"It was nearly eleven o'clock, and I was wellnigh crazy with excitement and nervousness, fearing that I had made some mistake, and they could say I shirked the meeting. But just about eleven a man came in, who looked closely at me, said 'Captain Amory?' and handed me a note. There's the note, Mr. Brandon; read it."
Read it I did. It was as follows:
"Lieutenant F. Amory, U.S.A.:
"Sir, – In some way for which we find it impossible to account, the authorities have got wind of our affair, and threatened me with arrest; but I learn from a friend that you are at the Cosmopolitan unattended. The gentlemen who were present at the time of your outrageous affront this afternoon were total strangers to me, with one exception, but I cannot believe that they have betrayed me to the police.
"As an officer you must be aware that there can be only one reparation for a blow, and, if a gentleman, you cannot refuse it. You said you would meet me any time and any place, and I hold you to your word. I demand instant satisfaction, before the police can interfere, and there is one place where, if alone, we can be sure of quiet. That is a shooting- and fencing-gallery on the shell road, where there is a room where gentlemen can settle such affairs with swords, and where every attention is paid and inviolable secrecy observed.
"Leaving my friend here with the policeman who is watching our rooms, I shall slip out by the back way and go out on horseback. If you are a man of honor you will follow. Keep on out Canal Street to the end, cross the canal on the bridge, and then turn to the south. I will watch for your horse and conduct you to the spot. The bearer of this will bring a verbal answer, all that is necessary. Reminding you once more of the outrage you have committed upon a gentleman, and of your promise to render full satisfaction at such time and place as I should demand, I am, with due respect,
"Yours, etc.,
"Edward Harrod Peyton."
I read it through twice before speaking, Amory narrowly watching my face.
"And do you mean to tell me, Frank Amory, that you could be led into a snare by such a transparent piece of rascality as that?" I asked at last.
"How should I know?" said Amory, flushing. "The letter reads straight enough. The barbers or somebody might have told the police, and I knew only that Mr. Peyton was a relative of gentlemen and supposed him to be a gentleman. Of course I went."
"All the young scoundrel wanted was to get you there alone and unarmed, and then turn you over to that great bully he had for a terrible beating. He would never dare fight you fairly. This thing is a fraud on its face; no Southern gentleman would ask such a thing of a stranger as a midnight meeting without seconds in an unknown spot. Why, Amory, it is absurd, and as I tell you, and as their talk proved, he only wanted to lure you there and see you brutally pounded and mutilated. The scoundrel knew he must leave town at once, and, hating you, he wanted this low revenge first."
"Why should he hate me?" asked Amory.
"Because of your fight with those villains of Hank Smith's last December, for one thing. He was hand in glove with them all. Because of – well, another reason occurs to me that need not be spoken of just now. I ought not to let you talk so much as it is. Tell me one thing, however. You are anxious to go North, the doctor says. Can I serve you in any way?"
Amory hesitated. "Mother is very anxious that I should come, if possible," he faltered; "and she is right. There – there are reasons why I ought to go and settle a matter that has given me much distress. I told her of it, and she writes that only one course is open to me." And the deep dejection and trouble in his face upset me completely.
"Youngster," said I, impulsively. "Forgive me if I appear to intrude in your affairs, but you have become very near to me, if you know what I mean, in the last few months. We have learned to regard you as something more than a friend, the Summers' and I, and lately it seems to me that an inkling of your trouble has been made known to me (who would have said, 'I have been prying into your affairs?') – and – Frank, don't worry if it is about Bella Grayson. She is my own niece, – you may not know, – and I had a letter from her the other day."
Amory almost started up in bed (capital nurse Mr. G. S. Brandon would make for a fever patient ordinarily, you are probably thinking), but though his eyes were full of eager inquiry and astonishment, he choked back the question that seemed to rise to his lips and simply stared at me, then with flushing cheeks turned quickly away.
"I cannot explain just now; try and be content with what I tell you for a day or two," I went on. "You can hear more when you are better. One thing I want to ask you for the benefit of the detectives who are looking for Peyton. How do you suppose you were so fortunate as to escape missing him and the other blackguard? We found them just below the bridge to the right."
