 tence, but the tone and look said even more than 
 the words : ' Could anything have kept my fa- 
 ther or me from going to Molly in such an ex- 
 tremity ? ' 
 
 ^* I will keep this letter until I am sure of a 
 safe messenger ; and if my letter was not received 
 do v/rite an explanation to Rue. I have never 
 seen so great a change in any one as that lament- 
 able death has made in my cousin. She is 
 moody, imperioiis, and stubborn, and, in her 
 proud resistance to grief, is disdainful of sympa- 
 thy. The one sentence I have ^vritten you is the 
 only allusion I have ever heard her make to her 
 father since his death. Not a servant is privi- 
 leged to speak of him ; and you know what 
 an affectionate patriarchal relationship existed 
 between master and servants at 'The Cedars.' 
 
 "Steenie alone can do as she likes with lier 
 sister ; and Steenie is being injudiciously spoilt. 
 
 "It would have been so much to these girls if 
 you had been here ! It would be so much to both 
 if there were over them the wise rule of a firm, 
 iviiid guardian ! They have needed you. They 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 181 
 
 now need General Carson. I believe their father 
 left them to his guardianship. O Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke ! every one that loved Stanislaus Leszink- 
 sky must think and care for his daughters. 
 
 ^'General Roane was captured at Sharpsburg, 
 and I hope you will be able to see him before he 
 returns. I hear his exchange has been arranged 
 by General Lee. 
 
 ^^Your brother, Mr. Robert Garisbrooke, was 
 here last week. He insisted that we should all 
 spend the winter in Mobile with his wife. He has 
 taken to Alabama all of my negroes, except a 
 few attached home-servants who are now living 
 in the overseer' s house at Belleview. My father' s 
 home was burned during the battle on the Chick- 
 ahominy. I went over there with Mr. Robert 
 Garisbrooke last week. Only stacks of tall 
 chimneys are standing to mark the ruins. 
 
 ^'Two hundred of Rue's negroes are in Ala- 
 bama on a plantation Mr. Garisbrooke bought 
 for her. He had quite a discussion with her 
 about a gift she insisted on making to the Con- 
 federacy. But she had her own way and gave 
 seventy-five negro men to the government. She 
 clothes and feeds them, and they are to be freed 
 when the war ends. 
 
1 82 THE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 . "If Rue proves persuadable we will all go to 
 Mobile next month. I hope much from General 
 Roane' s influence ; and I hope he will bring us 
 tidings of you. 
 
 '^November 9. — General Roane is here, but no 
 especial news or letters from Rosebank. I am 
 glad he saw General Carson. I think the mes- 
 sages he brought from her father's oldest and 
 best-beloved friend have softened Rue. She has, 
 however, decided not to go to Mobile, and for 
 what reason do you suppose? Why, Steeiiie 
 prefers to stay at 'The Cedars.' IS'ot much 
 wonder ! She is queen absolute on the jDlace. 
 
 " Rue insists that I shall go to Mobile ; and 
 as Dr. Wilson' s wife has come and will make her 
 home here during the war, it is decided that I 
 leave here next week for Mobile. We stop on 
 the way for a few weeks to see to the welfare of 
 the servants on the new plantation near Selma." 
 
 All that fall and winter Steenie was ill. and 
 Rue was roused out of her grief to care for the 
 child. That far it was well for her. 
 
 What was ill for them both was the effect upon 
 Steenie. Her sister's devotion, the unrestrained 
 indulgence of every whim, the constant study of 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR, 183 
 
 the entire household to anticipate any probable 
 wish, fostered a selfishness which was hidden— 
 as the selfishness of a weak character often is — 
 under an amiable prettiness of manner which 
 made the soft-spoken thanks seem over-payment. 
 
 Bob Stearns had strictly obeyed orders. The 
 letter for Mrs. Carisbrooke was never taken from 
 its secure place in his jacket until he saw Gen- 
 eral Carson, which— owing to a difficulty Car- 
 son had with Pope, the newly-appointed com- 
 mander of the Federal Army of Virginia— was in 
 September at Bowling Green, Kentucky. 
 
 The letter was then given to Carson, where it 
 encountered fresh delay. Late in October, after 
 the battle of Perryville, he made a hurried visit 
 to Rosebank and delivered the letter into Mrs. 
 Carisbrooke' s hands. 
 
 Through Doctor Carisbrooke' s brother they had 
 already heard of Leszinksky' s death. Mr. Robert 
 Carisbrooke wrote that he had settled the able- 
 bodied field-hands belonging to Mrs. Hartley, 
 the Warringtons, and Rue with his own negroes 
 on lands he had bought in Alabama. This let- 
 ter, written two months later than Mrs. Hart- 
 ley's, suggested a possibility that Kate, Eue, and 
 Steenie might winter in Mobile with his wife. He 
 
184 THE MODERN HAG AM. 
 
 had taken a large, comfortable house there be- 
 longing to absentees who were in Europe, and 
 Mrs. Robert Carisbrooke would be glad to have 
 them with her, for her husband would be com- 
 pelled to be much of the time upon the newly- 
 settled estate near Selma. 
 
 Thus it happened that Carson and the family 
 at Rosebank were entirely ignorant of the fact 
 that Rue was alone that winter at "The Cedars" 
 with only Steenie, Mrs. Wilson, the wife of the 
 surgeon of her father's brigade, and two invalid 
 soldiers from Missouri who could not return to 
 their homes, which were inside of the Federal 
 lines. 
 
 Again all outside kindness and lieli) for the 
 household at "The Cedars" came from Colonel 
 Bradnor, who, before and after Pope's disas- 
 trous campaign — which, in the opinion of that 
 braggart, "entitled his army to the gratitude of 
 the country," and Jackson's capture of Harper's 
 Ferry— was stationed at Fortress Monroe. 
 
 Every flag- of- truce boat that went up the James 
 brought fresh proof of Bradnor' s generous 
 thoughtfulness for the orphan daughters of 
 Leszinksky. 
 
 Before his regiment left Fortress Monroe to 
 
THE PA^sORAiMA OF WAR. 1^5 
 
 join Burnside on tlie Kappahannock lie came to 
 City Point, when General Roane, who had been 
 captured at Sharpsburg, was exchanged. With 
 Roane's luggage were several cases Bradnor sent 
 to "The Cedars" which provided comforts and 
 luxuries for the coming winter. 
 
 After Burnside' s defeat, through influence at 
 Washington (Hartley, converted from belief in 
 secession and State-rights, was now a violent 
 war Democrat), Colonel Bradnor was returned 
 to Fortress Monroe — a j)osition he doubly cov- 
 eted. It was a pleasant, safe, and comfortable 
 post, and it brought him again within possible 
 line of communication with the heiress whose 
 fortune would more than evenly balance old 
 Simon Hartley's conditional legacy. 
 
 Before spring he had succeeded in getting a 
 pass for Rue and Steenie to go through to Ca- 
 nada, and had escorted them to Montreal 
 
 Steenie was placed in the Convent of the 
 Sacred Heart, where Rue was received as a 
 guest until her sister's health should be entirely 
 re-established. 
 
 Twice during the summer Bradnor visited 
 them. Before the second visit ended he had 
 certainly won the affection of the younger sister. 
 
186 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Rue's winter quarters were in a small liotel. 
 Mammy Sara was her only attendant and clia- 
 perone. She had heard through a chance ac- 
 quaintance that Mrs. Carisbrooke was with some 
 friends who were living in Paris. 
 
 The following summer Rue was again with her 
 sister, and Bradnor's visits to Montreal were re- 
 peated. 
 
 Steenie brightened in the glow of his atten- 
 tions, and Rue argued well of the man from the 
 child's liking. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIY. 
 
 " The heart beats high 
 And the blood comes quick ; but the lips are still 
 With awe and wonder. 
 
 Alas for a heart that is left forlorn ! 
 
 If you live, you must love ; if you love, regret. 
 It were better, perhaps, we had never been bom, 
 
 Or better, at least, we could well forget." 
 
 {Mrs, Hartley to Mrs. CarishrooTce from Mich' 
 viond, May 1, 1863.) 
 
 '' P(INCE tlie long letter I wrote you from Mo- 
 
 i^ bile last winter I have waited patiently 
 
 for the happy chance that might bring 
 
 me a letter. Now I hear you are in Paris, which 
 
 I most heartily regret. 
 
 ''Rue had gone with Steenie to Canada when 
 I reached here, although I came in March that I 
 might see her. I trust General Carson may go 
 there to see them. 
 
 ''Captain Hartley's cousin, Colonel Bradnor, 
 got them a pass and escorted them to Montreal. 
 He has been most constant and considerate in at- 
 tention since he met Rue at the time her father 
 
 187 
 
188 THE MODERN HAOAH. 
 
 was wounded. During General Leszinksky's ill- 
 ness, and since, lie has never failed to keep them 
 supplied with every possible luxury which an in- 
 valid might need. He sends me Rue's short 
 notes telling of Steenie's improvement and her 
 devotion to this new friend — Rue tells me 
 nothing of herself — and then he despatches to 
 her the long letters in which I write her news 
 from her people at 'The Cedars.' She asks no 
 questions and expresses no interest in aught 
 else. 
 
 "I know you do not over-much admire Brad- 
 nor, but you will like him for his goodness to 
 these denr children. 
 
 ''Before this you will have seen Julia. Colo- 
 nel Bradnor sent me a letter from her last month 
 written in February ; and Captain Hartley is also 
 in Paris, Julia writes. 
 
 ' ' All are there for Mai Hilton' s marriage with 
 the Due de Rameaux. What a fit coronal the 
 strawberry -leaves will make for that exquisite 
 Greek brow ! 
 
 "I intend to send you all the private and pub- 
 lic news I can gather here to bribe you to wiite 
 me full chapters of this marriage of 'Hagar s' 
 daughter. 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 189 
 
 ^'Be sure to tell Bie of Lucy. Where is she, 
 and how is she ? 
 
 ''But a truce to these questions, which show 
 you how curious I am. 
 
 *'I will now give you my news. 
 
 "You know what good work the women of 
 Richmond are doing in the hospitals, and that 
 when needs at home j)ress them most hardly. 
 The general scarcity of everything is more felt 
 here than in the country, Avhere there are ways of 
 patching up dinners as well as dresses. 
 
 "Charity here means more than giving; it 
 means close, persistent denial of self to have 
 something to give. 
 
 " I don't know why it is, but every time I re- 
 turn to Richmond, after even a short absence, 
 life seems more earnest than elsewhere. In Mo- 
 bile, for instance, there are all sorts of distrac- 
 tions, but here the family life is merged in the 
 national life. Possibly it is the reflection of the 
 heroic lives of the leaders wliich makes the dif- 
 ference. Possibly it is the result of the stately, 
 dignilied manners of these Virginian women, who 
 have been alv/ays excellent managers, 'keepers 
 at home,' 'looking well to the ways of their 
 
1 yO THE MODERN BA QAR. 
 
 liouseliolds/ jSow that life broadens, with 
 anxieties shared, privations endured in com- 
 mon, these things affect society. 
 
 "Not that Richmond is melodramatic ; on the 
 contrary, it is exceedingly simx3le and natural. 
 Human nature cannot breakfast, dine, and sup 
 with griefs. 
 
 " There are moments when the very contrast of 
 ills brings about the broadest farce. People have 
 learned to laugh when they are hurt. 
 
 " There is always real pity and sympathy for 
 the soldier in camp and hospital, but a civilian 
 had better not tell his ailings ; he will get scant 
 liearing and scanter pity. If a clerk in a de- 
 partment comjDlains of worn shoes and high prices 
 somebody is sure to remark, 'Stonewall Jack- 
 son's men are barefoot,' and the poor fellow turns 
 away ashamed of his slight grievance. 
 
 "As to the ladies' toilets, they are the queer- 
 est possible compound of ancient elegance and 
 recent addition. Print dresses and point lace 
 have come to dwell together in amity. 
 
 " You remember how careful Anne has always 
 been of her better most things ? Now she has no 
 other than bettermost, all else being past wear ; 
 and so she is a model of the style which prevailed 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 191 
 
 the last year of the Union. She breakfasted out 
 the other morning in a dress last worn in a Wash- 
 ington crush, looking like a faded fashion-plate. 
 
 "Dress is a consideration that begins to make 
 itself felt. Blessed are they who can make or 
 bny homespun ! Mr. Davis has had a beautiful 
 suit of Jeans given him, and he wears it with evi- 
 dent pride. 
 
 *'Miss Esmond gave an afternoon tea this 
 week, and there was great fun telling the age 
 and history of different garments. 
 
 "Anne Warrington came down late because 
 her dress was too gorgeous for daylight. It was 
 a yellow brocade petticoat, and for overdress a 
 'fly' with broad stripes of white and blue with 
 little bouqnets of pink roses dotted here and there ; 
 the sleeves came to the elbow and finished with 
 a heavy fall of old lace ; the waist doubly -pointed. 
 It had belonged to an ancestral great-grandaunt 
 who was a colonial belle. With high-heeled 
 slippers and her hair puffed over an old-fashion- 
 ed comb, you may imagine how pretty Anne was. 
 She looked so conscious and coquettish that 
 everybody laughed when she began a little 
 speech about her 'utter destitution and the 
 straits to which she was reduced.' 
 
1 92 THE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 '' The fun all goes out of this when the move- 
 ment of troops brings through the city men rag- 
 ged and brown, hatless, and, last spring in the 
 wild March weather, shoeless. 
 
 ^'The day after I reached here from Mobile 
 there came through a regiment of the Stonewall 
 brigade ; not a dozen men in the command 
 decently shod, and the day a drizzly sleet. The 
 torn, battle-scarred flags were recognized, and 
 women and children crowded the sidewalks. 
 They gathered in knots of twos and threes, with 
 little bursts of exclamation and sympathy.. 
 Finally, crowding together in the magnetism of 
 common feeling, they made a rush for the head 
 of the column, and the officers Avere begged to 
 halt and let the men dine in the houses on each 
 side, where hospitable doors were opened wide. 
 The dinner was accepted, and women scattered 
 to go home in haste and bring their best to the 
 impromptu feast. 
 
 ' ' There was a closer gathering of the crowd in 
 the streets while the men were in the liouses, and 
 again women hurried about, stopi)ing a moment 
 at different doors, gathering contributions from 
 the scanty supply of many a worn purse. 
 
 "In not much longer time than it takes to 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 193 
 
 write it every shoe-store in the town was cleared 
 of its stock. 
 
 ^' Again about those homes where the men were 
 the street was filled with women waiting till the 
 dinner was finished, with its rare treat of real 
 coffee. Then as the men came ont they were 
 told to come to a store at the corner and get 
 shoes and socks. 
 
 " The bronzed, weather-beaten faces were aglow 
 with thanks. A word was passed down the line, 
 and after a short consultation a young lieutenant 
 came with the answer : ' Ladies, we camped last 
 night on the heights, at Camp Lee, with the new 
 recruits. They are boys mostly, not inured to 
 hardship, and the government has no shoes for 
 them. Give them these. We are Stonewall 
 Jackson's foot-cavalry, and we can fight best 
 barefoot.' 
 
 ' ' Who can tell how these women wept ? Who 
 will believe such men will fail to win ? 
 
 ''Coy Tier's Springs, August 10, 1863.— Anne 
 and I were a week at the Yellow Sulphur, 
 and then came here to this hottest of all val- 
 leys, where society is trying to get cool danc- 
 ing nightly— 'society' being wounded and con- 
 valescent soldiers, wives and daughters of officers 
 
104 THE MODERN HAUAR. 
 
 at the front, and semi-detached Senators and 
 Congressmen with no visible constituency, for 
 the blue-coats hold their precincts. We take 
 rides in the country and find the peoi)]e suffering 
 great hardships, but bearing their ills bravely 
 and patiently. 
 
 '* Who will be found worthy to write the his- 
 tory of these Virginian women ? 
 
 ''Up the mountains one morning we stumbled 
 over a family living in a double log-house with 
 tumbled-down outhouses. There were three wo- 
 men and seven children, the gathered remnants 
 of four families whose homes had been broken 
 ui) near Fredericksburg. They were living on 
 corn-bread and the milk of two cows, exchanging 
 their butter for salt. Only the proceeds of a 
 ' truck-patch ' to depend on for the coming win- 
 ter. No labor but tlieir own and the feeble 
 assistance, w^hich was likely to grow into an en- 
 cumbrance, of one old negro and his bent, rheu- 
 matic wife wlio had followed their broken for- 
 tunes. 
 
 "These were cultivated, gently nurtured wo- 
 men ; two of them widows, made so by the war. 
 The third had her husband, and the widows had 
 two sons with Lee. To see these women work- 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 195 
 
 ing, and trying to feed the children and raise a 
 little cotton ('a little cotton,' as they said, 'to 
 make socks and shirts for our soldiers'), in 
 faded, patched, worn dresses, with sunburned 
 fac^s and roughened hands, was to me the most 
 touching sight I have seen since the beginning of 
 the Avar. What a mere nothing seemed all we 
 could do compared to this unselfish, simple 
 living through a life of toil, labor, and priva- 
 tion, without talking of sacrifice ! 
 
 ^'How heartless seemed the dancers that 
 night, how stupid the jokes of the overfed 
 Senator. 
 
 ^ ' I sat in the wide piazza, self-condemned, con- 
 victed of wasted purpose, ready to be cross with 
 any one who smiled, when there hobbled up a 
 wounded captain of the Louisiana zouaves. 
 Here was some one to be sorry for and sorry 
 with. That tone fitted into the stormy feeling 
 of the hour. 
 
 ' ' How variable is human nature ! A few min- 
 utes later the circle of listeners had widened 
 and w^e were laughing heartily at the captain's 
 story of the kid-gloved, patent-leather-footed 
 zouaves' revolt from work in the trenches at Pen- 
 sacola during the first summer of the war ; and 
 
10(> THE MODERN HAG AIL 
 
 how Bragg set their servants to digging and 
 ' bucked ' them into respect for discipline. And 
 the wind-np — ' he spoilt us as dandies, but he 
 made soldiers of us ' — brought thought back to 
 the war again. We are never permitted to for- 
 get that long. 
 
 ''Augusta^ Ga.^ September 20, 1863. — We ar- 
 rived here yesterday, the first stop since leaving 
 Danville. 
 
 "This town seems an oasis of rest. I do not 
 think they altogether realize the constant storm 
 of battle in Virginia and Tennessee. 
 
 '' In no other place have I seen so many civil- 
 ians in the street. 
 
 ''Georgia has suffered less than any of the 
 other States. 
 
 . ''Augusta is the market for a comparatively 
 rich agricultural country. It is beyond raids 
 and has unbroken railroad connection with the 
 South and East ; consequently it is a desirable 
 home for the families of the Kentucky soldiers 
 either with Lee or Bragg, so Kentuckians con- 
 gregate here. 
 
 "For the poorer refugees, like our friends ' up 
 the mountain,' it is a haven beyond their means, 
 the cost of comings and the need of money to 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 197 
 
 live on, is too great. Poverty ties them to the 
 soil of Virginia. But the Kentucky refugees are 
 differently placed ; they are comimratively rich, 
 and the increased value of gold makes it cheap 
 to live here if you have a gold basis. 
 
 ''We had supper last evening with a family 
 where we had all the luxuries that have grown 
 into luxuries since the war. 
 
 ''The house, up on the sand-hills, was large 
 and airy. Our hostess showed us with pride a 
 bed-room furnished with dry-goods boxes, show- 
 ily draped with furniture print— altogether a 
 pretty imitation of French hangings. She evi- 
 dently expected compliment for her simplicity 
 and economy. We were thinking of the waste 
 of calico, tlie ' little patch of cotton ' to make 
 'shirts and socks for our soldiers,' and the 
 faded dresses of those Virginian gentlewomen. 
 
 "However, patriotism is not a synonym for 
 poverty, and this lady proved her sincerity by 
 being willing to suffer affliction (meaning dry- 
 goods boxes) wdth the people of God for a sea- 
 son, provided the ' wind w^as tempered ' to the 
 thoroughbred ' shorn ' of its cashmere fleece. 
 
 " Anything is better than the apathy of these 
 Georgians. This assuredly does not apply to the 
 
198 THE MODERN JlAGAIi. 
 
 gallant soldiers who are in tlie Georgia regi- 
 ments, but to the ricli substitute-buyers— and 
 their name is legion. Longstreet's corps brought 
 away from Virginia when the need seems great- 
 est there ; Breckenridge and his homeless Ken- 
 tuckians at the front, stubbornly opposing Rose- 
 crans's advance ; while here men sit in the shade 
 and coolly discuss the chance of defeat ! 
 
 " Our host has just come in with despatches : 
 fighting near Chattanooga ; Bragg' s entire army 
 engaged. Thank God that Longstreet is there 
 with a corps of the Virginian army ! 
 
 " September 22, 1863. — Another telegram brings 
 news of victory. Rosecrans crushed and beaten 
 back. All that are left of Longstreet's veterans 
 are camped on the ground they have won. O 
 my Virginians ! my Virginians ! 
 
 ''Sehna, Ala., September 24, 1863.— Tom Clay 
 is dead ! Poor boy ! he will come no more in the 
 cool, dewy twilight to talk of home and his far- 
 away sweetheart. How she will grieve as the 
 days go by and there are no more letters ! The 
 light of many a life goes out with 'no more let- 
 ters.' " 
 
CHAPTER XXXY. 
 
 " The catastrophe is a nuptial." 
 
 {Mrs, Carishrooke to Mrs. Hartley from Paris^ 
 June 20, 1863.) 
 
 *' ' A N angel is like you, Kate, and you are 
 ^ like an angel.' You give good gifts 
 without mean or miserly reckoning. 
 Your letters liave all come to me, but where 
 mine have gone only our meddlesome Paul Prys 
 can tell ; yet you will believe that 1 have written 
 you often and full measure. Since the one sent 
 from Canada by that faithful Kentucky courier 
 none, it seems, have reached you. 
 
 " But I have good hope of this, and I shall not 
 send it by way of Fortress Monroe or to your 
 Cousin Bradnor's care. One L. Quintius Cur- 
 tius—not of Rome but of rebeldom ; one we both 
 have known in better days, my dear — has pro- 
 mised it safe conduct. If he is but half so good 
 a postal clerk as he is diplomatist, then I am 
 sure my lady's hand will touch and my lady's 
 eyes will read these lines. 
 
 199 
 
:;>00 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 ** Yon can trust Bradnor if you like, but I will 
 none of liim. Altliough the dandy has sent me 
 the first broken half of your letter safely and 
 expeditiously, I hope part second is already en 
 route. The fact of that letter's arrival proves 
 it was never submitted to official inspection. 
 Neither Stanton nor any creature made in his 
 likeness would have passed so rebellious a docu- 
 ment. 
 
 "What you write me of Rue grieves me. 
 TJiat a daughter of Stanislaus Leszinksky and 
 Margaret Cartaret should suspect our want of 
 faith or friendship denotes a morbid distrust of 
 all humankind. 
 
 "Rue's intensity must border on insanity, or 
 else her griefs have tmsted her all awry. 
 
 '* Had your letter come to me in time I would 
 have humbled myself in the dust and begged a 
 pass of Stanton. Had that failed I think ' Red- 
 head' would have passed me through the lines 
 at the cost of his commission. But when the 
 letter did at last reach me we all thought it too 
 late for me to go to * The Cedars,' and Robert's 
 letter clinched the thought. If Steenie were older 
 and had lacked faith in me I would not have 
 been astonished. But Rue?— why, T would as 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. oqi 
 
 soon have supposed Molly could be suspicious 
 of tlie constancy of my affection for her ! It 
 lias so hurt me that I have most bunglingiy 
 vv^ritten her a letter of explanation — an explana- 
 tion so ill made that she may find in it fresh 
 cause of offence ; and, in fact, my experience of 
 life proves that words of excuse or apology never 
 can cement broken faiths or friendships. There 
 is no harder task than the dislodgment of suspi- 
 cion. Its admittance beneath the roof of thought 
 is proof of change in the host that harbors it. 
 
 "If my letter fails to bring Eue to wiser and 
 better thinking, I shall either go to her when I 
 return home or send an ambassador. We cannot 
 quarrel with 'King Stan's' daughter nor permit 
 her to believe evil things of us. 
 
 "This far the worst of it is, it has made Brad- 
 nor's attention welcome. Such a thing as a well- 
 principled coxcomb may be possible, but I do not 
 think Captain Hartley's relative is a specimen I 
 should admit as that possibility. I look upon it 
 as a great misfortune that he was Rue's helper 
 when her father's sufferings made help needful. 
 Julia has told me the condition attached to the 
 fortune Simon Hartley left the fellow. Of 
 course he is looking for an heiress with the re- 
 
2v2 THE MODERN HAGAIi. 
 
 quisite amount. Rue's estate so largely exceeds 
 the amount that his cupidity is doubly on the 
 alert. He is a handsome animal, but, I confess it, 
 I detest him. Not that I think his good looks 
 would win Rue — I know her too well to believe 
 that ; but I know her so well that I know she 
 will never forget or refuse payment for the kind- 
 ness to her father. My only trust for her de- 
 fence against such misplaced gratitude is in 
 'Red-head.' 
 
 "I think my beloved and most charmingly 
 amiable son-in-law would break the dand^-'s 
 neck were there no other method of breaking 
 tlie match — which at last maybe only 'a thing 
 of imagination all compact.' 
 
 ''To get rid of the subject I shall tell you news 
 of the woman the dandy should marry. She is 
 a feminine representative of the same species. I 
 retract that, and but for blotting this letter would 
 erase it. Mai Hilton is a heartless coquette, but 
 in brains she is infinitely the suj^eiior of her dis- 
 tant cousin. (He is her cousin.) If I believed, 
 my fair Katherine, that you had left anywhere 
 about you a solitar^^ particle of esteem or regard 
 for the man whose wife you are so ill-advised as 
 to permit yourself to be considered, I would write 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. J^03 
 
 nothing of Captain Hartley's visit here to his 
 daughter or of liis acknowledgment of her as his 
 daughter, which he has made. 
 
 *' I had better begin at the beginning and tell 
 you all I know. 
 
 " I sailed from New York in February — not in 
 March, as you supposed. My rebellious neigh- 
 bors who used to live near me on ' the hill ' have 
 set up their household gods here in Paris — mean- 
 ing ill-executed pictures of Lee and Jackson. 
 They were constantly writing me invitations to 
 visit them and see the shrine before w^hich they 
 burn waxen candles. 
 
 ^'I was doing no particular good at home. In 
 fact, Carisbrooke gently hinted that I was busy 
 the other way. 
 
 " I cannot truthfully say Carisbrooke was bru- 
 tal, or even rude, in the manner of his suggestion. 
 But he did manage to let me understand that the 
 admirable frankness and wisdom with which I 
 expressed my opinion of the conduct of the war 
 was getting to be a damper upon the President. 
 Close observers noticed that it was suppressing 
 his anecdotal lore. 
 
 '' Even in the flush of such victories as those of 
 Banks and Schenck Mr. Lincoln would break 
 
204 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 down in his second reminiscence. To the awe 
 and consternation of the cabinet, he would sud- 
 denly stop after the familiar phrase, 'That re- 
 minds of a little story,' and go off on some se- 
 rious tack quite foreign to the subject. You see 
 / was the serious tack. 
 
 "Then, too, Stanton's sweet, babe-like sleep 
 was broken — 
 
 ' Sore labor's bath ; 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,' 
 
 was denied him, all a-cause of one woman. 
 
 "Yet I do not know that these particular na 
 tional calamities would either have kex)t me si- 
 lent or forced me to flee the country. 
 
 "But, like all great orators, Carisbrooke had re- 
 served his climax. The peroration which brought 
 me to Paris was that I was ' the insurmountable 
 obstacle which had delayed "Red-head's" pro- 
 motion.' 
 
 "To propitiate the 'Infernal Gods'— observe 
 the capitals and the quotation-marks, and you 
 will know that I am classical, not profane— I 
 undertook this i)ilgrimage. 
 
 "Carisbrooke came with me to New York; 
 from thence Lucy was my companion and at ten- 
 
THE PAN0RA3IA OF WAR. 205 
 
 dant, wliicli is a partial answer to your inquiry. 
 She is perfectly rational now, but lier health is 
 delicate ; these two conditions made her coming 
 with me advisable and induced Carisbrooke to 
 give his consent. Privately she begged me to 
 bring her. She knew Mai was here, and pro- 
 mised to be reasonable and discreet. Trusting to 
 her promise, I brought her. 
 
 " Thus far she has kept her promise under pe- 
 culiarly trying circumstances. 
 
 ''We were both quite sea-sick, so I rested a 
 week in London. 
 
 " Some English people we had entertained at 
 Rosebank made it very pleasant for me. You 
 are so joined to your idols that you will be glad 
 to hear they were 'Southern sympathizers.' So 
 it happened at a swell dinner they gave I met 
 most of the notable rebels then in London : the 
 Masons, of course, and with them the noble envoy 
 — refused at St. Petersburg — who sends you this. 
 I heard that night a very pretty compliment to 
 him which I think will please you. 
 
 "A bright woman, who belongs to a family 
 distinguished as diplomats^ said, as L. Quintius 
 Curtius moved away from the little group : 
 ' That young man is wonderfully clever. He is 
 
206 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 the brightest diplomatist I have ever met from 
 America. He understands what the other men 
 you have sent here have never learned — the value 
 of women as allies, and that they have a certain 
 social influence in politics which is especially ef- 
 fectual in influencing the public reception of 
 new questions. He is free from the j^ettiness of 
 masculine vanity which would either underrate 
 or be indifferent to that influence. If he was the 
 senior and leader of the commissioners I think 
 he would win the recognition they ask.' 
 
 ' ' The day after this dinner I left London on 
 the tidal train for Paris. I had taken a flrst -class 
 ticket for Luc}^, that I might have lier with me. 
 We were alone in the railway carriage, and the 
 guard was about to lock the door, when I heard 
 some one say, ' Mrs. Carisbrooke.' As I .looked 
 around our ' envoy ' was asking permission to 
 enter with a friend. It was given on the instant, 
 and as number one took the place opposite to me 
 I saw that number two was Captain Hartley. 
 The greeting and the perfunctory inquiries were 
 exceedingly awkward, for he had recognized Lucy, 
 who was in the next seat to mine. Fortunately, 
 the * envoy ' w^as in one of his brilliantly talka- 
 tive moods, and I was only too willing to listen 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 207 
 
 without interruption, except when it was needful 
 to touch a new key that there might be no stop. 
 On the pacliet we saw nothing of Captain Hart- 
 ley, nor did we from Calais to Paris. His com- 
 panion reported him in a smoking-carriage. 
 
 "Thus the trial of Lucy's 'reasonable' and 
 ' discreet ' promise was made before we reached 
 Paris. I could see she was of an ashen color j 
 further than that she gave no evidence of remem- 
 brance or recognition. 
 
 '' I was so sure the meeting with Hartley would 
 prevent my seeing Mai that I was surprised be- 
 yond measure when, two days after I was settled 
 in the little apartment taken for me by my 
 friends, the concierge came up with a card: 
 * The lady was waiting in her carriage to hear if 
 I was disengaged and would receive her.' The 
 card was engTaved ' Miss Hartley-Hilton.' 
 
 '^ I bade the man show the lady uj). 
 
 ''The second-sight of the Scotch wizard is a 
 mere nothing to the clairvoyance of a mother. 
 Lucy could not understand what had been said, 
 and she had not seen the card ; but, with a rapid 
 glance at the trembling figure leaning against the 
 mantelpiece, I comprehended her look of expec- 
 tancy. 
 
208 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 " Affecting a confidence I was far from feeling, 
 I bade her wait in my room, saying : ' If you are 
 sure of yourself, sure you will not come where 
 Mai can see you, you may leave the door ajar so 
 you can both see and hear.' She kissed my 
 hand Avith a most grateful look of thanks, which 
 also was a look of promise. 
 
