Southern States -- Social life and customs -- 1775-1865 -- Fiction
When Dr. Teackle shut the door of the ballroom upon himself and Mark
Gilbert the two did not tarry long in the colonel's den, which was still
occupied by half a dozen of the older men, who were being beguiled by a
relay of hot terrapin that Alec had just served. On the contrary, they
continued on past the serving tables, past old Cobden Dorsey, who was
steeped to the eyes in Santa Cruz rum punch; past John Purviance, and
Gatchell and Murdoch, smacking their lips over the colonel's Madeira,
dived through a door leading first to a dark passage, mounted to a short
flight of steps leading to another dark passage, and so on through a
second door until they reached a small room level with the ground. This
was the colonel's business office, where he conducted the affairs of the
estate--a room remote from the great house and never entered except
on the colonel's special invitation and only then when business of
importance necessitated its use.
That business of the very highest importance--not in any way connected
with the colonel, though of the very gravest moment--was being enacted
here to-night, could be seen the instant Teackle, with Gilbert at
his heels, threw open the door. St. George and Harry were in one
corner--Harry backed against the wall. The boy was pale, but perfectly
calm and silent. On his face was the look of a man who had a duty to
perform and who intended to go through with it come what might. On the
opposite side of the room stood Willits with two young men, his most
intimate friends. They had followed him out of the ballroom to learn the
cause of his sudden outburst, and so far had only heard Willits's
side of the affair. He was now perfectly sober and seemed to feel
his position, but he showed no fear. On the desk lay a mahogany case
containing the colonel's duelling pistols. Harry had taken them from his
father's closet as he passed through the colonel's den.
St. George turned to the young doctor. His face was calm and thoughtful,
and he seemed to realize fully the gravity of the situation.
“It's no use, Teackle,” St. George said with an expressive lift of his
fingers. “I have done everything a man could, but there is only one
way out of it. I have tried my best to save Kate from every unhappiness
to-night, but this is something much more important than woman's tears,
and that is her lover's honor.”
“You mean to tell me, Uncle George, that you can't stop this!” Teackle
whispered with some heat, his eyes strained, his lips twitching. Here
he faced Harry. “You sha'n't go on with this affair, I tell you, Harry.
What will Kate say? Do you think she wants you murdered for a foolish
thing like this!--and that's about what will happen.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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