"I don't know," was the weary reply. "Things were all in a whirl after I got that note. I remember telling that fellow to say that I would be there without fail. Then it took some time to hurry up here and get my horse, and to write a line to mother; then I did not go straight out Canal Street. There were one or two things that had to be done; but I rode like the devil to get there, and there wasn't a soul that I could see anywhere around the far end of the bridge."
"But didn't you go down towards the lake, – to the right hand, I mean?"
"To the right? No, of course not," said Amory. "He said to the south; look at the note again and you'll find it; and I had that little compass there on my watch-chain. South was to the left, man, and, – why, it seems to me I rode all night; found myself in town and rode back to the swamps; then gave it up and came home somehow; I don't know. It was all a blur."
Then, fortunately, the doctor came back, and, with one glance at Amory's face, motioned to me that enough or more than enough had been said. I bent over Amory and said, with the best intentions in the world of being reassuring, "Remember, do not fret about going North or about anything else of that kind; that is coming out all right." And with the profound conviction that it was coming out all right through his ministration, the recorder of this curious tangle took his leave.
CHAPTER XV
Two days elapsed and Frank Amory failed to get better with the rapidity so slight an attack of fever should have permitted; and when it is considered that my language had been, or ought to have been, very reassuring as regarded his other troubles, there seemed to me small warrant for the doctor's ascribing his slow rally to mental perturbations. It was beginning to dawn upon me that the doctor looked upon me as something of a sick-room nuisance ever since my interview with his patient about Peyton, and that only his politeness prevented his saying that that interview had been a decided set-back. At all events, two days passed without my again seeing Mars. He was sleeping when I called, or had had a restless night, and was not to be disturbed. Yet Parker saw him twice, and brought favorable accounts; he seemed to have the luck of getting around at times when Amory was awake, and, being a cavalryman himself, the aide-de-camp had taken charge of the troop and was able to bear Amory daily bulletins of its well-doing. Vinton was rapidly improving and able to sit up a few moments each day. Pauline was radiant with hope and love; and Kitty – whom I had not seen for nearly two days, when we met again at Moreau's – Kitty once more looked pale, anxious, and wistful; I saw it the instant her eyes met mine.
Harrod told me that he had seen fit to say nothing to her of Peyton's latest escapade. It would not help matters at all and could only cause her distress. Pauline had been told in confidence, and he himself had written full particulars to the judge. The police had made no arrests or discoveries; but twice I had received visits from members of the detective force asking for further description of the burly man who was with Peyton the night of the chase. The younger man, they seemed to think, had got away to Texas, but for some reason they seemed hopeful of catching the other party, who was apparently "wanted" for something for which he could properly be held.
It was two nights after the theatre party, and once again we were dining at Moreau's; this time reinforced by Pauline and by Major Williams. It was a lovely evening in the early spring. Already the breezes from the South were freighted with the faint, sweet fragrance of the orange-blossoms; windows were thrown open, and four of us at least were placidly enjoying the spirited scene on the street below. Pauline and the major were in the midst of a pleasant chat; Harrod and I dreamily puffing at our cigars; and over on the sofa Kitty and her now absolutely enslaved Turpin were oblivious to all other objects. He, poor fellow, was bending towards her, his whole soul in his eyes, his whole heart on his lips; speaking in low tones, eagerly, impetuously. She, with feverish flush on her soft cheeks, her eyes veiled by their white lids and fringed with their sweeping lashes, was nervously toying with her gloves, yet listening, painfully listening. Harrod studied them an instant, then looked significantly at me.
"It is too bad," he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I suppose you see poor Turpin's woe?"
I nodded. It was hard for the boy, and Kitty was by no means blameless, but just now her conduct was the source of absolute comfort to me. In my fondness for Amory I was glad to see that now that it came to actual love-making, – now that Turpin was undoubtedly enmeshed and fluttering in her toils, the little coquette was distressed by his vehemence. She was thinking of another, and my hopes for my own young knight were high. There could be no doubt of the situation, for had we not gathered in honor of the major and his gallant young adjutant? Were we not there to break bread once more before parting, – to wish them bon voyage with our stirrup-cups? Their orders had come. Quiet restored to the Crescent City, Major Williams's little battalion was to return forthwith to their station in Kentucky. They were to start that night, and Turpin was facing his fate.