 ' ' ' Miss Hartley-Hilton ' was announced in 
 such fashion that the name was not recogniza- 
 ble. 
 
 ' ' My dear Kate ! we all always thought her 
 beautiful. Well, the bud was nothing to the 
 flower. All the visions of beautiful women that 
 I have had, in and out of the flesh, were as no- 
 thing to this goddess. How well the Parisians 
 have named her ! 
 
 *' She gave me no time for mere perfunctory 
 civilities. A cannon-ball sent by your famous 
 young Pelliam could not have more plum ply 
 fallen into the middle of things. 
 
 '' ' My father told me that you were here, Mrs. 
 Carisbrooke. He urged the fact as a reason for 
 my leaving Paris immediately — we are going to 
 Eome for Easter — but the reason he gave for 
 avoidance is the reason that brought me here. 
 The woman Lucy— my mother— is with you ? ' 
 
THE PAN0RA3IA OF WAR. 209 
 
 " ' Yes, she is with me.' 
 
 •' 'Why did she corned Or rather, why did 
 you bring her % Was it to see me, to make any 
 claim npon me ? Did yon know that I was about 
 to be married to the Due de Rameaux ? ' 
 
 " 'Yes, I knew it.' 
 
 " ' Then that is why you brought her ? ' 
 
 '' ' Yes, that she might see you married.' 
 
 *''I know. You are Mrs. Hartley's friend. 
 You wish to punish me for my father's recogni- 
 tion of me as his daughter. That is why you 
 brought the woman, my mother — she is my mo- 
 ther ; I do not and shall not deny that fact. I 
 came to ask what she and you expect from me. 
 What does she demand 1 ' 
 
 "'She demands from you — nothing. It is 
 what you have given her since you knew you 
 had a mother living. Your father has given her 
 less and more : when her youth was prematurely 
 withered and her beauty had faded he took you 
 from her and gave her another master.' 
 
 "'Did he not free her?' 
 
 "'Yes, after she had escaped and disgrace 
 threatened him.' 
 
 " ' He says that he believed she was dead.' 
 " ' The wish was father to the thought.' 
 
210 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 " ^ If she asks nothing, expects nothing, why 
 is slie here, and what interest has she in my 
 marriage ? ' 
 
 '' 'She has the heart of a mother, the devo- 
 tion of a mother. Neglected, denied, desi:)ised, 
 twice driven to insanity, tlie first effort of re- 
 covered reason, the first question that frames 
 itself to her returning sense, is for her child. 
 She is content to live outside of your life, but 
 the very breath of life to her is assurance of your 
 safety, of your happiness. She only wished to 
 look upon the face of her child, to see the hus- 
 band into whose hands her child's happiness is 
 to be trusted. She does not ask or wish you to 
 look upon her. She demands neither love nor 
 recognition. And for her I demand nothing, ex- 
 cept that at a safe distance from your splendor, 
 in some retired corner where her presence may 
 not be noticed, she shall see you married. She 
 is so single-tlioughted in her devotion to you 
 that your marriage is everything to her. She 
 has been a slave, but she is a loving woman. Her 
 faults came from poison in the blood, from the 
 degradation of one race and the sin of another. 
 Her first and only wish in life is to see her daugh- 
 ter lifted above danger of temptation. To her 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 211 
 
 your marriage seems a very ark of safety. Now 
 yon know her demands. I can assure you that in 
 no way will slie conijiromise your future. In my 
 household she is loved and respected. Her home 
 is with us. In the last interview she had with 
 you, the last she ever will have, she mutely pro- 
 mised to make no claim to any place in your life 
 or your affection. She has kept and she will 
 keep the promise. But when I see her in pain 
 through the yearning desire of a mother to look 
 upon the child she carried next her heart, I will 
 bring her where, unknown to your world, she 
 may look upon your face.' 
 
 '' ^ Mrs. Carisbrooke, do you think I do not pity 
 her? Ah! you do not know that through this 
 marriage I repa}^ Captain Hartley what she has 
 suffered. Because of this alliance, which reflects 
 a certain distinction ui)on the son of a petty 
 tradesman, heir of Simon Hartley the miser, 
 Cai^tain Hartley has given me the right to bear 
 his name and will pay the dot a ducal house 
 requires. I assure you it is no slight sacrifice he 
 makes. He has liad losses in the last few years, 
 and I have never measured or restricted my ex- 
 penditures since I knew vv'hat debt I owed him 
 through my mother. Ah ! madame, he has paid 
 
212 TEE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 dearly for wliat I learned at Rosebank. And 
 now it takes the greater jmrt of liis fortune to 
 balance my tainted blood against the honors, and 
 dignities, and virtues of the Due de Rameaux.' 
 
 " I can tell you the words, Kate, but I cannot 
 show you the scorn that flashed from the beauti- 
 ful violet eyes. I had heard a noise from my 
 bed-room and I was anxious to end the inter- 
 view. Miss Hartley-Hilton ended it by saying : 
 
 *' ^ If your friend Mrs. Hartley — she was always 
 kind to me, and I am grateful — wishes, she can 
 easily prove the story false which Captain Hart- 
 ley told at the legation here when the marriage 
 settlements were dra^ATi. He said that he had 
 been secretly married to my mother, who died at 
 my birth. The Hue de Rameaux has heard the 
 truth ; I told it to him. He knows the stain and 
 accepts it mtli me — and a dot. I will send you 
 cards for yourself and your friend to see me 
 married. Good- morning.' And she was gone. 
 
 *'She has Hartley eyes, but she has the daring 
 courage of her gmndfather, the gambler. She 
 plays her stakes as recklessly and is willing to 
 stand the hazard of the die. When she left me I 
 was in doubt whicli most to applaud, her beauty 
 and grace or her rash> determined spirit. But 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 213 
 
 for all that I thanked the gods no one I loved 
 was in the position of the Due de Rameaux. 
 
 *' The next day I heard that Mrs. Cartaret and 
 the Hartleys had gone to Rome. The Due de 
 E-ameaux followed them. 
 
 *'The week after Easter I received cards (one 
 left blank) for the marriage ceremony, which was 
 to be celebrated at the American Chapel. I took 
 Lucy to a quiet corner in the gallery. Kneeling 
 there, she watched her child. The tears that fell 
 from those soft, brooding eyes, and which rolled 
 unheeded over the thin, wasted face, mutely 
 pleaded for forgiveness of her sin and for the 
 happiness of her child. That sad look of appre- 
 hension which used to be ever present in her 
 countenance has gone. The long-drawn sighs 
 that come at regular intervals from the quiet cor- 
 ner in which she chooses to work are all that tell 
 of past griefs. 
 
 " The morning after the marriage the Due and 
 Duchesse de Rameaux left for their chateau in 
 Touraine. 
 
 ''Next week we go to Switzerland mth our 
 friends, and later to the English lakes. I will 
 write you again when we get to London, where I 
 hope to find letters from you. ' ' 
 
214 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 {Mrs. Hartley to Mrs. Carishrooke from the 
 'plantation near Selma, October 7, 1863.) 
 
 **My dear Mrs. Carisbrooke: At last a let- 
 ter from you. It followed me from Richmond, 
 passed me en route, went on to Mobile, and 
 yesterday your brother Robert brought it back 
 here. 
 
 "Thanks for your compliance with my wish. 
 This despatch of yours is a news-letter. But in 
 one way it will not have the effect you antici- 
 pate. 
 
 "I will never carry my troubles into a divorce 
 court. And if Captain Hartley wishes to I do 
 not think he can find cause for divorce. The 
 bonds of relationshij) often grow painful, but 
 we do not break them for that. We simply 
 endure such ills as we best may. If I Avere dying 
 of a cancer I should not tear away the coverings 
 to show it to all the world. I shall certainly 
 never uncover to the multitude my private grief. 
 I knew what your letter meant, for I have heard 
 you talk all this at me — never unkindly, but 
 because of the loving- kindness of your motive 
 it has always touched me nearly. Now I beg as 
 a favor that it may rest, silenced by your regards 
 for my — call them, if you like — prejudices. 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 215 
 
 ^'I am glad Mai was recognized by her father. 
 It is the most manly and human thing I have 
 ever known of him. I could not make that a 
 cause of quarrel, had I wanted one. 
 
 ''I am sincerely glad of Lucy's improvement. 
 She has been a sore spot in my conscience for 
 years. If there is ever anything that I may be 
 permitted to do for her, the doing it will be a 
 pleasure and a favor to me. Had I been gentler 
 in speech and temper that first summer of my 
 stay at Oakhill, if anger had not blinded all 
 sense of justice, that poor mother's life might 
 not have been altogether one of suffering. 
 
 "It is difficult for Sarah to pity Hagar, to 
 think of her as a victim. 
 
 " I am heartily glad of Mai's good-fortune— if 
 it is good-fortune. What do you know or hear 
 of the man she has married ? 
 
 "I have news to tell that you will be sorry to 
 hear. With your letter yesterday Mr. Robert 
 Carisbrooke brought me others. One was from 
 Eue and one from Colonel Bradnor. Each an- 
 nounced their engagement to the other, and both 
 the letters were short, stiff, and ceremonious. 
 
 " O Mrs. Carisbrooke ! what can we do i I am 
 sure tliere will be no love in this marriage. I 
 
216 THE MODERN EA GAR. 
 
 pray something may happen to break it. Surely, 
 surely Stanislaus Leszinksky's daughter will be 
 saved from such misery ! 
 
 "The only loophole of escape that I see is that 
 it is to be a long engagement. They are ' not to 
 be married until Steenie comes of age.' Thank 
 Heaven for that ! 
 
 " General Roane and two of his staff have just 
 arrived. They are on their way to the trans- Mis- 
 sissippi department. General Koane is to join 
 Sterling Price. We will not see him again until 
 the war ends. And as yet who can prophesy 
 when that will be 1 
 
 "But I must say good-by. General Roane 
 will take this and the longer letter which I have 
 kept waiting opportunity, and send them through 
 Memphis. He tells me his old friend General 
 Forrest has a safe private mail route through 
 the city. Always yours, 
 
 "Kate." 
 
 {3Irs. Carisbrooke to Mrs. Hartley from Eose- 
 hank, April 3, 1864.) 
 
 "My dear Kate : General Forrest's mail route 
 was safe but very slow. I do not know how he 
 managed it, but the letter came to Cincinnat' by 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 217 
 
 private hands just after Forrest's iiglit at Oka- 
 lona, where, in the classic language of 0U7' great 
 leader of a 'movable column,' 'half our cavalry 
 went to h — and half to Memphis.' 
 
 "But I dare not say another such word. I 
 have i:>romised Carson — who is now here for a 
 day, and who says he will see this sent to you by 
 a quicker post than yours — to give no news that 
 can in any way be construed as military informa- 
 tion. And even that pious hint as to the direc- 
 tion taken hy the Federal cavalry might give ' aid 
 and comfort to the enemy,' which means you^ 
 my dear. Being thus basely restricted in my 
 endeavor to write history, I will tell jou all the 
 scandal I know. (If it was not for the military 
 restriction I could tell things that would ' mur- 
 der sleep ' and make a ' fretful porcupine ' of 
 you. What a pity I am bound to silence !) Not 
 being free to tell military news (or scandal), I 
 shall go out of the country for my items. 
 
 "Rue answered my 'explanation,' but in a 
 very high and mighty way, which was not en- 
 couraging to fresh epistolary effort. Being a 
 resolute, persistent woman. I would not give it 
 up. Two weeks after I returned from abroad, 
 which was in January, I faced the arctic tempe- 
 
218 THE MODERN EAOAB, 
 
 rature of Montreal to see her majesty. But her 
 royal courtesy was as cold as the climate. Not 
 being amiable beyond measure, I made one or two 
 observations that had probably better have been 
 left unsaid. I had heard through Mrs. Cartaret 
 of the Bradnor engagement, and I was witless 
 enough to characterize him as a fool and a for- 
 tune-hunter, which was in no sense wise in me. 
 Eue is not altogether above the womanly Aveak- 
 ness of counting on her own attractions, and lier 
 craze is devotion where she is, or feels she ought 
 to be, attached. 
 
 ^'Thus at double points I angered her, and the 
 longer I kept at it the less I bettered it. The 
 upshot was, I started home the next day with a 
 very positive impression that things Avere as 
 badly muddled and as much out of joint as I 
 could get them. Then Molly wTote Rue a most 
 peace-provoking letter. She had the grace to 
 answer Molly's civilly. 'Red-head' and Molly 
 are going to Montreal as soon as 'Red-head' 
 can be spared — but this touches the forbidden. 
 ' Red-head ' is the very cream and color of mili- 
 tary intelligence. 
 
 "Before I am wrecked let me try another tack. 
 
 "Molly has a daughter, born in the blustering 
 
THE PAXORAjIA OF WAR. 219 
 
 month of March. And her name is Margaret 
 Leszinksky, at Avhich I am pleased, although it 
 is a decided snub to my lovely name, of. which I 
 am daily growing more enamored, as Virginia — 
 there I go again ! That tack was a failure. 
 
 "This time I shall get out of the country, and 
 keep out. 
 
 "The beautiful young Duchesse de Rameaux 
 has not only been duly j)resented to the imperial 
 majesties, but she has a place at court. That far 
 all sounds like joyful-ringing marriage-bells, but 
 sinister undertones come over the sea. The due 
 lost heavily last summer on the turf, and bac- 
 carat did not lighten his losses. Neitlier did 
 a certain actress who wears ducal diamonds. 
 Kumor says the dot which the duchesse brought 
 him has been squandered, and that his generous 
 and amiable father-in-law w^as * done ' in the 
 transaction. The estates upon which old Simon 
 Hartley's dollars were supposed to be secured 
 have already upon them two generations of 
 mortgages. 
 
 "It seems the only person this disturbs is 
 Captain Hartley. The young duchesse neither 
 moans nor retrenches. Her wardrobe is the 
 glory of Worth and the marvel and the admi- 
 
220 TEE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 ration of Paris. Some one is pinched ! Caris- 
 brooke heard accidentally that Hartley had tele- 
 graphed to order the sale of certain stock ; and 
 when his broker delayed, and exj^lained that it 
 would be a great loss, the order was made per- 
 emptory. The old miser's millions are sliding 
 the way millions are said to do when the majesty 
 from the bottomless pit has gathered them. 
 
 ' ' The mills go on grinding slowly. Hartley 
 may be ruined through his love for Lucy's 
 daughter. I would not have believed his affec- 
 tion would ever have led him to self-sacrifice. 
 
 " Sometimes, when I remember what Mai said 
 to me of the price her mamage would cost her 
 father, I fancy she intended his ruin. She said 
 she would 'repay her mother's debt.' 
 
 " Larry Hoyt's settlement of such a debt, had 
 he promised settlement, would have been quick 
 and sure, but frankly and openly risked. I fear 
 the gambler's blood has been corrupted by the 
 Hartley strain ; or it may be the outcome of 
 some Youdoo witch who worked her evil will 
 through hidden and deadly mysteries ages ago 
 where the Nile sjiring bubbles into life. 
 
 '' What a puzzling psychological study can be 
 drawn out of a blood-puddle ! 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 221 
 
 ^'If I were a psychomancist, to define tlie 
 beautiful duchesse I would call up the Youdoo 
 witch. I am sure the witch is in the majority. 
 She counts for more than the gambler. 
 
 ' ' The Hartley part goes for naught. It is 
 only dirt. But then that conclusion sets one off 
 on a new search. Julia has loyal and true and 
 honest qualities. Pshaw ! Julia is the reproduc- 
 tion of some remote accident. Like Mai, she is 
 the mystic product of past ages. 
 
 " There must be a subtle, transmissible essence 
 in blood that, under certain conjunctions, is pro- 
 creative of qualities. Why else should it flow 
 smoothly for generations and then suddenly de- 
 velop a new species ? 
 
 "Here are three examples ready for your 
 study : 
 
 '' No. 1. EuE — Homerically Tieroic^ princely 
 in faults — an evident sMp from the middle 
 ages. 
 
 ''No. 2. Julia — A reproduction of germs of 
 intelligence and feeling wTiicli were buried in 
 the dArt heneatJi the Hartley animalism. 
 
 ''No. 3. Mai — A goddess. Evolved from a 
 witch, has she a human soul? 
 
 "If your head aches with the reading, what 
 
THE MODE UN HAG AH. 
 
 do you suppose I have suffered while giving 
 birth to these children of an addled brain ? 
 
 "April as it is, we still have lires. Lucy is 
 sitting close beside mine, mending Carisbrooke' s 
 favorite coat. 
 
 " I would wager she is thinking of her daugh- 
 ter ; what a true, womanly poor woman she 
 is ! It is the fact, not the grandeur, of her 
 daughter's marriage that touches her. Lucy 
 must have had some blind, indefinable fear that 
 Mai's fate might resemble her own. Release 
 from that fear has brought her peace. Some- 
 times at her work — which she seems to hold to 
 as a safeguard to reason — I liear her softly 
 singing that sweet old hymn, ' Abide with me.' 
 I remember it was a favorite with Margaret Les- 
 zinksky. 
 
 ' ' I know now where the duchesse got that 
 wonderful musical intuition and clear, bird-like 
 voice. 
 
 " I think Lucy entirely cured ; but Carisbrooke 
 looks grave when I ask his opinion, and then 
 hopes that ' no sudden shock will disturb tlie 
 balance.' 
 
 " If there is bad news from Mai I must keep it 
 from Lucy. And that will be difficult. She is 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 223 
 
 greatly changed from tlie old apathetic manner. 
 She is acutely sensitive to mention of Mai— sen- 
 sitive and watchful. I think she catches and 
 understands every allusion that is made. She is 
 still devoted to Molly, and even more devoted 
 to Molly's children, but she has lost the old in- 
 sane belief in her ownership of all children who 
 are ill. 
 
 ''I know now where she spent the long months 
 when she left us. She was in the country near 
 New York with the O'Dowds, occasionally go- 
 ing to Philadelphia— watching the house where 
 her child lived for a chance view of her lost 
 treasure. That was why she saved money. Now 
 that her natural characteristics appear, she is the 
 most generous person I have ever known. The 
 little income your cousin Margaret settled upon 
 her, and all her earnings, are given to the poor. 
 Her services are free to all she can aid with ser- 
 vice. She was constantly sitting up with poor 
 invalids here on the hill and in the city, until 
 Carisbrooke insisted that she should not do so 
 without his permission. And now she impor- 
 tunes him until he is sometimes worried into 
 consent. 
 
 '' I have told all the news except that which is 
 
224 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 ' contraband ' ; and of course the forbidden is 
 what I most want to say. 
 
 *' But you can write full letters. And I tnist 
 in yon to hear from our — from the unrepentant 
 rebels." 
 
CHAPTER XXXYL 
 
 *' Fierce and clear is the scabbard's ring, 
 With the sharp sword for guest ; 
 But the whirl of the dowuAvard swing 
 Of that blue blade is best. 
 
 " And the tramp of a thousand steeds 
 In thunder and cloud, 
 When the earth is shaken and bleeds, 
 Maketh a man's heart proud — 
 
 " More proud than words ever said 
 Or songs ever sung ! 
 And proudest the hearts, ferer-fed, 
 Of the brave and the young." 
 
 {Mrs. Hartley to Mrs. CarishrooJce from Mo- 
 Mle, February, 1865.) 
 
 MY DEAR Mrs. Carisbrooke : ISTo letters 
 from you since one written last April 
 which General Carson sent through by an 
 officer who was exchanged. I wrote you in May 
 and sent the letter to Memphis.- I fear you did 
 not get it. But I am writing this in broken bits 
 and will send it when occasion favors me. Mrs. 
 Eobert Carisbrooke has gone to Selma, or rather 
 to the plantation, and I am staying with my old 
 
22 G THE MODERN II AGAR. 
 
 friend and schoolmate, Sue Burton, ayIio married 
 a classmate of Dr. Carisbrooke's. I am perfect- 
 ly at home in this hosj^itable house, and delight- 
 ed to escai^e our chilly, rainy Virginia spring. 
 
 " February 10.— What a day and what a cli- 
 mate ! 
 
 ** * Soft o'er beds of violets zephyr steals.' 
 
 I have sat at my work all the morning with 
 windows and doors wide open. 
 
 " This afternoon numberless callers and inter- 
 ruptions. At six a drive down the bay with 
 three Mobile ladies. 
 
 "We looked across the water to where the 
 Yankee ships were anchored, while listening to a 
 story that proved the value of a bad reputation. 
 A short time since a party of Yankees from a 
 gunboat landed at a plantation at the very time 
 the mistress (who resides in Mobile on account of 
 their proximity) was at home getting supplies 
 to take back to the city. She resisted as far as 
 words would go ; they insisted without words ; 
 and the transfer of edibles from her wagon to 
 their boat was quickly made. Having no- 
 thing left but temper, she threw it at them in. 
 taunts : 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR, 227 
 
 << < Why do you not fight our men ? Come to 
 Mobile and take the city. You have been three 
 years anchored in the bay, and this is your first 
 conquest. ' 
 
 ^'^Yes, madam,' said the blue-coat very 
 gravely. ' You are perfectly right in your reck- 
 oning of time ; could not have done it better 
 myself— just three years and some days over. 
 All that time Mobile has been full of gold-laced 
 rebels [a different breed from the ragged Virgin- 
 ians], and it has been the principal business of 
 you ladies utterly to spoil them as soldiers. It 
 js a notorious fact that the rebel government is 
 constantly forced to change the troops there, but 
 they can't do it fast enough to keep up the ono- 
 rale. When they go back Bragg swears, and 
 Lee puts them in front of the Stonewall brigade 
 with bayonet points in their suspender-crossings. 
 Yes, madam, you are right: over three years 
 have passed, and we would rather not have Mo- 
 bile. Keep your Cai^ua.' 
 
 "We all laugh rather ruefully, and fear there 
 is a little justice in this hit. 
 
 '' Going liome, we stopped at Colonel Forsyth's 
 to ask the news from Virginia. News of the sad- 
 dest—Lee begging for recruits and provisions ; 
 
228 THE 2I0DERN HAGAR. 
 
 none and nothing to send him. To-morrow night 
 a meeting here to try what can be done. 
 
 '' March, 1865. — I don't believe Mobile can help 
 being gay and bright, no matter what current of 
 grief sweeps through the national life. This is 
 partly climatic. With such air, pure, soft, vio- 
 let-odored, life brightens into happy bits. Naples 
 laughs though Vesuvius threatens. And Mobile 
 is a lesser Naples, lazzaroni and all. If you doubt 
 it come and go down to the shore and count the 
 turbaned heads that sleep in the sun as they 
 wait for those lazy fishermen 
 
 '* ' Who rock in their boats on the bay.* 
 
 "There is surely a Congress of Beauty in Mo- 
 bile this winter : Mobilians of every type, some 
 fair as Helen and as — s-t-o-p i-t; no scandal, if 
 you please ; others (than Helen) sweet, pure, and 
 grandly beautiful ; brunettes that outfiash Mo- 
 hammed's houris ; blondes fit to wait on the he- 
 roes in Valhalla ; some w^ho would match your 
 Parisian * goddess.' I will not write names, but I 
 will say that this winter I lived in the house with 
 AjDhrodite — not that no-saint w^ho floated out of 
 the sea-foam, but a product of Kentucky. Even 
 *Macaria' raved of her benvity in five-syllabled 
 
TEE PAN0RA3IA OF WAR. 229 
 
 dithyrambics. Under tlie rose I would say that 
 Aphrodite is not a wise goddess — but then a wo- 
 man so magnificently beautiful does enough for 
 her race when she lets them look at her. 
 
 " April 8, 1865. — There are the most unexpect- 
 ed rencontres here. Society seems a magician's 
 table, where you do not know what may chance 
 next. You have an engagement to ride in the 
 morning with a friend ; he comes with ' Care on 
 the crupper ' to make his excuses — he is going to 
 the front with despatches. You are to dine with 
 another ; a messenger comes to say the family 
 have gone to the plantation, for a Yankee raid 
 has just swept through and they must know how 
 the children, left with servants, have fared. You 
 are invited to a quiet tea with a third ; six to one 
 you go in your second-best dress (you only have 
 two) and meet all the people of your circle in 
 their uniform and w^ ell-worn evening costume. 
 
 '' Yesterday the ladies of the household were 
 
 in the parlor receiving Albert G and his 
 
 bride (people still give and are given in marriage, 
 though the wedding march is thrilled through 
 with cannon-shot), when Colonel Shirley, my old 
 neighbor at Belleview, was announced — in town 
 for the day, on his way to Price's command, 
 
230 THE MODERX IIAGAR. 
 
 which confronts Banks on the Red River. An- 
 other ring at the door : Judge W , of Mem- 
 phis, whom the fate of war has brought here. 
 His oldest son was killed in the first year of the 
 war ; the youngest, a mere lad, has taken his 
 dead brother's place. Destiny's kaleidoscope 
 shakes father and son together in our drawing- 
 room. 
 
 '' Society has quieted into a daily expectancy; 
 there is no possibility of settling to anything. 
 We can only wait. What feasts are made are to 
 feed hungry soldiers, though there are shadowy 
 spectres at every banquet ' that push us from 
 our stools.' 
 
 '^ To-day there is constant fighting over the 
 bay at Blakely and Spanish Fort. General Lid- 
 dell is in command at Blakely ; with him the 
 brave remnant of d, Missouri brigade just ex- 
 changed from a Yankee prison in time to tight in 
 this hox)eless defence. 
 
 ^'Mobile's mothers' darlings are there, too, 
 playing soldier in earnest : nine hundred of the 
 Mobile cadets, boys from fourteen to seventeen— 
 ' old enough,' as their boy leader said, ' to die 
 for the country' ! There, too, are the Home 
 Guard — men from fortv-live to sixtv-five. 
 
THE PAN0RA3IA OF WAR. 231 
 
 ^' At Spanish Fort, Gibson, with eight hundred 
 men and the Washington artillery, resists tlie 
 pressure of Canby's column, which is seventy- 
 five tliousand strong and has thirty-six batteries 
 in place and three gunboats in tlie offing. Ther- 
 moi)yl8e had not greater odds ! 
 
 ''This unrest drives to extremes, so Mrs. Bene 
 diet and I have volunteered to go to-night with 
 the hospital-boat which takes supplies and brings 
 back the wounded. 
 
 '''April 9. — At nine o'clock last night we left 
 the wharf — three gentlemen, two ladies, and the 
 ship's crew. At ten we reached Blakely. There 
 we landed supplies ; then our shadowy ship crei)t 
 silently down the river past the enemy's batte- 
 ries, landing without accident under the guns of 
 Spanish Fort. 
 
 "Then came the danger. The Federals were 
 making a night attack. Shrieking shells burst 
 above us into shattered lights, hot shot cross- 
 ed the sky like blazing meteors — from every 
 point of the compass there speeded lightning- 
 flashes of flame. From the batteries around 
 those doomed earthworks, and from down the 
 bay where the sullen gunboats belched forth fire 
 and shot, there were sheets of light. The enemy 
 
232 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 had caught sight of our sails and through the 
 cordage their balls came thick and fast. 
 
 *^A11 this time men were busy bringing the 
 wounded on board and taking provisions ashore. 
 
 "Their sharpshooters got our range, and now 
 to all that infernal clatter was added the quick, 
 rain-like pattering of minie- bullets on the deck. 
 Men were killed bringing on the wounded ; 
 wounded men were killed as they were brought 
 aboard. 
 
 '^Another danger was added — General Gibson 
 had decided to evacuate the place. For weeks 
 they had held it through a constant storm of 
 battle. These worn-out men could do no more ; 
 but the ammunition, so scarce and so precious, 
 must be saved, so it was piled on the deck be- 
 tween rows of wounded men. Let one shot strike 
 there and the ship and its living freight must go 
 down. But — 
 
 •' * Stormed at by shot and shell, 
 
 Out of the gates of death. 
 Out of the mouth of hell ' 
 
 we safely passed the river-batteries. 
 
 "At Blakely we stopped and gathered fresh 
 swaths of the battle haryest— more wounded and 
 
THE PANORAMA OF WAR. 233 
 
 one dead boy. Men were buried where they fell, 
 but tlie boy must be sent to Ms waiting mother. 
 
 "We landed at Mobile in the bright April 
 morning, and there on the wharf the mothers of 
 the cadets were waiting for news. They all 
 pressed forward as the corpse was brought off, to 
 see whose was the loss. Only fifteen years old, 
 shot through the forehead, the blue eyes open, 
 and the yellow hair dabbled in blood ! The only 
 son of a poor Scotch widow— that 'fair-haired 
 laddie.' His father was killed at Vicksburg. 
 The mother's soul seemed to go from her in a 
 low, sad wail as she clasped her dead boy in her 
 arms. 
 
 **In the afternoon the silence across the bay 
 told us that Blakely was taken. A boat brought 
 over the few who escaped, and the story was told 
 how men were shot down after the surrender. 
 Then, too, we heard how, in the moment of a 
 successful escape, Cockerell was told how his 
 men were being murdered, and from the gun- 
 boat which he had reached in safety he swam 
 back to stox^ the massacre or share the fate of 
 his comrades. 
 
 ' ' I have tried to picture this semi-military life, 
 its joys, its sorrows ; how it laughed in the sun- 
 
234 THE MUDEUN llAGAR, 
 
 shine, how the storm broke it to fragments. 
 And yet, unless you had lived through it all, 
 you would not know what treasure lies buried 
 beneath its ruins. 
 
 "April 13. — Yesterday Mobile surrendered to 
 the foe. They tell us Lee has surrendered. I do 
 not believe them. The British consul promised 
 to send you this letter. When I can I shall go 
 to Virginia. To think what we have all suffered 
 in vain ! '- 
 
BOOK THIED. 
 
 PART SECOISTD. 
 
 a 
 
 IPSO JURE." 
 
 " For J fell ijou the great baize ivill soon fall down. Have I 
 had amj secrets from you all through the piece ? I tell you the 
 house vrill he empty and you will he in (he cold air. When the 
 boxes have got their nightgoivns on, and you are all gone, and I 
 have turned of the gas and am in the empty theatre alone in 
 tlie darkness, i promise you I shall not he werrT/."— Thackeray. 
 
 CHAPTEH XXXYIT. 
 
 " We for the year to come may take 
 Our temper from to-dar." 
 
 JUDGE CARTARET'S management of ''the 
 great Cartaret estate" during Margaret's 
 minority ; his judicious investment of its 
 yearly revenues in lands in and near Chicago 
 and St. Louis, followed as it was by Rues long 
 minority ; and Mr. Robert Carisbrooke's prudent 
 improvement of these lots and lands, had more 
 
236 THE iMODERN HAOAR, 
 
 than quadrupled tlie sum total before tlie be- 
 ginning of the civil war. 
 
 Bradnor, who was disposed to watch his in- 
 terests carefully, had gone directly to "The Ce- 
 dars" as soon as the Federal forces invested 
 Richmond. Although he had resigned his com- 
 mand at the time of his engagement to Rue, he 
 had sufficient interest at headquarters to get a 
 guard detailed f lom the brigade to which he had 
 belonged, and consequently the only loss the 
 estate had suffered was in its available work- 
 ing force ; outside of the lands surrounding the 
 house the plantation was an immense pasture- 
 field. 
 
 Late in the fall of 1865 Rue and Steenie re- 
 turned from Canada. All of the "Mason ne- 
 groes" except Solomon — who was rapidly laying 
 the foundation for his later rise to political im- 
 portance in North Carolina— and several families 
 of the Cartaret people were at "The Cedars" 
 when the sisters returned. 
 
 According to the provision of her gi-andfather's 
 will, Rue, having attained her majority, was 
 given full control of the income of her es- 
 tate, although the landed capital was yet in the 
 hands of her trustees, one being Mr. Robert Ca- 
 
''IPSO JURE." 237 
 
 risbrooke, and tlie other General Carson, who was 
 also Steenie's guardian. 
 
