THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 
 Permit me to relieve you of tliat heavy bag. "
 
 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 BY 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE ROSE OF OLD ST. LOUIS" 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 BY C. M. RELYEA 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 1919
 
 Copyright, 1906, by 
 THE CENTURY Co. 
 
 Published January, 1096
 
 ~2i ^ > "I 
 ** * i 
 
 TO THE 
 
 DESCENDANTS OF DR. AND MES. CHAELTON 
 TO THE SECOND AND THIED GENERATION, 
 
 AND TO THOSE STILL LIVING WHO KNEW AND 
 
 LOVED THEM BOTH IN THE GOLDEN DAYS 
 
 OF OLD BELLAIRE, THIS STORY 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY 
 
 DEDICATED
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 i AN ARRIVAL 3 
 
 ii EUNICE HARLOWB . . 18 
 
 in HOME-COMING 28 
 
 rv THE PATRONEE PARTY 35 
 
 v THE HANDSOMEST MAN IN THE ARMY ... 55 
 
 vi A NEW ENGLAND CONSCIENCE 71 
 
 vn CHOIR REHEARSAL 84 
 
 viii SUNDAY IN BELLAIRE 101 
 
 rx A SUGGESTION 108 
 
 x A FACULTY TEA 115 
 
 xi A WHITE ROSE 131 
 
 xn A MORNING WALK 147 
 
 xm A SOIREE MUSICALE 164 
 
 xiv AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 184 
 
 xv OF THE SAME OPINION 196 
 
 xvi A SAD GOOD-BY 211 
 
 xvn AFTER BREAKFAST 225 
 
 xvin A STERN RESOLVE 240 
 
 xrx THE GUNS OF SUMTER 247 
 
 xx WEARING HER COLORS 255 
 
 vii
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 xxi FLIGHT FROM THE OLD TOWN 267 
 
 xxn DR. CHARLTON S STRATAGEM 279 
 
 XXITT THE GENERAL S AIDE 301 
 
 xxiv MAJOR MCALLISTER 310 
 
 xxv SHOT AND SHELL 319 
 
 xxvi A FAREWELL MESSAGE 341 
 
 xxvn AFTER FOUR YEARS . 352
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 4 
 
 " Permit me to relieve you of that heavy bag " Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PADS 
 
 " He was talking with a purpose now "... ... 140 
 
 " She stole quickly away " 224 
 
 Wearing her colors 266 
 
 " Tell her a friend in the Southern army sent it . . 308 
 
 On the battle-field . 348
 
 IN OLD BELLAIKE
 
 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AN ARRIVAL 
 
 BELLAIRE is, or was when I knew it, a most 
 charmingly quaint old town, half old English 
 and half very old German, with the most delightfully 
 aristocratic and exclusive society. Not that the town 
 seemed quaint to me then, or the society remarkable : 
 I had never known any other. But I have lived in 
 many places since, and I have known many kinds of 
 people, and I have come to think that none of them 
 can compare with Bellaire or Bellairians in the six 
 ties. 
 
 The college people held undisputed sway in west 
 end, where Old Tomlinson, as we loved to call her, 
 sat gray with her hundred years beneath the shade 
 of her spreading maples and lindens, while the army 
 people dominated the eastern end, in the fine old bar 
 racks built of yellow brick, brought over for the pur 
 pose by the English before the Revolution. Those 
 of you who go to Bellaire now have no idea how beau 
 tiful the old barracks were before that summer of 63,
 
 4 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 when they were burned by Fitzhugh Lee, the stately 
 trees mutilated or entirely cut down, and the velvet 
 lawns trampled into mire, never to be restored to their 
 former perfection. 
 
 From the barracks to the college stretched the long 
 Main Street, where society proper dwelt. Not to 
 inhabit one of the substantial dwellings planted 
 firmly on the brick sidewalk of that thoroughfare 
 was almost to be ostracized in Bellaire society. There 
 were other residence streets and other residences, on 
 Portland, Langdon, and Harcourt, for instance, per 
 haps quite as fine as anything Main could boast; but 
 Main Street residents either pitied or patronized or 
 entirely ignored their less fortunate neighbors. On 
 the other hand, the young women whose hard lot 
 doomed them to dwell on the "back" streets eagerly 
 cultivated their Main Street friends, that they might 
 have a stoop whereon to sit on pleasant summer 
 mornings or cool summer evenings ; for the great dis 
 sipation of Bellaire was to watch the trains come in 
 from Henrysburg and Marystown at ten in the morn 
 ing and six in the afternoon. The track passed the 
 whole length of Main Street, and the station was in 
 the old Mansion House in the very heart of the town, 
 and a little before train-time every stoop was filled 
 with pretty maidens in the freshest and daintiest of 
 summer lawns and linens. 
 
 It was not the trains, however, that was so much 
 the attraction, though their coming was always an ex 
 citement in that quiet town, with the arrivals and 
 departures to be commented upon it was not so much
 
 AN ARRIVAL 5 
 
 the trains, I think, as what followed. For very 
 shortly after their arrival, from the east end of town 
 came the dashing cavalry officers after their mail; 
 and as they always came before the slow old post 
 master and his assistants had distributed it (nothing 
 v/as ever done in a hurry in Bellaire), they employed 
 the waiting interval either in making informal calls 
 at the most popular stoops, or in displaying their fine 
 horsemanship and finer horses by racing from one 
 end of the town to the other, sure of admiring glances 
 from many bright eyes. 
 
 Then, besides the officers from the east end were the 
 students from the west end, coming down the street 
 in twos or threes or larger numbers after their mail, 
 and stopping at their favorite stoops generally not 
 the ones the officers patronized until Main Street, 
 or at least the two blocks from Harcourt to College, 
 would have impressed a stranger with the idea that 
 he had lighted upon a midsummer festival or open-air 
 reception. 
 
 Those were halcyon days, but they belong to the 
 golden past. The cavalry school, with its dashing 
 young officers, was removed soon after the close of the 
 war, and I fancy society in Bellaire has never ceased 
 to mourn their loss. To be sure, the students are left ; 
 but I have been back to Bellaire several times in the 
 last thirty years, and I have thought the class of stu 
 dents changed. They seem so much younger, and not 
 half so handsome, chivalrous, and high-toned as the 
 young heroes of my girlhood. Possibly the Bellaire 
 girls of to-day would not agree with me; but I can-
 
 6 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 not help feeling a little sorry for them, that they can 
 never know what a fine set of young fellows our 
 Toms and Dicks and Harrys were. 
 
 It was five minutes to ten o clock on the fifth of 
 September, 1860, when a group was gathered on the 
 door-step of the Burton mansion, momentarily ex 
 pecting the whistle of the Henrysburg train. It was 
 a few minutes late; the train from Marystown was 
 already on the siding in front of the campus, puffing 
 and blowing, as it impatiently waited its turn to run 
 into the station after the passing of its consort. 
 
 It was a perfect September day, and the whole 
 Northumberland valley lay basking under an Italian 
 sky. The town itself was gently simmering in the 
 torrid blaze, but its magnificent elms and maples had 
 not then been cut down to barricade against Lee s 
 cavalry, and there was plenty of cool green shade to 
 moderate the hot glare reflected from brick walls and 
 brick sidewalks. 
 
 We were proud of the Burton mansion. I have no 
 doubt that its double flight of stone steps, protected 
 by iron railings, rising in symmetrical curves to meet 
 the white-pillared porch, would be called Old Colonial 
 now ; but I do not remember that in those days we had 
 ever heard of Old Colonial, and we thought it simply 
 a very fine house, to be pointed out with pride to our 
 chance guests as a fitting residence for one of our 
 oldest families. 
 
 The Burtons were acknowledged leaders in style. 
 Nobody who made any pretensions to fashion or taste
 
 AN ARRIVAL 7 
 
 thought of getting their new Bonnets or frocks until 
 after the return of the Misses Burton from their two 
 months sojourn in Philadelphia, spent among their 
 grand relations on Spruce and Walnut streets. To 
 be sure, it sometimes made us a little late with 
 our winter wardrobes, for they often did not 
 get home until Christmas; but we would have 
 worn our old clothes all winter rather than have 
 suffered the mortification of not having our new 
 ones as exact copies of the Philadelphia toilets 
 as our country milliners and dressmakers could 
 manage. 
 
 On this September morning there were on the Bur 
 ton porch and steps besides Miss Sallie Burton and 
 her younger sister, Miss Mazie their cousin, the 
 beautiful Miss Marcia Morris, and Miss Lydia 
 McNair, a dashing belle of the army set, on the 
 friendliest terms with all the officers, but not dis 
 daining also to reckon a young collegian or two in 
 her train. 
 
 She was sitting now on one of the lower steps of 
 the curved flight, talking to a handsome young lieu 
 tenant, who had dismounted and was holding his horse 
 by the bridle, which required his standing near the 
 curb, and necessitated Miss Lydia raising her voice 
 more than was considered quite proper in staid Bel- 
 laire. But Miss Lydia had little regard for small 
 conventions. She rather liked to talk loud and laugh 
 loud, if occasion permitted. The men all liked her, 
 and so did some of the women, and the rest tol 
 erated her for the sake of the men, and because no 
 
 2
 
 8 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 bluer blood could be found in Pennsylvania than 
 flowed in the veins of the McNairs. 
 
 By her side stood Rex McAllister, a South Caro 
 linian, and the beau and exquisite of the college. 
 In those days the old college drew its patronage al 
 most entirely from the South : Maryland and Virginia, 
 the Eastern Shore, the two Carolinas, Georgia, and 
 even occasionally Alabama and Mississippi, sent their 
 sons to its venerable halls. The modest little college 
 has perhaps no exalted reputation in the East and 
 North, but among Southerners of the passing genera 
 tion, or the little remnant of it left by that terrible 
 war, it is not unknown to fame. They were fine fel 
 lows as I remember them, those ardent, hot-headed 
 Southerners, with the most beautiful manners in the 
 world; and if they had any vices, they kept them 
 decorously out of sight, so that the recipients of their 
 devotion were at liberty to give full rein to their 
 imaginations and endow them with all the heroic 
 virtues. 
 
 Rex McAllister stood with one slender, arched foot, 
 incased in a closely fitting boot of calf, resting on 
 the lower step as he alternately looked up to utter 
 some pretty compliment to Miss Morris on the upper 
 step, or down to answer some saucy speech of Miss 
 Lydia s. The attitude showed to advantage his tall, 
 slender figure, his shoulders, built squarely out by 
 careful padding to suit the taste of the day, and his 
 long coat, of finest broadcloth, almost sweeping the 
 ground as he stood, buttoned closely about a waist that 
 his envious admirers said could have been reduced to
 
 AN ARRIVAL 9 
 
 such ladylike dimensions only by steels and lacers. 
 In one hand he twirled a slender ebony cane, sur 
 mounted by a shapely leg and foot in ivory, and in 
 the other he held his broad palmetto hat, removed 
 out of deference to the ladies or because of the in 
 tense heat, or perhaps to display to better advantage 
 the coal-black curls, not too closely cropped, whose 
 moderate gloss, and the delicate perfume they exhaled, 
 showed that he had a finer taste in hair-oils than many 
 of the men of that day. His Byronic collar, neither 
 stiff nor glossy, and his loosely tied bow with uneven 
 ends, were the only careless points in his dress; and 
 no one could doubt for a moment that this was a 
 studied neglect to heighten the resemblance to the 
 poet that the flashing black eyes and smoothly shaven 
 face rendered sufficiently obvious to the most casual 
 glance. 
 
 Miss Lydia s loud talking and laughing had an 
 noyed his somewhat punctilious ideas of propriety, 
 and he was rather pointedly devoting himself to Miss 
 Marcia, whose manners were as faultless as her face, 
 when a specially loud burst of laughter drew the 
 attention of the whole party to Miss Lydia. Her 
 hands were clasping her round waist, her head thrown 
 back, her eyes tightly closed, her shapely mouth open, 
 disclosing two rows of white teeth, between which 
 rolled a quick succession of merry peals. She was 
 in the very agonies of mirth. The lieutenant stood 
 regarding her with anything but a mirthful glance, 
 a deep flush of anger or mortification rising to the 
 very roots of his closely cropped military hair, and
 
 10 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 one hand pulling savagely at his fierce cavalry mus 
 tache. Everybody gazed at her for a moment in dumb 
 astonishment, and then Miss Sallie Burton called 
 down from the vestibule step : 
 
 "Why, Lyd McNair, what is the matter?" 
 
 And Miss Marcia said coldly: "You might at least 
 let us share your fun, Lydia." 
 
 To both of which speeches Miss Lydia responded 
 only by swaying back and forth and by renewed peals 
 of laughter. 
 
 "You will have to enlighten us, Lieutenant Wat 
 son, said Rex McAllister, turning to the officer, who 
 now seemed undetermined whether to mount his horse 
 and leave Miss Lydia to recover at her leisure, or to 
 await the apology he considered due him. 
 
 He answered stiffly: "You must ask Miss McNair; 
 she is pleased to be merry this morning. That is all 
 I know." 
 
 "Oh I beg your pardon," gasped Miss Lydia; 
 "but you are too funny," and she was again seized 
 with a spasm that threatened to be hysterical. 
 
 McAllister suddenly broke the perplexed silence of 
 the others : 
 
 By Hercules ! here comes Dr. Charlton post-haste. 
 Do you suppose he is after me? Can t you hide me 
 somewhere, Miss Burton?" 
 
 The college bell was ringing the ten-o clock hour, 
 and McAllister was due at a recitation in "Paley s 
 Evidences" to the doctor, which he had just an 
 nounced his intention of cutting. 
 
 His exclamation had an electrical effect upon Miss
 
 AN ARRIVAL 11 
 
 Lydia. She sat erect at once, her hands dropped de 
 murely in her lap, her mouth shut, her eyes wide 
 open. 
 
 "Do you think he saw me?" she said in an awe 
 struck whisper to McAllister, who was as astonished 
 at her sudden recovery as he had been at her seizure. 
 
 There was one being in the world for whom Lydia 
 McNair entertained the profoundest reverence, and 
 he was at that moment coming down the street, his 
 old-fashioned and somewhat rusty swallow-tailed coat 
 flying open to disclose a flowered-satin waistcoat, the 
 tails streaming behind him with the rapidity of his 
 progress, his high black-silk stock slightly awry, his 
 black beaver hat pushed a little back, his slight figure 
 bent eagerly forward, his gold-headed cane grasped 
 belligerently in his hand, his pale, scholarly face 
 flushed with his unusual exertion. In fact, the dig 
 nified doctor was evidently in a tremendous hurry, 
 and, absorbed by one idea, perfectly oblivious of the 
 ridiculous figure he made. The group on the steps 
 now saw something to laugh at, and were inclined 
 to emulate Miss Lydia s example, but Miss Lydia 
 herself was rigidly sober. 
 
 The train was overdue, but its whistle had been 
 heard from the bridge at the lower end of Main 
 Street, and now the rolling smoke was visible through 
 the trees of the Square, and the ringing of the bell 
 and the puffing of the engine were plainly audible. 
 
 "He is going to take the train, and thinks he is 
 late," murmured Miss Lydia. 
 
 At that moment the doctor came abreast of the lit-
 
 12 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 tie party and became conscious of two things: one 
 was that the train had not yet arrived and he was 
 in time, and the other that his undignified haste was 
 affording amusement and comment to a select group 
 of Bellaire s haut ton. He drew himself erect, low 
 ered his cane, pulled forward his hat, and stopped. 
 The two ends of his black stock still fluttered be 
 neath his left ear, but he had not been aware of their 
 disarrangement, and so was calmly unconscious of 
 them. The tails of his coat gently subsided from 
 their angle of velocity as his pace slackened, and now, 
 as he regarded the little circle with a pleasant smile 
 and a benignant glance from his mild blue eyes, he 
 was as fine a picture of a gentleman and a scholar as 
 one might ever see. 
 
 At his courteous Good morning, ladies ; good morn 
 ing, gentlemen," the ladies rose to their feet, and 
 the men stood with their hats held deferentially to 
 the side of their heads. It was Miss Lydia who 
 dared to respond with more than a simple "Good 
 morning. 
 
 "Are you going to take the train, doctor?" most 
 sweetly; "you seem to be in a hurry." 
 
 Like most retiring scholars of a kindly nature, the 
 doctor was very susceptible to the attractions of a 
 young and pretty woman; and if she added a touch 
 of audacity to her other charms, it made her all the 
 more irresistible. He smiled appreciatively as he 
 turned to her : 
 
 "No, Miss Lydia; but Mrs. Charlton has sent me to 
 meet a young and, no doubt, charming lady. Don t
 
 AN ARRIVAL 13 
 
 you think it is proper to assume an air of eagerness 
 and haste on such an errand?" 
 
 " Perfectly proper, doctor; and you have succeeded 
 admirably don t you think so, Lieutenant "Watson?" 
 with a little propitiatory smile to the offended officer, 
 who still stood in an attitude of grim unbending. 
 
 The lieutenant replied only by a stately bow, and 
 the train drawing in to the station opposite, the 
 doctor turned to Rex McAllister and said gravely: 
 
 "I have postponed my recitation for fifteen minutes, 
 Mr. McAllister. Your furlough will be extended for 
 that time ; at the end of which Mr. Paley will expect 
 you to be in Evidence. 
 
 McAllister was too confused to see the little twinkle 
 in the tail of the doctor s eye, and he had a South 
 erner s slowness in perceiving anything in the nature 
 of a pun. But Miss Lydia laughed a quick response, 
 and the doctor, who dearly loved to have his small 
 jokes appreciated, beamed on her graciously as he 
 added : 
 
 "Ah, Mr. McAllister, you will have to beware of 
 the sirens. I would recommend you, if you are walk 
 ing down Main Street near ten oclock, to atya laive /o/pos 
 TT ovara 8* aXci^e." With which learned quotation, that 
 McAllister appreciated and Miss Lydia did not, the 
 doctor made a sweeping bow to the ladies and crossed 
 over to the train. 
 
 "I think I know who the young lady is," said Mc 
 Allister; "I heard Miss Lucy say the other day that 
 they were to have a new teacher for St. John s school. 
 
 "Oh, of course," said Miss Mazie; "I know all
 
 14 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 about her. She is from Massachusetts a real Yan 
 kee school-ma am. I wonder if she will be young and 
 pretty, as the doctor said? Somehow I can t fancy 
 a Yankee school-ma am anything but an ancient 
 maiden lady with spectacles and a false front." 
 
 "You will have an opportunity of judging for 
 yourself, Miss Mazie," said Rex; "that must be the 
 young lady that the doctor is helping off the car." 
 
 "Why, she is young!" said Miss Lydia; "and 
 pretty, too at least from this distance." 
 
 "Would n t you call her a little ah prim?" ven 
 tured the lieutenant, hesitatingly. The others 
 laughed, for the adjective did seem rather appro 
 priate to the slim figure in gray, with long, light- 
 brown curls falling straight beneath a close little 
 quakerish bonnet, which was about as much as they 
 could see of her. 
 
 "What will you give me if I walk up to the college 
 with her?" said Rex McAllister, looking sharply at 
 the little figure, and deciding at once that she was 
 pretty enough to make an effort at acquaintance 
 worth while. 
 
 "Mr. McAllister!" exclaimed all the girls together; 
 while Miss Lydia added, "You don t dare! One 
 glance of lightning from the doctor s blue eyes would 
 annihilate you." 
 
 "Oh, of course, if I did it impertinently. But I 
 shall wait until they are half-way up the block, and 
 then, as I pass them on my way to college, I shall 
 stop and ask the doctor, most deferentially, if I can 
 not relieve him of that heavy bag he is carrying. Of
 
 AN ARRIVAL 15 
 
 course he will introduce me, and we will all three 
 walk up together, as cozy as old acquaintances." 
 
 "Well, you could do it, if any one could," returned 
 Miss Lydia; "but I hope the doctor will see through 
 your little game, and give you an awful settler. And 
 if he does, I would give a fippenny bit to be there and 
 see." 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Lydia, you are always kind! 
 Here they come! She is pretty, is n t she?" 
 
 Unconsciously they all fell into a silent survey of 
 the little figure passing them with downcast eyes, be 
 traying by her constrained walk and fluctuating color 
 her consciousness of their scrutiny. The doctor was 
 talking in his pleasant fashion, trying to put her at 
 her ease, and only noticed the little party on the steps 
 by including them absent-mindedly in a sweeping 
 wave of his hat. When they were well out of ear 
 shot, McAllister broke out: 
 
 Ye gods ! what a complexion ! roses and milk ! 
 
 "Not at all," said Miss Lydia, tartly; "she has a 
 very good skin, but it does not compare with Miss 
 Lucy Charlton s. That s genuine roses and milk." 
 
 "And she has such a prim, school-ma amish air," 
 added Miss Marcia; "I should have known she was 
 from New England from her walk and the cut of her 
 frock." 
 
 "Did you notice her hair, girls?" said Miss Mazie, 
 contributing her quota to the round robin of criticism 
 from the vestibule step. "It s drab; matches her 
 funny little bonnet exactly." 
 
 "I am not sure but that she would look very well,"
 
 16 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 said Miss Sallie, judicially, "if she were only styl 
 ishly dressed. A broad hat now, with a deep fall of 
 lace around it, instead of that queer old-fashioned 
 bonnet, and a black silk mantilla with heavy fringe 
 in place of that little gray cape, would give her quite 
 a different air. 
 
 Out of regard to the men present, none of them 
 quite dared to say that it was the skirt falling in 
 straight, scanty folds to the feet, without the sign 
 of a hoop, that gave her a hopelessly outlandish look 
 in the eyes of these country belles. But they could 
 not refrain from preening their own flowing robes 
 over their well-caned petticoats with a conscious air 
 that clearly indicated to the masculine intellects pres 
 ent where the trouble lay. Rex made a low obeisance : 
 
 "I bow to the superior judgment of the ladies. She 
 is a fright, doubtless. It was preposterous in me to 
 form an opinion on her complexion or any other of 
 her charms before I had heard your decisions. But 
 now, if you will permit me, I will obey the doctor s 
 behest and hie me collegeward. Miss Lydia, I beg 
 you will watch me well, and see how boldly I dare 
 tackle this female griffin. Ladies, good morning and 
 au revoirl" 
 
 The doctor and his convoy were now more than half 
 way up the block, and it took some tall striding on 
 the part of McAllister s long legs to overtake them 
 before they should reach the "Iron Gate" corner. 
 It was under the Washington elm, with its hollow, 
 rapidly decaying trunk, and its wide-spreading 
 branches overshadowing the low log-cabin, whose en-
 
 AN ARRIVAL 17 
 
 trance, sunk a foot below the pavement level, was a 
 guarantee of its antiquity and a sure proof to us 
 young people that it had once Been, as tradition said, 
 Washington s headquarters in the Indian wars be 
 fore the Revolution it was on that sacred spot that 
 Rex overtook them and put into execution his shame 
 less little plot. 
 
 On the steps of the Burton mansion the girls were 
 craning their necks to witness his expected discom 
 fiture. To their utter amazement, they saw Dr. Gharl- 
 ton stop as McAllister addressed him, put the bag 
 into his hand, apparently utter a few hasty words 
 of introduction, then turn and come flying down the 
 street again, while Rex, without turning his head, 
 gently fluttered his cambric handkerchief over his left 
 shoulder as a signal to the watchers on the steps of his 
 triumph, and bent his head to the little lady on his 
 right with that air of mingled gallantry and deference 
 he knew so well how to assume.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 EUNICE HARLOWE 
 
 EUNICE HARLOWE had left her home in a fac 
 tory village of Massachusetts the day before. 
 Her father, a country minister with a small salary 
 and a large family, had committed an unnecessary 
 extravagance, her thrifty mother thought, when he 
 accompanied Eunice to New York and saw her safely 
 across the ferry and on board a night train for 
 Henrysburg. 
 
 To Eunice and her father this home-leaving was a 
 great event. She had been carefully educated in 
 Mount Holyoke Seminary with the idea that she was 
 to teach, thereby not only paying her own way, but 
 helping in the education of her three younger sisters. 
 But it had not entered into the father s calculations 
 or her own that she should go so far from home. The 
 advertisement in a church paper for a teacher of the 
 children of the professors of Tomlinson, and a home 
 offered with the family of the president of the college, 
 had read very enticingly, except that Bellaire seemed 
 very far south, and southern Pennsylvania almost a 
 land of barbarians, to their New England prejudices. 
 But they decided finally to answer the advertisement, 
 
 18
 
 EUNICE HARLOWE 19 
 
 and they hardly knew whether to be pleased or sorry 
 when by return mail their application was accepted. 
 
 Pullman sleepers were almost or entirely unknown 
 then, and even had there been one on the Henrysburg 
 train, Eunice would never have thought of spending 
 two or three dollars merely to make herself more com 
 fortable for a few hours. She sat bolt upright in 
 the low-backed seat, with her bag and handbox be 
 side her; and at intervals rested her tired head on 
 the side of the car and gained a few moments of un 
 consciousness, until the strained muscles of her neck 
 aroused her to the painful conviction that there was 
 not much rest to be had from such sleep. 
 
 It was in the gray dawn of the September morning 
 that the train drew into the station of the "Pennsyl 
 vania Central" road at Henrysburg, and gathering 
 up her hand-baggage, she stepped from the car into 
 a bedlam of shrieking locomotives, shouting men, and 
 moving trains, very bewildering to her quiet country 
 experience. She stood a moment trying to decide what 
 to do, and a kindly official, noticing her dazed look, 
 asked her where she wanted to go, and directed her 
 across a wide space of interlacing tracks to the North 
 ern Central station, from which the Northumberland 
 Valley train started ; and promised also to see that her 
 baggage was safely transferred. 
 
 It would be long before the Bellaire train started, 
 but she was not sorry. There were the ravages of the 
 night to be repaired, for she was nervously anxious to 
 make as good an impression as possible on her arrival, 
 and she was shocked at the pale and grimy face that
 
 20 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 looked back at her from the little glass in the stuffy 
 toilet-room. She did the best she could in the way of 
 ablutions, and then taking a curling-stick from her 
 bag, carefully brushed over it each long, light curl, and 
 put back the neat little bonnet, from which she had 
 scrupulously removed every atom of dust. By that 
 time it was broad daylight, and she was glad to escape 
 from the close and crowded waiting-room into the 
 sweet, morning air. She found a seat in a little park 
 on the banks of the beautiful river, and watched the 
 rocky banks opposite, along which trains were con 
 stantly thundering, diving out of sight behind wooded 
 cliffs, and reappearing before she could possibly ex 
 pect them. Just below, two long bridges crossed the 
 river: one a covered wagon-bridge, reminding her 
 vividly of the old Connecticut River bridge at Had- 
 ley, which she had often crossed going to and from 
 Mount Holyoke in her father s carryall, and the other 
 the new railroad bridge, across which was creeping 
 one of the very trains she had been watching play hide 
 and seek on the opposite bank. 
 
 She was only idly watching it all, for she was very 
 tired and her thoughts were taken up with the dear 
 home circle she had left and the new home she was 
 approaching. In spite of the sorrow of going so far 
 away, leaving the mother she loved, the father she 
 idolized, and the dear sisters, she had permitted her 
 self some rosy visions of the future. She was only 
 nineteen, and her life in the factory village had shut 
 her out almost entirely from young society and ab 
 solutely from association with young men of her own
 
 EUNICE HARLOWE 21 
 
 class. The fact that she was going now to live in 
 the family of the president of a college for young 
 men, where she would certainly meet them often, 
 perhaps every day, for aught she knew, was nearly 
 incomprehensible in the light of her previous expe 
 rience, and sent her pulses bounding a little faster 
 staid New England pulses though they were. 
 
 Now that the journey was nearly over, her dreams 
 were losing their rosy tint. A sickening dread of 
 her new life and the strangers she must meet was 
 taking possession of her. Would the president prove 
 to be an austere man, and life in his home be cold and 
 formal? She had always had an unconfessed feeling 
 that New England stood for all the culture of the 
 country; would the Bellaire people be vulgar and 
 commonplace and more disagreeable, perhaps, than 
 factory people? Her courage was fast ebbing, and 
 her heart turning longingly homeward, when it oc 
 curred to her to consult the tiny watch, her father s 
 parting gift. To her consternation, she found that 
 she would have to hasten to catch the train. Fortu 
 nately her bandbox and her bag were beside her, 
 she would not have to stop to hunt them up, and her 
 trunk was checked ; and so she found a seat in one of 
 the queer little yellow cars of the Northumberland 
 Valley Railroad, breathless, but with two minutes 
 to spare. 
 
 As soon as she had recovered her breath, she pro 
 ceeded to take from her bag a green barege veil, 
 which she very carefully tied over her bonnet, and 
 a linen raglan, which she wrapped around her, know-
 
 22 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 ing there would be no chance again to get rid of the 
 dust and make herself neat before reaching Bellaire, 
 and particularly dreading the heavy volumes of black 
 smoke from the soft coal, which made the engines so 
 much more formidable than the wood-consuming loco 
 motives of her own country. But she did not cover 
 her face with the veil. The day was too stifling, now 
 that the sun was well up and fairly at work; and 
 also, she wanted to take in all the views. She in 
 tended to become thoroughly acquainted with this 
 new country she was entering. The narrow, closely 
 built street through which the railroad passed, lined 
 with squalid tenements, from whose roofs and porches 
 fluttered grimy and tattered "washings" (much to 
 Eunice s amazement, for it was not Monday), and on 
 whose narrow sidewalks, and almost on the track it 
 self, swarmed scores of unkempt children, did not 
 please her, though she was interested in what was here 
 tofore an unimagined phase of life. But they soon 
 glided out of the close, unpleasant street upon the 
 long bridge, and a breath of cool, soft river air filled 
 the car, and dispelled every lurking odor of the un 
 savory city. 
 
 They were a long time crossing the river, which was 
 here broad and beautiful, with low, wooded islands 
 resting on its bosom, and vistas of lofty mountains 
 opening on the right and left to let its blue waters 
 through ; but once fairly across, they were soon speed 
 ing up the valley. 
 
 Eunice had made the trip through the rich farm 
 lands of eastern Pennsylvania by night. The coun-
 
 EUNICE HARLOWE 23 
 
 try about her home, while picturesque, was bleak and 
 the land comparatively sterile, and it was a revelation 
 to her to see rolling meadows dotted with stately trees ; 
 broad fields black with the richness of the loam or 
 golden with the banners of the ripening corn; com 
 fortable farm-houses overshadowed by palatial barns, 
 whose enormous proportions were yet too small to 
 hold the generous harvests of hay and grain that 
 seemed to be bursting through every window and door ; 
 huge droves of well-fed cattle, and the score of lazy 
 farm-horses that every farmer evidently considered 
 necessary to his work; and all this abundance, this 
 land of plenty and ease, hemmed in by two parallel 
 lines of mountains forming a blue barrier seven miles 
 away to the northwest and the southeast. 
 
 Her life heretofore had been cold and gray. She 
 had known something of the pinching of poverty, 
 and much of the hard economies, the ceaseless in 
 dustries and rigid formalism, of life among the bleak 
 hills of New England. She began to feel as if the 
 blue and gold of this beautiful valley were already 
 changing the color of her existence. There was a 
 stirring within her as of the petals of unsuspected 
 blossoms of life unfolding to the sunshine; and then 
 her stern New England conscience took her to task 
 for indulging in such soft dreams. What was to be 
 come of her high ideals and lofty ambitions if she 
 yielded to these vague yearnings after a life of sen 
 suous ease? 
 
 They were entering Bellaire now, and she took off 
 her raglan and veil, folded them away in her bag, 
 
 3
 
 24 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 and sat rigidly erect as if she were already under in 
 spection, but her quiet glance taking in every detail 
 of the strange streets. It was not at all like any 
 of the New England towns she knew best. In her own 
 mind she decided it was rather an ugly village, cer 
 tainly not to be compared with Northampton, her 
 ideal of the beautiful and picturesque. Neverthe 
 less there was something so gay and bright in the 
 aspect of door-steps crowded with pretty girls dressed 
 in sheer muslins, a kind of dress worn only occa 
 sionally in the cool New England summer, and re 
 served then for state occasions, their pretty heads 
 guiltless of hat or bonnet, which seemed a little scan 
 dalous to her sense of propriety; and the groups of 
 men talking to them was such a novel sight, that she 
 was inclined to be pleased with her first introduction 
 to her new home. 
 
 The train moved very slowly through the street, 
 ringing its bell as it went, and she had time to take 
 it all in before she realized that they had stopped. 
 With a quick beating of her heart, she gathered up 
 her bag and handbox and followed the stream of 
 passengers, wondering who would meet her, or what 
 she should do if no one should come. But as she was 
 stepping from the train a hand reached up to help 
 her, and the pleasantest voice in the world said : 
 
 "This is Miss Harlowe, I am sure." 
 
 The doctor knew there was no possibility of mistak 
 ing that quiet little figure with the calm gray eyes; 
 it could belong to no other than a genuine Puritan 
 maiden.
 
 EUNICE HARLOWE 25 
 
 Eunice, on her part, felt all her fears vanish at the 
 sight of the benignant face with its clear-cut, classic 
 features and mild eyes smiling on her so kindly. She 
 relinquished her bag to him; but when he would 
 have taken her bandbox also, she insisted that it was 
 very light, and that she preferred carrying it herself. 
 She alighted in the middle of the street, with no 
 visible station-house near; and she would have been 
 very much bewildered if she had been alone, for she 
 was in the midst of a dense, surging crowd, more 
 than half of them, it seemed to her, colored people, 
 and a large proportion of these half-grown boys, who 
 surrounded her, vociferating: 
 
 "Want yer baggage tuk, miss?" or, respectfully 
 saluting Dr. Charlton, "I 11 take yer trunk cheap, 
 doctor. To all their appeals the doctor merely shook 
 his head, and dexterously guiding Eunice to the edge 
 of the crowd, they found themselves in front of a bow 
 ing and smiling yellow man mounting guard over a 
 wheel-barrow, to whom the doctor gave the check. 
 
 "Permit me to introduce Judge Watts to you, Miss 
 Harlowe," said the doctor, gravely. "I trust you 
 will find him a very valuable friend while you stay 
 with us." 
 
 The delighted "judge" bowed, and scraped and 
 grinned more energetically than before, but Eunice 
 was puzzled. She was not used to negroes, and in 
 fact was much afraid of them, and she could not un 
 derstand the anomaly of a colored "judge" carrying 
 her baggage on a wheel-barrow, nor could she conceive 
 of a venerable president of a college indulging in
 
 26 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 a small joke, so she merely bowed a stiff acknowledg 
 ment. Dr. Charlton saw her bewilderment and, as 
 they turned to walk up the street, explained that 
 "Judge" was the janitor of West College, and hap 
 pening to have the same surname as a distinguished 
 judge of the town, the students had dubbed him with 
 this title, of which he was immensely vain. The doc 
 tor was in the midst of his explanation when they 
 passed the Burton steps, and although Eunice s long 
 lashes were sweeping her cheek, she had distinctly 
 seen the group of gaily dressed girls; the handsome 
 young officer with difficulty checking his fiery steed, 
 now that the engine was so near; and particularly 
 was she conscious of the admiring gaze directed full 
 upon her from a pair of bold black eyes belonging 
 to a figure more elegant than any that she had yet 
 known. 
 
 There was something confusing about that gaze, 
 even after they had passed, and she found it diffi 
 cult to keep her attention sufficiently fastened on 
 what Dr. Charlton was saying to make suitable re 
 sponses to his kind inquiries about her journey, and 
 genial comments about the houses and people they 
 passed. 
 
 They were almost at the end of the long block, 
 and the doctor had just called her attention to the 
 Iron Gate and the stone wall surmounted by a black 
 railing inclosing the college grounds, one corner of 
 which was becoming visible, when he suddenly 
 stopped with a sharp exclamation and clapped his 
 hand to his inner pocket. Eunice had had no time
 
 EUNICE HARLOWE 27 
 
 to inquire into the cause of his discomfiture or express 
 her sympathy with it, when there appeared at the 
 doctor s elbow the very subject, not of her thoughts, 
 but of her persistent agitations. With the most def 
 erential air, he bowed low to Dr. Charlton and said : 
 
 "Permit me, doctor, to relieve you of that heavy 
 bag ; I can drop it at the house for you. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. McAllister! Yes, yes, I think you may," 
 said the doctor, beginning absent-mindedly, but with 
 a gradually clearing visage. "In fact, Miss Harlowe, 
 if you will allow me, I will introduce Mr. McAllister, 
 and ask you to permit him to see you to the house. 
 I find I have forgotten an important commission of 
 Mrs. Charlton s." 
 
 The down-train to Henrysburg had passed them a 
 few minutes before, and the doctor turned with visible 
 anxiety to see if it was still at the station. Rex 
 murmured his pleasure at the commission, and there 
 was nothing for Eunice to do but signify her assent 
 and release the doctor as quickly as possible, although 
 she was aware of an intolerable color flaming in her 
 usually delicately tinted cheeks. 
 
 It was then that the cambric handkerchief fluttered 
 over McAllister s left shoulder.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 HOME-COMING 
 
 MCALLISTER turned to Eunice with the air 
 of expressing the deepest devotion as he said : 
 
 "Permit me, Miss Harlowe, to relieve you of your 
 bandbox." He was grateful to her for refusing. He 
 had considered it imperative to ask her, but to the 
 fastidious fellow, who never carried the smallest pack 
 age on the streets, it was sufficiently heroic to be carry 
 ing her heavy bag ; he felt he never could have stood 
 the guying of his fellow-students if any of them had 
 happened to meet him carrying both bag and band 
 box. 
 
 They were at the Iron Gate, and a choice of two 
 ways lay before them. They could turn and walk 
 up the long pavement, partly shaded from the broil 
 ing sun by the elms overhanging the campus wall, 
 or they could enter the Iron Gate, and follow a little 
 path running parallel with the pavement under arch 
 ing trees whose heavy foliage excluded every un 
 welcome ray of sunshine. Rex recommended the 
 latter, and as the heavy gate swung behind them 
 a sound destined to become very familiar to her ears- 
 Eunice uttered a little exclamation of delight. They 
 
 28
 
 HOME-COMING 29 
 
 had left the hot glare of brick and mortar behind 
 them. A soft, fragrant tan-bark walk was beneath 
 their feet, a wide expanse of vivid green turf dotted 
 with cool groves and cut by avenues shaded with 
 stately trees was before them, and the light fell so 
 softly through the high, leafy arches over the little 
 path into which they had turned, she could think 
 only of dim cathedral aisles. It seemed to her as if 
 her lines had fallen in pleasant places, and she was 
 always hereafter to be walking through beautiful 
 dusky groves with soft zephyrs playing about her 
 and a stately cavalier at her side. She found her 
 self listening in a kind of dreamlike reverie to Mc 
 Allister, who was saying : 
 
 "They call this path Lovers Lane, Miss Harlowe, 
 because it is so secluded, I suppose. Don t you think 
 our Bellaire lovers are rather lucky to have such 
 a perfect spot in which to breathe their vows?" 
 
 His words embarrassed her. Who had ever before 
 spoken to her of "lovers vows"? Yet mingling with 
 her embarrassment was a swift, vague, and tremulous 
 premonition that she might, some day, be listening 
 to them there herself. 
 
 Eex McAllister wondered to see the bright color 
 flame up in her cheeks again. He had not found the 
 "Yankee schoolma am" very brilliant as a conversa 
 tionalist; but there was something fascinating in 
 watching the play of color in the cheek half -turned 
 from him, and in compelling an occasional timid 
 glance from the large gray eyes. He was a man who 
 enjoyed making an impression, and he felt he was
 
 30 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 doing that now ; and as for the rest, he had sufficient 
 confidence in his conversational powers to be quite 
 willing to bear the burden of the talk. He was not 
 sure, upon the whole, that he did not prefer a quiet 
 woman, even if she were a little "stiff," to Miss 
 Lydia s loud-voiced ways. He was very well satis 
 fied with his companion, therefore, when he had con 
 ducted her through the litle gate that led into the 
 president s private grounds, and along the winding 
 path to the house, and up the high steps to the 
 piazza, where Mrs. Charlton and Lucy, with all the 
 younger children in a timid group behind them, were 
 waiting to receive her. It was a trying ordeal to 
 Eunice, but she was able to veil all timidity and agi 
 tation under her calm Northern manner. And Mrs. 
 Charlton, who greeted her warmly with a kind kiss, 
 for which Eunice was so totally unprepared as to be 
 unable to respond to it in time, thought her a typical 
 New Englander, very self-possessed certainly, but 
 almost too cold. 
 
 She had no idea how her motherly greeting had 
 touched Eunice s heart. Her own mother seldom 
 kissed her, and Eunice hardly knew how to perform 
 the affectionate ceremony properly. But as Mrs. 
 Charlton presented her to her daughter Lucy, she 
 determined to do her best, and met Lucy s shy but 
 friendly greeting with the voluntary proffer of a kiss 
 and was immediately sure she had done the wrong 
 thing again, and Lucy had not expected it. While 
 Lucy was presenting her to her brothers and little 
 sister, Mrs. Charlton was saying to Rex :
 
 HOME-COMING 31 
 
 "But where is Mr. Charlton? How do you happen 
 to be bringing Miss Harlowe to us ? " 
 
 And when Rex explained that he had met them on 
 the street, and the doctor had said that he had for 
 gotten to execute a commission for Mrs. Charlton, and 
 had asked him to bring Miss Harlowe to the house, she 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "My letter! Of course he forgot it! but what a 
 shame he should have gone back for it ! I asked him 
 to mail it on the train, because I thought it would 
 be no trouble for him, and it would reach its destina 
 tion sooner. But it was not of the slightest impor 
 tance; it is really too bad he should have gone back 
 for it." 
 
 And then Eunice heard McAllister saying, "I am 
 sorry for the doctor, but his misfortune was my op 
 portunity ; it was a very great pleasure to make Miss 
 Harlowe s acquaintance so agreeably." 
 
 She knew, of course, the words meant nothing, but 
 she was so unused to anything of the kind she could 
 not help the stir of her pulses as she heard them. 
 And then Mrs. Charlton shook her head at McAllister 
 with an arch smile, as much as to say : 
 
 "Oh, you rogue! I know you. But you must be 
 ware; I will have no poaching on my preserves." 
 
 It was that ready sympathy of comprehension that 
 made the doctor s wife such a great favorite with all 
 the young people, and particularly were the students 
 of the college her stanch admirers. She had been a 
 Southern beauty when she fell in love with the North 
 ern scholar and married him, and she had kept some
 
 32 IN OLD BELLAIEE 
 
 of the pretty imperious ways natural to Southern 
 women. The doctor adored her, and she venerated 
 and idolized him; but it was perhaps due to that 
 pretty imperiousness that he would not for the world 
 have failed to execute her smallest commission, and 
 was as much under love s tyranny as in the days of 
 his courtship. 
 
 Just then the doctor himself came through the 
 big gate that led out to the street, and McAllister, 
 catching sight of him, explained that he was due at 
 the doctor s lecture-room and took a hurried leave; 
 and the doctor, coming up past the piazza with his 
 long, rapid stride, waved his hand to Eunice and 
 called up: "I am glad to see you have arrived, Miss 
 Harlowe ; I will see you at dinner. And then to his 
 wife: "Your letter is all right, my love" an old-fash 
 ioned way he had of addressing her, even sometimes in 
 semi-public and, without giving any one a chance to 
 reply to him, passed through a tiny gate placed in the 
 high cedar hedge that separated his private grounds 
 from the campus. 
 
 "And now, my dear," said Mrs. Charlton, turning 
 to Eunice, "you must come right in and have some 
 breakfast. Did you tell Alcinda to put it on, Millie ?" 
 addressing a little brown-haired girl, who had been 
 gazing in round-eyed admiration at Eunice from the 
 moment of her arrival. 
 
 "No, m, I forgot; but I will now," and the child 
 flew down the long hall with eager feet to atone for her 
 tardiness. 
 
 Eunice tried to tell Mrs. Charlton that she did not
 
 HOME-COMING 33 
 
 need breakfast, but Mrs. Charlton would not listen 
 to her. 
 
 "Oh, I shall only give you a bite: it is too near 
 dinner-time for anything more ; but you will feel bet 
 ter for eating a little, and after you have had your 
 breakfast, I want you to lie down until dinner-time, 
 and sleep if possible. I shall wake you up for dinner, 
 for Mr. Charlton would feel so disappointed not to 
 find you at the table, and it will be better for you 
 not to sleep too long ; you can go to bed early to-night, 
 you know, and get fully rested." 
 
 Eunice had supposed she was not hungry, but when 
 she found herself in the pleasant dining-room open 
 ing by glass doors upon a side-porch and lawn, and 
 a black boy of about fifteen bringing in a small pot 
 of steaming coffee in one hand and in the other a tiny 
 platter with a beautiful golden-brown omelet on it, 
 she found also that she was quite ready for both. 
 
 And while she was at the table "Judge" brought 
 her trunk, carried it up-stairs and unstrapped it, and 
 so she found it awaiting her when she went back to her 
 room. Eunice, who was swift and deft in all her move 
 ments, very quickly had her limited number of dresses 
 hanging in the deep closet, her morning-gown with its 
 pretty fixings laid over the back of a chair, the dust 
 shaken and brushed from her traveling-dress, and 
 herself arrayed in a loose dressing-gown. She looked 
 around the big, high-ceilinged room, with its old ma 
 hogany furniture, a vase of scarlet salvia on the light- 
 blue cover of her writing-table, and the cool white- 
 muslin curtains at the windows tied back with blue
 
 34 
 
 ribbons; and as she looked she sighed. It was a sigh 
 of full content it was all so fresh and dainty and 
 homelike. 
 
 Outside the strident droning of locusts gave the 
 impression of simmering heat. Her windows opened 
 to the south, and were both raised, but the green out 
 side shutters were bowed, making a soft, pleasant light 
 in the room, and allowing only cool little zephyrs to 
 wander through their half-turned slats. Looking 
 through them, she saw that her windows were further 
 shaded by a great linden, whose branches sometimes 
 brushed the shutters as they swayed in the breeze and 
 gave her an added sense of coolness as she looked into 
 their green depths. She lay down on the soft white 
 bed, put her head on the fragrant linen pillow-case, 
 and closed her tired eyes with a delicious feeling of 
 languor and a delightful sense of being "in the lap 
 of luxury," which had come to her through the new 
 experience of being waited upon by colored servants. 
 All sordid dish-washing cares and kitchen drudgeries 
 seemed now to her as things of a remote past, and she 
 fell asleep with a little sigh upon her lips for her own 
 dear, hard-working mother, for whom there was no 
 such luxurious emancipation possible.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE PATRONEE PARTY 
 
 MRS. CHARLTON would have been very much 
 surprised had she known that Eunice regarded 
 her simple housekeeping as luxurious, for she rather 
 prided herself upon her economy, since the doctor s 
 modest salary required much management to make 
 it supply the exigencies of a large family and a digni 
 fied social position. 
 
 Accustomed in her youth to a retinue of house- 
 servants, she had thought it impossible at first to get 
 along with the two good "girls" that were all most 
 Bellaire housekeepers considered necessary to carry 
 on the work of a house. But she had learned rapidly, 
 and had a year or two before consummated an ar 
 rangement by which, she prided herself, she had 
 still further reduced her domestic expenses. She had 
 taken into her employ a colored woman with a four 
 teen-year-old son and a little girl; and in considera 
 tion of getting a comfortable home for her family, Al- 
 cinda was willing to take smaller wages even than the 
 very modest sum paid for a cook in those days. It 
 was part of the arrangement that her son, in return 
 for his board and clothing, was to be dining-room boy 
 
 35
 
 36 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 and to assist in the rougher part of the up-stairs work ; 
 and it was not long before Charles Cook, junior, had 
 become the most indispensable member of the house 
 hold. 
 
 He had never been named by any shorter title 
 in the family from the day when he first presented 
 himself in the dining-room with his brown face 
 shining from a liberal application of soap and water, 
 his black wool laboriously brushed into almost the 
 semblance of a part, his black eyes dancing, and 
 showing all his teeth with the pleased sense of impor 
 tance attached to the immaculate white apron he was 
 wearing, and the shining silver salver he was holding 
 in his hand. The kindly doctor, wishing to show his 
 good-will toward this new member of his family, had 
 asked him his name, and at his prompt response, ac 
 companied with a respectful duck, " Charles Cook, 
 junior, sah," the boys had shouted with delight, 
 and the doctor himself had set the fashion of per 
 petuating the name by always addressing him by his 
 full title. 
 
 Taking the new teacher to board in exchange for 
 the tuition of their children had been another stroke 
 of economy on Mrs. Charlton s part ; and although the 
 doctor had at first demurred at adding to their already 
 large family or increasing his wife s cares, she was so 
 childishly pleased with her thrifty project that he had 
 to yield finally. Now she was saying to the doctor, 
 who had just come in from his class-room and was 
 waiting for the dinner-bell in Mrs. Charlton s large 
 sunny room:
 
 THE PATRONEE PARTY 37 
 
 "I am so glad we decided to take her. Is n t she 
 charming? I know I shall love her." 
 
 "Yes, dear, your little plans always turn out well," 
 with an admiring glance; "she is a perfect type of 
 a young New England gentlewoman, and I am very 
 glad Lucy is to have her for companion as well as 
 teacher. 
 
 "I am going up-stairs now to waken her for din 
 ner," said Mrs. Charlton; "and I have a great mind 
 to call her Eunice. Would you, dear?" looking 
 wistfully at her husband, and adding, "She must be 
 so homesick so far from home and among so many 
 strangers." 
 
 "My love," said the doctor, earnestly, taking her 
 hand and looking into her shining eyes as she stood 
 beside him, "do exactly as your heart prompts you. 
 It can never prompt you to do anything but what is 
 kindest and best." 
 
 When Eunice heard a soft voice calling her name, 
 and thought, too, she felt a light kiss on her fore 
 head, she opened her eyes and lay for a moment 
 quite still and bewildered. Her sleep had been the 
 heavy sleep of exhaustion, and she could not at once 
 collect her scattered faculties. She almost thought 
 she had lost her identity altogether, awakening so 
 suddenly in that strange room to find a sweet face 
 framed in dark glossy curls bending over her, and a 
 pair of beautiful brown eyes looking lovingly into 
 hers. 
 
 Gradually, however, the mists cleared away, she
 
 38 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 recognized the eyes that were now smiling at her be 
 wilderment, and sprang quickly up, exclaiming: 
 
 "Is it morning, and am I late?" 
 
 "It is too bad to arouse you," said Mrs. Charlton, 
 "when you were sleeping so sweetly; but it is dinner 
 time. Don t stop to do anything, but bathe your face 
 a little, put on that pretty gown on the chair that I 
 have been admiring, and come down and see Mr. 
 Charlton. He is very impatient to make your ac 
 quaintance further. Would you like to have me help 
 you with your fastenings?" 
 
 "Oh, no," answered Eunice, quickly. She had al 
 ready risen, and Mrs. Charlton was pouring some 
 fresh water into the basin for her. 
 
 "You must not do that for me, Mrs. Charlton," said 
 Eunice, greatly disturbed at being waited upon in such 
 fashion, " I do not need any help, and I will be down 
 stairs in five minutes. 
 
 "Oh, don t hurry; it does n t matter if you are 
 late. And, my dear, I want to ask you to let me call 
 you Eunice. I think it will make you feel more at 
 home, and I want you to be very much at home with 
 us." 
 
 Eunice found it difficult to reply, the motherly tone 
 touched her so deeply; but she managed to stammer 
 out her grateful thanks. 
 
 The pretty morning-gown she had laid ready upon 
 her chair was one that she and her mother had taken 
 great pride in making. It was of soft gray cashmere 
 faced with quilted blue silk and falling open over a 
 fine white cambric "front" tucked from the hem to
 
 THE PATRONEE PARTY 39 
 
 the waist with tiny tucks. But she had never worn 
 it, and she found the getting into it the first time no 
 easy problem; and so she did not keep quite to her 
 five minutes. It was fully a quarter of an hour later, 
 therefore, when Millie, who had been sent to conduct 
 her down-stairs, opened the dining-room door and 
 ushered in proudly the new teacher. The doctor was 
 in the very midst of "asking the blessing, " and Eu 
 nice had to stop at the door until he had finished and 
 stood with dropped lids, while four pairs of curious 
 eyes took sly peeps at her from between fingers that 
 were supposed to be reverently covering them. Simul 
 taneously with the four boyish Amens, pronounced 
 loudly and promptly, the four heads were lifted, and 
 Eunice had to run the gauntlet of their undisguised 
 admiration as she passed to her seat beside the doctor 
 at the farther end of the table. She was too conscious 
 of her new finery not to find it a trying ordeal, and 
 the color was coming and going in her cheeks as she 
 took her place. 
 