It was soon time to walk down "homeward," as we had learned to think of Newhall's rooms on Royal Street. Harrod and I led the way. Major Williams followed, escorting Pauline. Kitty and Turpin silently took their places in the rear, and before we had gone three squares they were out of sight behind. At the steps the major said his farewells, with many a hope that we might all meet again in our wanderings. "Say good-by to Miss Carrington for me," he added, with a smile half sad, half mischievous. "I fear poor Turpin leaves his heart here. Tell him for me to take his time; he won't be needed for an hour yet." And with a wave of his hand the soldierly fellow strode down the street.
Then, even as we stood there, Turpin and Kitty arrived. With her first glance at them Pauline's sympathetic heart seemed to realize the situation. She signalled to us to follow her, and entered at once. Unaccustomed as ever to the interpretation of feminine signals, I blunderingly stayed where I was, and Harrod hovered irresolutely in the doorway.
"Won't you come in?" we heard her say timidly, almost pleadingly, as she held out her little hand.
"No, thank you, not this time; I must catch Williams. Say good-by for me, please." He grasped her hand, and seemed to wring it hard an instant, then, pulling his cap down over his eyes, dashed away.
Kitty stood one moment looking sorrowfully after him, then slowly passed us, and went in without a word. She did not appear again that evening so long as I was there.
Early next morning a note reached me from Harrod. A telegram had just reached him from Sandbrook. "Father says he will be here to-morrow. Mrs. Amory – Frank's mother – coming on same train." And, leaving everything undone that I ought to have done at the office, I hastened up to Amory's lodgings to see what that might mean. He was sitting up, partially dressed, and would be glad to see me, said the orderly; and, stumbling up the stairs, I was shown to his room.
Very pale and rather thin looked our Mars, but his face was brighter and his eyes far clearer. He was far from strong, however, and apologized for not rising, as he held out his hand.
"Mother is coming," were almost his first words.
"So I heard. Judge Summers telegraphed Colonel Harrod that he would be here to-morrow, – at noon, I suppose, – and that Mrs. Amory was on the train. What a very pleasant surprise for all!"
"Yes. When she heard from me how ill Vinton was, and that I could not get away, the little mother must have made up her mind to come to me. It is a surprise, yet a very glad one. Where can we put her? This house is no place, and yet, it may be two or three days before I can get out, and I hate to have her alone at the St. Charles."
"Why not with the Summers' at Colonel Newhall's place? There are one or two rooms vacant, and the landlady seems very pleasant."
Mars flushed to the temples.
"I think not," he said, hesitatingly. "It – it's too far away. She would rather be up here with me, or near me. She wants so much to know Vinton, too, – has such an admiration for him; but she could not see him just now, I suppose. How is he to-day?"
"Very much better last night. So much so that Miss Summers went over and dined with us at Moreau's, – a little dinner to Major Williams and Turpin, you know," said I, soothingly, and with calm note of the twinge which seemed to shoot over Amory's features at the mention of the party. "They went back to Kentucky last night, I suppose you know," I added.
"They? No, I didn't!" said Mars, with sudden animation. "I wanted to see Turpin, too. He was here twice, but they said I wasn't well enough, or something, and he went away. Did he go back with the battalion?" he inquired, eagerly.
"Certainly. He came around to say good-by last evening."
Mars settled back in his chair with an expression of absolute relief.
Now, thought I, is the time to have a few words about Bella Grayson. It was just about time to look for the coming of her reply to my diplomatic letter, and very positively did I want to know just how matters stood between her and my cavalryman. Meddling old Polonius that I was, it seemed to me perfectly right and natural that Mars should reciprocate my warm interest in him, that he should want to tell me about Bella, and that the fact of my relationship to her should give me an added lustre in his eyes. This last, perhaps, was realized. He was more inclined to be very courteous and semi-confidential in his tone, yet he was not at ease.
It was at the tip of my tongue to make some genial, off-hand, matter-of-fact inquiry, such as "Heard from Bella, lately?" by way of putting him entirely out of all embarrassment, when, fortunately, the orderly entered, saying a gentleman asked to speak a moment with Mr. Brandon. Going out in some surprise to the landing, Mr. Brandon there encountered one of the detectives whom he had recently learned to know.