 The hospitality of "The Cedars'' was as un- 
 restricted as in the old days. The Chicago pro- 
 perty was paying large interests, and the young 
 mistress of the old house was as generously lav- 
 ish in expenditure as had been her ancestor, the 
 princely and prodigal Palatine. 
 
 Miss Esmond's home had been lost in the 
 flames of Richmond. At the time of Eue's re- 
 turn Mrs. Hartley, Miss Esmond, and Anne 
 Warrington — the victims of three conflagrations 
 — were living together in a small rented house in 
 Danville. Mrs. Hartley's Eose, Miss Esmond's 
 old cook, and the ancient white-headed butler 
 from Castlewood completed the establishment, 
 which was supported by the scanty remittances 
 gathered by the head man from the negro 
 tenants at Belleview. 
 
 Harry Warrington was killed during the de- 
 fence of Richmond, and the Warrington place 
 on the Rappahannock was a deserted ruin. 
 
 Small as was Mrs. Hartley's income, it was the 
 sole resource of the household. And even to 
 supply the wants of her friends she would not 
 confess her poverty or ask aid of Captain Hart- 
 
23S THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 ley, who at rare intervals wrote ceremonious 
 notes of inquiry and ceremonious offers of ser- 
 vice. To Mrs. Cartaret she simply explained the 
 situation of her friends, and made tlieir situation 
 her reason for staying in Virginia when the 
 suggestion was made that she should go to Oak- 
 hill. The only help that did come was in the 
 form of rich and expensive Parisian toilets from 
 Mrs. Cartaret, which were sold in Eichmond 
 when the needs of the household were greatest. 
 From the dressmaker who was trusted to make 
 these sales Rue learned where her cousin was 
 staying and something of her cousin's need. 
 
 Steenie and the governess who had come with 
 them from Montreal had driven to town in the 
 Cartaret coach with the Cartaret heiress. The 
 carriage left the sisters and their chaperone at 
 the Exchange Hotel and w^ent back empty, but 
 the coachman carried an order to "The Cedars" 
 to have the house prepared for a large party 
 of visitoi's, and Oscar was requested to bring 
 Mammy Sara and some luggage that Avas need- 
 ed that night to the hotel. The orders were 
 promptly obeyed. 
 
 Leaving Steenie, the governess, and maid to 
 await her return at the Exchange, Rue, with Os- 
 
''IPSO JUREr 239 
 
 car as travelling attendant, started to Danville in 
 the early morning train. 
 
 From this expedition the "Princess" came 
 back in triumph. After a hard-fonght battle 
 with Miss Esmond she captured the entire house- 
 hold. The third day the three ladies returned 
 w^ith Rue ; and before another week their effects 
 followed in charge of the colored detachment, 
 commanded by Oscar. 
 
 From that day Rue made a voluntary renunci- 
 ation of her sovereignty. The homeless and pen- 
 niless spinster was the high court of appeal at 
 "The Cedars." All household questions were 
 referred to her, and Rue was simply the tirst of 
 her subjects. Until her death, which happened 
 two years later, Miss Esmond was firmly con- 
 vinced that it would be impossible for the sisters 
 to reside at "The Cedars" without the protec- 
 tion of her presence. Mrs. Hartley and Anne 
 Warrington were installed as counsellors. The 
 v/omanly side of Rue's character was never so 
 beautifully shown as in tlie respectful and defe- 
 rential' manner with which she treated these 
 guests, and the tenacity with which she exacted 
 for them alike respect from all of her household. 
 The Montreal governess was dismissed for an 
 
240 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 ill-tempered argument with Miss Esmond ; and 
 the only time Rue ever spoke with even a tone 
 of reproof to Steenie was for a childish imperti- 
 nence ventured in her governess's defence. 
 
 The Hartleys still stayed abroad. Mrs. Car- 
 taret's letters were all about her niece — she now 
 openly called Mai her niece. 
 
 The Hartleys had taken an apartment on the 
 Champs Elj^sees. In the winter the letters were 
 of diplomatic and imperial balls and dinners, 
 of evenings at the opera and receptions in tJie 
 FoMhourg — for the Rameaux were of the old 
 nobility. Tlien vintage scenes were i^hotographed 
 from the chateau in Touraine. There were 
 short trips in the spring to Italy ; summer junk- 
 etings in the Alj^ine country ; Bohemian frolics 
 in the Tyrol ; and rhapsodies of written delight 
 from the Rhineland. 
 
 Mrs. Cartaret had found that revival of youth, 
 that wonderful Indian summer, which regilds the 
 life of women in France, and so she let herself 
 float with the current. She had eaten the leaves 
 of the lotus "compliment" until she was drunk 
 with the subtle essence of that penetrative aro- 
 ma, which creeps to the brain and fills life with 
 the sensuous breathing of the self-flattery which 
 
''IPSO JURE." 241 
 
 it awakens. The moral consciousness was lost 
 in this lethargy of soul and intellect, and the 
 painful spectacle was presented of their entire 
 subjugation to physical suggestion and impres- 
 sion. 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke would have defined it as a 
 going back into the ''Hartley animalism," a 
 lapse, or rather a loss, of that more " remote acci- 
 dent" of ancestorship which had lifted Julia 
 out of the direct Hartley line. 
 
 Whatever it was, the cliange had been ac- 
 complished. Mrs. Carisbrooke would have 
 seized and defined the fact. Kate only felt it. 
 But the feeling was enough. It was the first 
 loosening of the old influence her sister-in-law 
 had held in her life. Every fresh letter from 
 Paris was further detachment. 
 
 In loosening the past Kate had gained strength 
 for the future— strength and insight ; and the 
 dawning of insight is the dawning of wisdom. 
 She saw clearly the wrong she had done herself 
 in following the world's ruling. She, too, had 
 flattered herself with delusions ; only her delu- 
 sions had been built into a stately fabric, which 
 she had called self-renunciation. But that self- 
 renunciation was neither for God's sake nor for 
 
242 THE MODERN HAG AM. 
 
 humanity's sake. It was only a compromise 
 with the powers and princii)alities that are em- 
 bodied in that pregnant evil called tbe world. 
 
 Her veiled separation had enforced upon her 
 not only a thousand petty hypocrisies but a false 
 and barren life. It had hardened Hartley into a 
 criminal, and brought Hagar to madness before 
 it brought her to repentance. 
 
 Kate knew- now that she should have let no 
 persuasion sway her, no cowardly fear of the 
 world's opinion persuade her to a lie. Had she 
 loved the sinner while hating the sin the wound 
 must have healed. But the failure in forgiveness 
 taught her the mistake which had maimed her 
 life. It was not the faithlessness of another, but 
 her own lack of love. She was learning painfully 
 that great heart-truth which is the last lesson 
 wisdom teaches the feelings— that to be loved is 
 nothing, but to love is everything ! 
 
 Not in receiving but in giving is the soul filled 
 with light and lifted heavenward. 
 
 Kate's first enlightenment had come through 
 her meeting with Leszinksky. Fortunately for 
 her, it had come before the turning-point in her 
 life had been reached. Her own miserable fail- 
 ure had blinded her to the heavenly possibilities 
 
''IPSO jure:' 243 
 
 of lo7e. Pride, wliicli is the first of human as 
 love is of divine qualities, had saved her from the 
 abandonment of her personal dignity. But the 
 concealed separation forced falsehood into every 
 action of the daily life which was itself a lie. 
 
 In such an existence one of two terminations 
 is inevitable, unless the mortal tie should break. 
 If a strong temptation comes and the devil Op- 
 portunity stands by, the stained soul sinks to 
 the lowest level ; or if temptation is absent, or 
 resisted only through base fear of the world, fold 
 by fold the soul is encased in the cerements that 
 preserve its stains and make them immortal. 
 
 Leszinksky's love for her cousin, which had 
 conquered death in waiting trustfully for the last 
 and perfect reunion, was a revelation to the wo- 
 man whose first awakening was a passionate and 
 selfish impulse. As I have said, it was the reve- 
 lation of a new gospel. Its first eifect was con- 
 viction of sin. Its second was the strengthening 
 of the higher pride. Then through slow pro- 
 cesses came the gradual sloughing off of false- 
 hood. The small daily deceits of her life were 
 dropped. Those who stood behind the curtain 
 when the actress made her entrances and exits 
 upon the world's stage saw the dropping of de- 
 
244 THE MODERN BAG AM. 
 
 ceptions. Then, after Leszinksky's death, shams 
 were set aside and the long-delayed battle with 
 the world was accepted. 
 
 It was the end of all the false things in her 
 life ; from that moment she determined that no 
 persuasion, no worldly reasoning should ever 
 again prevail with her, should ever win her back 
 to a mere show and pretence of marriage. *^ For 
 Julia's sake" — Julia had not then lost her 
 influence — ''for Julia's sake I will not take 
 the world into my confidence; for her sake, 
 and for the sake of the Cartaret name, I Avill 
 not go into a divorce court. But I will act no 
 more untruths ; I will live my life entirely apart 
 from her brother, and as I think life ought to 
 be lived." 
 
 This thought was ruling her when suddenly 
 in the summer of 1867 Mrs. Cartaret arrived at 
 "The Cedars." 
 
 There were other guests there — Dr. and Mrs. 
 Carisbrooke, Molly and her children. 
 
 Carson had made a day's visit to "The Ce- 
 dars" during the previous winter, when Rue's 
 chilliness had partially thawed. 
 
 In the spring Miss Esmond's health began to 
 fail, and once or twice she ex2iressed a wish to 
 
''IPSO JURE." , 245 
 
 see Dr. Carisbrooke. Rue commenced a cere- 
 monious letter of invitation ; happening to look 
 up from lier writing, she saw her father' s sword 
 hanging above an old sabre of Carson's which 
 had been broken in that desperate fight at 
 Bouie's Hill, and which she had kept and 
 brought to *'The Cedars" with her treasures. 
 Her father had hung it where it now was. The 
 thought of her father, which had heretofore em- 
 bittered her when she recollected the anguish in 
 his face at the last hour of his life and the look 
 of search for the absent, now softened her feeling. 
 
 The broken sword conquered a peace. 
 
 A cordially -written invitation brought all the 
 family from Rosebank, glad, eager to show their 
 gladness at the return of the old-time kindliness. 
 Carson had come, too, but now he was at West 
 Point. In a day or two he would return, and 
 with him "King Stan's" godson. 
 
 Dr. Carisbrooke had advised the seashore for 
 Miss Esmond and for Steenie, who had been 
 delicate and strangely despondent all summer. 
 Rue and Dr. Carisbrooke went with the inva- 
 lids to Cape May. They left them there with 
 Anne Warrington and Mammy Sara as guards 
 and care-takers. Rue had offered to excuse 
 
246 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 herself to her guests and stay with her sister, 
 but Steenie had insisted that Rue should leave 
 them. 
 
 Rue rather reluctantly admitted the truth of 
 Steenie' s last argument. 
 
 *' You will spoil me, sister, and j^ou are over- 
 careful and anxious ; I think that is one reason I 
 am so nervous. Please leave me with Miss Es- 
 mond and Anne. I cannot tell why it is, but 
 your manner, your constant watchfulness, ex- 
 cites me ; I am better alone." 
 
 So the older sister uttered no further word of 
 objection to her dismissal. 
 
 The day after the doctor and Rue returned 
 Carson came without his son. The young cadet 
 had stopped to make a short stay with a com- 
 rade who lived in Philadelphia. That afternoon 
 Mrs. Cartaret drove out from Richmond. 
 
 She had just arrived from Paris, but she 
 '' could not stay " — not even that night. " Tliere 
 were business matters of moment awaiting her 
 return to Washington. She came to talve Kate 
 back with her." Such were her answers to 
 Rue's hospitable urging. 
 
 The sisters-in-law were left together, and Mrs. 
 Cartaret' s explanation grew more definite. Her 
 
' IPSO JURE." 247 
 
 brother had come with her. Oakhill was sold 
 and Kate's signature was needed. 
 
 There were also other deeds to be signed in 
 which her right of dower must be relinquished. 
 At first Kate refused to go, at which Julia looked 
 curiously astonished. When Kate made no ex- 
 planation of her refusal her sister-in-law returned 
 to the attack. ''Did Kate object to the relin- 
 quishment of right in the property ? ' ' The an- 
 swer more than intimated that Kate "did not 
 care at all for the property, but she did not wish 
 to see Captain Hartley." The next question was 
 direct : 
 
 "What is it, Kate? What slander has been 
 told you?" 
 
 ' ' No slander ; simply I do not choose to see 
 your brother." 
 
 "This is Yirginia Carisbrooke' s meddling." 
 "Which is unjust to Mrs. Carisbrooke. You 
 know that I have been virtually divorced from 
 your brother for years. I now prefer that the 
 separation should be known and real." 
 
 " Do you mean to apply for a divorce, Kate ? " 
 " I do not, but I mean to live alone." 
 " Well, if you are happier I shall urge no ob- 
 jection, neither will Wenner ; in fact, he is going 
 
248 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 back to Paris with me. But, Kate, you are his 
 wife in i^oint of law, and it is absolutely neces- 
 sary that you sign these deeds. Moreover, it is 
 partly to oblige me ; I am going to be married to 
 a cousin of the Due de Eameaux, and Wenner 
 has promised to pay the dot.'''' 
 
 This was said with a flippant, silly giggle and an 
 affectation of youthful ingenuousness that first 
 amazed Kate and then touched a different key. 
 She tried in vain to restrain the laugh that 
 would come. The effort to be grave helped the 
 comic effect. There was a hearty outburst of 
 laughter, which Mrs. Cartaret's look of embar- 
 rassment first increased and then stilled. Be- 
 fore the now angry ingenue found words Kate 
 softened her by yielding to the request she had 
 preferred. 
 
 '' Of course, Julia, if it is really important to 
 you tliat I should go to Washington, I will go. 
 I beg your pardon for my ill-timed mirth. I am 
 not given to such silliness, but something upset 
 me ; I think 1 am nervous. Must you absolutely 
 go to-night ? Can you not wait until the early 
 train to-morrow I " 
 
 '' No ; I cannot fail to be there to-night. Wen- 
 ner will expect to meet me early to-morrow morn- 
 
'*iPSo jure:' 249 
 
 ing. He is to come from New York in the niglit 
 train." 
 
 There was still a shade of anger in her voice, 
 and Kate wisely left her to rest and recover. 
 *' There was need of preparation for the trip." 
 The ladies all returned to entertain Mrs. Cartaret, 
 and after an early dinner Rue sent the travellers 
 to the station without their going back to Rich- 
 mond. 
 
 Kate returned in two days. The news of Mrs. 
 Cartaret' s engagement was told, and the evening- 
 was filled with questions and laughing comments 
 until good-nights were said. 
 
 Rose had finished her duties and left her mis- 
 tress when Mrs. Carisbrooke knocked at the door 
 and asked : 
 
 ' ' Are you very sleepy, Kate ? May I come in T ' 
 
 *^Not at all sleepy; and I shall rest better if 
 you will come in and say your say." 
 
 *' No, Kate ; I came to listen. If you have no- 
 thing to tell me I shall only repeat my good- 
 night." 
 
 " What is it you wish to hear ?" 
 
 *^I am not difficult. I will be content with 
 scraps of information. To simplify the process 
 suppose you begin at the beginning." 
 
250 THE MODERN HAOAR, 
 
 *' Which beginning % " 
 
 "Well, with Julia's raid upon 'The Cedars.' 
 Why were you wanted in Washington ? and 
 what argument prevailed upon you to meet Cap- 
 tain Hartley ? I know you had resolved to avoid 
 such a meeting." 
 
 *' I have never said it." 
 
 ' ' I do not remember that you have — in words. 
 But then, my Kate, you have told me times with- 
 out number when you were unconscious of the 
 telling. I should be very stupid if I had not 
 learned your face in all these years." 
 
 "Captain Hartley has sold Oakhill, the house 
 in W^ashington, and some property in Xew 
 York. It was necessary that I should sign the 
 deeds. At first I hesitated about going, even to 
 do that, which I was quite willing to do. Then 
 Julia told me of her intended marriage. These 
 sales were made to arrange the payment of her 
 dotr 
 
 "I did not know she had any interest in old 
 Simon Hartley's estate. I always thought he 
 left her nothing." 
 
 "She had no interest in it; but her brother 
 assumed the debt I was owing her. He released 
 Belle view from the settlement of her jointure. 
 
''IPSO jure:' 251 
 
 My father had. made it a charge upon the es- 
 tate." 
 
 "I would not have believed Captain Hartley 
 had ever been so generous to either you or Julia. 
 Ah ! I see he was not. Your face is a very open 
 book, my Kate. Will you tell me what was 
 the consideration upon which his liberality 
 builded?" 
 
 ^' I think he was generous in the matter, Mrs. 
 Carisbrooke. At least he took risks in order that 
 Belleview might belong to me unencumbered. 
 He paid Julia, or rather she released the estate 
 and took his note for the money. He also paid 
 a chattel mortgage on the negroes — a debt that 
 troubled me greatly. I was very anxious to be 
 independent, to own my home and have it free. 
 To arrange that for me he cleared it of all in- 
 debtedness. Of course I was only too glad to 
 relinquish any right in his property." 
 
 " Oh ! I understand: he bought your right of 
 dower. Well, it seems you sold it to advantage. 
 His real estate was no great fortune ; and I hear 
 that the Hartley millions in stocks have melted." 
 
 "I hope you do not think I took his money 
 for relinquishment of his property. I have never 
 thought I had any right to his wealth. That 
 
252 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 was why the indebtedness I was under to him in 
 the settlement of my father's estate so troubled 
 me. But I did not think Captain Hartley paid by 
 my giving up a claim I should never have urged, 
 which it would not have been honest to urge." 
 
 ''But, Kate, I do not understand. Did not 
 you say the relinquishment of dower was the 
 consideration?" 
 
 "N'ot the only one. In fact, I thought that 
 nothing. I transferred to him my right of in- 
 heritance in that Alabama estate of my father' s 
 uncle — all right of inheritance from the Cartaret 
 family. There were some lands in western Vir- 
 ginia, Vv^hich were afterwards valuable. You 
 know we won the Cartaret suit in the Supreme 
 Court. I was glad to know the western Virginia 
 lands alone paid Captain Hartley all I owed 
 him. The Alabama property is comi)aratively 
 valueless." 
 
 ''You s-i-g-n-e-d a-w-a-y all rights coming 
 from the Cartaretsf 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke sprang upon her feet and 
 looked steadily at Kate as she said : 
 
 "Do you know what you have done ? Do you 
 know that you have mortgaged Rue's life to that 
 
^^ IPSO jure:' 253 
 
 scoundrel ? Do you know that you have made 
 him the heir of ' The Cedars ' ? One by one lie 
 has removed every obstacle ! I see it now. I 
 believe all Carson's, all Eobert Carisbrooke' s 
 suspicions to be well grounded. To spare 3^our 
 feelings we kept this from you. After your 
 separation from him they all thought Rue safe ; 
 for without you he would have no claim. But 
 now ? Why, in selling your right you have al- 
 most put the prize he coveted in his hands. You 
 have put a price upon Rue' s life. If his cupidity 
 halts it is through fear of Carson. Carson has 
 sworn to him to kill him if Rue dies by any 
 accident, any violence." 
 
 "White, pale, and trembling, Kate slid from the 
 bed and caught at her friend's hands : 
 
 ' Mrs. Carisbrooke ! Mrs. Carisbrooke ! you 
 think him capable of murder f ' ' 
 
 *' Carson believes the attack upon Bouie's Hill 
 was aimed at Rue's life. He believes Hartley in- 
 stigated tliat attack. The proofs are too broken 
 and slight to convict him ; but they were con- 
 vincing to Carson and to — to others. I know 
 Stanislaus Leszinksky struggled against his own 
 beliefs. Kate, can you bear to hear more ? " 
 
 "Yes; goon." . . ..... - ._ ' ^. 
 
254 THE 310DERN HAGAR. 
 
 A sweeping cloud of black hair had fallen 
 over her night-dress. Above it a white face was 
 set in rigid lines. The only color was the flash- 
 ing light of the dark eyes, which were fixed 
 steadily upon Mrs. Carisbrooke. 
 
 "Kate, it will take all your courage, but you 
 must hear it ; the case now is desperate, and it 
 needs desperate remedies. You remember the 
 English horse which killed your brother?" 
 
 "Yes; Captain Hartley bought it w^hen we 
 were in London." 
 
 "He told Tom it was savage and unmanage- 
 able ; but he did not tell him that it had killed 
 a groom, as it afterward killed Tom." 
 
 "You believe — " 
 
 " That when he bought the horse Hartley was 
 thinking of 'the great Cartaret estate.' He told 
 the story of Tom's death to your father in such 
 an abrupt manner that the telling killed him." 
 
 "And you all thought this and left me with 
 a murderer? " 
 
 " Not in the beginning. The proof of the at- 
 tack at Bouie's Hill changed what was until then 
 regarded as an unjust and unwarranted conclu- 
 sion of Robert's into well-grounded suspicion." 
 
 ' ' My Ir other ! My father / " 
 
''IPSO jure:' 255 
 
 The cry was not only the cry of grief ; it was 
 the challenge of revenge. Mrs. Carisbrooke 
 caught up a light shawl and wrapped it about 
 Kate, and pushed the soft, wadded slippers to- 
 ward the bare feet. 
 
 ''Come, Kate, we must go at once to Caris- 
 brooke. He is with Carson in the library." 
 
 As the library door opened two astonished 
 gentlemen threw down their cigars and rose has- 
 tily. The doctor asked : 
 
 '* What has happened, Virginia?" 
 
 ''Kate has sold her interest in Kue's inheri- 
 tance to Hartley." 
 
 There was a hurried "What!" from Doctor 
 Carisbrooke and the muttered thunder of a terri- 
 ble oath from the ex-dragoon. 
 
 The story was told by Mrs. Carisbrooke. Seat- 
 ing Kate and throwing a rug about her, Doctor 
 Carisbrooke began a cool questioning of the ex- 
 cited witness : 
 
 " When did you sign the agreement of trans- 
 fer?" 
 
 " Several years ago in Washington before the 
 suit in the Supreme Court was decided." 
 
 " Was it read to you ? Did you understand it 
 perfectly?" 
 
256 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 *' Yes ; it was read. Captain Hartley's attor- 
 ney and a notary were present. Julia and Cap- 
 tain Hartley's secretary witnessed it. I never 
 thought of Rue or of any possible interest I 
 might ever have in ^ The Cedars.' " 
 
 ** Was there any mention of the old agreement 
 when you were in Washington yesterday ?" 
 
 *'Yes; after I had signed the deeds of sale 
 Captain Hartley gave me two papers to sign, 
 which I read. One was an acknowledgment for 
 the moneys he had paid out for my father' s es- 
 tate. The other — O Doctor Carisbrooke ! I see 
 now how I was deceived — the other was a long 
 legal document with different items, I do not 
 know what, but something about the legacies to 
 which I signed my relinquishment. There was 
 another small, thin parchment attached ; I think it 
 was pinned to that paper. I suspected nothing, 
 and I looked at it carelessly ; but I remem- 
 ber there was a confusing repetition of all 
 actual and possible heirship from ' the Cartaret 
 estate.' I am sure now it was so expressed — 
 'the Cartaret estate' I thought only of my 
 father's estate:" 
 
 ^'Fortunately you are still living to testify to 
 that. The crafty scoundrel has not possession of 
 
''IPSO jure:' 257 
 
 ' The Cedars ' yet. But we must force him to 
 surrender the papers you signed ignorantly." 
 
 Carson, who had been walking the room to cool 
 his lage, said : 
 
 *' I will go to Washington in the early morning 
 train. By , I mean he shall give them up ! " 
 
 The doctor looked at him musingly, with as 
 much deliberation as if Carson was a patient 
 amiably waiting for a prescription, then he said : 
 
 '' I do not think you had better go alone. We 
 must be careful to have witnesses. And the de- 
 mand must be made by Robert as Kate's trus- 
 tee — you and Eobert together, for you are Kue' s 
 trustees. I think I will be your best witness. 
 You had better take me. But you must send 
 some one to Richmond for Robert. Come to 
 think of it, we will go to Richmond, late as it 
 is. It is the only way to explain to Robert the 
 urgency of the matter. ]S"o, do not ring ; that 
 will rouse the household. It is better not to say 
 anything of this to Rue or Molly ; I would rather 
 they did not know. Rue would be either an- 
 gry or careless, and Molly needlessly nervous 
 and alarmed. Better tell them it is a matter of 
 Kate's — a signature which she was deceived into 
 giving. I shall be Jesuit enough not to tell all 
 
258 THE MODERN EAGAR. 
 
 tlie truth. Kate will have to go with us. And, 
 Virginia, you had better come. Can you be 
 ready in time, and meet us in the morning at 
 the station near here ? We will start from Rich- 
 mond." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke promised, and the doctor 
 and Carson went out to find Oscar. 
 
 When they returned Kate had gone to her 
 room. Mrs. Carisbrooke was waiting. Carson 
 went to say good-by to Molly and give his partial 
 explanation. While the doctor was packing his 
 small valise Mrs Carisbrooke asked : 
 
 " If Hartley has gone to New York \ " 
 
 ^ ' We will go on. ' ' 
 
 ^'Then I had better go prepared for that 
 trip?" 
 
 ^^Yes; and tell Kate. Virginia, make Kate 
 understand that she must get a divorce. I feel 
 sure it is the only safe way out of this business. 
 That would force a final settlement. Every 
 day's delay gives this fellow a chance to plot 
 new villany." 
 
 " One would think, Carisbrooke, we were back 
 in the middle ages ; and yet it seems half ridicu- 
 lous to think of Simon Hartley's heir as a nine- 
 teenth-century Borgia . ' ' 
 
^^ IPSO jure:' -259 
 
 The doctor stopped his pa<5king and looked 
 lip. 
 
 •'It is rather queer, now that I think of it. I 
 saw old Hartley just before his death ; as you 
 spoke his face came back to me. And I remem- 
 bered at once that he did resemble that picture 
 of Caesar Borgia we saw in Rome. It is queer. 
 But now I have stupidly set jou off on your pet 
 craze. There you go 1 " 
 
 She was softly clapping her hands and nod- 
 ding at him. 
 
 " O Carisbrooke ! you have stumbled on a dis- 
 covery. I remember that picture. Hartle^^ him- 
 self will look just like it, if he is not hanged too 
 early in life. And Mai ! and Mai ! — I have tried 
 and tried to trace her beauty to my gambler. 
 The effort was always a failure ; but I know now 
 where the classic head was modelled. Brow, and 
 head, and chin — all Borgia ! All my gambler did 
 was to keep the hook out of his gi-andchild' s 
 nose. Why, you dear old Carisbrooke, we have 
 stumbled backAvard into the middle ages with a 
 vengeance. That head of Stan's in the library, 
 with its high resolve, is not the head of a soldier. 
 He is our mediaeval saint ; Rue is—" 
 
 ^^ Virginia, we are all — I nearly said it, and it 
 
260 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 would have been true. But I will say I am a 
 booby, without characterizing the rest of the 
 family. Do please leave the middle ages rotten 
 and forgotten, and find me some shirts with but 
 tons on." 
 
 * ' Carisbrooke, you are the very nicest old man 
 I know, but you are brutally unpoetic. My bril- 
 liant imagination and my scholarly inquisitive- 
 ness are wasted qualities. I have not even been 
 able to transmit them to Molly. She is as stolid 
 and matter-of-fact as — her latest ancestor." 
 
 '' Tliank Heaven ! She is not mediseval." 
 
 '^No, she isn't. She, and you, and Carson 
 would anchor any house to the prosaic. Here 
 are the shirts." 
 
 " Thank you ! Good-night ! Be at the station 
 in time. Better see Kate again to-night and tell 
 her to be prepared to go to New York. When 
 will you tell Rue of this flitting — to-night or in 
 the early morning ? " 
 
 ^'Why, to-night, of course. The cJidtelaine 
 must be warned of our departure, and I must 
 tell without telling the reason. How much she 
 will miss us ! " 
 
 ''She will have Molly." 
 
 ** "Which means reason, and common sense. I 
 
''IPSO JURE." 261 
 
 undersfand the stab and the self-gratulation ! 
 Adieu, my ancient and re veered medicus ! " 
 
 Kate and Mrs. Carisbrooke were standing on 
 the platform next morning as the Richmond train 
 for Washington approached. Carson was on the 
 steps as it stoj^ped, and they were met at the 
 door by the doctor and his brother. There were 
 repressed eagerness and excitement in every face. 
 
 In Washington the ladies waited at the station 
 until the gentlemen returned. Hartley had gone 
 on to IN'ew York. 
 
 That night the self-appointed deputation ar- 
 rived at the New York Hotel. Hartley was not 
 in town. 
 
 The pursuit was not given up. They drove 
 out to Oakhill. He had not been there since the 
 night before he went to Washington to see his 
 sister. Neither had Mrs. Cartaret been there. 
 
 The disappointed detachment returned to New 
 York, and a fresh examination of the hotel 
 registers proved that Hartley and his sister 
 had come on from Washington the same day 
 Kate returned to "The Cedars." 
 
 They had spent the night at the Astor House, 
 and sailed the next morning for Liverpool. 
 
 The pursuit was ended. 
 
CHAPTER XXXYIII. 
 
 " Xow for the love of God aud of seint Jon 
 Leseth uo tyme, but forthe tis ye may." 
 
 KATE would not listen to reason in the person 
 of Mrs. Carisbrooke. ' ' A divorce ? No ! " 
 She remembered Leszinksky 's words : "A 
 legal separation de corps et de hiens?^'' "If 
 that was needed to get the papers — yes. That 
 would only be a lawful ratification of existent 
 conditions." Even that she would not do if 
 Hartley would surrender all claim, real or pos- 
 sible, that she had ignorantly signed away to 
 Eue's inheritance. She "had already written to 
 him and to Julia, and she felt sure he would 
 give up those papers. Public scandal was un- 
 necessary. He would yield to her demand, sup- 
 ported as it was by Mr. Robert Carisbrooke, 
 who had been the executor of her father's will." 
 As Carson, for private reasons of his own, was 
 inclined to this opinion, it was decided in the 
 Carisbrooke council to wait for Hartley's an- 
 swer. 
 Dr. Carisbrooke' s holiday was over. He had 
 
''IPSO jure:' ^63 
 
 to return to patients who were grumbling at his 
 prolonged absence. Mrs. Carisbrooke and little 
 Brooke Carson went to Cincinnati with him. 
 
 Miss Esmond, Anne Warrington, and Steenie 
 were still at Cape May. Dr. Carisbrooke had 
 thought it better for the invalids not to return 
 until the October frosts had conquered tlie mias- 
 ma that crept up with the east wind from the 
 Chickahominy. 
 
 When the health-seekers should return from 
 Cape May, Kate was going South with the Robert 
 Carisbrookes— to Selma, to Mobile, and then to 
 Havana for the winter. They insisted she should 
 stay with them until her affairs were definitely 
 settled. 
 
 The Carsons had promised to winter at ''The 
 Cedars." In fact, Carson knew he would be con- 
 stantly anxious and expectant awaj^ from there. 
 
 The "Borgia" redivivus of Mrs. Carisbrooke 
 was the heie noire of the ex- dragoon. 
 
 (When a practical, unimaginative man makes 
 a hobby of a dislike it sets him chasing the 
 wildest fancies. In the simplest incident he sees 
 the working of sinister design. Every noise is a 
 note of warning, every stranger a person to be 
 suspected.) 
 
264 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 The notion was firmly fixed in Carson's mind 
 that he was defending a fortress. He jealously 
 guarded approach to "The Cedars," and he soon 
 had two devoted and vigilant aids. 
 
 The first moment she could learn where they 
 were after the war was ended Rue had sent to 
 Stearns and Pike to come to "The Cedars." 
 
