United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
"My dear Smith," said Miss Rothvelt, "keep your trust. But if I part
here with these two kind gentlemen--"
"Who don't belong to Ferry's scouts at all," I still more sweetly added.
"No," she laughed, "and if I go back with you to Wiggins--to the little
white cottage, you know, opposite the blacksmith's shop,--you'll give me
what you've got for me, won't you?" She dropped her head to one side and
a mocking-bird chuckle rippled in her throat.
"I shall count myself honored," said I, and we went, together and alone.
XV
VENUS AND MARS
Since those days men have made "fire-proof" buildings. You know them;
let certain aggravations combine--they burn like straw. We had barely
started when I began to be threatened with a conflagration against which
I should have called it an insult to have been warned. The adroit beauty
at my side set in to explain more fully her presence. From her window
she had seen those two trim fellows hurrying along in a fair way to
blunder into the Federal pickets within an hour, had cautioned them, and
had finally asked leave to come with them, they under her guidance, she
under their protection.
"You were so anxious to get the General's letter?" I asked.
"I was so anxious about you," she replied, with feeling, and then broke
into a quizzical laugh.
I had not the faintest doubt she was lying. What was I to her? The times
were fearfully out of joint; women as well as men were taking war's
licenses, and with a boy's unmerciful directness I sprang to the
conclusion that here was an adventuress. Yet I had some better thoughts
too. While I felt a moral tipsiness going into all my veins, I asked
myself if it was not mainly due to my own inability to rise in full
manliness to a most exceptional situation. Her jaunty method of
confronting it, was I not failing to regard _that_ with due magnanimity?
Was this the truth, or after all ought I really to see that at every
turn of her speech, by coy bendings of the head, by the dark seductions
of dim half-captive locks about her oval temples, and by many an
indescribable swaying of the form and of the voice, I was being--to
speak it brutally--challenged? Even in the poetic obscurity of the night
I lost all steadiness of eye as I pertly said--
"And so here you are in this awful fix."
"I'm enjoying one advantage," she replied, "which you do not."
"What is that?"
"Why, I can read my safety in your face. You can't read anything in
mine; you're afraid to look."
All I got by looking then was a mellow laugh from behind her relowered
veil; but we were going at a swift trot, nearing a roadside fire of
fence-rails left by some belated foraging team, and as she came into the
glare of it I turned my eyes a second time. She was revealed in a garb
of brown enriched by the red beams of the fire, and was on the gray mare
I had seen that morning under Lieutenant Edgard Ferry-Durand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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