"Can you come down to the office, sir? We have one of your birds, if not both," was the extent of his communication. And dropping Amory; forgetting Bella; I went.
CHAPTER XVI
An hour later, both Harrod Summers and myself were curiously inspecting a pair of inebriated bipeds at the police station. Both were stolidly drunk, and were plunged in the heavy sleep that resulted from their excessive potations. One, the younger, was a tolerably well-dressed youth not absolutely unlike Peyton; but all the same a total stranger. Neither of us had ever seen him before. But his companion – was Hank Smith.
The two had been guilty of some drunken turbulence in a down-town saloon, said one of the police-officers, and had attracted the attention of the "force." In the course of a wordy altercation between them a detective had dropped in, and, after a few moments' apparently indifferent lounging and listening, had suddenly gone in search of a comrade, meantime bidding the officer keep his eye on them. They were still drinking and squabbling when the detective returned. Smith was demanding payment of money which the other protested he had never received, and it was not long before the lie was given and a scuffle ensued. This was sufficient to enable the officers to arrest them as drunk and disorderly, and then to notify us. That Peyton was in some way connected with the sudden appearance of Hank Smith in the Crescent City neither of us could doubt for a minute, as Peyton's name, with many blasphemous qualifications, had been frequently mentioned in their altercation. It would be some hours before they could be in condition to account for themselves and their motives; meantime the colonel and I were devoured with impatience and curiosity. The police supposed that they had the big ruffian of our night adventure in the person of Smith, but he was not the man. His presence only added to the mystery. For several weeks after his trial at Jackson he had disappeared from our view and we had heard nothing of his movements. Now, what could have brought him here, and what connection had his wanderings with Peyton's? I vainly puzzled over this problem while studying the flushed and sodden features of this arch-reprobate. Harrod went down home again to tell Vinton of the important capture. I had to go to the office at noon, but late in the day we were again at the station, and now, still bewildered and surly, but somewhat freshened by liberal applications of cold water from the pump, the ex-leader of the Tishomingo Ku-Klux was sitting up and chewing the cud of melancholy retrospect in place of the accustomed solace of "navy plug." Very ugly and ill at ease looked Hank as the colonel quietly accosted him. He knew us both at once and seemed not at all surprised at our presence.
Our only object in intruding upon his valuable time and his placid meditations being to find out what had become of Peyton, the question arose beforehand, who should question him? Supposing that he would be disposed to conceal everything he might know, we had been planning what course to pursue; but his first remark put an end to our uncertainty.
"I'm as well as a man can be who's just over a drunk and can't get a cocktail," he growled. "Have you come to pay me that money for Cap. Peyton?" And his bloodshot eyes gleamed fiercely up at Harrod's calm features.
"How much do you claim, Smith?" was the evasive query.
"He knows d – d well. It's a round five hundred dollars, and I'll foller him to Mexico but that I'll get it out of him, if you don't pay it."
"Why did you not make him pay you yesterday?"
"Yesterday?" said Hank, starting to his feet. "He ain't got back, has he? If he's lied to me again, I'll – Say, is he back?" he asked, eagerly.
"I have not seen him yet," answered Harrod, "and I do not wish to see him. I want you to warn him never to show his face among us again. Now, supposing you are released to-night, how soon can you find him?"
"Find him? The young whelp! He's tricked me. He's gone to Mexico, d – n him! I came here two days ago to meet him as agreed. He was to pay me the money then, and said you was here to get it for him; and then, when I got here, he left word that he was in a scrape, and had to light out for Texas right away, and never said another word about the money, except that I might apply to him there for it ('him there' being the bedraggled-looking youth sitting up now on his wooden bench and staring stupidly about him), and – and this is what came of it, by God! The money's mine, colonel, and I earned it fairly that last scrape he was in. He swore he'd pay me if we'd help him out. They'd have jailed him sure at Holly Springs if we hadn't stood by him. It took some of the hardest swearing you ever listened to to turn that marshal off his track." And Hank's face was woe-begone as this touching reminiscence occurred to him.
"And that was the service your people rendered him, was it? You could have rendered his people a much better one by telling the truth and 'jailing him,' as you say. What had he been doing to set the marshal on his track?"