 Bob promptly answered the summons, and was 
 immediately installed as overseer and general 
 factotum of "Cap'n Rue's" dominions. 
 
 Pike was glad to visit the children of his be- 
 loved friends, but he refused to make his home 
 with them, as he had refused the invitation of 
 their father. He said that he "hadn't never 
 Tarnt the ways of the old settle??? ^72/5," adding 
 that he "felt freer and nigher God when he 
 could study his will in the woods, and the hills, 
 and the plains, whar it was writ for the dumb 
 critters, and the men He had called to smooth 
 the rough places and make the jmtlis straight 
 fur the comin' of his Gospel." 
 
 So after a short visit the maimed missionnry 
 took leave of his friend's children and his old 
 comrade. He went back to his work among the 
 outlaws and savages of the border. 
 
 The Osages and the Pawnees, even the wild 
 
^'IPSOJUREr 265 
 
 Comanches, wlio had tortured liim until lie was 
 but a wreck of the strong man they had known 
 as a '^ great brave and a mighty hunter," gave him 
 a cordial welcome. Warrior after warrior would 
 come with stately dignity to the lodge- door 
 when the village dogs barked their recognition 
 and the children shouted the coming of ' ' the 
 crippled chief who had come alive out of the 
 fire to bring the messages of the Great Spirit to 
 his red children." 
 
 The Indian women forgot the heaviness of 
 labor and the pains of unassisted travail in their 
 generous eagerness to add something to the 
 simple fare they put before this beloved guest. 
 
 Pike's martja^dom had won him the freedom of 
 the forest and an influence for good with tribes 
 and peoples that can never be fully reckoned 
 until the last day, when he shall stand, with 
 his '^ sheaves in his hand," face to face with the 
 great Teacher \\\\o called him to bring into the 
 fold the lost sheep of the mountains and the 
 desert. Unlettered in the teachings of this 
 world, unlearned in the dogmas of schools and 
 creeds, not by the installation of churchmen or 
 the laying-on of hands was he made a help and 
 a light to the poor and the needy. The still, 
 
20G THE 3I0DERN HAGAR. 
 
 small voice had called liim tliroiigli God's work- 
 ing in his own heart, and the way of life had 
 been revealed to him in the law of love as it 
 rnled the life of Leszinksky. 
 
 Carson sent Bob to Pike with a message. 
 
 Bob heard of Pike first at the Seminole vil- 
 lage ; he had just left there to visit a tribe in the 
 Wichita Hills. At the crossing of the Washita 
 that evening Bob found him. Carson' s fears and 
 needs, as he had told them to Bob, were told to 
 Pike. 
 
 ''Yes, Bob, I'll go. It's fur the sake of the 
 child of our old loo tenant. I darsn't refuse to 
 go. The Lord' s put it upon me. I ain' t a bit o' 
 trouble in my mind about the right on it." 
 
 Bob's message had been given, and the consent 
 was instantaneous. The simple, receptive mind 
 understood tlie call : "The Master hath need of 
 thee." 
 
 Eue, without knowing the cause of his coming 
 or the solicitude of her friends, gave Pike the 
 kindest and warmest of welcomes. 
 
 Carson could now sum up his defensive force 
 with a feeling of content and satisfaction. Pike, 
 Bob, and Oscar were of tried devotion. 
 
 Tlie negroes on the place were the most faith- 
 
fill of the old family servants. Carson was sure 
 tliat in reconsidering his first decision to em- 
 ploy a detective he had done well. Pike and Bob 
 were more trustw^orthy. 
 
 Before these arrangements were perfected or 
 Bob had returned with Pike, late one afternoon 
 the young West Point cadet arrived at "The 
 Cedars" from Cape May, w^here he had gone 
 with his Philadelphia comrade to see Steenie. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley was in Richmond, Carson was 
 out in the grounds, and Molly had gone to her 
 room with Daisy. 
 
 Rue had tea brought out on the piazza. She 
 told the boy — he was yet but a boy — of the Caris- 
 brookes' departure, of his father, and of Molly and 
 the children while the servant w^aited ; but when 
 Mead had gone with the tea-things she asked : 
 
 " Was Steenie looking quite well ? " 
 
 ''!No, and yes; she is looking wonderfnlly 
 pretty, but there is a change in the ' Humming- 
 bird' that I do not understand. I presume I 
 scarcely realize that she is no longer a child. H 
 it is not an indiscretion I would like to ask you 
 a question, Rue." 
 
 *'Ask it; a wise cousin's question could not 
 well be indiscreet." 
 
2G8 TEE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 **That handsome dandy, Bradnor, was con- 
 stantly in attendance upon Steenie ; and when- 
 ever I hear from you he always is or has been 
 at ' The Cedars.' Is he engaged to Steenie ? " 
 
 *'No." The answer was sharp and decided; 
 but the boy, watching her face, saw no change 
 there except a slight quiver in the lines about 
 the mouth. 
 
 "I see you are not in love with him. Rue ; but 
 I am very much afraid that Steenie is. She has 
 eyes and ears for no one else, which rather 
 touches my vanity. It is so long since those old 
 days when we were always together, I suppose 
 she has forgotten them." 
 
 "That is merely a jealous deception of your 
 vanity, Stan " 
 
 **Am I jealous?" 
 
 "Yes; you always were. You used to be 
 jealous of my love for Steenie. Now, Stan, it is 
 of Steenie' s impossible suitor." 
 
 "Not at all impossible. I watched the fellow 
 closely ; and, to convince you that it is not jeal- 
 ousy, I will tell you that what most offended me 
 was the change in his manner to Steenie when 
 Miss Esmond or Miss Warrington were present. 
 It was then a teasing, bantering manner, an effort 
 
"IPSO JURE." 2C9 
 
 to treat her as a child — a manner that annoyed 
 Steenie ; it always brought burning red spots 
 into her cheeks. If Steenie is ill, Rue. that fel- 
 low is partly, if not altogether, the cause. I am 
 telling you honestly, Rue, what I believe. I am 
 sure Steenie loves him. I did not mean to give 
 you all my reasons, but your incredulous look is 
 a challenge ; besides, I only waited to ask you if 
 they were engaged before — as you tell me they 
 are not engaged, I will teach the fellow to mend 
 his manners." 
 
 *' Stan, you are altogether wrong. It is a mis- 
 take." 
 
 "Rue, I saw their parting the evening before 
 I left Cape May. I was in the parlor waiting for 
 Steenie when she and Bradnor came to the win- 
 dow which opens upon the veranda. I started 
 to meet them when I heard Bradnor say, ' I 
 shall say good-by here, my darling,' and he 
 took Steenie in his arms and kissed her. She 
 came in and passed me without seeing me — she 
 was blinded by her tears. She is to me a sister. 
 My first impulse was to follow him, but I 
 thought they might be engaged. I knew he had 
 been very kind to Uncle Stan and to you." 
 
 She could not tell him she was herself engaged 
 
;>70 THE MODERS HAUAR. 
 
 to Bradnor, and yet the reticence seemed un- 
 fair. Suddenly he asked : 
 
 ' ' Is that my father out there under that clump 
 of cedars — there to the right of the avenue ?" 
 
 '^ No. You are losing your sight, Stan. I did 
 not think West Point would so ruin a frontiers- 
 man's eyes. That is Oscar." 
 
 "I could not see the face, and he has a sol- 
 dierly figure. What a prett}^ effect the red tint 
 of the evening gives as it creeps under the dai-k 
 cedars ! It reminds me of the sunsets at Bouie' s 
 Hill." 
 
 There was a faint "Halloo!" over in the 
 grounds toward the river. The figure under the 
 trees bounded out in the open and ran rapidly 
 down the sloping sward. They saw him jump a 
 fence and cross the wavy pasture-field, then he 
 vanished behind the woods that fringed the river- 
 bank. 
 
 "Could that be my father calling? What is 
 wrong 1 Oscar ran like a stag which seeks 
 cover." 
 
 " It is nothing. You forget we are not on the 
 frontier." 
 
 " I wish we were on the frontier, Rue ; I like 
 best the life of the woods. I wish we were living 
 
''IPSO JUREr 271 
 
 in the Wichita Hills. I have never seen any- 
 thing so beautiful as tliat enchanting valley of 
 the ' Three Mountains.' I am more than half 
 Indian, Rue. When I think of my grandfather, 
 of his brave, life-long fight with such odds 
 against him, of his death on the Rio Grande, 
 I am altogether a Seminole." 
 
 Both were silent ; then the boy's voice changed 
 from the ring of defiance to a low, caressing tone 
 as he took Rue's hand and carried it to his lips. 
 
 "But for you. Rue, I would never have left 
 my mother's peoi^le. I did not mean to tell you. 
 Rue, until I could bring you some proof that I 
 came from a race of warrior-kings, some deed 
 of valor or devotion that would have won me a 
 distinctive title in the lodges of my people— a 
 title which would have given me the right to tell 
 the daughter of Leszinksky that I love her. I 
 do not know when I have not loved you. Rue ; I 
 have had but two thoughts all my life — you and 
 my mother's people. To please you I listened 
 to my father's pleading and accepted a position 
 which, without thought of you as reward, the 
 grandson of Coacoochee would have spurned. 
 But now that I have told you this, Mng-ah- 
 shaw-na-qui-ta, tell me what I can do to win 
 
272 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 you. For life is notliing if I may not always 
 turn to one star. The light of my life, my 
 proud, brave Rue, daughter of kings, is the 
 light of your eyes — soft, tender, beautiful eyes, 
 yet I have seen the light of battle flash in them. 
 I have always loved you, my Princess, though I 
 never knew what my worship meant until we 
 were separated for so long. Then I thought over 
 every day of our happy childhood, and I knew 
 that my love, the one true, passionate, eternal 
 love, sprang into life when I stood beside my 
 dead mother, desperate and hopeless, until I 
 looked up and saw you, my darling ! From that 
 instant my life and my love were yours. What 
 will you do vdth them. Rue ? " 
 
 She threw her arms around his neck and kiss- 
 ed him again and again, not passionately — he 
 felt it was not love — but with a strong outburst 
 of grief. 
 
 " O Stan ! O my cousin ! I love you, Stan ! I 
 love you dearly. How shall I refuse your love ? 
 How shall I tell you?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 And he held her back from him and looked 
 into her eyes. 
 
 ^ ' Stan ! Stan ! You were mistaken about 
 
"IPSO JTJREr 273 
 
 Steenie : it is I who am to marry Colonel Brad- 
 nor, not Steenie. O Stan ! I liacl always thouglit 
 some day to give yon Steenie." 
 
 ^'Farewell, Rne ! My darling, my lost love, 
 good-by ! " 
 
 Oscar did not go directly to the point which 
 the sonnd indicated. 
 
 He had seen General Carson in the low, sedgy 
 stretch of delta formed by a creek which flowed 
 for some distance behind the wooded bluff on the 
 James that formed the southwestern boundary 
 of ^* The Cedars." 
 
 A moment before the call came Oscar saw a 
 man run across a cleared field which extended 
 from the marshy delta to the edge of the wood 
 that scantily fringed the uneven swells of the 
 low, rising hills into which the bluff was broken 
 by the abrupt curve of the river. 
 
 Taking Carson's shout as a warning not to let 
 the person escape, Oscar ran toAvard a point 
 where he believed he could intercept the fugitive, 
 who would have to make a sharp ascent of the 
 high bluff commanding the bank of the river 
 above the curve. 
 
 In the crafts of the woodsman and the runner 
 
274 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Oscar's judgment was rarely at fault. He did 
 arrive first. He heard the snapping of twigs 
 which broke in the grasp of the tired climber ; 
 then he heard the panting breath of the man who 
 was breaking the twigs. Keeping under the 
 shelter of the undergrowth, he waited. 
 
 As he gained the summit the man was looking 
 back at Carson. Unfortunately Carson had kept 
 on the narrow bank, beneath the heights, until it 
 suddenly ended, and he was forced to go back 
 some distance before he could climb the bluff. 
 This had given the fugitive time. With one 
 more glance at Carson, as if he wished to doubly 
 assure himself that the distance was safe, he sat 
 down to rest. 
 
 Oscar could now see the man's features dis- 
 tinctly. It was Hartley's old servant, Marten. 
 
 For three or four minutes there was neither 
 motion nor sound save the swashing of the water 
 as it struck the rounded point it was slowly 
 wearing away, and the long-drawn breaths of 
 the man who was watching for the approach of 
 his pursuer. 
 
 Rising, Marten took from his pocket a pon- 
 iard. He pulled it from its sheath, muttering as 
 he examined the point : 
 
''IPSO JUREr 275 
 
 " If he forces me to it Fll kill him. I've lost 
 my chance of seeing the girl, so I'd as well stick 
 to Hartley." 
 
 Oscar had left the shelter of the bushes and 
 was almost upon Marten when he looked up. 
 As they clinched the negro's hand was badly 
 cut, but he had Marten by the throat and had 
 forced him to drop the dagger. Then he thiew^ 
 him face downward, and kneeled upon his back 
 to 23inion him to the ground while he searched 
 for the weapon. Failing to lind it in the dim twi- 
 light, he lifted Marten by the back of the collar 
 and waistband and carried him to the extreme 
 point where the blutf hung over the river. The 
 man writhed and twisted like a serpent in his ef- 
 fort to grasp the enemy who held him aloft, re- 
 lentless as fate. There was a swinging to and fro 
 to give the needed impetus ; then, as if from a 
 catapiilt. Marten was thrown far out into the 
 whirling curve of the waters, which were going 
 out with the tide to the sea. 
 
 Carson, climbing the ascent, heard a frightful 
 mingling of prayers and imprecations ; wlien he 
 arrived, the first thing he saw was that terrible 
 act of vengeance. 
 
 '^Good God, Oscar! you have killed him." 
 
276 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 *' Yes, Marse Carson, I've paid his 'count fur 
 the massiker tliar at Bouie's Hill and the old 
 debt that's been a-waitin' ever since them daj^s 
 when he used to come to my cabin on business 
 for the devil, his master. It's alius been borne 
 in on my mind that I'd get a chance at Cap' a 
 Hartley yet, and now I'm 'most sure of it. The 
 Lord 'ill dMiver him into my hands, like he did 
 that murderous lioun'. Lucy's debt ain't paid, 
 and my Marse Stan's chile ain't safe while that 
 head devil is out o' hell. I know it, sir ; Fse 
 alius looked fur it : Til kill him yet." 
 
 While lie was talking he was on his knees 
 searching again for the weapon. At length, 
 having found it, he came with it to Carson. 
 
 ''Here it is, sir; and here is the sheath that 
 he dropped when he saw me." 
 
 ''Whatisitr' 
 
 *' The knife he cut me with — the knife he tuck 
 out when he was waitin' here fur you, sir." 
 
 After further question Carson knew that Oscar 
 would come unharmed out of a trial. A case of 
 self-defence could be made, if Oscar would only 
 be silent as to the hatred grown out of the past. 
 They went on to the house, and Carson's last di- 
 rection to Oscar was to sav notliino- of the occur- 
 
''IPSO JURE," 27? 
 
 rence for the present, but to search the river- 
 bank early in the morning for the boat in which 
 he was sure Marten had come to " The Cedars." 
 
 After a night's reflection Carson determined to 
 leave any discovery of Marten's fate to chance. 
 If the Walters cast him ashore it would be time 
 enough to tell the stor}^ of Oscar's throwing an 
 armed assailant and marauder into the river. 
 The secret \^Q\)t would leave Hartley uneasy. 
 The slight pressure of an imaginary screw 
 might force him to return the papers. 
 
 Carson had already written a request for the 
 papers, which was also a plain and positive ex- 
 pression of certain beliefs he entertained not pe- 
 culiarly flattering to Hartley. He now supple- 
 mented that letter with a second epistle, in which 
 he made a fresh avowal of his ''beliefs, not mere- 
 ly predicated upon suspicion, but based upon ir- 
 refutable proofs now in secure custody ^ He 
 weighed every word with the precision of a jurist. 
 Without saying it he wished Hartley to infer 
 that he held Marten, who, either willingly or un- 
 willingly, had betrayed his master. 
 
 After writing this verj' satisfactory and fulmi- 
 natory letter Carson went out in the grounds in 
 the early morning to look for Oscar and to charge 
 
278 TUB MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 him to hold his peace about "the accident on 
 the bluff," which Oscar was very willing to do. 
 In truth, the negro's conscience was either so dull 
 or it so entirely justified him that it left him un- 
 disturbed about consequences and utterly regard- 
 less of himself in the matter of Marten's death. 
 In fact, by a different train of thought he had 
 come to Carson's conclusion, that to entrap Hart- 
 ley the "accident, as Marse Carson called it," 
 had better be kept secret for the present. 
 
 In this serene state of fancied security I will 
 leave them w^hile I follow the young cadet, whose 
 visit Rue had not yet found it convenient to 
 mention. 
 
 He left the house unseen by any of the i)eoi:)le 
 of the place ; in fact, only Rue and Mead knew 
 of his arrival. That night Mead had orders from 
 his mistress to forget the fact. 
 
 The young cadet w^alked ra^iidly down the ave- 
 nue. At first he thought to go directly to the 
 station from which he had walked to "The Ce- 
 dars." Then, remembeiing that his luggage had 
 gone on to Richmond to be left at the Ex- 
 change, and that his father would probably be 
 in town the next day and hear of his so speedily 
 terminated visit, he turned from the avenue to- 
 
"/p>s'0 jure:' 279 
 
 ward the point from wliicli lie had heard his 
 fathers "Halloo!" 
 
 He would rather have avoided the meeting just 
 then, but he thought it would be impossible for 
 him to leave Richmond, or even the x)lantation, 
 without being recognized. Keither did he fore- 
 see the assistance he would receive in the orders 
 given to Mead. 
 
 He had crossed the brook that environed the 
 lawn, and Avas walking in the woods which skirt- 
 ed the left of the open fields between the house 
 grounds and the swam]3y delta of the "bluff 
 creek." 
 
 Every stej) in the direction of his father had 
 increased the boy' s reluctance to meet him and 
 tell the story of his rejection. 
 
 He had stopi)ed for an instant to reflect upon 
 the chances of getting to Richmond and leaving 
 there that night. He was just at the edge of the 
 wood, and close to a little channel, the eastern 
 mouth of the creek, which he could see ran into 
 the James. JSTot five yards distant a small row- 
 boat was pulled up under the low-hanging 
 boughs of the willows. 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation, thinking it a 
 fortunate issue out of a dilemma, young Carson 
 
^80 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 13iished the boat out into the water, and after 
 five minutes' steady rowing was out in the 
 James. 
 
 Just then the whistle of a locomotive across 
 the wide river, and the slacking up of a long 
 train which was in full view, showed him an un- 
 suspected and speedy route to Richmond. He 
 could cross the river by rowing up to the point, 
 and then float with the current until lie gradu- 
 ally traversed it and reached the station on the 
 opposite shore. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 " O Dis ! 
 Why is this mortal here ? " 
 
 ALL these different efforts at concealment were 
 successful in different measures and ways. 
 Carson's met him in the morning in a 
 mystery he could not unravel, but which filled 
 his laboring soul with fresh anxiety. 
 
 There had been a boat, but it was gone. 
 
 He would not believe Oscar, and he scarcely 
 believed his eyes when he saw where it had been 
 hidden, and saw also the tracks in the red clay, 
 hardened by the morning sun, of the man who 
 had pushed it back in the channel. All the way 
 from the house to the hiding-place under the wil- 
 lows he had argued tlie point with himself : "It 
 must have been stolen by some negro who was 
 prowling around in the niglit." 
 
 That it was the boat which had brought Mar- 
 ten to " The Cedars'' he never doubted. 
 
 But who could have taken it away ? 
 
 Had Marten a confederate ? 
 
 281 
 
282 THE MODERN HAG AH, 
 
 When Carson saw tlie tracks of the slender 
 boots with the pointed toes and the high instep, 
 he knew it couki be no negro' s feet that had left 
 their imprint in the clay. 
 
 But Avhose ? Hartley' s ? 
 
 The suggestion was so bewildering that he left 
 Oscar with strict orders '"^to stay about the house 
 armed with revolver and derringei's until his re- 
 turn from Eichmond, wIktg he must go at once." 
 He impressed upon Molly in such mysterious 
 langua^ge the necessity of her not losing sight of 
 Rue for an instant during liis a])sence that he 
 left her in a mild state of doubt betwixt his 
 sanity and Rue's. 
 
 Molly was rather inclined to think Rue the 
 lunatic, for Rue had acted very strangely the 
 previous evening. Molly had left Rue alone, 
 as she thought, on the piazza while she was giv- 
 ing Daisy her bath and putting her to sleep, and 
 then when she asked for her hostess she heard 
 of a headache Avliich had sent Rue to her room. 
 
 That afternoon Rue had seemed unusually 
 well. 
 
 Further inquiry did not enlighten Molly. The 
 housekeeper had " sent tea to Miss Rue and she 
 had eaten heartily." In fact, that morning the 
 
''IPSO JURE." 283 
 
 liotisekeeper had questioned Mead as to the pos- 
 sibility of Miss Rue having finished a cold chick- 
 en and certain dainties. To defend his truthful- 
 ness Mead had called in his mistress. ''Yes ; she 
 had all those things." 
 
 Then Molly concluded Rue's headache was a 
 deserved indigestion, while her graver doubts on 
 the sanity question again vibrated from Hue to 
 her husband. 
 
 " General Carson " — Molly was a martinet and 
 always gave her husband his title — "certainly 
 seemed queer last night ; come to think of it, 
 ever since his return from that sudden journey 
 to New York he Las been queer." 
 
 It would liave been imx)ossible for Molly to 
 have used a more accusative Avord than queer. 
 In fact, although she had laughed at, she had 
 half -adopted, the belief of one of her old Vir- 
 ginian grandaunts : "Better be wrong than 
 queer. You can privately repent and amend if 
 you are wrong, or you can conceal it, my dear ; 
 but if you are queer it is patent to sight, and the 
 world never forgives Avhat it is forced to see." 
 
 This queerness of Carson's disturbed Molly. 
 
 Having to defend Mead from accusation, and 
 virtually confess herself a gourmande^ would 
 
284 "i^JIE MO D?JRX HA OA 7?. 
 
 liave ordinarily only moved Rue to laughter. 
 But she, too, had something to conceal. She 
 half-regretted the orders she had given Mead to 
 say nothing of the cadet's arrival and departure ; 
 but now what exi^lanation could she make ? 
 And she knew that Molly and Carson would 
 both ask questions. "If Cousin Kate wxre here 
 she would understand without words ; but Uncle 
 Billy and Molly must have words to aid under- 
 standing." 
 
 Later in the day Mead came to Eue with a 
 muddled account of some boat that had been 
 stolen from the place, "either by the gemman 
 dat owned it or else by somebody whar had 
 been up prowlin' 'round de house. Oscar done 
 tole me 'bout de boat when he come askin' me if 
 I hadn't seed nobody 'round de place yestedday. 
 I did what you told me, Miss Rue— I said no- 
 body hadn't been yer." 
 
 " I did not intend that; but you cannot help 
 it now. As yon have gone that far, do not go 
 back. Say nothing of my cousin Stan." 
 
 " No, marm. Oscar ain't gw^ine to get nothin' 
 out o' me.'' 
 
 So Rue's concealment resulted in her humilia- 
 tion. 
 
'' IPSO JUREr 285 
 
 In its way Oscar's secrecy Avas a success. His 
 deed neither troubled nor sliamed him. He was 
 as impassive and undisturbed as an insentient 
 instrument of justice would be. Marten had de- 
 served death ; and he, finding opportunity, had 
 not taken him at a disadvantage, but had execut- 
 ed a sentence long delayed. 
 
 Oscar' s only regret was in the failure to find 
 occasion to execute another act of justice which 
 was overdue. Yet he thought opportunity^ might 
 come before night. He had taken his dead mas- 
 ter's derringers from their cases and carefully 
 loaded them, and he had thrust Marten's i^on- 
 iard in his waistband. Carson was somewhat 
 shocked when, as he was riding out of the gate, 
 lie turned to ask Oscar " if he w^as armed," and 
 the negro coolly showed him the weapon of the 
 man he had thrown into the river. 
 
 Carson was in Richmond all day. After send- 
 ing the despatch he came to town to send he 
 spent the day at Robert Carisbrooke's. They so 
 perfectly agreed in their estimate of Hartlej^ 
 that they naturally agreed in the measure Carson 
 had thought of. 
 
 Late that night they rode out to '' Tlie Cedars" 
 together. No answer yet to the cable despatch. 
 
2bG THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 But the next morning the message came while 
 they were at breakfast. Molly's fear of Carson's 
 "qiieerness" was somewliat relieved w^hen she 
 saw that her uncle Robert was bitten by a like 
 mania. 
 
 With half-spoken excuses they hurried out 
 upon the lawn before they opened the de- 
 spatch. It was from the American minister at 
 Paris : 
 
 ** Captain Wenner Hartley is in Paris. Dined 
 with him last night." 
 
 The two gentlemen regarded each other blank- 
 ly. "Then who could it be?" said Robert Ca- 
 risbrooke. ' * Who could it be ? " echoed Carson. 
 Mead, who might have enlightened him, came 
 running down the avenue, saying as he passed : 
 
 ''Colonel Bradnor's a-comin' ; I seed him cross 
 the field. He' s a-ridin' ole Mr. Grey' s hoss from 
 de station." 
 
 Again the puzzled gentlemen looked at each 
 other. "Could it be Bradnor ? " said Robert 
 Carisbrooke. " Could it be ? " echoed Carson. 
 
 They had not long to wait ; Bratlnor sprang 
 from his horse and came directly toward Carson. 
 
 " General, I came this morning from Cape 
 May. Miss Esmond died last nigbt." 
 
''IPSO jure:' .-S7 
 
 In two hours Kue was on her way to Cape 
 May with Bradnor and Carson. 
 
 The mansion of astlewood was still a charred 
 ruin, but the gates of the ''House of the 
 Dead" w^ere opened for the stately spinster 
 with whom the name of Esmond ended in Vir- 
 ginia. Anne Warrington came home with Rue 
 from Castlewood. 
 
 Steenie had not gone to Castlewood ; she said 
 she was too unnerved by the shock of Miss Es- 
 mond's sudden death. At Rue's request Colonel 
 Bradnor took her sister directly to "The Ce- 
 dars." His stay at that time was short, and 
 soon there was a general flitting. 
 
 Anne Warrington lind a letter from her rela- 
 tives in England, beg^mg her to come home. 
 Mr. Robert Carisbrooke went with her to New 
 York, and, when she was on the Scotia, gave 
 her a draft on the Barings for Ave thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 " It belongs to you. It is the payaient of an 
 old debt owing to the Warringtons. ^o, cer- 
 tainly / do not give it to you. It Avas really 
 paid to me for you. I give you my honor it 
 is in no way a gift from. meP 
 
 Anne still looked doubtingly, but he had told 
 
288 THE MODERN UAGAR. 
 
 the trutli. It was the old loyal debt of the Car- 
 tarets to the Warringtons — the debt of friend - 
 shij^ which the heiress of "The Cedars" j^aid 
 to the despoiled and homeless descendants of her 
 grandfather' s friend. 
 
 The week after Anne's departure the Robert 
 Carisbrookes and Kate started southward. 
 
 Bob and Pike had arrived, and at Carson's sug- 
 gestion Rue installed Pike in a great arm-chair 
 beside the front door as hall-j)orter. The duty 
 was light and the place pleased the crippled 
 giant. He truthfully gave as reason for his de- 
 light the fact that he could see all the visitors 
 who came. From morning till night he sat there 
 pleasedly working the simple contrivance that 
 made the opening easy. His only exercise was 
 on the front piazza, where at frequent intervals 
 the regular beat of his crutches could be heard. 
 
 Bob let the plantation work go loosely, but he 
 made an alert and watchful picket. 
 
 Oscar was almost constantly in the saddle. It 
 was strange how much exercise the thorough- 
 breds needed. 
 
 Rue could not take a quiet ride alone, as she 
 liked sometimes to do on the plantation, without 
 seeing Oscar, on the most mettlesome of the 
 
''IPSO jure:' 289 
 
 plunging colts, crossing lier path and scurrying 
 through the lonely woods. 
 
 The sisters had promised to go with the Car- 
 sons to Rosebank at Christmas but Steenie ner- 
 vously shrank from the journey, and so Rue gave 
 it up. 
 
 After another investment in cable messages, 
 Carson at length consented to leave the sisters 
 and take Molly and Daisy to see Brooke and 
 the " grandparents." He was compelled, he said, 
 to go to Texas for a short trip. 
 
 The reason of that trip was an open secret. 
 
 Stanislaus Carson had resigned from West 
 Point and gone out to join Coacoochee's son, 
 the young chief of the Seminoles. There was 
 trouble on the border, a,nd Carson was anxious 
 for the safety of ''Laha's " child. 
 
 Before Carson left ''The Cedars" it was ar- 
 ranged that the AA^ilsons should spend the winter 
 there. Steenie' s delicate health was sufficient 
 reason for the invitation and its acceptance. 
 
 With Dr. Wilson and his wife at ''The 
 Cedars," and the watchful and devoted guards- 
 men, whose duties were clearly defined and un- 
 derstood, Carson felt that Rue's safety was in- 
 sured. 
 
200 THE MODERN II AG All. 
 
 He knew tliat Hartley was in Paris and would 
 not leave there for tlie winter. For lie had se- 
 cured the services of an exceedingly intelligent 
 and trustworthy agent, who kept him informed 
 of ev^ery movement of the man he thought it 
 necessary to watch until the papers were restored 
 and Kate's final settlement should detach Hart- 
 ley from all interest in either or any of the Carta- 
 ret possessions. 
 
 Hartley had not answered Carson's letters, 
 but he had written to Di-. Carisbrooke (which 
 the doctor characterized as a very manly and 
 straightforward declaration), declining to answer 
 letters from General Carson or Mr. Robert Caris- 
 brooke "containing offensive threats and still 
 more offensive suspicions." He offered, how- 
 ever, to meet Dr. Carisbrooke in New York 
 during the coming May, and return to him the 
 papers which Mrs. Hartley's trustee had de- 
 manded, provided Mrs. Hartley would relinquish 
 all present or future rights in his estate. 
 
 Dr. Carisbrooke urged the acceptance of this 
 proposition; and as Kate also insisted, Mr. Robert 
 Carisbrooke consented and it was so arranged. 
 
 The waters in which Marten had gone down 
 had cast no evidence ashore, and Carson con- 
 
^'IPSO JUREr 291 
 
 gratulated himself upon Ms discretion in keep- 
 ing that secret. In truth, he had but few regrets 
 for the '' accident." He regarded it more as an 
 indiscretion than a crime. Oscar had simj)!}^ an- 
 ticipated a decision which law Avould have given 
 if law had cognition of the facts. 
 
 ' ' It would have been well for the fellow to be 
 hanged," Carson thought ; but then he was con- 
 tent with the easier death, because the drowning 
 left Hartley in ignorance of his familiar's fate. 
 
CHAPTER XL. 
 
 " Ho next had the r/rande passion, and narrowly escaped manying nn 
 heiress of great expectations and a countless number of chateaux." 
 
 CHRISTMAS at "The Cedars" was a dreary 
 day. The Carsons were gone, and a messen- 
 ger had come at daylight for Dr. and Mrs. 
 Wilson. Mrs. Wilson' s mother was very ill ; of 
 course they must go. 
 
 The doctor kneAV nothing of any danger threat- 
 ening Rue, and Steenie seemed better since the 
 house was so quiet. His only uneasiness was for 
 his wife. The sudden ill news and the drive to 
 town in a do\\Tipour of rain Avere serious trials to 
 a delicate invalid. Rue assisted in the prepara- 
 tions for Mrs. Wilson's comfort; and wlien, as 
 they were leaving, the doctor begged her to let 
 him send some of her friends out from Richmond 
 to stay until their return, she declined, saying : 
 
 ' ' No, we are very well protected ; and I could 
 not ask any one to brave such weather unless 
 there was some absolute necessity. Only think 
 of Mrs. Wilson ! We will do very well. I shall 
 
"IPSO JUIiB." 293 
 
 send you news from here every day until you 
 come home." 
 