 The doctor had taken in at a glance the pretty 
 gown, its mingled blue and gray matching the tints 
 of the large, calm eyes, and it quite satisfied his es 
 thetic sense. So did the face, although its oval was 
 almost too long for a perfect line of Beauty, and 
 looked still longer with the light curls drooping on 
 both sides of it. But the chin was well molded, and 
 there were lines of firmness about the mouth that he 
 liked as betokening the strength of character suitable 
 to her vocation. The brow was white and open, a 
 little inclined perhaps to be high and narrow, but
 
 40 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 that was no fault in those days. On the whole, he 
 was very much pleased with the personnel of the new 
 teacher. He thought her a quaint New England type, 
 and he was scientifically fond of finding new types. 
 He decided there must be Quaker blood in her ances 
 try, and he could easily imagine himself addressing 
 her as "Friend Eunice," with the pretty "thee" and 
 "thou." Of course this mental inventory took but 
 a moment of time, and Eunice had only begun to un 
 fold her napkin when the doctor was saying to her, 
 gallantly : 
 
 "You have won the boys hearts already, Miss Har- 
 lowe. A pretty woman in pretty clothes completely 
 subjugates them." 
 
 The boys, according to their different tempera 
 ments, smiled a gallant response to their father s 
 speech, or looked foolish ; and Mrs. Charlton, glancing 
 saucily at her husband, said : 
 
 "He is speaking for himself, Miss Harlowe. You 
 will not be long in finding out that the boys come by 
 their weakness honestly. 
 
 And then the good doctor rubbed his hands de 
 lightedly at being found out, and was just about to 
 make another gallant rejoinder when he discovered 
 that Eunice did not quite know how to take these 
 pleasantries and was becoming embarrassed for a re 
 ply. His manner changed instantly, and he was the 
 grave but kindly host, leading the table-talk that fol 
 lowed into topics of general interest. Eunice was in 
 cluded in it all just enough to make her feel not so 
 much the honored guest as the welcome member of
 
 41 
 
 the home circle, and she was soon quite at her ease, 
 and taking a modest share in the conversation, with 
 great good sense and ready appreciation, the doctor 
 thought. 
 
 "And now, Eunice, we must tell you about the pa- 
 tronee party," said Mrs. Charlton when Charles Cook, 
 junior, staggering under the weight of an enormous 
 watermelon, had placed it before the doctor, who skil 
 fully dissected a bit of the luscious heart and laid 
 it before Eunice. Lucy looked up in surprise to hear 
 her mother use such a familiar address to the digni 
 fied stranger. 
 
 "I don t believe, mamma," she said, "that Miss 
 Harlowe ever heard of a patronee party ;" and Lucy s 
 surmise proving correct, Mrs. Charlton proceeded to 
 explain it in full. 
 
 I do not know whether "patronee parties" were 
 peculiar to Old Tomlinson, but they were time-hon 
 ored institutions there, and much looked forward to 
 by the belles and beaux. It was a requirement of the 
 college that each student, at his entrance, should select 
 one of the faculty as his "patron"; with him were 
 deposited the student s funds, and he regulated his 
 expenditures. And back somewhere in the eighteenth 
 century, I suspect, had arisen the custom of the pa 
 tron giving a party to his patronees, to which an 
 equal number of young ladies was invited. I have 
 sometimes fancied that there was a friendly rivalry 
 among the professors as to who should give the finest 
 party to his patronees, and that new students, on en 
 tering college, were advised by old ones as to which
 
 42 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 professor made the best patron in that respect; and 
 the bachelor professors, necessarily disqualified from 
 entertaining, had a rather small clientele. 
 
 I hardly think Mrs. Charlton gave Eunice quite so 
 full an explanation as this, but it was sufficient to 
 make her understand the name at least, and then she 
 added : 
 
 "We have always given our patronee party in win 
 ter, but it is a much more troublesome affair then, 
 with hot oysters and salads, and I have decided to try 
 it this year early in the season. It will be full moon 
 to-morrow night, and we can use the veranda and 
 garden; and it is so warm that ices and simple re 
 freshments will be very acceptable. But our principal 
 reason in having it so early is to introduce you at once 
 to the young people. You see, I am thriftily trying 
 to kill two birds with one stone, giving you a debut 
 party and getting through with the patronee party at 
 the same time." 
 
 There was something formidable to Eunice in the 
 sound of the word "party." She could not remember 
 that she had ever been to a real young ladies party 
 with young gentlemen in attendance, and it was with 
 very mingled emotions that she heard of the approach 
 ing festivity. She was not quite sure that she would 
 know what to do, and she wondered vaguely if they 
 would play games, as she remembered that the fac 
 tory girls and boys did at the church sociables and 
 grew so loud and noisy that Eunice shuddered at the 
 remembrance. Or perhaps they danced! And min 
 gled with her very severe ideas of the wickedness of
 
 THE PATRONEE PARTY 43 
 
 such an ungodly pastime was a latent sense of the 
 dreariness she would experience in being a wall-flower. 
 
 But it was not all trepidation. A party sounded 
 very nice, too; and she was sure to meet Mr. McAl 
 lister, and she found that pleasant to look forward to. 
 And then she had her graduating-dress all ready, and 
 she was quite sure nothing could be nicer or more 
 appropriate for a party than that. She and Lucy 
 had a chance to get very well acquainted in the long, 
 hot afternoon that followed, which they spent, for the 
 sake of comfort, in the cool parlors; and she was 
 greatly relieved when to her timid inquiry if there 
 would be dancing, Lucy replied in quite a shocked 
 tone: "Oh, no! of course not; you know father is a 
 clergyman"; and then added reflectively: "I am not 
 sure that he disapproves of dancing very much or 
 mother, either. We dance sometimes in the evening 
 by ourselves ; but I suppose people would not like it if 
 they thought father countenanced it, and of course 
 it would not do to have dancing at a party in our 
 house. 
 
 Eunice was so much relieved to find that she was 
 not to be compelled to pass through that trial that 
 she was half tempted to confide in Lucy the fact that 
 she did not know what they did at parties, or how 
 they did it ; but she remembered that Lucy was to be 
 her pupil, and that there must be a certain amount of 
 dignity maintained in their relations, and she decided 
 she must simply watch others and do as they did. 
 
 There could hardly be a greater contrast than Lucy 
 and Eunice presented when they were both dressed
 
 44 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 the next evening and awaiting in the parlor the ar 
 rival of the first guests. They stood on either side of 
 Mrs. Charlton, who, beautiful at all times, was quite 
 queenly when arrayed for a state occasion in sweeping 
 robes of silk, her dress opened at the neck to show a 
 kerchief of finest lace, and the flowing sleeves display 
 ing undersleeves of the same costly fabric. Her dark, 
 glossy hair, falling in curls about her face, was gath 
 ered into a high knot at the back w T ith a broad shell- 
 comb, and her eyes were as bright and her cheeks as 
 rosy as any girl s in the room. She was a splendid foil 
 to the two girls, both fair, but of such different types. 
 Eunice, with her Quaker-like beauty, looked just as she 
 ought in her simple muslin dress tucked in wide tucks 
 from the hem to the waist, and with a blue sash confin 
 ing the folds of the "baby" waist, her eyes a little 
 brighter than usual, the tint on her cheeks a little 
 deeper, and her hair, if possible, smoother, with a lit 
 tle wreath of white rosebuds resting on it. On the 
 other side of her mother stood Lucy, a very rose her 
 self. Her hair was curled, too, in golden fluffy curls, 
 waving about her face like a bright halo. Her eyes 
 were like the deepest blue of her own soft skies, and 
 the pink rose fastened in her hair was not more ex 
 quisitely tinted than her cheek. Her round white 
 arms were bare, and so was her neck, gleaming in 
 snowy whiteness from among clouds of soft tulle, 
 which were fastened at her waist with a pink satin 
 girdle where they met the fleecy ruffles of her skirt. 
 
 Eunice had always a confused remembrance of that 
 evening: a party where they neither danced nor
 
 THE PATRONEE PARTY 45 
 
 played games; where the amusement was conversa 
 tion with a little very good music, yet where there was 
 not a particle of "stiffness" ; where the stream of talk 
 flowed lightly, swiftly, and sometimes sparklingly; 
 and where long lines of young men and young women 
 were brought up and presented to her, the young 
 men not all handsome, but all having something 
 bright to say in the minute or two they were per 
 mitted to linger at her side; and the young women, 
 most of them to her eye extremely pretty, and all of 
 them to her quick feminine perception thoroughly 
 well dressed and perfectly at home with this kind of 
 thing, and very cordial and sweet in their manner 
 toward her. 
 
 But if most of the evening was a dazzling blur on 
 her memory, the latter part of it always stood out 
 with startling vividness. She had begun to be very 
 weary with long standing, and from the continued 
 strain of keeping up with so much bright nonsense, 
 when McAllister appeared at her side. She had seen 
 him earlier in the evening, but only for a moment, 
 when he had inquired with great empressement whe 
 ther she had recovered from the fatigues of her jour 
 ney, and she had felt the foolish color leap up into 
 her face at his tones. Now when he appeared again 
 he said, with quite an air of concern: 
 
 "You look tired, Miss Harlowe; let me insist upon 
 your coming out upon the veranda and getting a little 
 air and a little rest." 
 
 Mrs. Charlton turned to her quickly. "Yes, go 
 with Mr. McAllister, Eunice; there is no necessity of
 
 46 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 your staying here any longer. If everybody has not 
 arrived, they deserve not to meet you for coming so 
 late. I am going to dismiss Lucy, too, in a few 
 minutes." 
 
 So she took McAllister s offered arm, and he skil 
 fully piloted her through the throng and out the low 
 French window on to the veranda. The veranda con 
 tinued around the other side of the house, and there 
 at the farther end sofas and low chairs and an otto 
 man or two had been arranged to make a pretty 
 boudoir. The full moon was flooding the garden, but 
 that part of the veranda was shaded by a great maple. 
 The seats seemed to Eunice to be all occupied, but at 
 their approach a young lady rose from a low easy- 
 chair in which she had been half reclining, and a 
 young man sprang up from an ottoman at her feet. 
 
 M We have been saving this chair for you, Miss 
 Harlowe," said the young lady in a pleasant voice; 
 "we were sure you must be tired." And the young 
 man said, Here s your seat, Mac ; Miss Mazie and I 
 are going for a walk." 
 
 They lingered a moment to interchange a few plea 
 sant words, and then as they walked away McAllister 
 said: 
 
 "That young fellow is "Willie Dayton, and if I tell 
 you a secret you must not betray him. He is dead in 
 love with Miss Lucy, over head and ears, and I don t 
 believe she cares a picayune for him." 
 
 He had the air of being very confidential as he 
 spoke, and assuming that they were very old friends, 
 and Eunice could not help feeling that they were. 
 He went on;
 
 THE PATRONEE PARTY 47 
 
 "The young lady with him is the younger Miss 
 Burton ; she does not belong to the college set, and is 
 invited only on formal occasions like this. She and 
 her sister and Miss McNair and Miss Morris are all 
 here to-night from the army set, with Lieutenant 
 Watson. They are great admirers of Dr. and Mrs. 
 Charlton, though they are not at all intimate at the 
 house. Perhaps you remember meeting Miss Morris, 
 a very handsome brunette, and Miss McNair, a rather 
 dashing girl, not exactly pretty, but with more men 
 at her feet than any girl in town. 
 
 "Yes, I remember them all," said Eunice, quietly; 
 1 I saw them the day I arrived, sitting on the steps of 
 a house we passed. " 
 
 "The deuce you did!" said Rex, betrayed into the 
 expression by his surprise that the quiet and appar 
 ently unobservant little creature had not only taken 
 them all in, but remembered them perfectly. But he 
 regretted his expletive as soon as it was uttered; for 
 he saw by Eunice s shocked face that it had all the 
 effect of an oath on her ears. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said quickly, "for my rude 
 expression. But will you please tell me, Miss Har- 
 lowe, how you managed to see so much with your 
 eyes closed ? For I can take my oath you never lifted 
 them once when you passed." 
 
 Eunice smiled, but did not vouchsafe an explana 
 tion, and he continued : 
 
 "Then I suppose you saw my humble self also, or 
 do you keep your eyes only for the ladies?" 
 
 "I saw you distinctly, and recognized you at once 
 when you overtook us on our way to the college," said
 
 48 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Eunice, looking at him with her quiet gray eyes, iu 
 which he could see by the moonlight there was a little 
 twinkle of amusement. 
 
 "Ah, thank you Miss Eunice," he murmured 
 softly; "may I not call you so? I heard Mrs. Charlton 
 call you Eunice, and I thought it the most charming 
 name I had ever heard, and so perfectly suited to you 
 that I determined on the spot to ask you to allow me 
 to call you Miss Eunice." 
 
 Eunice could not stand the steadfast gaze of the 
 bright black eyes, softened to a look of tenderness, 
 either real or assumed. He was sitting on an ottoman 
 at her feet, and it was harder to avoid them than if 
 he had been looking down upon her. She turned to 
 look away, and with as much indifference as she could 
 master answered : 
 
 "I presume it is the custom here. I noticed every 
 one called Miss Charlton, Miss Lucy; and Mr. Day 
 ton call Miss Burton, Miss Mazie. I am quite willing 
 to be a Roman in Rome." 
 
 "The cold-hearted little Yankee, with her dreadful 
 presumes, " thought Rex. "She is making game of 
 me, but I reckon two can play at that." And forth 
 with he proceeded in his most dexterous fashion to 
 utter the soft and airy nothings he had found so 
 effective in many a flirtation with the girls of South 
 Carolina and Bellaire. Eunice parried them very 
 well, but he had begun to congratulate himself upon 
 the impression he was making, when two people who 
 had been promenading the length of the veranda now 
 approached them, and the lady said :
 
 THE PATRONEE PARTY 49 
 
 "Mr. McAllister, I think you have been monopo 
 lizing Miss Harlowe quite long enough. Here is Lieu 
 tenant Watson dying to make her acquaintance, and 
 I know Miss Harlowe must be anxious to get rid of 
 you. Miss Harlowe, if you will permit me, I will re 
 lieve you of Mr. McAllister, and take him to Mrs. 
 Charlton, who will doubtless find some service for 
 him." 
 
 Rex rose with the slow, languid grace peculiar to 
 him. 
 
 "Really, Miss Lydia," he said, "you are too kind; 
 but if I must be torn from one fair charmer, I can 
 only rejoice that it is t other dear charmer that 
 does it. Miss Harlowe, I hope I have not been boring 
 you ; but I give you fair warning that if you are any 
 kinder to Lieutenant Watson than you have been to 
 me, I shall find it out and call him to account." 
 
 When he had taken Miss Lydia off, who was still 
 protesting she was going to carry him to Mrs. Charl 
 ton, a rather awkward silence fell on the lieutenant 
 and Eunice. He was a good-looking young fellow, 
 quite as tall as Rex McAllister and broader, with not 
 so much padding at the shoulders nor quite so much 
 compression at the waist, though the unwritten law 
 of the service required a certain amount of it, to which 
 every good officer conformed. 
 
 Eunice had never in her life met an officer, and the 
 dazzling gold and blue of his full-dress uniform 
 frightened her. His fierce cavalry mustache, his mili 
 tary erectness and close-cropped hair, were formida 
 ble also ; but he had honest brown eyes which invited
 
 50 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 trust, and she summoned up courage to ask him to 
 sit down. It was a somewhat difficult feat to accom 
 plish, his sword entangling itself awkwardly with his 
 feet as he took the low seat, and he did not look as 
 graceful as Rex McAllister had in that lowly attitude. 
 Altogether he was so little at his ease that Eunice 
 took courage from his diffidence and began the con 
 versation by some slightly stilted remarks about the 
 beauty of the moon-lighted garden with groups of 
 gaily laughing and talking people flitting through it. 
 The lieutenant responded to her efforts, and, once 
 fairly launched, talked well. He had nothing of the 
 soft sentimentalist in his manner, but he had many 
 questions to ask her about her New England home; 
 for New England was a mysterious land to him, and he 
 was intensely curious about it. It had been his desire 
 to find out what kind of creature a New.England young 
 lady might be that had made him express a wish to 
 meet her, though nothing could have been further from 
 his desires than to have Miss Lydia take him at his 
 word so promptly. Eunice was glad to tell him about 
 the home customs, and give him her impressions of 
 these that seemed to her to belong to people of another 
 clime and a foreign nation. She quite warmed with 
 her subject, and talked much better than she had 
 talked with McAllister, but she was not at all excited. 
 Her eyes had lost much of their brightness, and little 
 tongues of flame no longer darted at inconvenient mo 
 ments into her cheeks. They were getting on very 
 well, indeed, when a gay party with Willie Dayton 
 and Lucy among them, followed by Charles Cook,
 
 THE PATRONEE PARTY 51 
 
 junior, and another colored boy bearing trays of ices 
 and cakes, broke in upon them. 
 
 We thought we should find you here, said Willie, 
 "and we have come to eat our supper with you." 
 
 He drew up a little table as he spoke, on which he 
 placed the cream and cake, and then drew up a sofa 
 beside it for Lucy. They were having a very cozy 
 little supper when they were joined by McAllister and 
 Miss Lydia. 
 
 "Room for any more?" they asked, as they came 
 up. 
 
 "Plenty of room," said Willie, rising from his 
 place beside Lucy on the sofa. "Take my seat, Miss 
 Lydia." 
 
 "Not for worlds/ said Lydia, laughingly. "I 
 should certainly feel de trop then. I like this seat 
 better," and she dropped into a low chair and motioned 
 Rex to a seat on an ottoman beside her. But Rex, ap 
 parently, did not see her gesture. Instead, he stopped 
 behind Eunice and leaned over the back of her chair 
 while he half whispered: 
 
 "You are unkind to me; here you have been talking 
 to the lieutenant for a good quarter of an hour, and 
 you hardly allowed me ten minutes. 
 
 Eunice was embarrassed at his confidential whisper 
 ing, which yet the lieutenant might easily have over 
 heard; greatly embarrassed that he should bend over 
 her chair with an air of devotion as new to her as it 
 was difficult for her to deal with; and above all was 
 she annoyed and irritated with him that he should 
 cause her such embarrassment. Nothing could have
 
 52 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 been primmer than her reply to him, unless it was 
 her manner of making it; and her words were inten 
 tionally clear-cut for the lieutenant s ear as well: 
 
 "I presume, Mr. McAllister, you have found the 
 fifteen minutes quite as pleasant as I have found 
 them." If she had supposed she was administering a 
 rebuke to Rex, as one might have been led to infer 
 from the severity of her manner, she was mistaken. 
 Rex chuckled inwardly. "Jealous," he said to him 
 self, "and playing off the lieutenant against me! 
 Verily, the little Quakeress is progressing. 
 
 At her words the lieutenant, who, since Miss Ly- 
 dia s advent, had been only waiting his chance, sprang 
 up. 
 
 Take my seat, Mr. McAllister, he said, and with 
 out waiting to see whether it was accepted or declined, 
 he slipped into the one to which Miss Lydia had mo 
 tioned Rex. 
 
 Adorable ! murmured Rex, sinking into the seat 
 the lieutenant had vacated with a rapturous sigh ; " I 
 shall always hereafter believe that fiery man of war 
 to be also a man of the utmost discernment. Ah, 
 Miss Harlowe," fixing his bold black eyes on her and 
 disregarding her blushes, painfully apparent in the 
 flooding moonlight, " On such a night as this : 
 
 How far he might have progressed with Jessica s 
 soft speech is uncertain. Miss Lydia s penetrating 
 tones interrupted him. 
 
 Mr. McAllister, am I to go hungry while you whis 
 per airy nothings ? she said icily. 
 
 It was unpardonably rude of Miss Lydia; and to
 
 THE PATRONEE PARTY 53 
 
 be rude to a girl and a stranger was the way to rouse 
 all that was best in Rex to defend the defenseless, and 
 all that was worst in him to resent the rudeness. 
 
 "I cannot imagine so ethereal a creature ever suf 
 fering such earthly pangs," he answered, coolly and 
 intentionally insolent. " Lieutenant, will you be so 
 good as to see that Miss McNair has an ice ? A homeo 
 pathic prescription." 
 
 But the lieutenant had sprung to his feet at Miss 
 Lydia s first words, and, with a swift apology for his 
 neglect, was hurrying away, and so did not hear Mc 
 Allister s speech, which he, in turn, might have re 
 sented. Strange to say Miss Lydia did not resent it 
 at all. It seemed, instead, to bring her to a sense of 
 her rudeness to Eunice, and she apologized very pret 
 tily to her ; and Lucy and Willie, throwing themselves 
 into the breach with an animated controversy as to 
 the respective merits of the army or the law as a 
 profession, which they had been discussing between 
 themselves, and in which they now, with rather too 
 evident a purpose, perhaps, included the others, all 
 was quite amicable by the time the lieutenant had 
 returned with his ices and cakes. The little incident 
 had apparently created only an access of gaiety, and 
 they lingered long over their ices, Miss Lydia s high- 
 pitched voice and ringing laugh more and more in 
 evidence as the evening wore on and as Rex s atten 
 tions to Eunice grew more and more pronounced. 
 
 Up-stairs the guests all gone, the house below dark 
 enedLucy came into Eunice s room to "talk it
 
 54 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 over" in her dressing-gown while she brushed out her 
 curls; and they found so much to tell each other of 
 all that had happened that they parted finally to lay 
 their tired heads upon their pillows with the feeling 
 of old friends and confidantes. 
 
 Lucy dropped asleep at once, but the experience had 
 been too new and exciting for Eunice ; she found her 
 self going over in her mind words and tones and looks 
 that she was quite sure meant nothing at all, and that 
 she was quite indignant with herself for remember 
 ing. None the less, her last waking thoughts were of 
 dark eyes and admiring glances and softly murmured 
 words.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE HANDSOMEST MAN IN THE ARMY 
 
 EUNICE began to fear life in Bellaire was to 
 prove a round of dissipation when, the next 
 morning at breakfast, Mrs. Charlton announced that 
 Mrs. Barton, wife of the commandant at the barracks, 
 had invited them out to "retreat," with tea on the 
 lawn to follow. 
 
 "Oh, lovely!" exclaimed Lucy. "I m so glad 
 you re to be introduced to the barracks so soon, Eu 
 nice. That s one of the nicest things we do in Bel 
 laire walk out to the barracks to retreat, or some 
 times in the morning to guard mount. But we 
 don t often have tea on the lawn afterward. It s 
 very grand, you know, to be invited to the comman 
 dant s house ; especially if you don t happen to belong 
 to the army set. 
 
 Then a sudden fear as to the walk presented itself 
 to her, and she added quickly : 
 
 " Is it only we that are invited, mother ? Will there 
 be no other young people?" 
 
 "Oh, I think so. I fancy it s to be quite a party," 
 Mrs. Charlton assured her. "Mrs. Barton says it is 
 
 5 55
 
 56 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 a special invitation to meet the handsomest man in 
 the army. 
 
 "Whom does she mean, mother not Lieutenant 
 Watson?" Lucy s tones were slightly scornful. 
 
 "I m not sure," answered Mrs. Charlton, slowly; 
 "but I think I know"; and then refused to hazard a 
 guess. "No, we 11 wait and see," she said; and had 
 hardly finished speaking when "Judge" appeared 
 at the door, the bearer of a tiny white note for Lucy. 
 
 "It s from Cousin Willie," said Lucy, looking up 
 at Eunice as she finished reading it. "He asks per 
 mission for Rex and himself to walk out with us to the 
 barracks this afternoon. Shall I say yes for you?" 
 
 "I presume so," said Eunice, trying to look as in 
 different as Lucy over such a momentous affair as an 
 invitation from a young man, and hoping that no 
 one would notice the little tongues of flame she could 
 feel darting in and out of her cheeks. 
 
 There were only eight in the little party setting out 
 from Mrs. Charltom s door as the late afternoon 
 shadows were lengthening over the velvety turf of 
 the campus. Of the eight, only Lucy and Eunice and 
 Rex and Willie were of the college set ; Marcia Morris, 
 the beauty, and Lydia McNair, the belle, were the 
 other girls, and by their sides stalked two stalwart 
 officers from the barracks. 
 
 They were a pleasant sight, those Bellaire belles 
 and beaux of long ago, as they walked down the 
 shaded streets of the old town ; and the neighbors, sit 
 ting on the stoops in the cool of the afternoon and
 
 THE HANDSOMEST MAN IN THE ARMY 57 
 
 watching them as they passed, had only kindly com 
 ments for them. The stately Marcia, tall, dark, and 
 graceful, led the way, and by her side an officer, walk 
 ing awkwardly as became a cavalry officer, his spurs 
 jingling and his sword clanking superciliously. By 
 Miss Lydia s side walked Lieutenant Watson, a glow 
 of pleasure on his fine face, and holding himself a 
 little more proudly erect as he walked beside the ac 
 knowledged leader of Bellaire society. Willie was 
 with Lucy, of course dainty little Lucy, her golden 
 curls afloat on the breeze, and tripping by Willie s 
 side with the light and airy grace of a fairy ; and Eex 
 brought up the rear, holding with studied grace a 
 plain and somber parasol over Eunice. 
 
 It was something of a trial to Rex that every other 
 man was holding, more or less clumsily, a tiny sun 
 shade ruffled gaily, and that Lucy and Lydia and 
 Marcia were all a fluff of summer muslins and laces 
 over swaying crinoline, while Eunice s pearl-gray 
 chally fell in straight, soft folds to her feet. Yet 
 there must have been an atom of moral courage in his 
 character ; for as he saw wondering or critical glances 
 directed toward Eunice as they passed in review 
 down the long line of Bellaire burghers at ease on 
 their own door-steps, he said to himself slowly, no 
 ting Eunice s gray eyes dancing with excitement un 
 der their long lashes and the color coming and going 
 in the oval of her cheeks, and her lithe and graceful 
 figure swaying with each elastic step, "She s as 
 pretty as any of them, and a thousand times more 
 classic in her style of dress,"
 
 68 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Dr. and Mrs. Charlton had gone on in advance of 
 the young folks in the family carryall, and it proved 
 to be, as Mrs. Charlton had conjectured, quite a party. 
 Most of the guests were already gathered on the ve 
 randa and the lawn before the commandant s house, 
 and Eunice found she had another dreadful ordeal 
 to undergo in the introductions. But Dr. and Mrs. 
 Charlton were there to keep her in countenance, and 
 Mrs. Barton was cordial and sweet, and her own calm 
 exterior helped her to go bravely through with it. It 
 was the army set that was present in force, Dr. Charl 
 ton s little household were the only outsiders, and 
 Eunice had already formed rigid ideas of the worldli- 
 ness, or perhaps worse, of the army set; but they 
 melted rapidly away under the thawing influence of 
 the gracious cordiality that met her on all sides. They 
 were a manless company at first, for the two officers 
 had hastily excused themselves to take their places in 
 the coming ceremony, and Rex and Willie were the 
 only men left among the bevy of girls. 
 
 "Who is your lion, Mrs. Barton?" asked Lydia 
 McNair. "We ve all been trying to guess. Mrs. 
 Charlton says there s only one man who answers to 
 the description of the handsomest man in the army, 
 but she won t tell us who it is." 
 
 "Wait till you see him" Mrs. Barton answered. 
 "Or perhaps you know him. There he comes across 
 the parade-ground with Major Barton." 
 
 Everyone turned quickly. Riding across the open 
 square beside Major Barton was an erect, soldierly 
 figure towering by half a head above the group of
 
 THE HANDSOMEST MAN IN THE ARMY 59 
 
 subalterns surrounding him. It was impossible to 
 distinguish more of him than that the close-cut beard 
 and thick wavy hair were already turning white ; but 
 Rex exclaimed quickly : 
 
 Why, it s Uncle Robert ! There s no mistaking 
 Traveller even at this distance. Did you ever see a 
 more magnificent horse, Miss Harlowe?" 
 
 Miss Lydia gave Eunice no chance to reply, for 
 which she was grateful since she knew so little of 
 horses that she had no intelligent answer ready. 
 
 "Of course!" Lydia exclaimed; "that description 
 could apply to no one else." And then a sudden si 
 lence fell upon the little party. 
 
 The garrison band had been playing at intervals, 
 and at intervals also the mounted buglers had been 
 sounding their musical summons. In response to the 
 summons the whole garrison was now drawn up in 
 picturesque order surrounding the tall flag-staff on 
 the parade in front of the commandant s house. The 
 shadows had been lengthening rapidly across the deep 
 emerald of the close-cut lawns, the garrison s pride, 
 for the turf was a hundred years old, and now the 
 lower rim of the sun was just touching the horizon. 
 Once more the mounted buglers sounded the beautiful 
 "retreat," the sunset gun boomed forth its signal, and 
 the orderly standing at the foot of the tall staff began 
 to lower the flag. As it fluttered slowly down every 
 soldier and every officer stood facing it at salute, while 
 the famous band broke into the strains of the "Star 
 Spangled Banner." 
 
 It was Lydia McNair who first broke the silence.
 
 60 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 The soldiers in squadrons were wheeling and march 
 ing toward their quarters, and the officers were dis 
 mounting and giving their horses into the charge of 
 orderlies preparatory to joining the ladies on Mrs. 
 Barton s veranda. Miss Lydia sighed. 
 
 "No wonder our soldiers love their flag so," she 
 said, when they see it so honored every day. 
 
 I could die for it ! " exclaimed Lucy, ardently, her 
 eyes beaming and her cheeks glowing with the enthu 
 siasm with which the scene had inspired her. 
 
 "And so could I!" exclaimed "Willie and Rex in 
 concert. 
 
 It was an old story to all those on the veranda, ex 
 cept to Eunice. It was a favorite pastime with the 
 young people of Bellaire to form walking-parties to 
 the barracks for "retreat," but the beautiful cere 
 mony never palled and never failed to fill them with 
 love and loyalty. To Eunice it was new and wonder 
 ful. She had never before known that all over her 
 native land, wherever a company or a regiment of the 
 army was stationed, and on every ship of the navy 
 riding the seas, the sunset hour was always witness to 
 just such honoring of the beautiful flag. A fierce 
 new loyalty began to burn within her. She began to 
 feel that heretofore she had been provincial : she had 
 loved New England, but had cared but little for that 
 whole broad country which for almost the first time 
 she proudly claimed as her own. She glowed with 
 pride to hear Eex ardently second Lucy s speech, and 
 she longed to be able to break through her native re 
 serve and second it also.
 
 THE HANDSOMEST MAN IN THE ARMY 61 
 
 In the midst of her glowing thoughts she found 
 herself being presented to a tall soldier who seemed 
 to her to merit a better description than handsome, 
 there was such mingled benignity and nobility in his 
 bearing. The dark-brown eyes beamed on her in 
 kindly fashion, but yet she was sure she caught a 
 glimpse of lightning lurking in their depths, and they 
 inspired her almost as much with awe as with liking. 
 She was aghast when one of Mrs. Barton s little girls 
 rushed across the veranda and flung herself into his 
 arms. But he seemed to like it and not to be embar 
 rassed by the child s noisy demonstration of affection. 
 
 "She s namesake to both me and my wife,-" he 
 said to Eunice in apology for the child, "and knows 
 she has full liberty with her old godfather. Come, 
 Roberta, tell Miss Harlowe your name." 
 
 "Roberta Custis Barton," responded the child, 
 promptly; and in the same breath: "Please, Uncle 
 Robert, have n t you any candy in your pocket?" 
 
 "Look and see, Bobolink," he answered, and pre 
 tended to be greatly astonished when the child pulled 
 a bag of peppermints out of the skirts of his coat. 
 
 "Are you everybody s uncle?" asked Eunice, be 
 ginning to feel wonderfully at ease with the stern 
 soldier. 
 
 "Not really, truly uncle," he answered, smiling. 
 "I am only uncle by courtesy to Willie Dayton and 
 Rex McAllister because their fathers and I were col 
 lege chums and Rex s mother was one of my childish 
 sweethearts. Of course, I m uncle to all of Mrs. 
 Barton s children; we Ve been in barracks together
 
 62 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 and in camp together, and we re all old soldiers to 
 gether." 
 
 "Robert," said Mrs. Barton, coming up at this mo 
 ment intent on seating her guests at the little tables 
 set on the veranda and the lawn, "I m going to put 
 you with Dr. and Mrs. Charlton." 
 
 "By all means," answered Uncle Robert; "but let 
 me have some of the young people as well. You know 
 my weakness, Emily ; give me Miss Harlowe and Rex, 
 at least." 
 
 "It will make jealousy, I fear," said Mrs. Barton, 
 shaking her head doubtfully; "but I know you re 
 not happy without young people around you. Not 
 to seem invidious, I will have to add one or two 
 others, and I think I will give you Lydia McNair and 
 Lieutenant Watson also. You remember the McNairs 
 when you were stationed in Bellaire years ago?" 
 
 "Of course ! and I remember Miss Lydia as a saucy 
 little girl in pantalets. Give me her also, by all 
 means. 
 
 On their way to the table, the colonel threw his 
 arm affectionately over Rex s shoulders. 
 
 "Well, Rex, and how are they all at home?" he 
 asked genially. 
 
 Rex colored with pleasure. 
 
 "All very well, sir," he answered respectfully. 
 They will be delighted to hear so directly from you. 
 I shall write my mother all about your visit." 
 
 "And tell her I found her boy in good company," 
 he said, with a sly glance at Eunice, which greatly 
 pleased Rex as an evidence of Uncle Robert s admira-
 
 THE HANDSOMEST MAN IN THE ARMY G3 
 
 tion of the little New Englander. But it was not 
 the colonel s way to lose an opportunity of uttering 
 the "word in season," and so he added in a graver 
 tone: 
 
 "And how is it with you, my boy? Is everything 
 as it should be? Are you making of yourself a man 
 of whom that dear mother of yours will be proud 
 some day?" 
 
 Rex colored violently this time, and hardly with 
 pleasure. 
 
 "I hope so, sir," he said, at first stiffly, as one who 
 rejects unwarrantable interference. Then a better 
 impulse followed quickly, and he added impulsively: 
 
 "I m afraid, Uncle Robert, I m hardly up to 
 your standard or rny mother s, but perhaps I m not 
 quite as bad as I seem." 
 
 There was no time for any further words, and the 
 colonel relinquished Rex s shoulder with a friendly 
 pressure. Mrs. Barton had put him on her right 
 and Dr. Charlton on her left, and since the table 
 was a long square and held eight people, an im 
 possible number to seat symmetrically, Eunice sat 
 next Mrs. Charlton, who was at the right of her 
 host. It was an arrangement that put Eunice directly 
 opposite Rex; and though Rex was in duty bound to 
 devote himself to Lydia, by whose side he sat, he 
 had a very good chance to watch Eunice, and he was 
 curiously interested to note how she would bear her 
 self at what might almost be called her first dinner 
 party. He had begun to decide that he had no rea 
 son to feel ashamed ; she lacked a little the ease of the
 
 64 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 other guests, the primness inseparable from her was 
 perhaps a little more noticeable than usual, but her 
 air of breeding was unmistakable and her quiet dig 
 nity a pleasant contrast to Miss Lydia s boisterous- 
 ness, which, however, was less pronounced than her 
 wont, held in bounds by her awe of Dr. Charlton, in 
 whose kind blue eyes she liked to shine and dreaded 
 to read disapproval. 
 
 Half-way through the supper, Rex, who had been 
 leaning toward Lydia with his usual air of devotion, 
 lifted his head at the sound of something like a half- 
 gasp from Eunice, and glanced across the table at her. 
 She was leaning slightly forward, her eyes fixed on 
 the colonel, and the look in them was half horror, 
 half unwilling interest. Eex turned to listen to what 
 his Uncle Robert could be saying to account for that 
 intense expression in Eunice s eyes. 
 
 "Is it not strange," he was saying, "that the de 
 scendants of the Pilgrim Fathers, who crossed the 
 Atlantic to preserve their religious freedom, have 
 always proved the most intolerant of the spiritual 
 liberty of others?" 
 
 The good doctor, embarrassed for Eunice, hastened 
 to modify this statement; but the colonel, not under 
 standing at all that Miss Harlowe, who had greatly 
 attracted him, was a New Englander, went on, se 
 renely unconscious of any discourtesy : 
 
 "The efforts of certain people at the North to in 
 terfere with and change the domestic institutions of 
 the South are unlawful and foreign to their duty. 
 They are neither responsible nor accountable for this
 
 THE HANDSOMEST MAN IN THE ARMY 65 
 
 institution, and it can only be changed through the 
 agency of a civil and servile war." 
 
 "But I thought I had understood that you did not 
 approve of slavery," interposed the doctor, mildly. 
 
 I do not. There are few, I believe, in this enlight 
 ened age who will not acknowledge that slavery as 
 an institution is a moral and political evil in any 
 country; but I think it a greater evil to the white 
 than to the black race. My feelings are strongly en 
 listed in behalf of the latter; my sympathies are 
 more strongly with the former." 
 
 "Then why," objected the doctor, "are you so 
 severe in your disapproval of the abolitionist, who 
 thinks with you that slavery is an evil to both whites 
 and blacks?" 
 
 For the first time in the course of the argument 
 the colonel s calm exterior seemed ruffled. Eunice 
 saw the lightning-flash she had suspected of lurking 
 in his brown eyes. He spoke with some asperity : 
 
 "The abolitionist, sir, must know that the course 
 he is pursuing will only excite angry feelings in the 
 master and insurrection in the slave. Emancipation 
 will sooner result from the mild and melting influ 
 ence of Christianity than from the storms and tem 
 pests of fiery controversy. This influence, though 
 slow, is sure. While we see the course of the final 
 abolition of human slavery is still onward, and give 
 it the aid of our prayers and all justifiable means in 
 our power, we must leave the progress as well as the 
 result in His hands Who sees the end, Who chooses 
 to work by slow influences, with Whom a thousand
 
 66 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 years are but as a single day. But the abolitionist 
 does not approve the mode by which Providence ac 
 complishes its purpose; though the reasons he gives 
 for interference in what he has no concern with, hold 
 good of every kind of interference with our neigh 
 bors." 
 
 "I am somewhat of your way of thinking," said 
 the doctor, benignly ; though I believe God moves in 
 a mysterious way his wonders to perform, and the 
 abolitionist may be one of them. 
 
 The colonel smiled. 
 
 "I cannot possibly accuse you of irreverence, sir," 
 he said; "and perhaps you are right but God for 
 bid!" 
 
 Seeing that the colonel was now mollified, the doc 
 tor ventured on a question he was greatly desiring 
 to ask. 
 
 "What do you think, colonel, will be the effect in 
 the South should Lincoln be elected?" 
 
 The colonel s broad brow and kindly eyes clouded 
 at once. 
 
 "Ah, my dear sir, I greatly dread the result. You 
 remember that in 56 the South had determined upon 
 secession if Fremont should be elected, and only the 
 election of Buchanan saved us. Feeling is running 
 greatly higher now. As far as I can judge by the 
 papers, we are between a state of anarchy and civil 
 war. May God avert from us both ! 
 
 The colonel spoke with deep feeling a feeling the 
 doctor shared so strongly he could not trust himself 
 to reply. But Eunice had heard but one word
 
 THE HANDSOMEST MAN IN THE ARMY 07 
 
 "secession." Her whole soul was in a turmoil of in 
 dignation and horror. Hardly realizing what she was 
 doing, she, usually so calm and self -restrained, and 
 with a modesty in the presence of her elders that 
 verged on timidity, rushed impetuously into speech. 
 
 Secession ! Destroy the Union ! That would be 
 the act of traitors!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I 
 am from New England. I am a descendant of those 
 Puritans you have just accused of narrow-mindedness 
 and bigotry and perhaps they are all that; but no 
 one can accuse them of not being patriots, or of being 
 disloyal to their country. 
 
 Yet, with all her indignation hot within her, she still 
 maintained her quiet dignity of manner; and Rex, 
 who had at first fidgeted a little and dropped his 
 eyes, embarrassed by what struck him as her "strong- 
 minded" attitude, so alien to all her surroundings, 
 lifted them at last and let them rest on Eunice with 
 admiration and something akin to pride in his long 
 look. 
 
 The colonel s dark-brown eyes expressed something 
 of the same admiration as he hastened to disclaim 
 all intentional discourtesy in his animadversions on 
 her ancestors. But he seemed to feel, also, that in the 
 little Puritan he had found a foeman not unworthy 
 of his steel, and so, his apologies fully made, he added 
 with the kindly smile natural to him in addressing 
 a young woman: "Is it because the South threatens 
 secession that you accuse her of disloyalty and lack 
 of patriotism?" and as Eunice merely bowed her 
 assent, he went on:
 
 68 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Have you forgotten that his Britannic Majesty, in 
 his treaty of peace after the Revolution, acknowledged 
 the thirteen colonies by name to be free, sovereign 
 and independent states, and there was no quarrel on 
 our side with the phraseology of the treaty? And 
 in 1786, you know, New England made many threats 
 of secession, and Rhode Island did actually secede and 
 was not readmitted until 1790. And in 1804, at 
 the time of the purchase of Louisiana from Napoleon, 
 New England was full of threats that it would secede 
 from the Federal Union and form a Northern Con 
 federacy. Later, Josiah Quincy said on the floor of 
 Congress : If Louisiana is granted statehood, it is my 
 deliberate opinion that it is virtually a dissolution 
 of the Union, that it will free the States from their 
 moral obligation; and as it will be the right of all, 
 it will be the duty of some definitely to prepare for 
 a separation amicably if they can, violently if they 
 must ; and from no quarter came any denial of this 
 right of secession. Throughout the war of 1812 talk 
 of secession was rife in New England, and very prob 
 ably the only thing that prevented the formation of 
 the Northern Confederacy at that time was the treaty 
 of peace made with England. Now, my dear young 
 lady, I don t want to throw any discredit on your fore 
 bears ; I am not sure but they were well within their 
 rights in all this talk of secession; but I only want 
 to remind you that it is not the South alone that has 
 shown itself so disloyal as to threaten disruption of 
 the Union." 
 
 Poor Eunice! She was hurt twice: first in her
 
 THE HANDSOMEST MAN IN THE ARMY 69 
 
 pride of an unblemished ancestry, and second, which 
 was perhaps the more mortifying of the two, in her 
 pride of scholarship. She could not remember that 
 she had ever even read these damning facts of history, 
 whose verity she could not for a moment discredit; 
 and she had prided herself expressly on being well 
 read in the history of her own country ! She had no 
 weapons with which to refute the colonel s arguments ; 
 there was nothing left to her but capitulation: but 
 she was not of that obstinate feminine type that will 
 never own itself beaten, and her surrender was made 
 so sweetly that she took the enemy by storm in the 
 very act of making it, and went down with colors 
 flying. 
 
 "You have quite confounded me, colonel," she said 
 in her sweet little prim way; "I find I must confess 
 myself very ignorant of my country s history. I shall 
 always be very humble hereafter about my Puritan 
 ancestors, for it seems the Puritans of the North are 
 no more infallible than the Chevaliers of the South. 
 But, individually, I shall always maintain that loy 
 alty to the Union is a far nobler and more patriotic 
 sentiment than loyalty to any sovereign and inde 
 pendent state !" 
 
 Dr. Charlton led and the colonel was the first to 
 follow in the round of applause that greeted Eunice s 
 little speech. To her surprise and confusion, she 
 found herself the center of attention. The guests 
 at the other tables looked up to see what had occa 
 sioned the commotion at the table of honor, and saw 
 the grave Miss Harlowe all smiles and blushes as she
 
 70 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 received the compliments and congratulations show 
 ered upon her. Then they saw the colonel rise to his 
 feet with his wine-glass in his hand, his splendid figure 
 erect, his waving hair a crown of glory, his dark eyes 
 blazing. Lifting his voice to include the little circle 
 of tables about his own, he invited every one to drink, 
 standing, the toast he was about to propose: 
 
 "The Union forever! Pride of our fathers, may 
 it be the joy and glory of our descendants ! 
 
 Eunice found herself on her feet with the others, 
 a wine-glass in her hand, she, who had never touched 
 the hated thing in her life before, and amid clinking 
 glass and ringing cheers she raised it to her lips.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A NEW ENGLAND CONSCIENCE 
 
 IN the confusion of many tongues that followed the 
 colonel s toast Dr. Charlton took occasion to say 
 to him : 
 
 "It gave me more pleasure than I can express to 
 you Colonel, to find that you are so strongly on the 
 right side. In the troubles that are threatening our 
 beloved country, I have been building my hopes upon 
 you, if worse comes to worse ; and I have been eager to 
 hear from your own lips that, whatever betides, you 
 are for the Union." 
 
 The colonel looked troubled, and it was a long mo 
 ment before he spoke. When he did it was with the 
 air of having made a difficult resolve. 
 
 "My dear doctor," he said, "I am about to say 
 to you something that I would say to very few. But I 
 know that you will not misunderstand me, and I know 
 that you will regard it as a confidence and not to be 
 repeated. The strongest desire of my heart at this 
 moment is that the Union may stand forever as it is 
 to-day unalterable, indissoluble. No greater sorrow 
 could come into my life than to see the Southern States 
 
 carry out their threat of secession. But my own 
 e 71
 
 72 IN OLD BELLAIKE 
 
 course, should they do so, is as yet uncertain. I 
 shall be guided entirely by the action my State takes. 
 If Virginia secedes, I go with her my highest fealty 
 is to my native State. But God forbid that day shall 
 ever come ! 
 
 He spoke slowly and sadly, with no air of bravado, 
 but rather of keen regret, and Dr. Charlton looked at 
 him with sorrowing eyes, as one who understood too 
 well and pitied too deeply to feel any anger. 
 
 Greatly to Eunice s distress, she found, very soon 
 after the tables had been removed, that this was to be 
 a dancing-party. 
 
 The lawns and verandas were brilliantly lighted by 
 gaily colored lanterns, and now the moon had begun 
 to pour upon them a flood of soft, golden light that 
 paled the lanterns. The band, which had continued 
 to play at intervals during supper, had gone off to find 
 its own supper while the tables were being cleared 
 away. Now it returned and took up its station nearer 
 the commandant s house and began to play the 
 "Invitation to the Waltz." It was a signal the 
 young people seemed to understand, and Rex, who 
 had been talking to a group of girls at a little distance, 
 hastily excused himself and hurried over to the corner 
 of the veranda where Eunice was one of a little cir 
 cle gathered around Uncle Robert. 
 
 "May I have the first dance?" he asked in a low 
 voice as he bent over the back of her chair. 
 
 Eunice straightened up quickly, as if electrified, 
 and Rex could easily see, by the combined light of
 
 A NEW ENGLAND CONSCIENCE 73 
 
 moon and lanterns, the horrified look in her gray eyes. 
 She might have declined very sweetly and been just 
 as firm, but this seemed to Eunice an occasion in 
 which her disapprobation should be expressed by the 
 manner of her refusal. 
 
 "I do not dance," she said severely. 
 
 Rex was amused at the manner of his rebuff, but 
 he was not easily discouraged. 
 
 "Oh, not a waltz or a polka, perhaps; but you 
 would not mind walking through a quadrille with me, 
 would you ? This first one is to be a quadrille. 
 
 Eunice had very hazy notions as to what a quadrille 
 might be, and to know that it was called a dance was 
 sufficient. But by this time she had recovered from 
 her first shock sufficiently to drop the severity, and 
 she replied quite amiably: 
 
 "I shall have to decline, Mr. McAllister. I really 
 know nothing about it, and I should only be an em 
 barrassment to you." 
 
 Rex bowed his regrets and hurried away. He was 
 in time to secure Miss Lydia, who had been skilfully 
 avoiding the lieutenant, hoping that some chance 
 might give her Rex instead; and whether it was by 
 Rex s management or by accident, they took their 
 places in the quadrille forming on the lawn just below 
 Eunice s seat on the veranda. 
 
 Now Eunice had never so much as seen a dance of 
 any kind, and try as she might to keep her attention 
 fixed on what the colonel and Dr. Charlton were say 
 ing, her eyes would wander to the gay picture on the 
 lawn below her. Rex danced the quadrille as he might
 
 74 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 have danced the minuet, with stately grace and punc 
 tiliously " taking the steps," while Lydia, with her 
 ruffles and laces gathered in one hand and the other 
 held high in Rex s, curtseyed and pirouetted and 
 romped through the dance with a saucy grace that 
 fairly bewitched Eunice. And then, to her amaze 
 ment, she discovered that the couple facing Rex and 
 Lydia was Lucy and Willie, and Lucy s little feet 
 were twinkling rhythmically to the music and her 
 eyes were sparkling and her cheeks glowing while she 
 went through the intricate movements of the figures 
 with an ease and a fairylike grace that astonished 
 Eunice. "Where had a clergyman s daughter learned 
 such an ungodly accomplishment! And so difficult 
 did it look to Eunice that it seemed to her not the least 
 of its sins was the valuable time that must have been 
 wasted in acquiring it. None the less did she find 
 that it was with difficulty she could turn away her 
 eyes from so bewitching a sight. 
 
 But Eunice s conscience was of the consistent type 
 that made watching a sinful amusement almost as 
 great a sin as engaging in it, and as soon as she re 
 called herself to this fact she resolutely shut her 
 eyes and ears to the bewitching sights and sounds. 
 Only once, just before the end of the dance, did she 
 almost unconsciously lift her eyes as the increased 
 sounds of merriment forced themselves upon her un 
 willing ears; and there, just below her, was Rex s 
 handsome face turned up toward her as he circled 
 by in the merry "all hands round." He nodded 
 gaily as he caught her eye, and his glance seemed to
 
 A NEW ENGLAND CONSCIENCE 75 
 
 say saucily, "Now are n t you sorry that you 
 would n t dance with me ? " 
 
 Eunice turned quickly away and did not look again, 
 but she was not surprised, as soon as he could decently 
 leave his partner after the quadrille was over, to find 
 Rex by her side. He was begging her to try the next 
 dance with him, a waltz, and here Eunice had 
 not only her principles to sustain her in her firm re 
 fusal, her sense of maidenly propriety w r as so 
 shocked at the mere suggestion of dancing a round 
 dance with Rex that she was covered with confusion. 
 And Rex, seeing her distress, good-humoredly de 
 sisted from annoying her. He sat down beside her, 
 and before long had drawn her off into a secluded 
 corner where the vines hung heavier and no obtrusive 
 lanterns revealed them to passers-by and only faint 
 gleams from the moon between the leaves shed a soft 
 light; and there, in those congenial surroundings, he 
 set to work, with an art against which Eunice s sim 
 plicity was defenseless, to awaken her interest in 
 him and win her liking, audaciously challenging her 
 views and rousing her to their defense, showing def 
 erence to her intellectual superiority (the weak point 
 in Eunice s armor, since pride of intellect was her 
 besetting sin), and mingling with it all the subtle 
 admiration dear to every woman and so new to Eu 
 nice as to be dangerously dear. 
 
 He took her back at last to Dr. and Mrs. Charlton 
 and the little group of older people surrounding the 
 colonel. 
 
 "I must resign Miss Harlowe to you, Mrs. Charl-
 
 76 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 ton," he said, "until the next dance is over. Will 
 you take charge of her?" 
 
 "Let me take charge of Miss Harlowe," interposed 
 the colonel, springing to his feet gallantly and offer 
 ing Eunice his chair. 
 
 "Thank you, Uncle Robert," answered Rex; "and 
 please see if you can t remove her last feeble scruples 
 on the subject of the Virginia reel before I get back. 
 The dancing is to wind up with one, and Miss Harlowe 
 has half promised to dance it with me but only 
 half." 
 
 The Virginia reel ! exclaimed the colonel. You 
 surely have no scruples against that innocent romp, 
 Miss Harlowe. I would not mind dancing it myself 
 if I had Miss Harlowe to dance it with me. What 
 do you say, Rex will you resign in my favor?" 
 