Hank looked suspiciously at me a moment. He was apparently ready to make a clean breast of matters to Harrod, but I was one of a class he regarded with distrust. Seeing this, Harrod glanced significantly at me, and I withdrew, leaving them to work out their own conclusions.
Strolling up to headquarters and thence over to Amory's, I found him sleeping quietly and Parker reading the newspapers at his bedside. An enlivening conversation was not to be looked for in that quarter therefore, and on my speaking to Parker about a room for Mrs. Amory, who was to arrive on the following day, he replied that he had already secured one close at hand. This again left me with nothing especial to do, and in my loneliness and lack of occupation I went down to Royal Street, and came luckily upon a cheerful gathering at Newhall's, as we had learned to speak of the house wherein our Sandbrook party were quartered.
It was a still, balmy evening, and Vinton's sofa had been trundled into the sitting-room. He lay there looking rather gaunt and white, but unutterably happy, for in a low chair by his side Miss Summers was seated, and she had evidently been reading aloud before my entrance, for a little blue-and-gold volume of Tennyson lay in her lap. Harrod and Kitty were seated at the centre-table near them, and rose to greet me as I entered, but the moment she had given me her little hand, with a rather embarrassed greeting, and I went forward to Vinton's sofa, Miss Kitty dropped back to the dim light of a distant corner. I had barely time to congratulate the major on his convalescence when he inquired eagerly for Amory.
"I have just come from him," I answered. "He was sleeping quietly, and Mr. Parker was there with him. He will be all right now in a day or two. Mrs. Amory will be here to-morrow, as you doubtless know, and Parker has taken a room for her at Madame R – 's, close to headquarters."
For some moments we four sat there talking quietly about her coming and its probable benefit to Amory's health, which certainly had been suffering of late. Kitty still sat in her corner, apparently occupied with a magazine, though it was too dark to read at that distance from the lamp. Vinton, of course, was eager to hear all the particulars of the recent excitements, however, and after a few moments he asked to be fully informed.
"Yes, Brandon, tell him the whole thing. Do not spare Peyton. Do not imagine that it will shock Pauline, for I have told her all about it. Indeed, I may as well take the lead," said Harrod, "and give you briefly what Smith confessed to me to-day. It was Peyton who planned and led that ambuscade on Amory's command. He ordered his party to try and pick off Amory himself, and but for the darkness they probably would have killed him. The fellow is a scoundrel throughout, and I'm almost sorry he has escaped now. Smith says he has undoubtedly gone to Mexico, and most of the money with him. Now, Brandon, tell us your story."
There was a rustle of skirts at the other end of the room. Pauline glanced wistfully over to Kitty's corner, and I could not help looking thither myself. Without a word the little lady had risen and left the room.
Pauline rose hurriedly. "I must go to Kitty," she said. "She has been very much distressed about all this trouble of late, and she will worry herself to death." With that she, too, was gone; and Mr. Brandon, bereft of his feminine audience, told his story with far less interest and enjoyment than he would otherwise have felt. Vinton was deeply interested, however, and greatly concerned over Amory's adventure. It was some time before Miss Summers' return, and then she brought Kitty's excuses. The latter had been persuaded finally to go to bed, for she was shocked inexpressibly at hearing that Peyton had really had the hardihood to carry out the threat of that memorable day at Sandbrook. "And more than that, she is convinced that Peyton has been striving to harm Mr. Amory here in New Orleans, and I had to promise that she should know the whole truth. Is it so, Mr. Brandon?"
And once more Mr. Brandon had the gratification of relating that episode, and before another day poor Kitty was in possession of all the facts.
And yet when I met her the following afternoon her eyes were bright; her color heightened; her manner animated and almost gay. "So glad uncle was coming," was her explanation, and yet – she did not care to go to the station with Harrod, Pauline, and myself to meet uncle. This struck me as strange, and I ventured to urge her to accompany us.
"Oh, no! the carriage only holds four," was her reply.
"But you will make the fourth, and you know I'm not coming back. I'm going to drive Mrs. Amory up to see her boy at once. He's sitting up in state ready to welcome her, and we had some difficulty in persuading him that he must not attempt to leave the house. You see there is abundant room, little lady, so why not come?"