 In the afternoon came a telegram from Brad- 
 nor saying he would "arrive at the station near 
 'The Cedars' on the late train from Washing- 
 ton." 
 
 Eue gave orders to Oscar to send to the sta- 
 tion, and then went to tell the news to Steenie. 
 
 After searching the house she found her sister 
 lying on a lounge before the library fire. 
 
 The girl's arms were crossed under her head, 
 and the heavy mass of her loose hair brought 
 into full relief the delicate, pale face and the thin, 
 attenuated hands. Her eyes were fixed upon 
 the portrait of her father over the chimney-piece. 
 Something in the pose suggested hopeless suf- 
 fering. Rue's eyes followed her sister's to the 
 face of their father, and the thought of the 
 day he brought the child to her in Philadelphia 
 gave a strange significance to Steenie' s attitude. 
 " She will have no one but you, Rue ; I know I 
 can trust her to you, my daughter." The words 
 were in her ears as she spoke to Steenie : 
 
 " Are you ill, little sister ? " 
 
 As Rue touched her the girl buried her liead in 
 the clasped hands and clustering hair, which she 
 
294 THE MODERN JIAGAR. 
 
 hastily drew over her face. Then, when Rue 
 knelt beside her, she burst into long-drawn, shiv- 
 ering sobs. 
 
 ''■ Steenie ! my darling ! can you not trust me ? 
 There is nothing I would not do for you, little 
 sister — nothing." Steenie' s arms were around 
 her, and the sobs were x)itiful gasps. 
 
 '' O Steenie, Steenie, tell me ! What can I do ? 
 Do you not know, do you not believe, that I love 
 you better than any — than all the world ? Our 
 father gave you to me, little sister. You are mine 
 — my own precious gift, the dearest care I have 
 on earth. I promised our father that I would 
 care for your happiness above all else. Will 
 you not let me keep my promise, little sister? 
 O Steenie ! trust me. Believe me and trust in 
 me. I would give you my life — but that is nothing 
 to give — I would give you all that life is or that it 
 can bring me to save you from pain or grief." 
 
 Rue was kneeling beside her sister, kissiog her 
 hair, her hands, her brow, when the door opened 
 and Mammy Sara entered. "Go to the dining- 
 room, Mammy Sara, and wait there." 
 
 "No! no!" gasped Steenie. "I want Mam- 
 my Sara. O Mammy ! take me to my room.'' 
 The negro woman lifted the girl to her feet, and, 
 
''IPSO jure:' 295 
 
 holding her arms about her, led her from the 
 room after giving a reproachful look to Eue, 
 who stood silently aside to let them pass. 
 
 As the figures vanished behind the closing 
 door Kue turned and looked long and steadily 
 at her father's portrait. She was half interro- 
 gating the picture in her thoughts: "Why did 
 she look so appealingly to you ? Am I in fault % 
 Is it anything I have done ? Is there anything 
 I can do?" She sank into the place Steenie 
 had left, and tried with closest attention to go 
 over the day — the past day — every incident in 
 the weeks since Steenie returned from Cape 
 May. Suddenly Stanislaus Carson's misunder- 
 standing about Bradnor came to her recollection. 
 "Could it be that? Could Stan have judged 
 Steenie' s heart more truly than I have done? " 
 
 There was fresh interruption. Mammy Sara 
 came with a scrawl from Steenie : 
 
 "Dear sister, do not w^orry about me; I am 
 only nervous and unreasonable. But I do wish 
 to beg a favor. Please let me go to town to- 
 morrow to the convent? The sisters will take 
 me for a few weeks, and I am sure it will do me 
 good. Please, sister, let me go, and do not no- 
 tice my humors. Lovingly, Steenie." 
 
296 THE MODERN BAG AH. 
 
 Rue looked up from the reading to Mammy 
 Sara. Something she saw in her old nurse's face 
 convinced her that Mammy Sara had the key to 
 the mystery. 
 
 "Mammy, Steenie and I are your children. 
 Since I lost my mother you are the only mother 
 I have known. You know how I loved — how I 
 still love and honor— my father s memory. You 
 can and you must tell me what is grieving my 
 sister. I promised him to care first for my 
 sister." 
 
 "She's jes' breakin' her heart, an' I thought 
 hard o' you. Miss Rue — I did, honey — 'cause you 
 oughtn't fo have dat chile here whar Marse 
 Bradnor is ; if you's a-goin' to marry him she's 
 jes' try in' to die and get outen yo' way." 
 
 "Out of my way? I would give my life for 
 her hap23iness." 
 
 "Yes, dat's jes' it ; that's jes' whar de trouble 
 is : she knows if you thought she loved Marse 
 Bradnor you wouldn' t marry him nohow. An' 
 you see if you did dat, Miss Rue, you'd do mo' 
 harm 'an good. You know how sens' tive Miss 
 Steenie is, an' she loves him. Miss Rue, she does ; 
 but she loves you, and she'd die 'fore she'd take 
 anything you wanted.'' 
 
^^IPSOJUREr 297 
 
 **But I do not want Mm, Mammy Sara. I am 
 only keeping a promise to liim because of his 
 kindness to my father and because of my 
 pledge." 
 
 ''Yes, chile, I understan' you; and I under- 
 stan him better 'an bofe of you chillen could, 
 an' I'm sorry he ever come to de i)lace. If Miss 
 Steenie had de fortune it would a-been her al- 
 ways— dat is, since she's growed up. She's a 
 heap the prettiest— I don't mean to hurt yo' feel- 
 ins, chile, but she is— an' dat man thinks a heap 
 o' looks ; he mighty proud o' his'n." 
 
 " Well, Mammy Sara, if she loves him she 
 shall marry him, and have the fortune, too." 
 
 "Now, you see, Miss Rue, thar'tis: dat's jes 
 yo' way, an' dat's jes' the way to make it all wuss. 
 You go fur to try to do dat, an' dat's de las' o' 
 Miss Steenie. 'Fore God, I don't see no way 
 outen dis trouble." 
 
 " Do not tell Steenie what you have told me." 
 
 * ' Lord ! no. Miss Rue ; I ain' t gwine to tell her 
 nothin' . And please. Miss Rue, whatever way you 
 manages 'bout all dis troubl', don't tell I said it, 
 Miss Rue. She's a-restin' now, an' you better 
 leave her to me fur to-night." 
 
 "Tell her I will see her in the morning, or 
 
298 THE lUODERN BAG AH. 
 
 sooner if she wishes to see me. To-morrow we 
 will arrange for her to go to Richmond, if she still 
 prefers that to something I have to propose to 
 her ; but I had better write it." She finished the 
 few lines and dismissed Mammy Sara, who almost 
 immediately returned with a message. Steenie 
 would see her sister the next morning ; she had 
 taken a composing draught the doctor had left 
 for her should she need it, and now Avas trying 
 to go to sleep. With strict directions to Mammy 
 Sara not to tell Steenie of Bradnors expected 
 arrival, the nurse was sent back to her charge. 
 
 At eleven o'clock that night Bradnor arrived. 
 
 Kue was waiting in the library. Their meet- 
 ings and partings had always been ceremonious, 
 never showing anything of the joy or the sweet 
 pain of lovers. 
 
 To-night there was rather more of warmth in 
 Rue's manner as she offered her hand and de- 
 tained the servant to ask if he had dined. 
 
 ''Yes, he had dined." 
 
 Then tea was l)rought and they were alone. 
 The dialogue across the tea-things reminded Rue 
 of the evening in the piazza with Stan, and her 
 color deepened. 
 
 ^' I am glad you are here for Christmas. You 
 
''IPSO JUREr t^oo 
 
 can assist me in settling something that I am 
 anxious to do at once. You know that I insist- 
 ed on postponing our marriage until Steenie 
 should come of age." 
 
 "But she is not yet of age." There was so 
 evident a ^\q^ for delay in the voice of her be- 
 trothed that Rue maliciously continued : 
 
 " She will be eighteen next year, and we are 
 within a week of 1868. With your consent this 
 can be arranged at once." 
 
 " What, our marriage? " The look of conster- 
 nation was so real that Rue laughed. 
 
 ' ' ISo ; you can be easy there. We are not to 
 be married ever." 
 
 He looked at her an astonished interrogation. 
 She went on : 
 
 "This has all been a mistake." 
 
 " Not at all. You promised and I cannot re- 
 lease you. I am in no hurry — I mean I am will- 
 ing to wait ; but then in two years more I must 
 be married." 
 
 ' ' I know. You lose your inheritance if you 
 are not married then ; and you must marry a 
 woman whose fortune equals the legacy your 
 granduncle left you. It was three hundred 
 thousand dollars, I believe?" 
 
300 THE MODERN IlAGAJi. 
 
 *^Yes, tliree hundred tliousand. But your 
 fortune exceeds that, and so does mine now. I 
 have taken good care of the money left me." 
 
 "If Steenie had three hundred thousand dol- 
 lars would you not prefer Steenie ?" 
 
 "It is useless asking such a question. I am 
 engaged to you. Besides, Steenie has nothing 
 but what you choose to give her." 
 
 " It is about that I wished to ask you." 
 
 " Oh ! w^hat to give her ? Your estate is over 
 half a million ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, many thousands more." 
 
 "Then I think you could give her fifty thou- 
 sand. That will be quite a generous gift." 
 
 "You think that generous. Then I am sorry 
 for my sister. I fear you love money better than 
 you love her." 
 
 "I am^ very fond of Steenie—" His manner 
 changed. He looked about as if to avoid Rue's 
 eyes. Taking up a magazine, he mechanically 
 flapped the leaves as he continued : "Of course 
 I am fond of Steenie ; but your fortune is—" 
 
 "It is mine noic, and I intend to settle three 
 hundred thousand dollars upon Steenie." 
 
 " Why, that will be half of your estate. You 
 have no right to give away half of your estate. 
 
^' IPSO jure:' 301 
 
 Three hundred thousand— why, that will take 
 the Chicago property, which is increasing in 
 value daily. I insist yon do not sell the Chicago 
 property." 
 
 *' I will sell you what you like of the Chicago 
 property at its present valuation, and I will give 
 you a receipt for payment in full the day you 
 marry Steenie." 
 
 "Marry Steenie?" 
 
 "Yes. You love Steenie; at least you love 
 her as well as you love any one except your- 
 self." 
 
 " I am sorry you think so, Rue." 
 
 "Oh ! I have not been deceived in you — at least 
 not since I came back to ' The Cedars ' from Can- 
 ada. It was the heiress you sought. I would 
 have kept my word for the sake of your past 
 kindness to my father ; but there is now a more 
 important question. It is not altogether because 
 you prefer Steenie, b\it because Steenie loves 
 you. She loves you, and she is the heiress. If 
 three hundred thousand is not enough, name the 
 dot you think I should give her. Some moments 
 ago you thought fifty thousand sufficient." 
 
 "Which is hardly fair of you to say, Rue. 
 You see there is a diiference. I cannot marry 
 
302 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 any one who has less than three hundred thou- 
 sand dollars. I am restricted." 
 
 " Yes ; and because of that restriction you 
 wish the sum still larger. Well, win my sister's 
 consent to marry you, and I will give you my 
 note for four hundred thousand dollars that 
 day." 
 
 "With the privilege of purchase of the Chi- 
 cago i)roperty, as you suggested \ ' ' 
 
 *' Yes, with that privilege." The contempt in 
 her tone stung him at last. 
 
 "This transfer is your offer, not mine. I 
 would have kept my engagement." 
 
 "Yes, because of the money. But I forgive 
 you all that, and I am really glad to give this to 
 Steenie. But I beg of you be kind and delicate 
 with my sister. Leave all money questions out 
 of your talk with her. Better say nothing to her 
 of this gift. I would rather you did not." 
 
 It dawned upon him that it would be better 
 every way to leave Steenie in ignorance of her 
 riches. He would then have credit for disin- 
 terestedness and entire control of the money ^ 
 which he would not have had in marrying Rue. 
 He began to be glad and relieved at the break 
 with Rue. Besides, he did i)rcfer Steenie ; and 
 
'* IPSO jure:' 303 
 
 he knew that he had gone beyond the point of 
 discretion in his attention to her. Two or three 
 people had asked him ''which of the sisters was 
 his fiancee:' So now when Rue offered even a 
 very small olive-branch he was glad to accept it, 
 particularly as she added a condition that suited 
 his views. 
 
 ''I will not tell her of the gift you make, if you 
 wish her not to know. It is very generous, Eue, 
 and you have a right to command me in this. I 
 give you my word of honor I will not tell her, 
 and I do love her. You can trust me. I will do 
 my best to make her hap]3y." 
 
 "Unfortunately, her happiness makes the offer 
 necessary." 
 
 He did not know what to say, because he did 
 not altogether understand whether this was the 
 expression of Rue's regret for her own loss or for 
 her sisters need. His vanity persuaded him of 
 Rue's regret ; but there was enough doubt to 
 keep him silent, and he had enough discretion 
 to think this the moment to seize the one fact 
 of change and establish his new position. 
 
 " I will make her happiness my study. But I 
 trust to keep your friendship, Rue ; for Steenie's 
 sake we must be friends.'' 
 
304 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 ''Yes; we must, for Steenie's sake. Now I 
 shall say good-night. To-morrow morning will 
 you please tell Steenie I have broken our en- 
 gagement ? Tell her I discovered that it was a 
 mutual mistake. Tell only that and wait. Do 
 not ask her to marry you, or she will understand. 
 Leave the future to me. I will tell you when 
 you may ask her. I will think it out to-night." 
 
 The next morning when Steenie came to the 
 library to find her sister she found Bradnor. 
 Rue's directions were followed ; he did not blun- 
 der in the telling: "They had discovered it was 
 a mutual mistake." It still rained steadily. At 
 dinner Bradnor and Rue talked and laughed like 
 old friends. Steenie, watching, saw only the pos- 
 sible realization of her own happiness. In the 
 afternoon Rue asked her to postpone the visit to 
 Richmond; and Steenie, admitting that it Avas 
 "frightful weatlier," consented. 
 
 That evening they all spent in the drawing- 
 room together. 
 
 Rue was an admirable actress, and the play 
 was well played. A lovely rose-tint had come 
 to the pale cheeks ©f the younger sister. The 
 next morning the sun came out and a gaily- 
 plumaged little "Humming-bird" was whirling 
 
''IPSO jure:' 305 
 
 about Pike' s chair, pelting the giant with Christ- 
 mas roses. That day they heard that Mrs. Wil- 
 son's mother Avas better. 
 
 Rue had another long talk with Bradnor, and 
 two days afterward, in the evening, a clergyman 
 who lived near came in answer to Rue's summons 
 and stayed all nigljt. 
 
 Colonel Bradnor was going to New York, but 
 after breakfast Pike' s chair was rolled into the 
 library. Leszinksky's portrait was wreathed 
 with flowers. Fronting the picture stood his 
 daughters, and when the question was asked, 
 '^Who giveth this woman to this man?" Rue 
 kissed her sister's hand as she laid it in the hand 
 of Bradnor. 
 
 The only witnesses were Bob and Pike, and 
 the two faithful negroes who regarded as their 
 own these orphan children — the "last of the 
 family." 
 
 The clergyman was a venerable old man who 
 had known Rue's grandfather. More because 
 he was persuaded by Rue' s entreaties than con- 
 vinced by her arguments he had consented to 
 perform this ceremony, which was to be kept 
 secret until Steenie was of age, when the public 
 marriage service would be celebrated. Rue re- 
 
306 THE MODERN HA GAR, 
 
 garded this as only a solemn betrothal, and so 
 Bradnor was pledged to regard it. At noon he 
 left them. 
 
 That evening the Wilsons returned to "The 
 Cedars." 
 
 Steenie's hai)piness was very quiet, but in the 
 light of certainty it was very complete. Bradnor 
 was not to return to " The Cedars " until spring, 
 but she was to go to Philadelphia the last of 
 January, and remain there under the care of 
 Madame Detontville, not as a pupil, but as a 
 young lady who was preparing to enter society. 
 In the spring it was to be announced that she 
 was engaged to Bradnor. 
 
CHAPTEE XLI. 
 
 Why do we wait ? What passenger is tardy ? Let us away ! 
 
 We are off, and the team, goes famously since that last crack of the 
 coachman's whip. 
 
 Before we reach the first mile-post I remember we were waiting for 
 " Hagar." 
 
 Stop ! There is no need to touch the curb or put on the brakes ; the 
 colts are tired with this long journey. Even the sight of the wished-fov 
 goal, which we can see through the long reaches of the dusty highway just 
 beyond tliat ghastly gibbet does not tempt them from their willingness to 
 wait. 
 
 While they fill their lungs with fresh strength and the foam drops from 
 their panting sides we can look about us and see that all is taut ard 
 strong for the rush that is coming down the stony hillside, through the 
 rocky valley, and up to the mount of crucifixion, where the nineteenth 
 century defies the Christ as it pours its red libation upon the altar of re- 
 venge. 
 
 We have not long to wait. 
 
 See ! from that by-path through the cool, dewy woods, where March 
 winds have blown away the dead leaves which covered the sleeping vio- 
 lets, comes our name-giver. 
 
 The rosy feet of Atalanta were not more swift than those of this 
 " Hagar " who is flying before the bent brows of Ate. She is here ! Up 
 and on! 
 
 Hurrah, my steeds ! The journey will soon be ended. 
 
 (Mrs. CarisbrooJie to Mrs. Hartley from Rose- 
 banJc, March 30, 1868.) 
 
 '' fTlHIS wild Maxell day must have touched my 
 
 I spleen, I am so out of sorts. I said as 
 
 much to Carisbrooke this morning, at 
 
 which his superior wisdom smiled. Under the 
 
 807 
 
308 THE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 edge of the cold smile a sneer was so perceptible 
 that I insisted upon his explaining to me the uses 
 and abuses of the spleen. ' Tell it not in Gath,' 
 my Kate, ' whisper it not in Askalon ' ; but, truth- 
 fully, he couldn't give the slightest pretence at a 
 rational explanation of either its use or abuse. 
 
 " And yet these men sneer us down, my dear, 
 with the depth and breadth of their learning ! 
 If I was twenty years younger I would study 
 medicine and make a specialty of the spleen. 
 
 " But while I look out of my window at leaden 
 clouds and the shaking of things in this bluster- 
 ing wind you are gathering roses under sunny 
 skies. (Which rose-gathering, now I come to 
 think of it, is a sentimentally silly figure of 
 speech. I do not know just what one maij ga- 
 ther in Havana in March, but I suspect the rose 
 business is a blunder. I presume Carisbrooke 
 would know ; but after that spleen split I would 
 see him hanged before I would go a-begging bits 
 and shreds of information from his stock.) I do 
 know that you have strawberries, which are sure- 
 ly more edifying to the stomach than mere un- 
 eatable and sweet-scented thin2:s. 
 
 "But this trifling is not the news-letter which 
 I intended to write. 
 
*' IPSO JURE." 309 
 
 *' I shall not answer your questions in the order 
 in which they are asked, but as the answers fit 
 into tlie narrative I am about to write. 
 
 ^'Carson returned from Texas the 2oth of Janu- 
 ary, about a week after I last wrote you. Young 
 Wild- Cat the half-breed had gone with his un- 
 cle, Young Wild-Cat the thoroughbred, on a visit 
 to the Zuni Indians. Carson found a letter from 
 him here when he returned with his malaria — the 
 only thing he gathered on the banks of the Eio 
 Grande. 
 
 * ' In February Eosebank was a better sort of 
 private hospital. First Brooke had scarlet fever, 
 then Daisy came near dying of it. Molly and I 
 alternated in our care of Carson and Brooke. 
 
 ^^Lucy, or 'Hagar,' as you will name her, de- 
 voted herself to Daisy. Day and night she 
 watched with her. The night we thought Daisy 
 dying the anxiety and excitement brought on one 
 of Lucy's insane attacks. You will know what 
 a grief this is to us all, and what a disappoint- 
 ment, when we had hoped she was entirely cured. 
 The violent period did not last long ; but it was 
 succeeded by one of those silent, desponding 
 moods, and then by one of her old sudden dis- 
 appearances. We hope she is with the 0' Dowds ; 
 
3 1 TEE MODERN HA QAR. 
 
 but I never could understand from her just where 
 the O'Dowds live— somewhere near some rail- 
 way line, not far from New York and Philadel- 
 phia. But that direction is faint indication upon 
 which to organize a search ; yet, faint as it is, 
 it is being followed. 
 
 *' We had news from France before Lucy left 
 Rosebank which we took great care to keep from 
 her ; but Brooke has such surprising Avays of ac- 
 quiring bits of knowledge, and of coming out 
 with his possessions on the most unexpected and 
 inauspicious occasions, that it is ^Dossible she did 
 know of Julia's death, and may have heard some- 
 thing of the news from Mai. 
 
 ^' After six weeks of marriage the marquis is a 
 widower ! I have no doubt he is consoled by the 
 dot, which was the objective motive. Poor Ju- 
 lia ! I try to forget this last folly and remem- 
 ber the better things of the past. 
 
 '' Mai owed her much. I trust during the few 
 days of her aunt's illness Mai paid this debt of 
 ancient kindness. 
 
 ^' Captain Hartley wrote Carisbrooke of Julia's 
 death. In his letter he repeats the promise to 
 meet my master in IS'ew York in May. To-day 
 Carisbrooke has sent the letter on to Robert, who 
 
''IPSO JURE." 311 
 
 will bring his wife, and I hope you also with 
 them, to New York. I shall go with Carisbrooke, 
 if Molly and the babies are all well. 
 
 *'The news of the ducliesse will keep until 
 then. 
 
 '' JSTow I come to the court calendar in earnest 
 — to royal intelligence. 
 
 " The ' Princess ' has been here ! 
 
 '* Princely imperiousness and moodiness grow 
 upon her. I think the 'Yoyvoda' pines for ac- 
 tion. 
 
 ''Her royal highness is dissatisfied with the 
 uneventful life of these piping times of peace. 
 Being that pitiable thing— a woman— she cannot 
 rush into the turmoil of this bespattering recon- 
 struction business. Yet the regular and metho- 
 dical life of a Virginian country gentlewoman is 
 just as little to the taste of the ' Palatines s: 
 (She would never forgive me the double s.) 
 
 " What our ' Princess ' does do you shall know. 
 I drew it from her with discreet questioning. 
 She shoots two hours, rides half-broken tho- 
 roughbreds four, and reads six (heavy read- 
 ing, mark yon). Oh ! I had forgotten the prin- 
 cipal diversion. Twice a week a celebrated 
 fencing-master goes from Washington to 'The 
 
312 THE MODERN RAQAR. 
 
 Cedars.' With as much aplomb and coolness 
 as if she were talking of music and arpeggios 
 she said : * I used to fence well when I was with 
 the army, and I do not care to get altogether out 
 of practice.' 
 
 '* Carson sees in all this a praiseworthy con- 
 tinuance in well-doing ! 
 
 "• He says she is the most skilful fencer he ever 
 saw, and he raves of her quickness of eye and 
 touch with either rapier or pistol. 
 
 ^' Thank Heaven for Molly's plain, womanly 
 sense ! She will save my granddaughters from 
 an education on the Palatine plan. But then 
 one never knows. The remote ancestor may 
 break out in time, may push himself into the 
 present with all the vagaries of the dark or the 
 middle ages. We are never safe from these re- 
 productions. 
 
 '' See these daughters of Stanislaus Leszink- 
 sky? They do not at all resemble each other, 
 nor do they resemble their father. 
 
 ^'Steenie may be something like her mother ; 
 I rather think she is in the diplomatic way she 
 has of getting all the good things she covets and 
 in her affections, which are only spongy absorb- 
 ents. My admirable son-in-law forgets the pro- 
 
''IPSO jure:' 313 
 
 prieties and the commandments when he refers 
 to the slow torture of Stanislaus Leszinksky's 
 life with Steenie's mother. 
 
 '' To tell my news of Steenie and have that off 
 my memorandum of questions I will tell you now 
 where she is. Why, at that lovely polishing 
 shop of Madame Detontville' s in Pliiladelphia— 
 the school which gave the duchesse the finishing 
 touches of pretty deceits and disgusted the ' Prin- 
 cess ' with all approach thereunto. Its effect upon 
 Steenie will be an interesting study. 
 
 *^Rue has not a look of Margaret about her, 
 nor, so far as I can see, any of her qualities. If 
 there is any Saxon modification it has come from 
 the hot-blooded Macdonalds, which has had no 
 cooling or taming effect upon the kingly Polish 
 current. 
 
 '' Yet the ' Princess ' has grand qualities of her 
 own, but they are not all of the modern conven- 
 tional Cartaret type, though even Margaret varied 
 from that type. 
 
 ^'You Cartarets are conventionalists. You 
 know it is true, Kate. That bugaboo the world 
 has chained you for years to — I remember and 
 I ask pardon ; I promised you to say no more of 
 that mistake of yours. 
 
314 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 *' To go back to the other Cartarets. Your fa- 
 ther was a formalist in his ideas of women. He 
 thought they shouki live, move, and have their 
 being inside of fixed and narrowly-limited rules. 
 Even Margaret's womanly independence — which 
 was always subject to her affection — was a thorn 
 CO his conventionalism ; as, in fact, it would 
 have been to her own father. 
 
 "ButEue? 
 
 "Why, if old Colonel Tom could hear the 
 crack of her pistol practice, or have a fearful 
 vision of that French fencing-master and his foils 
 at 'The Cedars,' he would 'revisit the glimpses 
 of the moon' and speak his mind in those classic 
 objurgations for which he was so celebrated when 
 the occasion was great or urgent. 
 
 "But the Cartaret men were not singular in 
 tlieir womanology. 
 
 "Most Virginians— ^^e tliinlcing males ^ hien 
 entendu — had, and yet Lave, badly-mixed ideas 
 concerning the ' weaker sex ' and the training 
 needed to make them those comjoosite construc- 
 tions of angelical feminine excellences which 
 the Virginian man is bound by tradition to ad- 
 mire. Their theories of women — if such vague 
 wanderings of untethered thought can be called 
 
''IPSO JURE." 315 
 
 theories — were made up of saws from Solomon 
 and the sentimentalities of the Troubadours. 
 
 ^'Not that I object to this modern stealing 
 from Solomon, but the Proverbs and the light 
 philosophy of the gentle King Rene' s singers are 
 not the affinities a wise alchemist would put in 
 the caldron were he compounding that subtle 
 essence of perfection, a perfect woman. 
 
 ' ' Moreover, the Virginian notions — they are 
 too crude to be called aught else — are utterly 
 unscientific ; they force the butterfly — in other 
 words, the Troubadouric young woman who is 
 shrined where she can be sighed at and sung to 
 — back into a grub. 
 
 ' ' Music, poetry, and tender sentiment are the 
 girl's nutriment; the lover's sighs are breathed 
 into the pearly shells of sound until the rosebud 
 mouth murmurs ' yes.' 
 
 ' ' Then when the honeymoon has waxed and 
 Avaned Cupid kisses his finger-tips and his mo- 
 ther's doves bear him away from the butterfly, 
 who folds her wings as she creeps into the grub- 
 cover and crawls through the daily routine of 
 the ' saw ' formula. And so the destructive pro- 
 cess of this backward evolution goes on, or will 
 go on until good comes out of evil. 
 
316 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 '' I am in the Cassandra vein, my Kate. The 
 spirit of prophecy is upon me. 
 
 *'The future and only possible restoration of 
 the feminine grub to a more scientific and pleas- 
 ing transition was assured by ' our late unplea- 
 santness.^ 
 
 *' There will be protracted philanthropic and 
 corrupt political effort to establish race-equality 
 in the reunited States ; but the quixotism of phi- 
 lanthropy and the greed of the politician cannot 
 overturn the everlasting processes of Nature. 
 Her scales are gradual and harmonious in ad- 
 justment. 
 
 ^' Woman is the melodic ex^Dression of race. 
 Barbaric melodies are simple utterances. A per- 
 fect melody is the thought which governs har- 
 monious expression. 
 
 "Do you see my climax, Kate? When races 
 are finally adjusted with the dominant Caucasian 
 in place, then that great she, Nature, will 
 crown the lesser she, Woman. 
 
 "I might have said it in fewer words, which 
 would also have smacked of common sense. I 
 will try it again. 
 
 " Every effort for change and for free thought 
 is a lift, after the mistakes are mended. The 
 
''IPSO JURE." 317 
 
 mistake of giving the uneducated and race-inca- 
 pacitated negro political equality with the white 
 man will right itself in proving the inequality 
 of race and the equality of sex. 
 
 "You know, Kate, I am not an extremist — one 
 reason may be the sticking quality of Virginian 
 conservatism — but I do hope that change may fol- 
 low close upon the heels of change, until the bal- 
 ance of sex is so adjusted that the moral influence 
 of woman may be as effective in public affairs as 
 her sympathetic tastes are now in social life. 
 
 "I am not an optimistic female-suffragist. I 
 do not think that the political enfranchisement 
 of woman would bring the millennium. But I 
 believe it would save and rehabilitate hundreds 
 of thousands who are noAv besotted and vicious 
 destructives of themselves and of society. I be- 
 lieve it would do many things which all past 
 civilization has failed to accomj3lish. I believe it 
 would reform the drunkard in treating him as an 
 irresponsible invalid and restraining him from 
 the personal liberty which injures him, and from 
 citizenship which injures others, until he is 
 clothed and in his right mind. This in itself 
 would be an immense step in the reformation of 
 the law-making element. 
 
318 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 "I have no doubt that men would be the first 
 beneficiaries of sex-equality. The faithfulness, 
 the devotion, the gratitude, the maternal instinct 
 of woman would make that sure. Men would 
 have early and full payment for the tardy justice 
 given their sisters. But the benefits would all 
 be retroactive. 
 
 "Behind every drunkard and every criminal 
 there are women who suffer. Uplift the drunk- 
 ard and the criminal and you release these un- 
 fortunates. I do not believe the wildest vision- 
 ary can overestimate the moral force the world 
 would gain through such an uplifting. 
 
 "Think of it, my Kate ! It would make the 
 modern Hagar impossible. 
 
 " Here I have been rushing into a discussion — 
 following one of my vagaries, Carisbrooke would 
 say— and leaving my news to crystallize. I will 
 give you the broken remainder in condensed and 
 highly cencentrated globules. 
 
 " The ' Princess ' lias hroJcen with Bradnor ! ! 
 
 "Her determination to sell the Chicago and St. 
 Louis property Robert has probably told you of, 
 as his consent was given upon condition of Car- 
 son's consent. She fought this out with Carson 
 and won. She wishes to settle the money on 
 
*' IPSO jure:' 319 
 
 Steenie. And for some mysterious reason whicli 
 lie will not tell, but wMcli is to be explained in 
 May after that settlement of yours, Carson was 
 willing sbe should divide her fortune with her 
 sister. 
 
 ''Carson was so ill he could not go with Eue 
 to St. Louis and Chicago, but he sent one of 
 his aids as escort. 
 
 ' ' That aid is an aspirant for royal favor, but 
 he will come to grief. 
 
 "The ' Princess ' is not matrimonially inclined. 
 
 ''The 'Princess' brought Oscar with her, and 
 then sent him to New York to find the O'Dowds 
 and get news of Lucy. She also wrote to Dr. 
 Wilson to send Stearns to meet Oscar and assist 
 in the search for Lucy. They both knew the 
 O'Dowds and have a certain intelligence as trail- 
 ers. How they will succeed in a closely-settled 
 country remains to be shown. 
 