 "No, sir not even to you, Uncle Robert," an 
 swered Rex, deferentially, and with a glance at Eunice 
 so ardently expressive of the joy he was anticipating 
 in this dance, half real and half assumed, that Eu 
 nice was overwhelmed with confusion at what seemed 
 to her such open wooing. Mrs. Charlton came to her 
 relief : 
 
 "I really think, Eunice, you need not feel any hesi 
 tation about dancing a Virginia reel. Ask Mr. Charl 
 ton if it would be wrong. I defy any conscience 
 to be more sensitive than his." 
 
 "It s exactly as Miss Harlowe feels about it, said 
 the doctor, gently; "we are each his own mentor. 
 My own feeling is that a Virginia reel is only a grace 
 ful and well-ordered kind of game; but it is not for
 
 A NEW ENGLAND CONSCIENCE 77 
 
 me to decide." And then he smiled upon Eunice 
 with such kindness and wise judiciousness in his blue 
 eyes that Eunice yielded at once. If Dr. Charlton, 
 whom she already began to regard as one of the saints 
 of the earth, considered it no harm, who was she to 
 set up her opinion against his? And she sent Rex 
 off extravagantly joyful in manner at least at her 
 primly yielded assent. 
 
 When she found herself one of the long line of 
 girls drawn up on the moonlighted grass, facing the 
 long line of men, with Rex directly opposite, her first 
 sensation was a dreadful sinking of the heart. Why 
 had she consented? She was only nineteen, but she 
 felt herself years older than these gay girls beside 
 her, some of whom were half a dozen years her senior, 
 and she did not know how to descend to their youthful 
 level. Then she knew nothing of the dance, and al 
 though Rex had assured her she would only have to 
 watch the others and follow them exactly, the thought 
 that she might make a blunder filled her with horror. 
 Eunice took her dignity very seriously, and making 
 herself ridiculous before these gay society people of 
 the army set seemed to her nothing less than the deep 
 est ignominy. But she was no craven; she had a 
 sturdy Puritan courage that would not let her falter 
 in a course once finally undertaken. 
 
 Rex, standing opposite, watched with amused in 
 terest the grim determination expressed in the rigid 
 set of the slim figure and the dauntless glance of the 
 gray eyes. He saw that she was following with pains 
 taking scrutiny every movement of the dance ; she had
 
 78 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 no eyes for him. When it came time for her to take 
 part in it, she made no blunders. She went through 
 it with the precision of an automaton. There was 
 no joyous abandon, no gay romping as with the other 
 dancers, and Rex found himself smiling covertly at 
 her seriousness and earnestness. He took every op 
 portunity, as they came together in the figures, to 
 murmur in her ear words of encouragement and 
 praise for her success; but she hardly dared to smile 
 up at him her grateful appreciation, so fearful was 
 she that if she withdrew her attention one moment 
 from the serious business of the dance she would 
 make some false move or mortifying mistake. 
 
 Smile as he might to himself, Rex rather liked her 
 seriousness and earnestness, and once when he caught 
 on the face of Marcia Morris a half-sneering glance 
 toward Eunice at one of her particularly formal 
 movements, accompanying a little speech to her part 
 ner that he knew from the answering glance and 
 smile must have been one of ridicule of Eunice, he felt 
 an angry resentment. "With all his faults, Rex was 
 a gentleman to the heart s core, and he wished from 
 his soul that Marcia Morris had dared to make that 
 speech to him, that he might have resented it properly. 
 
 But creditably as Eunice had acquitted herself in 
 the dance, it was no sooner over than the reaction set 
 in and her troublesome conscience began to upbraid 
 her. Twice had she violated it that evening: once 
 when she had lifted the wine-glass to her lips and now 
 in the dance, and it made the upbraiding of conscience 
 but so much the acuter that she was painfully aware of
 
 A NEW ENGLAND CONSCIENCE 79 
 
 the contrast her rigidity and formality had made with 
 the grace and abandon of the others. Rex s compli 
 ments had not reassured her. She had suspected him 
 of discerning that she needed reassuring, and had been 
 grateful to him for his intention while she had doubted 
 his sincerity. 
 
 She had been trained in a religious school that 
 teaches confession is good for the soul. She could not 
 feel a consciousness of guilt without making confes 
 sion of it. It seemed to her that it would but increase 
 her sin to allow McAllister to believe that her conduct 
 that evening met with her own approval, and no re 
 pentance could be genuine that did not begin with a 
 confession of her fault. 
 
 They walked home along an avenue of maples and 
 lindens that met over their heads in so close a leafy 
 arch that the moonbeams could not filter through, and 
 along a grassy path that led beside a dancing brook 
 sparkling in the moonlight; and thence across the 
 stone arch of a little bridge crossing the brook; and 
 so on into the lower town where the old German set 
 tlers had built, solidly, cottages of stone and brick that 
 were more like the cottages in their native Rhine 
 provinces than those belonging to a new and timber- 
 growing country; and where ^saloons and beer-gardens 
 adorned every other corner, with soldiers drinking 
 and shouting and clashing sabers in some, and stu 
 dents drinking and shouting and singing in others; 
 where Eunice walked closer to Rex and trembled and 
 shuddered at such open lawlessness, and Rex, feeling 
 the trembling of the little hand on his arm (for those
 
 80 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 were the days of that obsolete and happy custom of 
 young people walking together arm in arm), drew it 
 closer and strutted a little more, and felt all the joy of 
 the strong protecting the weak. And all along this 
 homeward way Eunice was struggling with her cour 
 age, or rather her lack of it. It was not until they had 
 turned westward on old Langdon Street, with its 
 stately homes shaded by venerable trees that had 
 defied the storms of a hundred years, that she ven 
 tured, under their friendly shade, to say : 
 
 "Mr. McAllister, I shall not feel at peace with 
 myself until I have said to you that I am very sorry 
 for two things that occurred this evening." 
 
 Rex stiffened perceptibly, thinking he was to be 
 taken to task for some shortcomings in attentions to 
 Eunice, since that was quite Miss Lydia s way if she 
 thought she had not received all the attentions due 
 her. 
 
 "I cannot recall, Miss Harlowe," he began stiffly, 
 "any respect in which I have failed" 
 
 "Failed!" interrupted Eunice, puzzled, "I do not 
 understand you." But she was not to be swerved 
 from the path of duty now that she was well started 
 in it, and for fear that she might be turned aside, she 
 hastened on: 
 
 "It is not you that have failed it is I. I have 
 failed to be true to my own standards. Mr. McAllis 
 ter, I am very sorry that I danced that Virginia reel, 
 and I am sorry that I lifted that wine-glass to my 
 lips I did not taste it." 
 
 "Why, Miss Harlowe," remonstrated Rex, "I
 
 A NEW ENGLAND CONSCIENCE 81 
 
 thought you were quite convinced there was no harm 
 in a Virginia reel since even Dr. Charlton said there 
 was none ; and as for the wine, you could not have re 
 fused to drink that toast why, they would have been 
 arresting you for a traitor ! 
 
 Hex spoke with a little good-natured ridicule. Miss 
 Harlowe s scruples semed to him over-fine. Perhaps 
 Eunice perceived the ridicule and resented it. Her 
 tone was a shade colder, and if Rex could only have 
 seen the tilt of her oval chin he might have called 
 it obstinate. 
 
 "I presume, Mr. McAllister, we look at such things 
 very differently," she said. "I consider that for me 
 it was distinctly wrong to have proved traitor to my 
 principles against wine-drinking even at the expense 
 of seeming disloyal to my country. I could have 
 proved my patriotism in other ways. And as for the 
 dancing, I had not for that even the shade of ex 
 cuse I seemed to have for the other. 
 
 Rex was irritated. "Such a pragmatic, dogmatic 
 little Yankee!" he fumed inwardly. "She is impos 
 sible ! Outwardly he only put on his grand air and 
 said with elaborate politeness: 
 
 "Would you object, Miss Harlowe, to telling how 
 you would have proved your loyalty ? 
 
 "Oh, I don t know" Eunice hesitated, beginning 
 to feel troubled and less sure of herself before Rex s 
 stately manner. "I suppose," she added brightly, 
 "I might have made a little speech and said I ap 
 proved the sentiment but disapproved the wine." 
 
 Rex lacked the quality that was often Eunice s
 
 82 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 salvation a sense of humor. He did not for a mo 
 ment suppose that she was speaking humorously now, 
 and he was trying to adjust to his Southern ideas 
 the idea of a pretty young lady making a response 
 of any kind to a toast and in such company. It ap 
 palled him for a moment, and then there slowly be 
 gan to dawn in him a new-born appreciation and 
 admiration of a moral courage beyond his own power 
 of attaining, and especially inconceivable in any 
 young woman of his acquaintance. He had been si 
 lent so long that Eunice was feeling still more trou 
 bled, saying to herself that talking to a young man 
 was certainly not one of her accomplishments, and 
 probably this arrogant Southerner was despising her 
 as a prim little prude. She was almost startled, 
 therefore, at the earnestness and sweetness of Rex s 
 tones when at last he broke his silence. 
 
 "Miss Harlowe," he said, "I cannot share your 
 views about either wine or dancing, but I can admire 
 very greatly one who has such courage of her con 
 victions as you have shown. It would seem to me 
 a difficult thing for any one; it seems wonderful in 
 a young and beautiful lady. 
 
 Rex could no more have helped his little concluding 
 compliment than he could have helped being a South 
 Carolinian. But whereas the Southern girl might 
 have taken it lightly and answered it saucily, Eunice 
 knew not how to take it, and was silent. Indeed, 
 there was very little more conversation of any kind 
 between them. Eunice was feeling a tremulous kind 
 of pleasure quite new to her and that kept her silent,
 
 A NEW ENGLAND CONSCIENCE 83 
 
 and Rex was thinking seriously an unusual occupa 
 tion for him. And as they came in sight of the stone 
 wall with its overhanging trees inclosing the college 
 campus, Willie and Lucy caught up with them, and 
 they all four walked up the broad pavement outside 
 the wall, over whose red bricks the moonlight and the 
 branches had thrown a witchery of lacework for them 
 to walk on, talking merrily of the incidents of the 
 evening and giving Rex no chance to make the one 
 more speech of appreciation he had been seriously 
 pondering. 
 
 But he found a chance, as he left Eunice at Dr. 
 Charlton s door under the vine-wreathed porch, to 
 hold her hand for a moment longer than was necessary 
 and to say in a voice so low as to be almost tender : 
 
 "Good night, Miss Eunice." 
 
 No one could accuse Rex of ever missing an oppor 
 tunity of expressing a real or assumed devotion when 
 he desired it.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CHOIR REHEARSAL 
 
 IT was ten o clock the next morning when Eunice, 
 hearing in her sleep a soft tap at her door, opened 
 her eyes and said "Come in." 
 
 Cindie, the cook s little girl, entered, bearing care 
 fully a tray on which a tempting little breakfast was 
 arranged. She was called Cindie to distinguish her 
 from her mother, whose name she bore ; and now as 
 she set her tray down on the table, and made her 
 funny little curtsey, she said : 
 
 "Missie Charlton low youse better git up now and 
 have some brekfus . I se jist took some to Miss 
 Lucy." 
 
 Eunice was very much taken with the pretty child 
 sweet as a cherub, she thought, until she opened 
 her lips to speak ; and she answered smilingly : 
 
 "It is very kind of Mrs. Charlton to send me my 
 breakfast, and thank you for bringing it, Cindie ; but 
 is breakfast all over ? 
 
 Cindie, emboldened by the kind tones, answered 
 more familiarly, and with something of the conde 
 scension she had heard her mother use on similar 
 occasions : 
 
 84
 
 CHOIR REHEARSAL 85 
 
 "Laws, yis, honey; brekfus done long go; it s 
 leben o clock, mebbe. " 
 
 It was not quite so late, really, but Cindie had very 
 little idea of time, and she always wished to make her 
 statements sufficiently strong to create a sensation. 
 Eunice sprang up, dreadfully annoyed that she should 
 have slept so late; and she had just bathed her face 
 and hands a little, slipped on a wrapper, and thrust 
 her feet into some bedroom slippers when Lucy ap 
 peared at the door with her little breakfast-tray. 
 
 "May I come in and eat my breakfast with you?" 
 she said, looking like the fair young Dawn, Eunice 
 thought, arrayed in a pale-blue dressing-gown, her 
 golden hair a little disordered, and her cheeks with 
 the fresh morning roses blooming in them. 
 
 "Yes, come in do, please; but I am so ashamed 
 to have been so lazy. What will Mrs. Charlton think 
 of me?" 
 
 "Mother would n t have liked it if you had n t 
 been, after being up so late for two nights; and 
 Monday school begins, and this is your very last 
 chance to be lazy for a whole week. Mother never 
 likes to have us late Sunday mornings, so hereafter 
 Saturdays will be your only chance to sleep in the 
 morning. 
 
 "But I never sleep in the mornings at home. I 
 am always up to breakfast, and I do not see why I 
 should not be here." 
 
 "Even when you are out the night before, or up 
 late?" asked Lucy. 
 
 Eunice hesitated.
 
 86 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 "Now that I think of it," she said, "I don t think 
 that I was ever up late. It seems to me I have been 
 in bed by ten o clock all my life. 
 
 "What did you do when you had callers, or went 
 to parties? Did callers always leave at that early 
 hour? And were your parties always over by that 
 time?" persisted Lucy. 
 
 "I see," said Eunice, "I may as well make a full 
 confession. There were never any gentlemen to call, 
 and I do not believe I have been to a party since I 
 was a child until night before last. 
 
 The air of incredulous pity almost horror 
 with which Lucy heard this statement amused Eunice, 
 and she went on, still further, enlarging upon the 
 manless state of existence which had so far been her 
 lot, and assuring Lucy that she had not missed them 
 very much. 
 
 "Then I am afraid you won t like it here," said 
 Lucy, dubiously; "there are so many of them: the 
 students, you know, and sometimes the officers, but 
 not many of them ; and they all seemed to like you 
 so much last night and at the patronee party. I am 
 afraid you wjll really be bored by them." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Eunice, smiling and blushing; "I 
 like it very much. In fact, it is such a novelty to 
 me, I should n t wonder if I enjoyed it more than 
 you, who have been accustomed to it always." 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad," said Lucy, ardently; "I should 
 have been so sorry if you had proved to be a New 
 England man-hater. They do have them up there, 
 don t they?" And hardly listening to Eunice s
 
 CHOIR REHEARSAL 87 
 
 laughing denial of man-haters being indigenous to 
 New England, she went on: "Do you know, I think 
 it would be such fun never to have known any young 
 gentlemen, and then suddenly come to where there 
 were plenty of them. Why, I should think it would 
 be right exciting!" 
 
 "It is," said Eunice, smiling at Lucy s earnestness; 
 "but you must not let any of them know how unso 
 phisticated I am. They might take advantage of my 
 ignorance." 
 
 "Yes," said Lucy, taking her in simple earnest; 
 "Rex McAllister would, I am sure. He is a dreadful 
 flirt. You will have to beware of him." And then, 
 not noticing that in spite of Eunice s efforts the smile 
 had died away and the color was mounting steadily 
 in her cheeks, she went on: "He flirts with every 
 body, especially if they happen to be new. But there 
 is only one person that he really seems to care for, 
 and that is Lydia McNair; and the funny part of 
 it is that she seems to like him, too. I should n t 
 wonder if it would be a match some day." 
 
 There was no answer from Eunice, and Lucy 
 prattled on : 
 
 To-night is choir rehearsal, and it meets here, and 
 Mr. Rogers, the leader of the choir, asked me last night 
 to invite you to join it. You sing, don t you ? 
 
 Eunice did sing; she was leading soprano in their 
 little church at home, and she was entirely too truth 
 ful to say no. But she hesitated to accept the in 
 vitation. 
 
 "Who is in the choir?" she asked doubtfully; and
 
 88 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 then Lucy mentioned the names, and did not men 
 tion Rex McAllister. 
 
 "Oh, you must surely join us," she urged, "we 
 need sopranos so much. We have plenty of tenor 
 and bass and good strong alto, but half the time I 
 am the only soprano besides Miss Allen, who plays 
 the melodeon and always helps me out when I am 
 alone, for I have only a little bit of a voice. And 
 then the rehearsals are such fun, I am sure you will 
 like it." 
 
 And Eunice said she was sure she should, and she 
 would join the choir and help all she could. 
 
 They had finished, their breakfast, and Lucy rose 
 to go to her own room to dress ; but she put her head 
 back in the door as she was leaving the room to say: 
 "Rex McAllister does not belong to the choir, but he 
 usually attends rehearsals to escort somebody, and I 
 have no doubt he will be here to-night. 
 
 "I am glad of it," thought Eunice, grimly, as the 
 door closed on Lucy. "It will give me a chance to 
 show him I am not the soft bit of rustic innocence 
 he has taken me for." 
 
 Her cheeks burned now with a very different emo 
 tion as she recalled the soft insinuations and tender 
 glances of the night before. "Little Lucy, with her 
 face of babylike innocence and fully two years 
 younger than I in everything else, is twice as wise 
 where men are concerned," she thought impatiently. 
 
 Little Lucy was wiser even than Eunice thought. 
 Willie Dayton had said to her the night before : 
 
 "Does it strike you that Rex is making a dead
 
 CHOIR REHEARSAL 89 
 
 set for Miss Harlowe ? There is nothing he likes bet 
 ter, you know, than a new face, and I hope she won t 
 take him seriously. She impresses me as one of those 
 dreadfully matter-of-fact people who take every word 
 you say in dead earnest." 
 
 And Lucy, who was just a little out of humor with 
 Willie, and was pleased by nothing he could say, had 
 answered indignantly: 
 
 Miss Harlowe is not dreadfully anything. She 
 is perfectly lovely ! If she takes people seriously 
 why, people ought to be honest enough to be taken 
 that way always! But I don t believe you need have 
 any fears for her ; she is quite able to take care of her 
 self and Mr. McAllister too, if necessary." 
 
 And Willie, who was determined not to quarrel, 
 had answered : 
 
 "Oh, come now, Cousin Lucy, don t be hard on a 
 fellow; you know I did not mean it that way. I like 
 Miss Harlowe. She is a mighty sweet young lady, 
 I reckon, and I don t want her to have any trouble 
 with Rex." 
 
 But though Lucy had rejected Willie s warning at 
 the time, it had returned to her with great force 
 when Eunice made her confession of never having 
 known any men, and it was responsible for her inno 
 cent disclosure. 
 
 The little melodeon had been moved out from its 
 corner in the back parlor to the position of honor un 
 der the chandelier in the front parlor. The possibility 
 of using the piano for the practice of "sacred music"
 
 90 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 would never have occurred to any one; or if it had, 
 would have been rejected at once, as savoring of the 
 sacrilegious. 
 
 Around the melodeon in little groups were the mem 
 bers of the choir, waiting for some tardy arrivals, 
 but employing the interval in a lively interchange of 
 talk seasoned with much laughter. It all looked so 
 easy to Eunice, and yet she was finding it difficult to 
 keep up her share in it. To have been brought up all 
 her life to think and talk seriously in an atmosphere 
 where even smiling seemed to have been indulged 
 in rather under protest, and now to be suddenly 
 transported to a clime where lively talk and joy 
 ous laughter were the order of the day and night; 
 where people smiled and chatted as easily as they ate 
 and drank, gave her an uncomfortable sense of her 
 own rigidity, against which she was making desper 
 ate struggles. 
 
 Much of the conversation of these pretty girls and 
 gallant young fellows seemed to her silly and meaning 
 less, but she envied them the ease and grace of their 
 silliness, and she thought she would have been quite 
 ready to exchange for it some of her more solid 
 attainments. Fortunately for her comfort, it was the 
 most dignified man in the room who was now gravely 
 discussing with her the respective merits of "China" 
 and "Peterboro," "Ortonville" and "Dundee." 
 Eunice was well up in all the music between the 
 covers of the old "Lute of Zion," and he found her 
 excellent aid in selecting the tunes best suited to the 
 little list of hymns he held in his hand, which they
 
 CHOIR REHEARSAL 91 
 
 had been looking out in the hymn-book and reading 
 over together. 
 
 She was losing much of her constrained feeling, and 
 beginning to enjoy herself in the sense she had of 
 being on familiar ground, when she became aware 
 that Rex McAllister was entering the room. Her eyes 
 were fastened on the page before her and she did not 
 lift them, but she saw him quite as distinctly as if 
 she had. He was accompanying the organist, Miss 
 Allen, for whom they had been waiting, and Eunice 
 was conscious that after speaking a moment to Lucy 
 he started toward her. She still did not lift her eyes, 
 and was trying to go on with what she was saying 
 to Mr. Rogers calmly and indifferently; but she must 
 have got it very much mixed, for Mr. Rogers looked 
 puzzled and begged her to repeat it. 
 
 By that time there was no ignoring the fact that 
 McAllister was standing directly in front of her, 
 in an attitude of mingled condescension and deference ; 
 the condescension being natural, and due to an inner 
 feeling that a very fine Southern gentleman was mak 
 ing his bow to a bit of Northern simplicity, and the 
 deference assumed as the manner likely to be most 
 effective with so dignified and intellectual a young 
 lady. It would be putting it very mildly to say that 
 he was abashed when Eunice lifted her calm eyes, 
 and with a formal "Good evening, Mr. McAllister," 
 ignored entirely his extended hand and turned at 
 once to Mr. Rogers. The hot blood rushed to the 
 South Carolinian s face, his eyes flashed, and his hand 
 dropped to his side, while he made an extremely low
 
 92 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 bow of ironical deference, and then passed on, making 
 the circuit of the room and stopping to talk for a 
 few minutes with each young lady present. Wit 
 nesses to his discomfiture had not been wanting. Willie 
 Dayton and Lucy had both been furtively watching 
 the greeting with much interest, and Mr. Rogers had 
 seen it and wondered. That made it of course so 
 much the more galling, and Rex was fiercely brood 
 ing on revenge while he was uttering his pretty 
 speeches. As for Willie and Lucy, they were amazed, 
 and Lucy blushed a deep crimson for what seemed to 
 her Eunice s unpardonable rudeness. She could see 
 no reason for it at all, and it did not occur to her 
 that her little remarks about Rex and his flirtations 
 could have been responsible. 
 
 Eunice had acted deliberately in what had seemed 
 to her the very best way to show to McAllister that 
 she was no unsophisticated maiden, ready to listen 
 to and accept all the sweet things he might find it 
 pleasant to utter. She had wished to prove to him 
 that she was quite a woman of the world, taking at 
 its true valuation what he had already said, but un 
 willing to listen any further to his insincerities. She 
 did not remember that she had no pretext for being 
 offended, and that without such pretext to refuse to 
 take a man s hand in a room full of his friends was 
 to say in effect, "I consider you, sir, unworthy to 
 touch my hand." She was really so unsophisticated 
 that she had no conception of the rudeness of which 
 she had been guilty, and was feeling now a glow of 
 triumph at having effectually humbled the compla-
 
 CHOIR REHEARSAL 93 
 
 cent Lothario, instead of any remorse at having over 
 stepped the bounds of good breeding. She hardly 
 thought of it even in the light of having administered 
 a reproof to McAllister; it was more as of having 
 asserted her own position as a young woman who un 
 derstood both herself and him. 
 
 There was a latent feeling of anticipatory delight, 
 also, in the humble attitude she fancied he would 
 assume until finally she might forgive him for his 
 attempt to play with her ignorance and receive him 
 back on terms of friendship. But for this latent 
 feeling, there would have been too much of the alloy 
 of pain mingled with the triumph ; for in spite of her 
 attempts to persuade herself differently, his efforts 
 at winning her interest had not been in vain. 
 
 Even if she had had more experience with men in 
 her own part of the country, she would have hardly 
 been able to comprehend the fierce passions that her 
 little act had aroused. In the heart of a Massachu 
 setts man it might have produced a feeling of cold 
 contempt or indifference toward the young lady who 
 had been capable of such an offense ; but in the heart 
 of the proud and fiery South Carolinian it set the 
 match at once to the volcanic passions that were al 
 ways but lightly slumbering and ready to burst into 
 eruption at a touch. It was a boiling and seething 
 crater that he was at this moment carrying in his 
 bosom, inwardly cursing his fate that the "Little 
 Yankee" was not a man whom he might have knocked 
 down at a blow and called out afterward. But since 
 she was not, he was swiftly arranging in his mind a
 
 94 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 line of revenge that would be quite as effective and 
 devilish enough to satisfy, his worst impulses. He was 
 quick enough to perceive that her action did not de 
 note indifference, but was probably incited by a feel 
 ing that she was yielding too easily to his influence, 
 and was as much a determined resistance to it as 
 scorn of him personally. None the less did he decide 
 to make her suffer for the humiliation she had sub 
 jected him to and before Rogers! the last man he 
 would have been willing to have witness it ; for Rogers 
 was a straightforward, honest Pennsylvanian who had 
 more than once not hesitated to express his disapproval 
 of the Carolinian, who though far from being the 
 blackleg and toper that Rogers considered him, had 
 none of the Northerner s prejudices against wine and 
 cards. 
 
 Eunice a rebuff had not in the least shaken his con 
 fidence in his powers of fascination. He believed 
 thoroughly that the citadel of no woman s heart 
 could hold out if he laid siege to it in earnest and 
 that was what he resolved upon the instant to do. 
 He should leave no wile unemployed until this cold 
 little Yankee heart was absolutely under his sway ; and 
 then, when he had won it, he would fling it back at her 
 with scorn and remind her of the time when she had 
 dared to humiliate him openly. 
 
 Rex McAllister had never considered himself a bad 
 fellow. Heretofore his flirtations, if not perfectly 
 harmless, had been without any purpose of harm. He 
 had been as much beguiled as beguiling. Also, he 
 would have been ready to challenge any man who
 
 CHOIR REHEARSAL 95 
 
 dared to breathe that he was not the soul of honor. 
 But if it had been suggested to him that this was not 
 an honorable line of action he was laying out for 
 himself, he would have defended himself with the 
 plea that "all is fair in love and war," and "revenge 
 is always noble." 
 
 As for Eunice, she was rather happy than otherwise. 
 Her little act of self-assertion gave her a novel sen 
 sation of power, and she was beginning to enjoy 
 the complex emotions of this new life which made 
 the old seem tame and vapid by contrast. And she did 
 not dream of the net of difficulties and entangle 
 ments she had woven for herself. 
 
 It was not until Mr. Rogers had called his choir to 
 gether and Eunice had taken her place with the so 
 pranos that Rex chose a seat for himself. Then he 
 took one, a deep easy-chair which permitted an indo 
 lent, half-lounging attitude, well suited to express 
 either easy indifference or romantic dejection (and 
 he had not quite determined which it should be), 
 and so placed that it not only commanded an unin 
 terrupted view of Eunice, but made it almost impos 
 sible also that her glance should not frequently fall 
 on him. 
 
 Eunice s voice was what her face would have led 
 you to expect: a cool, clear soprano, without much 
 magnetic quality, strong and a little prim in its de 
 liverance, while an odd way she had of accenting 
 the music with little movements of her body struck 
 Rex as amusingly suggestive of the Yankee school- 
 ma am. It was a habit contracted, no doubt, from
 
 96 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 having been for several years leader of the choir at 
 home, and took with her the place of a baton as a 
 means of setting the time for the rest. She was not 
 without her own little conceits, also. She believed 
 that she sang well, and Lucy, whom she unconsciously 
 regarded as a mere child with a sweet little voice, was 
 the only other soprano, and she felt the responsibility 
 of her position. She liked to sing; she read music 
 well, and was prompt in her time and unfaltering 
 as a leader. Mr. Rogers, who stood beside her, evi 
 dently perceived her ability and rejoiced in it, and 
 she was enjoying herself thoroughly when her glance 
 fell upon Kex. 
 
 It had been part of her enjoyment in singing, the 
 consciousness that Rex was listening to her, and 
 she never doubted his admiration and perhaps sur 
 prise at her possession of such an accomplishment. 
 Now to discover upon his face that look of half-cynical 
 amusement was a mortifying disappointment. Her 
 elation in her newly acquired power vanished at once ; 
 she became confused and miserably uncertain of her 
 self. She felt that she must have made some mistake 
 in her treatment of this man, who was neither awed 
 nor admiring, but only amused. And feeling no 
 longer sure of herself in any respect, she began to lose 
 confidence in her singing, and for a few moments 
 Mr. Rogers feared his leading soprano was not going 
 to prove perfectly reliable. 
 
 Rex had not intended to be caught with that look 
 upon his face, and for a moment he was inclined to 
 be vexed with himself ; but noting its effect upon her,
 
 CHOIR REHEAESAL 97 
 
 he keenly concluded that it might prove just as well, 
 after all. By destroying her confidence in herself, he 
 was preparing the way for repentance and humility 
 on her part. When next her glance fell upon him, 
 there should be upon his face either rapt admiration 
 of her singing, which would soothe her wounded 
 vanity, or deep and dejected reproach that would 
 arouse her pity and remorse. He decided to use both 
 the admiration first and the reproach afterward. 
 It was a long time before Eunice looked at him again, 
 and she would not have looked then if she could have 
 helped it. She dreaded to meet that smile that was 
 half a sneer, but there was some compelling power 
 in his steady gaze, and she did look at last, half de 
 fiantly. What she saw restored her at once to her 
 self-esteem, and relieved her horrible sense of being 
 ridiculed. Rex had contrived to throw a great deal 
 of admiration into his eyes, and much of it was gen 
 uine. He liked music, he thought singing a most 
 ladylike accomplishment, and, except for her little 
 mannerisms, Eunice sang more than fairly well. 
 Then, when he saw that the admiration had produced 
 its effect, he pretended to be taken by surprise again, 
 and rapidly changed his expression to one of mute 
 reproach and question. Eunice had no weapons with 
 which to meet his arts. She had been warned about 
 him, but to be swiftly whirled from elation to self- 
 abasement, back again to gratified vanity, and then 
 to awakening pity and regret, left her with a dizzy 
 sense of helplessness. She began to feel heartily 
 sorry for her discourtesy, and to hope for some oppor-
 
 98 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 tunity of apologizing during the evening. There 
 would be none, of course, during the rehearsal, but 
 that came to an end at last. They had tried over all 
 the hymns and practised the opening anthem, her 
 own selection, "I was glad when they said unto me, 
 Let us go into the house of the Lord," until Mr. 
 Rogers said it would do, and dismissed them from fur 
 ther practice. At the clamor of merry voices the 
 doctor and his wife came down to the parlor and 
 mingled with the young people ; they would have con 
 sidered it very discourteous to their daughter s friends 
 to have done otherwise, and the young people them 
 selves would have missed their cordial presence. 
 
 But in the pleasant half-hour that followed no op 
 portunity presented itself for her apology. Rex did 
 not come near her, and Mr. Rogers, who had missed 
 the bright animation of his coadjutor in the early 
 part of the evening, rather devoted himself to her as 
 feeling himself somewhat to blame. The company 
 broke up finally and she had only a distant and very 
 formal bow from Rex as he left the room with Miss 
 Allen. 
 
 Eunice was quite miserable by this time, and when 
 she went up-stairs she found, from a little cold reserve 
 in Lucy s manner, that she too did not approve of her. 
 They had grown into a warm friendship in these four 
 days, and now Lucy went to her own room at once, 
 without coming into Eunice s to talk over the even 
 ing, and she began to feel with acute mortification 
 that she had probably sinned unpardonably against 
 the conventions, and there is perhaps no kind of sin
 
 CHOIR REHEARSAL 99 
 
 that can make one feel more thoroughly uncomfort 
 able, or dye the cheek with a deeper hue of shame. 
 
 Lucy did disapprove of Eunice, and for that reason 
 had not followed her to her room ; but her ardent lit 
 tle heart would not let her cherish such a feeling in 
 silence, and she very soon concluded to go to Eunice 
 and "have it out." 
 
 Eunice answered her knock with a quick beating of 
 the heart, but she coldly waited for Lucy to begin, 
 and she did not have to wait long. After one or two 
 indifferent remarks on the evening, Lucy burst forth : 
 
 "Eunice, how could you treat Rex McAllister so? 
 Has he done anything dreadful? I never saw any 
 thing so marked in my life." 
 
 Eunice s face was a picture of dreariness as she 
 answered : 
 
 "Oh, I don t know; it s all the fault of my never 
 having known any young gentlemen, I suppose. I 
 am afraid I will always be getting into trouble here, 
 and it would be better for me to go home." 
 
 Lucy was touched by the hopelessness of the tone, 
 and it accomplished what the tears of another girl 
 might not have done. She put her arms around Eu 
 nice and said with quick relenting : 
 
 "Why, you poor girl, I suppose you really did n t 
 know that you could offer no graver insult to a man 
 like Rex than to refuse to take his hand. But it 
 does n t make a bit of difference; it is n t worth 
 being unhappy over. I am sorry I spoke of it." 
 
 "I wish you would tell me, Lucy, what to do," said 
 Eunice, trying to feel at home in Lucy s encircling
 
 100 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 arms, and feeling bitterly that her miserable unde- 
 monstrativeness would not let her do what she was 
 really longing to do give Lucy a warm kiss and hug 
 to show her she appreciated her sympathy. "I see 
 now that I have been very rude ; do you think I 
 ought to write him an apology?" 
 
 Lucy thought a minute, with a pretty pucker be 
 tween her eyes that showed her perplexity. 
 
 "No," she said slowly; "I think I would n t to 
 Rex McAllister. There is no telling what use he 
 might make of it. If it were Willie Dayton, now, 
 it would be different ; he would never do any but the 
 most generous and considerate thing. I would wait 
 a few days, anyway ; you may have a chance to make 
 a verbal apology; and if you don t, the worst that 
 can happen will be that he will be perfectly furious, 
 and find some means of taking his revenge, but it 
 won t be anything very dreadful, I reckon." 
 
 Eunice did not quite like the way Lucy spoke of 
 Rex. The balance was surging up now in the other 
 direction, and Rex was in the ascending scale. She 
 thought if Lucy had beheld the tender reproach she 
 had seen in his eyes that evening, she would not talk 
 of fury and revenge.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 SUNDAY IN BELLAIRE 
 
 SUNDAY had always been a rather dreary day 
 to Eunice. The going to church morning and 
 evening was a relief from the dull monotony, and she 
 was a devout admirer of her father s sermons and 
 never failed to discover many beauties and rnu^h 
 wisdom in them. Had they not been half as good as 
 they really were, it is probable her devoted love would 
 still have been blind to their imperfections. 
 
 But it was the long afternoon that Eunice dreaded 
 when she dared not look into the books that she liked, 
 and found nothing interesting in those she was per 
 mitted to read, when she was divorced from the lit 
 tle shuttle that was her constant companion in those 
 moments she called idle during the week, and when 
 there was no refuge even in music: both her father 
 and mother would have been infinitely shocked at the 
 idea of opening the piano on the "Lord s Day" even 
 for the sake of playing "Old Hundred." 
 
 When she woke, therefore, on her first Sunday 
 morning in Bellaire, there was added to the discom 
 fort remaining from the experience of the evening 
 before the vague dreariness inseparably associated 
 
 101
 
 102 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 with the day. But this feeling was dissipated in the 
 cheerful breakfast-room, where she found a table full 
 of bright, rosy-faced boys, a little happier and a little 
 more irrepressible than she had ever seen them be 
 fore, their awe of the new teacher wearing off a little, 
 and with nothing of Sunday gloom about them. 
 
 There was a quiet hour afterward for studying 
 Sunday-school lessons and talks with mother, and then 
 the little procession set off for church with Dr. and 
 Mrs. Charlton leading, Lucy and Eunice immediately 
 following, the Big Boys next, as Henry Sidney and 
 George Edgar were called to distinguish them from 
 the two younger ones, and Millicent bringing up the 
 rar with Charles Ernest and Theodore Howard cling 
 ing to her hand on either side. As the Charlton pew 
 was in the very front of the church, the filing down 
 the aisle of the long procession always created more 
 or less of a stir in the congregation, and likening it 
 to the circus parade had become a standing joke with 
 Henry Sidney, who had inherited something of his 
 father s humorous way of regarding life. 
 
 It was early, but a very good congregation had al 
 ready assembled, and as Eunice and Lucy took their 
 places in the choir-gallery, Eunice could see that the 
 back of the church was almost entirely occupied by 
 the black coats of the students. At the cabinet organ 
 sat Miss Allen, who gave her a smiling greeting, as 
 did also the other members of the choir. Mr. Rogers 
 came in a moment later, and stopped to speak to her, 
 asking her to change her seat so that she would sit 
 next to him, that he might be able to consult her if
 
 SUNDAY IN BELLAIRE 103 
 
 necessary. It gave her a pleasant little sense of im 
 portance thus to be honored before strangers, and 
 by the time they were ready to begin the services she 
 was in good humor with herself and her surroundings 
 and quite ready to sing her best. And then, in the 
 very middle of the opening anthem, she discovered 
 a graceful, indolent figure lounging in the corner of 
 his pew, and so turned that he could gaze directly 
 up at her. It gave her a momentary start, commu 
 nicated to her voice in a mortifying little quaver; 
 but she recovered herself instantly, and after that 
 sang all the better for the consciousness of that steady 
 gaze. Not that Rex was openly annoying: he had a 
 way which, while it made Eunice perfectly aware 
 of it, yet left him with the air of purposeless and 
 careless glances. 
 
 But Eunice was not going to allow herself to be dis 
 tracted by black eyes or "ungodly" thoughts during 
 the sermon. She sat well back in her seat, where 
 there could be no possibility of Rex catching even a 
 glimpse of the tip of her white straw poke with its 
 wreath of white and purple lilacs around the crown 
 making a cool, fresh setting to the demure face and 
 light brown curls. Then she gave herself up to the 
 enjoyment of the sermon, and by the time the dox- 
 ology had been sung and the benediction pronounced 
 she felt herself once more an orthodox Christian whose 
 Sunday calm could be disturbed by no bold glances. 
 
 Then there was the pleasant dinner-hour, full of 
 bright discussion of the sermon and reviewing of the 
 little incidents of the morning, lingering over the fruit 
 
 8
 
 104 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 and coffee, while the soft airs and sweet sounds and 
 odors of the late summer came through the open 
 doors, and lingering so long that it was quite time 
 to Be getting ready for the afternoon service when 
 they finally left the table. There Eunice saw again 
 that elegantly indolent figure, and met that steadfast 
 gaze, and, not knowing that church attendance was 
 compulsory, thought that either Rex McAllister must 
 be a more devout man than she had supposed, or, with 
 a little conscious flutter, that there must be some 
 attraction to draw him to church twice a day. 
 
 After the service, Mr. Rogers walked home with 
 her, and "Willie Dayton with Lucy; and when they 
 reached the Iron Gate the young men proposed that 
 they should take a little walk around the campus 
 block. It was somewhat at variance with Eunice s 
 Puritan ideas to take a walk for mere pleasure on 
 the Sabbath, but Lucy seemed to think it all right, 
 and she had a feeling that Mr. Rogers was so good 
 he would not propose anything wrong; and the air 
 had grown so cool and fresh, and the late sun was 
 throwing long shadows over the grass, and the walk 
 seemed very tempting and must be harmless. When 
 they came to the turnstile opposite South College 
 some one proposed that they should go inside and 
 show Miss Harlowe the campus and West College. 
 They walked up "Middle Path" toward "Rock 
 Steps" under magnificent overarching lindens and 
 elms, and Willie Dayton pointed out his room in 
 West College. Eunice looked up to see it just as Wil 
 lie added :
 
 SUNDAY IN BELLAIRE 105 
 
 "There is Rex at the window now." And she 
 caught sight of a moody figure leaning out and look 
 ing off toward the setting sun in an abstracted fash 
 ion, while in one hand he held a smoking cigar. 
 
 Eunice did not absolutely believe it was wicked to 
 smoke, but she had grown up with a horror of the 
 habit. There were no smokers in her family or im 
 mediate friends, and smoking on Sunday did seem 
 to her to be pretty nearly wicked, but there was some 
 thing desolate in the pose of the figure at the window 
 as no doubt Rex intended there should be and it 
 struck a little chord of pity in Eunice s heart, and 
 went far toward condoning the sin of the cigar. 
 
 At the Rock Steps they met Dr. Charlton, with the 
 boys and Millicent, out for a walk also, and they all 
 walked back together in the friendliest fashion, just 
 as if he were not the learned president of whom the 
 students stood in great awe. At the little gate in the 
 hedge the two young men stopped to take their leave, 
 and arranged to call in the evening to take Eunice 
 and Lucy to one of the "down-town" churches. 
 
 But when they returned at seven o clock, they 
 found the whole family gathered around the little 
 melodeon. The doctor was a passionate lover of 
 music, and had a deep, rich bass voice powerful 
 enough to make one wonder where it could find lodg 
 ment in his slight frame; and the clear treble of the 
 boys, Millicent s small alto, Willie Dayton s rather 
 light tenor, Mr. Rogers s fine baritone, and the so 
 prano of the three ladies made a pleasant ensemble. 
 There was little regular Sunday-school music in those
 
 106 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 days, but such as there was they sang for the pleasure 
 of the boys, and then they valiantly attacked the most 
 difficult fugue music or the most intricate harmonies 
 they could find in the old "Lute" for the gratifica 
 tion of the doctor s musical tastes. When they had 
 sung themselves hoarse, which was not until long after 
 Mrs. Charlton had captured and convoyed to bed the 
 younger members of the family, they spent the rest 
 of the evening in pleasant talk, in which the doctor 
 led in his friendly fashion, until Mrs. Charlton, com 
 ing in from her siege with the children and bearing 
 in her hands a big dish of fruit, captured the talk and 
 the young people together. 
 
 Willie Dayton, who knew the family customs and 
 had kept a furtive watch on the clock, promptly at 
 quarter to ten rose to go, and of course took Mr. 
 Rogers away with him. 
 
 Outside, at the foot of the steps leading up to his 
 room, Mr. Rogers stopped to say good night, but first 
 he said in his grave way : 
 
 "I think, Mr. Dayton, Miss Harlowe is going to 
 prove quite an acquisition; she 11 be a great help in 
 the choir, and she s a very charming young woman." 
 
 Willie s head was in a whirl, as it always was after 
 an evening spent with Lucy, and he answered ab 
 sent-mindedly : 
 
 "Yes, a little stiff and queer, but she 11 do all 
 right." And not until he wondered at Mr. Rogers s 
 abrupt good night did he realize what he had been 
 laying. He called up the steps quickly to the rapidly 
 retreating back : 
 
 "Oh, say, Rogers, I did n t mean that, you know;
 
 SUNDAY IN BELLATRE 107 
 
 I must have been asleep. I really think she s a 
 mighty sweet young lady." 
 
 Lucy stopped in Eunice s room for a little talk, 
 as usual, and Eunice asked her three questions, which 
 she answered in due order. 
 
 The first one was: Do you always have such 
 pleasant Sundays as this?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Lucy; "I think Sunday is the nicest 
 day in the week, don t you? I am always looking 
 forward to it." 
 
 Eunice did not feel obliged to answer, but went on 
 to her second question: "Is Mr. Rogers studying for 
 the ministry?" 
 
 Oh, no ; what makes you think so ? " 
 
 "I suppose it is because he seems so grave and 
 dignified, not at all like Mr. Dayton and Mr. McAl 
 lister." 
 
 " He is good enough to be a minister, I should 
 think," said Lucy; "but he is going to study law, I 
 believe. I don t know why he is so different from the 
 others, unless it is because he is a Pennsylvanian and 
 they are Southerners." 
 
 Eunice asked her last question with a little hesita 
 tion: "Which do you like the better, Mr. Rogers or 
 Mr. McAllister?" 
 
 "Oh, Cousin Rex, of course; I know him so much 
 better," and then, bethinking herself that Mr. Rogers 
 had been showing himself quite interested in Eunice, 
 she added quickly : 
 
 "But I have no doubt Mr. Rogers is far the finer 
 man of the two." 
 
 And then Eunice had no more questions to ask.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A SUGGESTION 
 
 WILLIE DAYTON flung open the door of the 
 room in West College, tossed his hat on the bed, 
 and sang out: "Hello! Rex, been in all the evening? 
 We missed you at the doctor s, but I thought likely 
 you were at Miss Lydia s." 
 
 "I was for a while," answered Rex, coldly; and 
 then added after a minute, "I can t see what the 
 deuce Miss Lydia finds in that puppy Watson ! She 
 keeps him dangling at her heels just because she likes 
 to have a uniform around, I believe. 
 
 Rex had taken off his long, sweeping broadcloth 
 coat, and hung it carefully up on a little contrivance 
 of his own for keeping it in shape. He had also re 
 moved his tightly fitting boots, and was now comfort 
 ably arrayed in a study-gown of cashmere in soft 
 browns and reds, while his feet were incased in black 
 broadcloth slippers heavily embroidered in chenille, 
 doubtless the gift of some Southern sweetheart. The 
 feet and the slippers were resting comfortably on the 
 square table that occupied the center of the room, 
 in close proximity to a Greek lexicon, Paley s "Evi 
 dences," Butler s "Analogy," a box half full of 
 
 108
 
 A SUGGESTION 109 
 
 cigars, and a disorderly collection of papers. His 
 position gave a luxurious angle to the big splint- 
 bottomed chair he was sitting in, and on the broad 
 tablet affixed to its right arm lay a yellow-backed 
 novel one of Balzac s, untranslated, for Rex particu 
 larly affected the French. In his hand he held a 
 cigar, of course, but he was only smoking sufficiently 
 to keep it alive. 
 
 Willie had not answered Ilex s last remark. He 
 perceived at once, from his tone and his lowering 
 brow, that he was in a very bad humor, and he knew 
 from experience that the wisest course at such times 
 was to let his cousin alone. He proceeded therefore 
 to divest himself of his good clothes and make him 
 self comfortable after Rex s fashion, whistling dili 
 gently the while as a gentle intimation that conver 
 sation was entirely unnecessary. Willie himself was 
 in the state of exaltation in which an evening spent 
 in Lucy s presence usually left him; unless, as occa 
 sionally happened, she had been pointedly unkind 
 and left him proportionately depressed. 
 
 He was a sweet-tempered, honest, generous-hearted 
 young fellow, a South Carolinian also, and Rex s 
 cousin, but as unlike him as possible in temper and 
 in personal attractions, Willie himself would have 
 said and Rex would have thought. He was several 
 years Rex s junior, and not particularly brilliant in 
 tellectually; but by dint of faithful work he main 
 tained a fair standing as a Sophomore, while Rex, 
 who might easily have led his class, through indolence 
 and indifference stood a fair chance of being its
 
 110 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 "flag-bearer," as the man who brought up the rear 
 was called in those days. Willie was shorter than Rex, 
 and of a sturdier build, with light-brown curls and 
 honest blue eyes and pleasant, courteous ways that 
 made him a general favorite in his circle of friends, 
 but did not constitute him a lady-killer, as his cousin 
 liked to be considered. Willie himself had no ambi 
 tions in that direction. He liked all the young ladies, 
 and was indeed of that Southern temperament so sus 
 ceptible to feminine charms that he would always 
 be sure of being "in love," as he called it, but never 
 with more than one at a time, and very honestly and 
 desperately for the time. 
 
 It was Lucy Charlton s golden curls and sweet blue 
 eyes and dainty ways that held him captive now. 
 But Lucy had many admirers and was withal a little 
 of a coquette ; and while she liked Willie and had ad 
 mitted him to the relation of cousinship, which meant 
 both a great deal and nothing at all, she was sometimes 
 annoyed by his slow ways and inclined to look down 
 upon him a little disdainfully. 
 
 He sat down now to the table and began writing, 
 while Rex watched him for a few minutes impatiently. 
 He was secretly dying to hear some account of the 
 "little school-ma am," though he was not willing to 
 betray his curiosity to his cousin. 
 
 "Oh, come, Billy," he said at last, "don t bother 
 with letters to-night; I have n t had a soul to speak 
 to all day, and I am dead tired of myself. 
 
 Willie turned quickly, for this was a more amiable 
 address than his cousin s former manner had led him 
 to expect.
 
 A SUGGESTION 111 
 
 "Well," he said pleasantly, "whose fault is it? 
 Why did n t you come over to the doctor s this even 
 ing? Mrs. Charlton asked for you. You know you 
 always like to talk to her." 
 
 Rex listened with a slight curl of his short upper 
 lip. "You know very well I could n t go there after 
 having been as good as slapped in the face by that 
 priggish little Yankee school-ma arn. By Jove, I wish 
 she was a man, and I could call her out! I would 
 like to show her that a Southern gentleman is not to 
 be insulted with impunity." 
 
 There was an access of fury with his last words, 
 and Willie hastened to speak soothingly. "I know; 
 it & too bad. Do you know, I don t believe she knew 
 she was insulting you. Those New Englanders have 
 queer ways, you know; and I fancy she was more 
 than likely trying not to appear too much interested." 
 Then he added cunningly, "You know yourself what 
 a heart-smasher you are, and it s likely she had never 
 met your sort before and was afraid of you. 
 
 Willie was working on sure ground when he was 
 working on Rex s vanity. He knew it and was a lit 
 tle ashamed of himself for stooping to such means; 
 but he hated a fuss, especially where his friends the 
 Charltons were concerned, and he was determined to 
 heal the breach, if possible. Rex had comforted him* 
 self with the same explanation, but it was soothing 
 to his vanity to hear it offered by Willie also, al 
 though he only ejaculated, "Nonsense!" But Willie 
 had seen the scornful curl of the lip give way to a half- 
 smile of conscious power, which Rex had not been 
 entirely able to suppress, and he went om
 
 112 IN OLD BELLAIBE 
 
 "It struck me several times to-day that she was 
 sorry, and would be glad of a chance to apologize. 
 Suppose you give her the chance and see." 
 
 Rex was quite sure those timid glances had al 
 ready dumbly entreated his forgiveness, and there 
 was only wanting an opportunity to have it expressed 
 in words. There was nothing he would enjoy more 
 than to have a scornful young lady humbly beseech 
 ing his forgiveness, and he had been dreaming all 
 day of the exquisite pleasure he should take in her 
 apology, and had quite carefully rehearsed in his 
 mind the exact manner in which he should receive it. 
 There should be magnanimity and haughty courtesy 
 mingled with cold reserve and the air of having re 
 ceived a wound so deep that the scars could never be 
 obliterated. Then he intended gradually to thaw a 
 little, but still to treat her with such stately courtesy 
 that she should see that though as a gentleman he must 
 needs accept her apology, as a man he could not quite 
 forget what he had suffered at her hands. He was in 
 a hurry also to begin on that line of revenge that he 
 had hastily planned the night before and had been 
 brooding over all day with no idea of relenting because 
 of the timid, regretful glances he had received. They 
 had mollified his wrath, to be sure; but the sense of 
 personal affront remained, and he was quite fascinated 
 also by the idea of the amusement as well as triumph 
 he would get out of it. He was perfectly sure, there 
 fore, that only the opportunity was wanting for the 
 apology, but the question was how to make the oppor 
 tunity. He could not, of course, call on her, or seek
 
 A SUGGESTION 113 
 
 her in any way, until the apology had been made, and 
 he hardly hoped that she would dare to make the op 
 portunity. He was a little afraid that she might write 
 him about it, and he did not desire that. It would 
 be so difficult to express in writing all those delicate 
 and complex emotions that he intended to express 
 when he received her apology, and his triumph would 
 lose much of its sweetness if he could not see her 
 trembling and blushing embarrassment if he could 
 not, metaphorically, raise her from her knees and 
 gradually soothe her perturbations. 
 
 So he answered Willie s last suggestion impatiently : 
 "How the deuce can I make an opportunity? Shall I 
 go over and call, and beg her to beg my pardon?" 
 
 Willie smiled. "Of course not; but you might" 
 
 But Rex interrupted him : Not that I care a pica 
 yune whether the little Yankee ever begs my pardon 
 or not ; but you can see for yourself it s going to make 
 it deucedly uncomfortable about my ever going to 
 the Charltons as long as she is there and I suppose 
 she is a fixture." 
 
