Madam Constantia : $b The romance of a prisoner of war in the revolution (South Carolina)Carter, Jefferson
History
Madam Constantia : $b The romance of a prisoner of war in the revolution (South Carolina)
Carter, Jefferson
South Carolina -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
Haldane seemed to have a difficulty in speaking. When he did, “His
lordship will see her,” he said, looking not at her but at me. “He
considers it to be his duty to do so, if the lady desires it. But I am
ordered to say that she must draw no hope from the fact, Major Craven. I
am instructed to impress upon her that an interview can do no good. If
after that she still desires to see his lordship—”
Constantia bowed her head.
“You understand, Madam?” Haldane persisted. “You still desire it—in face
of what I have said?”
She bent her head again. He turned on his heel, opened the door behind
him and signed to her to enter the room. Then he closed the door upon
her. By common consent we moved away and went outside. “Poor beggar!”
Haldane muttered. “I wouldn’t be in his shoes at this moment for all his
pay and appointments. Hanged if I would!” Then, “Curse the war, I say!”
“I say the same!” Paton replied, and twitching the other’s sleeve he
drew him aside. They encountered and turned back some men who were
moving towards us—I have no doubt to learn what was on foot.
I took my seat on the most remote bench on the left of the door, and
apart from the crowd; and I waited. How long? I cannot say. I had no
hope that the girl would succeed; I was in no suspense on that account.
All my anxiety centered in another matter. When she came out she would
have heard all from Rawdon. She would have learned the truth and my part
in the story. Between them the facts must come out; they could not be
hid. And then she would stand alone, quite alone in this strange camp,
with four o’clock before her. How would she survive it? What would
become of her? The sweat stood on my brow. I waited—waited, knowing that
that must be the end of it.
I felt that I should be aware of her knowledge as soon as I saw her. She
would feel by instinct where I had placed myself, and she would turn the
other way. Or perhaps she would look at me once, and the horror in her
eyes would wither me. So far there had been a strange mingling of sweet
and bitter in the confidence which she had placed in me, in the way in
which she had turned to me, trusted me, leant on me. But when she came
out, knowing all, there would be an end of that.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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