 "Of course Carson and Rue have faith in 
 frontier craft. Stearns is really very intelligent, 
 and both the men are loyal and devoted to the 
 ' Princess. ' 
 
 "Rue promised to return here the first of next 
 month. jS'ow she writes as if doubtful : ' Chi- 
 cago affairs are detaining her.' 
 
320 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 *' It seems Bradnor met her in CMcago ! ! 
 
 *' I asked Carson if that meant re-engage- 
 ment. He said 'No!' very decidedly, but 
 would not explain. 
 
 " I tliink I can guess the riddle, and that the 
 answer is, Steenie 1" 
 
CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 " world ! so few the rears we live, 
 "Would that the life which thou dost give 
 Were life indeed ! " 
 
 RUE'S stay in St. Louis was not long. Tlie 
 property there had been bonght in her own 
 right since her majority and its sale was 
 easily effected. 
 
 But the Chicago affairs had gone badly. 
 
 First there was a personal matter which dis- 
 turbed the "Princess." The inconsiderate aid 
 obtruded sentiment, forgetting his position as 
 business escort, and was immediately placed in 
 the list of the rejected. To stay on in pain and 
 awkwardness or to leave abruptly w^ere the two 
 horns of the dilemma. Bradnor' s arrival was a 
 fortunate excuse and release to the discomfited 
 officer. He returned to Cincinnati, and Rue's 
 good-fortune seemed to go with him. Mrs. Ca- 
 risbrooke had sent her maid with Rue ; and the 
 detention, which she feared would inconvenience 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke, was another worry. 
 
 321 
 
322 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 In the business affairs were the vexatious de- 
 lays and quibbles of the law. The written and 
 attested consent of her trustees could not do 
 away with certain technical objections to Rue's 
 signature to sales of '^ the Cartaret estate" pro- 
 perty. The finality of ownership was yet unset- 
 tled, and the balance of legal opinion was against 
 the validity of title not executed by the trustees. 
 The majority of counsel consulted held that if 
 Rue died unmarried and childless even the ac- 
 crued interest, invested by the trustees, would 
 revert to the heirs named in Colonel Cartaret' s 
 will, although the firm acting for Bradnor, one 
 of the shrewdest and most successful in the 
 management of real estate, held a directly op- 
 posite opinion. 
 
 The imperious temper of the ''Princess" ill 
 brooked these daily discussions, and she was 
 about to postpone it all until the next summer, 
 when General Carson and Mr. Robert Caris- 
 brooke could be present, when Bradnor i)roposed 
 to buy the property directly from her, '' promd- 
 ed the doubt in the title was considered in the 
 price.^'' 
 
 With a royal look of contempt for his miserly 
 prudence the " Princess" consented to sell him 
 
**iPso jure:' 333 
 
 all the Chicago property of the Car tare t estate 
 for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, 
 which was less than half its actual value. She 
 receipted for the payment of the Chicago pro- 
 Ijerty, and added one hundred thousand dollars 
 from the St. Louis fund and her note for fifty 
 thousand, thus completing tlie payment of the 
 sum she had promised to give her sister. 
 
 After Rue's settlement with Bradnor she had 
 a balance left from the St. Louis money which 
 she had brought with her to Chicago of thirty 
 thousand dollars in United States gold certifi- 
 cates. She declined to exchange them, as Brad- 
 nor suggested, for a check on New York. 
 
 All these transactions had intensified Rue's 
 growing contempt and dislike for her young sis- 
 ter's husband. She had left him at his lawyer's 
 rooms and walked from Madison Street to a 
 bookseller's in State Street, where she bought 
 some books and a small Russia-leather hand- 
 satchel, wliich was to have her initials engraved 
 upon the clasp and be sent to her at the Sher- 
 man House in an hour. In the little hallway 
 of the ladies' entrance to the hotel she met 
 Bradnor. 
 
 " I was waiting to see you, Rue. It is impos- 
 
324 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 sible for me to go on to New York before to- 
 morrow night. Do you mind waiting \ " 
 
 '' I mind it very much. In fact, I cannot Avait. 
 I am ah'eady two weeks late, and the Wilsons, I 
 know, are impatient for my return. But that 
 need make no difference to you. I wdll have to 
 stop two days in New York, and I shall see you 
 there." 
 
 " Then will you go on to-night ?" 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 "But tlie train starts at eight o'clock; it is 
 now half -past five." 
 
 " I shall be ready." 
 
 " Then you will not go by Cincinnati 1 " 
 
 *' No ; the maid I brought from Doctor Caris- 
 brooke' s would be unwilling to go to New York, 
 and, besides, Mrs. Carisbrooke might be incon- 
 venienced. She can go on to Cincinnati from 
 Fort Wayne. From there I shall do quite well 
 alone. I presume Oscar will be at the New York 
 Hotel when I reach New York. I directed him 
 to wait there, so I will have some one to look 
 after the luggage." 
 
 "Very well; I will telegraph the New York 
 Hotel people to send to meet your train. Shall 
 I get you tickets by the Erie Road ? " 
 
"/P50 jure:' 325 
 
 **Yes." 
 
 It cost her an effort to accept even this slight 
 courtesy, and she was glad to be free from his 
 further presence. 
 
 She only half listened as Bradnor said: '^ You 
 had better take the girl on with you to Crestline. 
 She will then have no change to make between 
 that and Cincinnati, and you will have her with 
 you to-night." 
 
 ' ' Yery well ; I would rather have her to- 
 night." 
 
 ^'I wish you would wait." 
 
 ''No; a short experience of self-dependence 
 will do me good." 
 
 Bradnor started to make arrangements for her 
 journey, and Kue went directly to her rooms, 
 where the maid was waiting. 
 
 "AYe are going in two hours. You will be 
 with me to-night, and you can go home from 
 Crestline. Are you ready ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Rue ; everything is packed except 
 this plain travelling-dress which I kept out. Is 
 this the one you wanted?" 
 
 " Yes ; it is loose and comfortable. We have 
 one change to make, and I do not ^vish to un- 
 dress. I can go through in tliis. O Mary ! here 
 
326 THE MODERN HA GAR. 
 
 is a roll of notes I want to carry safely ; my 
 pocket might be picked, and it will not do to 
 risk them in the luggage. What can you do ? " 
 
 *'I can easily sew them in the upper jmrt of 
 the facing of your dress, Miss Rue. The facing 
 is stiff and heavy, and I can get a thin piece of 
 muslin and lay the bills smooth in that, <nd 
 then they will never show under the facing ; the 
 heavy j^laits on the outside will hide them per- 
 fectly." 
 
 ''Very well. Do not unpack to get the things 
 needed ; you can buy them at the little shop 
 across the street." 
 
 Before Bradnor returned their preparations 
 were complete and Rue and the maid had dined. 
 They had still an hour to wait. Eue wrote to 
 Steenie and to Carson. She had just dii'ected 
 the letters when the carriage was announced. 
 
 At Crestline the maid left Rue. Slie took a 
 parcel to the Carisbrookes and the letter to Car- 
 son. 
 
 She remembered afterward every detail of the 
 sleeping car in which she had arranged Miss 
 Rue's travelling- shawls and packages. She 
 knew the young lady had taken the two sections 
 just opposite each other through to New York, 
 
^' IPSO jure:' 327 
 
 that she might not be annoyed by neighbors. 
 The girl told that she had said laughingly: 
 
 ''I shall have a sitting-room and a bedroom. I 
 can change with the sunlight and will not be dis- 
 turbed. Do not lose that parcel or yourself. Be 
 sure you get on the right train." 
 
 *^Yes, Miss Rue; I will get home all right 
 with the parcels." 
 
 Mary always broke down in the next sentence : 
 ''I thanked her for her generous gifts and said 
 good-by ; and as the train left she looked from 
 the window to see me go back to the waiting- 
 room. The last word I heard was, ' You must 
 come with Mrs. Carson next summer to "The 
 Cedars."'" 
 
 The train rushed on eastward. At the station 
 where they stopped for dinner the conductor 
 came to Rue. "Yes," she preferred to get out. 
 The conductor left her in the dining-room. He 
 was called out by some one. Rue, feeling a little 
 nervous in her new condition of "self-depen- 
 dence," only drank a cup of coffee and hurried 
 back to find her x^lace. 
 
 A pale, delicate girl, whose worn but neat 
 clothing told a story that touched Rue's sym- 
 pathy, was walking on the long platform, halt- 
 
328 THE MODERN HAQAR. 
 
 ing witli a tired, weary air to look in the dif- 
 ferent windows. Rue stopi^ed. The chance 
 to assist another strengthened her self-depen- 
 dence. 
 
 '• Have you lost your place ? Can you not find 
 the car?" 
 
 " I have no place yet, and I do not know where 
 to find one. I am alone.'- 
 
 '' So am I ; come with me." 
 
 The look of thanks, the glad relief expressed 
 in the sad face, increased Rue's interest in her 
 new-found protegee. 
 
 ^' Where are you going?" 
 
 '' To ISTew York. My only brother is ill there 
 in the hospital." 
 
 Just then they reached the sleeping-car; the 
 girl hesitated. 
 
 *' My ticket is not for a sleeping-car; I shall 
 have to go back to one of the cars we have 
 passed." 
 
 ^'No, you will not go back. I have a double 
 section. I had a" — she caught back the word 
 before it w^as uttered, and went on — "young girl 
 with me from Chicago, but she got off this morn- 
 ing ; you can have her place. I assure you it is 
 no extra expense. I have taken these places 
 
''IPSO JURE." 329 
 
 through to New York, and I will be very glad to 
 have you come. It will be a favor to me." 
 
 The frank manner and the kind face decided 
 the girl. In a few moments they were seated 
 and the guest was made at home. Before even- 
 ing the '^Princess" had in her own thought 
 adopted another inmate for " The Cedars." 
 
 The puzzle was just what position to offer the 
 stranger, who, it was evident, was well brought 
 up. It was just as evident that her health and 
 hopes had been shattered in a long struggle witli 
 want. 
 
 In the evening Rue opened the luncheon-bas- 
 ket Mary had filled for her in Chicago. They 
 had quite a merry little supper, and a faint color 
 came into the pale cheeks. The delicately-cook- 
 ed game, the white rolls, and the red Bordeaux 
 were the medicines the invalid needed. Rue's 
 resolution of adoption gTew stronger. 
 
 After supper the outline of the story she wanted 
 to hear was voluntarily told to her. Two orphan 
 children had been left with a maiden aunt who 
 taught in a village school on Long Island to win 
 bread for herself and her dead sister's children. 
 Then the boy got a place about the railroad sta- 
 tion, and his little earnings helped. The aunt 
 
330 THE MODERN BAG AM. 
 
 broke down at her work and the young people 
 were the care-takers. The brother was advanced 
 gradually and transferred from time to time to 
 different places. When the aunt died he was 
 conductor on a freight-train running through 
 from New York to Chicago. He brought his 
 sister West, where she tried teaching, but it 
 made her nervous and ill. Then she did w^hat 
 plain sewing she could get ; her scant earnings 
 helped x>ay for the extra exj)ense of frequent ill- 
 ness. Her brother did all he could for her, but 
 it was evident to Rue that to save him the girl 
 had fought the battle alone as far as she could. 
 IS'o^v it was the brother who was down — ''mala- 
 rial fever." 
 
 "The hospital nurse Avrote me that day and 
 night he talks of me. I had my aunt' s watch, 
 and that and some housekeeping things I sold 
 brought enough to take me to New York ; but 
 you see I will not have much left, so I have to be 
 economical." 
 
 The "Princess" thought with delight of that 
 roll of gold certificates under her dress-plaits. 
 
 Then she told the story of 7ter life and "its 
 household cares" (Mrs. Carisbrooke would have 
 thought that meant a target missed or a foil 
 
''IPSO JURE." 331 
 
 broken); that her steward (Bob!!) ''needed 
 an assistant," and she wished a "housekeeper 
 who would also be a companion," adding with a 
 smile : 
 
 "But we will talk of all that in ISTew York 
 with your brother. I have a severe headache 
 and you are tired. I intend to order you to bed." 
 
 "Let me brush your hair. My aunt used to 
 say my fingers were magnetic ; possibly I can re- 
 lieve your headache." 
 
 To please her Rue consented. The girl brush- 
 ed the heavy masses of hair, and then softly 
 pressed Rue's throbbing temples with her cool 
 hands. 
 
 "There," said Rue, "thank you, my head is 
 better ; now you must go to bed. ' ' 
 
 The porter came to arrange the couch. Rue 
 had her guest' s made up, but preferred her own 
 as it was. She could not sleep, and she wanted 
 to open the window if she should feel faint. She 
 had been liberal in her gratuities, and the porter 
 said he would come later and arrange the couch 
 if it was wanted. 
 
 Rue was sitting by the window when the train 
 stopped at Binghamton. When the door near 
 her opened she heard a familiar voice talking 
 
332 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 witli the porter, and the old clergyman, her 
 neighbor at "The Cedars," entered. There was 
 a warm hand-shaking, a fe^v inquiries, Rue's 
 short explanation of her delay at Chicago, and 
 the rector's explanation of his unexpected visit 
 to Binghaniton to see an old parishioner. He 
 had been in Philadelphia on some church busi- 
 ness, and '^ could not refuse to make this detour 
 to see his friend on his way to New York.'^ 
 Then, with good-nights and the expectation of 
 further talk in the morning, they parted. 
 
 This unexpected meeting did not help Rue to 
 quiet rest. It brought back her rash decision 
 and tlie regrets that were beginning to haunt her. 
 "' Had she done well to give Steenie to Bradnor ? 
 She was such a mere child she might have out- 
 grown her first love." Then Rue thought with 
 terror of the possibilities of Steenie' s future dis- 
 enchantment in this love-match. *'Have I only 
 ruined her life in my overhaste to make her 
 happy ? And is not this concealment of the mar- 
 riage and her separation from her husband still 
 more dangerous ? Would it not have been better 
 to have told General Carson and the Caris- 
 brookes ? If Steenie"— but she dared not think 
 of the possibility of Steenie' s love changing. 
 
" IPSO JUREr -333 
 
 Rue's temples were throbbing and hot, and 
 she got up to go to the dressing-room and bathe 
 her face and head. As she was leaving her seat 
 her guest called : 
 
 '' Are you ill 1 Can I do anything for you ? " 
 
 ''Yes," said Rue. "You can take care of 
 these things for me. It is somewhat of a risk to 
 leave them on the seat. I am going to bathe my 
 forehead. I have great faith in the water-cure." 
 
 And Rue put the satchel she had bought in 
 Chicago in the girl's berth.' She had taken olf 
 her watch to put in it, but there was some diffi- 
 culty with the clasp, and she thrust it under her 
 guest's pillow, saying, as she took off herrings 
 and gave them to her to keep : 
 
 " I sliall not have the trouble of drying them. 
 Do not try to keep awake. I may go to the door 
 and see what fresh, unpoisoned air will do. It is 
 fearfully close here, and the old lady next me 
 begged me to close my window." 
 
 " I am so sorry for your head, and so sorry I 
 can do nothing for you when you have been so 
 kind, so good to me ! " 
 
 And the sensitive mouth trembled, and the soft 
 blue eyes swam in misty light as they looked in 
 the face which was bending down above them. 
 
034 THE MODERN HAGAR, 
 
 Rue kissed the tender eyes and whispered 
 softly : 
 
 " Sleej) now. To morrow I will go with you to 
 your brother. A fairy has told me that your 
 troubles are nearly ended. Sleep and be hap- 
 py!" 
 
 After bathing her face Rue wrapped about her 
 a light shawl she had taken from the package 
 Mary had strapped together, and oj^ened tlie door. 
 
 It was the rear car, and the brakeman had 
 gone forward. Afraid of fresh complaint of the 
 draught, she stepped out on the platform and 
 pulled the door shut behind her. 
 
 The damp night air — it was raining a sleety, 
 drizzly rain — chilled her. She had been holding 
 to the iron rail ; as she let go to turn to the door 
 behind her the car rocked violently to one side 
 and threw her on the steps. She caught at the 
 railing— missing it, she fell from the car. It was 
 her last moment of consciousness. The rebound 
 sent her over the edge of the low embankment, 
 and she rolled down the muddy declivity into a 
 rougli country road, striking heavily against the 
 jagged top of a low stump, which threw her back 
 a little to one side. 
 
 The accident to Rue was only the jDrelude to 
 
''IPSO JURE." 335 
 
 one not yet forgotten. At Carr's Rock the train 
 went over a high embankment. Fire and water 
 fought each other for the victims who were fas- 
 tened in and under the wreck. It w^as hours be- 
 fore help came to them. 
 
 The screams of agony from the sleeping-car 
 were hushed before the flames were extinguished. 
 
 A few of the charred dead were recognized by 
 their friends. The " imrishioner from Bingham- 
 ton" found the remains of his old pastor. The 
 baggage of Miss Leszinksky was on the train, 
 and after the day's search w^as over a charred 
 skeleton with three rings on the burnt fingers was 
 found alone in a section. Beneath the disfigured 
 corpse a w^atch and chain were almost fused by 
 the heat, but when forced open the watch had 
 the letters ^' R. L." beneath the arms of Poland. 
 The rings had the same initials. In a pool of 
 w^ater beneath the car a Russia-leather satchel 
 was discovered. It contained papers and memo- 
 randa not entirely destroyed belonging to Miss 
 Leszinksky. 
 
CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 " The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
 Make instruments to scourge us." 
 
 IT was a rugged, barren hill not many miles 
 from where that disaster occurred at Carr's 
 Rock. Here and there patches were sparse- 
 ly scattered of dark hemlock and stunted bushes 
 of glossy-leaved laurels. 
 
 In some few hollows to the south hardy grasses 
 had matted their roots and covered the thin soil 
 with the long strips of tender, delicate green 
 which proved that Spring had gone northward. 
 She had but touched the rocky ridge ; but down 
 in the valleys between the hills and in the mea- 
 dows by the river the vegetation said that May 
 had come. 
 
 On this high summit, which commanded a view 
 of the distant stretches of the twisted chain of 
 hills belonging to the three different States 
 through which the Delaware carries its waters 
 to the bay, one could only feel the warm breath 
 of May as it blew the rifted clouds eastward. 
 
 336 
 
''IPSOJUREr 337 
 
 It was still early morning. On the very top- 
 most point of the hill, near where three dwarfed 
 hemlocks held together, somewhat sheltered by a 
 huge rock which had defended the young trees 
 from the strong northwest winds until their 
 branches were tall enough to look over their 
 protector, Oscar was lying, watching the rail- 
 way station he could see in the river valley. 
 
 The negro looked worn with grief and fatigue. 
 In his face a hopeless despair was lit by occa- 
 sional flashes of fierce rage. 
 
 He had in his hand field-glasses, which he 
 turned from the station to the long, curving i-ail- 
 way track, and from time to time to the Port 
 Jervis road on the ridge beneath. 
 
 Suddenly he heard behind him the fall of 
 stones loosened by feet which were climbing the 
 hillside. He sprang up and walked rapidly 
 downward to meet the climber. 
 
 ^' O Marse Bob ! I begun to be afeard you 
 wahn't ever a-gwine to come. I thought may 
 be—" He stopped abruptly. 
 
 '' You thought may be I was drunk ? " Stearns 
 paused a moment, but as Oscar made no reply he 
 continued: ^'And you'd a- thought right, if it 
 hadn't a-been fur one thing: jus' when I was 
 
338 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 a-gettin' a good start fur it I seen Captain Hart- 
 ley." 
 
 The negro threw up his hand with a hoarse 
 bellow of rage. 
 
 ''Keep still, Oscar. You jus' keep your bal- 
 ance, and this time we'll git him. He's always 
 had the whip-hand on us befo' ; but to-day he'll 
 lose the full he's a-bettin' on. The devil's got 
 pressin' bizness on hand somewhars else, and 
 he ain't a-lookin' arfter his pet. I'll rest here 
 fur ten minutes and tell you whar I met up with 
 him. Then we must be off. Set down, Oscar, or 
 I won' t say anuther word. Set down, I tell you ! 
 You'll want all the strength that's in you fur the 
 walk that's a-comin', and may be a fight arfter 
 we find out what he's a-doin'." 
 
 The negro sat down and Stearns began : 
 
 '' Well, you see, I got to IS'ew York befo' nine 
 o'clock yesteddy mornin\ and I told General 
 Carson that we'd jus' circled 'round and 'round 
 Port Jervis and found nothin' of Lucy or the 
 O'Dowds. And I asked him if he had hearn 
 anything. But he hadn't, excep' that Capin 
 Hartley was somewhar about New York. 
 
 ''General Carson thought may be Fd better 
 stop once mo' at Port Jervis and see that detec- 
 
*' IPSO JURE." 339 
 
 tive he's got thar. N'ow, I ain't never b'lieved 
 in that feller no way — an eddicated cuss that's 
 been two weeks a-lookin' fur the O'Dowds, arf- 
 ter Mrs. Carson done sent him the name of that 
 drug-man in Port Jervis what put his sign and 
 the town on the bottle of campJiire and the lit- 
 tle box that was in Lucy's room. I wonder what 
 the Big Chief would a- thought of such a trailer? 
 Why, he'd lose hisself an' find nobody, if he 
 w^as on a war-path; and that's wdiat this is like 
 to be. 
 
 " Well, I asked him like the general told me, 
 and he hadn't got a bit furder in the bizness 
 than he w^as befo' the trouble 'bout Cap'n Rue ; 
 then, you know — well, that week I got drunk. 
 
 ' ' Onless Mrs. Leszinksky had a-come dowm 
 herself all the angels in heaven couldn't a- held 
 me sober wdien I saw them cars and what was 
 left of the little baby I had helloed save from the 
 flood and the Injuns. 
 
 *'But I mustn't think o' her like that wdien 
 this villain's to trap, else I'll get off agin. You 
 see when Cap'n Rue died my pledge-time was 
 up. That was the time I promised fur. I swore 
 that as long as a Leszinksky lived that keered 
 fur me to quit liquor I'd quit. An she was the 
 
340 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 last — tlie last that keerecl ; fur Miss Steenie's 
 married, and she ain't like a Leszinksky nohow. 
 She wouldn' t keer if I etarnally stayed drunk. 
 
 ''I suppose, anyway, I would a-got sober on 
 and off. I' d a-had to, if the devils had a-got me 
 like they did in the Injun country. But I would 
 a-gone at the bizness systematic, if General 
 Carson hadn' t a-got it in his head, and a-put it 
 in mine and yourn, that Hartley had a hand 
 in this devil's work here at Carr's Rock. Yoio 
 wahn't hard of b'lievin'. I don't know as you 
 or the general would a-thought o' this if you 
 hadn't hearn that young Mr. Stan saved that 
 scoundrel of a Marten from drownin' the time 
 you throwed him in the river. 
 
 "That was what made General Carson think 
 Marten and Marten' s master was at the bottom 
 o' this. 
 
 "But my ten minutes is 'most up and I ain't 
 finished my story. I must hurry it. The detec- 
 tive hadn't I'arnt anything. So I went to that 
 tavern thar by the railroad in Port Jervis, you 
 know, where we stayed when we went to see all 
 that was lef us of Cap'n Rue. And like as not- 
 fur I was disapp'inted and bothered — I'd a-been 
 rl'ar drunk to-day ; but jus' as I was a-thinkin' 
 
''IPSO JURE." 341 
 
 I conldn' t do notliin' and would take a drink I 
 saw Hartley ridin' out tliis way. 
 
 '' I know' d him in a minute. He ain't got over 
 the dragoon way o' ridin' — none of 'em ever 
 does. More 'an that, I could tell that sneerin', 
 hooked nose of his in a million. 
 
 '' Thar was a country feller at the tavern jus' 
 gettin' in his buggy to come out a piece this 
 way. I paid him five dollars to bring me and 
 follow the man I was arfter. I told liim 'twas a 
 man what owed me somethin', and I told the 
 truth. I'm a-goin' to git my pay now. 
 
 ' ' Hartley rode fast, and we arfter him as fast 
 as we could. I meant to keep him in sight till I 
 got close by here — I know' d you would be a- watch- 
 in' here — and then I meant to come fur you — " 
 
 *^ I'm ready, Marse Bob. Whar is he ? " 
 
 *'Befo' I tell you, you mus' make me a pro- 
 mise." 
 
 "I'm a-gwine to kill him, Marse Bob. When 
 I lets him loose he won' t live over it like Marten 
 did. If the Lord 'ill only d' liver him into my 
 ban's onct I never will let him go out ov 'em 
 alive." 
 
 '^Now, you see, Oscar, that's jus' whar you al- 
 ways was a fool. You ain' t in God a-Mighty' s 
 
342 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 secrets. He ain't a-keepin' folks to d' liver 'em 
 into your hands. When he gets through with a 
 rascal— and I'm free to say he handles a good 
 many of 'em — he's got a place fur 'em and a 
 special jailer of his own. Leastways 'most on 
 the church folks do so b'lieve, 'cep' Pike. 
 
 ^'Pike's alius willin' to let a sinner go in on 
 God's marcy. He ain't mean or stingy with 
 Kingdom-come. He b'lieves in free givin', and 
 he lives up to what he b'lieves. 
 
 ^'But to come back to what we was a-sayin'. 
 Now, if you're a-goin' to rush in and do the 
 devil's bizness I ain't a-goin' to tell you whar the 
 job is a-waitin'. So you'll jus' make me let that 
 scoundrel off agin." 
 
 "Marse Bob, I can't make no blin' promise 
 'bout that man. He's done me harm 'nough. 
 And 'ithout talkin' o' me, thar's Lucy's 'count 
 with him waitin'. Marse Carson b'lieves and I 
 b'lieve he liad somethin' to do with that broke 
 rail on the track thar whar Miss Rue was killed. 
 I'll tell you the truth, Marse Bob — I'm a-goin' to 
 kill him." 
 
 The negro's eyes were ablaze, and the last sen- 
 tence seemed to escape unconsciously through 
 his shut teeth. 
 
-IPSO jure:' 34:3 
 
 '^ Well, go and find him!" said Bob, and he 
 threw himself full length upon the ground, as 
 if he meant to stay there. Oscar looked about 
 uneasily. He watched the road with quick 
 glances, varied by an occasional appealing 
 look at the impassive Steams. At last he 
 said : 
 
 ' ' What do you want me to promise, Marse 
 Bob?" 
 
 Bob rose up slowly and brushed oS the hem- 
 lock leaves that were sticking in his clothing ; 
 til en he turned to Oscar. 
 
 '']S"ow you're a-comin' to your senses agin'. 
 You mus' promise me not to kill Cap'n Hartley, 
 'less we get in a fight whar we're a-goin', and I 
 say to you that we must take him alive or kill 
 him. You see if I ketch him sicli a way that 
 I've got the drap on him — the proof General 
 Carson wants — why, then Til Jceep 7iim or kill 
 Mm. He sha'n't git away then ; and somehow I 
 count on findin' him and Marten, and proofs o' 
 what they've been a doin'. But if I don't see 
 cl'ar the right on it, and if I say to you that he's 
 to go back scot-free, why, you mus' promise to 
 let him go." 
 
 Bob rested his appeal ; the negro still hesi- 
 
344 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 tated. More hopeful from Oscar's silence, Bob 
 commenced anew : 
 
 *' You see, Oscar, we mus^ have proofs. Gene- 
 ral Carson' s a-waitin' in New York for Hartley, 
 and he's in as big a stew as you is to get some 
 'scuse to fight the villain if we can't hang him. 
 But all that's a- wantin' is proofs; and if you'll 
 do like I say, why, we'll get 'em and hang him, 
 which I'm free to say is a mean, unsoldier-like 
 way to finish a man. But then this scoundrel 
 ain't no better 'n a dog." 
 
 "It's hard, Marse Bob — hard, but I promise." 
 
 "You sw'ar you won't kill him 'cep' I tell you. 
 Mind, I leaves you free from your promise if we 
 finds him in some villany whar he mus' be took 
 or let go. You sw' ar ? " 
 
 "Yes, Marse Bob, I sw'ar by the Lord's ven- 
 geance I won't touch him 'cep' you tell me." 
 
 Bob held out his hand, which Oscar clasped. 
 
 "Now, Oscar, we're all right. I can 'pend on 
 your word, which is mo' 'an Fd say far some 
 white folks. Now I'll tell you the balance of 
 my findin's. Cap' n Hartley stayed at that tavern 
 down tbar all night." He pointed to a house in 
 the distance. " Fd a-come fur you in the niglit, 
 but I was 'fraid may be Marten would come and 
 
"IPSO jure:' 345 
 
 they' d be off while I was awaj^ So I stayed about 
 in the yard, and in the kitchen, and then in the 
 stable. The little sleep I got I took listenin' . 
 
 *'I crep' up to the porch whar Hartley was 
 a-talkin' with the landlord jus' 'fore he went to 
 bed. I tell you it giv' me a start all over when I 
 heard him ask the landlord 4f he knew any Irish 
 folks up in the ridge above tliar named O'Dowd.' 
 And the landlord said yes, and told him whar- 
 ' bouts the place was and how to go. 
 
 '^When daylight come and Marten hadn't I 
 know'd I must be off. Hartley hadn' t moved— I 
 had been a-watchin' his room. The people was 
 jus' gettin' up when I lef ' thar. It' s a pretty good 
 walk, fur I come 'round through the woods the 
 way the landlord told Hartley to go. I wanted 
 to see w^hich way he was a-goin'. It was a good 
 thing I did. I know now^ how w^e can cross the 
 ridge here and get thar befo' he does. I ain't 
 a-goin' in till he comes. I don't want to sheer 
 off whoever is a-waitin' fur him ; mos' like it's 
 Marten. We must take the p'ints of the place 
 and get close up. He ain't started yet. They 
 was a-goin' to feed his horse and he'll mos' like 
 eat his breakfast. Now we'll be off." 
 
 Bob had got his bearing, and an hour's fast 
 
34(5 THE MODERS HAG AH, 
 
 walk brought them in sight of the place. They 
 had gone through woods and iields until they 
 could see the old house. Then they crossed the 
 road by which Hartley must come. In the road 
 they met a countryman driving a wagon down 
 toward the tavern. Bob questioned him. ''Yes, 
 the O' Dowds live about a mile and a half aw^ay ; 
 go the straight road — not this ; that to the right 
 there — until you pass a bridge over a branch, and 
 then right along by the railroad track, and you'll 
 see where to turn \\\) the hill to the house." 
 
 They walked on a short distance until the man 
 was out of sight, and then they climbed the fence 
 and went uj) tlie ridge so that they could not be 
 seen from the road. They soon came upon a 
 path which led them to a wooded hill behind 
 the house. There was only a shelving ravine to 
 cross, in which they would be sheltered by thick 
 masses of laurel which screened the path from 
 sight. Before they descended into the ravine 
 Bol) took the field-glass and inspected the house. 
 
 "Yes, Oscar, we' re all right ; we've come in right 
 beliind the place. We can get close up to that 
 chimney thar 'ithout seein' anybody. Hartley's 
 got to come 'round by the railroad and up the 
 hill in front. You must watch fur him thar at 
 
*'ipso jure:' 347 
 
 the corner of the house whar the fence begins, 
 while I crawl through them low bushes and see 
 if thar's anybody in that old shed or if we can 
 get in. It's a mighty good thing fur lis thar ain' t 
 no winders this side of the house. N'ow, don t 
 make no noise in the bushes. Go up by the 
 chimney. You can get 'round to the corner by 
 the fence arf terwards.' ' 
 
 They cautiously went down the ravine, and 
 still more slowly and silently climbed up to the 
 spot Bob had selected. The path which they 
 had quitted led around an old tumble-down shed 
 to the left. 
 
 The chimney was nearer the corner to the right 
 where Oscar was to be stationed. 
 
 Bob motioned to Oscar to stop, and crept past 
 the negro to the fence. He had thought of an 
 unconsidered possibility. Hartley might not 
 have waited for breakfast, and he might be 
 there. 
 