 "Yes," said Willie, eagerly; "that s just it. You 
 don t want to break with the Charltons; they think 
 a sight of you, and they are such good friends to us 
 both. Don t you think, considering the circumstances, 
 you might write her a little note and ask for an ex 
 planation? You can be entirely on your dignity, 
 you know. Say you think you have a right, as a 
 gentleman, to ask from her, as a lady, some explana 
 tion of her treatment of you the other evening." 
 
 Willie s suggestion struck Rex as a very good solu-
 
 114 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 tion of the difficulty, except that it might result in 
 the written apology that he did not want. But his 
 quick mind saw a way to prevent that, and he decided 
 at once to adopt Willie s plan, though he answered 
 him with an assumption of indifference. 
 
 "All right, I will think over your suggestion, Wil 
 lie. Of course I will be glad to have it all square 
 with the Charltons again, for your sake and my 
 own. 
 
 He rekindled his cigar, which had quite gone out, 
 and picked up "La Cousine Bette, " in whose pages 
 he appeared to be buried while Willie turned again 
 to his letters.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A FACULTY TEA 
 
 EUNICE found her first morning in school a try 
 ing one. There were the new pupils to meet and, 
 what was much more embarrassing, the mothers of 
 most of them, who had accompanied their children 
 to see the new teacher. Then, when the formalities 
 of the opening were over, there was the classifying 
 and arranging the studies of each individual pupil; 
 fatiguing work, demanding the patience of Job and 
 the wisdom of Solomon, Eunice thought. 
 
 Bat it was over at last ; and at a quarter past twelve 
 Eunice had on her little bonnet, and had turned the 
 key in the lock with a feeling of relief that her first 
 and most trying day was ended. Partly from the 
 heat, to which she was unaccustomed, and partly from 
 fatigue and excitement, her head was aching badly, 
 and she found it difficult to remain at table through 
 the noon-day dinner with its pleasant air of excite 
 ment, as the children eagerly recounted the events of 
 the first morning at school. She had been able to 
 eat but little, greatly to Mrs. Charlton s concern, 
 which found voice when Eunice asked to be excused 
 from dessert. 
 
 115
 
 116 IN OLD BELLA1RE 
 
 "You poor child!" she said anxiously, "you are 
 all tired out! Yes, go to your room and lie down, 
 and I will keep every one away from you this after 
 noon. " 
 
 In her own room the cool green light, sifting through 
 the branches of the linden and through the bowed shut 
 ters, was grateful to her aching eyes. When she first 
 lay down, a throng of feverish thoughts went troop 
 ing through her brain, of everything that had hap 
 pened in these few days; but gradually they all 
 slipped away but the one grateful thought of every 
 one s kindness. She fell asleep thinking of Mrs. 
 Charlton s grace and beauty and vivacity, which made 
 her the most charming woman she had ever known, 
 and of dear Dr. Charlton, for whom, with his 
 scholarly ways, his kindly humor and old-fash 
 ioned gallantry, she had begun to feel a romantic 
 veneration. 
 
 She had slept an hour or two when she was awakened 
 by a soft knock. She sprang up, went to the door, 
 and opened it. It was Lucy. 
 
 "I hope I did not wake you," she said. "Here is 
 Judge with a note for you, and he refuses to deliver 
 it to any one but you." 
 
 Behind Lucy stood "Judge," bowing and scraping 
 and politely grinning: 
 
 "Yes, miss, Marse Mac low I was to gib de note 
 to Miss hehse f," he said, as he handed her a tiny 
 white envelop, sealed. 
 
 "Oh, it is from Mr. McAllister," said Lucy, smil 
 ing; "he sent me an invitation to a concert once, and
 
 A FACULTY TEA 117 
 
 Judge gave it to Charles Cook, junior, who forgot 
 all about it, of course, and I never received it. I sup 
 pose he was afraid of the same fate for this one un 
 less Judge delivered it into your own hands." 
 Lucy spoke to Eunice By way of explanation, but 
 "Judge" answered her gravely: 
 
 "Yes, miss, dat s it; Marse Mac low I gib it to 
 nobody else, cep in de young lady." 
 
 Eunice stood looking at the note in her hand, half 
 frightened, half pleased ; she could not remember that 
 ever in her life before she had received a note from 
 a young gentleman, but she had reason to be a little 
 afraid of this one. 
 
 "Will you come in, Lucy, while I read it?" she 
 said. 
 
 "Are you to wait for an answer, Judge ?" asked 
 Lucy, turning to him. 
 
 "Yes, miss, Marse Mac lowed I mought git one," 
 returned "Judge," with a succession of bendings 
 and pullings of his forelock without which utterance 
 seemed impossible to him. 
 
 "Very well, then, you can wait in the hall," said 
 Lucy, going into Eunice s room and closing the door. 
 
 Eunice had already broken the seal, and was reading 
 with flushed cheeks : 
 
 "Mr. McAllister presents his compliments to Miss Harlowe, 
 and would beg to say that he feels an explanation due him for 
 Miss Harlowe s action of Saturday night. If Miss Harlowe will 
 permit, he will do himself the honor of calling this evening to 
 hear from her personally of what offense he has been guilty to 
 call forth so marked a token of her displeasure."
 
 118 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Eunice read it over twice, the crimson spot in 
 either cheek growing deeper as she read; then she 
 handed it to Lucy and said : 
 
 "I wish you would read it, Lucy, and tell me what 
 I must do. Don t you think it would be better to write 
 my apology? He has given me the opportunity, I 
 think, by his note. 
 
 Lucy read it also carefully; then she said slowly, 
 and with no idea that she was innocently playing into 
 Rex s hand: 
 
 "No, I don t think I would. You see, he particu 
 larly requests a personal explanation, and unless you 
 have some well-defined excuse, it is easier to make 
 things clear and all right again by talking them over. 
 It is so easy to be misunderstood in writing." 
 
 "Yes," said Eunice; "but it is because I have n t 
 any excuse only an apology that I thought I would 
 rather write ; but perhaps it will be better to see him." 
 
 She went to her writing-table, got out some paper 
 from the drawer, and took up her pen : 
 
 "What shall I say? I really don t know how to 
 write it." 
 
 Notes were of small moment to Lucy; she had any 
 number of them neatly piled away in her little desk : 
 invitations for concerts, for lectures, for driving- 
 parties to the mountains or the springs, for walks 
 to the barracks or the cave, for Sunday-evening 
 church, for Wednesday-evening prayer-meeting or 
 Saturday-evening choir rehearsal all of which were 
 included in the list of Bellaire gaieties. So she an 
 swered lightly :
 
 A FACULTY TEA 119 
 
 "Oh, I would make it as brief and formal as pos 
 sible. Miss Harlowe s compliments to Mr. McAllister, 
 and would be happy to see him this evening. 
 
 Eunice obeyed, and the note was written, sealed, 
 and given to Judge, patiently waiting in the hall. 
 
 Dr. and Mrs. Charlton were spending the even 
 ing out at a faculty tea-party given by the senior 
 professor in West College. 
 
 I wonder if anywhere in the world in these days 
 of form and fashion and late dinners people get to 
 gether and have such good times as they used to at 
 those old faculty tea-parties. "Tea" now is asso 
 ciated in our minds with a crush and jam, light re 
 freshments, and lighter talk, but it meant some 
 thing very different in those days. It meant sitting 
 down comfortably to a long table covered with snowy 
 damask and shining with polished silver and glass 
 and dainty china. There was sure to be a noble 
 platter of fried chicken at one end of the table if 
 it were the season when chickens were young enough 
 to fry; not broiled, but cooked as only the good old 
 darky cooks of our youth could cook them: fried to 
 a crisp golden brown, and covered with an unctuous 
 cream gravy of the same color. If it was not possible 
 to find sufficiently young chicken for the piece de re 
 sistance, the same noble platter was filled with fried 
 oysters, golden brown also, and hot and tender and 
 not greasy, and the oysters flanked by a beautifully 
 decorated dish of chicken-salad, made after the recipe 
 of Professor Tiffin himself, the epicure of the faculty
 
 120 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 "little vinegar and less mustard; much cayenne 
 pepper and more oil." And whether chicken or 
 oysters were in the platter, there were always waffles, 
 so light and crisp that the most sensitive dyspeptic 
 need not fear them, with bowls of mixed cinnamon 
 and sugar to eat with them for those who liked it ; and 
 there was also, always, hot Maryland biscuit, snowy 
 with just a delicate tinge of the necessary brown, 
 and innocent of soda or yeast powder or any other 
 death-dealing drug; and of course there were won 
 derfully concocted pickles, and shaking jellies glow 
 ing like rubies, and rich preserves ; and for the second 
 course a little very nice cake and such fruit as hap 
 pened to be in season, from scarlet strawberries to 
 luscious peaches, served with thick yellow cream- 
 though the second course was of little moment in the 
 mind of a good Bellaire housekeeper compared with 
 the substantials. And to crown the feast there was 
 always coffee, hot and clear and strong enough, with 
 the exquisite flavor of the Mocha easily distinguish 
 able, and rich with cream. Indeed, the coffee was a 
 test of any Bellaire tea-party, and the anxious hostess 
 never felt that her supper was a complete success until 
 the gentlemen, and even some of the ladies, began to 
 send up for a second cup of her delicious coffee. 
 
 But there was no lack of a finer kind of entertain 
 ment also at these teas. The creature comforts, far 
 from deadening the intellect, seemed to stimulate the 
 flow of wit and reason. There might possibly be a 
 little formality and dullness while the company were 
 gathering in the "front parlor," and the ladies
 
 A FACULTY TEA 121 
 
 were all more or less in sympathy with the hostess s 
 anxiety in the critical moments preceding supper, 
 and the husbands were insensibly sensitive to the 
 mood of their wives. But from the moment they 
 were all seated at the table, husbands scrupulously 
 separated from wives from that moment until ten 
 o clock, when, exact almost to the minute, they 
 said good night, there was a constant ripple of gentle 
 hilarity. 
 
 Professor Tiffin was host this evening, and he 
 readily proved himself, not an epicure only, but also 
 a most polished man of the world, who could dis 
 course delightfully on the latest literature or the 
 society news from Baltimore and Philadelphia, the 
 centers of fashion for Bellaire. Opposite him at the 
 head of the table sat Mrs. Tiffin, a pale, aristocratic- 
 looking blonde, who bore the enviable reputation of 
 being able to cook a dinner or entertain a parlorful 
 of guests with equal ease and skill. And there were 
 Professor Fieldman and his wife, two jovial souls 
 who for months had been keeping up a running 
 wager as to who should tell the most and the best 
 stories. And there was the bachelor professor, a big, 
 fine-looking man well up in his forties, with a mag 
 nificent head covered with Jove-like curls. He had 
 a beautiful old lady for a mother, and two bright and 
 handsome sisters ; and it was for their sakes, no doubt, 
 that he had never married, though he seemed to en 
 joy his single estate and the freedom it gave him to 
 worship moderately at many shrines, and to display 
 to untrammeled advantage his two talents for he was
 
 122 IN OLD BELLAiRE 
 
 an accomplished musician, and even more accom 
 plished in conversation. 
 
 Perhaps conversation is not quite the right word 
 to apply to Professor Haywood s brilliant monologues. 
 There was no doubt about their brilliance : they were 
 well worth listening to, scintillating with wit, studded 
 with epigram, flashing on every subject in the wide 
 range of literature and philosophy ; but sometimes, if 
 you liked to talk yourself, you found them just a 
 little tiresome. There had been rumors that if Miss 
 Lydia McNair, who was an heiress in her own right, 
 would have looked kindly on him, he would have 
 gracefully submitted to matrimonial bonds; but we 
 never knew certainly, for Miss Lydia kept her own 
 counsel in such matters, and the professor was not 
 likely to publish his defeats. Certain it is that they 
 were still on terms of amity, and although he no longer 
 haunted the McNair parlors as he had once done, 
 he went there at intervals, and it was reported that 
 she treated him with as much nonchalance as she did 
 any of her younger Beaux, and had been known more 
 than once to interrupt his most brilliant flight with a 
 saucy, "Now, professor, you rest awhile and let me 
 talk." 
 
 Then there were the professor s two charming sis 
 ters, always, of course, included in faculty parties. 
 Miss Kate was a dashing brunette, bright-eyed and 
 rosy-cheeked, with all the wit of her brother, but so 
 toned down by the feminine desire to please and kept 
 in bounds by feminine intuition, that warned her at 
 once if she were in danger of becoming a bore, that
 
 A FACULTY TEA 123 
 
 she was as fascinating as she was beautiful. I re 
 member as a child we used to sing a song beginning, 
 "Miss Kate was once a laughing girl, Eyes of jet and 
 teeth of pearl," and I never for a moment doubted 
 that the song referred to beautiful Miss Kate Hay- 
 wood. Her sister, Meta, was of a more stately type: 
 fair and large, with dignified composure of manner. 
 She had a way of listening with such sympathy and 
 apparent comprehension as to give the impression 
 that she had herself been talking most learnedly or 
 wittily, as the case might be. I never remember to 
 have heard her utter more than the most ordinary 
 commonplaces, but the tone of their utterance was 
 always so well chosen and they were delivered with 
 such an air that I do not think that at the time they 
 impressed me as commonplace at all. It was this 
 talent of hers as a sympathetic listener that had, no 
 doubt, won for her the reputation of being quite a 
 Madame de Stael in learning and wit. 
 
 There was another bachelor professor in the 
 faculty : a Johnsonian style of man, big and ungainly 
 of person, pompous and uncouth of manner, but of un 
 doubted learning and ability. It seemed to be always 
 Miss Meta s lot to sit next him at the faculty teas, 
 and by a judicious use of her eyes and pretty smile, 
 and a proper distribution of Noes," "Yesses," and 
 Indeeds ! , she produced such an impression on the 
 honest and impressionable heart of the awkward 
 scholar that he invariably found an opportunity later 
 in the evening to say to one or two of the married 
 members of the faculty, "I find Miss Meta a most
 
 124 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 charming young lady. Does it ever strike you that 
 she is ah in fact erudite f"; and the professor in 
 whom he happened to repose this confidence as in 
 variably responded with some jocose suggestion that 
 it was time for him to be thinking seriously of giving 
 up his bachelor freedom and making some charming 
 woman happy by joining the ranks of the Benedicts, 
 which suggestion the professor always received seri 
 ously, though somewhat sheepishly, and promised to 
 think of it. As nothing ever came of these periodical 
 seizures, it is to be presumed that the next morning, 
 in his comfortable study, surrounded by his beloved 
 books, the vision of the fair charmer faded until the 
 next faculty tea. 
 
 But any description of any kind of faculty party 
 would be very incomplete without a mention of the 
 two Misses Perkins. They did not properly belong 
 to the faculty by any consanguineous connection with 
 that charmed circle ; but no faculty dame would have 
 dared to give a function, however small and informal, 
 without including them in the list of invitations. 
 Two splendid New England women, born in another 
 century, and belonging even in my childhood to a fast 
 passing generation; of an imposing presence and an 
 elegance and propriety of manner that would have en 
 abled a discriminating stranger to have conjectured 
 at once that they were at the head of a young ladies 
 boarding-school. The educating and polishing of 
 young ladies had been their life-work, and from Maine 
 to Georgia they were widely known as elegant women 
 and distinguished educators.
 
 A FACULTY TEA 125 
 
 Miss Caroline rather overshadowed her younger 
 sister, Miss Phoabe; for Miss Phoebe, by virtue of 
 being the younger, had come to be regarded both by 
 herself and her sister as perennially youthful, and 
 cherished the modest and girlish graces they both 
 considered suitable to her. I never believed that this 
 was an intentional affectation on Miss Phoabe s part ; 
 it was the force of long-continued attitude. So, while 
 Miss Caroline discussed ably the topics of the day 
 with the men she met, giving clear-cut views on all 
 subjects, Miss Phosbe sat primly by with folded hands 
 and an amiable smile of attention in her faded blue 
 eyes. 
 
 Miss Caroline was broad of frame and almost mas 
 culine in the effect of strength her physique gave. 
 Her eyes were gray and still keen, rarely needing 
 the assistance of glasses, though she never hesitated 
 to use them if they seemed necessary. She always wore 
 on her hair, iron-gray and her own, a square of black- 
 thread lace with long side-tabs to which was added 
 on party occasions a little purple ribbon ; or if the 
 party was an unusually fine one, the purple was light 
 ened to lavender. Her dress was invariably of black 
 silk, stiff and shiny, with straight voluminous skirts, 
 finished at the neck with a rather small but rich lace 
 collar fastened with a cameo brooch. In the very 
 plainness of her dress she impressed one with her 
 strength verging on masculinity. 
 
 Miss Phcebe, on the other hand, had all the small 
 feminine likings for gay ribbons and soft laces, and as 
 far as possible she tried to follow the prevailing mode.
 
 126 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Now that hoops were in, she had timidly ventured on 
 a small one, though she felt every time it caught on 
 an obtrusive door-scraper which was not seldom 
 that she was wearing it at the risk of her life. Her 
 skirts were flounced to her waist; her sleeves were 
 wide to admit of pretty under-sleeves, and the surplus 
 opening of her bodices was filled in with soft blond 
 or delicate lace. Her caps, too, were butterfly crea 
 tions, caught up at irregular angles with tiny bunches 
 of narrow pink-satin ribbons, and resting on a false 
 front of richest chestnut hue. As for her eyes, they 
 had long since lost their keenness of vision with their 
 luster, but Miss Phoebe preferred all the inconve 
 nience and uncertainty of half-blindness rather than 
 confess to glasses. 
 
 Dear soul ! who that has a heart can find fault with 
 that tender clinging to the romance of her girlhood? 
 I never heard that Miss Phoebe had ever had a lover, 
 but it is enough to know that she was once sixteen 
 and had all the pure, sweet, timid dreams of a pos 
 sible lover that are as much a part of those bright, 
 unfolding years as the fragrance is of the rose. And 
 it is not impossible to realize it of Miss Phoebe, in spite 
 of her faded eyes, the primly set mouth, the rigidly 
 erect and angular figure with no trace of girlish grace 
 remaining. There is a suggestion of it, like the faint 
 perfume that still clings to withered rose-petals, in 
 the modest folding of the snowy lace across the maid 
 enly bosom, and in the rosy tint of the ribbons in her 
 cap. But my imagination refuses to conceive of Miss 
 Caroline as ever having had a girlhood filled with
 
 A FACULTY TEA 127 
 
 dream-lovers or real ones. I might easily fancy her 
 a boy playing at football or "shinny," but a coy and 
 sensitive maiden never ! 
 
 And now these were the prominent members of that 
 old faculty circle gathered about Mrs. Tiffin s table 
 that Monday evening, including, of course, our dear 
 and genial Dr. Charlton, without whom every gather 
 ing would have lost its center of sunshine and warmth, 
 for that was the effect of his ready flow of kindly 
 wit and gentle humor; and his beautiful wife, whose 
 sparkling vivacity and gracious ways charmed us 
 almost as much as her radiant beauty. 
 
 And this night at Mrs. Tiffin s the little company 
 did not Break up promptly at ten. It was the first 
 social gathering of the season, and they had all the 
 long vacation experiences to compare. Some of them 
 had been to the mountains, and some to the sea ; Pro 
 fessor and Mrs. Tiffin in Europe; Professor Hay- 
 wood at White Sulphur Springs, where he was sure 
 to meet the fashion and beauty of the South ; and his 
 brother bachelor professor buried in the British Mu 
 seum, delving among its archives for material for his 
 book that he had been faithfully at work upon for 
 years. 
 
 And when it was almost time to be going Professor 
 Fieldman challenged Dr. Charlton to a game of chess, 
 and that was one of the good doctor s weaknesses in 
 which he yet found little time to indulge, and which 
 Mrs. Charlton encouraged as little as she did his 
 other weakness for punning. It seemed to her a 
 great waste of time to pore over a chess-board for
 
 128 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 hours, when one might be reading some charming 
 book or enjoying a delightful dish of conversation. 
 
 Mrs. Tiffin, noting the doctor s wistful look, and 
 perceiving that he was about to decline, added her 
 persuasions to the professor s, and herself arranged 
 the little chess-table in a quiet corner where they would 
 neither interrupt the flow of talk nor be disturbed 
 by it. And as the hour of ten came and passed and 
 the little circle saw their head sitting unmoved by 
 the cuckoo-chime that proclaimed the hour, they ven 
 tured to linger a little, too. But they could not feel 
 perfectly at ease after that admonitory sound, and 
 so conversation languished, and gradually, one by one, 
 the ladies withdrew to Mrs. Tiffin s room to put on 
 their bonnets, and the gentlemen formed a half-circle 
 around the players and silently watched the game. 
 And that is one of the essential differences between 
 men and women. Whoever saw a circle of women 
 watching a game in which they could have no hand ! 
 They go to base-ball and to foot-ball, but it is not 
 the game that attracts them : it is the gay and eager 
 crowds. As a rule, all the daughters of Eve must 
 have their finger in the pie or the flavor is not to 
 their liking. 
 
 A rustle of skirts and a gentle murmur of voices 
 at length proclaimed the return of the ladies, and 
 Mrs. Charlton floated up to the table where her hus 
 band sat, his finger laid along his nose, his eyes 
 fixed on the board, oblivious to everything else in 
 the world. The game was at a critical point, and, 
 almost to the horror of the interested circle of spec-
 
 A FACULTY TEA 129 
 
 tators, she laid her hand lightly on the doctor s 
 shoulder : 
 
 "My dear, do you know it is almost half -past ten?" 
 she said. 
 
 "Impossible!" ejaculated the doctor, never taking 
 his eyes from the board, nor in any way moving a 
 muscle not required by the act of articulation. 
 
 "Yes, dear, and we must be going." 
 
 "Wait one moment, my love," said the doctor, 
 putting his fingers on his king and then venturing to 
 glance hurriedly up at her. 
 
 The board was clear of men, except Professor 
 Fieldman s king, the doctor s king, and one knight, 
 with which he had been vainly striving for a check 
 mate: Professor Fieldman s king stood on his rook s 
 square, the doctor s knight on the bishop s third, and 
 his king on the knight s third; there was no use of 
 struggling longer; the doctor moved his king to the 
 bishop s second and proclaimed a stalemate with quite 
 an air of triumph, for the professor was a player of 
 some repute, and kept in good practice by his wife, 
 who was as fond of chess as she was of stories. Then 
 the doctor arose, flushed with success, made his courtly 
 apology to Mrs. Tiffin for keeping such late hours, 
 and said his pleasant " good night" to every one else. 
 
 Half-way across the long walk between West and 
 East College they heard the sharp click of the little 
 gate in the hedge, and a little further on they passed 
 some one who took off his hat and made a low 
 bow. It was dark and the doctor could not recog 
 nize him.
 
 130 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 "My dear," he said, "that seems to be some one 
 coming from our house. Could you tell who it was ? * 
 
 "I think it was Mr. McAllister," she answered; 
 "but it seems to me he has been staying rather late." 
 
 "Mr. McAllister ! said the doctor ; " I did not know 
 he called on Lucy; I thought it was always you he 
 came to see." 
 
 Oh, he calls on Lucy sometimes, said Mrs. Charl- 
 ton; "but I fancy this time it was not Lucy, but 
 Eunice. 
 
 "Ah, to be sure of course!" said the doctor.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A WHITE ROSE 
 
 IT had been agreed between them that Lucy should 
 Be in the parlor with Eunice when Rex McAllister 
 arrived, as Eunice felt she would like the support of 
 Lucy s presence in the first encounter. Afterward 
 Lucy was to withdraw on some pretext. So the first 
 few minutes of McAllister s call, save for his distant 
 and ceremonious greeting to Eunice, were as uncon 
 strained and comfortable as possible. The pretext 
 came without any effort on Lucy s part, and rather 
 sooner than she had intended. 
 
 Up-stairs in "mother s room," just over the parlor, 
 there arose a tremendous racket. It had been threat 
 ening for some time: the noise of shrill singing min 
 gling with shouts and the scuffing of feet, and an oc 
 casional sound as of a fall, shaking the ceiling. But 
 now the din waxed louder. The falls were frequent 
 and heavy, making the globes on the chandelier rattle 
 and threatening destruction to the frail glass. 
 
 "Oh, those boys!" exclaimed Lucy. "Father and 
 mother are out, Cousin Rex, and I am mother of the 
 family. Will you excuse me while I investigate this 
 disturbance ? 
 
 131
 
 132 IN OLD BELLAIBE 
 
 "Certainly, Cousin Lucy," said Rex, promptly; 
 "and call on me if you find you need any assistance." 
 
 The sights and sounds that met Lucy as she opened 
 the door of her mother s room might have appalled 
 her if she had not often encountered them before. 
 In the middle of the room Henry Sidney and George 
 Edgar were engaged in a "wrastle," and at this mo 
 ment were rolling over on the floor vigorously pom 
 melling each other, while hanging over them, delight 
 beaming from every pore of his shining black face, 
 was Charles Cook, junior, who was restrained from 
 taking a hand in the scrimmage himself by no respect 
 for color, but because, as he would have put it, Two 
 on one s no fair. At sight of Lucy he fled ignomin- 
 iously to the lower regions, and the two boys sprang 
 to their feet, for their wrestling had begun to be 
 tinged with earnest, and, like the two little gentlemen 
 they were, they were heartily ashamed of the temper 
 and quite ready to shake hands, while Lucy turned 
 her attention to the rest of the din, which had been 
 going uninterruptedly on through the fracas of the 
 Big Boys, and its adjustment. 
 
 In the crib, a wide old-fashioned one on rockers 
 that had soothed the slumbers of every baby in the 
 family from Lucy down, were the four younger mem 
 bers of the family and Cindie. On one side sat Charles 
 Ernest and Cindie, and on the other Millie and 
 "Doric," as the little four-year-old was called, a 
 loving abbreviation for Theodore. He would some 
 time arrive at the distinction of being called by his 
 full name, Theodore Howard, but for the present he
 
 A WHITE ROSE 133 
 
 was only "Doric." The four pairs of short, chubby 
 legs were stuck through the wide spaces in the railing 
 of the crib, and as they rocked they were singing at 
 the top of their voices, to a monotonous tune of their 
 own composing pitched in a high key : 
 
 * Bye, Baby bunting ; 
 Papa s gone a-hunting/ etc. 
 
 Between them lay little Baby Ned, his golden curls 
 lying in a tangled mass on the pillow, one little fist 
 doubled up under the dimpled chin, the long dark 
 lashes lying on the pink cheeks, and the dewy lips 
 half parted. He rolled from side to side with the 
 violent rocking, but he seemed to be sleeping, except 
 as a more vigorous swing of the crib flung him roughly 
 against its sides, when through the parted lips would 
 come a sleepy gurgle of laughter like the soft ripple 
 of a tiny brook, and the children, perceiving that he 
 was not yet sound, would redouble their exertions, 
 singing louder and rocking harder, as if to compel the 
 attendance of the drowsy god. 
 
 There may be sceptics who will say it is impossible 
 for any baby to be soothed to sleep by such vigorous 
 methods, but the history of the Charlton babies, or, 
 at least, the four younger ones, goes to prove that 
 they are sometimes quite as efficacious as softer ways. 
 
 The combat of the Big Boys had not at all disturbed 
 the singing or the rocking, except that once or twice 
 Millie s tender little heart had been stirred with 
 anxiety for George Edgar, whose cries, she was sure,
 
 134 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 sounded as if he were getting hurt. But four-year-old 
 Doric reassured her : 
 
 Ho ! that s nuffin, only fun ! big boys always play 
 like that. I will, too, when I m big." 
 
 Now Lucy hurried to the cribful of children and 
 spoke to them gently. 
 
 "Hush, children, you are making too much noise. 
 Miss Eunice has a caller in the parlor; I don t know 
 what she will think of you ! 
 
 That name had already begun to be a talisman with 
 them, and they were instantly silent. Then perceiving 
 that Baby Ned, the moment there had been a cessa 
 tion in his stormy rocking, had dropped off into a 
 sound sleep, Lucy told the children to get out of the 
 crib softly, so as not to waken Baby, sent Cindie 
 down-stairs to her mother, set Charles Ernest and 
 Dorie to pulling out their low trundle-bed from be 
 neath the high four-poster, where it was concealed 
 during the day by the white valance, and with Mil 
 lie s aid she soon had the two little fellows tucked 
 snugly in their soft white bed. 
 
 In the meantime there had been a few moments of 
 embarrassing silence in the parlor after Lucy s de 
 parture. In a straight, high-backed chair near the 
 center of the room, Eunice sat primly erect, save that 
 her head was a little bent, her curls falling forward 
 from above her ears in straight lines on either side of 
 her face, half concealing it. Her attitude was due to 
 the fact that she held in her hand a little shuttle on 
 whose swift flying back and forth her eyes, with their 
 dropped lids, were conveniently intent.
 
 A WHITE ROSE 135 
 
 The Charlton family had already discovered that 
 Eunice and her shuttle were inseparable. She had 
 been bred in the good old New England way of never 
 allowing herself to sit with idle hands. She carried 
 in her pocket the little shuttle with its spool and neat 
 ball of finished tatting, and between breakfast and 
 prayers it came out, or when sitting in Mrs. Charl 
 ton s room for a little talk. Lucy had not been sur 
 prised to see it produced while they were awaiting 
 McAllister s arrival in the parlor, but she had ex 
 perienced a little shock when, the moment the first 
 greetings were over, Eunice had calmly resumed her 
 work. Lucy innocently supposed that it required 
 all one s attention to entertain a caller properly; 
 and to see Eunice sit there so calmly, with no feel 
 ing of responsibility as to the entertainment of 
 her guest, was not only surprising it was a little ir 
 ritating. 
 
 Eex found it a little irritating also, after Lucy had 
 gone, to find himself sitting opposite that unresponsive 
 figure without the least chance of producing any ef 
 fect with those delicate shades of acting he had 
 counted upon, as long as her eyes were so pertina 
 ciously fixed on her work. He felt his temper rising 
 and an almost irresistible impulse to say, "Confound 
 that tatting, Miss Harlowe ! Will you be kind enough 
 to pay a little attention to a guest who feels that he 
 has already been sufficiently snubbed?" 
 
 But he did not say it, and there was something in 
 the quaint figure, with its drooping face, that attracted 
 him powerfully in spite of his irritation. He could 
 
 not know, of course, what a struggle was going on 
 10
 
 136 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 under that calm exterior, and how Eunice was screw 
 ing up her courage to make that dreaded apology; 
 nor did he guess the effort with which she finally 
 raised her head and said quite calmly: 
 
 "I owe you an apology, Mr. McAllister, for my 
 rudeness to you at choir rehearsal. I have no explana 
 tion to offer; I cannot quite understand it myself. 
 It was a sudden impulse, but I regret it exceedingly, 
 and am very much ashamed of it. 
 
 Hex had his line of action all laid out, and so he 
 resisted a more manly impulse to accept her apology 
 at once and heartily. It helped him to resist it also 
 that her eyes had again dropped upon her work, and 
 her shuttle was flying swiftly back and forth. He 
 said coldly: 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Harlowe, for deigning to bestow 
 a moment s notice upon me. I will take it as an addi 
 tional kindness on your part if you can reconcile 
 it with your conscience to spare me a few moments 
 more from your work if you will endeavor to ex 
 plain to me what I had done that should have caused 
 you even a momentary impulse to treat me so un 
 kindly." 
 
 Eunice could not conceive that Rex should think 
 he had grounds for another grievance because she 
 had occupied herself with her tatting a very proper 
 and becoming employment for a young lady receiv 
 ing a call, she thought, and a comfortable refuge 
 for her eyes in case of embarrassment. But she 
 dropped her hands in her lap and looked up at him, 
 her clear look a little troubled at the coldness of his
 
 A WHITE ROSE 137 
 
 tone. She had felt very much both the embarrassment 
 and the humiliation of putting herself in an apolo 
 getic attitude toward this young man so shortly after 
 their first acquaintance, but she had unconsciously 
 comforted herself with the thought of the delicate 
 kindliness with which her apology would be received, 
 and the instant return to their former pleasant foot 
 ing. Now when she met the cold, hard look in the 
 black eyes fastened on her, mingled with her dis 
 appointment in the way he had received her apology 
 was a little sense of injustice. It stirred her quiet 
 soul, and she said courageously: 
 
 "Mr. McAllister, I have but one explanation to 
 make. I came here from a quiet New England village, 
 where I had known nothing of young gentlemen and 
 the fashion of their conversation. You will remember, 
 perhaps, the tone you took toward me from the first 
 such, I suppose, as you are in the habit of employ 
 ing toward the young ladies you meet. I probably 
 did not understand you perfectly, and thought you 
 were presuming on my ignorance of the world; and 
 I foolishly resolved to show you on Saturday night, 
 by seeming to be very indifferent to you, that I was 
 not so unsophisticated as you had taken me to be. I 
 see now that it was the surest proof of my ignorance ; 
 but I have said that I am sorry, and I do not know 
 that I can do anything further." 
 
 As Eunice spoke her courage rose steadily, and it 
 seemed to Rex there was a defiant ring in her last 
 words. Her eyes met his calmly, but with a little 
 spark of an unusual fire in their cool gray depths.
 
 138 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 This was not quite what he had intended. He had 
 thought to melt her and bring her very humbly to 
 his feet, when he would turn magnanimous and re 
 store her to her former elevation. But he could not 
 help admiring her in this new phase, and mingled with 
 his admiration was just a little awe of a woman who 
 seemed so meek and simple, and yet did not succumb 
 at once to his all-conquering wiles. He saw that it 
 behooved him to change his tactics, and he did so 
 quickly and gracefully. 
 
 "Miss Harlowe," he said, as he bent upon her his 
 softest look and his most winning smile, "you have 
 been very frank and very generous, and I feel now 
 that it is I who have the apology to make for forcing 
 you to an explanation when you had already made the 
 amende honorable. But I cannot be entirely sorry, 
 since it gives me the opportunity of vindicating myself 
 to you. I have never presumed upon your ignorance. 
 I recognized at once your rare charms of mind and 
 heart and person, and perhaps yielded to them more 
 readily because they were of a kind new to me in 
 their manifestation. But it is my Southern ardor that 
 is to blame for betraying that interest to you, and 
 I do not wonder that you have considered me presum 
 ing and punished me accordingly. If you will re 
 store me to your confidence and esteem, I will prom 
 ise to do my best not to offend again. 
 
 It was all said with such apparent sincerity and 
 humility, accompanied by the most pleading look in 
 the eyes, that were now as soft as they had been hard, 
 that Eunice would have had to be made of sterner
 
 A WHITE EOSE 139 
 
 stuff to resist him ; and she forgave him with a smile 
 that lost for once the constraint that usually character 
 ized it, and was wholly sweet and natural. 
 
 But Eunice had never fully recovered from the 
 headache of the morning, and the little excitement 
 through which she had just passed, combined with 
 the heat of the evening, made still more oppressive 
 by the brightly burning gas, brought it back in full 
 force. She grew very white when the excitement of 
 the explanation was all over, and Rex, who had been 
 exerting himself to entertain her and put her perfectly 
 at her ease, noticed it at once. 
 
 "You are not well, Miss Harlowe," he said; "it 
 is the heat of the room. Let me take you out on the 
 veranda, where it is cooler. It is insufferably hot 
 in here." 
 
 He rose as he spoke, and held out his hand as if to 
 persuade her to come with him ; and she meekly rose, 
 too, and followed him through the low windows on to 
 the veranda. 
 
 There was a roof over the front door which formed 
 a square four-pillared porch, and at the end toward 
 the campus a close lattice covered with honeysuckle 
 screened from all observation on that side. A low 
 wooden seat ran along this lattice, and in the corner 
 made by the turn of the railing and one of the pillars, 
 Rex found a comfortable seat for Eunice, where the 
 light from the open hall door fell full on her face. 
 He himself sat on the same seat, but with his back 
 to the light, and he congratulated himself on the 
 pleasure he should find in watching her changing
 
 140 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 expression without himself being observed. The air 
 was sultry, there was evidently a thunder-storm brew 
 ing, and indeed there were flickering gleams of dis 
 tant lightning and low, almost inaudible rumblings 
 of thunder; but there was sufficient air stirring upon 
 the veranda to make it a welcome relief from the hot 
 parlor, and Rex insisted that Eunice should not try 
 to talk if her head ached. He himself talked on in 
 low tones, telling her of life on a Southern plantation, 
 and describing his own home just out of Columbia, 
 where the air was pure and invigorating. He de 
 scribed the big plantation house, with its wide gal 
 leries and lawn shaded by palmettos and fig-trees. He 
 told her of his handsome old father, and dwelt lov 
 ingly on the sweetness and beauty of his mother, and 
 how they both united to spoil their only child until 
 he sometimes thought he deserved a good deal of 
 credit for being no worse than he was. Bex could talk 
 well, and he was talking with a purpose now. He 
 wanted to impress the simple New England maiden 
 with an idea of his own magnificence at home, and 
 perhaps excite in her some little longing for the life 
 of luxurious ease he depicted his mother as leading, 
 waited upon by troops of devoted servants. 
 
 Eunice would have said she was an abolitionist if 
 she had ever been questioned on the subject, for she 
 knew her father was one; and when she thought on 
 the question at all, she felt keenly the horror and 
 wickedness of slavery. But Rex had painted life in 
 the South so artistically and so artfully that it could 
 not but look very tempting to her just now, with her
 
 " He was talking with a purpose now."
 
 A WHITE ROSE 141 
 
 head aching and the thought of to-morrow s work 
 and another hot day before her. She was resting her 
 head against the pillar, turned a little away from Rex, 
 but listening to him with a half-smile hovering about 
 her lips, while a delicious feeling of languor and rest 
 stole over her. For almost the first time in her re 
 membrance, she felt a longing for a life without work, 
 where she could do only the things she wanted to do, 
 and might have a perfect right to be lazy. She still 
 held her tatting loosely clasped in her hands resting 
 on her lap. There had been a moment s silence: Rex 
 had been watching her face, and did not fail to read 
 in it the half -longing for a life like the one he had 
 been describing. He lightly touched the tatting that 
 lay in her lap, and the hand that held it. 
 
 "Do you know, Miss Harlowe," he said, "I do not 
 like to see you doing this stuff. It makes me feel that 
 you are always at work, and there is never any rest 
 for you; and those dainty little hands were surely 
 made to lie idle sometimes, just as they are now." 
 
 "But it is not work," said Eunice, rousing herself 
 a little; "and I like to do it. I greatly prefer it to 
 sitting with my hands folded." 
 
 "But it makes you seem so dreadfully industrious," 
 said Rex. "Don t do it, please, when I come to see 
 you, will you?" 
 
 He wanted to clasp the hand that held the obnox 
 ious tatting, but he did not quite dare. Eunice an 
 swered him simply, but with a slight blush, "Cer 
 tainly not, if you do not like it"; and then Rex rose 
 to Ms feet.
 
 142 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 "I know it is very inconsiderate of me to keep you 
 here when your head aches; you must forgive me. 
 I will not stay a minute longer. We are good friends 
 now, are we not?" he continued, as Eunice also rose, 
 "and you will not again refuse to shake hands with 
 me?" putting out his hand. "I am sorry for the 
 poor head," he said, half tenderly, as Eunice put 
 her hand in his; "but I hope it will be better to 
 morrow." Rex knew exactly the right degree of 
 pressure to express a respectful admiration just bor 
 dering on tenderness, and he was careful not to over 
 step the limit. 
 
 "Now," he said, as she gently withdrew her hand, 
 "go right up-stairs, please. I can see you are suf 
 fering, and I will step into the parlor and turn down 
 the gas and close the windows; that is the way Mrs. 
 Charlton has trained me. And then I shall stop out 
 side on the veranda and light my cigar, and if you 
 will come to your window and give me some sign 
 that you have reached your room all right, it will be a 
 great relief to my anxiety. You look so white and 
 weak, I feel as though there were danger of your 
 fainting on the way." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Eunice, a little embarrassed by his 
 empressement, but determined to treat it lightly; 
 "I am perfectly well, except for a little remnant of 
 a headache. Please do not feel any anxiety on my 
 account. 
 
 "But I do," he persisted, trying to take her hand 
 again, but Eunice evaded him. "That little white rose 
 you are wearing in your hairdrop it down to me
 
 A WHITE ROSE 143 
 
 from your window, and I shall know you are not suf 
 fering, and it will be an immense relief, I assure you. 
 
 "Oh, no, Mr. McAllister," said Eunice, hastily; 
 "I tell you I am perfectly well, and it would be a 
 foolish thing to do." 
 
 "Perhaps my anxiety is foolish," he returned 
 gravely, with a sudden change of tone ; but drop the 
 rose, then, as a sign that our compact of friendship 
 shall never be broken. 
 
 "Mr. McAllister," said Eunice, feeling that she 
 must stop what she had begun to think was a very 
 foolish contention, "I am not quite sure that we have 
 made any compact of friendship ; but if we have, 
 I am sure it does not need a rose to ratify it. And 
 now I must say good night" And she entered the 
 door. 
 
 "And you will not do it?" 
 
 Eunice shook her head, but tempered her severity 
 with a smile and turned away. 
 
 He called after her softly: "I shall wait here for 
 it. I am sure you cannot be so hard-hearted." 
 
 Eunice heard him closing the parlor windows as 
 she went up-stairs. She stopped a moment at Lucy s 
 room to say good night and to tell her that she was 
 going to bed immediately, as her head still ached. To 
 Lucy s look of inquiry she added: "It is all right. 
 Mr. McAllister has accepted my apology, and we 
 are very good friends." Then she went to her own 
 room, but before turning up the gas she stole softly 
 to the window and looked down through the bowed 
 shutters. It was too dark to distinguish a figure at
 
 144 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 first, but there was a little red glow that she recog 
 nized must be Rex s cigar, and gradually she thought 
 she could make out a dim outline leaning against one 
 of the pillars. She felt that he was looking up at 
 her window and waiting. She thought she would 
 watch him a few minutes, and see how long he would 
 stand there ; but as she watched there seemed so much 
 patience and faith expressed in that motionless figure 
 that it began to move her strangely. Slowly she 
 lifted her hand to her hair and unfastened the rose. 
 Yet she did not intend to throw it down ; she thought 
 that would be unutterably silly. But the longer she 
 watched that motionless figure the more compelling 
 grew her impulse to drop it, until finally she held 
 it over the open space in an agony of shame and 
 hesitation. She had just fully resolved not to drop it 
 when it fell she was never quite sure whether of 
 her own volition or not. She heard the soft thud 
 on the floor of the veranda, saw the red spark dart 
 quickly forward, and then heard a low but distinct 
 and joyful: 
 
 "Thank you, Eunice!" 
 
 She covered her face with her hands and turned 
 away quickly, almost moaning, "What have I done! 
 what have I done!" 
 
 As for Rex, he had tried to believe that he was 
 sure it would come if he only waited long enough 
 for it; but he knew, by the joyful emotion of sur 
 prise that he experienced when he heard that soft thud, 
 that he had not really expected it. It was a greater 
 triumph to him because it had come after such long
 
 A WHITE ROSE 145 
 
 waiting, for he knew that she must have been watch 
 ing him all that time, and he could guess through what 
 agonies of indecision before at last she had been al 
 most compelled to throw it down. It was on the joy 
 ful spur of the moment that he had whispered, 
 "Thank you, Eunice!" boldly using her name. He 
 half trembled at his audacity, but he was determined 
 to tremble at nothing, now that he had gained so 
 signal a triumph, and it elated him, strangely 
 enough, more than greater ones had sometimes done. 
 He pressed the little flower to his lips, and then put 
 it carefully away in an inner pocket and threw himself 
 down in the seat Eunice had occupied, and which 
 commanded a view of her window. He did not expect 
 to see or hear anything further from her, but he liked 
 to watch it, and he took it as an omen of good that 
 the light was not turned up. He knew that there are 
 thoughts that do not harmonize with gas-light, and 
 he hoped she was thinking them. 
 
 He sat buried in such deep thought that his cigar 
 soon died out and he flung it away. The fact was that 
 Rex was relenting a little from his scheme of ven 
 geance. Eunice s apology had been so sweetly made, 
 it ought to have more than satisfied any man of gen 
 erous impulses. But Rex s self-love had been so care 
 fully nurtured by his friends and family that it had 
 become an overweening passion, and it was difficult 
 for him ever to forgive an injury inflicted upon it. 
 Yet there was a charm in Eunice s quaint simplicity 
 and in the truth and earnestness of her nature that 
 was beginning to affect him strangely. Had she been
 
 146 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 the most accomplished coquette, she could not have 
 used more powerful devices to draw him to her than 
 her formal little turns of speech, combined with the 
 fluctuating color that leaped so suddenly to her cheek 
 and died so suddenly away, and the rare lifting of 
 the shy eyes to meet his. It had not been all acting 
 when he had seized the rose and pressed it to his 
 lips; and if his long waiting for it had made it a 
 greater triumph when it came, it had also made it 
 all the more powerful to set his heart beating in 
 quick throbs and the color rising in his dark cheek. 
 
 He was beginning to relent now, and for half an 
 hour he had been trying to decide whether he should 
 abandon this hot pursuit before the little Puritan s 
 heart should really be engaged, or whether he should 
 go on recklessly, regardless of consequences. The 
 sweetness of the pursuit lured him to go on with his 
 plan; it was the stirring of a better nature than he 
 gave himself credit for that made him hesitate. At 
 the end of a half hour of hard thinking he was no 
 nearer a decision than at the beginning. He could 
 only promise himself that for a few days at least he 
 would keep away from the little schoolmistress, and 
 perhaps then he would be better able to decide upon 
 an ultimate line of action. 
 
 Bethinking himself at last of the time, he rose, 
 and softly whistling a bar of "The Soldier s Fare 
 well, which he hoped might reach the ears for which 
 it was intended, he descended the steps, passed through 
 the tiny gate in the hedge, and on his way to West 
 College met Dr. and Mrs. Charlton.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A MORNING WALK 
 
 dear," said the doctor, thoughtfully, as he 
 closed the door behind him and began the slow 
 pacing up and down the length of the room that was 
 a sure sign with him of perplexed cogitations, "do 
 you think it is quite right for Mr. McAllister to stay 
 so late when we are both out?" 
 
 "I hardly think he has been here at all," answered 
 his wife. "While you stopped to lock up and put 
 out the lights, I ran up-stairs, and both Lucy and 
 Eunice seemed to be in bed and asleep. He may 
 have been simply passing through the yard." 
 
 "Possibly," said the doctor, "and I hope so. I 
 would not like him to begin any marked attentions to 
 Miss Harlowe, and I think he has seen a good deal 
 of her in the few days that she has been here. He is 
 an agreeable young man, and to a young woman who 
 has seen as little of the world as Miss Harlowe he 
 would no doubt be very captivating. But he is not the 
 kind of fellow to make her happy, even if he should 
 be serious in his attentions, and I hardly think he is 
 likely to be permanently attracted by any one so 
 unlike himself." 
 
 147
 
 148 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Charlton; "I hardly think she is 
 the kind of girl to attract Rex McAllister; but I al 
 most wish she was she would do him a world of 
 good." 
 
 "Oh, no, my dear," said the doctor, stopping sud 
 denly in his walk and frowning slightly; "I know 
 Rex is a favorite with you, and you can do him good ; 
 but a young and inexperienced girl like Miss Har- 
 lowe could not help him. You will have to look out 
 for her a little, my dear; for I fancy she knows no 
 thing of young men, and I should be sorry to have 
 her suffer any hurt in her affections through such 
 a reckless fellow as Rex. If I read her aright, she 
 will be slow to allow herself to become interested in 
 any one; but it will be a serious matter with her if 
 she once permits her affections to become engaged. 
 And you know how it is with Rex. He likes to amuse 
 himself, and a flirtation seems a harmless pastime 
 with him." 
 
 Mrs. Charlton was inclined to think her husband 
 a little hard on Rex, who was a prime favorite with 
 her; but before they had finished their conference 
 she had promised that if there seemed to be any dan 
 ger she would do her best to save Eunice from pos 
 sible entanglement. 
 
 Through the week that followed, Mrs. Charlton was 
 convinced that her husband s anxieties were ground 
 less, for nothing was seen of Rex at the house. As 
 for Eunice, for the first few days it was a relief 
 not to see him; she was overwhelmed with an in 
 tolerable sense of shame whenever she remembered
 
 A MORNING WALK 149 
 
 the dropping of the rose, and dreaded seeing in his 
 eyes, when she should meet him, a recognition of her 
 foolishness. But as the days went on, and she saw 
 nothing of him, she began to feel still more keenly 
 that she probably had so far lost ground by her silly 
 little act and too ready yielding to his request as to 
 destroy the regard for her and interest in her which 
 had seemed to be both lively and genuine. She now 
 longed to meet him, that she might discover whether 
 he held her in any altered estimation. She felt quite 
 sure that she should meet him at choir rehearsal on 
 Saturday evening, and even had a hardly confessed 
 hope that he might make an engagement with her as 
 escort for that event. This hope was crushed, how 
 ever, on Friday morning, by the receipt of one of 
 those tiny white envelops inclosing a request from 
 Mr. Rogers for that honor. Of course she could do 
 nothing but accept his invitation; and although she 
 realized that it would be an intense disappointment 
 if one should come later from McAllister, she also 
 rejoiced a little in the feeling that he would recognize 
 she was sufficiently in demand to require urgency on 
 his part if he desired to be first. 
 
 But no little white note came from Rex. And, still 
 worse, he did not appear at choir rehearsal. Her cha 
 grin was the more acute when she overheard Willie 
 Dayton say, in reply to Miss Allen s inquiry as to his 
 whereabouts, that he was at a little card-party at Miss 
 McNair s. Eunice remembered very distinctly what 
 Lucy had told her about Miss McNair and Rex Mc 
 Allister, and she had a very vivid recollection also
 
 150 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 of the air of rightful appropriation with which Miss 
 McNair had carried him off on the night of the pa- 
 tronee party. There w r as something shocking also to 
 her Puritan ideas in the sound of "card-party," and 
 she began to take herself roundly to task for allowing 
 her thoughts to dwell on one who was, no doubt, com 
 mitted elsewhere, and whose "walk and conversation," 
 she felt sure, were not such as her father would ap 
 prove, or she ought to desire, in a friend. She de 
 termined on the spot to banish him resolutely from 
 her thoughts, while her cheek burned with the remem 
 brance of her folly. 
 
 She saw him on Sunday, however. He was in his 
 old seat, and she could see, without appearing to, that, 
 as on the Sunday before, he kept his eyes fixed upon 
 her most of the time. He was at the foot of the 
 gallery stairs waiting for her, no doubt when she 
 came down; but Mr. Rogers was beside her, and she 
 devoted herself to him assiduously, only letting her 
 glance rest for a moment upon Rex as she vouch 
 safed him a frigid bow. But in that brief moment 
 her eyes met his, and saw in them nothing but the 
 friendliest feeling mingled with disappointment at 
 not being permitted to walk home with her; and in 
 spite of her effort at self-control, tongues of vivid 
 color leaped into her cheeks, and her eyelids dropped 
 quickly to escape his glance. 
 
 Rex was disappointed in not being able to walk 
 home with her, and the frigid bow was hardly what 
 he had been looking forward to; but he was not en 
 tirely displeased with her attitude. The signs of
 
 A MORNING WALK 151 
 
 confusion did not escape his keen glance, and flaming 
 cheeks and dropped eyelids did not betoken calm in 
 difference. He had congratulated himself on his self- 
 restraint in keeping away for a week, trying to con 
 vince himself that he was acting solely from a gener 
 ous consideration for her. But he was secretly con 
 scious of a feeling that to give her a chance to miss 
 his presence and desire it was as potent a means as 
 he could use to increase her interest in him. So long 
 had he been accustomed to use the wiles of a flirt that 
 they had become second nature to him ; and even when 
 he was most resolving to be honest and manly in his 
 intercourse with the little Puritan, he was uncon 
 sciously calculating the effect of his line of action. 
 He had half thought that he would make an engage 
 ment with her for church that evening; he decided 
 now not to do so, congratulating himself upon prac 
 tising still further self-denial. 
 