"Thanks, I think not; I'm not ready to drive," was her confused answer; and yet I saw that she had been out. Her hat and gloves lay there upon the table. Her costume was perfect – and so was her determination.
The carriage came and we drove off, leaving her smiling and kissing her hand gayly from the balcony above our heads. Pauline glanced back lovingly at her as we turned the corner.
"Isn't she exquisite?" she said to Harrod, whose eyes, too, were fixed upon the fairy-like little figure until 'twas hidden from our sight.
"Yes, and utterly incomprehensible. Last night she was in the depths of misery when she heard about Peyton's connection with that rascally business last December. Long after the rest of us had gone to bed, Pauline went in and told her the whole story of your night adventure and Peyton's further rascality, and, by Jove! it acted like a counter-irritant. She has been in a whirl of spirits all morning; but, Paulie, she should not rush out on the streets by herself. She was out nearly half an hour awhile ago."
"Not out of sight, Harrod. I had her in view from the balcony."
"What on earth could she find to do down on Royal Street for nearly half an hour without going out of sight?"
Pauline smiled demurely. "Merely making some purchases at the corner, I fancy."
"At the corner? Why, it's a cigar store."
"I did not say in the corner, M. le colonel. Kitty is fond of oranges."
"Then it took half an hour to buy half a dozen oranges of that old Dago at the fruit-stand, did it? Still, that does not account for her blithe spirits. One would think that having sent one adorer away heart-broken; and another having vanished in disgrace (though that was but a boy and girl affair), and a third laid up as the result of the second's rascality; a girl might be expected to suffer some pangs of remorse. I declare I believe some women have no more conscience than kittens, and our Kitty is one of them," said Harrod, half wrathfully.
A moment's silence, then, —
"Well, why should she not want to come and meet the judge?" I asked, with blundering persistency.
"And why should she be bright as a button this afternoon?" demanded Harrod.
Pauline smiled with conscious superiority. "I can understand it readily, and am really surprised that you two profound thinkers should be so utterly in the dark. I'm not going to betray her, however; you ought to be able to see through it yourselves." And that silenced me completely. I record it with absolute humility that not until days afterwards was it made clear to me that when Pauline told Kitty the story of Amory's night-ride, the latter was able to account for the first time for his extraordinary conduct at Moreau's and the theatre; more than that, the child then knew what it was that had brought him in the dead of night to take one look at her window before going out to meet Peyton. As for her refusal to go to the depot, she simply felt unable to meet in that way Frank Amory's mother.
The train came in on time. Harrod sprang aboard, and in another moment emerged from the Pullman escorting his gray-haired father, and with them appeared the pale, placid face I had so admired in the picture at Amory's tent. Dressed in black, though not in deep mourning, the gentle lady stepped from the car, and Miss Summers, who had extended her right hand, gave one swift glance in the peaceful eyes, then suddenly, impulsively, threw forward both; and Harrod and I had abundant time to welcome the judge before either lady had a word for us. When I turned again to look at them Mrs. Amory and Pauline were still standing hand in hand, and the latter's lovely face, flushed with happiness, and with eyes that glistened through the starting tears, was hardly more beautiful than the sweet, sorrow-worn features of her who had found "that peace which the world cannot give," and in the sanctity of her bereaved life had learned the lesson of resignation, – the blessed hope of a blessed future. We would not interrupt them as they stood gazing into each other's eyes – the mother and her boy's devoted friend. It seemed best that from Pauline she should hear of Frank's improvement; of his captain's convalescence; and that the bonds of sympathy that drew them in such close alliance should there be riveted without my customary interference; but neither lady was forgetful of us, and turning to me, Mrs. Amory, in that soft, sweet voice men love to hear, – all the more winning for its Southern accent, – asked, —
"And is not this Mr. Brandon, my boy's friend?" And then Mr. Brandon had the happiness of clasping her hand, and presently of leading her to her carriage. She was impatient to get to her son, and it was soon arranged that Pauline should drive up to see her later in the evening, and then we separated. Ten minutes more and the orderly opened the door, and, obedient to my beckoning finger, stepped out as the lady was ushered in. We only heard the glad ring in Frank's brave young voice; one cry of "Mother!" and then we closed the door and left them together.