 At the corner of the house he could not see the 
 front yard. He went a little farther and was 
 climbing upon tlie fence when he saw a horse 
 hitched at the post down the hill. Suddenly 
 there was the sound of a shot in the house, of a 
 woman's shriek, and the duller noise of a heavy 
 
348 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 fall. Bob sprang over the fence as he called 
 *' Oscar," and then rushed around to the door. 
 At the same instant a woman with a shawl about 
 her head ran around in the opposite direction 
 from which Bob was coming and behind the shed. 
 Before Bob was on the steps Oscar had overtaken 
 him. Bob pushed back the door, which the fly- 
 ing woman had left partly open. 
 
 The men stopped motionless as if they had 
 seen a ghost. 
 
 In a low bed in one corner of the room a wo- 
 man had thrown back the covers and was sitting 
 upright. 
 
 She had a pistol in her hand and was looking 
 down at a man lying motionless on the floor. 
 
 The room had no furniture except this rough- 
 ly-made couch, an unpainted table, and two or 
 three chairs. There were a few chips burning on 
 the hearth. 
 
 Between the fireplace and the bed was a strip of 
 woollen carpeting. On that the man was lying. 
 
 Bob and Oscar had recognized the woman at 
 the first glance. 
 
 It was Rue. 
 
 The man was Hartley, and he was shot through 
 the head. 
 
CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 Twelve just men sat in judgment upon a sinner and committed mur- 
 der. 
 
 THE personaliry of those in autliority must be 
 dealt with discreetly, so I shall not say in 
 which of the three States already indicated 
 this scene was acted. 
 
 It was a hot, breezeless day the first week in 
 June. The court-room of the little country town 
 was crowded. This was the third day of the 
 trial of the man who had been apprehended for 
 the murder of Captain Hartley. 
 
 The defence had been admirably conducted, 
 but from first to last they fought a losing fight. 
 Every point of evidence was against the prisoner 
 at the bar. Even his character as proved by the 
 defence warranted belief in the possibility of his 
 having committed the crime with which he was 
 charged. General Carson, a witness for the de- 
 fence, had to admit in the cross-examination 
 ''that the prisoner was quarrelsome, and even 
 dangerous, when he had been drinking." And 
 
350 THE MODERy HAGAR. 
 
 the testimony of the witnesses for the prosecu- 
 tion left no doubt that he had been drinking 
 hard two weeks before the murder. 
 
 The prosecution in the summing-up dwelt 
 upon the facts proved. They rej)eated the state- 
 ment that ^'the j^risoner at the bar was talven 
 red-handed in the commission of the crime." 
 They insisted that — 
 
 "• Not a link has failed in the chain of evi- 
 dence. Every witness called by the defence has 
 helped to unravel the motive of the crime and fas- 
 ten the guilt upon the accused. Motive and oppor- 
 tunity are proved, and the murderer was arrested 
 as he was disposing of the body of his victim. It 
 is possible that an accessory escai:)ed, but that is 
 immaterial to the conviction of the prisoner. He 
 came alone from New York to Port Jervis. He 
 was at the station when Captain Hartley arrived. 
 He seemed to be sure of the coming of his victim. 
 He watched for him, then he followed him. He 
 told the witness who drove with him from Port 
 Jervis to the ' Valley Tavern ' that 'the man he 
 was following owed him a debt which he intended 
 to force him to pay.' In one sense the threaten- 
 ing words were true. It was the debt of revenge 
 the prisoner at the bar intended to collect. That 
 
''IPSO jure:' 351 
 
 was proved in the testimony of the gallant officer 
 who has so reluctantly told the story of the pris- 
 oner's old grudge against an officer who had 
 punished him for drunkenness. But the most 
 damning evidence is that of the witness who went 
 with him from Port Jervis : ^ He did not leant 
 to overtake the man we to ere following ; he said 
 he only wanted to keep him in sight ; and ichen 
 we saw him dismount at the tavern the prisoner 
 paid me and sent me hack^ saying ''he icoidd 
 loalk on to the house after it grew darker'^ ' 
 
 *' Then we have the testimony of the landloid 
 and of his sons. They could not induce the pris- 
 oner to come into the house to his supper. He 
 ate it and paid for it out in the yard. One of 
 the boys saw him walk around the house and 
 lean against the porch railing, where he could 
 hear the landlord giving directions to Captain 
 Hartley as to the route he was to take going to 
 O'Dowd's. The prisoner had known the O'Dowds 
 in the West, and it is certain he knew where they 
 lived, for the next witness is the one who met 
 him in the road the next morning — the morning 
 Captain Hartley was last seen alive — not two 
 miles from O'Dowd's and not two hundred yards 
 from where he murdered Captain Hartley, and 
 
352 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 where he was arrested the next day : a seclud- 
 ed, secret spot, fit scene of crime, where he was 
 replanting the laurel beneath which he had hid- 
 den his victim. The negro whom the witness saw 
 with him may have been an accomjDlice, but that 
 does not lessen the guilt of the man we have 
 traced step by step to the scene of the murder. 
 
 *^But there, at the grave into which the coffin- 
 less corpse was hurriedly thrown, a watchful 
 Providence gives a final attestation of the pris- 
 oner's guilt. The last proof — the evidence which 
 fastens the deed upon the murderer — is furnished 
 at that supreme moment by the prisoner himself. 
 He resisted arrest, and when overx)owered and 
 searched a recently-discharged pistol is found 
 upon him. Skilled experts tell us the ball taken 
 from the brain of the victim was shot from that 
 derringer — shot by some one close behind the 
 man he murdered. The scorched and bloodless 
 wound was made by an unseen enemy. Gentle- 
 men of the jury, if the act had been committed 
 in the presence of witnesses the evidence could 
 not have been more clear and conclusive, but the 
 crime would have been less. It would not then 
 have been a cold-blooded assassination.'' * 
 
 During the summing-up of the prosecution the 
 
"IPSOJTRB:- 353 
 
 prisoner had followed the argument with con- 
 stant, unwearied attention ; yet in the interest 
 which he exhibited there seemed no personal so- 
 licitude. It was as if he were listening to a x)uz- 
 zle addressed to others, to a riddle which they 
 must guess. Once or twice there was a triumph- 
 ant glance in the reddish- brown eyes as the 
 prosecutor fixed the attention of the jury with 
 the perfectness of the cumulative evidence. It 
 was as if he won a victory in the very exhibition 
 of the proofs which were likely to convict him. 
 
 Two or three times during the trial, at some 
 queer expression of one of the frightened coun- 
 trymen, who were badgered into self-contradic- 
 tion and plucked of the truths they uncon- 
 sciously withheld, Bob laughed outright. It 
 was a rolling, full, mellow, infectious laugh, and 
 called always a hearty, responsive echo from the 
 audience, who would laugh with him and then 
 look at him in half -surprised and half- stolid 
 amazement, wondering how a man could laugh 
 at words which struck at his life. 
 
 Ah ! they did not know that the last heavy 
 heartache of Bob's life ended when he found 
 that "Capin Rue'' had not died in that horrible 
 furnace. 
 
354 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Still less could tliey understand that his anx- 
 iety for her further safety was quieted by his 
 own danger. 
 
 Carson and Pike, who had come as soon as 
 they knew of his arrest to do all they could to 
 save or to console him, did not know how to read 
 Bob' s newly-recovered brightness. For not even 
 to Carson or Pike had he told the story of Rue's 
 escape. 
 
 Poor Bob had very clouded ideas of law and 
 justice. He knew a man could only once be put 
 in peril of his life by his trial on a criminal accu- 
 sation, and through some twist of reasoning he 
 believed that when law once found a victim and 
 condemned him law was satisfied with the forfeit 
 the victim paid. 
 
 Believing this, the vindictive eloquence of the 
 prosecutor was a positive delight to Bob. After 
 one of the most bitterly accusative bursts of that 
 zealous official he was somewhat startled by the 
 prisoner's look of serene content. 
 
 From the day of his incarceration in the jail 
 Stearns had refused to utter a word of explana- 
 tion in his own defence. At the moment of his 
 arrest he had knocked down a constable. But 
 when he lieard a bystander say, ''Let us help 
 
" IPSO jure:' 355 
 
 the officer ; tlie proof is plain this man has com- 
 mitted a murder," Bob's humor instantly changed 
 from rage to gentleness. After that instant his 
 only fear was that Oscar, hearing of his danger, 
 would return, and then the fact that Rue was 
 living and that she had killed Hartley w^ould be 
 known. He had risked life to save her more 
 than once. Why should he hesitate now ? He 
 had an instinctive horror of hanging ; but then, 
 he asked himself, w^hat was his hanging to her 
 danger ? 
 
 He had been one of that military guard in 
 Washington just after the war wdien a woman 
 was hung — sl woman upon whom only the sha- 
 dow of a crime was thrown ; a woman believed 
 to be innocent at the time, and afterwards proved 
 to have been innocent. Night and day for the 
 few weeks before his trial Bob thought of 
 that horrible execution — hurried on to appease a 
 vengeful cry wdiich only hushed after the hang- 
 man tied his fatal knot about the throat of the 
 condemned. He remembered the w^oman's x'^i- 
 lid face with its crown of gray hair, and how the 
 assistants had lifted the limp, trembling body 
 and carried her, already dying, to the gal- 
 lows. 
 
356 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 Yes ; why should he not laugh and be glad as 
 this trial went on ? 
 
 The child of the dearest friends he had ever 
 known, the child he loved with all the devotion 
 and singleness of heart which characterized his 
 simple, faithful nature, would be saved through 
 his conviction. 
 
 What mattered his death, if it purchased a 
 dearer life ? Why, if he had a hundred lives he 
 would have given them all tliat a Leszinksky 
 might not be held up to the world as a criminal ! 
 
 The advocate Carson had engaged to defend 
 Bob had a wide experience of criminal cases and 
 of criminals. Yet his exxDerience did not help 
 him to understand his client. Where his expe- 
 rience failed his sympathies enlightened him. 
 
 He happened to look at Bob Avhen he \^'as 
 about to close his argument. It was as if a 
 lightning flash had brought into the inky dark- 
 ness the splendor of its rapid revelation. He 
 knew that which he saw, and knew also that his 
 doubts had been leading him to the truth, else he 
 would not have found it in that instantaneous 
 exchange of glances. 
 
 ^'The prisoner at the bar is a voluntary vic- 
 tim ; he is sheltering some one else from sua- 
 
''IPSO jure:' 357 
 
 picion." The pause in his speech, the conviction 
 of the truth, was so sudden that it was wonderful 
 the advocate did not say his thought aloud. 
 
 The admirable training of his profession helped 
 him through this upsetting of all his previous 
 beliefs and gave him ready control of himself. 
 With a slight cough he turned to the table and 
 waited a few minutes while pouring out and af- 
 fecting to drink a glass of water. 
 
 The pause was long enough. Until now the 
 lawyer had fought for acquittal. But now he 
 must fight to introduce doubt into the jury-box. 
 It was his forlorn hope. He w^ould no longer try 
 to attack but to undermine the circumstantial 
 evidence. 
 
 It was a long and masterly argument. Case 
 after case was cited to prove how honest witness- 
 es had s^vorn away lives ; how sight and hear- 
 ing may deceive ; and how the most natural and 
 simple action may be put in such a false light 
 that it takes the very complexion and hue of 
 guilt. Every glance at his client as he reviewed 
 the mistakes of the law gave him stronger assu- 
 rance of his innocence. 
 
 Then the advocate threw away quibbles and 
 addressed himself to conscience and to the hu- 
 
3o8 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 numity that is in man. His feelings nerved his 
 zeal as his own reasoning made him understand 
 that the calculating, murderous vengeance of law 
 v;hicli arrogates God's right in the life or death 
 of his creatures is a greater crime than the rash 
 deed of blind, unreasoning passion. As he 
 enunciated this truth, which the nineteenth 
 century barbarously denies in every elevation of 
 the gibbet, he watched his client and saw that it 
 struck his intelligence and his heart, but he being 
 guiltless, it did not strike his conscience. Bob 
 believed with him ; for Bob was to himseK an il- 
 lustration of one of the law's mistakes. So he 
 listened with a growing and awed understanding 
 of the greater wrong it has done in its usurpation 
 of an awful function which belongs to Omnis- 
 cience. 
 
 The advocate was no longer a mere expounder 
 of human law while he defended a man accused 
 of a crime. He was the champion of eternal truth 
 and of divine mercy. The effect upon the au- 
 dience was that which truth, feelingly presented, 
 always has. Women w^ept and men shaded 
 their faces from the inquisitive light as the ear- 
 nest orator in his closing sentences urged the 
 terrible responsibility of taking a man's life 
 
''IPSO jure:- 359 
 
 without more direct proof, and brought to every 
 softened heart the possibility of mistake : 
 
 "Not an eye saw the murder. Not a Avitne^s 
 can swear that this is the man. I acknowledge 
 that there is around him a curious twisting of niib-- 
 leading circumstances. But in the cases cited you 
 see how false and how fatal was such evidence. 
 Turn from tliose accusing circumstances to the 
 man himself. Look at the prisoner ! You see an 
 honest, frank, soldierly face, furrowed by time, 
 weather-beaten, and marked by many wars ; for 
 he has grown old in the service of his country. 
 For over thirty years he was a scout, tried, fear- 
 less, true — a soldier, loyal, courageous, and merci- 
 ful. You have heard his officers and his comrade 
 describe Lim. General Carson, whose deeds have 
 made you familiar with the name which is writ- 
 ten in many a glorious page of his country' s his- 
 tory, has testified to the character of the pris- 
 oner at the bar. You heard tlie words : ^I have 
 never known a more faithful or braver soldier, 
 never a bolder or more truthful and honest man. 
 His devotion to the child of an officer who was 
 stolen by the Indians words would but faintly 
 express. When the regiment was forced back 
 by a disastrous fight he followed her into the 
 
360 THE 3I0DERN IIAGAR. 
 
 heart of the Comanche country, and through 
 his coolness and unflinching resolution she was 
 restored to her friends.' Then his colonel told 
 us the history of the accused as he knew it, and 
 of his behavior in the late Avar : ' He was a so- 
 ber, reliable sergeant ; if he had been an educat- 
 ed man his promotion would have been sure and 
 rapid. He was obedient to orders and fearless in 
 battle. At Bull Run he saved the regimental 
 colors. At Ball's Bluff, where my horse was 
 shot under me and I was severely wounded, he 
 came to my rescue. He found me a remount, and, 
 swimming by my side, brought me safely across 
 the river.' 
 
 ' ' And to reward such a life of service the pro • 
 secution asks you to convict this man ! 
 
 *' Strangle him ! because he saved your coun- 
 try's flag upon a lost battle-field. 
 
 "Hang him! for that daring rescue, for his 
 gallant passage of that bloody and fatal river. 
 
 "You have heard his comrade, that crippled 
 missionary to the Indians, himself the bravest of 
 the brave, tell the story of their life on the 
 plains— of ' perilous ventures and of dangers 
 shared,' of mischances by flood and field, and 
 of that most desperate venture of all when the 
 
''IPSO jure:- 361 
 
 prisoner, witli a few friendly Indians, rode into 
 tlie Comanclie village and saved the life of his 
 friend when he was already burning at the stake. 
 Do you believe a man who dared such odds 
 would stealthily assassinate an unwarned and 
 solitary traveller ? 
 
 " But the prosecution, to destroy the effect of 
 the character of this man as it has been proved, 
 tells you : ' He was drinking.' If that is true — 
 but it is not — you are asked to hang him because 
 law gave the liquor-dealer a license to poison a 
 man's brain and destroy his consciousness of 
 right and wrong— to prepare him for the com- 
 mission of a crime for which law afterwards 
 holds him responsible. This may be law, but is 
 it justice ? 
 
 ^'If you do this evil thing you are asked to 
 do ; if you send this brave, gallant, innocent man 
 to the gallows — for I swear to you I believe him 
 innocent of this murder ; if you take it upon 
 your consciences to say he is guilty because he is 
 tied by the threads of accident ; if you consent 
 to 'the deep damnation of his taking off,' do 
 you not dread the N'emesis who stalks the steps 
 of the wilful shedder of innocent blood ? 
 
 " You know that which you do. There is no 
 
363 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 excuse, even of drunkenness, for your sentence. 
 You are to be cool, observing, dispassionate. 
 You are to do justice and show mercy, not to 
 give a victim to the Thugs of injustice. 
 
 " You are not as gods. You cannot read the 
 past nor can you foretell the future. The real 
 murderer may crouch in this court-room unseen 
 by you. Conscience may finally bring him to a 
 confession which will convict you of the death of 
 the innocent, or he may walk scathless in the 
 sunlight for long years after you have dug the 
 grave of the guiltless victim of error. But your 
 doubts will haunt you day after day and night 
 after night. 
 
 '' Once again I ask you, Look in that face ! 
 The prisoner at the bar may, in that unselfish, 
 superb devotion of which we have heard that he 
 is cai)able, be sheltering a friend by his silence ; 
 but I know he is not the murderer. 
 
 *' Circumstances are the veriest liars, but the 
 soul writes in unmistakable characters upon the 
 faces of men. Can you look upon that face and 
 believe it to be the face of an assassin ? It is a 
 face sensitive to praise but fearless of assault. 
 I have watched it closely during this trial, .-.nd I 
 have seen tliat it was as trustiiig apd open, as free 
 
''IPSO JURE." 3C3 
 
 from revenge and murderous intent, as the face 
 of a little child. I beg of you for your own 
 sakes distrust circumstances. What assurance 
 have you that the child you love, the nursling 
 upon your wife's breast, the boy who looks at 
 you with clear, honest eyes, may not be choked 
 by circumstance for the sin committed by an- 
 other ? 
 
 " Can you convict this man — who braved dan- 
 ger, and captivity, and torture, and death to save 
 a little child — and feel that your conscience is 
 clear of crime ? When you kiss the smiling lips 
 of the little daughter who comes to meet you 
 when this trial is ended, will you not remember 
 the measure of reward you have meted here to a 
 child-saver ? 
 
 '' What news of good or evil will you tell your 
 wife ? Will you tell the brave deeds of this sol- 
 dier to the boy who laughs with joy as he shouts, 
 'Father'?" 
 
 From the first the advocate had the sympathy 
 of the audience. He had touched the hearts of 
 some of the jurors. But there were others in the 
 jury-box, professing Christians, ready to give the 
 lie to the promptings of humanity and the teach- 
 ing of Christ — men who would rigidly exact a 
 
3G4 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 "tooth for a tooth and an eye for an eye," and if 
 they were blinded by their own loss were ready 
 to clutch at the nearest and cry: *'This is he 
 that did it." 
 
 Another thing against the prisoner was the 
 after summing-up of the prosecution (the last 
 words of which I have already given). It was 
 deadly to the defence, for the merciful scruples 
 of the few were soon talked away. With the 
 ordinary juryman the last speaker has an im- 
 mense advantage ; and law, in thus shutting off 
 the defence, prearranges the conviction of the ac- 
 cused. 
 
 The judge was a hanging judge. His charge 
 was short and leaned, as far as a charge decently 
 could, toward conviction. He was anxious for 
 the jury to be instantly agreed. He was in haste 
 to go to his son''s wedding. 
 
 At four o'clock the jury retired. At five the 
 weak had succumbed. 
 
 The verdict was — Guilty ! 
 
 In his indecorous haste the judge was sparing 
 of words. He sentenced the prisoner ''to be 
 hanged by the neck until he was dead" on the 
 first Friday in the next month. 
 
CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 " "Woe unto us ! for the day goeth away, for the shadows of the evening 
 are stretched out, . . . and from the prophet even unto the priest every 
 one dealeth falsely. They have healed also the hurt of the daughter of my 
 people slightly, saying. Peace, peace, when there is no peace. ... for 1 
 have heard a voice as of a woman in travail, and the anguish as of her 
 that bringeth forth her first child, . . . saying, Woe is me now, for my 
 soul is wearied because of murderers." 
 
 IN April, at the time of the burial of the remains 
 found at Carr's Rock, Kate came with Rob- 
 ert Carisbrooke to ''The Cedars," where were 
 General Carson, the doctor, and Mrs. Carisbrooke. 
 The evening after the funeral Mrs. Carisbrooke 
 and Kate went to Philadelphia to see Steenie, who 
 was very ill. The mere mention of their arri- 
 val had such an effect upon the sensitive girl, 
 who seemed in the crisis of some strange ner- 
 vous malady, that the physicians insisted she 
 should not see these visitors ; they said it would 
 bring a fresh sense of her loss— a return of the 
 harrowing grief which was caused by the manner 
 of her sister's death. In fact, to avoid all such 
 meetings or memories they advised Steenie' s 
 
 865 
 
366 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 being taken abroad. Before Mrs. Carisbrooke 
 and Kate left for Cincinnati everything was ar- 
 ranged for Steenie's departure as soon as her 
 health sliould be re-established. Madame De- 
 tontville and "Mammy Sara" were to accom- 
 pany her. 
 
 The gentlemen at '' The Cedars " were engaged 
 in daily consultations with the attorneys for " the 
 Cartaret estate. ' ' 
 
 Unless Hartley relinquished the deed of trans- 
 fer which Kate had unwittingly signed he would 
 be the absolute owner of Rue's inheritance. This 
 fact, unwelcome to Doctor Carisbrooke and his 
 brother, was gall and w^ormwood to Carson. 
 Without any apparent reason for his suspicion 
 Carson constantly referred to Hartley as the 
 *' author of the accident at Carrs Rock." 
 
 The railroad officials were unable to explain 
 the breaking of the rail. Careful examination 
 proved that it was not defective — that the break 
 was recent. It was evident from the angle of 
 deflection and the jagged edges of the twisted 
 splint that it was broken either just before or 
 at the moment of the accident. Upon these ap- 
 parently insignificant facts Carson built his be- 
 lief, and, as we know, began an investigation, 
 
''IPSO JURE." 367 
 
 which was suddenly interrupted by ^' the Hart- 
 ley MURDER." 
 
 The announcement of this new crime in the 
 New York papers was the first intimation the 
 trustees of 'Uhe Cartaret estate" had of Hart- 
 ley's return from Europe. 
 
 The circumstances of the murder, as he under- 
 stood those circumstances, and the time and 
 place where the body was found, som.ewhat justi- 
 fied Carson's suspicion. This suspicion grew into 
 an article of belief with both Carson and Robert 
 Carisbrooke when the fact transpired that Hart- 
 ley had arrived in New York, via Liverpool 
 and Montreal, the week before that fatal ac- 
 cident. 
 
 But in no way could the proof of Hartley's 
 crime assist the innocent victim the law had con- 
 demned. If all Carson's beliefs had been proved 
 upon the trial, court and jury would have* re- 
 garded them as additional evidence of Bob's guilt. 
 It would but have strengthened the theory of the 
 prosecution as to ''revengeful motives." 
 
 In fruitless effort for Bob's pardon or a re- 
 prieve the days went on until the first Thursday 
 in July — the day before the one appointed for 
 the execution. 
 
368 THE 3I0DERN IIAGAR, 
 
 Kate was staying at Rosebank. 
 
 The doctor came up *'tlie liill " at noon with 
 letters from Carson, who wrote as if he were 
 liopeless of any happy turn in Bob's affairs un- 
 less that obstinate, self -selected victim of justice 
 could be persuaded to trust his friends with the 
 secret which it was evident he was keeping. 
 
 This was the news which the doctor read to 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke, Kate, and Molly on the shady 
 piazza, but which Molly scarcely heard, so ab- 
 sorbed was she in the large, straggling sentences 
 which covered the many sheets of her own pri- 
 vate despatch. 
 
 When the doctor had finished his reading he 
 asked : ^' Molly, does Carson say anything to you 
 of his belief as to who was the murderer of Cap- 
 tain Hartley ?' ' 
 
 ''Yes, papa." With a glance at Kate she 
 stopped. 
 
 Kate. "Your hesitation troubles me, Molly. 
 I trust the truth, whatever it is, may be told me. 
 Truth never hurts as deeply as concealment." 
 
 Molly. '' I do not doubt your courage or en- 
 durance. Cousin Kate, but these surmises of my 
 liusband — they are only surmises — might give 
 you needless pain." 
 
''IPSO jure:* 369 
 
 Kate. ^^Any pain which would prove to me 
 that poor Bob is guiltless I would welcome. I 
 have not forgotten how devoted he was to Rue — 
 to all the Leszinkskys. Please tell your news, 
 Molly." 
 
 Molly turned the loose leaves rather nervously 
 for so calm and self -poised a character, as Sie 
 answered: ''General Carson thinks that Oscar 
 killed Captain Hartley." 
 
 Kate. '' Oscar r' 
 
 Molly. ''Yes, Oscar. Two days before the 
 murder Bob was with my husband in New York. 
 Bob left there to join Oscar, who was waiting for 
 him near the station beyond Carr's Rock. They 
 had never found the O'Dowds, although they had 
 been constantly looking for their place in the 
 search Avhich they were making for Lucy before 
 Rue— died." 
 
 The look in Molly's face showed how this al- 
 lusion, this touch of a grievous wound, hurt, 
 but she steadily continued : 
 
 "General Carson is sure Bob met Oscar after 
 he left the inn ; Bob must have told Oscar 
 that Captain Hartley was there on his way to the 
 O'Dowd's. My husband says : ' Oscar is a fatal- 
 ist, and years ago he declared to me that if the 
 
3 :0 THE 3I0DERN HA GAR. 
 
 Lord ever delivered Captain Hartley into his 
 hands he would kill liim ! ' " 
 
 Kate. '^ What wrong had Captain Hartley 
 done him ? " 
 
 Molly. ^^I do not know, Cousin Kate, if you 
 ever heard that Lucy was Oscar's wife." 
 
 kate. **No, I never knew — " She stopped 
 abruptly. 
 
 There was a short silence. In a glance of ap- 
 peal Molly begged her father to tell the story ; 
 a negative gesture compelled her to continue : 
 
 ^'My husband says further: 'Oscar always 
 believed a time of payment — a time when re- 
 venge should be a duty — would come, and the 
 debt has steadily increased.' Oscar knew of 
 Lucy's later wrong when she was separated 
 from her child and sold as a slave." 
 
 The change in Kate's face, its deadly pallor, 
 hushed Molly's reluctant words, until Kate 
 asked : 
 
 ' ' Go on, please, Molly. I must hear all. No 
 one can shield me from this sorrow or help me 
 bear it. Even here in this world ' our sins find 
 us out.' " 
 
 As she was speaking Kate's hands were held 
 out in entreaty. She knew she would be struck, 
 
''IPSO jure: 371 
 
 be punished, by the words which were coming ; 
 but they could not wound her more severely 
 than did the thought of her share in the sin 
 which was bearing such bitter fruit. 
 
 Kate' s appeal forced a continuation of Molly' s 
 readings from Carson's letter and of Molly's ex- 
 planation of the text : *' Oscar's devotion to his 
 master and to his master's child was absolute ; 
 so there were later and almost stronger reasons for 
 his hate than his own wrongs or Lucy's." Molly 
 turned, tbe pages to make them tell the story. 
 *^My husband says further 'that although there 
 is no tangible proof which the law would accept 
 or admit as evidence,' he believes and Bob and 
 Oscar believe that, either personally or by pro- 
 curement. Captain Hartley caused the accident 
 at Carr's Rock." 
 
 " For what reason ? " cried Kate. The plead- 
 ing hands were held above a bowed head. The 
 meek expression of surrender and acceptance of 
 the inevitable which was expressed in Kate's 
 attitude touched Molly so deeply that speech 
 failed her. Again the whispered question came : 
 
 "For what reason— for wdiat reason? O Dr. 
 Carisbrooke ! will you not tell me ? " 
 
 Dr. CarishrooJie. "Remember it is not proved. 
 
372 TKE MODERN EAGAR. 
 
 It only seems proved to those whose prejudices 
 may blind their judgment." 
 
 Kate. "O Dr. Carisbrooke ! what reason could 
 there be ? Why does General Carson think this ? " 
 
 Dr. Carisbrooke. " Past crimes point to a new 
 one when there is motive for crime. Rue dead, 
 Captain Hartley would succeed to the inheritance 
 he secured in j^our deed of transfer." 
 
 Kate was on her feet, staggering under this last 
 blow like some one suddenly struck blind. They 
 all gathered about her. Sure of being under- 
 stood by the young mother, she threw her arms 
 around Molly, gasping brokenly : ''0 my baby ! 
 my baby I He Avas your father ! " 
 
 A servant came hastily to the steps of the 
 piazza: "Doctor, a woman is lying dead under 
 a tree in the orchard near the cottage." 
 
 At Mrs. Carisbrooke' s quick cry, "It is Lucy ! 
 I know it is Lucy ! " Kate glided from Molly's 
 encircling arms and was gone. They quickly 
 followed the lead of the slender feet which were 
 running in the way of repentance and of mercy. 
 When the Carisbrookes reached the cottage Kate 
 was sitting under the tree that shaded the door- 
 step, holding in her arms the shrunken, w^asted 
 form of the death- stricken woman. 
 
''IPSO JURE." 373 
 
 She was not dead, but she was dying, this 
 poor, storm- tossed Hagar. 
 
 The pallid face was resting upon Kate's breast. 
 There was a half- frightened yet strange look of 
 happiness in the beautiful brown eyes which 
 were watching the tears that gathered and fell 
 from the long, dark lashes of the starry eyes 
 which shone with tender light upon her. 
 
 Dr. Carisbrooke took tlie little, withered hand 
 and counted the pulse-beats. Then he gave low- 
 spoken directions to his wife and Molly, and soon 
 the cottage was open and ready for the tenant 
 who was to make but short stay there before 
 she started on her last lonely journey. 
 
 While the hurried preparation at the cottage 
 was being made the doctor went to his office for 
 needed restoratives. 
 
 During the brief space of his absence Kate was 
 alone with Lucy. Only Lucy heard Kate's con- 
 fession of wrong and her prayer for forgiveness. 
 The words spoken were few and simple, but they 
 were levers that lifted a heavy weight from two 
 suffering souls. When all was ready Kate car- 
 ried Lucy into the cottage ; then, kissing the pale 
 lips of the fainting '' Hagar," she was gone. All 
 that long, hot afternoon the doctor was busy 
 
3 74 THE MODERN HA OAR. 
 
 with the patient, whose strength was going in 
 constant effort at speech. At last he caught the 
 meaning of the broken sentences, and his ques- 
 tions were answered in intelligible but mono- 
 syllabic replies. Giving Lucy a stimulant to sus- 
 tain her during the fast-going hours, which must 
 now be hoarded to save the innocent, the doctor 
 sent in haste for Horry, who lived near by, for a 
 magistrate, and for Grandison. 
 
 Lucy was so near death that the questioning 
 was brief ; but it was evident to all the assistants 
 that she had a perfectly clear and sane recollec- 
 tion of the events which had occurred since she 
 left Rosebank in February ; she had a rational 
 memory of her delusions, while thoroughly re- 
 cognizing them as the delusions of her insane 
 moments. It was as if one were telling the 
 feverish dreams which had filled the hours of a 
 broken and troubled sleep. 
 
 This is the history of her wanderings, as de- 
 veloi^ed in the questions and answers of that 
 dying declaration : 
 
 When Lucy left E-osebank she liad gone to the 
 O'Dowds'. The change and the journey quieted 
 her and brought her out of the mist of her dis- 
 tempered fancies. There was trouble and illness 
 
''IPSO jure:' 375 
 
 at the O'Dowds', and in care for the sick Lucy 
 forgot herself. Two of Mary 0' Dowd' s children 
 were ill with the small-pox in Philadelphia at the 
 house of a married sister. The youngest son had 
 come to the cabin in the hills for his mother. 
 He was taken with small-pox the night of his 
 arrival. Before he recovered his mother caught 
 the infection. The boy was soon well and had 
 gone back to Philadelphia, and his mother, who 
 was recovering rapidly, was to leave Lucy to 
 care for the house while she visited her chil- 
 dren. The night before Mary O'Bowd's depar- 
 ture Lucy heard some one moaning at the door. 
 Worn out wdth the long nursing and frightened 
 with the sudden aw^akening, a new delusion took 
 possession of Lucy. She thought she heard 
 Mai's voice calling in the distance, "Mother! 
 mother ! " When she opened the door a woman 
 was lying on the steps. 
 