 He repented of his self-denial, however, when he 
 met Rogers going toward the doctor s about church- 
 time and divined that he had an engagement with 
 Eunice. There was no love lost between the two men. 
 They belonged to different college fraternities, but 
 there were stronger reasons for their latent antagonism 
 in radical differences of temperament and character. 
 Mr. Rogers was grave almost stern of temper, with 
 fine old Quaker blood in his veins that could make 
 little allowance for the youthful follies of the hot 
 headed Southerner, who, in his turn, looked down 
 upon Rogers as a pragmatical, self-righteous fellow, 
 
 bigoted and narrow. Rex could not conceive that such 
 li
 
 152 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 a man could stand any chance with a woman, com 
 pared with an accomplished man of the world, as he 
 considered himself; but a little twinge of jealousy 
 when he saw Rogers pass through the gate in the 
 hedge warned him that it was not well to allow a 
 possible rival too many chances. 
 
 He spent part of the evening pacing up and down 
 Middle Path, its heavily shaded gloom lighted only 
 by the tiny glow of his cigar. He was dreamily try 
 ing to decide for himself the question that had been 
 lying in the background of his thoughts all the week. 
 Should he permit himself the idle pleasure of a vigor 
 ous flirtation \vith this semi-rustic maiden or not? 
 He was half tired of Lydia MeNair s dashing ways. 
 The fumes of the wine that had been served around the 
 card-tables the night before were still lingering in 
 his brain, and left him in a state of feverish unrest, 
 which made the image of the cool, calm Puritan 
 maiden particularly attractive. 
 
 He felt himself in no way pledged to Lydia, al 
 though he was conscious of having often said what 
 might mean much or little, according to the humor in 
 which it was taken, but he believed that, in spite of her 
 careless, offhand ways and her reputation for coquetry, 
 Lydia McNair really liked him, and that it would take 
 but a little more earnestness on his part to make the 
 matter serious between them. He liked Lydia, too, 
 and sometimes had thoughts of going in in earnest, 
 as he phrased it; but though he enjoyed her bold, 
 pleasant ways, she was not, after all, his ideal of 
 womanhood. This little Puritan, prim and unso-
 
 A MORNING WALK 153 
 
 phisticated though she was, came in many respects 
 much nearer the dainty ideal he secretly cherished. 
 Not in every respect; her prim and formal ways 
 amused him; his ideal woman was to have the gra 
 cious ease of a woman of the world, while retain 
 ing the dainty and delicate bloom of exquisite femi 
 ninity. He had no compunctions as to the manliness 
 of saying as much as he had said to Lydia McNair, 
 and saying no more. It had been Greek to Greek 
 through all their intercourse, and he very well knew 
 that she was keeping Lieutenant Watson on the tenter 
 hooks as a reserve until she should be sure of his 
 intentions. 
 
 The lieutenant was a manly young fellow, honestly 
 infatuated with Miss Lydia, and Rex had a sincere 
 liking for him, and was not sure but the greatest 
 kindness he could do Miss Lydia was to leave the 
 field free for the lieutenant. 
 
 The result of his cogitations as, tired of walking, 
 he threw himself down on Rock Steps to rest while 
 he came to a decision, was that he would let matters 
 drift. He would no longer shun Eunice, and if 
 Rogers had any intentions in that direction, he must 
 look to his spurs, for an invincible chevalier des 
 dames was about to enter the lists against him. And 
 then he drew from an inner pocket a little white rose 
 pressed between the leaves of a note-book, and assured 
 himself that he possessed a guerdon that proved him 
 already high in favor, and Rogers or another would 
 find it difficult to oust him from his position of ad 
 vantage.
 
 154 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Eunice awoke the next morning with a pleasant con 
 sciousness that it was Monday and a week s work lay 
 before her. Monday always seemed to her like the 
 beginning of a new life; and, always the most ener 
 getic of little women, she felt herself endowed with 
 a double portion of energy on Monday mornings. It 
 added to her satisfaction that she had neither re 
 grets nor self-reproaches to torment her ; nothing but 
 the calm remembrance of a mildly pleasant evening 
 spent with Mr. Kogers, and she liked calm, and was 
 more than ever resolved that she should permit no 
 thing hereafter to disturb it. 
 
 Breakfast at the Charltons was an early meal. 
 By half-past seven it and morning prayers were both 
 over, and Eunice decided that instead of waiting for 
 Lucy, as was her usual custom, she would go over to 
 her school-room at once and finish correcting some 
 papers before the hour for the opening of school. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning, and she felt the fine 
 air tingling in her veins as she walked down the wind 
 ing path that led to Lovers Lane. She had just 
 passed through the little gate that opened into that 
 beautiful overarched pathway, when she discovered 
 Rex McAllister coming toward the upper end of it 
 along a narrow, shaded footpath running by the 
 southern side of the campus at right angles with 
 Lovers Lane. His head was bent over a book he was 
 apparently studying, and Eunice half stopped a mo 
 ment, meditating a retreat, for she thought he had 
 not seen her, and she dreaded meeting him. 
 
 But as she hesitated he looked up from his book,
 
 A MORNING WALK 155 
 
 waved his hand to her from a distance, and began 
 to walk quickly toward her. She was still inclined 
 to turn and run, but a sense of her own dignity for 
 bade her yielding to her inclination ; there was nothing 
 for her to do but to go on and meet him. Her veins, 
 which had been tingling with joy, were now throbbing 
 heavily with dread, and her step, that had been free 
 and spirited, was slow and constrained. She could 
 think of nothing but the white rose and the whis 
 pered " Thank you, Eunice!" and the face that she 
 would have liked to keep so calm and impassive she 
 felt was suffused with blushes. 
 
 He met her half-way down the path, with hand ex 
 tended and a joyous greeting. 
 
 "How is Miss Eunice this beautiful morning?" 
 
 Eunice could not refuse her hand, but she managed 
 barely to touch his with the tips of her fingers, while 
 she answered formally: 
 
 "Quite nicely, I thank you, sir." 
 
 Rex smiled as he turned to walk beside her without 
 asking her leave. The smile was partly for the quaint 
 New England expression, but it was still more for 
 the determined frigidity of her manner. He did not 
 mind it ; he promised himself much pleasure in watch 
 ing it gradually thaw under his skilful direction. 
 
 "It seems a long time since I last saw you, "he said 
 softly, with a look that might have been effective if 
 she had seen it, but was thrown away on her dropped 
 eyelids. Eunice did not answer; she would not have 
 known how to reply to a little speech of that kind, 
 even if she had been in a less unbending mood, but she
 
 156 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 was now absorbed in trying to devise a means of 
 escape. 
 
 Bex was not discouraged, but went on boldly: 
 
 "This has been a very long week to me. I purposely 
 kept away, fearing my too frequent coming would 
 annoy you; but I was sustaining myself with the 
 hope of seeing you at choir rehearsal, when I received 
 an invitation that I could not decline and which de 
 stroyed that hope." 
 
 Eunice knew what that invitation was, and 
 she guessed there had been no desire to decline it, 
 and she was filled with a sterner determination to 
 resist his advances. She was recovering her equa 
 nimity and she lifted her eyes calmly to his as she 
 answered : 
 
 "It has been a very pleasant week to me. You 
 remember that I tqld you how little I had seen of 
 young society. I think I have seen more of it in this 
 week than in all the rest of my life ; there have been so 
 many party calls at Mrs. Charl ton s, and I have found 
 it very agreeable. 
 
 Rex shot a quick glance at her from the corner of 
 his eye. Was she developing into a coquette? Was 
 this said with the idea of rousing his jealousy or pun 
 ishing him for his absence ? There was no hint of co 
 quetry in her manner, but he determined to assume 
 the role of injured lover. 
 
 "That is the worst of it," he said reproachfully; 
 "while I have been lonely and discontented, with only 
 my dreams and my memories to comfort me, others 
 have been basking in your presence, sunning them-
 
 A MOENING WALK 157 
 
 selves in your smiles, and listening to your sweet 
 voice." 
 
 Eunice was disturbed. Her one glance at him had 
 shown him even handsomer than she remembered him, 
 and there seemed a ring of true feeling in his voice ; 
 and though she knew he had no right to talk to her 
 in that way, yet when she remembered the rose, she 
 felt that she had only herself to blame for his au 
 dacity. Yet the more she felt the fascination and 
 danger of his presence, the more determined she was 
 to put an end to their present false relations. She 
 answered him, therefore, severely: 
 
 "Mr. McAllister, I thought you promised me not 
 to offend in that way again. Indeed, I believe it 
 was agreed that if there was to exist any friendship 
 between us, it was to be on the condition that you were 
 to dispense with the little gallantries to which I am not 
 accustomed. 
 
 They had reached the Iron Gate, and Rex was hold 
 ing it open for her to pass through. She added 
 coldly : 
 
 "Our ways separate here, I believe; I wish you 
 good morning." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Rex, quickly; "you are on your 
 way to school, are you not? I will promise not to 
 offend again if you will permit me to accompany 
 you." 
 
 Eunice would have preferred it otherwise, but she 
 did not see her way to refuse so simple a request 
 without rudeness; and in the short walk to St. John s 
 Church, where her school-room was, Rex made himself
 
 158 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 exceedingly entertaining, not once referring to any 
 personal matter. 
 
 They passed around the front of the church to a 
 gate opening from Portland Street into a yard in 
 closed by a high fence. A small door opened from this 
 yard into the rear of the Sunday-school room, through 
 which it was necessary to pass to reach Eunice s 
 school-room. Eunice had the key of this door, and 
 Rex took it from her and unlocked it, and then she 
 turned to him to say good-by. 
 
 There were no houses opposite the church on Port 
 land, and Rex s quick eye noted that there were 
 no passers on the street as they entered the yard. 
 
 "Will you not show me your school-room?" he said 
 persuasively. "It is early, and I promise not to 
 bother you more than a few moments. 
 
 Eunice hesitated. It did not seem to her quite the 
 "proper" thing to do, but she was not very sure of the 
 proprieties, and Rex had made himself so agreeable 
 to her through their short walk that he was already 
 beginning to undermine her stern resolutions. He ac 
 companied his request with such a winning smile of 
 friendly beseeching that she had not the heart to 
 refuse, and she walked primly before him through 
 the big, silent room to her school-room door. 
 
 The school-room had been shut up since Friday, and 
 was close and stuffy. Eunice went at once toward 
 the windows to open them, but Rex quickly interposed. 
 They were high Gothic windows, befitting a church, 
 and it took some effort and some little time on Rex s 
 part to open them, an interval which Eunice em-
 
 A MOKNING WALK 159 
 
 ployed in removing her bonnet and putting it away. 
 The balmy morning air soon filled the room with 
 sweetness. The windows looked toward the south 
 and east, and the young maples bordering the pave 
 ment tempered the sunshine that came filtering 
 through the leaves, casting cool shadows on the floor 
 and desks. 
 
 "This is my school-room," said Eunice, as Rex 
 turned from his task ; and, as you see, there is little 
 to show you. But I think it a pleasant room." 
 
 "Very pleasant, indeed," answered Eex; "but I 
 shall not know quite how it looks unless I see the 
 teacher in her chair." 
 
 "Very well," she said; "you shall see the teacher 
 in all the terrors of her authority, and then I shall 
 expect you to depart at once"; and she mounted the 
 little platform, and sat down in her chair with a 
 little air of constraint inseparable from her when she 
 felt herself under observation. 
 
 By the side of her chair stood a table on which 
 were neatly arranged pens, pencils, and ink, a ruler, 
 a globe, and a few books. Eunice rested her right 
 arm on the table, and took the ruler in her hand, 
 while her other hand dropped in her lap. You 
 might have thought she was sitting for a picture of 
 the typical teacher, such a pedagogical air had she 
 assumed, her slim figure, rigidly erect, holding the 
 symbol of stern authority in her hand. But it was 
 a pretty picture, too ; her gray dress fitted her slender 
 figure perfectly- and harmonized with the pale tints 
 of her brown hair, blue-gray eyes, and delicately tinted
 
 160 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 cheeks. It was brightened at the throat by a soft 
 lace collar fastened with a scarlet ribbon, and from 
 beneath the folds of the hoopless skirt peeped a tiny 
 pointed shoe. 
 
 There was no mistaking the admiration in Rex s 
 glance as, resting his foot on the platform and leaning 
 one arm on a supporting knee in almost the exact at 
 titude in which Eunice had first seen him, he brought 
 himself nearer her and his eyes on a level with hers. 
 
 "Most dread and august pedagogue," he said gaily, 
 "you inspire me with a mighty awe; but behold me 
 meekly ready to receive any eastigation you may in 
 flict or any penance you may impose, if you will only 
 show me wherein I have offended since last Monday 
 night." 
 
 Eunice, who had smiled at the beginning of the 
 speech, grew very rigid at its close. 
 
 "Mr. McAllister," she said, "I thought you prom 
 ised not to return to that." 
 
 I promised that I would not on my walk. I made 
 no promises for the school-room"; and then, quickly 
 changing his tone to a more serious one, he said: 
 "Miss Harlowe, I wear near my heart a little flower 
 that I have been cherishing all this week as a pledge 
 of our friendship ; and now the first time I meet you 
 since receiving that pledge, I find you changed. 
 There is no longer any friendliness in your manner. 
 You try in every way to avoid me or to snub me. 
 I think it is only right you should tell me what I have 
 done to incur your evident displeasure." 
 
 His eyes had lost their smiling look ; he was gazing
 
 A MORNING WALK 161 
 
 directly and earnestly into hers. Eunice turned away. 
 She was suffering intense mortification and embar 
 rassment, betrayed by the nervous playing with the 
 ruler and the painful color that slowly and steadily 
 deepened in her face. But the clenching of the small 
 hand that lay in her lap betrayed also that she was 
 nerving herself for some unpleasant task. 
 
 "Mr. McAllister," she said in a low tone as Rex 
 paused for a reply, "it is mortifying to me to be com 
 pelled to express my regret and humiliation that I 
 should have ever been led into so silly an act as to 
 drop that rose." 
 
 No, no, said Rex, interrupting her eagerly ; do 
 not call it silly : it was the sweetest and most womanly 
 of actions, and I cherish the rose as a most sacred 
 and precious pledge of our friendship." 
 
 Eunice went on coldly : 
 
 "I am sorry you should attach any importance to 
 it at all. Please do not consider it a pledge of friend 
 ship or anything but a worthless flower, whose drop 
 ping was the combined result of a foolish impulse 
 and accident.. And I wish to say further, Mr. Mc 
 Allister, that I do not feel that I am ready to enter 
 into any compact of friendship with you. My ac 
 quaintance with you is very brief, and although I have 
 found it pleasant, I do not believe we have any com 
 mon ground on which to base a friendship." She 
 went on with still more effort: "We have been very 
 differently reared. Many things that seem to you but 
 harmless amusements shock me inexpressibly. I be 
 lieve there are very few vital points on which we feel
 
 162 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 or think or believe alike. There can be no natural or 
 permanent growth of friendship between two people 
 so totally unlike in every respect; I do not believe 
 it is wise to try to force a temporary one. It is better 
 that we should remain simply on the footing of pleas 
 ant acquaintance." 
 
 Rex had not changed his attitude, nor had his eyes 
 left Eunice s face, and it made it all the more diffi 
 cult to speak steadily under their intense gaze. He 
 answered now in a tone as low and restrained as her 
 own: 
 
 I feel the force of much you have said, Miss Har- 
 lowe; I know I am not worthy of your friendship, 
 and if you knew me better you might be still more 
 shocked by what would seem to you my ungodly ways. 
 But in the few days I have known you I have had 
 more impulses toward higher and better living than 
 I have had in years. Do you not think it a woman s 
 mission to make the world better? Can there be no 
 friendship between a lovely and noble woman and a 
 man who has some longings for a nobler life? I 
 have a mother who is as sweet and true a Christian 
 as I am sure you are. Nothing could make her hap 
 pier than to know her wayward boy had found a 
 pure, sweet, lovely Christian friend who could per 
 suade him to renounce the wrong and follow the 
 right." 
 
 Eunice was much moved. She knew that this might 
 be very specious pleading, but she could not believe 
 it was. There was genuine feeling in his voice, and 
 she shrank sensitively from assuming the role of the
 
 A MORNING WALK 163 
 
 Pharisee ; while one sentence from her morning read 
 ing kept ringing in her ears, "Who knoweth whether 
 thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as 
 this?" 
 
 Rex waited for her answer, but while she hesitated, 
 perplexed by conflicting emotions, there came through 
 the open window the sound of merry voices from the 
 pavement below. Eunice started up nervously. 
 
 Please go, Mr. McAllister, at once, she exclaimed. 
 "My pupils are coming. They will be here in a mo 
 ment." 
 
 "I will go, Miss Harlowe, and I shall manage not 
 to be seen by them. I would not have you annoyed 
 for worlds," said Rex, as he drew himself erect. 
 "But you must promise me one thing that you will 
 give me an opportunity to finish this conversation." 
 
 Oh, yes, yes ! said Eunice, hardly knowing what 
 she said in her anxiety lest her pupils should come 
 in and surprise McAllister there. 
 
 Rex grasped the hand that lay in her lap with a 
 quick pressure. "Good-by," he said; "you must not 
 worry. No one shall know I have been here." 
 
 Eunice saw him disappear somewhere in the depths 
 of the big, empty church, and then hastily drew from 
 her table drawer a bundle of papers. When, a mo 
 ment later, two of the older girls entered the school 
 room, Miss Harlowe was calmly engaged in correct 
 ing compositions.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A SOIREE MUSICALE 
 
 TITHE Misses Perkins present their compliments to 
 JL Miss Harlowe, and will be honored by her pres 
 ence at a Soiree Musicale on Friday evening at eight 
 
 "R. S. V. P. 
 
 "Tuesday, Sept. 15th." 
 
 Eunice s invitation was one of three left at Mrs. 
 Charlton s by a colored boy in white gloves car 
 rying a silver salver on which lay a multitude of 
 tiny pink envelops that he was distributing in town 
 and through the college. 
 
 There was added to Mrs. Charlton s invitation a 
 more informal note, begging that she would persuade 
 Miss Harlowe and Lucy to honor them with some 
 songs that evening. Lucy demurred at once. 
 
 "I should be frightened to death," she asserted. 
 "You have no idea, Eunice, what a formidable thing 
 one of the Misses Perkins s soirees is. Miss Perkins 
 herself announces you, just as if it were a concert, and 
 then you are formally handed to the piano, and not 
 a whisper is permitted while you are performing. 
 
 164
 
 A SOIREE MUSICALE 165 
 
 If any one so far forgets himself as to utter a word, 
 Miss Caroline fixes him with a stern eye, or Miss 
 Phoebe looks toward him (she never looks at any 
 body) and holds up a warning finger. You can im 
 agine the painful and rigid attention. It would 
 frighten every atom of voice right out of me." 
 
 Neither could Eunice be persuaded to go through 
 such an ordeal as Lucy described; but finally Mrs. 
 Charlton prevailed upon them to attempt a duet. She 
 " would be so extremely sorry not to oblige her very 
 old and very dear friend, Miss Perkins" was her 
 final plea, and Lucy confided to Eunice that she be 
 lieved mother was afraid not to do anything Miss 
 Perkins asked her, she stood in such awe of her. 
 
 They had hard work to decide which it should be 
 of the three duets which composed their combined 
 repertoire. They settled finally on "Music and Her 
 Sister Song" as the most dignified of the three, and 
 spent all their spare moments until Friday in prac 
 tice. Cindie, a devout lover of music, was deeply 
 impressed, and soon catching the refrain, went about 
 singing in her shrill soprano, "Swee eet Mew-oo-sic, 
 swee-eet Mew-oo-sic, Mewsic and her sis-ter Song, her 
 sis-ter Song, her Sis-ter Song," The boys thoroughly 
 enjoyed her unconscious caricature of the style and 
 emphasis Lucy and Eunice were trying to put into 
 their song, but it became so annoying to the principal 
 performers that Mrs. Charlton had to be appealed to 
 at last to silence Cindie. 
 
 Lucy might say what she pleased about the Per 
 kins soirees musicales, but they were functions held
 
 166 IN OLD BELLAIEE 
 
 in high esteem in Bellaire society. They were given 
 at regular intervals during the season, and were 
 justly considered by the Misses Perkins as most effi 
 cient aids in the polishing process to which their young 
 ladies were subjected. 
 
 A big, old-fashioned "double" house on South Har- 
 court was the home of the Misses Perkins s Seminary 
 for Young Ladies." A broad flight of white stone 
 steps guarded by iron railings led to the massive front 
 door, also white, and flanked on either side by nar 
 row side-lights, curtained in green, while a semicir 
 cular window over the door was screened with a mar- 
 velously fluted arrangement of green nun s cloth that, 
 to my childish eyes, when I had the honor of being a 
 day scholar at that celebrated seat of learning, was 
 a wonderfully correct copy of the rising sun as de 
 picted in my geography. 
 
 But the day-scholars were not admitted through 
 that ponderous front door into the dim and stately 
 hall beyond. Like all Bellaire houses, a little side 
 alley with a brick archway closed by a high green door, 
 as carefully locked at night as the front door itself, 
 admitted to the garden and the rear premises; and 
 it was through the alley and through a side door 
 opening from the yard that the day-scholars found 
 their way to the pleasant school-room. 
 
 Such delightful old gardens as those Bellaire gar 
 dens were! Such pleasant, odorous places, deep and 
 narrow, running back often two or three hundred 
 feet and rarely more than fifty or sixty broad. You 
 would never guess what bowers of bloom lay behind
 
 A SOIREE MUSICALE 167 
 
 those plain trick walls where each house elbowed its 
 neighbor in unbroken phalanx up and down the long 
 blocks of the streets : gardens that rioted in bloom, with 
 their high walls draped in roses and honeysuckles, 
 and bordered with neatly kept beds where every flower 
 bloomed in its season, from the early crocuses and 
 daffodils and hyacinths to the latest fall flowers. A 
 straight walk between neatly trimmed box hedges 
 ran down the middle of Miss Perkins s garden until 
 it reached the center, where it divided in two curves 
 to make room for a circular arbor or kiosk covered 
 with clematis and sweet yellow jessamine ; and beyond 
 the arbor it went straight on again to the clump of 
 fruit-trees that overhung the lower wall. The grass- 
 plots on either side were dotted with clusters of flow 
 ering shrubs, stately purple lilacs, and pink and white 
 altheas and fragrant, creamy syringas; and on one 
 side of the arbor was a venerable maple-tree, around 
 whose gnarled trunk twined the trumpet-creeper, 
 festooning the hoary branches with long wreaths of 
 scarlet flowers. 
 
 In June these Old Bellaire gardens were a wilder 
 ness of roses : the fragrant but humble pink cabbage- 
 rose, from which I suspect our florists have developed 
 that rose marvel, the haughty American Beauty; 
 their beautiful but odorless white sisters, and the deep 
 red of the unprized Mehecca, which, for aught I know, 
 was the forerunner of the lovely Jacqueminot. In 
 September there were no longer any fragrant blooms ; 
 the roses bore only crimson haws, and the sweet flowers 
 
 of early spring in the borders had given place to 
 12
 
 168 IN OLD BELLAIEE 
 
 stiff rows of heavy-headed orange and red dahlias, 
 and scarlet spikes of salvia and lowly asters in all 
 the shades of purple, from the lightest lavender of 
 the ribbons on Miss Caroline s head-dress, sacred to 
 such festal occasions as soirees, to the deep purple 
 of those reserved for more ordinary occasions. Miss 
 Caroline was at this moment receiving with stately 
 bows the salutations of her guests, while she held 
 rigidly erect in her left hand a "pineapple" bouquet 
 of these very blossoms, that ingenious arrangement 
 by which flowers were divested of every particle of 
 grace and welded into a solid pyramid which, save 
 for color and fragrance, had as little claim to beauty 
 as a cabbage. By Miss Caroline s side stood Miss 
 Phoebe, and they were flanked to the right and left 
 by a semicircle of bright-eyed girls, stately brunettes 
 and petite blondes, in rich silks or dainty muslins, 
 who were formally presented to each new arrival. 
 They were most of them Southern girls, many of them 
 sisters or cousins of the young Tomlinsonians, and 
 carrying themselves with the haughty grace natural 
 to the Southern belle. 
 
 These annual presentations of their young ladies to 
 Bellaire society were always occasions of great pride 
 to the Misses Perkins. They did not confine them 
 selves to the college circle in their invitations: there 
 was a goodly sprinkling of lawyers and doctors and 
 judges, with their wives and daughters, and a few 
 army officers, before whose brilliant uniforms the 
 glories of the students, brave in flowered waistcoats 
 and long-skirted coats, paled.
 
 A SOIREE MUSICALS 169 
 
 And never had they had such a brilliant array of 
 beauty to present as was drawn up beneath the wide 
 arch between the double parlors on this evening; and 
 little did the proud Misses Perkins dream that it was 
 the last time they should ever marshal such an array 
 of youth and beauty in the stately parlors ; that the 
 storm brewing in the South, whose angry murmur- 
 ings were audible through the wildly raging tumults 
 of the fall elections, should burst before the spring 
 and send those white birds fluttering in terror toward 
 their Southern homes. Never again would their little 
 school know the prosperous days of "before the War." 
 In more modest quarters and with greatly diminished 
 numbers were they destined for another decade to 
 mold blushing beauty on the model of half a century 
 ago, though still receiving from old Bellairians the 
 homage without which life would have been well-nigh 
 insupportable to them. 
 
 On a landing half-way up the broad, winding stairs 
 Lucy and Eunice met their escorts. Neither Willie 
 Dayton nor Rex McAllister was on duty in that capa 
 city; somebody had got ahead of them, and Rex ut 
 tered a hasty malediction when he found that it was 
 Mr. Rogers who had robbed him of the anticipated 
 pleasure. On the arms of their attendants the girls 
 descended the long flight of stairs, crossed the wide 
 hall between double lines of young men, and went 
 through the ordeal of the presentation. To Lucy, who 
 had been through it often before, it was not quite so 
 much of an ordeal as to Eunice, who felt herself grow 
 ing more rigid and constrained with every successive
 
 170 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 bow, which etiquette required should be as low and 
 sweeping as possible, and accomplished without relin 
 quishing the arm of her escort. It added to her dis 
 comfiture that she felt positive Rex s dark eyes were 
 upon her, watching every movement ; for she had seen 
 him, as she entered, leaning with negligent grace 
 against the mantel, and though she had not dared to 
 life her eyes in his direction, she felt his keen scrutiny, 
 and imagined a smile of half-pitying amusement. It 
 was with heightened color she made her last and most 
 embarrassed bow, and Mr. Rogers, divining her discom 
 fort, sought for her at once a quiet nook in the back 
 parlor where she might recover her composure. There 
 they were joined a few moments later by Lucy and 
 Willie, and, others coming up, she was soon the center 
 of a gay circle. Just as the clock on the mantel chimed 
 the half-hour which was the signal for the reception 
 to end and the music to begin, Rex made his bow, 
 and at that moment Miss Perkins s voice was heard 
 announcing the first number on the program. Every 
 sound was hushed, and the little circle widened out 
 and faced the piano, placed between the windows in 
 the front parlor. 
 
 Through the long program that followed, guiltless 
 of the names of Beethoven or Wagner, but bristling 
 with Thalberg and Gottschalk, prime favorites at that 
 day, Rex stood by the side of Eunice, who shared 
 a comfortable little sofa in the corner with Lucy. 
 He had solicited the honor of handing her to the 
 piano when her turn should come, and Eunice had 
 acceded hesitatingly, not sure but that the honor 
 rightfully belonged to Mr. Rogers as her escort.
 
 A SOIREE MUSICALB 171 
 
 Their duet had been placed last on the program, and 
 for some time Eunice had been growing more and 
 more nervous. It was not a state of mind usual with 
 her. She had sung to much larger assemblies at the 
 concerts at Mount Holyoke without a tremor, but 
 there was something alarming to her in the stately 
 ceremony Miss Perkins insisted upon, and in the 
 exclusiveness of the audience, where every one either 
 knew her or knew of her, and all considered them 
 selves entitled to first rank as critics. 
 
 She was hardly conscious of her own movements 
 when she heard their song announced by Miss Perkins 
 with an especial flourish of compliments on the 
 11 pleasure they all felt in having with them a gifted 
 young lady from a Northern clime, who had kindly 
 consented to entertain them in a vocal duet, assisted 
 by our dear young friend, Miss Lucy Charlton. Then 
 Rex offered her his hand and led her in stately fashion 
 through the space cleared for her to the piano, where 
 she was joined by Lucy, who had been conducted 
 thither in the same manner; and together they made 
 the low and sweeping curtsey that Miss Perkins 
 insisted upon as a preliminary ceremony, and which 
 they had been diligently practising during the week 
 as they practised their music. Eunice seated herself 
 at the piano, but from the moment she struck the 
 first note she was conscious that their duet would be 
 a failure. 
 
 It was not nearly so bad as Eunice s exaggerated 
 sensitiveness fancied it. There were one or two dis 
 cords in the accompaniment, and Eunice sang a little 
 flat, owing to her extreme nervousness, but more than
 
 172 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 half of her audience probably did not detect either of 
 these faults. To Eunice, who felt that, both as a 
 stranger and as the new teacher who aspired also to 
 have music-pupils, she was no doubt being subjected 
 to the severest criticism, it was a frightful ordeal. 
 She knew she was singing flat, and could in no way 
 help herself; but, worse than that, her voice sounded 
 in her ears like Cindie s shrill squeal, and the whole 
 song seemed like a caricature, with that constant 
 repetition of the unmusical "Music," which, as they 
 sang it, sounded in her ears like Cindie s three-syl 
 labled "Mew-oo-sic." She wondered how they ever 
 could have selected such a song, and was sure every 
 body was either laughing or only restrained from do 
 ing so by courtesy. She would gladly have stopped 
 in the very middle of the performance and fled from 
 the piano, and it was only a grim determination that 
 carried her through to the very last "sis-ter Song." 
 Mr. Rogers was standing at a little distance from 
 her, and his sensitive ear felt keenly the shortcomings 
 of the music. Rex, not so musical, saw no faults 
 in the rendering, but simply did not think it "a pretty 
 piece." He did see, however, that Eunice was nerv 
 ous, and that the pallor, which had been extreme 
 when she sat down to the piano, had given way to a 
 painful color. So, as soon as he had murmured the 
 few necessary compliments, and while the applause 
 which was a matter of course and did not in any way 
 reassure Eunice, though she would have been still 
 more miserable without it had not yet ceased, he 
 whispered, "It is warm here; let us go out into the
 
 A SOIREE MUSICALE 173 
 
 garden," and Eunice was glad to escape from the 
 blazing lights and the crowded rooms. 
 
 Like most Bellaire houses, a low French window 
 in the back parlor led on to a veranda, and from 
 there, by a short flight of steps, into the garden. The 
 garden was hung with lanterns, seats and tables were 
 placed invitingly in every cozy nook, and the young 
 people had barely waited for the end of the program 
 to seek its cooler air and softer lights. They were 
 thronging the veranda, promenading up and down 
 the long walk, or had filled the arbor and all the 
 available seats. Rex sought a nook at the very far 
 thest corner of the garden, where he knew there were 
 seats under a spreading apple-tree, only to find them 
 all occupied. He was annoyed, and showed it by an 
 impatient exclamation; but a sudden thought struck 
 him. 
 
 Never mind, Miss Harlowe ; if you will come with 
 me, it is only a step to the Hetzgar garden, and I 
 know we can find seats there." 
 
 Eunice demurred. She did not want to be again 
 led into committing any impropriety, but Rex was 
 eager and persistent. 
 
 "It is only three steps from here, and I assure you 
 I would not ask you to go if it were not perfectly 
 proper. Besides, we can go through the alley gate, 
 and no one will ever know that we have been any 
 where but in the garden." And then he bent over 
 her and whispered, "I must finish the conversation 
 that was interrupted on Monday, and it is impossible 
 here."
 
 174 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Sure that she was doing what she would regret later, 
 and yet feeling herself powerless against his impetu 
 osity, Eunice yielded and let herself be led through 
 the dark alleyway and into the street beyond. 
 
 It was, as Rex said, only a few steps to the Hetz- 
 gar garden. Harcourt Street here makes a sharp bend 
 to the left and a sudden decline to the old Sulphur 
 Springs Road, so that from a little distance the gar 
 den seemed to close the street. That rambling old 
 garden was the joy and delight of Bellairians, crown 
 ing the summit of the hill and descending its slopes 
 in terraces, where winding paths bordered by beds 
 of old-fashioned flowers led to vine-covered arbors 
 or grassy slopes where rustic seats were placed in 
 vitingly under spreading lindens and maples. The 
 generous owner, a bachelor, had given tacit permis 
 sion to the citizens to enjoy his garden freely, and 
 it had come to be considered almost in the light of a 
 public park. 
 
 At the gate, standing invitingly open, Eunice hesi 
 tated again. It looked dark under the trees that 
 arched the entrance and the avenue leading from it, 
 but Rex gave her no opportunity to change her mind. 
 He was well acquainted with its arrangement, appar 
 ently; and leaving the main avenue immediately, he 
 turned to the right into a little path that ran par 
 allel to the street, and a few steps brought them to 
 a noble old elm, under whose drooping branches was 
 a rustic seat. A low hedge screened them perfectly 
 from the street, and yet did not intercept the rays 
 from a neighboring gas-lamp, which threw a fantastic
 
 A SOIREE MUSICALE 175 
 
 carpet of mottled light and shade over the soft, thick 
 turf. They were so near the street that the voices 
 of the passers-by were plainly audible, and that gave 
 Hex an excuse for adopting a low and guarded tone, 
 and gave him also the advantage of seeming to hold 
 his conference on extremely confidential terms. He 
 plunged at once into the heart of the subject. 
 
 "You have never answered my question, Miss Har- 
 lowe. Can there be no friendship between a noble 
 woman and a man who has better impulses than the 
 world gives him credit for, and who needs such a 
 friendship?" 
 
 Kex s question had hardly been out of Eunice s 
 mind since that Monday morning. Away from the 
 influence of his soft tones and dark eyes, she could 
 decide there was little sincerity in his pleading. She 
 had even tried to persuade herself that it was only 
 another of his many arts employed in an idle flirtation. 
 She had never been quite ready to believe that, but 
 she had come to the decision that he was not the kind 
 of man that she was willing to call friend, and that 
 as she had said before, there was no common ground 
 of either character or training on which they could 
 base a friendship. She intended to say this to him 
 now more plainly and more firmly than she had ever 
 done before, and a little sense of pique that he should 
 consider her such an easy dupe added to her resolu 
 tion. So, in her coldest, primmest, and what Rex 
 would have denominated her most "Yankeeish" man 
 ner, she said all this to him. 
 
 Her tone sent the angry blood coursing through
 
 176 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Rex s veins. For a moment the old desire for re 
 venge, which had almost been forgotten since the 
 incident of the rose, returned with twofold power. 
 He would like to humble this obstinate little North 
 erner. "Was he, a proud and haughty South Carolin 
 ian, to confess himself foiled, by a meek little Yankee ? 
 It was quite light enough for Eunice to see the flash 
 ing eye and scornful smile with which he listened to 
 her, and, determined though she was, it half fright 
 ened and half moved her from her purpose. When 
 she finished, Rex said quickly : 
 
 "I will not sue for your friendship any longer, 
 Miss Harlowe. I see that it is a boon you consider 
 me utterly unworthy to receive. It is reserved, no 
 doubt for some pious Phi Kap who is not only more 
 congenial, but has convinced you that he is without 
 spot and without blemish." 
 
 It was an utterly unmanly speech, and that a mo 
 mentary but fierce jealousy stung him to make it 
 was no excuse, and Rex was thoroughly ashamed of 
 it almost before it was uttered. There was no mistak 
 ing whom he meant. Mr. Rogers was Eunice s only 
 Phi Kappa Sigma acquaintance, and while she 
 shrank sensitively from the unmanly thrust, she an 
 swered with a hauteur quite equaling his own : 
 
 "If you refer to Mr. Rogers, Mr. McAllister, I 
 admit that our tastes and views are sufficiently similar 
 to offer no obstacle to a friendship, should either of 
 us desire it; but I question your right to introduce 
 any one else into this discussion, and if I am to in 
 fer that these are the manners of a Southern gentle-
 
 A SOIRE E MUSICALE 177 
 
 man, then I am still more convinced that we have 
 nothing in common." 
 
 Rex was in an agony of shame. 
 
 "Miss Harlowe, I beg you, I entreat you, to forgive 
 me. I am utterly ashamed before you. You cannot 
 be more sensible than I how unmanly, how cowardly, 
 my speech was, and I assure you it was bitterly re 
 gretted almost before it left my lips. I feel most 
 poignantly how unworthy I am of your friendship, 
 and that I have given you a convincing proof of the 
 truth of all you have said." 
 
 Eex s contrition was so genuine that Eunice was 
 softened in a moment, and it was extremely distaste 
 ful to her to seem to be playing the part of a self- 
 righteous Pharisee toward this self-accusing publican. 
 She wanted to express her forgiveness freely and say 
 something kind to him, but freedom of speech was 
 difficult to Eunice, especially if there was to be any 
 softness with it. It was much easier for her to utter 
 a haughty reproof than now to express her forgive 
 ness. There was a little embarrassment in her man 
 ner, therefore, when she said: 
 
 "Please, Mr. McAllister, do not say anything more. 
 I can understand that you spoke hastily and regret it, 
 and I shall try to forget that you ever made a speech 
 that I am sure was not worthy of you; and I must 
 have been very unhappy in my choice of words if I 
 conveyed to you any idea that I thought you unworthy 
 of my friendship. It was only that I thought we were 
 unwise to enter hastily into such a compact, and I 
 feared it would bring happiness to neither of us."
 
 178 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Rex leaned eagerly toward her as she finished, and 
 spoke quickly: 
 
 "Miss Harlowe, I am not going to ask you for 
 your friendship now, but I cannot think of that little 
 rose that lies so near my heart, nor remember the 
 night you flung it down to me, without making one 
 more effort to win it. Will you be my confessor, and 
 when I have finished my confession, if you still believe 
 me unworthy of your friendship, you have only to 
 say so. But if you think I need such a good, true 
 friend as you could be to me, and you are not afraid 
 to b e that friend, will you not say that as freely?" 
 
 He waited for Eunice s answer, which came slowly : 
 
 "I will be glad to hear you, and if I can, I will 
 be your friend." 
 
 "Thank you," said Rex. Then he was silent a 
 moment. For once in his life he was going to be thor 
 oughly honest and sincere, and he was taking his cour 
 age in his hand. He bent a little nearer and began 
 to speak in a lower tone. Rapidly and skilfully he 
 pictured the boy, the spoiled idol of a Southern home, 
 whose word was law to a hundred slaves, but growing 
 up at a mother s knee who taught him to pray and to 
 love her Bible and her God. He pictured the brave, 
 handsome father who was his boyish ideal, and whose 
 very faults the boy, as he grew older, learned to ad 
 mire and longed to imitate; and how he gradually 
 grew away from the mother s influence, following his 
 father to all the county races and great political 
 gatherings, proud to be able to smoke his cigar or 
 clink his glass with men who were old enough to know
 
 A SOIREE MUS1CALE 179 
 
 better than to encourage a youngster in such prac 
 tices, until finally his father, who was proud of his 
 boy and loved to have him with him, began to real 
 ize that he was rapidly coming to no good, and hustled 
 him off to a Northern college, his own Alma Mater. 
 And with what tears and prayers his mother had let 
 him go! The memory of them had returned to him 
 often in the midst of his wildest hours. Since com 
 ing to college he had done many things that he was 
 ashamed of, But never without a protest of the con 
 science his mother had so carefully trained in boy 
 hood. Never had he done what he knew would give 
 her pain without suffering agonies of regret afterward. 
 
 He had found a good friend in Mrs. Charlton, who 
 had not hesitated to counsel, encourage, and scold 
 him when it was necessary ; and many a time had he 
 fled to the refuge of her kind and motherly presence 
 from his reckless associates bent on some wild orgy. 
 But he had not always sought to escape, and some 
 times he had been himself the most reckless leader 
 of them all. 
 
 "And when I was at home this last summer," he 
 continued, * it almost broke my mother s heart to find 
 that I was only growing more confirmed in my wild 
 ways. She was not willing that I should return to 
 college ; but it was my last year, and my father was 
 anxious that I should graduate, and I promised that 
 I would try to break away from old habits and wild 
 associates. Almost from the moment I first saw 
 you I have felt that you were sent as my delivering 
 angel, and you will understand me when I say that
 
 180 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 I never look at you without thinking of my mother. 
 You have inspired me with a longing for something 
 nobler and better, and I think that with you for my 
 friend I may attain to it. I know my own weakness 
 and the strength of old habits; but I believe that 
 if I could feel my wrong-doing was going to grieve 
 you, it would be the strongest safeguard I could have. 
 Are you willing to help me? If you knew how I 
 loathe my past and long to cut free from it, and yet 
 how helpless I feel in the toils I have woven for my 
 self!" 
 
 Eunice had listened with mingled feelings. She was 
 shocked at the picture Rex presented; for while in 
 a vague way feeling that he was "worldly" and "un 
 godly," she had not fancied him as black as he had 
 painted himself. But, like all good women, she loved 
 a reprobate, and was flattered by the thought that she 
 might Be able to save him. And, no doubt, Rex was 
 counting a little on that amiable weakness when he 
 dared to draw so dark a picture. She was not so 
 blinded, however, by the fascinations of the sinner 
 as not to recognize that his mother ought to be a 
 greater inspiration to him to do right than a young 
 woman who was almost a stranger, and that where 
 Mrs. Charlton, with her charms and her wise counsel, 
 had failed, she could hardly hope to succeed. But 
 the role of guardian angel he offered her was pecu 
 liarly tempting to Eunice s religious temperament. 
 There was a moment of silence after he finished, while 
 she was trying to frame a reply. Rex dropped the 
 fan with which he had been playing all through his
 
 A SOIREE MUSICALE 181 
 
 long recital, while his dark eyes bent on her a look 
 of pleading. 
 
 "Is it to be my friend?" he said in a low voice 
 intense with feeling. 
 
 Eunice tried to answer calmly : 
 
 "I am willing and glad to be your friend, Mr. Mc 
 Allister, and to help you if I can; but I have little 
 faith that I can be of any real assistance where your 
 mother and Mrs. Charlton have failed, and I do not 
 believe that any reformation will be permanent that 
 is not based on principle love of the right and 
 hatred of the wrong. Your truest mentors are your 
 conscience and your Bible, and your strongest wea 
 pon of defense should be prayer." 
 
 Eunice glowed with gentle enthusiasm. Her calm 
 eyes, lifted fearlessly to his, were filled with a ten 
 der, holy light. Rex s dark eyes drooped abashed be 
 fore them. He had been honest in his confession and 
 in his desire for her help ; but he had so long been ac 
 customed to calculate the impression he was making, 
 that, half unconsciously to himself, he had been pos 
 ing a little in his attitude of humility and repentance. 
 He realized this now in the clear light of Eunice s 
 earnest words, and was ashamed. When he lifted 
 his eyes again there was deep and genuine feeling in 
 them and in his voice as he said : 
 
 "God helping me, Eunice, I will be a better and a 
 truer man from this hour." 
 
 "And God will help you," answered Eunice softly. 
 
 He only replied by a quick grasp of her hand, then 
 he rose to his feet.
 
 182 IN OLD BELLAIBE 
 
 "I do not want to leave this spot, that will al 
 ways be sacred to me; but I know that I ought not 
 to keep you here longer." 
 
 Eunice rose quickly, too, with an exclamation of 
 alarm. Time and place had been annihilated to her, 
 so deeply had she been interested in Rex s confession, 
 and a sudden terror seized her that she should find 
 the soiree over and the guests gone. She hurried 
 Eex along, but when they reached the alley gate, to 
 her dismay it was locked. 
 
 "What shall I do?" she asked in a terrified whisper. 
 
 For a moment Rex was as dismayed as herself at 
 this unlooked-for calamity, but Eunice was looking 
 appealingly to him for help, and he answered : 
 
 "There is nothing to do but to go boldly through 
 the hall door. I am sorry you should have this annoy 
 ance, and it is my fault for keeping you so long ; but 
 there is no help for it now. And remember," he 
 whispered as they mounted the steps, the bolder, the 
 better." 
 
 The hall was filled with the bustle of departing 
 guests, and they probably would have escaped un 
 noticed but that Mr. Rogers stood near the door and 
 saw them as they entered. He cast a quick, suspicious 
 glance at Rex, and then said coldly to Eunice : 
 
 "Miss Lucy has been looking for you, Miss Har- 
 lowe; and she desired me, if I saw you, to ask you 
 whether you are ready to go home." 
 
 "Yes, I am quite ready," murmured Eunice, sure 
 that she looked like the culprit she felt. 
 
 Rex spoke boldly : Then I shall have to relinquish
 
 A SOIREE MUSICALE 183 
 
 you to Mr. Rogers, Miss Harlowe, and I must thank 
 you for a very pleasant walk. " His manner expressed 
 nothing that the most suspicious observer could have 
 interpreted as more than polite courtesy. 
 
 Eunice did not find Mr. Rogers an altogether agree 
 able companion on her way home. He was courteous, 
 but made no effort to be especially entertaining, and 
 the burden of the conversation fell on her. She made 
 strenuous efforts to sustain it, but with indifferent 
 success. She was not very well satisfied with the even 
 ing when she reviewed it alone in her room. She was 
 still mortified over what she termed the "failure" 
 of their duet, and she fancied that she had suffered 
 in some way in Mr. Rogers s esteem by her long ab 
 sence with Rex ; and she liked him and respected him 
 too much not to feel it keenly. 
 
 She was inclined to be a little bitter toward Rex 
 because he was so constantly putting her in a false 
 position and causing her vexatious regrets. Yet her 
 last waking thoughts were of the look and tone that 
 had accompanied his earnest words, "God helping 
 me, Eunice, I will be a better and a truer man from 
 this hour."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 
 
 REX had had a keen suspicion that Mr. Rogers had 
 been responsible for the locking of the gate, and 
 the fact that he had been apparently on watch at 
 the door strengthened it. He confided his suspicions 
 to Willie Dayton that evening after they had both 
 returned to their room, and was amazed to see Willie 
 receive his confidence with an explosion of laughter. 
 
 The laughter was so long continued that Rex s 
 temper was fast rising, which Willie perceiving, he 
 made an effort at soberness, and told Rex that Lucy 
 and he had locked the gate most innocently. They 
 had gone through it, looking for Eunice and Rex, 
 thinking it possible they were walking up and down 
 the pavement outside, and on their return Lucy had 
 suggested that it ought to be locked, as she knew Miss 
 Perkins usually kept it so in the evening, and they 
 had turned the key without the remotest suspicion 
 that they were locking out Eunice and Rex or causing 
 them any annoyance. 
 
 His explanation was interrupted by so many "Ha- 
 ha s" and "Ho-ho s" and "That s too good" and 
 "I reckon I 11 have to tell Miss Lucy," that Rex s 
 
 184
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 185 
 
 countenance gradually relaxed into a grim smile, 
 though he threatened that if Willie knew what was 
 good for him he would tell nobody. His threats would 
 have had little effect, but when he added that he hoped 
 Willie would say nothing to any one about it as it 
 would certainly be very annoying to Miss Harlowe, 
 Willie sobered up at once, and readily promised to 
 keep "mum." 
 
 The fact that he had suspected Mr. Rogers unjustly 
 combined with his new resolves for reformation to 
 make Rex feel more kindly toward him and regard 
 him no longer as a "pragmatical bigot." He began 
 to have a respect for his clean, upright life, and to 
 wish that his own had been more like it. Greatly 
 to Mr. Rogers s astonishment, he greeted him at their 
 next meeting with a cordial grasp of the hand; and 
 as his manner lost entirely the superciliousness that 
 had always marked his treatment of the Pennsylva- 
 nian, Mr. Rogers in his turn began to regard the South 
 Carolinian with less severity. Rex, determined to 
 make a thorough thing of his reform, had been endea 
 voring to cut loose from his wild associates, a diffi 
 cult matter to accomplish, and therefore welcomed 
 eagerly the signs of friendship in Rogers, which 
 seemed to offer another sheet-anchor to his shifting 
 impulses. Besides, he believed that it would please 
 Eunice, and prove to her that he was in earnest, if she 
 saw him cultivating friendly relations with the man 
 he had spoken of so ungenerously, and whom she evi 
 dently held in high esteem. 
 
 To Willie Dayton and to his friends Rex s reform
 
 186 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 was a source of great delight, chastened only by the 
 fear that it might not last; but while they unobtru 
 sively tried to offer him all the help possible, they 
 avoided speaking to him on the subject. Some of 
 his old associates had not had such delicate scruples, 
 and had undertaken to scoff him out of what they 
 called his "pious resolutions"; but they shrank back 
 abashed at the lightnings of wrath they drew down 
 upon themselves as, with flashing eyes and his most 
 superb air, Rex bade them beware of how they inter 
 fered with the private and personal concerns of a gen 
 tleman. Indeed, he probably would not have hesitated 
 to challenge them to a duel to the death in defense of 
 his conscientious scruples and considered himself as 
 acting the part of a good Christian in so doing. 
 
 There was one feature of Bellaire life which seemed 
 to Eunice quite ideal : every pleasant evening on these 
 warm autumn days, Dr. and Mrs. Charlton held an 
 informal reception. It was the doctor s habit after 
 the early tea to step out of the dining-room on to the 
 lawn, and, with his children, enjoy the soft air, while 
 he inspected the growing things, watching for new 
 buds or planning some improvements in flower-garden 
 and shrubbery. There Mrs. Charlton joined him as 
 soon as she had superintended the washing of the 
 silver and the china and glass, a ceremony always per 
 formed in the dining-room by Charles Cook, junior; 
 and they were both sure to be joined later by two or 
 three friends out for an evening stroll and drop 
 ping in to have a little chat with the doctor and his 
 wife in their pleasant garden.
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 187 
 
 Miss Caroline and Miss Phcebe were almost invari 
 ably of this number, for in the fine weather it was 
 this hour of the day that they selected for their consti 
 tutional, and Miss Caroline dearly loved a bout of 
 argument with the doctor, or a dish of gossip with 
 his radiant wife. One or two of the professors, also, 
 were generally of the party more often one of the 
 bachelors, but quite frequently a married member of 
 the faculty, with or without his wife. They strolled 
 about the winding paths of the garden as they talked, 
 sometimes stopping for a few minutes if the discussion 
 grew heated, but resuming their walk with their seren 
 ity when the doctor managed, as he always did, to 
 pour oil on the troubled waters. 
 
 As the evening grew later, they often gathered on 
 the steps of the veranda, where, if one caught the 
 sound of merry laughter, it was quite certain the 
 doctor was entertaining his friends with a good story ; 
 and sometimes a Senior or Junior lingering near, 
 waiting for half-past seven to arrive, the earliest 
 hour at which he might present himself as a caller 
 on the young ladies, tempted by the jovial sounds 
 would pass through the gate and join the charmed 
 circle. The little receptions broke up when gathering 
 darkness warned them that they must seek the house. 
 Miss Caroline always gave the signal for leaving; 
 she felt that when darkness came she must be at home 
 to see that her young ladies were all safely shut in 
 with their books. It was the duty of a younger teacher 
 to take charge of the study table, but Miss Caroline 
 liked to see for herself that every young lady was in 
 her place, so deeply rooted was her conviction that the
 
 188 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Tomlinson students were constantly plotting to entice 
 her maidens to moonlight walks or other forbidden 
 joys of youth. At the defection of the Misses Per 
 kins the little circle gradually disintegrated, when, 
 if there happened to be any young men coming in 
 to make a call, Dr. and Mrs. Charlton stopped in the 
 parlor a few minutes to show a proper courtesy to the 
 young people, and then Mrs. Charlton went up-stairs 
 with the children and the doctor sought his study. 
 
 Eunice enjoyed these informal evenings keenly. 
 She felt as if heretofore her intellectual and social 
 nature had been half starved, and she could hardly 
 get enough of the bright and animated talk tossed back 
 and forth like a glittering ball from one member of 
 the little circle to another. 
 