 What followed I will give in the words in 
 which Dr. Carisbrooke told the story to his wife : 
 
 " Lucy is perfectly sane. It is the final quick- 
 ening of the intelligence which nearly always 
 precedes the death of a person who has been par- 
 tially insane. I tell you this to prepare you for 
 a startling revelation. The woman on the door- 
 
376 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 steps—'' His wife interrupted : " O Carisbrooke, 
 it was Rue ! Rue is living — Rue ! I see tlie an- 
 swer in your eyes." 
 
 "Virginia, I am half afraid of your sanity. 
 Your reconstruction of dead ancestors and your 
 gift of prophecy, your divination of mysteries, 
 is likely to twist your remarkably fine under- 
 standing into a fatal snarl." 
 
 '^But it was Rue, Carisbrooke?" 
 
 ''Yes, it was Rue." 
 
 "Where is she now, Carisbrooke? Not at 
 the O'Dowds', or they would liave found her at 
 the time Hartley was murdered. Carson w^ould 
 surely have found her. Where is she ? ' ' 
 
 " Just there, Virginia, is the puzzle. Here is 
 something Lucy gave me. It is a visible proof 
 of Rue's existence, for Lucy took it from Rue 
 when she undressed her." 
 
 He put in his wife's hand a brooch of chased 
 gold. It was one they both knew. Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke touched a spring. Looking upon the 
 painted miniature of Stanislaus Leszinksky, she 
 said : 
 
 " Cannot Lucy tell where Rue is ? " 
 
 "No. Lucy's delusion was t\\^t Mai hrougJit 
 Hue to the cabin to save her from a threatening 
 
''IPSO jure:' 377 
 
 danger. Either something she had heard or else 
 a clairvoyant sense of Hartley's purpose pointed 
 out the one to be feared, 
 
 ''Rue was in a state of half -consciousness. 
 Lucy says she had a cut on the temple and 
 another on the back of her head. There must 
 have been some injury — probably concussion of 
 the brain. 
 
 *' Mary O'Dowd had gone to Philadelphia with- 
 out knowing who was the stranger that Lucy had 
 taken in. Rue had been three weeks at the cabin 
 in a half -dazed, semi-conscious condition, when 
 one night she became feverish and restless. I 
 think it possible she was taking the small-pox. 
 At daylight she grew more composed and quiet. 
 Lucy had gone to an inner room ; she had not 
 been long asleep when she was aroused by the 
 sound of the opening of the outer door. She 
 got up instantly. She said she could not under- 
 stand what prompted her, but tiiat as she passed 
 the table she caught up a pistol she had taken 
 from Rue's pocket. AYhen she pushed back the 
 door leading to Rue's room she saw Hartley 
 standing by the bed, looking at the sleeping girl. 
 She says the look in his face made her kill him." 
 
 ''Lucy killed him!" 
 
378 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 " Yes, she shot him — lulled him with the pis- 
 tol Stanislaus Leszinksky gave Margaret before 
 Rue was born. Rue always carried it. It was 
 found on Bob when he was arrested ; it was a 
 strong point in the evidence." 
 
 **But Bob — where did he get it? O Caris- 
 brooke ! what a murderous look must have been 
 in that man' s face when so gentle a creature as 
 Lucy — I cannot yet believe Lucy killed him ! " 
 
 "She says when he fell— you know it was 
 proved that he must have been killed instantly — 
 she threw the pistol at him and fled. When 
 she turned toward the wood she looked back 
 and two men were running up the steps." 
 
 "Bob and Oscar ?'^ 
 
 " Yes, Lucy was sure it was Oscar." 
 
 *' But Rue — where is Rue ?" 
 
 " Where Oscar and Bob must have taken her. 
 Evidently Bob thought that Rue killed Hartley. 
 This confession of Lucy' s will save Bob. Horry 
 and Grandison have gone to telegraph Carson, 
 the governor, and Bob's counsel. The magis- 
 trate' s notes will be sent on by mail. Bob will 
 be saved. But I must start in the morning, Vir- 
 ginia ; Rue may be ill. I am troubled about 
 Rue." 
 
^' IPSO jure:' 379 
 
 " May I go with you, Carisbrooke ? " 
 ''I wish you could. But Molly ? We cannot 
 both leave Molly alone with all the care Lucy's 
 death will bring. Besides, there is Kate.'' 
 
 ''Kate will insist upon going with you. No- 
 thing could keep her from Rue. I must go at 
 once and tell Kate." 
 
 Mrs. Carisbrooke failed to find Kate ; but 
 coming from her room, she met Molly and her 
 father. Molly's tearful face said that Lucy was 
 dead before the words were spoken. Mrs. Caris- 
 brooke asked : 
 
 "' At the very last did she speak of Mai V 
 " No, mamma. When papa let me go to her 
 she knew me, but she did not speak. I took her 
 hand and she held me close— close ! She was so 
 still I thought she was sleeping. Suddenly she 
 threw up her hands and called, ' Oscar ! '—only 
 once, and it was over. It was her last breath, 
 her last cry." Doctor Carisbrooke said softly: 
 "It was the cry of conscience. The ties of the 
 flesh are not so strong as the law of the spirit. 
 Affection may die, but conscience is immortal." 
 
 After leaving the cottage Kate went to her 
 room. But a longing she could not resist mas^ 
 
380 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 tered her. She left the house, and once again 
 she walked through the shady lane into the 
 wood-path under the trees where she had first 
 walked with Leszinksky. She heard these words 
 echo out of the past : 
 
 ^^ The lane is cool and shady ; will you come 1 " 
 
 There was a ghostly rhythm of steps in the 
 leafy path, and the distant sound of a shot hard- 
 followed by the cry of a wounded bird. 
 
 "See how it bleeds! poor little thing. Will 
 it die?" 
 
 "It is dying now." 
 
 Question and answer can>e out of the far-away 
 years ! There were other words : 
 
 "But now you are sorry. To-day, when you 
 found what injustice Lucy had suffered, you for- 
 gave her for pity's sake." 
 
 Kate leaned on the gnarled roots of the tree 
 where the robin was buried, repeating uncon- 
 sciously the words, "for pity's sake." 
 
 The westering sun sent waves of light beneath 
 the branches. Her own shadow fell across the 
 path where Leszinksky had stood. The shadow 
 seemed the ghost of the past. To that past 
 she cried : 
 
 "For pity's sake Lucy has forgiven me. It 
 
''IPSO JURE." 381 
 
 was I wlio was in the wrong. She was the vic- 
 tim of caste, of sex, of the world's unjust divi- 
 sion of responsibility. Through love she was 
 obedient to evil. Man did not pity her; he 
 dragged her into a sin which lias limitless conse- 
 quences ! But God pitied her. He gave her a 
 child and touched her with the divine spirit of 
 motherhood, which has cleansed her of sin; 
 while 1—0 my Father! thou hast dealt justly 
 with me. Thou hast taken into thy care the 
 childVhich was lying on my heart when I was 
 hard and cruel to a suffering mother. I would 
 not forgive her when pride, not love, was wound- 
 ed ; but ' for pity's sake' she has forgiven me." 
 
 In the cool, dewy twilight a sad woman walked 
 alone under overarching trees. The silence was 
 unbroken. The i-egular rhythm of steps that fell 
 together was lost for ever from the leafy lane. 
 
CHAPTER XLYI. 
 
 " Ah, God! that ghastly gibbet: 
 How dismal 'tis to see 
 The great, tall, spectral skeleton, 
 The ladder, and the tree ' 
 
 ** He would not deign them word nor sign, 
 But alone he bent the kueo 
 And veiled his lace, for Christ's dear grace, 
 Beneath the gallows-tree. 
 
 " There was another heavy sound, 
 A hush, and then a groan ; 
 And darkness swept across the sky — 
 The work of death was done ! " 
 
 SENTENCED by a hanging judge! Bob's 
 friends made vain appeal to a hanging 
 governor. The answer was ready : 
 " The majesty of the law must be respected." 
 An ofifering of blood must be poured u^^on the 
 altar of justice. The sculptor " builded better 
 than he knew" when he bandaged the eyes of 
 the statue he brought out of stone. 
 
 Night and day, during that month between the 
 day of sentence and the day appointed for its ex- 
 ecution, Carson and the counsel for the defence 
 
"IPSO JURE." 383 
 
 wearied the authorities with their continual com- 
 ing. Three of the jurymen signed the petition 
 for the commutation of sentence. The prosecut- 
 ing attorney promised to sign it if they could 
 get the signature of the judge. The judge was 
 deaf to the plea for mercy ! 
 
 The governor's reason for refusal, as given to 
 Carson, was the stale but plausible answer which 
 lias fed the gallows for centuries : "He could not 
 conscientiously interfere with the course of jus- 
 tice." The unspoken reason was, public senti- 
 ment called for the execution of the criminal, 
 and his excellency could not go against public 
 sentiment, for the fall elections were near at 
 hand. 
 
 As Pilate listened to the cry, ''Release unto 
 us Barabbas," so the governor pardoned the 
 corrupt leader of a corrupt "ring" which had 
 plundered the pul)lic treasury for years, while 
 he washed his hands of the blood of the soldier 
 who had followed his country's Hag through the 
 fiery storm of a hundred battles. 
 
 Night and day during this waiting time Pike 
 was Bob's support and stay. The "crippled 
 preacher to the Indians" had won the hearts of 
 the little community of the county town. He 
 
384 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 had found a home near the jail, and the keep- 
 er of the jail, who was a humane and kindly- 
 man, gave him free access to his old comrade. 
 
 When the jail doors opened in the morning 
 Pike was always there waiting admittance. The 
 turnkey and the prisoners in the cells could hear 
 the simple, cordial salutation, always the same, 
 always direct from the heart. 
 
 " How-dy, Bob? Our Father's brung us safe 
 to the light of another mornin', my frien'. He'll 
 bring us safe up yonder to the Great Light at 
 las'. Let's beg his marcy in the words he's Tarnt 
 us." 
 
 Then the jailer at the door and the listening 
 prisoners could hear that sublimely simi)le pray- 
 er Jesus of Nazareth taught his disciples. 
 
 From the first day of Pike's coming until the 
 last, when the voice of a strong man in agony for 
 his friend who was about to die reached them, 
 not a sound of mockery, not a ribald word ever 
 disturbed the Christian who was about the work 
 his Master had set him to do. Tlie missionary of 
 the woods unconsciously carried the message of 
 his Father and theirs to the criminals in the 
 jail. 
 
 During tlie hours when Bob left his cell for a 
 
''IPSO jure:' 385 
 
 walk in the jail-yard Pike was with him. The 
 crutches wore little paths across the stones. 
 
 During these walks Bob resumed his old habit 
 of monologue. He would talk of everything in 
 the past except of what had occurred in those two 
 days between the time of his leaving New York 
 and the time of his arrest. No question or en- 
 treaty of Pike or of General Carson brought any 
 answer except the self-criminating one : 
 
 ^'How or whar that man died don't make no 
 differ' nee. Whosomedever put him outen this 
 world did the folks lef in it a sarvice. He de- 
 sarved more'n he got. If I could b'lieve in hell 
 I'd tell you for sho' he's a citizen of that climate. 
 Anyhow, he's dead and I ain't sorry." 
 
 Oscar's absence when Carson expected him to 
 come with news of Lucy sometimes made Carson 
 think that Oscar had committed the murder, and 
 that Bob was waiting for Oscar to have a safe 
 start in the race with Justice. A discreet ques- 
 tion, and a hint that he ^'thought Oscar had been 
 gone long enough to get to the Seminole settle- 
 ment in Mexico, where he was sure to find friends 
 and shelter," brought an unexpected answer: 
 
 *'I can't tell you, general, that I didn't kill 
 Captain Hartley, and I won't, but I'm free to say 
 
386 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 Oscar had no hand in it. He didn't even see it 
 done. If Oscar ever gets in trouble 'bout this 
 I'll thank you kindly, sir, if you'll say my las' 
 words cl'ared him. I know you'll see him outen 
 it. fur you're a-tryiii' your best to help me, and 
 I can't and won't say I didn't do it." 
 
 Then the advocate, sure of his theory of Bob's 
 sacrifice of himself, came. It was after they had 
 failed to persuade the governor to commute the 
 sentence. At his request he saw Bob alone. He 
 came straight to the point : 
 
 '' You did not kill Captain Hartley. I am sure 
 you did not kill him, but you are willing to die 
 in the place of the person who did." 
 
 Unhappily, the last sentence confirmed Bob in 
 his belief that his death would insure Rue's 
 safety by putting her out of the law's reach. 
 Convinced of that, he did not listen understand- 
 ingly to the words which followed. 
 
 The advocate waited for an answer, but Bob 
 took refuge in silence. It was his only possible 
 defence against the trained intelligence which he 
 feared would force him into betrayal of the truth. 
 
 *'If you would trust me I could save you. 
 The governor asked me it' I would pledge my 
 honor that from what you have told me as your 
 
" IPSO JURE." 387 
 
 counsel I was sure of your innocence. I could 
 not, for you have told me nothing. I beg of you 
 to tell me now. Your secret will be safe with 
 me, but then I can give the governor my word 
 and he will grant a reprieve. Time is what we 
 want, for time unravels all mysteries." 
 
 Again the last sentence was fatal. Bob's most 
 intense wish now was that the end should come. 
 He counted the few days left and was sorry there 
 was almost a w^eek to wait. There was no con- 
 solation to him but a terrible threat in the 
 words, ''Time unravels all mysteries." Why 
 did they not leave him in peace ? was his thought ; 
 why were General Carson and Pike helping to 
 snare him into a confession that would put the 
 child of the friends they had all loved so dearly 
 in his place ? 
 
 The advocate left the condemned man to his 
 obstinate silence. But the experienced lawyer 
 was but the more firmly convinced that Bob was 
 not the murderer. 
 
 The evening before the day appointed for the 
 execution-Bob and Pike were left alone together. 
 The conversation of the two friends was unre- 
 strained, and Pike made a la.st appeal for his 
 friend's confidence. 
 
388 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 ''Thar ain't no use, Pike, of askin' me. I 
 can't tell and I won't. You know thai' s a mighty- 
 strong reason fur what Fma-doin'. I ain't no- 
 ways 'feard o' dyin'. I ain't never sliirked no 
 place whar I was a-riskin' it. But I'm free to 
 say hangin' goes agin' the grain. If ' twas a rifle- 
 ball comin' straiglit through my heart in the 
 mornin' I'd take it and say, Thankee. I could 
 look down the bar'l and see the way a soldier 
 mought die. You know I wouldn' t flinch. And 
 I ain't a-goin' to flinch anyway ; but it's a dog's 
 death, Pike— yes, it's a dog's death ! Stranglin' 
 a man and a-hangin' him up for a sign of what 
 human natur' can do fur a brother ! — a-showin' 
 God-a-Mighty that a jury-box and a judge's 
 bench is high 'nough fur men to staiid on and 
 reach up and take His pass-keys fur to send his 
 critters into Kingdom-come 'thout any leave o' 
 his'n." 
 
 "But can't you furgiv' 'em, Bob? Jesus 
 Christ furgiv' 'em when he was a-hangin' on the 
 tree fur no sin, but o'ny to save sinners." 
 
 " Well, ain't I a-savin'— " Bob had commenced 
 with an impetuous outburst, then he suddenly 
 stopped. Pike caught his friend and hugged 
 him close to his heart. 
 
''IPSO JURE." 389 
 
 *^Bob," he said softly — '^Bob, my frien', you 
 didn't kill that man, Bob. I sees the truth at 
 las'! I has been sore afeard fur you, Bob. I 
 has wrastled with God's angel fur this, like Ja- 
 cob of old. Night and day, Bob, night and day 
 I has begged the blessin' from our Father, and 
 now I got it. You didn't kill him, Bob ! — no, my 
 frien', you didn't kill him ! Bob, Bob ! our Fa- 
 ther in heaven ' is a very present help in time o' 
 trouble.' " 
 
 Pike dropped his head on Bob's shoulder and 
 wept like a child. 
 
 The jailer came to tell Pike it was time for 
 him to go. As he entered he heard the voice of 
 prayer. Softly closing the door, he w^ent away. 
 He could not find it in his heart to banish the 
 friend and minister of the man who was so soon 
 to die. 
 
 All night Pike w^as left with his friend. Part 
 of the time Bob slept. Pike unwearily kept his 
 vigil of praj^er for his friend's salvation. The 
 bitterness of his own grief had been lost in the 
 knowledge of Bob's innocence of the crime for 
 which he was to suffer. There was something of 
 the triumphant and thanksgiving strain of the 
 Psalmist in the simple words with which Pike 
 
390 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 confessed his joy at this linal goodness of his 
 Heavenly Father. He could now see his friend 
 die, feeling assured that the Judge Eternal would 
 consider his guiltless suffering and receive his 
 soul in loving kindness and mercy. 
 
 At daylight Bob awakened to see Pike quietly 
 sitting beside him, looking at him with an ex- 
 pression of solemn joy in his clear, childlike eyes 
 of lieavenly blue. 
 
 *'Pike," said Bob, taking his friend's hand, 
 ^'thar's somethin' I want you to do — o'ny you 
 must promise me you won't tell it to nobody, not 
 the general or nobody. You'll jus' do it, first, 
 bekase I asks it of you ; and then — well, you'll 
 know arfter you promise." 
 
 *'Yes, Bob; you can trus' me. Bob. I'll do 
 what you wants, my frien' , jus' as you tells me 
 to do. Bob." 
 
 " Pike, you know that depot thar by the rail- 
 road at thar ? " 
 
 ''Yes, Bob ; the general and me come by thar 
 when he brought me here." 
 
 " Did you look at the hills 'bout thar, Pike ? " 
 
 " No, Bob, I can't say I did." 
 
 "Well, anyway, you'll find the place. You 
 ain't cl'ar furgot our trail-marks '{ " 
 
''IPSO jure:' 391 
 
 ''No, Bob. Tell me what natur' looks like in 
 rocks, and hills, and trees, and I'll find any- 
 place you wants me to go." 
 
 " Well, go over to the railroad thar by your- 
 self. Pike. Don't tell anybody ; don't take no- 
 body." 
 
 "^o, Bob; I won't." 
 
 '* Stan' over on the side of the depot away from 
 the river, with your back agin the door thar, and 
 over a little to your right above the ridge you'll 
 see a high hill which looks like that bald knob 
 with the Osage beacon on it over on the Kia- 
 meshia." 
 
 ''Yes, Bob. I 'member that knob ; I'll know 
 one like it." 
 
 " Git your barrin's fixed and then go 'round the 
 ridge to the left. You'll have a long walk. Pike, 
 but I know you'll try it. It's hard to ask o' you, 
 Pike, to go thar on crutches, but I must ; thar 
 ain't nobody but you I dar' trus'." 
 
 "I'll do it, Bob. Don't be oneasy, my frien'. 
 ril go an' I'll find it." 
 
 " Arfter you go 'round that road and cross the 
 ridge you mustn' t go down offen the ridge, but 
 turn up a sort o' cow-puth to the right along the 
 ridge till you see the p'int o' the knob. By that 
 
392 THE MODERN HAGAR. 
 
 time you'll see a big rock up thar, and three 
 little hemlocks agin it." 
 
 *' Yes, Bob ; up the ridge to the right till I see 
 the rock and the three hemlocks on the knob." 
 
 "Then, Pike, you must stop." 
 
 "Stop, Bob?" 
 
 " Yes ; stop and take off your hat, and wave it 
 'roun' your head so." Bob raised up and made 
 the salute. 
 
 " Yes, Bob ; it's a sign, may be ? " 
 
 " It's a sign. Walk on till you come to a big 
 flat rock in a straight line with the knob—thar's 
 laurel bushes all 'roun' it — then wave your hat 
 agin'." 
 
 "Yes, Bob." 
 
 " Then most-like somebody will wave from the 
 rock on. the knob ; if they do you wait till they 
 come down whar you are." 
 
 "And if they don't, BobT' 
 
 "Then you mus' wait thar, 'cause you can't 
 climb that hill ; and every hour while daylight 
 lasts wave agin. If by that time you ain't seen 
 nobody you must go agin four weeks from to-day. 
 It's kind o' quar, but it war fixed in the start fur 
 a Friday." 
 
 " Mus' I go to-day, Bob I " 
 
*' IPSO jure:' 393 
 
 "Yes, to-day. I know you won't leave me 
 till — till it's done ; but then, Pike, arfter I'm 
 gone you ain't got no time to waste bein' sorry." 
 
 ''No, Bob; I'll leave that up tkar with our 
 Father and go. You can trus' me." 
 
 ''Then, Pike, you mus' tell what's become o' 
 me." 
 
 " To the man I find thar ? " 
 
 " Yes, to him ; and tell him I said he can tell 
 you who's up in the hills." 
 
 " AYill he know me. Bob, and believe you sent 
 me when I ask, ' Who's up in the hills ' ? " 
 
 "Yes, he'll know. Then, if all's safe in the 
 hills, you get General Carson and go with the 
 man." 
 
 " Mus' I ask General Carson to wait here, Bob, 
 till I sees the man ?" 
 
 "Yes; when I'm — when I'm gone you may 
 tell him to wait. Ar' you sho' you'U know, 
 Pike, jus' whar to go ? " Pike rejDeated the di- 
 rections. After that he prayed ; then the jailer 
 came. 
 
 At the moment Bob was giving Pike these di- 
 rections Oscar was waiting on the lull. He had 
 been there twice before— on days appointed by 
 Bob if anything should keep him from coming to 
 
394 THE MODERN BAGAR. 
 
 the place of refuge to which Oscar liad taken 
 Kue. 
 
 From the dawning of day Oscar had vigilantly 
 watched valley and ridge. About seven o'clock 
 he saw a light buggy rapidly driven to the sta- 
 tion. There was an instant stir and movement 
 about the station. A man ran across a field and 
 returned hurriedly with another. Then a gentle- 
 man got out of the buggy and they all went into 
 the station. 
 
 ** That looked mighty like Marse Carson." 
 
 Oscar willed the glasses and watched closely. 
 He had seen the people about the station so often 
 he knew who belonged there. The train was 
 coming from New York and General Carson 
 came out of the door. Oscar could now see dis- 
 tinctly that it was General Carson. No one got 
 off the train. Oscar saw that, for Oscar was 
 holding General Carson was waiting for Bob. 
 The train moved on and Carson walked uj) and 
 down before the door. Oscar knew him so well 
 he could tell how impatient and nervous the 
 walker was. He would look at the sun and his 
 watch, stopping occasionally at the door as if to 
 question some one. 
 
 " I v/onder," thought Oscar, " if he's a-w^aitin' 
 
''IPSO JURE r 395 
 
 fur Marse Bob ? I'm mighty troubled bout 
 Marse Bob. He told me not to go 'way from 
 here, not to go lookin' fur him, if he didn't 
 come ; but it's quar Marse Carson's thar waitin', 
 too. I mus' see Marse Carson." 
 
 As if to make his decision irrevocable Oscar 
 walked rapidly down the hill. Then he ran 
 down the slope of the ridge and around to the 
 station. He touched Carson before Carson knew 
 him. 
 
 "Why, Oscar!" 
 
 Amazement and fear of some new trouble held 
 Carson as he looked at the thin, gaunt, raggedly - 
 clad figure and the careworn, anxious face of the 
 negro. 
 
 " Mornin', Marse Carson; howdy, sir? Fs 
 been mighty troubled and oneasy 'bout Marse 
 Bob, sir. I was up thar on the hill thar" — 
 pointing — " whar he told me to wait to-day fur 
 him. I've been thar twice befo', like he said, 
 but he didn't come ; and this mornin', when I 
 seed you here, sir, I had to come to ask you, sir, 
 if you know whar he is." 
 
 Carson was puzzled. News had come that 
 morning which made him hopeful of Bob's im- 
 mediate reprieve ; but to hear who had killed 
 
396 THE MODERN HAUAR. 
 
 Hartley would be a startling blow to Oscar. Dr. 
 Carisbrooke had telegraphed. That morning he 
 had received a despatch sent the night before. 
 Carson knew the lawyer who had defended Bob 
 had been telegraphed and was now in communi- 
 cation with the governor, who had also been tele- 
 grajilied from Cincinnati that the person who 
 committed the murder was there, and had in 
 confessing the crime completely exonerated Bob. 
 
 Oscar's sudden appearance and his ignorance 
 of Bob's danger upset the theory Carson had 
 built upon the telegrams he had received. In 
 the fewest words he told Oscar of Bob's trial, 
 conviction, and danger of execution if a reprieve 
 was not telegraphed in time to take it to the 
 county town before noon. 
 
 The sentence must be executed at twelve 
 o'clock. That was the last minute the sheriff 
 could wait ; he had promised to wait until then. 
 At first Oscar could not understand — could not 
 realize Bob's danger. Carson plainly restated 
 the brutal truth. Oscar fell at his feet and 
 caught Carson's knees, crying between choking 
 sobs : 
 
 " He didn't do it, Marse Carson. He didn't do 
 it! I know he didn't. Lord o' vengeance! 
 
'^IPSOJUREr 39? 
 
 you know he didn' t do it. /wanted to do it. but 
 Marse Bob wouldn't let me. I can't tell you all, 
 Marse Carson ; I can't tell you, but 'fore God lie 
 didn't do it, sir — 'fore God lie didn't ! " 
 
 "Yes, I know lie did not." Then Carson 
 stopped ; he could not give the suffering, loving 
 nature another and probably a harder blow. Os- 
 car was so crushed by grief that he asked no 
 questions. He had got one thought fixed in 
 heart and brain. He knew if a reprieve did not 
 come in time Bob must die. The negro crouched 
 upon the ground, his hands clenched behind his 
 head ; he was looking up with staring, bloodshot 
 eyes at the sun and the wires of the telegraph 
 line, as if they must speak. But the sun rolled 
 on his way and there was no message. 
 
 Ten o'clock ! Eleven o'clock ! The lazy cattle 
 were lying under the shade in the meadow. A 
 solitary bird was singing in the wood close by. 
 There was a busy insect hum under eveiy blade 
 of grass where Oscar was lying. The bird' s carol 
 and the steady humming seemed to beat in his 
 brain. 
 
 The index pointed at the half hour. Click ! 
 click ! a little metallic cry inside the window, 
 and Carson uttered a hurried exclamation. 
 
398 THE MODERN JJACiAB. 
 
 Oscar was on his feet, but he tremblingly stag- 
 gered to the door. 
 
 ^' Is it come, Marse Carson ? is it come ? " 
 
 '' The reprieve ? Yes, Oscar, yes ! " 
 
 Oh ! Avhat a joyful cry to Oscar was that 
 ^'yes." 
 
 *' Come, Oscar ; you shall drive me back. We 
 have the fastest horse in the county. You shall 
 save Bob, Oscar. Come !" 
 
 The negro no longer trembled ; the relaxed 
 nerves and muscles were restrung. Only the 
 pulses were throbbing with the new strength 
 that appeal had called into life. 
 
 They had started. 
 
 '^ How fur is it, Marse Carson ? " 
 
 The distance was told. The negi'o knew it 
 was a bare possibility to win in the race, 
 but his strength, experience, and training all 
 aided. 
 
 Nowhere could Carson have found a better 
 driver. Carefully, steadily, without fretting or 
 worrying him, the horse was kept at his best. 
 Not the smallest obstruction missed the driver's 
 eye ; never did the firm hand fail. There were 
 no words except an occasional telling from Car 
 son of time and the distance 3^et to make. The 
 
'* IPSO jure:' 399 
 
 white spire of the village church gleamed in the 
 sunshine. 
 
 There was a rough little bridge over a gully. 
 Oscar's hand was like iron- in its steady hold; 
 but the horse stumbled, and then, recovering, 
 went on. Slower — still slower. Whip and voice 
 urged him into broken spurts. 
 
 Carson looked at Oscar. The negro's face was 
 ashen with its wild look of fright. 
 
 '^ What is it, Oscar?" 
 
 ^'He can't do it, Marse Carson, but I mus'. 
 You know how I used to run. I'll do it now, 
 sir. Drive him a minute at his best, sir, while I 
 gits ready." 
 
 The jacket, shoes, and heavy flannel shirt were 
 thrown away. With his knife he cut his 
 breeches short to the knees. His suspenders 
 were slipped from his shoulders and strapped 
 about his waist. 
 
 ''Now I'm ready, Marse Carson. Giv' me the 
 paper, sir, then stop him a minute. Whar mus' 
 Igo withit?" 
 
 " Straight to the jail, over to the right of the 
 church-spire you see. Keep straight ahead till 
 you pass the church, then the first turn to the 
 right. You will see a crowd, I think. They wiU 
 
400 THE MODERN UAGAR. 
 
 all tell you where to go. Cry out, ' A pardon ! ' 
 Yes, say it is a pardon. Run, Oscar, run ; it's 
 Bob's last chance ! " 
 
 Carson reined uj) a mordent and Oscar was in 
 the road. Then he stood up and shouted a cheer 
 to the runner. Before he again whipped the 
 lame horse into a broken gallop Oscar had turned 
 a curve and was out of sight. 
 
 With his head erect and his arms close up the 
 negro sprang forward in his race with death. 
 As he reached the outskirts of the village the 
 court-house clock sounded its slow pulsation of 
 time. Each stroke was a lash to the runner. 
 People saw him coming and shouted. They 
 knew no man could run like that unless it was 
 to save life. They moved out of the way to let 
 him pass, and then followed fast in his steps. 
 The crowd at the jail saw him and a cry went 
 up: 
 
 " Cut him down ! A reprieve I Cut him 
 down! " 
 
 Oscar was deaf to all sound, except the tumult 
 which was beating in his brain and the whirling 
 of mighty winds which seemed to ring in his 
 ears. He knew he had been told to cry aloud. 
 But with the first effort at speech there was only 
 
''IPSO jure:' 401 
 
 a hoarse moan, and then a shriller cry — such a 
 cry as the mountain pine sends to its fellows 
 when the storm is pulling its roots from their 
 place of vantage. At last his voice came and 
 framed words : 
 
 ''A pardon! a pardon! Yous free, Marse 
 Bob! you's free !" 
 
 Eight and left they parted to let him through. 
 He saw the scaffold and men cro wading about it. 
 
 Only a piece of rope was hanging from the 
 ghastly gibbet. 
 
 ^'A pardon! You's free, Marse Bob! Os- 
 car's here, Marse Bob ! You's free — free ! 
 Lord o' Tengeance! What ! " 
 
 He stumbled blindly forw^ard ; the blood 
 gushed in a bright red torrent from his mouth. 
 As some one took the paper from the out- 
 stretched hand he fell at the foot of the gallows 
 — across the lifeless body of the man they had 
 cut down as the people shouted, '' A reprieve ! " 
 
 Two of the faithfullest hearts that have beat in 
 the century were still. The awe-struck crowd 
 parted to let the crippled preacher reach the 
 dead. Pike knelt beside the man law had mur- 
 dered and the man God had in very truth "set 
 free." The scarred face of the cripple was lifted 
 
402 THE MODERN HAOAR. 
 
 heavenward, but the pale, quivering lips were 
 dumb. The heart of the child-like Christian was 
 crushed by the crime of the nineteenth century. 
 The burning sun seemed an angry flame which 
 threatened the earth. The shadow of the gibbet 
 hid from him the face of the Father. 
 
 A caged bird in the jail -window began singing 
 in low, broken runs, and then thrilled the hot, 
 slumbrous air with a burst of melody. The 
 crowd stirred uneasily ; the dumb lips were un- 
 closed : "Father, forgive them; they know not 
 what they do." 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wilmer 
 220