 Of late there had been a larger attendance at these 
 open-air receptions, and the talk had been graver, and 
 sometimes excitement had run high, and it had needed 
 all the doctor s skill to keep his guests within the 
 bounds of moderation. The waves of fierce passion, 
 running mountain-high in the fall of 60 over the 
 coming elections, beat fiercely against the walls of 
 Old Tomlinson. Most of the students were from the 
 South, and of course intense in their Southern sym 
 pathies; some were from the border, and tinged with 
 the views of both sections; while a few were uncom 
 promising abolitionists. The faculty were almost as 
 much divided as the students. They were of all 
 creeds, although when the crucial test came they were 
 all loyal to the old flag. The Misses Perkins were 
 New England born, but a large part of their lives had
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 189 
 
 been spent in the South, their patronage was almost 
 exclusively Southern, and the accident of their birth 
 seemed but to add virulence to the intensity of their 
 Southern sympathies. 
 
 In those days a house was often divided against it 
 self. Naturally Mrs. Charlton s sympathies were with 
 the home and friends of her youth, but not even 
 his admiration and devotion to her could swerve the 
 doctor from the clear line of duty and principle; 
 and Mrs. Charlton, who in all small matters ruled 
 regally in her household, could yield all the more 
 gracefully to her husband when it came to matters 
 of greater moment. Only in this one was her heart 
 divided against itself, and it was through a long and 
 bitter struggle that she learned at last to place her 
 love and honor and loyalty undividedly on the side 
 she had chosen when she had chosen her husband. 
 
 But she would not have been Mrs. Charlton if, while 
 going through this struggle, she had not seemed often 
 enthusiastically on the other side. It was the last 
 gallant fight she was making against a submission 
 all the more complete, finally, for her long resistance. 
 And it would not have been Dr. Charlton if his sen 
 sitive soul had not often been wounded to the quick 
 by her swift thrusts where, she knew so well, his 
 love for her made his armor of truth and loyalty most 
 vulnerable. 
 
 One Saturday evening the little company had di 
 vided itself into two coteries; in the center of one 
 was Mrs. Charlton, her eyes flashing, her cheeks 
 flushed, denouncing in the strongest terms John Brown
 
 190 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 and his attempted insurrection. No words seemed 
 intense enough to express her loathing and horror of 
 a man who could deliberately incite slaves to an in 
 surrection, with all its attendant horrors. It was the 
 anniversary of John Brown s attack on Harper s 
 Ferry, and some one mentioning that fact, it had 
 aroused Mrs. Charlton to her denunciation. It was 
 not so many miles away that it had been made, and 
 some of his band, fleeing northward up the valley, 
 had been taken near Bellaire. 
 
 "Can it be possible," she was saying, in tones 
 vibrating with indignation, "that there could be 
 men in the North so lost to all that is noblest and 
 best in humanity as to uphold him in his vile attempt 
 to let loose wild fiends upon helpless women and 
 children?" 
 
 About her stood Professor Haywood, Professor and 
 Mrs. Tiffin, and Miss Caroline Perkins, with Rex Mc 
 Allister and Willie Dayton, who had come to escort 
 Eunice and Lucy to choir rehearsal. Around Dr. 
 Charlton had gathered Professor Harkness, the other 
 bachelor of the faculty, and Professor Fieldman and 
 his wife. Insensibly Eunice had drawn near Dr. 
 Charlton as she saw Mrs. Charlton flash upon him a 
 glance of superb indignation, as if on his devoted 
 head rested all the sins of the North. Miss Phoebe 
 hovered vaguely between the two parties, powerfully 
 attracted by Dr. Charlton, whom she secretly but ar 
 dently worshiped, yet not quite daring to range her 
 self opposite Miss Caroline. Mrs. Charlton s coterie 
 loudly applauded her vehement speech, but the doctor
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 191 
 
 felt he would be disloyal if he did not try to soothe 
 these excited feelings. He said mildly : 
 
 "There is no good man at the North who does not 
 deprecate the horrors of negro insurrection, if he 
 realizes them. I believe the trouble with John Brown 
 was that he did not realize them. His soul was so 
 filled with the evils and wickedness of slavery, he 
 could think of nothing else. I believe him to have 
 been an honest patriot, mistaken only in his methods." 
 
 His wife had been listening to him with head 
 averted. She turned toward him now like a flash and 
 hurled her words at him with ineffable scorn. 
 
 Evils and wickedness of slavery ! What do you at 
 the North know about its evils? I know that the 
 slaves are treated with all the tenderness and care of 
 children ; and yet let some ignorant, jealous, mischief- 
 brewing abolitionist come among them to stir them 
 to revolt, and they become fiends incarnate, and mur 
 der in cold bloood the masters who have cared for 
 them ! Do you mean to tell me, if that vile miscreant, 
 that stirrer-up of insurrections, that murderer of wo 
 men and children, had appeared among us, you would 
 not have handed him over at once to suffer the utmost 
 rigors of the law? Those who would aid and abet 
 such a foul murderer are murderers themselves. 
 
 In her intense feeling she had extended her right 
 arm, and unconsciously looked as if she were denounc 
 ing her husband. We were all abashed, and hardly 
 knew where to look. We had always known that Mrs. 
 Charlton was a high-spirited woman, and had liked 
 her the better for it; but that she should break out
 
 192 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 into such wrathful invective, and apparently against 
 Dr. Charlton, our hero and saint, and the husband 
 ^ve knew she adored, we could not comprehend. 
 
 Lucy stood with drooping head and the hot color 
 flaming in her cheeks, and little Millicent, who had 
 been standing by her mother, listening to all that had 
 preceded with wide-eyed interest, now stole to her 
 father s side and took his hand as if to protect him, 
 while she looked from him to her mother in terrified 
 perplexity. 
 
 Dr. Charlton himself had, in the beginning of her 
 speech, watched her with a troubled expression, and 
 as she grew more vehement dropped his eyes in pained 
 embarrassment. As she uttered the last sentence, 
 her arm extended toward him, her head thrown back, 
 her eyes flashing, her whole figure breathing magnifi 
 cent denunciation, he raised his eyes quickly and 
 looked straight into hers. There was trouble and pain 
 in his glance, but there was fire also, such as we had 
 never seen in those blue eyes. 
 
 "Millicent!" he said. 
 
 His tone was not raised, but there was such ringing 
 command in it that we were all electrified. As for 
 Mrs. Charlton, we could see self-consciousness return 
 ing in her softening glance and slowly sinking arm. 
 The doctor held her for a moment as if fascinated by 
 his steady look; then swiftly the color receded from 
 her face, leaving her deadly pale. She sprang for 
 ward with a low cry "Oh, Robert!" and seized 
 Dr. Charlton s hand, looking up into his face with 
 piteous repentance in her imploring eyes.
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 193 
 
 "Can you forgive me? I never meant it," she 
 whispered. 
 
 We saw the fire in the doctor s blue eyes quenched 
 in a sudden mist. He lifted her hand to his lips with 
 courtly old-world grace, and then drew it through his 
 arm and held it there, while Millie stole round to her 
 mother s side, and clung to her dress, her face 
 wreathed in happy smiles. 
 
 We had all been so intensely interested in the little 
 drama that we had forgotten to be embarrassed; but 
 as Mrs Charlton turned toward us, and we saw her 
 face rosy as a girl s, her drooping figure and down 
 cast eyes, we began to realize that to the principal 
 actors any spectators, even those with the kindliest in 
 terest, would seem de trop. 
 
 But the doctor, with his usual tact, relieved our fast- 
 rising discomfort. He said with his genial smile: 
 
 "The war is over, friends. The South and the 
 North are reunited. Let us take it as a happy omen 
 that nothing more serious than a difference of opinion 
 will ever disturb the Union." 
 
 And Mrs. Charlton, lifting her head and looking 
 at us bravely but with shining eyes, added : 
 
 "And please, dear friends, forget that I was ever 
 guilty of making a scene. It is all because I am 
 such a hot-headed Southerner. But I am not a 
 Southerner any more. I am a United-Stateser." And 
 then looking up at the doctor with a radiant smile: 
 "I love the North, and I am sorry they ever caught 
 John Brown." 
 
 After that there were a few minutes of unusually
 
 194 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 animated conversation, everybody trying to talk as 
 lightly and carelessly as possible, and then the little 
 company broke up, Miss Caroline, as usual, going 
 first, and saying in her most punctilious fashion, 
 "Good night, Dr. Charlton. Good night, Mrs. Charl- 
 ton. We have had a delightful evening." And then 
 a sudden remembrance seemed to strike her : That is 
 ah most interesting, I am sure." 
 
 But it was Professor Harkness who surprised the 
 doctor and his wife. He lingered until after the 
 other guests had taken their leave, and then said with 
 a pompous gallantry that would have been laughable 
 only that it was accompanied with such genuine feel 
 ing, Will you permit me, madam, to express my ad 
 miration and respect"; and awkwardly bending his 
 huge head, for probably the first and only time in 
 his life he lifted a lady s hand to his lips. 
 
 Eunice and Rex, Lucy and Willie, had gone to choir 
 rehearsal, and for over an hour Mrs. Charlton was 
 busy with the younger children, looking after their 
 Saturday-night baths and seeing them safely into 
 bed. There were no studies on Saturday evening, and 
 George Edgar and Henry Sidney were playing a quiet 
 and amicable game of chess. There were times when 
 Mrs. Charlton appreciated the game when it could 
 keep her noisy boys still and out of all mischief for 
 an hour or two. Seeing them wholly engrossed now, 
 and the little ones all asleep, she stole softly away to 
 the doctor s study. Dr. Charlton was bent over his 
 big table, littered with books and papers, writing dili-
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 195 
 
 gently, and she came in so quietly that he did not 
 hear her until she laid her hand softly on his shoul 
 der. Then he whirled around quickly in his revolv 
 ing chair; but before he had time to speak she said 
 hastily and with a quivering lip : 
 
 "Were you dreadfully ashamed of me this evening, 
 dear? Oh, will I ever learn to govern my temper?" 
 
 He looked up at her with an adoring gaze, and 
 putting his arms around her slender waist, drew her 
 down to a seat upon his knee. 
 
 "I think it was the proudest, happiest moment of 
 my life, my love, when you proved to my friends 
 that my wife is not more beautiful and high-spirited 
 than she is noble and loving."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 OP THE SAME OPINION 
 
 EUNICE and Rex walked silently down Lovers 
 Lane, their thoughts on the same subject, but 
 Eunice at least not caring to give them utterance. 
 Suddenly Rex spoke: 
 
 "Was n t she splendid! I can hardly tell whether 
 I liked her most in her scornful or in her repentant 
 mood, she was so grand in one and so lovable in 
 the other. I have always thought her the most delight 
 ful woman in the world, and now I think she is ador 
 able. What a happy man Dr. Charlton must be to 
 possess the heart of such a superb creature! He is 
 one of the best of men, but no man can be worthy 
 of such a woman s love ! 
 
 Rex spoke with glowing enthusiasm and with the 
 extravagance natural to him ; but his admiration was 
 sincere, there was no mistaking that, and Eunice 
 marveled. 
 
 She had been much troubled for Mrs. Charlton. 
 She also admired her greatly, but the impetuous lit 
 tle scene through which they had just passed was al 
 most incomprehensible to her colder nature. There 
 had been a tinge of the theatrical about it to her, and 
 
 196
 
 OF THE SAME OPINION 197 
 
 her sympathies had been all with Dr. Charlton, while 
 she had felt only the keenest mortification for Mrs. 
 Charlton. She had, indeed, admired her for the 
 quick repentance she had shown, but she felt so sure 
 that she must have lost caste with all those people 
 whom she was accustomed to rule regally that her 
 admiration was much tinged with pity. To find that 
 she had gained instead of losing, with Hex at least, 
 and probably with them all, was both a relief and an 
 annoyance. It was a relief because she loved and 
 admired Mrs. Charlton, but inbred instinct and life 
 long training had taught her that all display of emo 
 tion in public was at least in questionable taste ; and 
 it was distinctly annoying to find that here one not 
 only did not suffer the proper penalty for such a sin 
 against good taste, but seemed to gain by it a further 
 apotheosis. 
 
 It is barely possible, too, that Eunice s annoyance 
 was not entirely impersonal. In the scene through 
 which they had just passed there had been in the back 
 ground of her consciousness a comfortable sense that 
 a calm and self -controlled woman, to whom such a dis 
 play of emotion would be impossible, must appear 
 to immense advantage in the eyes of an interested 
 witness. This little fabric of self-esteem that she had 
 so unconsciously built up, Kex s speech rudely shat 
 tered, and she did not find the act of demolition a 
 pleasant one. 
 
 She often wondered why she wished to stand so well 
 in the estimation of Rex McAllister. She had been 
 sure, almost from the beginning of their acquain-
 
 198 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 tance, that he was not the kind of man who could 
 ever be to her she put it blushingly more than a 
 pleasant friend. There were certain qualities she de 
 manded in a man that seemed to be preeminently 
 absent in Rex. Chief among them was moral strength. 
 Thorough respect and admiration for a man s moral 
 nature must with her, she felt sure, precede any 
 softer emotion. Rex had apparently made a thor 
 ough reformation, or was making it; and while his 
 appeals to her for help touched her and she was 
 more than willing to extend a helping hand toward 
 him, she assured herself, with a touch of scorn when 
 some occasional word or look of his seemed to ask for 
 something more than mere friendliness, that she would 
 never be a moral crutch for the man she loved. 
 
 Yet she had to confess that there was no one to 
 whose opinion she was so supremely sensitive. She 
 trembled lest she should ever appear to him less of 
 an angel of light than he had called her in the Hetz- 
 gar garden. The fear gave her more of constraint 
 with him than with any one else, and in hours of 
 morbid self-dissection, which "were not infrequent 
 with Eunice, she accused herself of posing before him, 
 mentally and morally. 
 
 That he should so ardently admire in Mrs. Charlton 
 the very characteristics which seemed to Eunice least 
 admirable, and which she knew were impossible to 
 herself, caused her a keen thrill of mortified vanity. 
 She could perceive now that of course an impulsive, 
 frank, and generous nature like Mrs. Charlton s was 
 the very kind to appeal most powerfully to a bold,
 
 OF THE SAME OPINION 199 
 
 impetuous, hot-headed Southerner, and that he could 
 never feel more than a passing attraction to a tempera 
 ment so utterly antipodal as her own; and the per 
 ception did not give her the pleasure that she felt 
 it ought. 
 
 All these shades of feeling tinged a little Eunice s 
 formal response to Ilex s panegyric: 
 
 "I admire Mrs. Charlton extremely," she said, 
 "and love her very much. No mother could have 
 been kinder and more tender than she has been to me 
 since I have been in her house ; but I confess the scene 
 through which we have just passed was very painful 
 to me, and I am not sure I admire all of Mrs. Charl 
 ton s part in it. What I did admire most thoroughly 
 was the perfect self-control Dr. Charlton exhibited, 
 and the masterful way in which he brought Mrs. 
 Charlton to a consciousness of the fact that she had 
 gone too far. There is nothing so fine as moral sub 
 limity ! And there was something of it in Dr. Charl 
 ton s look and tone when he said, Millicent ! 
 
 It was Rex s turn now to feel nettled, but he con 
 ceded at once: 
 
 "Oh, yes; the doctor was fine. He quite thrilled 
 me." And then he added a little bitterly, "Although 
 there is no moral sublimity about me, hardly moral 
 mediocrity, I fear you think, I can appreciate it in 
 others, and I quite agree with you that there is no 
 thing so fine or so worthy of admiration in a man." 
 
 The touch of bitterness in Ilex s speech was rather 
 pleasing than otherwise to Eunice, but she had no 
 special answer to make, and they turned to other 
 
 14
 
 200 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 topics. But for some reason conversation languished. 
 They neither of them seemed inclined to talk, and 
 Rex particularly was fast lapsing into one of the 
 moods Eunice had noticed in him frequently of late; 
 she was never quite sure whether they were tinged 
 with sullenness or melancholy, but in either case they 
 made him silent and abstracted. 
 
 Choir rehearsal had been held in the church for 
 the last few weeks, because the weather was still pleas 
 ant enough to require no special heating of the edi 
 fice, and it saved the trouble of conveying all the 
 books and music to the private house where the 
 rehearsal might be held, and then getting them back 
 again in time for service the next morning. It was not 
 quite such a pleasant social arrangement, and the 
 young folks would be rather glad when the cold wea 
 ther should drive them back to the cozy parlors again. 
 
 Rex escorted Eunice to the choir-gallery, and then 
 betook himself to the lower part of the house, where, 
 seeking a cushioned pew (they were not all cushioned 
 only those belonging to the faculty and a few of 
 the wealthier families), he threw himself in a half- 
 reclining attitude on the seat and gave himself up to 
 a moody reverie. There was no gas lighted, except 
 in the choir, and the twilight gloom in this part of 
 the church was particularly favorable to that pas 
 time. From his position, with his head resting on 
 the high center railing that divided the pews, he 
 could see Eunice very distinctly, and even watch 
 the changing expression of her face, thrown into 
 strong relief by a Blazing gas-jet beside her. He him-
 
 OF THE SAME OPINION 201 
 
 self was invisible or nearly so, only an indistinct 
 blur, if one shaded his eyes in the choir, revealing 
 his location. 
 
 His mood was more one of irritability than melan 
 choly. He was almost getting tired of his reform 
 attitude; he began to think it did n t pay. Some of 
 the boys of his fraternity were going off on an es 
 pecial lark that very night, and had besought him to 
 join them, and he half wished now that he had not 
 held out so firmly against them. He had had a note 
 from Miss Lydia, too, inviting him to a card-party at 
 her house for that evening, and he had sent regrets, 
 pleading a previous engagement. He had not seen 
 Miss Lydia for several weeks. He knew that the sud 
 den ceasing of his attentions must have at least 
 aroused her curiosity perhaps, he thought half re 
 gretfully, given her some pain. 
 
 In declining both these offers of amusement for 
 the evening, he had felt more than compensated in 
 the thought of the walk to and from rehearsal with 
 Eunice; but somehow he had not altogether enjoyed 
 the walk as he had expected. There was certainly 
 something antagonistic in their natures. He had felt 
 it this evening; he believed he had half felt it once 
 or twice before. It was not that she was so good; 
 he liked goodness in a woman, and he was trying very 
 hard to be "good" himself now, but it was that she 
 expected too much of a man ; nothing would ever sat 
 isfy her, but some saint like Dr. Charlton. Life with 
 such a woman, he believed, would be a constant 
 strain; there would be no rest, no moral undress,
 
 202 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 no lounging in dressing-gown and slippers, but al 
 ways, morally speaking, arrayed in shiniest black 
 broadcloth, high collars, and tight boots. He was 
 inclined to think there was more real, every-day com 
 fort in a girl like Lydia McNair, who did not require 
 you to live up to some high ideal, and was quite will 
 ing to allow you a moderate indulgence in your small 
 vices so long as they were gentlemanly ones. 
 
 At this point in his reverie he saw Mr. Rogers 
 turn to Eunice and say something, and as she 
 looked up at him to reply it seemed to Eex that there 
 was a wonderful sweetness in her smile that for the 
 moment quite transfigured her. He saw it with quick 
 pain. Could it be possible she loved Rogers? She 
 never smiled so sweetly and so frankly on him. He 
 had often noticed and been a little annoyed by her 
 constrained way of smiling. Of course Rogers was 
 the very man for such a woman as Eunice. He could 
 see it, now that his old dislike of him had given place 
 to friendliness. He wondered he had not thought of 
 it before. Yes, Rogers came as near being morally 
 grand and morally strong as any young man he knew. 
 Well, was he not willing ? He had never quite decided 
 in his own mind that Eunice was the kind of woman 
 he wanted for a wife, though the attraction she had 
 had for him had been greater than any woman had 
 ever had before. He stopped at this point to think it 
 out, and then he suddenly sat erect, and bringing one 
 clenched hand down violently but noiselessly on the 
 cushioned seat, he said through his set teeth : 
 
 "No, I am not willing!"
 
 OF THE SAME OPINION 203 
 
 The words had actually passed his lips, and at the 
 sound he smiled at his own vehemence, and then con 
 gratulated himself that there was no one to hear them. 
 
 To his astonishment, a woman s voice just behind 
 him said: 
 
 Not willing to do what, Mr. McAllister?" 
 
 He sprang to his feet and turned to meet Lydia 
 McNair. His eyes had been so steadfastly fixed on the 
 brightly lighted gallery, and one illuminated face 
 there, that it had prevented his seeing her entrance, 
 and the choir, singing with full voice and great en 
 ergy the triumphant paean, "On cherubim and sera 
 phim full royally he rode," had effectually drowned 
 the sound of approaching footsteps. Miss Lydia, be 
 ing extremely High-church, and a little bigoted withal, 
 was the last person he would have expected to see at 
 a Presbyterian choir rehearsal. The card-party to 
 which he had been invited occurred to him also, and 
 he could not understand how Miss Lydia could be 
 absent from it; but he had such entire faith in her 
 always doing the unaccountable thing that he was not 
 quite free from a suspicion that she had come to com 
 pel his attendance at it. 
 
 Miss Lydia said in answer to his expression of 
 surprise at meeting her there : 
 
 "Your defection spoiled our card-party, and it was 
 such a beautiful evening Lieutenant Watson proposed 
 a walk. We heard the music as we passed the church, 
 and stepped in to listen to it. I thought I recognized 
 you, though I was not absolutely sure, it was so dark ; 
 and I told the lieutenant I was coming to talk to
 
 204 IN OLD BELLAIBE 
 
 you, and he could go up-stairs and listen to the music 
 and visit with the young ladies, and I would send 
 for him when I was ready to go." 
 
 Rex knew Miss Lydia was quite capable of giv 
 ing one cavalier a furlough when she felt like talk 
 ing to another. He glanced up at the gallery and 
 saw the lieutenant in a back seat patiently listening 
 to the singing and not looking particularly happy. 
 He felt sorry for him, and also felt rather uncom 
 fortable for himself. 
 
 "I m in for it now," he thought; and he did not 
 doubt for a moment that Miss Lydia intended to call 
 him to account for his desertion of her. His con 
 science told him that his devotion had been too marked 
 and too distinctly expressed not to give her a right to 
 demand an explanation. It was with some embarrass 
 ment, therefore, that he asked her to sit down, and 
 seated himself in the pew in front of her, where 
 he could lean on the back and be comfortably vis-d-vis. 
 
 He expected her to plunge at once into the subject, 
 for Miss Lydia was not given to using gloves in hand 
 ling a delicate question ; but, to his relief, she did not 
 touch upon any personal topic, but entered into a lively 
 discussion of several subjects of mutual interest, until 
 he found himself enjoying her frank comments and 
 keen repartee with quite the old relish. His fears 
 were fast being lulled when she suddenly turned to 
 him and said in a low tone and with an entirely dif 
 ferent manner: 
 
 "Mr. McAllister, I hope you are not flirting with 
 the little school-ma am."
 
 OF THE SAME OPINION 205 
 
 Rex had used the epithet "little school-ma am" 
 quite freely himself in the beginning of his acquain 
 tance with Eunice, but it struck harshly on his ears 
 now. Neither did he like the term "flirting" as ap 
 plied to his relations with her. So he said quite 
 stiffly: "Certainly not, Miss Lydia," and then, with 
 an effort at lightness, "Did you ever know me to be 
 guilty of flirting with any one?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly," said Miss Lydia, quickly; "but 
 there has been some excuse for you when you indulged 
 in it with those who were supposed to be quite able 
 to protect themselves and were not principled against 
 the pastime. You know it is different with Miss Har- 
 lowe. She is a sweet, good, true little woman and 
 lovely, I think. I am quite taken with her. But 
 she is perfectly unsophisticated, and is the kind of 
 woman that I should suppose would appeal to a 
 man s best nature to protect her from himself. I 
 have been thinking about her and worrying about 
 her for weeks. Of course I have known why you 
 have deserted your old friends, and at last I made 
 up my mind I would see you and make an appeal to 
 you in her behalf." 
 
 She had spoken rapidly, and Rex was bewildered 
 by her accusation and by the genuine feeling in her 
 tones. Still he thought it was hardly a matter Miss 
 Lydia had a right to concern herself with, and he 
 said in his coldest way and it could be quite freez 
 ing when he chose: 
 
 "You do me great honor, Miss Lydia, when you 
 suggest that I am able to disturb the peace of mind
 
 206 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 of any young lady. I shall begin to consider myself 
 quite a dangerous fellow." 
 
 There was a moment of silence before Miss Lydia 
 answered in a voice that trembled in spite of herself : 
 
 "You are a dangerous fellow, Rex McAllister, and 
 you know it." 
 
 There was a time when Rex might have secretly 
 rejoiced at this evidence of his power, and would 
 probably have taken advantage of it by responding 
 with some tender nonsense. Now he was shocked to 
 find that there seemed to be more seriousness in Miss 
 Lydia s feeling toward him than he had dreamed, 
 and it kept him silent for a few moments. When he 
 spoke again, his coldness and his flippancy were both 
 gone, and he said earnestly : 
 
 "Miss Lydia, I am afraid I deserve your poor 
 opinion of me. I have not always shown myself to you 
 as the honest and honorable gentleman I should like 
 to be and should like you to think me. Shall we 
 let bygones be bygones and begin all over again? I 
 should like to have a chance to prove myself a friend 
 you could thoroughly respect and trust." 
 
 He waited so long for the reply that he began to 
 be troubled. Could it be possible she was crying ? It 
 was too dark to see, but he fancied he distinguished 
 suspicious little movements and sounds. Miss Lydia 
 in tears ! It was inconceivable, and the thought filled 
 him with amazement as much as pity, and almost with 
 more embarrassment than either. What should he do ? 
 
 But Miss Lydia did not leave him long in perplex 
 ity. With a briskness of tone and a lightness of man-
 
 OF THE SAME OPINION 207 
 
 ner that the occasion hardly seemed to demand, she 
 answered : 
 
 "I have always liked you very well as you were, 
 Mr. McAllister, but I shall not object to a revised 
 edition of our friendship if you desire it, especially 
 since I hope your new attitude argues well for the 
 little school-mistress. 
 
 Rex was irritated by her flippancy, and he replied 
 with an approach to severity : 
 
 "You need not fear for Miss Harlowe; if either of 
 us suffers in the affections through our acquaintance, 
 it will not be she." 
 
 There was another perceptible pause on Miss 
 Lydia s part, and then she said softly and with a 
 sweetness that surprised Rex : 
 
 1 I am quite sure of that, Mr. McAllister. And now, 
 would you mind calling the lieutenant? I must be 
 going." 
 
 Rex was certain once more that Miss Lydia had been 
 strongly moved, and he believed he understood why. 
 It was because she had recognized the finality in what 
 he had said: the end of all their old relations. It 
 filled him with the keenest regret and tenderest sym 
 pathy, but he could express neither without still fur 
 ther wounding her. 
 
 He looked up at the gallery and found a little stir 
 and commotion there ; rehearsal was over and the choir 
 were about to go home. Rex s quick wits took in the 
 awkwardness of the situation. If, as he believed, 
 there were traces of tears in Miss Lydia s eyes, it 
 would greatly embarrass her to meet the members of
 
 208 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 the choir in the brightly lighted vestibule. With quick 
 decision he called up to Lieutenant Watson : 
 
 "Lieutenant, will you bring Miss Harlowe down 
 stairs ? We will meet you at the outside door. 
 
 Then to Miss Lydia: "Come, we must be quick 
 if we would get down ahead of them. 
 
 He drew her hand through his arm, and hurried 
 her through the dark church. In the bright vestibule 
 he would not even glance at her lest he might see the 
 traces of her tears, but, hearing the descending voices, 
 hurried her down the steps, and they were outside in 
 the dark when the others met them. 
 
 There was the usual noisy interchange of greetings 
 and farewells on the pavement, in which Miss Lydia 
 bore her part gaily ; and then Rex said, releasing her 
 arm and taking her hand : 
 
 "Good-night, Miss Lydia; I hope you have enjoyed 
 the music so much that you will come to our rehearsal 
 again sometime." 
 
 And she answered: "Thank you, I have enjoyed it 
 extremely ; perhaps I will, if Lieutenant Watson will 
 bring me." But both of them knew she never would. 
 
 Naturally enough, it had seemed a little strange to 
 Eunice that Lieutenant Watson should sit up-stairs 
 and leave Rex and Miss Lydia to a tete-a-tete, and 
 then that Rex should not at least have met her at the 
 foot of the gallery stairs, instead of waiting for her 
 with Miss Lydia outside. She did not understand it, 
 and there was just a little shade more of coldness and 
 reserve in her manner as they walked home. 
 
 Rex hardly noticed it, he was so full of his own
 
 OF THE SAME OPINION 209 
 
 thoughts, so sorry for Miss Lydia, but so glad to have 
 had this understanding with her and to feel that it 
 was all over with and that he was free from any en 
 tanglement there, if there had ever been any. Then 
 he was happy in the mere feeling of that little hand 
 on his arm. There had come to him a kind of revela 
 tion of his own heart, and with it a settled determin 
 ation, when he had said audibly, "No, I am not will 
 ing," that filled him with a feeling of strength and 
 happiness. So he did not notice that Eunice was a 
 little more constrained and a little colder than usual. 
 
 They had returned to the topic of the Southern 
 difficulties, and he had been saying that his last let 
 ter from home was full of forebodings. His father 
 thought there was trouble ahead. He believed that 
 if the Republicans won in the next election, there 
 would be war ; the South would never stand an aboli 
 tionist President. The feeling was at fever-heat in 
 South Carolina, and he was glad Rex was out of it. 
 He hoped it would all quiet down, but he was some 
 times afraid the South would do something rash. 
 Rex added that his father would deprecate anything 
 rash ; but whatever his State did or the South did, he 
 would stand by it, for he was heart and soul a South 
 erner. 
 
 The Iron Gate had just clanged behind them, and 
 they were entering Lovers Lane. Rex held Eunice 
 back a little. 
 
 "You are not in a hurry, are you? I want to ask 
 you something about Mrs. Charlton," he added 
 quickly, noting at once the slight signs of panic in
 
 210 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Eunice. "You know she was born and bred a South 
 ern woman. Do you think it was quite right in her 
 to give up her views ; to say, I am no longer a South 
 erner ; to say in effect, though not in words, I am 
 whatever my husband is ?" 
 
 Eunice thought a moment before she answered, and 
 then she spoke slowly : 
 
 "Yes, I think she was right. When a woman mar 
 ries she leaves father and mother all for her hus 
 band: and she should give up everything that could 
 create dissension between them. Of course I do not 
 mean that she should yield any question of right or 
 conscience ; but when it is a matter where two people 
 might hold different views, and both be right, I be 
 lieve she should give up hers. 
 
 When Eunice spoke she thought Rex would dis 
 agree with her and probably maintain vehemently 
 that, born and bred a Southerner, it would be trait 
 orous to yield her convictions. To her surprise, he 
 answered quickly: 
 
 "Thank you; I agree with you perfectly. I think 
 a man s first duty is to the land of his birth, be he 
 born in the North or in the South, but I believe that 
 a woman s country should be her husband s. 
 
 Nor did she understand the slight, involuntary 
 pressure of her arm as he spoke, and the glad ring 
 in his voice.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A SAD GOOD-BY 
 
 REX had stated the contents of his father s letter 
 very mildly to Eunice, and he was a little afraid 
 he had betrayed a political confidence in saying as 
 much as he had. What his father had really said 
 was: "Secession is bound to come. South Carolina, 
 at least, is eager for it, and will welcome the pretext 
 that the election of Lincoln will give her. There are 
 some of us who will regret it, but we are in a hopeless 
 minority. Our leaders say, when we express the be 
 lief that such a step will result in war, The North 
 will never fight ; or, if she shows fight, we will thrash 
 her so quickly she will never know what has hap 
 pened ! For myself, I am not so sanguine, and I am 
 sometimes full of dark forebodings. But I am glad 
 you are out of the turmoil, and I want you to stay 
 there, no matter what happens, until I send for you. 
 Tell Willie Dayton his father says he must stay also." 
 Rex read the letter to Willie, of course. "Stay," 
 said Willie; "if my State secedes! No, sir; I will 
 have you understand, if there is to be war or trouble 
 of any kind, I want to be in it, and nothing shall keep 
 me here." 
 
 211
 
 212 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 That election of 60, and the stormy days that pre 
 ceded and followed it, are too much a matter of his 
 tory to need any recalling. The election had taken 
 place, and there was now no longer any doubt about 
 Carolina s seceding. The excitement among the stu 
 dents was intense. Most of them, like Rex, had re 
 ceived instructions to stay in Bellaire until sent for; 
 but most of them, like Willie Dayton, were secretly 
 making preparations to leave the moment the news 
 of the actual secession of their several States should 
 reach them. 
 
 Poor Willie! His heart was greatly torn between 
 what he called his patriotism, which drew him im 
 peratively home to share the fortunes of his State, 
 and his boyish passion for Lucy Charlton, which made 
 his heart faint within him at the thought of leaving 
 her. It made it all the harder that he had never yet 
 had courage to declare his love; nor did he feel at 
 all sure how Lucy would receive his declaration, if he 
 should ever dare to make it. Whether from indif 
 ference or coyness, it was very seldom indeed that she 
 showed him any special mark of favor. But he had 
 fully made up his mind that before he went away he 
 should, in the language of the day, "address" Miss 
 Lucy, let the result be what it would. 
 
 In the meantime he had been untiring in his efforts 
 to raise the "sinews of war." His father had pur 
 posely sent him no money, lest he should be tempted 
 to use it in coming home. His funds were all in 
 the hands of his patron, Dr. Charlton, who had re 
 ceived instructions from Mr. Dayton on no account
 
 A SAD GOOD-BY 213 
 
 to let Willie have more than was absolutely necessary 
 to pay his running expenses. His friends, all intent 
 upon the same scheme as himself, and most of them 
 for the same reason kept on short allowance, had no 
 money to lend him. Rex might have helped him, but 
 he had promised Mr. Dayton to do everything in his 
 power to keep his boy in Bellaire, and Willie would 
 not ask him for help lest he might tempt him to break 
 his word. 
 
 But there was one last resource: Willie went to 
 "Old Sykes," the dealer in second-hand furniture, 
 largely patronized by the poorer students in fitting 
 out their rooms, and often by the wealthier ones when 
 delayed remittances made them temporarily hard up 
 and they were quite willing to dispose of some article 
 of furniture to provide them with the necessary funds 
 for a lark with the boys, or perhaps to buy tickets 
 for some concert or lecture to which they desired to 
 invite the young lady who at that moment reigned 
 supreme in their affections. Of course Old Sykes 
 knew that when the money from home arrived the 
 furniture would probably be bought back, and it was 
 his part to see that the owners got it at a sufficiently 
 advanced rate. 
 
 He knew what Willie was after the moment he en 
 tered the small, dusty, disorderly shop, crowded with 
 furniture of all ages and every degree; but he only 
 greeted him with a curt "Howdy" while he went 
 on piling wash-stands on bureaus and chairs on top 
 of both, with the evident intention of making more 
 floor space in his crowded domain.
 
 214 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 "Sykes," said Willie, with an attempt at being off 
 hand and business-like, "I have a proposition to make 
 you, but you must pledge yourself to absolute secrecy 
 before I divulge." 
 
 Sykes smiled grimly. He had already been pledged 
 to "absolute secrecy" six times that morning, and 
 hence the clearing of his floor space ; but he readily 
 gave the pledge. And then Willie told him he wanted 
 him to come up and have a look at some furniture 
 and make him an offer on it. Sykes stopped his work 
 long enough to utter another curt interrogatory: 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 "Yes, right away, please," said Willie; and slowly 
 investing himself in the coat and waistcoat he had 
 discarded for his work, and putting a battered slouch- 
 hat on his head, Old Sykes declared himself ready 
 to accompany Willie. 
 
 There was not much of the furniture Willie could 
 sell, for more than half of it belonged to Rex; but 
 his bed with its furnishings, his rocker and book-case, 
 and a small desk were his own. Old Sykes was a 
 shrewd fellow. He kept up a low, aggravating 
 whistle throughout the inspection, shaking his head 
 over every scratch or loose screw, and his whole 
 manner was so thoroughly disparaging that Willie 
 was almost prepared for the extremely low sum that 
 he named as his "outside figure." To Willie s in 
 dignant remonstrance he answered coolly: 
 
 "All right; I reckon I m loadin myself up too 
 heavy, anyway. I m taking just as good every day 
 at less money ; I am only doing it to oblige you fellers.
 
 A SAD GOOD-BY 215 
 
 And I reckon I m a fool for my pains," he added 
 as he saw Willie hesitating. "Times is mighty on- 
 sartin. Should n t wonder if the old college d bu st 
 up, you fellers is leavin in such a hurry; and I 11 
 have all this stuff on my hands and nary a student 
 to sell to." 
 
 He did not believe his own doleful prediction; he 
 expected to sell it all back to the owners next Sep 
 tember for three times what he had given for it, and 
 he could not forbear mentally licking his chops at the 
 fine speculation he was making. But he was a better 
 prophet than he knew. Old Tomlinson did not quite 
 break up, but it was a hard struggle for life for the 
 next four years. Her Southern boys never came 
 back to her, and those who came to take their places 
 from Maryland and Pennsylvania were not only few 
 in number but struggling for an education against 
 all the financial discouragements of war-times, and 
 doing without most things that the Southerners 
 had considered absolute necessities; so that at the 
 end of the war Old Sykes found himself still the 
 possessor of a large part of the property acquired 
 in those December days, and his fine speculations had 
 left him a poorer and a sadder, though no doubt a 
 wiser man. 
 
 "Very well, Mr. Sykes," said Willie, with dignity, 
 "I will accept your offer, and now will you have the 
 kindness to make an estimate on my books?" 
 
 Still the sum fell far short of Willie s necessities, 
 and to the books he added all his summer wardrobe, 
 and as much of his winter as he dared part with, 
 
 15
 
 216 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 before he secured the amount he considered absolutely 
 necessary to furnish him with the means of flight. 
 
 It was Friday morning, December 21, that the bul 
 letin-board in front of the Mansion House announced 
 to a crowd of excited students and citizens the ac 
 complished fact of South Carolina s secession. They 
 were prepared for it, of course; for the Baltimore 
 and Philadelphia dailies had kept them fully informed 
 of the progress of the convention in session at Charles 
 ton. It was the last day of the colle ge term preceding 
 the Christmas holidays, which in those days lasted 
 four weeks. Students from the far South were many 
 of them accustomed to spend those four weeks in 
 Bellaire or in visiting college friends who lived near; 
 but even those who had been in the habit of going 
 home had very generally received instructions not 
 to come at this time. That they were not all going to 
 heed this prohibition, Mr. Sykes, standing on the out 
 skirts of the crowd and smiling grimly as he saw 
 half a dozen South Carolinians slipping quietly away 
 and hurrying toward the campus, very well knew. 
 
 Willie Dayton felt that his hour had come ! But 
 one thing he had resolved on : he would not leave 
 Bellaire until he had spoken to Lucy. He knew it 
 would hardly be possible for him to see her before 
 Saturday night, when he had an engagement with her 
 for choir rehearsal ; he would speak to her then, and 
 if she would not accept him he would start for home 
 on Monday morning. 
 
 Lovers vows should always be breathed beneath 
 the soft skies of May or June, and amid the fragrance
 
 A SAD GOOD-BY 217 
 
 of apple-blossoms or roses. But since that was denied 
 to Willie, the kindly fates made the best amends 
 possible by sending a drizzling rain all Friday 
 night, which froze as it fell and turned the old cam 
 pus into a fairy world of shimmering beauty un 
 der the white radiance of the full moon. On that 
 Saturday night Lucy was bewitching. The roses in 
 her cheeks took a deeper tint from the frosty air, 
 her round, white chin nestled cozily in her gray- 
 squirrel tippet, and a "turban" of crimson velvet 
 with a drooping white plume rested jauntily on her 
 golden curls. 
 
 Willie had had but little to say until they had en 
 tered the campus and turned, as usual, into Lovers 
 Lane. 
 
 "Oh, is n t it beautiful?" exalaimed Lucy, ecstat 
 ically, looking up into the arch of fretted crystal 
 above them, with its millions of glittering spear-points 
 flashing and gleaming as the branches swayed gently. 
 Willie did not look up. He looked straight down into 
 her eyes. 
 
 Yes, he said ; beautiful ! And Lucy, catching 
 his glance, blushed and looked down. Willie made a 
 desperate plunge: 
 
 "I am going away in a day or two, Cousin Lucy." 
 Her start of surprise and her soft, regretful "Oh!" 
 encouraged him. He bent his head toward her and 
 went on rapidly : 
 
 "I must go. My country calls me, but I leave my 
 heart behind me. Lucy, if I could be sure that you 
 loved me, that some day I could come back and win
 
 218 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 you for my wife, I would go away happy even if I 
 knew I was going straight into war." 
 
 He had tried to take her hand as he made his boy 
 ish speech, but she had swiftly withdrawn it from his 
 arm, and now stood looking up at him proudly. 
 
 Do you mean to say, Cousin Willie, you are going 
 back to South Carolina, and if there should be war, 
 you will fight against your country?" 
 
 Her tone struck coldly to Willie s heart, but he 
 answered steadily and proudly : 
 
 "Yes, I am going home; but if I fight it will be 
 for my country. My State, my native land, is my 
 country. 
 
 Lucy s blue eyes flashed and her little figure was 
 drawn up to its full height as she answered scorn 
 fully: 
 
 Then, sir, you will be a traitor ! You are a traitor, 
 and I will have nothing more to do with you!" She 
 turned as she spoke and started homeward. 
 
 Willie stood as if petrified a moment, and then he 
 followed her with a quick cry : 
 
 Lucy, stop ! Listen to me, please. 
 
 Her soft heart could not resist the pain in his voice, 
 and she stopped and turned slowly toward him. 
 
 "Lucy," he said, impetuously seizing her hand, and 
 holding it in spite of her struggles, "you are the 
 love of my life! I would gladly shed my heart s 
 blood for you at this moment; but not even you 
 must call me traitor. It is right that I should go with 
 my State and fight for her if need be, just as, if 
 you were a man, it would be right for you to fight
 
 A SAD GOOD-BY 219 
 
 for Pennsylvania, and I want you to take back 
 that word. 
 
 Lucy hesitated a moment, and then she softened. 
 
 Perhaps I was wrong, Cousin Willie, to call you a 
 traitor; but oh, you are wrong, too. South Carolina 
 is not your country, nor Pennsylvania mine, but the 
 United States. Do not go home now. Wait until this 
 excitement is over. Perhaps after a while you will 
 feel differently." 
 
 "Lucy," he said, pressing the little hand he held 
 so hard that she winced with pain, "it is heaven 
 to have you ask me to stay, for I hope it is because 
 you love me a little, and God knows I would do any 
 thing in the world for you that I could. But I must 
 go, Lucy. Will you tell me that you love me before 
 I go ? I could almost be happy, even away from you, 
 if I could be sure of that." 
 
 But Lucy s softened mood had passed, and a saucy, 
 teasing one had come in its place. 
 
 "No, sir," she said; "I do not love you, even a 
 little. I have always liked you, and I used to think 
 you were very nice; but I am not sure I think that 
 any more. And please, sir, let go my hand; you are 
 hurting me." 
 
 Willie relaxed his pressure a little, but still held 
 the hand. "Lucy," he said, and his voice was husky 
 with his effort to control it, "do not trifle with me. 
 I am terribly in earnest. Answer me. Will you 
 marry me some day, when this trouble is all over 
 and I come back?" 
 
 He was so stern that he frightened Lucy, but she
 
 220 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 answered petulantly, "No, no; I will never marry 
 a a South Carolinian who fights for his State ! 
 
 Willie turned pale and slowly dropped her hand. 
 They walked toward the house, neither of them speak 
 ing until they were at the foot of the steps. There 
 he stopped and said gravely, "Will you let me go 
 to church with you to-morrow night, Cousin Lucy? 
 It may be the last time I shall ever see you. I leave 
 early Monday morning." 
 
 Lucy answered shyly, "Yes." In this new mood 
 of calm repression, she hardly knew the boy that she 
 had been accustomed to treat a little condescendingly. 
 Heretofore, though two or three years younger than 
 Willie, she had always had an elder-sisterly feeling 
 toward him ; now he seemed suddenly to have sprung 
 into manhood, and she felt very young indeed. 
 
 "And you will not forget the Christmas present 
 you promised me?" he went on. "You will give it 
 to me, please, to-morrow night?" 
 
 Lucy had not forgotten it. It was lying at that 
 moment in her bureau drawer, neatly done up in white 
 tissue-paper tied with a blue ribbon : an ambrotype in 
 a pretty case, and beautifully colored, Lucy thought ; 
 the blue eyes very blue, the pink cheeks very pink, 
 and the golden curls a bright yellow. She promised 
 she would bring it to him, and then he added with a 
 little hesitation : 
 
 "I do not like to ask you to keep any secrets 
 from your father and mother, but you know it is 
 essential that they should not know that I am going 
 away."
 
 A SAD GOOD-BY 221 
 
 And Lucy, hardly knowing whether she was doing 
 wrong or not, promised to keep his secret. 
 
 In the quiet of her own room she shed a few tears, 
 mingled with some smiles and blushes ; she was sorry 
 indeed to have Willie go away, and he was her first 
 lover: not at all her ideal, which was of some one 
 grand and stern, tall and dark and cold, not boyish 
 and sunny-natured, with brown curls and smiling 
 blue eyes. But, after all, there was a little sense of 
 shy elation in the fact of having a genuine lover. 
 "And, besides," she confessed to herself, "I really 
 do like Cousin Willie very much. 
 
 The next day was not a comfortable one for 
 Lucy. Sitting in the choir at the morning and the 
 afternoon service, with Willie just a little in the 
 rear on the other side, she was conscious of his sad 
 eyes often resting on her. He walked home with 
 her from both services, for he kept saying to himself, 
 "It is the last time," and though the pleasure was 
 a painful one, he would not have missed it. 
 
 Except for a little reference once or twice to "last 
 times," and how often they would be in his thoughts, 
 he did not refer to his going away. But he was so 
 subdued and quiet that Lucy found difficult all her 
 efforts to be natural and bright. 
 
 In the evening he did not return to the conversation 
 of the night before until they had arrived at the little 
 gate at the end of Lovers Lane on their way home. 
 Lucy, with her little package safely stowed away in 
 her pocket, was beginning to think he was not going 
 to ask her for it, and was fluctuating between proudly
 
 222 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 declaring to herself that he should not have it unless 
 he asked, and weakly trying to screw her courage to 
 the point of offering it to him. At the gate he 
 stopped. 
 
 "Have you my Christmas present for me, Lucy?" 
 he asked timidly. 
 
 Pockets were not hard to find in those days. She 
 slipped her hand quickly into hers, and laid the lit 
 tle package in his hand. He undid it carefully, fold 
 ing the paper and the blue ribbon and putting them 
 in his pocket before he opened the case. Then let 
 ting a ray of moonlight fall upon it, he looked at it 
 a long, long time, apparently forgetting Lucy s pres 
 ence, and at last raising it passionately to his lips. 
 Lucy did not see that ; she had turned restlessly away : 
 but it would have made no difference to "Willie if she 
 had. Then he said again gently: 
 
 "All my requests are last requests now, Cousin 
 Lucy; and I do not believe you will refuse them. 
 Will you give me one tiny curl to put in the case 
 with your picture?" 
 
 Lucy s head was still turned away, but Willie heard 
 her soft "Yes" and lifted the curl that lay next 
 her face. It was soft and warm from its nestling-place 
 in her neck, and he held it in his hand a moment 
 and then lifted it to his lips before he cut off a tiny 
 spiral and, laying it in the case, put it away in an 
 inner pocket. When he spoke again it was diffidently. 
 
 Cousin Lucy, he said, if you do not mind going 
 up to the house alone, I will say good-by to you here. 
 
 Lucy turned toward him. She felt she must say
 
 A SAD GOOD-BY 223 
 
 something kind to him before he went away forever. 
 There was such a sadness in his voice and in his eyes 
 that she could hardly stand it, and there was a real 
 ache in her own heart. She put out both hands to him. 
 
 "Oh, Cousin Willie, I wish you would not go, and I 
 hope you will be back before long. Don t you think 
 you will? " 
 
 He took her two hands and looked down into her 
 eyes a minute with such entreaty in his own that hers 
 fell before them. 
 
 "Are you sure, Lucy, there is no hope for me?" 
 he said at last. 
 
 "Quite sure," said Lucy, under her Breath. 
 
 With a quick pressure he dropped her hands. 
 "Good-by, and God bless you," he added; and then, 
 holding open the little gate, he added hoarsely, "Go, 
 please. 
 
 With bent head she walked slowly through the gate 
 and part way up the path ; and then she stopped and 
 looked around. Willie s arms were folded on the gate 
 post and his head was bent upon them, and she 
 thought she heard what sounded like a suppressed 
 sob. Frightened and almost awe-struck, she stole 
 quickly away. 
 
 Willie s train left at six the next morning, and it 
 was a heroic proof of devotion on Rex s part to get 
 up in the shivering December air and walk down to 
 the station with him. It was long before sunrise, 
 but the moon, still almost full, reflected from the 
 snowy campus, made it quite light. On their way
 
 224 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 down the long path toward the Iron Gate, Willie 
 looked up at Lucy s window to send her a last farewell 
 in his thoughts. To his joyful surprise, a white hand 
 kerchief was fluttering from it. He took off his hat 
 in response, and then in graceful Southern fashion 
 kissed his hand to her and passed under the overarch 
 ing trees, whose crystal foliage, making almost as 
 effectual a screen as the leaves of June, hid him from 
 Lucy s sight forever. A minute later she heard the 
 Iron Gate clang; she knew he was gone, and she 
 threw herself on her bed and buried her face in her 
 pillow. 
 
 Who of the three, Rex or Willie or Lucy, could 
 dream that seven months later, almost to the very 
 day, all through the dreadful carnage of that hot 
 July Sunday on the battle-field of the first Bull Run, 
 a boyish figure should carry the Confederate colors 
 proudly through the thickest of the fight; and when 
 his comrades should be hunting their dead at night, 
 that they would come upon him lying with smiling 
 eyes upturned to the calm moon, and tightly clasping 
 in his hands, that rested upon his heart, the picture 
 of a beautiful girl, with a ring of golden hair tied 
 by a bit of blue ribbon fastened to the velvet lining 
 of the case !
 
 " She stole quickly away."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AFTER BREAKFAST 
 
 REX had said, "Good-by," to Willie at the station, 
 and Willie had seen a softer look in the black 
 eyes than he had ever seen there before, while his own 
 were so dim that he could hardly see Rex waving 
 adieux to him while the Valley train moved slowly 
 down Main Street until he was quite out of sight. 
 Then Rex went back to his cheerless room, where the 
 ashes of last night s fire lay dead on the hearth, and 
 flung himself into his big chair and gave himself up to 
 a gloomy reverie. 
 
 "I am a fool to stay here," he said at last aloud; 
 "and I shall write to father to-day to release me 
 from my promise." 
 
 He rose as he spoke and stretched his legs, shivering. 
 He was stiff from sitting so long in the cold room, 
 and he set himself to building a fire. He was not 
 skilful at it, for Willie had always had the fire started 
 before lazy Rex turned out in the morning, and he 
 mentally resolved that he would engage " Judge" to 
 come in daily and make it for him, now that Willie 
 was gone. 
 
 After three or four futile attempts, the fire at last 
 225
 
 226 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 consented to burn, and the cheerful crackle and the 
 warm glow put Rex in a happier frame of mind. 
 Old Sykes would come for Willie s furniture after 
 breakfast, and "Judge" would be in to put his room 
 in order, two doleful ceremonies that Rex would 
 rather not be present at, if possible. He decided to 
 go over to Dr. Charlton s immediately after break 
 fast, break the news of Willie s departure, and deliver 
 his messages of farewell to the doctor and his wife. 
 
 It was the first day of the holidays and the Charl- 
 tons were having a lazy eight-o clock breakfast; so 
 it happened that they had just sat down to the table 
 when Rex s name was announced. 
 
 "Ask him to come right down to the dining-room," 
 said Mrs. Charlton, her hospitable instincts delighted 
 with the thought of welcoming an unexpected guest 
 to her breakfast- table. 
 
 And so Rex, ushered by Charles Cook, junior, into 
 the warm room fragrant with Mocha and beefsteak, 
 made his most courtly bow at the door, and then went 
 around the table, shaking hands with everybody, 
 beginning with Mrs. Charlton and ending with little 
 Millie, who, in response to his Howdy, Miss Millie ? 
 put her small hand in his and said gravely, "I am 
 pretty well, I thank you, sir. How do you do ? " Not 
 quite everybody, either. He embraced the four boys 
 in a general wave of his hand and a "Howdy, young 
 gentlemen?" and then, his punctilious greetings 
 ended, Mrs. Charlton insisted on his taking a seat 
 at the table. He demurred at first, but Charles Cook, 
 junior, obedient to her signal, placed a chair for him
 
 AFTER BREAKFAST 227 
 
 between Lucy and the doctor and opposite Eunice, 
 and the temptation of having a cup of Mrs. Charlton s 
 delicious coffee and sitting vis-a-vis with Eunice was 
 not to be resisted. 
 
 Rex was a keen observer, and so it had not escaped 
 him that Lucy was looking pale and that her hand 
 trembled as he took it, and he knew she divined his 
 errand. It had not escaped him, either, that the 
 little tongue of color that he had learned to recognize 
 as a token of either embarrassment or emotion was 
 burning brightly in Eunice s cheek, and that her 
 hand was colder than it should have been in that warm 
 room. 
 
 He did not disclose his errand at once, but when, 
 taking advantage of a turn in the conversation that 
 seemed to lead up to it, he announced that Willie was 
 gone, the surprise and consternation depicted on the 
 individual countenances quite delighted his love of ef 
 fect. The doctor was surprised into a Tut ; tut ! the 
 homely form of reproof he sometimes addressed to 
 his boys when they grew too obstreperous or noisy at 
 the table. "Tut! tut! Willie Dayton gone home!" 
 And then, a suspicion suddenly striking him: Did 
 he go alone ? 
 
 "I am all that is left of the South Carolina delega 
 tion, sir, said Rex, a little twinkle in the tail of his 
 eye at sight of the doctor s dismay. " Fifteen boys 
 went off with Willie on the six-o clock train." 
 
 The doctor saw the twinkle, and his manner changed 
 at once. 
 
 "What do you mean, sir," he said sternly, "by in-
 
 228 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 forming me of this only when it is too late to pre 
 vent their going? You are aware, I suppose, that I 
 have instructions from the parents of every one of 
 them to keep them here until they should be sent for. 
 
 The doctor was greatly excited, or he would never 
 have spoken so to Bex, and in the presence of his 
 family. The most genial of men, he was at times 
 also the most severe, and the students stood in whole 
 some awe of him ; but he was never unjust, and Rex 
 flushed deeply at the doctor s implication. 
 
 Mrs. Charlton sprang to the rescue. 
 
 "My dear," she said gently, "you could hardly 
 expect Mr. McAllister to play the part of an in 
 former. It strikes me you are lashing the others over 
 his shoulders, instead of giving him the praise he 
 deserves for not having gone off with them." 
 
 His wife s words brought the doctor to himself, 
 and he apologized to Rex instantly, adding also a 
 courteous commendation of Rex himself. But he was 
 still very much annoyed that he should have "failed 
 so signally," as he said, in the trust reposed in him. 
 He rubbed his head in whimsical perplexity : 
 
 "Dear! dear! how do you suppose the youngsters 
 managed it?" with a keen glance at Rex. "I have 
 been keeping them all on short allowance to prevent 
 this very thing." 
 
 "I am afraid you think I have been aiding and 
 abetting them, doctor, said Rex, with a smile ; but 
 I have n t. I gave my word to my father, a month 
 ago, that whatever happened I would stay here until 
 he sent for me, and do my best to keep Willie. And
 
 AFTER BREAKFAST 229 
 
 of course," he added proudly, "I have kept my 
 word." 
 
 Rex was not as great a favorite with the doctor 
 as with Mrs. Charlton. Perhaps his old reputation 
 for being wild and reckless had alienated him from 
 the one as much as it had endeared him to the other. 
 Mrs. Charlton always loved most where she thought 
 it was most needed; but the doctor had appreciated 
 his recent efforts at reform and had felt much more 
 kindly toward him, and now it was with a genuine 
 glow of admiration that he turned to him and said 
 warmly: "You have acted the part of a man of 
 honor, and I esteem you for it." 
 
 Words of approbation from the doctor were a new 
 thing to Eex, and they embarrassed him. He has 
 tened to add : 
 
 "I hope you will not think Willie has been dis 
 honorable, sir. He broke no promise, for he would not 
 give one; and I am inclined to think his was the 
 wiser way." 
 
 Now the doctor admired Rex all the more for his 
 defense of his absent cousin. He was beginning to 
 feel a real liking for the young man who was showing 
 himself in such a generous light ; but he was not going 
 to spoil him by too much commendation, especially 
 before the ladies, the presence of one of whom, he 
 shrewdly suspected, would add greatly to its weight 
 in Rex s eyes. So he only said: 
 
 "Perhaps so, perhaps so. I am not sure but if I 
 had been a young fellow from the South, I should 
 have done exactly as they have done, and should have
 
 230 IN OLD BELLAIEE 
 
 considered myself a patriot and a man of honor in 
 doing it." 
 
 And then Rex flushed a little again, for he was 
 feeling very sensitively that everybody would be likely 
 to consider theirs the brave and manly course, and 
 that the least taint of cowardice should cling to him 
 was intolerable to his haughty spirit. He had re 
 gretted his promise a hundred times, but never so 
 keenly as at this moment. 
 
 "Heaven knows," he said with sudden fire, "that 
 I would give the world to be with them at this minute ! 
 I feel like a poltroon to stay behind. But I hope to 
 be released from my promise soon, and then I shall 
 follow them." 
 
 His fine head, with its dark curls, was flung proudly 
 back, and his eyes flashed as he spoke. He looked 
 very grand to Eunice, who stole a glance at him and, as 
 her eyes met his, dropped hers suddenly to her plate. 
 But Rex had caught the look of admiration in them 
 before they fell, and it put him in a good humor for 
 the rest of the meal. His steak was juicy and tender, 
 his coffee was all that his boarding-house coffee was 
 not, and it had been an hour since his own breakfast 
 quite time enough at his age to get up an appetite 
 for another. And more than that, Eunice was sit 
 ting opposite, looking, he believed, prettier than he 
 had ever seen her, in her morning- gown of soft gray 
 with creamy lace at the throat tied with a knot of 
 scarlet ribbon, the delicate color coming and going 
 at his glance, and a shy pleasure in the calm gray 
 eyes. Altogether, he was very happy in spite of the
 
 AFTER BREAKFAST 231 
 
 fact that he had not gone to South Carolina with the 
 boys. 
 
 He had not seen Eunice for two weeks. He had 
 been keeping away, with some quixotic idea of giving 
 Rogers a chance, for he had been seized with a sud 
 den suspicion that Eunice loved him, and in a spasm 
 of jealousy and generosity had determined to give 
 him a free field. But his spasm had passed. Rogers 
 would probably be home for the next four weeks, and 
 the free field would be Rex s, and he had just about 
 made up his mind to go in seriously and win 
 for as to the winning he had but little doubt. Rex 
 was not given to distrusting his powers in affairs of 
 the heart. 
 
 And it was all very pleasant: the bright and ani 
 mated breakfast-table, its gracious lady at the head, 
 in a becoming morning-cap of lace and ribbon, beam 
 ing brightly on the long table, surrounded by the 
 shining morning faces. Very pleasant, when break 
 fast was over, to gather in a broad semicircle around 
 the open fire of glowing coals while the good doctor 
 read from the big Bible, and did not forget in the 
 prayer that followed to pray for "the dear friend" 
 with them. And very pleasant afterward to linger 
 for more cheerful talk about the fire, and to see Eunice 
 with a deprecating blush draw her tatting from her 
 pocket, and watch her white fingers fly swiftly back 
 and forth in the graceful occupation. Very pleasant 
 when Charles Cook, junior, had carried out the 
 breakfast and the heavier dishes, and collected the 
 glass and silver and more delicate china in neat piles, 
 
 M
 
 232 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 and brought in his great japanned waiter with the hot 
 water and towels to have Mrs. Charlton say: 
 
 "Now,, Mr. Charlton, you and Eunice and Mr. Mc 
 Allister go up to the parlor, and Lucy and I will do 
 the silver and china. 
 
 And pleasantest of all, when they were cozily seated 
 about the parlor fire, to have Dr. Charlton excuse 
 himself on the plea of work to be attended to in his 
 office and leave Rex alone with Eunice. 
 
 Hex leaned back luxuriously in his deep chair when 
 the doctor had closed the door behind him, and for 
 a few moments gave himself up to silent enjoyment. 
 Crimson damask draperies at the windows had been 
 added to the light lace ones of the summer, and gave 
 the room a cozy, shut-in effect ; they hung from heavy, 
 gilded cornices and were looped back with silk ropes 
 far enough to admit the bright December sun and 
 give glimpses of the shining ice-world outside. He 
 could not divest himself of a feeling that they two 
 were sitting at their own fireside, and he said to him 
 self, "Just as she looks this morning, shall I see her 
 every day in my Southern home." And as he looked 
 at the slender figure, with its inalienable air of quaint 
 primness, the drooping curls and softly falling dress, 
 so different from the crinolined belles of the day, he 
 decided in his own mind that ,in no particular would 
 he have her different ; he would not even have her give 
 up her swiftly flying shuttle that had once so an 
 noyed him. 
 
 Eunice felt his long scrutiny and was painfully 
 embarrassed under it. She had wondered at his ab-
 
 AFTER BREAKFAST 233 
 
 sence of two weeks, and had discovered in the inter 
 val that she had missed his gay, cheery presence. 
 There had been no reason for his sudden defection, 
 she thought, and she had fully intended to punish 
 him for it by receiving him with great coolness when 
 he should return. She assured herself that the dis 
 comfort she felt in his absence was chiefly owing to 
 a fear that he might be returning to his former ways, 
 from which she honestly longed to save him ; and the 
 anxiety she felt at the thought that Miss Lydia might 
 have regained her influence over him she did not for 
 a moment attribute to jealousy. 
 
 Now that they were alone, she expected momentarily 
 that he would begin his explanations, which she in 
 tended to receive with reserve. She did not attempt 
 to break the silence, which Rex was enjoying and she 
 was finding trying, but with eyes on her shuttle waited 
 for him to begin. It was startling, therefore, to have 
 him suddenly abandon his lazy lounging and, bending 
 toward her, say: 
 
 "I have not heard what you think, Miss Eunice, of 
 South Carolina s going out." 
 
 Eunice s eyes were on her work, but she was con 
 scious of the look that was in those dark ones resting 
 on her, and her fingers flew faster than ever as she 
 answered : 
 
 "I think it was not only a wicked thing to do, but 
 an extremely foolish one. 
 
 As he did not reply immediately, she added with 
 a nervous little laugh, and glancing up from her work 
 for a moment:
 
 234 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 "I presume you do not agree with me." 
 
 Bex met her glance with a smile, and there was such 
 a subtle quality of perfect confidence and all-per 
 vading warmth in the smile that Eunice s calm pulses 
 began to flutter as her eyes fell on her work again. 
 
 "No, of course not," said Rex, half-musingly ; 
 "but I was not thinking so much of that as of what 
 you said that evening when Mrs. Charlton was so 
 aroused about John Brown. Do you remember it?" 
 
 "I do not remember saying anything worth re 
 membering," said Eunice, her pulses growing calm 
 again at his unexpected answer. 
 
 Rex leaned a little nearer and tried to look under 
 the lids that were persistently dropped. 
 
 "Don t you remember saying," he said softly, "that 
 you thought a wife s country should be her husband s 
 that she should leave home, friends, and native land 
 for him?" 
 
 Eunice s shuttle flew with incredible swiftness, but 
 she answered with outward calmness : 
 
 "I am not sure, but I may have made some such 
 remark. I have always believed that marriage can 
 cels all other obligations, and that a wife should let 
 no difference of opinion that she can reconcile with 
 her conscience creep in to destroy the unity of the 
 marriage relation." 
 
 Rex smiled at the quaint formality of the little 
 speech, but its coldness was more than atoned for by 
 the color that came and went in her cheek and the 
 tremulous quiver of the sensitive chin. He was still 
 nearer now, so that the faint aroma of fine cigars
 
 AFTER BREAKFAST 235 
 
 peculiar to him, and that, in spite of Eunice s preju 
 dices, affected her like an exquisite perfume, was 
 plainly perceptible. He boldly took the swiftly fly 
 ing hands in his, and laid the shuttle in her lap. 
 
 I like to watch you at your work, Eunice, he said, 
 "it is so pretty and graceful ; but not now, my darling. 
 I want you to look at me and tell me that you love 
 me and that you will go with me to my Southern 
 home; that you will leave friends and native land 
 all for your husband." 
 
 There was no fear in his tone, nothing but joyous 
 love and tenderness. For one moment Eunice raised 
 her eyes to his and saw the glowing look of love, and 
 the handsome face illumined and ennobled by his 
 strong feeling, until it seemed to her surpassing even 
 the face of her girlish dreams in its manly beauty. 
 For one moment she longed to yield to the delight 
 of being loved by such a lover, so grand did he seem 
 to her. Her colder nature longed for the ardent love 
 that should infold it in such an atmosphere of luxu 
 riant warmth. He saw the moment of hesitation, 
 and his warm hands, still holding her cold ones, 
 drew her gently toward him. Then swiftly it came 
 to her all that this love meant. She knew him really 
 so slightly, she distrusted him so much, and in her 
 ardent patriotism she felt that all South Carolinians 
 were traitors. Marry a traitor ! Impossible ! She 
 drew back frigidly and struggled to release her 
 hands. 
 
 No ! she said ; it can never be. How could I 
 go and live in South Carolina, when I think South
 
 236 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Carolina has acted so wickedly, and South Carolin 
 ians are little better than " she faltered a little 
 over the word "traitors?" He did not relinquish 
 her hands, and his tone hardly lost any of its joy- 
 ousness. 
 
 "Have you forgotten," he said softly, "that the 
 wife is to think as her husband? Your country will 
 be mine, my darling, and you will not think me a 
 traitor, but a patriot." 
 
 "But I am not your wife," she faltered; and then, 
 with an effort at recovering her calmness: "Please 
 let go my hands, Mr. McAllister; it would be im 
 possible, I think, even if you were not a South Caro 
 linian. I do not believe I could make you happy. 
 Our lives have been so different, and we are so dif 
 ferent." 
 
 No, he said, in answer to her struggles to release 
 her hands; "they are mine; I shall not let them go 
 until you tell me that you do not love me. You have 
 not told me that," looking at her with a confident 
 smile; "and no difference of life, of education or 
 country, can make any difference, if you love me." 
 
 The ardor of his tones, his glowing glances, were 
 almost more than Eunice could resist. She felt herself 
 half yielding in spite of her convictions. His words 
 thrilled her to the heart, but they roused her, too, 
 to make a stronger resistance to the magnetism of his 
 pleading. 
 
 Mr. McAllister, I appeal to your chivalrous nature, 
 to your honor as a Southern gentleman, not to try 
 me beyond my powers of resistance. I do not think
 
 AFTER BREAKFAST 237 
 
 I love you. If I were sure I did, I would not marry 
 you; and I am almost sure I do not." 
 
 Eunice had made the one appeal Rex could not be 
 deaf to. Up to this time he had been joyous, almost 
 laughing, so sure was he that she loved him and would 
 yield at last. Now he laid her hands gently in her 
 lap, but kept hold of one of them while he spoke 
 very gravely: 
 
 "As long as you are not certain that you do not 
 love me, Eunice, you must give me the benefit of the 
 uncertainty. I am sure you will love me sometime. 
 You were made for me. I have felt it almost from 
 the first moment I saw you. You must love me. 
 What does anything else in the world mean, if we love 
 each other ? All these troubles between the South and 
 the North will soon be over. Perhaps South Carolina 
 will be back in the Union. I have no doubt she will, 
 if the North will yield her claims. If she is not, what 
 difference will it make? You would marry me if I 
 were an Englishman or a Frenchman, if you loved 
 me, and you would go with me to the ends of the 
 earth. I will be no more of a foreigner, if I am a 
 South Carolinian, and you will not have to go so 
 far away." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. McAllister," said Eunice, desperately, 
 "can you not see? Of course it would make no dif 
 ference to you. You would not have to leave your 
 friends. You would not have to be false to your 
 country; but I should feel myself a traitor if I mar 
 ried you, and I cannot I will not. Have pity on 
 me and do not ask me."
 
 238 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 There were actual tears in those calm gray eyes that 
 Rex had sometimes thought too cold for tears. Her 
 tone was so imploring and her distress so evident that 
 Rex could not resist her appeal. 
 
 "Eunice, darling," he said, "I love you too much 
 to be willing to distress you. I will not ask you now 
 to marry me. I am sure time will remove all these 
 obstacles that seem so insuperable to you. But you 
 have not told me that you love me. Give me that 
 assurance, and I will wait for the rest." 
 
 Eunice waited a long moment before she answered 
 slowly and timidly: 
 
 "You will always be a dear friend to me, Mr. McAl 
 lister; but I do not believe I love you as you want 
 me to, and I would rather you would not think of me 
 in that way. 
 
 "I will never cease to think of you in that way, 
 Eunice, said Rex, with a little smile ; but I am not 
 going to reject your friendship. Let me be your 
 dear friend until you are willing to receive me as 
 your dear lover. I am sure you will, some day. A 
 dear friend may kiss your hand just once, may he 
 not?" And, without waiting for her consent, he 
 lifted it to his lips. 
 
 There was such an air of mingled gallantry and 
 deference, of restrained passion and protecting tender 
 ness, in the little act, and such high-bred grace in the 
 manner of it, that perhaps Eunice was nearer yield 
 ing than she had been when he was pleading most 
 ardently. At that moment the bell rang and Mr. 
 Rogers was announced, -come, he said, to make his
 
 AFTER BREAKFAST 239 
 
 adieus to the family, he was to leave on the next 
 train. Rex lingered to chat with him a few moments, 
 engaging him at once in an animated conversation on 
 the exodus of the morning, until Eunice had had time 
 to recover her usual calm exterior, and then he took 
 his leave, promising to see Rogers off at the station. 
 
 He was not discouraged. It fretted him a little 
 that he could not immediately have the full fruition 
 of his hopes for, his mind once made up that he 
 wanted Eunice for a wife, he was impatient for her 
 promise; but he was sure it would come in time, 
 and he determined to make such good use of the next 
 four weeks that Rogers *s return should find Eunice 
 his affianced bride. He could afford to feel good- 
 natured toward Rogers,; and, aside from his real lik 
 ing for him, he began to feel a little sorry for him, 
 too, so that his "Good-by" at the station was un 
 consciously tinged with a slight air of pity and con 
 descension that Mr. Rogers found difficult to under 
 stand as he mused over it on his homeward way.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A STERN RESOLVE 
 
 THE four weeks of the holidays passed quickly. 
 Rex had gone about his wooing with energy. 
 There were sleighing-parties to Mount Holly, where 
 mine host of the Holly Inn gave them a warm re 
 ception, with hot oysters and coffee. There were 
 skating-parties to "Pike s Pond," with a two-mile 
 walk over the frozen fields, brisk and pleasant on the 
 way out, but long and weary enough on the way 
 home, were it not that a tired and drooping little 
 form leaned more confidingly than perhaps it was 
 aware on the strong arm that would have liked to 
 give it even more decided support. There were long 
 morning calls, too, when they translated Heine s 
 poems together, or Rex read Tennyson while Eunice 
 busied herself with a bit of dainty sewing ; for Eunice 
 could not quite reconcile it with her conscience to 
 spend the precious morning hours without the excuse 
 of some "improving" occupation. 
 
 But, after all, when the four weeks were over, and 
 Mr. Rogers had returned, Eunice was not his affi 
 anced bride, as Rex had fondly hoped. And if Rogers 
 had mused over the condescension of Rex s parting 
 
 240
 
 A STEEN RESOLVE 241 
 
 manner, he mused still more over the melancholy air 
 with which he wrung his hand as he welcomed him 
 back again. 
 
 Eunice had enjoyed the sleigh-rides, the skating, 
 the morning readings, soothing any scruples she might 
 have otherwise had, because of the perfect under 
 standing she supposed existed between them, and that 
 there was no danger of a return to Rex s question. 
 But in drifting along so pleasantly, she suddenly 
 awoke to a realization of the fact that her own peace 
 was becoming seriously endangered. 
 
 It was one morning when Rex was reading aloud 
 from Tennyson a dangerous pastime for two young 
 people to indulge in, for there is always sure to be 
 some passage so wonderfully appropriate to them 
 selves, and made doubly eloquent by a tone or a 
 glance. Now as Rex read the tenderest lines the 
 great poet ever wrote, King Arthur s farewell to 
 Guinevere, and came to the words, 
 
 My doom is, I love thee still ; 
 Let no man dream but that I love thee still," 
 
 he looked up at Eunice with all his soul in his eyes, 
 and made the words his own, an infinite meaning 
 in the tender inflections of his voice. Then Eunice 
 knew that she could not go on listening to those low, 
 rich tones nor meet the eloquent glances of those 
 dark, beautiful eyes. 
 
 She was more than ever sure that she could never 
 marry him. There seemed less hope every day of a
 
 242 IN OLD BELLAIEE 
 
 peaceable adjustment of the difficulties between the 
 North and the South. If she could bring her own 
 conscience to consent, she knew it would break her 
 father s heart, whose weekly letters breathed ardent 
 and long-drawn denunciations of the wicked and cor 
 rupt South, to which Eunice would have once sub 
 scribed most heartily, but which somehow hurt her a 
 little now. 
 
 The reading had moved her greatly. Her heart 
 was all melted and torn with pity for the beautiful 
 Queen lying at the feet of Arthur, but more for the 
 great King whose "vast pity almost made him die 
 to see her laying there her golden head," and Rex s 
 tone and look were the one touch she could not stand. 
 
 Eunice! The calm, self -restrained, unimpassioned 
 Eunice was sobbing, her face buried in her work! 
 Hex was bewildered, and his heart was in his mouth 
 at the sight of her distress. He did not stop to reason. 
 All the rigid self-control he had imposed upon himself 
 vanished in a moment. He was beside her, holding 
 her in his arms, kissing her hair, her forehead, the 
 hands that covered her eyes, and whispering, "What 
 is it, my darling, my love, my own Eunice ? 
 
 For the fraction of a minute Eunice s head rested 
 on his shoulder, and she felt his kisses and heard his 
 impassioned words, and a wild impulse seized her 
 to trample on her conscience, defy her friends, and 
 yield to this love that was so sweet. But in her heart 
 she knew she could not, and freeing herself with a 
 desperate effort, she looked up at him. 
 
 "Please go," she said, "and do not come back any
 
 A STERN RESOLVE 243 
 
 more. I can never marry you, and I mill not love you 
 if I can help it!" 
 
 " Eunice/ he said triumphantly, and trying once 
 more to draw her to him, "you cannot help it you 
 do love me!" 
 
 But she eluded his arms, and with clasped hands 
 and entreaty in her eyes and voice she said : 
 
 Oh, I am afraid I do ! But if I do, you must 
 help me not to. It can bring us both nothing but 
 anguish. I cannot break my father s heart nor tram 
 ple on my own self-respect. I throw myself on your 
 pity and generosity help me not to love you, for I 
 will never marry you!" 
 
 In the very midst of her distress there flashed into 
 her mind a conviction that she was playing the trag 
 edy queen quite as much as Mrs. Charlton had done 
 on that October evening, and she felt humiliated and 
 made a desperate effort to recover her usual compos 
 ure. As for Rex, a slow conviction was pressing it 
 self on his heart that this little Puritan maiden 
 really meant what she said; that though she might 
 love him, it would be against her will, and she would 
 never yield herself to his love. With the conviction 
 came a dull feeling of anger. He felt like one dash 
 ing himself helplessly against a stone wall. He re 
 sented her firmness "obstinacy," he called it. For 
 the first time in his life his own imperious will came 
 in conflict with one not so imperious, but stronger. 
 
 "Eunice," he said angrily, "this is all nonsense! 
 You either love me, or you do not. If you love me, 
 there is no law of right or wrong in the universe that
 
 244 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 ought to separate us. You are mine; heaven has 
 ordained it; what right has earth to deny it? If 
 you will say to me truthfully and from your heart 
 that you do not love me, then I will go and trouble 
 you no more." 
 
 Eunice had regained her calmness with Rex s rising 
 anger, and she answered steadily : 
 
 "I wish I could say truthfully that I do not love 
 you. I cannot. I am not sure that I will not love 
 you always, long after you shall have forgotten me. 
 But that does not alter my decision. I know I am 
 right when I say that I will not marry you." She 
 hesitated a moment, and then went on with a slight 
 trembling of her even tones : " It will be much better 
 for us both if we see but little of each other, and I may 
 never again speak to you alone. Dear friend, will 
 you remember this of me : that always when I hear 
 of you leading a noble, upright life, true to your own 
 convictions of right, my heart will swell with prido 
 in you and gratitude to God for having once given 
 me the love of such a man? And the greatest sor 
 row that could ever come to me but I am sure it 
 never will come would be to hear that you had gone 
 backward, that you were no longer true to your own 
 high and noble nature. And as long as we two shall 
 live, Rex," she spoke his name softly, "I will jpray 
 for you." 
 
 Eunice s voice had dropped lower and lower as she 
 spoke, but every word fell with crystal clearness on 
 Rex s heart. He had flung himself down sullenly 
 in his chair when she began to speak, but as she went 
 on he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees,
 
 A STERN RESOLVE 245 
 
 his head bowed in his hands ; and so he sat for a few 
 minutes after she had ceased speaking. Then he arose ; 
 the sulienness was all gone, and there was a look in 
 his dark eyes that Eunice could hardly understand 
 half sad, half stern. 
 
 It shall he as you wish, he said ; I will go. 
 
 He took her hand and looked long into her eyes, 
 either with the hope that even yet she might relent, 
 or with the feeling that it was for the last time. 
 
 "I shall not forget what you have said, and I shall 
 not cease utterly to hope; for I believe that you love 
 me, and some day you will see that you are wrong and 
 I am right. Until that day I shall not trouble you; 
 and if it is your wish we will meet as the merest 
 acquaintances. Yet I do not want you to think that 
 I am not loving you all the time. Every throb of my 
 heart, while life lasts, is yours." 
 
 He clasped the hand he held with so fierce a grip 
 that she would have cried out with pain but that she 
 saw he was unconscious of hurting her, and was 
 struggling with some strong impulse. Suddenly he 
 almost flung it from him. 
 
 "No," he said sternly; "I will wait!" And then 
 seeing her look of surprise and pain, he added more 
 gently : 
 
 I was going to ask you, Eunice, to kiss me, for this 
 may be a long parting. But I have concluded that 
 I do not want to run the risk of a refusal or of your 
 compliance from mere pity. I will wait until, some 
 day, you come to me and say, Rex, I love you, and I 
 will be your wife. 
 
 Eunice was looking up at him in mute appeal. Her
 
 246 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 whole soul was longing to give him that kiss. Now 
 that she felt this was the end of it all, even her stern 
 conscience would not have felt it wrong so to con 
 secrate the death and burial of this love. Rex under 
 stood her look and answered it. 
 
 "I must go at once, or I will break my resolve," 
 he said; and then, with sudden heat and between his 
 set teeth, "I will not have your kisses, Eunice Har- 
 lowe, until I can have you." 
 
 He whirled on his heel and, with no adieu but his 
 customary low bow, quitted the room, leaving Eunice 
 standing motionless, half shocked and frightened at 
 his last words and tones and the fierce glow in his 
 dark eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE GUNS OF SUMTBB 
 
 THE days and weeks dragged wearily along for 
 Eunice. She had hardly realized how much she 
 would miss Rex s bright presence, and what a void 
 there would be in her life -which none of the simple 
 merrymakings of Bellaire society could fill. Rex 
 called occasionally on Mrs. Charlton and the ladies, 
 and Mrs. Charlton, suspecting that meant Eunice, tried 
 at first to excuse herself. But Eunice gave her so 
 quietly and so decidedly to understand that it did not, 
 and that she would on no account go to the parlor 
 without her, that Mrs. Charlton concluded at once 
 there was trouble of some kind between them. She 
 confided her suspicions to Dr. Charlton, and the good 
 doctor was much concerned. 
 
 "I was afraid once," he said, "that Rex was in 
 clined to amuse himself with her; but I believe now 
 that it has been a grand passion with him, and she 
 certainly has produced a wonderful transformation 
 in him. I would almost be willing to trust him to 
 make her happy now ; but of course since South Caro 
 lina has seceded, they can never marry, and I am 
 heartily sorry for them both. Do you think, my 
 
 17 247
 
 248 IN OLD BELLAIBE 
 
 dear," anxiously, "that she feels it much? I would 
 not have her coming here result in suffering for 
 worlds." 
 
 "I am sure I can t tell," returned Mrs. Charlton, 
 reflectively; "she is always so quiet and so reserved. 
 But I sometimes fancy she is a little paler, and she 
 certainly eats almost nothing hardly enough to keep 
 her alive, I should say." 
 
 Dear ! dear ! groaned the doctor, ruefully ; these 
 troublesome young people! Can t you get her to 
 confide in you, my love? It would help her just 
 to talk it over." 
 
 Mrs. Charlton promised to try, but she never suc 
 ceeded. There was no getting near enough to Eunice 
 on that subject to make the beginning of a confidence. 
 
 Once Eunice did not go down when, as usual, Rex 
 called for the ladies. The very next day, "Judge" 
 brought her a note. It read : 
 
 EUNICE : Never do that again. I only call when I feel that 
 I must see you, must look on your dear face, or die. Do not 
 deny me that one small pleasure. 
 
 "BEX." 
 
 And so she always came down to the parlor when 
 he called, and plied her little shuttle, while Rex 
 talked to Mrs. Charlton and Lucy, with an occasional 
 remark to Miss Harlowe, to whom he was always 
 coldly formal, and went away strengthened in his 
 determination to win her finally, but more hopeless 
 than ever of any immediate yielding on her part. 
 
 As for Eunice, as the days went on, in spite of
 
 THE GUNS OF SUMTEB 249 
 
 Rex s note, she began to feel that he could not really 
 care for her. He passed her on the street with the 
 most formal bow. She had met him once walking with 
 Miss Lydia and apparently in the gayest spirits, and 
 rumor had it that he was paying marked attention to 
 Miss Annie Allen, the organist. Eunice said to herself 
 that she was glad, and that she had judged him 
 rightly when she thought him incapable of a serious 
 attachment; and yet she knew she was miserable, and 
 she took herself roundly to task when she discovered 
 that it made her misery far more acute to think that 
 he was so quickly consoled, than if she had believed 
 him unhappy and secretly pining for her. 
 
 And so the weeks went on, and now spring had 
 come; the crocuses and snowdrops of March had 
 given place to the daffodils and hyacinths and tulips 
 of April. Peach-trees and cherry-trees were masses 
 of pink and white bloom, and there was a tender 
 green on the maples and lindens in the campus. 
 The trees that arched Lovers Lane threw lace-like 
 shadows on the path that Eunice always took on her 
 morning walk to school through the soft, fragrant air, 
 and the birds sang their nuptial songs on the high 
 boughs with riotous joy. 
 
 Never did the sun shine so Brightly nor the birds 
 sing so madly nor the flowers bloom so sweetly as 
 in that spring of 61. Yet a dark cloud, gloomy with 
 portents of war, hung over the land, and anxious 
 eyes were turned constantly to distant South Carolina, 
 and ears were strained to catch the echoes of that first
 
 250 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 shot, now hourly expected. And at last it came. It 
 rolled over the fair valleys of the South, and reverber 
 ated among the mountains of the North, until it filled 
 the land with its awful thunders. 
 
 There were many hearts, North and South, that 
 turned faint and sick under those first dreadful 
 sounds, and among them were two at least in the 
 little family circle of the Charltons. Mrs. Charlton 
 felt that the dividing stroke had fallen at last that 
 separated her from kindred and friends; and Eunice 
 knew that unsatisfactory and painful as had been her 
 intercourse with Rex through the last few months, 
 even that was at an end now. 
 
 It was Tuesday morning when the news reached 
 them, and she was not surprised when, in the after 
 noon, "Judge" brought her a note. She read it with 
 a pale face and a beating heart. 
 
 "EUNICE: I go in a day or two perhaps to-morrow. I must 
 see you before I go. Meet me at eight o clock this evening in 
 Lovers Lane. 
 
 It did not even occur to her not to meet him. She, 
 too, felt that she must see him for the last time. When 
 she passed through the little gate into the lane, there 
 was light enough from a young moon, whose rays fell 
 freely through the thin foliage, to see him walking 
 with hurried strides, his back to her, down toward 
 the Iron Gate. At the click of the little gate he 
 turned quickly and came toward her. He stopped 
 directly in front of her, and without waiting a moment 
 began :
 
 THE GUNS OF SUMTER 251 
 
 "Eunice, will you marry me and go home with me 
 to-morrow?" She could see very plainly his white, 
 stern face, and the feverish glow in his dark eyes. 
 She longed to say, "Yes, I will go." Country and 
 friends, father and mother nothing seemed to her 
 then of much moment compared with the happiness 
 of seeing that pale, beautiful face light up with joy 
 and love. But she only shook her head and said, "I 
 cannot, Rex. He looked at her a moment with wild 
 eyes, and then seizing her hand in a vice-like grip, 
 he said fiercely : 
 
 "You don t know what you say, Eunice. You must! 
 Do you know" hoarsely " what the guns of Sumter 
 mean? I did not believe it for a long time, but I 
 know now. It is war! When I go from here I 
 go to fight, perhaps to death. I cannot die unless you 
 bear my name. It is grim courting, Eunice; but 
 I am not asking you so much to be my wife as to be 
 my widow. I can go bravely to battle when I feel 
 that in fighting for my home I am fighting for you, 
 and that if I die there is one wearing my name who 
 will mourn for me, and that if you cannot Ke mine 
 on earth, you will be mine in heaven. 
 
 She tried to speak, but he would not let her. 
 
 "There is only one word that I want to hear you 
 say, Eunice. Come with me now to Dr. Charlton, 
 and say it there. He will marry us when he knows 
 how it is, and to-morrow we will go home together. 
 Come, Eunice, now this very minute. 
 
 As well try to drag the Plymouth Rock from its eter 
 nal foundations as to move this little Puritan maiden.
 
 252 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 He was maddened by her sad but firm resistance, 
 and for a moment he had wild thoughts of picking 
 her up in his arms and fleeing with her to the ends 
 of the earth. To feel himself helpless before a slen 
 der girl that he could crush in his arms, made him 
 Beside himself. He would not at first recognize that 
 he could not prevail with her by the mere strength 
 of his determination. When at last it slowly dawned 
 upon him that there was absolutely no hope, despair 
 and resentment were almost equally mingled in his 
 heart. 
 
 Eunice, her own heart torn with anguish for herself, 
 and for him even more, would have tried to comfort 
 him in every gentle and tender way ; but he would not 
 listen to her. He stood a minute looking off with 
 fierce eyes and stern lips, and she crept up to him 
 and laid her hand lightly on his arm, looking up with 
 eyes that pleaded mutely for kindness and forgive 
 ness. He glanced down and met the look, but it did 
 not melt him. He flung her hand from his arm and 
 laughed bitterly. 
 
 "I might have known," he said, "that you were a 
 cold, heartless Yankee. I have been a fool ! 
 
 And then with elaborate courtesy : 
 
 "Miss Harlowe, I cannot leave you here. Shall I 
 accompany you to the house?" 
 
 She turned and walked beside him, hoping every 
 moment his mood would change, but not daring to 
 say anything to him while that bitter smile still lin 
 gered on his face. At the foot of the steps she stopped
 
 THE GUNS OP SUMTER 253 
 
 and put out her hand, faltering, "Good-by, Rex," 
 but he would not notice the hand. With an ironical 
 bow, he said, "I will bid you good evening, Miss 
 Harlowe," and, lifting his hat, passed through the 
 little gate in the hedge without a backward glance. 
 
 It was a long and weary night for Eunice, who 
 lived over every word and every look from the day 
 when she first saw him on the Burton steps to this 
 last bitter parting. She did not knpw when he would 
 go: perhaps on that same early train the other South 
 Carolinians had taken. If she could only see him once 
 more, and have him tell her that he forgave her for 
 the pain she had made him suffer ! 
 
 At half-past five o clock she rose, glad to forsake 
 her weary bed, and throwing a dressing-gown around 
 her, she sat down by the window. In a few moments 
 she saw "Judge" with his wheelbarrow piled with 
 trunks and boxes, and she knew then he was going, 
 and sat watching with painful eagerness for a last 
 glimpse of him. 
 
 She saw him: his graceful, erect figure dressed, as 
 usual, with the last degree of carefulness, walking 
 rapidly, and talking earnestly to Mr. Rogers, who 
 was beside him. Once he turned towards her window, 
 but before she could open the shutter through which 
 she was looking and wave her hand in farewell, he 
 was out of sight. She listened a few moments more, 
 and heard the Iron Gate clang, and then she turned 
 drearily away. The romance of her life was ended. 
 
 But after breakfast "Judge" brought her a little
 
 254 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 note. She tore it open with trembling fingers and 
 read with eyes that could hardly see : 
 
 * DEAR EUNICE : Forgive me for my rudeness to-night. I was 
 wild with pain, but that is no excuse for being so cruel to you, 
 and BO far forgetting myself. You are the dearest, sweetest, 
 loveliest woman God ever made the only woman in the world 
 for me. In life and in death I am yours, 
 
 "BEX."
 
 IT was fortunate for Eunice that the rush of events 
 distracted all attention from her pale face and 
 languid air. Struggle as she might, she could not 
 rouse herself to any animation, or any show of in 
 terest in the great drama enacting around her. To 
 her horror, she began to feel that her interest lay 
 with the other side, and she loathed herself as a crea 
 ture without patriotism and without honor. 
 
 The President s call for seventy-five thousand men, 
 following fast on the fall of Sumter, threw *he college 
 into even wilder excitement. The Southerners who 
 had remained up to this time, either in obedience to 
 commands from home or because they believed the 
 troubles would soon be settled and there would be 
 no necessity for leaving, decamped at once. Among 
 the Northern students, many responded to Lincoln s 
 call, and left the campus for the field. Those three- 
 months men were the very pick and flower of the 
 country, brave young fellows of the noblest aspira 
 tions, and a large proportion of them from the col 
 leges of the land. Lucy was full of enthusiasm and 
 glowing with patriotism, and Eunice felt like a 
 
 255
 
 25G IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 traitor by contrast, her heart was so cold and dead 
 within her. 
 
 But though she escaped much observation through 
 the stir of the times that drew all thoughts in one 
 direction, she did not wholly escape it. Dr. and Mrs. 
 Charlton noticed her air of passive endurance, her 
 lack of joyous enthusiasm, and thought they under 
 stood it, and in every way tried to shield and en 
 courage her with their silent sympathy. Mr. Rogers 
 noticed it, also, and it brought him the keenest pain 
 when he, too, thought he understood it. 
 
 On that early-morning walk to the train, Rex had 
 told him just enough of his story to make his heart 
 ache for the two lovers separated by such a grim fate. 
 He was full of tender pity for Eunice, and one even 
 ing, as they walked slowly along the familiar Lovers 
 Lane, he told her how much he had learned to love 
 Rex of late, and then drew her on to talk of him with 
 such delicate sympathy that, almost before she knew 
 what she was doing, Eunice found herself confiding 
 to him all the bitterness and anguish this love had 
 brought her: shame that she should love a traitor, 
 anguish that nothing but an eternal separation lay 
 before them. 
 
 In his clear, strong fashion, Mr. Rogers showed her 
 there ought to be no shame. Rex, in his mistaken 
 way, was as much a patriot as himself, and she must 
 not look upon this separation as eternal. A few 
 months would settle all these troubles, and then there 
 would be no reason in the world why she should not 
 give her hand where she had given her heart.
 
 WEARING HER COLOES 257 
 
 It was a strange role for him to be playing, plead 
 ing the cause of his rival, and he recognized it and 
 smiled a little bitterly to himself. But he was rewarded 
 in the brightness and hope that communicated them 
 selves to Eunice s tones when she next spoke. He had 
 really rolled a great load from her heart, restored her 
 to her self-respect, and given her a little hope in 
 place of the black despair that had been crushing 
 her; and he was unselfishly glad to have been able 
 to comfort her. But his own spirits fell as hers rose, 
 and he felt the need of a little comfort from her in 
 turn. 
 
 After all, he said, Rex is greatly to be envied : 
 he is going out to try the fortunes of war with a star 
 of love and hope to brighten the path of duty. I can 
 easily understand that death itself would have no 
 terrors for a man glorified by such an assurance, and 
 I can find it in my heart to envy him." 
 
 There was a ring of sadness in his tones that Eu 
 nice did not for one moment connect with herself, 
 but that yet touched her heart. She felt he was not 
 happy, and she wondered in a vague way if there 
 could be some one in his Philadelphia home whose 
 unkindness made him envy Rex s lot. 
 
 The weeks passed on, crowded with excitement and 
 intense feeling. The college, drained by both North 
 and South, numbered a mere handful of students; 
 and, added to all the anxiety of the times, the good 
 doctor trembled for the life of Old Tomlinson. He 
 knew that he was at the helm, and upon his skil-
 
 258 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 ful guidance alone hung its fate, whether it should 
 founder on the rocks or outride the storms. 
 
 Eunice went home for two summer vacations and 
 returned in the following Septembers ; but by the fall 
 of 62 war prices and hard times had begun to tell 
 upon people living on salaries. One by one, her pa 
 trons had been compelled to withdraw their children 
 from a school where tuition must be paid and send 
 them to the free public ones. Early in the fall it 
 was evident St. John s school must close, and Eunice, 
 left with almost no money, far from home and too 
 late to make any other engagement for the year, 
 would have found herself in great straits but for Dr. 
 Charlton, who offered her a home and a tiny salary 
 to teach his children until she could find something 
 better, and kept a constant lookout to find the some 
 thing better for her. 
 
 He was greatly embarrassed himself. The endow 
 ment of the college had always been small, and now 
 much of its funds became unavailable, being invested 
 in the South or in securities that the war made un 
 profitable. The number of students was far too small 
 to pay the running expenses, and the faculty had to 
 submit to big deficits in their small salaries. Early 
 in the war prices had gone up with a rush to three 
 and four times their old rates, and it was the neces 
 saries of life that went the highest. How that little 
 band of devoted professors ever lived through those 
 four years is an unsolved enigma. Dr. Charlton, with 
 his clear vision, saw at once that the only hope for 
 the college was in an endowment, and then began
 
 WEARING HER COLORS 259 
 
 a series of herculean labors to secure a sufficient sum 
 to make it independent labors that eventually placed 
 the college on a solid foundation of prosperity; but 
 the anxiety, the strain, and the almost superhuman 
 exertions of that anxious time told heavily on his 
 health and strength. 
 
 Eunice was learning to love the Charltons dearly 
 in the hardships they suffered together through those 
 two years of the war. Mrs. Charlton was shining in 
 a new light as a careful and able financier. The 
 table that had once been so generous was almost 
 meager now, and her children s clothes and her own 
 were turned and twisted to an incredible extent to 
 keep up the respectability of outside appearance that 
 she felt her position demanded. She had prided her 
 self once upon her fancied economies ; they were very 
 real ones now. Yet when the times were darkest and 
 when even the doctor s buoyant spirits had turned 
 blue and despondent, she had always a beaming smile 
 and cheering word to make the home circle bright and 
 happy. 
 
 In all these long months Eunice had heard from 
 Rex but once, and that was a little note scribbled 
 hurriedly in the saddle and intrusted to a friendly 
 Union picket to mail. The picket had been true to 
 his trust, and the little line that said, I am thinking 
 of you and waiting for you. REX," was almost her 
 most cherished possession: not quite the note that 
 she had received the morning after he went away 
 would always hold the first place. 
 
 But it was very shortly Before one of the great
 
 260 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 battles of the early war that Eunice had received 
 this note from Rex, and none had come from him 
 since. Sometimes she feared he had fallen in that 
 battle, and indeed when she read of the awful carnage 
 on both sides with which the papers were full after 
 every battle, she wondered how he could possibly es 
 cape. Her heart turned sick within her, and life 
 under the blue and gold skies of that smiling val 
 ley looked gray and cold to her. 
 
 Through all these dreadful months the friendship 
 of John Rogers was a tower of strength to her. He 
 had not gone to the front with the tide that swept 
 out from the college at Lincoln s first call, but had 
 kept steadily on with his college course. In those 
 days it required almost more moral courage to stay 
 than to go. Rogers had made his decision, deliber 
 ately, to watch the course of events and be ready 
 when he found that he was really needed. From the 
 first he had not shared the sanguine hopes of those 
 who thought the war to be only an affair of a few 
 months; he believed it would be a war of years. 
 If so, there would be no coming back to college to 
 finish his education, and he deliberately determined 
 to go steadily ahead with it now as long as he could. 
 The hour might easily come when his country would 
 need him more than it needed him now, and he would 
 be ready; but in the meantime he would secure as 
 much as possible of the equipment that he felt so 
 necessary to his future usefulness. 
 
 On a golden September Sunday morning Eunice 
 was in her old place in the choir of St. John s.
 
 WEAEING HER COLORS 261 
 
 Rogers was beside her as leader, for college had 
 opened two weeks before and he had come back to 
 finish his senior year. Down in the church below there 
 was but a thin scattering of black coats as compared 
 with the throng that had darkened the rear of the 
 church on Eunice s first Sunday at St. John s; and 
 to Eunice they looked more like boys than like the 
 young men of two years before. She wondered whe 
 ther it was because she herself felt so much older that 
 they seemed so much younger, or whether the young 
 men had all gone to the war and there were none but 
 boys left to send to college. 
 
 For days there had been flying rumors of a great 
 invasion. Lee was sending his Army of Northern 
 Virginia up the Valley. It had already crossed the 
 Potomac, and now no one in Bellaire doubted that an 
 invasion of Pennsylvania was intended. For days 
 great droves of cattle and horses had been passing 
 through Bellaire, the farmers driving them northward 
 to a place of safety, and that very morning there had 
 come a rumor that Harper s Ferry had fallen. Harp 
 er s Ferry was the gateway to the Valley; and that 
 little handful of people devoutly joining in the ser 
 vices on that golden morning of the fall of 62 were 
 a-quiver with excitement and dread. 
 
 On their way home from choir rehearsal the evening 
 before (for it had come to be understood between 
 them that he should be always on hand to take Rex s 
 place when an attendant was needed), Mr. Rogers 
 had said he had received notice that his company was 
 liable to be called out at any moment.
 
 262 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 I had a great mind to wear my uniform to-night, 
 he said gaily, for he saw that Eunice was shocked 
 and trembling at the news. "I wanted you to see 
 how well I look in it. My sword and belt arrived 
 to-day I m first lieutenant, you know. I tried them 
 on before supper, and I look very grand, I assure 
 you. 
 
 Then, as Eunice did not speak, he stopped a moment 
 under the trees and added gravely: 
 
 "Dear Eunice, Rex went out to battle blessed and 
 crowned by a love that must give him courage to go 
 joyously to death or victory. I have no such inspira 
 tion. If I die, there are few to mourn me, and it 
 will make no real difference in any one s life. If I 
 go now, I go to stay until the war is over, for I shall 
 exchange as soon as possible from the militia into 
 the veterans. Will you not send me forth with your 
 blessing? Will you not think of me sometimes in the 
 tent or on the field, where I shall often think of you?" 
 
 It was harder than ever for Eunice to speak, and 
 her voice was so low and trembled so greatly that 
 Rogers had to bend his head to catch her words. 
 
 "Oh, my friend," she faltered, "I shall think of 
 you very, very often. I am proud of your friendship, 
 and to know that you are fighting to preserve the 
 country we both love will help greatly to mitigate 
 my shame that I should love one who is fighting to 
 destroy it." 
 
 This morning, up in the choir, she was finding it 
 hard to follow the words of the good pastor noble 
 and stirring words, inspired by the greatness of the
 
 WEARING HER COLORS 263 
 
 times; instead she was involuntarily listening for 
 the signal that should call this friend, too, to that 
 black gulf of battle and death. 
 
 They had sung for anthem the noble "Battle Hymn 
 of the Republic": 
 
 "In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, 
 With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me; 
 As he died to make men holy, let us die to make them free, 
 While God is marching on;" 
 
 and with all hearts glowing with the stirring words 
 and music, the preacher had taken his text: 
 
 "Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that 
 build it; except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh 
 
 There could have been no better music, no better 
 text, with which to send out to battle those young 
 hearts beating high with courage and patriotism ; but 
 Eunice, listening to them, kept thinking of the South 
 ern camps, where at this very moment zealous army 
 chaplains were preaching perhaps from the same 
 text to bronzed and war-worn veterans in gray. 
 Who could tell which was the Lord s side? 
 
 And then, in the midst of her questionings, she 
 heard a slight stir in the rear of the church below. 
 She leaned a little forward over the railing of the 
 gallery and saw a man moving silently about among 
 the students, who, one after another, rose and quietly 
 stole out of the church. In a few moments the same 
 
 18
 
 264 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 man had mounted the gallery stairs and was speak 
 ing to Mr. Rogers and to two or three others in the 
 choir. Rogers turned to her and his lips formed the 
 words, "It has come"; then he, too, stole away after 
 the others. 
 
 College discipline was stern in those days. In the 
 tremendous excitement of the morning there had been 
 a line of students at the doctor s office begging to be 
 excused from church. But there was something of 
 the Spartan in Dr. Charlton s nature, and he had but 
 one reply for each: "The duty of the morning is to 
 attend divine service; if the summons comes, let it 
 find us at our post, like good soldiers." And such 
 was the magnetism of his personality and the inspira 
 tion of his glowing eye that there were no murmur- 
 ings among the disappointed students. 
 
 Now, however, it was another matter. The summons 
 had come ! At the stir among the students the doctor 
 caught the preacher s eye and signaled to him that 
 it would be better to close the service at once; and 
 with his thirdly and fourthly and his grand closing 
 peroration yet untouched, the good man announced 
 the doxology, and as the last note died away he ex 
 tended his hands over the bowed heads of the people 
 and with trembling voice prayed: 
 
 "The blessing of the Lord God of battles be upon 
 you and abide with you, and may the strength of our 
 Lord go with those who go forth this hour to war." 
 
 Then was there hurry and rush on the quiet Sab 
 bath streets. In all directions boys and young men 
 were running wildly, and the women and the older
 
 WEAEING HER COLORS 265 
 
 men were not far behind them. You might have 
 thought the rebels were at their doors, such was the 
 excitement in the staid old town. 
 
 Dr. Charlton had been among the foremost to reach 
 the college; he must see his boys before they were 
 off. From room to room he went, encouraging the 
 pale and trembling ones, restraining the ardor of the 
 too impetuous, leaving words of cheer and wisdom and 
 benediction with all. His heart was wrung. They 
 were but boys, only a few years older than his own 
 two little fellows, and who could tell what lay before 
 them! 
 
 At home Mrs. Charlton was working feverishly. 
 The children stood around in an awe-struck circle to 
 see mother sew on Sunday; for she and Lucy and 
 Eunice were hurriedly making such little comforts 
 as they thought the young soldiers might need in 
 camp. No one thought of dinner, for in two hours 
 there would be on the siding in front of the campus 
 the train that was to bear these brave young fellows 
 down the Valley to meet Lee ! 
 
 There had been a constant stream of callers at the 
 Charlton house. Every boy leaving the college had 
 run in . for a moment to say good-by to dear Mrs. 
 Charlton, who sent them all off with the mother s 
 blessing their own mothers would have longed to give 
 them, with tears and smiles and brave words that com 
 forted many a boyish heart on that bloody battle-field 
 of Antietam toward which their young faces were set. 
 
 Last of all came John Rogers, with no more excite 
 ment in his manner than usual, only perhaps a little
 
 266 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 graver than was his wont. He brought his sword 
 and his belt in his hand, and before them all he boldly 
 asked Eunice to buckle them on for him and send 
 him out like the knights of old with her blessing. 
 As he watched her slender fingers performing their 
 office tremblingly, but with the deftness natural to 
 them, he said, trying to speak lightly : 
 
 "And now I claim the right to wear your colors; 
 you must let me have that little scarlet ribbon at your 
 throat to tie in my buttonhole. You see," he ex 
 plained to Dr. and Mrs. Charlton and Lucy, who 
 stood by, "since Miss Harlowe cannot go into the 
 army and do her own fighting, I have promised to 
 represent her on the field as her devoted friend and 
 brother, and I think that gives me a right to wear 
 her colors." 
 
 And so he went off, to return no more until the war 
 should be over, to all appearance gaily, proudly 
 clanking his sword and wearing his bit of scarlet with 
 the fond wishes and tremulous blessing of his four 
 friends showered upon him.
 
 Wearing her colors.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 FLIGHT FROM THE OLD TOWN 
 
 THE June of 63 was no less lovely and smiling 
 and peaceful than Junes had always been in the 
 beautiful Northumberland Valley. Little did Nature 
 seem to know or care that the great Southern general 
 was even then making ready an army of invasion to 
 despoil her of her beauty. Only nine months since 
 the Army of Northern Virginia had crossed the Po 
 tomac, and now Lee was preparing for another cross 
 ing with a more powerful army, whose goal should 
 be not Maryland, but Pennsylvania, and whose ob 
 ject not raiding and inciting to insurrection but in 
 vasion and conquest. He was grimly determined to 
 risk the future of the Southern Confederacy on this 
 one cast of the die. 
 
 It was Commencement Week at Old Tomlinson, al 
 ways the gala week of the year in Bellaire ; and whe 
 ther Commencement had been set for the blooming 
 of the roses, or whether the roses timed their blos 
 soming to Commencement, the old town was a riot of 
 bloom. From countless gardens, shut in by high 
 brick walls, floated the fragrance of millions of the 
 lovely flower ; the barracks were abloom with them, 
 and the president s garden was a glorious bower of 
 
 267
 
 268 IN OLD BELLAIKE 
 
 them every winding path hedged with them, and 
 long garlands of roses, pink and white and red, flung 
 over every lattice and trellis and arbor. 
 
 Eunice, standing in their midst on this sweet June 
 evening, a white rose herself in her flowing gown of 
 white, murmured softly : 
 
 " If on earth be an Eden of bliss, 
 It is this it is this ! " 
 
 She was alone ; the others had either gone or were 
 going to the evening s exercises, but Eunice was not 
 going. A letter from Mr. Rogers a few weeks before 
 had said that he hoped to get a two days leave of 
 absence and spend Wednesday and Thursday of 
 Commencement in Bellaire and take his diploma with 
 his class as Dr. Charlton had promised he should. But 
 this sudden invasion of Lee s had spoiled all that: 
 there was no getting away from the army now for even 
 a day, and a line from him the day before had told her 
 how deeply he felt this disappointment. 
 
 It had been a long, sad winter and spring for her. 
 The terrible battles of Fredericksburg and Chancel- 
 lorsville had filled her soul with horror and her heart 
 with an anguished dread. How could she hope that 
 Rex had escaped where thousands had fallen ! 
 
 But sad as it had all been, the sorrow in her heart 
 at this moment was that it would so soon be ended. 
 In two days Commencement would be over, and then 
 she would leave Bellaire, perhaps never to return. 
 Times had grown harder still with the old college,
 
 FLIGHT FROM THE OLD TOWN 269 
 
 and it had been decided that Lucy should undertake 
 the education of the younger children, and Eunice 
 had found a position near her own home. Lucy had 
 grown to seem to her as a dear sister, and Dr. and 
 Mrs. Charlton had treated her as a loved daughter; 
 it was not possible to sever these dear ties and to leave 
 the place so full of associations with Rex without the 
 keenest sorrow and regret. 
 
 It was Wednesday of Commencement Week. There 
 remained but the alumni exercises of this evening 
 and the graduating exercises of the next day. All 
 through the week there had been persistent rumors of 
 the advance of Lee s army up the Valley; but Dr. 
 Charlton, true to his Spartan principles, would listen 
 to no suggestions of dismissing the college at once 
 without waiting for the Commencement exercises. 
 
 "No," he said; "we will go on doing the duty that 
 lies nearest. It will be time enough to run when the 
 foe is in sight." 
 
 It was half -past seven of this glorious June evening. 
 The sun had not yet set, and Eunice stood among 
 the roses watching the shadows lengthen on the grass. 
 She could see, through the gate in the hedge, the long 
 line of students and alumni forming in a procession, 
 with the barracks band at their head. Marshals, with 
 batons tied with floating white ribbons, were hurry 
 ing back and forth, driving the stragglers into line 
 and arranging and rearranging the order of the pro 
 cession. Dr. Charlton and a group of distinguished 
 visitors with him were standing a little at one side, 
 waiting to take their places at the head of the line.
 
 270 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Mrs. Charlton was watching it, too, from the 
 veranda with the wives of the distinguished visitors 
 who had come on with their husbands to attend the 
 festivities. They were only waiting for the procession 
 to get well started when they would follow on down 
 to the Commencement hall. Baby Ned was in bed, 
 but Millie and the two younger boys were to stay up 
 to see the procession start, and they were hovering 
 between the veranda and the gate in the hedge, in 
 eager expectancy at every blare of the trumpets as, 
 one after another, the members of the band tried their 
 instruments. Lucy, with two or three girl guests up 
 for Commencement Week from Baltimore, had gone 
 on before with Henry Sydney, who, almost eighteen 
 now, had developed a liking for his sister s girl-friends 
 and felt himself quite old enough to act as their es 
 cort. George Edgar, who scorned girls, was with 
 Charles Cook, junior, hanging around the procession, 
 fondly hoping to be permitted to come in at the tail- 
 end and march to those soul-stirring strains of mar 
 tial music. Suddenly Mrs. Charlton called to Eunice : 
 "Eunice, come here, please quick!" and as Eunice 
 ran lightly up the veranda steps to her side, she ex 
 claimed excitedly : 
 
 See ! What do you suppose is happening ? 
 Eunice looked, but could not understand. A sol 
 dier from the barracks had just ridden into the cam 
 pus and delivered a note to Dr. Charlton. The doc 
 tor had glanced at it hastily, and then stepping 
 quickly in front of the line, had silenced the prelim 
 inary strains of the band with uplifted hand, and
 
 FLIGHT FROM THE OLD TOWN 271 
 
 was evidently speaking to the procession. His reso 
 nant tones could be heard from where they sat, but 
 not his words. It was a time when the slightest in 
 cident out of the ordinary was alarming, and a mes 
 sage from the barracks was very much out of the 
 ordinary. Eunice and Mrs. Charlton and the little 
 company of guests sat with strained and painful at 
 tention, as if they were listening to the doctor s 
 words. 
 
 But if they could not hear his words, they could 
 see. the startling effect they produced. The band 
 marched off alone at double-quick down the Iron Gate 
 path, the procession dissolved as if by magic, the 
 black figures of the students and visitors flying in 
 every direction and calling to each other all sorts of 
 hoarse and unintelligible directions. The doctor and 
 his group of dignified guests were hurrying in long 
 strides toward Mrs. Charlton s veranda, but George 
 Edgar and Charles Cook, junior, were flying far be 
 fore them. 
 
 The rebels, mother; the rebels!" shouted George 
 Edgar as soon as he came within ear-shot of Mrs. 
 Charlton; and "Der rebels, mammy; der rebels is 
 comin !" echoed Charles Cook, junior, flying to Al- 
 cinda, who had come out on the lawn at the sounds 
 of excitement. 
 
 Mrs. Charlton turned pale, and her guests started 
 up in dismay, ready to flee at once. Eunice s heart 
 stood still. There had been many false alarms ; could 
 it be possible they were coming at last, and would Rex 
 be with them! She could not tell whether it was fear
 
 272 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 or hope that made her heart stand still and then 
 pound so violently. But there was no question with 
 the others. Millie and the little boys were clinging 
 close to their mother in terrified silence, while the 
 visitors were uttering shrill and excited exclamations. 
 Mrs. Charlton was trying to assure them that there 
 could be no immediate danger, and that Dr. Charlton 
 and their husbands would be there in a moment to 
 tell them the truth of the matter. 
 
 The doctor had only lingered to despatch a messen 
 ger to the hall to announce to the waiting audience 
 that there would be no exercises, and he was not far 
 behind George Edgar. 
 
 "Well, my love," he said, as he mounted the steps 
 with his long stride," Major Barton sends me word 
 that a special train will leave at eleven o clock to 
 carry away the officers and soldiers from the barracks. 
 He offers to take any of our students who wish to 
 go, and our visitors and ourselves. It will be the 
 last train out of Bellaire; Lee s army is only twenty 
 miles away." 
 
 They had listened breathlessly to him so far, but 
 at his last words the women broke out once more into 
 excited cries, begging him to tell them if they could 
 surely get away, and could they take their trunks? 
 Yes; in that one moment in which he had lingered 
 he seemed to have arranged for everything. "Judge" 
 would be over with his wheel-barrow as soon as he 
 returned from his message to the waiting audience. 
 It was not eight o clock, and the train would not leave 
 until eleven, but they had better get their trunks
 
 FLIGHT FROM THE OLD TOWN 273 
 
 packed as quickly as possible, for in the rush to get 
 away on the only train there would, no doubt, be over 
 crowding, and those first at the station would stand 
 the best chance of getting themselves and their bag 
 gage aboard. 
 
 Never was a little household in greater panic. 
 Lucy s friends must be brought home at once, since 
 they must be ready to leave also on the special train, 
 and George Edgar was sent in quest of them. Each 
 frantic woman seized her husband and hurried him 
 away to help with her packing. Mrs. Charlton started 
 to follow. 
 
 Come, Robert, she said to her husband ; and then 
 something in his face made her stop and question: 
 
 "Are we not to go?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered; "I think it is wise for you 
 and the children. You can go to Sister Sarah s in 
 New York, and stay until the trouble is over. 
 
 "But you?" she asked, bewildered. 
 
 "I cannot leave, Millicent," he answered gently. 
 "I must stay and take care of the college property." 
 
 "Then we stay with you," she responded just as 
 gently, but with a firmness that the doctor knew from 
 the start it was useless to combat, though he could not 
 resist making one plea for the children, hoping 
 thereby to move her. 
 
 "No," she reiterated; "our place is with you"; 
 and then she added with a lightness she did not feel, 
 " I do not believe there will be any danger in staying ; 
 and the boys, at least, would be terribly disappointed 
 to lose their chance of seeing the rebels. "
 
 274 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 The doctor s radiant smile, grateful, appreciative, 
 comprehending, more than repaid her if she was 
 making any sacrifice. He had been honestly anxious 
 to have her go with the others to a place of safety, 
 but when he found it was impossible to persuade her 
 he was openly joyous at this new proof of her de 
 votion. 
 
 "Millicent," he said, with his adoring look, "you 
 should have been the wife of a hero!" 
 
 "I am," she answered softly; and then they both 
 remembered Eunice with a start. For a moment they 
 had forgotten her; now Mrs. Charlton said: 
 
 "My dear, you must make haste; you have more 
 packing than the others, and you will not be ready. 
 But do not try to do it all. Just pack one trunk with 
 the things you need most, and we will send you the 
 rest later." 
 
 I am not going, said Eunice, mildly. 
 
 "Not going!" ejaculated Dr. and Mrs. Charlton in 
 a breath; and Mrs. Charlton added, "But, my dear, 
 you must ! Think of your family, how terrified they 
 will be about you!" 
 
 "Yes," said the doctor; "I think you will have 
 to go, my dear Miss Eunice. I am responsible to 
 your father for your safety, and he would have 
 a right to call me to account if I permitted you to 
 stay." 
 
 Eunice listened to them both with that little tilt 
 of her chin that made the doctor s heart fail within 
 him. He had learned to know that that almost im 
 perceptible tilt denoted, if not obstinacy, at least a
 
 FLIGHT FROM THE OLD TOWN 275 
 
 firmness that was adamant. Eunice was still silent, 
 and he ventured once more : 
 
 "You know, do you not, that nothing could be 
 sweeter to us than to have you share with us the 
 dangers of the next few weeks as you have shared 
 the privations of the last year. But your first duty 
 is to your father and your family, and I think you 
 must go, my child." 
 
 At his last words Eunice turned to him quickly and 
 passionately, and with an abandon in voice and ges 
 ture they had never seen before. 
 
 "Oh, let me stay with you, dear Dr. Charlton 
 dear, dear Mrs. Charlton!" she cried; "I cannot go 
 away and leave you. I will write to them and send 
 by the train leaving to-night, so they will know why 
 I stay, and know that you are not at all responsible. 
 And then she added, with the little twinkle of humor 
 in her eye that was always irresistible to the doctor: 
 
 I will tell my father that I could not make up my 
 mind to miss this opportunity of seeing something 
 of the war. That will appeal to him, and he will be 
 envying me instead of mourning for me." 
 
 There was no gainsaying her, and while Dr. and 
 Mrs. Charlton were genuinely concerned lest they were 
 being very unwise in allowing her to remain, they 
 recognized their helplessness and rejoiced that they 
 might with a good conscience permit themselves to be 
 glad that she was not to leave them for a while. 
 
 That was a night long to be remembered in the old 
 town. Pandemonium had broken loose in the college ; 
 the deafening clatter of pounding and hammering,
 
 276 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 dragging heavy boxes and trunks about, bumping 
 them down uncarpeted stairs, excited and loud de 
 mands for hammers and nails, vain calling on all 
 the janitors by name, mingled with much good- 
 natured joking and even an occasional snatch of 
 song. 
 
 By ten o clock most of the packing seemed to be 
 finished, and the long line of wheel-barrows, piled high 
 with trunks and boxes, had started for the train. At 
 the president s house "Judge" and Charles Cook, 
 junior, had, between them, wheeled to the train the 
 dozen trunks that were leaving that evening. It was 
 a grand frolic to the young people ; the hurried pack 
 ing of the girls, the young men eager with proffers 
 of service, locking trunks that refused to go shut and 
 then carrying them down-stairs with jest and laugh 
 ter and much bandying of youthful wit. They were 
 all going off together on the special train well chap 
 eroned, to be sure; but the midnight ride was in the 
 nature of a grand lark, and they were loud in their 
 regrets that Lucy was not to go with them. 
 
 To the confusion and bustle of getting ready there 
 succeeded an hour of comparative quiet when work 
 was over and there was nothing to do but wait, an 
 hour of feverish impatience to the older people, to 
 whose exaggerated fears every sound was the tramp 
 of the vanguard of the invading army. But to many 
 young hearts in the old town that last hour was a 
 sad one. All over the town, officers and students were 
 making their farewell calls on those to whom it was 
 hardest to say farewell. In many an old garden
 
 FLIGHT FROM THE OLD TOWN 277 
 
 where the moon threw deepest shadows under spread 
 ing trees, or on shady, quiet streets, or in secluded 
 nooks of the beautiful campus, remote from the noise 
 and confusion, ardent vows were whispered and tears 
 dimmed bright eyes, and hand sought hand in last 
 and tenderest clasp. 
 
 Promptly at eleven o clock, the long train, reaching 
 almost to the campus gates, pulled up in front of the 
 Mansion House ; but so great were the piles of trunks 
 and boxes to be loaded on the three baggage-cars that 
 it was midnight before the last good-bys were said 
 and the train steamed slowly down Main Street," 
 every platform crowded with young men frantically 
 waving hats and handkerchiefs, each one with his 
 last, lingering look fixed on some girlish figure stand 
 ing lonely under the flaring gas-jets of the station 
 and tearfully waving a farewell for him alone. 
 
 A great sense of loneliness and dreariness fell on 
 the doctor s little party as they turned their faces 
 homeward through the moonlight and the shadows. 
 They were all there but Eunice and Baby Ned. Baby 
 Ned was asleep, and Eunice had begged to be allowed 
 to stay with him while the others accompanied their 
 guests to the train. The children were so wildly ex 
 cited that to have tried to force them to bed would 
 have seemed cruelty, and now Millie voiced the general 
 sadness by breaking into irrepressible sobs. 
 
 "Why, what is it, darling?" asked her mother, al 
 most inclined to be amused, and yet a little touched 
 that the child should have taken these partings so 
 seriously.
 
 278 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 "Oh, I can t bear to have Alcinda and Cindie and 
 Charles Cook, junior, go away," sobbed the child. 
 
 "But they are coming back," said Mrs. Charlton, 
 soothingly. "Father thought it was not quite safe for 
 them here, they re contraband, you know, and 
 so they are going to stay at Aunt Sarah s until these 
 troubles are over and we don t think that will be 
 very long." 
 
 But though Millie tried to stifle her sobs, she still 
 wept on silently, for she knew they would never come 
 back. In the shadow of a great pile of trunks at the 
 station, Alcinda had taken her in her arms and said 
 in her mournful negro tones : 
 
 "God bress yer sweet face, honey! I dunno s I 11 
 ever see it ag in. Don tell yer mother, chile; but 
 I think ole Alcindy 11 stay Norf when she gits there. 
 I m shore nuff tired o runnin away from the 
 fed rates. This is the third time now, and three 
 times is out. Good-by, honey, an don you forget 
 ole Alcindy." 

 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 DR. CHARLTON S STRATAGEM 
 
 AFTER the panic and excitement of "Wednesday 
 .XJL night, the old town settled itself down to two 
 days of dreary waiting, with not even the passing of 
 trains to relieve the monotony, since, as Major Bar 
 ton had said, that midnight special was the last train 
 out of Bellaire. Nothing more stirring happened 
 than the passing of the almost continuous droves of 
 horses and cattle driven northward along the Henrys- 
 burg turnpike, which led directly through Main 
 Street. The farmers all reported Lee s army close 
 behind them, but they were in such a state of panic 
 that their reports could hardly be considered trust 
 worthy, and Dr. Charlton began to hope that they 
 might escape, after all. Twice before had Lee threat 
 ened them, but both times his army had been driven 
 back before it reached Bellaire; perhaps they would 
 escape again, and the older members of the family 
 began to settle down to the routine of daily living 
 with a greater feeling of security. 
 
 It was a routine varied by some hard and unusual 
 labor, for, with Alcinda and her family gone, they 
 had to take upon themselves the unaccustomed duties 
 
 i 279
 
 280 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 of cooking and dish- washing. It might have proved 
 drudgery but that they were all making a grand frolic 
 of it, and Mrs. Charlton had so skilfully allotted, 
 even to the youngest child, some special department, 
 that many hands were making light work. 
 
 Late Friday afternoon, the monotony of waiting 
 was broken by a new ripple of excitement. A com 
 pany of Buford s cavalry, which was to the Northern 
 army what Stuart s was to the Southern, dashed into 
 the west end of town, and seeing the inviting green 
 of the campus, wheeled their horses on to the soft 
 turf and picketed them for a little rest and feeding 
 and watering. 
 
 They brought exciting news. Yes, there was no 
 doubt of it: Lee s whole army was just behind them. 
 This was no raid for securing horses and provisions, 
 but an invasion for conquest. One old trooper who 
 was busily telling marvelous tales of the ferocity of 
 the "rebs" to Henry Sidney and George Edgar, 
 while he curried and fed his horse, noting their 
 wide-eyed horror, wound up by saying: 
 
 "Yes, sirs, by to-morrow at this time you 11 be 
 citizens of the Southern Confederacy. You 11 be no 
 better than Johnny Rebs yourselves." 
 . "Never!" the two young patriots declared in con 
 cert, and George Edgar added: 
 
 "I 11 run away and join Buford s cavalry first." 
 
 The trooper laughed, and might have gone on with 
 his teasing speeches but that the bugle sounded, 
 "Boots and saddles!" and, so quickly that it made 
 George Edgar wink, the soldier had his saddle once
 
 DR. CHAELTON S STRATAGEM 281 
 
 more on his horse, and himself on its back. As he 
 wheeled into line with the others, he waved his hand 
 to the boys and called: 
 
 "Good-by, Johnny! If you see any of the rebs, 
 tell em we ve gone to Henrysburg. 
 
 The indignity of being called "Johnny" was 
 greatly softened to George Edgar by the importance 
 of this commission. 
 
 "Do you s pose he re ly wants us to?" he asked 
 Henry Sidney, eagerly. 
 
 "Naw!" replied Henry Sidney, laconically, with 
 his air of superior wisdom that always greatly net 
 tled his younger brother. "Of course not! he s prob 
 ably going just the other way." 
 
 "Then," said George Edgar, with decision, "I shall 
 do exactly as he said : I shall tell the rebs they re gone 
 to Henrysburg, and that will throw them off the 
 track." 
 
 It was Henry Sidney s turn to look crestfallen, 
 for he could not but recognize the good sense in his 
 brother s plan, and to have been so stupid as not to 
 have thought of it himself was really quite mortify 
 ing. 
 
 Buford s cavalry had not allowed themselves more 
 than half an hour for rest, and their evident haste 
 and their exciting news for up to this time no one 
 had felt quite sure that it was to be anything more 
 than a raid threw the town into consternation again. 
 
 Sitting on the veranda with his family about him 
 after supper, the doctor tried to lead the talk into 
 less exciting channels; for fear was working on the
 
 282 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 imaginations of the younger members of the family 
 until going to bed in the dark was not to be thought 
 of. Long beyond their usual bed-hour they were al 
 lowed to sit out on the cool veranda under a fretwork 
 of shadows where the moonlight found its way be 
 tween the leaves of the great linden. 
 
 Never had the doctor exerted himself more to be 
 entertaining. He told his best stories, and his little 
 audience laughed appreciatively and then veered back 
 immediately to the one great topic. Try as he might, 
 he could not keep them away from it; and try as he 
 might, he could not keep his own heart from feeling a 
 haunting dread of what the morrow was to bring 
 forth : a dread as much greater than the dread of the 
 others as his knowledge of the wickedness of the world 
 was wider. 
 
 Saturday morning brought a new excitement: 
 Charles Ernest and Theodore Howard had disap 
 peared! The "Big Boys" and Millie searched in 
 every one of their known haunts, but could find no 
 trace of them. The only clew, and that did not throw 
 much light on the disappearance, was some broken 
 pieces of bread and butter on the kitchen table evi 
 dently the remains of an early breakfast. They had 
 often taken an early breakfast when they were go 
 ing off on a fishing-trip or some other expedition 
 of importance, but never without their mother s per 
 mission. Dr. Charlton began to grow exceedingly 
 anxious. If they had gone on a fishing expedition 
 now, it was more than likely they would fall into the 
 hands of the Confederates; he was for instituting
 
 DR. CHARLTON S STRATAGEM 283 
 
 a searching party at once. But Mrs. Charlton was 
 more philosophical. 
 
 "No," she said, "we 11 not worry for a while. 
 They re smart little fellows, and I m quite sure 
 they 11 turn up all right." And whatever anxieties 
 disturbed her motherly heart, she had her family sit 
 down quietly, and as usual, to their breakfast. 
 
 And her confidence was not misplaced. In the 
 middle of the meal in walked the two little fellows, 
 dusty, tired, and hungry, but quite unabashed at the 
 fusillade of excited greetings and reprimands that 
 met them at the threshold. 
 
 "Me n Charlie s been k noitering ! " announced 
 Theodore Howard, proudly. 
 
 Military terms were pathetically at home on his 
 baby lips, his mother thought wistfully ; and if he 
 was not quite equal to the pronunciation, he under 
 stood their meaning perfectly. Eight-year-old Charlie 
 corroborated his younger brother gravely. 
 
 "Yes, ma am," he said; "we ve been to Meeting 
 House Springs and we ve seen the rebels." 
 
 Meeting House Springs was two miles in the coun 
 try; that meant a four-mile tramp for the little fel 
 lows before breakfast, and that fact was the one over 
 which Mrs. Charlton felt the most concern as she ex 
 claimed in dismay, "Meeting House Springs!" But 
 it made no impression on the others at the table, it 
 was so overshadowed by the astounding intelligence 
 the little fellows had brought. 
 
 "Seen the rebels!" the family chorused. 
 
 Charlie nodded gravely and Theodore eagerly. No
 
 284 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 one believed them, it seemed so improbable that two 
 babies should announce the long-looked-for approach. 
 
 "Yes, m," insisted Charles Ernest, firmly; "and 
 they re most here. Doric and I want some more 
 Breakfast, and then we re going down to the corner 
 to see them come in." 
 
 Their faith in their own tidings was contagious. 
 The two Boys were hurried through their breakfast 
 by their eager brothers and sisters, and then sent to 
 keep watch at the Iron Gate corner while the older 
 members of the family despatched the morning s work. 
 And before they were through with it, Charles Ernest 
 came flying back. 
 
 They re coming ! they re coming ! " he shouted, 
 and without waiting to see how his tidings were re 
 ceived, tore back again to his post of observation. 
 
 Millie was drying her last tea-cup, Henry Sidney 
 was not quite through bringing in kindling and coal, 
 and George Edgar was in the midst of sweeping the 
 veranda and steps; but tea-towel, coal-scuttle, and 
 broom were all discarded with equal haste, and lay 
 where they fell, as the three flew down the long pave 
 ment toward the Iron Gate, Millie well in the lead. 
 
 "I think we ought to go, too, Robert, to look after 
 the children," said Mrs. Charlton, questioningly. 
 
 But there was something besides her mother s anx 
 iety in her eyes, and her husband remembered that 
 there might easily be a cousin or a childhood s friend 
 among the invading foe. 
 
 "Come," he said with ready sympathy; "put on 
 your bonnet and we 11 go down to the Iron Gate;
 
 DR. CHARLTON S STRATAGEM 285 
 
 I 11 watch the children, and you can watch the sol 
 diers." 
 
 Eunice and Lucy, finding that Dr. and Mrs. Charl- 
 ton were going, would not be left behind. Eunice 
 had been longing and dreading to go, but had not 
 dared give expression to her desire ; Lucy was frankly 
 afraid and frankly eager to see the Southern soldiers, 
 and proposed that they two should take with them 
 four-year-old Ned, who was at the wilful age when he 
 needed two guardians for perfect security, and whose 
 baby beauty, Lucy was quite sure, would touch the 
 most ferocious soldier s heart, should he be inclined 
 to use sword or gun. 
 
 Lucy had a very vague but also a very fearful 
 idea as to how this army was going to make its entry. 
 She had read much of the blood-curdling rebel yell, 
 and she fancied there would be charging through the 
 streets, hideous yells, sabers drawn, perhaps recklessly 
 fired carbines. She felt that she and Eunice were 
 taking their lives in their hands, going down to the 
 Iron Gate corner; but since her father and mother 
 and brothers were all there, if they were to die she 
 wanted to die with them. Eunice had no such fears. 
 To her the Southern army was an army of Rexes, 
 and she could not associate with them anything but 
 the most chivalrous treatment of women and children. 
 
 But neither of them was quite prepared for what 
 they actually saw. The curb was lined with men, 
 women, and children, all silently watching a slowly 
 approaching column of soldiers. Neighbor elbowed 
 neighbor, and friend elbowed friend, but not a word
 
 286 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 was spoken. All were listening to the ominous sound 
 of the heavy blows of axes on telegraph poles and the 
 dull boom of the poles as they fell to the earth. 
 Slowly the column approached, a double line of cav 
 alry guarding a corps of miners and sappers who 
 were tearing up the railroad and cutting down the 
 telegraph poles. Dr. Charlton, watching them, felt 
 with a great sinking of the heart, as he saw all com 
 munication with the North by either wire or train 
 effectually cut off, that they were indeed captives 
 at the mercy of a foe whom the Northern papers had 
 constantly represented as fierce and unscrupulous. 
 And what most startled and alarmed him was the 
 ominous silence with which this work of destruction 
 was accomplished. In all that mass of men, filling 
 the wide street from curb to curb, not a word was 
 spoken. Apparently not even an order was given, 
 the cavalry riding slowly with grimly set faces and 
 eyes keenly alert for any lurking foe; the men with 
 the axes intent only on delivering sturdy and telling 
 blows. Dr. Charlton watched them a long time, and 
 then he turned to his wife and whispered : 
 
 "These men feel that they are riding into a trap 
 look at their faces ! She only nodded in reply, but 
 there was in her eyes more pity than elation for the 
 men whom she, too, feared were marching to their 
 doom. 
 
 Only once was that ominous silence of soldiers and 
 citizens broken. Charles Ernest, standing at the very 
 edge of the curb and wearing a straw hat so wide 
 as almost to hide his little figure, was indignant at
 
 DR. CHARLTON S STRATAGEM 287 
 
 the destruction of the telegraph poles. When the 
 men began on the one by which he was standing, it 
 was more than he could endure. 
 
 "Stop that!" he cried in his shrill voice. "Stop, 
 I tell you ! and then looking up into the face of the 
 cavalryman riding by the sapper s side, he demanded 
 fearlessly : 
 
 "Mister, tell that man to stop cutting down our 
 poles!" 
 
 Involuntarily the cavalryman checked his horse, 
 and in so doing stopped the advance of the whole 
 Southern army; for this was Jenkins s cavalry, and 
 it was General Jenkins himself that Charles Ernest 
 had so fearlessly addressed. 
 
 The commander looked down wonderingly at the 
 little wisp of humanity, hardly visible under his wide 
 hat, that had held at bay an invading army. And 
 then he laughed. 
 
 "Hat, what are you doing with that boy?" he said, 
 and added good-naturedly: 
 
 "Sonny, come out from under that hat and let s 
 have a look at you. 
 
 It relieved the tension for a moment. There was 
 a roar of laughter from his own men, and an answer 
 ing shout from the citizens on the curb. Conquerors 
 and conquered were on better terms with each other 
 for the time, and the vanguard of the Confederate 
 army went forward with a little lightening of that 
 dread that they were marching into a trap prepared 
 for them in the heart of the enemy s country. 
 
 As for Charles Ernest, he was greatly abashed by
 
 288 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 the laugh, which sounded to him like ridicule, and 
 he shrank back to his father s side and took hold of 
 his father s reassuring hand. Dr. Charlton felt half 
 of his fears removed, and Lucy s were gone altogether. 
 Both father and daughter felt there was little to dread 
 from a bold commander who spoke so kindly to a cour 
 ageous child, and from his men who laughed with him 
 so good-naturedly. 
 
 What Eunice was feeling while she listened to the 
 dull ring of the axes and the soft pad of horses 
 hoofs on the unpaved street, it would have been diffi 
 cult for her to tell. Her first conscious impression 
 was one of keen disappointment. She had seen many 
 soldiers during the war, all wearing the trim blue and 
 gold of the Union troops. Buford s cavalry had had 
 all the dash and glitter one naturally expects in 
 cavalry, but these men were ragged and rough-look 
 ing, grimy with the dust of the road, unshaven and 
 unshorn, with no pretense of being in uniform. Bat 
 tered old hats, and coats of every cut and color and 
 texture, made them a motley-looking crew. She had 
 been picturing to herself Rex in a dapper suit of gray 
 with much gold lace, and a fine military hat with per 
 haps a drooping plume like some old Vandyke cavalier. 
 Could it be possible he looked like these men? She 
 refused to believe it of the exquisite Rex. 
 
 And then, as she looked longer, something in the 
 grimly set faces and the stern and dauntless eyes 
 stirred her strangely. These men had known great 
 suffering and great privations; their faces told the 
 tale. And they were brave and devoted beyond her
 
 DR. CHARLTON S STRATAGEM 289 
 
 dreams of men ; their whole bearing proved that. Had 
 Rex, for whose vanity and moral weakness and lux 
 urious habits she had sometimes felt scorn, become 
 like these men? Her heart glowed within her at the 
 thought. Rebel or loyal, how could she not admire 
 and honor and love a man like one of these ! 
 
 All day long that great army of invasion poured 
 silently through the streets of Bellaire. There had 
 been an interim of nearly an hour, after the van 
 guard had passed on, before the infantry began to 
 arrive; but from that time until almost six o clock 
 they marched steadily down Main Street in solid 
 phalanx, hundreds of them, thousands of them; com 
 pany after company, regiment after regiment, bri 
 gade after brigade, division after division the 
 whole of Ewell s corps. 
 
 It was almost six o clock when the last brigade of 
 Rode s division was ordered to break ranks at the 
 campus gates. With a yell that was one of joy, not 
 defiance, the weary, way-worn fellows rushed through 
 gates and stiles and threw themselves at full length on 
 the cool, soft turf. Many of them were hatless, very 
 many of them shoeless and limping, though occa 
 sionally a barefooted fellow carried, slung over his 
 arm, a pair of brand-new shoes, looted from some vil 
 lage store, but too new to be ventured on for a long 
 day s march. Almost every man also carried under 
 his arm some dainty taken from the farm-wives along 
 the road and intended for his evening meal: a jar 
 of apple-butter, loaves of freshly baked bread, buckets 
 filled with pats of fresh butter or with newly laid
 
 290 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 eggs, a country-cured ham, or a brace of squawking 
 chickens. Death might lie lurking in their pathway, 
 but they had the immediate prospect before them of 
 one delicious and sufficient meal, and that was no mean 
 prospect to men coming up to this land of abundance, 
 half starved, from the waste and war-devastated fields 
 of Virginia. 
 
 Half an hour they gave themselves for absolute rest 
 at length on the grass, and then arose the joyous din 
 of preparations for supper and for the night. Here 
 and there a tent was pitched for an officer, but for the 
 rank and file the only preparation for slumber was 
 to wrap themselves in a blanket, and all their attention 
 could be given to the feast. In a few minutes smoke 
 was rising from hundreds of camp-fires and the 
 aroma of boiling coffee and frying ham and eggs was 
 filling the air. 
 
 Close beside the little gate in the hedge that led 
 from the campus into the president s private grounds 
 were pitched the tents of the commander of the bri 
 gade and his staff. Young Colonel Morris was the 
 acting brigadier, and it disturbed him greatly that 
 in the family watching eagerly from the veranda steps 
 all the movements of this army encamped on their 
 beloved campus should be two young and beautiful 
 ladies. The brave officer had been too long in the field 
 not to feel abashed in their presence, and he had a 
 plan in his mind that required his facing them boldly. 
 
 One would hardly have supposed it to be one of the 
 boldest officers in Rode s division who presented him 
 self modestly at the foot of the veranda steps and called
 
 DR. CHARLTON S STRATAGEM 291 
 
 Dr. Charlton aside for a private consultation. But 
 if his manner was modest, his demands were not ; they 
 were that supper should be prepared as quickly as 
 possible in the president s house for himself and his 
 staff, nearly a dozen men in all. 
 
 The doctor tried to demur, but the colonel s man 
 ner quickly convinced him that there could be no 
 questioning the commands of a conqueror, and un 
 willingly he went back to his family and delivered the 
 unwelcome message. 
 
 Mrs. Charlton showed her dismay in a quick excla 
 mation : 
 
 Why, Robert ! it is n t possible ! How can we cook 
 for a dozen men? And how will we find enough for 
 them to eat? There are no stores open, and nothing 
 in them if there were: everything has been carried 
 off to Henrysburg. I laid in provisions that I thought 
 would last a week, but if we give them to these 
 Southerners, I am afraid the children will go hun 
 gry." 
 
 Fiery little Lucy blazed with indignation : 
 
 Cook for rebels ? Never ! Is that what the colonel 
 wanted? And I thought him so good-looking and so 
 gentlemanly ! 
 
 But there was no help for it ; the colonel s commands 
 must be obeyed, and it was Eunice who proved herself 
 a tower of strength in this emergency. She had been 
 well trained in the domestic arts in her thrifty New 
 England home, and she took upon herself the office 
 of cook. Daintily and deftly she mixed biscuit, made 
 coffee, and tossed omelets, while rebellious Lucy and
 
 292 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 equally indignant Millie and the boys were set to do 
 the waiting. Eunice and Mrs. Charlton were both 
 taking a certain pride in this supper, Eunice feeling 
 that she was doing it for Rex, and Mrs. Charlton 
 anxious that her hospitality, even if enforced, should 
 do credit to her Northern home in the eyes of her 
 Southern compatriots. Her table was as carefully set 
 as if for invited guests; she did not spare her silver 
 or china or pickles, and Charles Ernest and Theodore 
 Howard were sent to gather luscious raspberries from 
 the garden to be served with a light cake she herself 
 had made with the swiftness of execution natural to 
 her. The doctor was amazed when he saw the elabo 
 rate supper she had prepared. 
 
 "Why, my dear!" he exclaimed. "Why have you 
 made yourself such trouble ! 
 
 Mrs. Charlton colored a little and laughed : 
 
 "I m sure I don t know, but I think it must be 
 because I m so proud." 
 
 Not in many months had the rough soldiers that 
 gathered round her table sat down to such a meal, 
 and their eyes glistened as they saw the snowy linen 
 and shining glass and silver. There was a moment 
 of awkward silence after they were all seated, and 
 then the colonel turned to Dr. Charlton, standing anx 
 iously near the door, not quite certain how these rough 
 men would treat his young daughters. 
 
 "Doctor," said the colonel, hesitatingly, "will you 
 ask the blessing for us?" 
 
 The doctor was greatly taken by surprise. He had 
 heard much of the religious spirit in the Army of
 
 DR. CHARLTON S STRATAGEM 293 
 
 Northern Virginia, but he was not prepared to find 
 it extended to the simple duties of every day. And 
 how could he ask a blessing on the food to be taken by 
 his enemies? Would not the prophets of old rather 
 have called down curses? 
 
 For a moment he was nonplussed. Then clearly 
 and distinctly to his spiritual hearing came his Mas 
 ter s command, "Love your enemies." He lifted his 
 hand, and while the rough heads around the shin 
 ing table were reverently bowed he prayed that the 
 Lord would bless the food of which they were about 
 to partake, and that he would open their eyes to the 
 sinfulness of their present course and bring them back 
 to loyalty to their country and their country s flag. 
 
 Colonel Morris s eyes twinkled as he lifted his head. 
 
 " Don t you think, doctor," he said genially, "that 
 you were taking an unfair advantage of us? Were n t 
 you rather talking at us instead of to the Lord?" 
 
 The doctor had to own to the impeachment, and 
 the ice was broken. To the amazement of Lucy and 
 the younger children, the doctor was soon in a spirited 
 but thoroughly good-humored argument with the 
 enemy. Only the superior officers engaged in it; the 
 younger ones sat silent, absorbed in the delicacies 
 of the table or in furtively watching Lucy s golden 
 curls and dainty, scornful airs; for Lucy could not 
 quite deny herself this luxury if she must serve her 
 foes, she would show them that she did not do it 
 willingly. 
 
 Mrs. Charlton had builded better than she knew. 
 The elegance and bounty of her table had had its
 
 294 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 effect, and if the officers had been inclined to be rude, 
 they could not have had the presumption in the face 
 of such courteous hospitality. Its most immediate 
 effect was the colonel s speech as he rose frqm the 
 table. 
 
 "Dr. Charlton," he said, "I will have a sentry 
 stationed in your grounds immediately, that you and 
 your family may feel perfectly secure during the 
 night and as long as we stay. It is General Lee s 
 most explicit command," he added, "that families 
 and homes shall not be molested; but we cannot al 
 ways be responsible for the lawless acts of prowlers 
 and stragglers, and so I will see that you are properly 
 protected. You may dismiss all fears for yourselves 
 and your property." 
 
 It was said with such an air of high-bred courtesy 
 that it quite won the impressionable heart of Lucy, 
 and lifted a great load of anxiety from Dr. Charlton. 
 
 True to his word, the colonel had hardly been gone 
 ten minutes before a boyish sentinel, in home-made 
 clothes dyed with butternuts, was pacing back and 
 forth before the doctor s door. "Butternuts" the 
 children dubbed him at once, and it was not long be 
 fore they had made great friends with him. He 
 made a conquest of Millie that very evening. The 
 children had worked faithfully, setting the table, 
 waiting on it, clearing it afterward, and getting the 
 dining-room in order; and now Mrs. Charlton, want 
 ing them to have a little of the lovely evening before 
 bedtime should come, told them to run out in the gar 
 den for a while and the older ones would do the dishes.
 
 DR. CHARLTON S STRATAGEM 295 
 
 Just below where the sentry was pacing, at the 
 foot of a little green slope, was a favorite cherry- 
 tree. They were late blackhearts, and the branches 
 were still loaded with the ripe fruit. It was the 
 season of long June twilights, and although supper 
 had been late it was not yet dark. Climbing was as 
 easy to Millie and Charles Ernest and Dorie as to 
 squirrels, and the cherries were tempting. In a mo 
 ment they were all three up in the tree, Millie, with 
 some unconscious feeling of shyness, having waited 
 until the sentry s back was turned. Once safely hid 
 den by the thick foliage of the tree, the three children 
 grew very bold. 
 
 "I dare you to sing, Hang Jeff Davis, " said 
 Charlie to Millie. 
 
 Millie, like most gentle creatures, had a touch of 
 audacity in her nature, and instantly her clear child 
 ish treble rang out : 
 
 "We II hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple-tree, 
 We 11 hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple-tree, 
 While we go marching on!" 
 
 Through the first stanza the sentry paced steadily 
 on, an amused smile in his blue eyes ; but when Millie, 
 growing bolder, began it all over again in still shriller 
 tones, he stepped to the brow of the hill and raised 
 his gun. 
 
 "Come down out of that tree or I 11 shoot!" he 
 called. 
 
 There was a swift scramble of the two boys, who 
 
 20
 
 296 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 dropped to the ground like nuts in October and scur 
 ried away in the twilight to a safe hiding-place. Millie 
 came down more slowly and with great dignity. She 
 did not believe he would shoot, and if he did, would 
 that not be dying for one s country, and could any 
 thing be more glorious? 
 
 But from that hour she and "Butternuts" were 
 devoted friends. There were often other sentries on 
 duty, but when it was "Butternuts " turn Millie 
 was sure to be not far away. Her heart had been 
 won as the Zulu chieftain wins the heart of his bride, 
 and who can say there is not always something of 
 the simple savage nature in the eternal feminine? 
 
 It was a long, hard evening s work for Mrs. Charl- 
 ton and Eunice and Lucy. When ten o clock came 
 and Mrs. Charlton and the two girls, looking white 
 and worn, were still drudging in the hot kitchen, 
 Dr. Charlton rebelled. He had tried his best to help 
 them, but the clever scholar was awkward enough at 
 household tasks and only succeeded in being more of 
 a hindrance than a help. When, at last, every piece 
 of silver and china and glass was in its place for the 
 night and the kitchen made neat for the morning, he 
 called a council of war while the three tired women 
 sat out on the cool veranda for a little rest. 
 
 All was quiet on the campus. Except for the occa 
 sional flicker of a smoldering camp-fire and the gleam 
 of the scattered white tents in the moonlight, no one 
 would have guessed that an army lay sleeping at their 
 door. Just below them the faithful "Butternuts" 
 paced back and forth, but so soft were his footfalls
 
 DR. CHABLTON S STRATAGEM 297 
 
 on the deep turf that but for the gleam of a moon 
 beam on his bayonet they might have forgotten his 
 presence. Since he was so near, it behooved them 
 to speak low, and in whispers the doctor unfolded his 
 plan. 
 
 "Delightful!" whispered Lucy, ecstatically; but 
 Eunice was a little doubtful, and Mrs Charlton mur 
 mured : 
 
 "Oh, Robert, I am afraid! What if it should get 
 you into trouble ! 
 
 But the doctor had no fears, and the next morning 
 at eight o clock saw the little family assembled up 
 stairs in "mother s room," making a picnic breakfast 
 of cold meat and bread and butter. Every shutter 
 was bowed, and they were all moving about on tip 
 toe and speaking in whispers ; even Baby Ned catching 
 the infection from the others, and distorting his sweet 
 baby face in his efforts to "whisper loud," and tum 
 bling over on his little snub nose whenever he tried 
 to walk around on the tips of his baby toes. The 
 effect, to one looking at the house from the outside, 
 was of a family still buried in a late Sunday-morn 
 ing sleep. 
 
 Now the last words of the colonel the evening Before 
 had been, "We will be in to breakfast at eight o clock 
 in the morning." A little before eight, therefore, one 
 of the boys, "peeking" through the half-turned slats, 
 reported the colonel as brushing his hair and beard 
 before a little glass hung on the outside of his tent. 
 A moment later the same outlook reported him as gaz 
 ing anxiously up at the closed shutters. From time
 
 298 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 to time, through the progress of their own breakfast, 
 one after another stole to the window and announced 
 new developments. Now the whole staff had gathered 
 before the colonel s tent and were evidently discus 
 sing the situation. Now they had advanced in a 
 body as far as the little gate in the hedge. They had 
 stopped there to hold another consultation. One of 
 the younger officers had gone forward to interview 
 the sentinel. He had returned and evidently re 
 ported no one stirring and dining-room windows and 
 all the lower windows tightly closed and barred. The 
 staff were retreating in a body to the colonel s tent. 
 They were hanging around disconsolately, with many 
 longing glances directed toward the bowed shutters. 
 At length the colonel boldly determines on reconnoi- 
 tering alone. He passes through the little gate in the 
 hedge and walks up and down with his heaviest tread 
 directly beneath the windows. No results. He retreats 
 to his tent for meditation. 
 
 By this time it is ten o clock. Never have the Charl- 
 ton children been in greater glee. Father s stratagem 
 is working to a dot. They have stolen to the window 
 every minute to report progress, and as often retired 
 in side-splitting but silent hysterics at the colonel s 
 evident mystification. But at last the colonel has 
 made up his mind. He calls his staff around him and 
 explains his line of action, and once more boldly 
 passes through the little gate and, though it must be 
 confessed with slow and hesitating steps, mounts the 
 stairs to the front door and rings the bell. 
 
 The watchers at the window have reported every
 
 DE. CHAELTON S STEATAGEM 299 
 
 step of his progress, and now at his timid and depre 
 cating ring they are ready to shriek with delight, 
 though Mrs. Charlton looks faintly troubled; she is 
 not quite sure how it will all end. Dr. Charlton starts 
 to answer the bell, but the daring Lucy interposes: 
 
 "Oh, wait, father, till he rings again. That was 
 so faint we can pretend we did n t hear it." And 
 George Edgar and Henry Sidney indorse her in ener 
 getic whispers : 
 
 "Oh, yes, father ; make him wait as long as you 
 can." 
 
 But at the colonel s second and bolder ring, Dr. 
 Charlton goes down and opens the door, and with 
 great dignity bids the colonel good morning. Some 
 thing in the doctor s aspect makes the colonel feel 
 like a trembling school-boy, and though the authority 
 is on his side, he makes his demands for breakfast for 
 himself and staff in mildest fashion. With stately 
 courtesy the doctor invites him into the long, cool par 
 lors and lays the case before him. His servants have 
 fled in fear of being confiscated. His wife and 
 daughters are unaccustomed to such toil and unable 
 to endure it. They have no provisions for feeding 
 such a company and no means of procuring them. 
 The colonel has his servants with him, and at this 
 moment his men are making a great storehouse of the 
 whole "back campus": droves of oxen are being 
 slaughtered there, hundreds of barrels of flour are 
 being dumped, and all kinds of provisions are arriv 
 ing every moment. The colonel shall furnish his own 
 servants and his own provisions, and Mrs. Charlton
 
 300 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 will allow him to use her kitchen and its utensils and 
 her dining-room and dishes. 
 
 No arrangement could have been proposed more 
 satisfactory to the colonel, and he hurries away to send 
 in his servants with provisions that their long-delayed 
 breakfast may be over before the hour for morning 
 service. 
 
 But at the threshold he stops and turns to the doc 
 tor again. 
 
 "Dr. Charlton," he says with hesitating grace, 
 blushing even through the deep brown of summer 
 suns and winter winds, I would like to ask you a fa 
 vor. Will you say to Mrs. Charlton that if she does not 
 mind sitting at table with rebels/ we would be very 
 glad to have you and your family take your meals 
 with us. My servants can as well do your work also, 
 since we have driven yours away." 
 
 And the doctor, confounded by such courtesy where 
 he had feared rudeness, could only falter: 
 
 "I thank you, Colonel Morris; I will deliver your 
 invitation to my wife and daughters. It will be for 
 them to decide; but whatever their decision may be, 
 believe me, we will all appreciate most heartily the 
 courtesy and generosity of the powerful to the pow 
 erless. 
 
 The colonel went his way, and the doctor turned and 
 slowly mounted the stairs to his wife s room, ponder 
 ing at every step the unexpected success of his 
 stratagem.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE GENERAL S AIDE 
 
 THE June twilight was fast deepening into night. 
 The younger members of the Charlton family 
 had been put to bed early, quite worn out with the ex 
 citement and late hours of the last few days. Dr. 
 and Mrs. Charlton, Eunice and Lucy, were on the 
 veranda, listening to the hymns rising from a thou 
 sand deep-throated singers. 
 
 The young colonel was a martinet where religion 
 was concerned, and not a man that could be spared 
 from duty was missing from that great semicircle of 
 soldiers closely seated on the grass and joining fer 
 vently in the singing or listening patiently and im 
 movably to the sermon no Southern preacher would 
 venture to make less than two hours in length. The 
 two older boys had begged to be allowed to join the 
 congregation, and were seated on the skirts of the 
 throng, with a devout air which was in unconscious 
 imitation of the bearded men around them. Torches 
 were flaring about the improvised pulpit, whose bril 
 liant but unsteady light threw the strong faces in the 
 front ranks into bold relief, but left the outer circles in 
 dusk. The four on the veranda were thoroughly ap- 
 
 301
 
 302 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 predating the picturesque scene and joining rever 
 ently in the spirit of devotion. 
 
 "I have never known a sweeter or more peaceful 
 Sabbath, said Mrs. Charlton, with a restful sigh. 
 
 They had accepted the colonel s invitation, Mrs. 
 Charlton feeling that not to accept it in the same gra 
 cious spirit in which it was made would show them 
 selves less high-toned and generous than their foe. At 
 dinner and supper they had sat at table with these 
 rough men, who were yet thorough gentlemen, and the 
 colonel s negro servants had cooked their meals and 
 waited on them with the effusive politeness native to 
 the Southern darky; and now, in the quiet of the 
 evening, Mrs. Charlton was feeling a delicious sense 
 of repose born of the fact that no distasteful drudg 
 eries had marred the Sabbath peace, and none awaited 
 her on the morrow. 
 
 Dr. Charlton answered her little speech: 
 
 "It is wonderful! Swell s \vhole corps encamped 
 in our town, and Bellaire has never known a quieter 
 Sunday!" 
 
 There was a little disturbance down at the big 
 gate that led to the street. Two officers on horseback 
 were trying to ride into the president s garden, and 
 the sentry was preventing them. The officer in ad 
 vance was a man whose hair and beard were fast turn 
 ing white. He was dressed in an old suit of gray 
 with the three stars of a colonel embroidered on the 
 collar, and an old gray hat of soft felt was pulled 
 down over kindly brown eyes in whose depths lurked 
 the flash of the lightning. He was of splendid phy 
 sique and was riding a magnificent horse.
 
 THE GENERAL S AIDE 303 
 
 As the sentinel refused them entrance, the younger 
 officer tried to interpose ; evidently he was about to 
 tell the officious sentinel what high dignitary he was 
 treating so summarily. But the older man prevented. 
 
 "No, no," he said hastily; "the man is quite right. 
 He is here to protect private property, and we have 
 no right to be riding over garden paths. 
 
 And then in a lower tone, as they turned their horses 
 down the street toward the Iron Gate : 
 
 "You must not forget that I am trying to conceal 
 my identity. I think you came very near betraying 
 me to that private. 
 
 The younger man was abashed, and earnestly 
 begged his superior s pardon. But he was also greatly 
 disappointed. He had caught a glimpse of the white 
 dresses on the veranda, and he had been ardently 
 longing for a closer view of them. 
 
 They rode through the Iron Gate, where the counter 
 sign gave them ready entrance, and under a clump 
 of trees dismounted and tied their horses, walked 
 forward to the great congregation, and sat down on 
 the outer circle. It was already growing dark there 
 under the trees, and no one noticed them as they took 
 their seats and pulled their hats still lower over their 
 eyes. 
 
 The congregation was singing with swelling chorus, 
 
 "How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord!" 
 
 The two officers took no part in the singing until the 
 last stanza, and then in a low voice, but with concen 
 trated earnestness, the older man sang:
 
 304 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 "The soul that on Jeaus hath leaned for repose, 
 I will not I will not desert to his foes." 
 
 They bowed reverent heads through the long and 
 fervid prayer, but when the preacher had announced 
 his text and his congregation were settling themselves 
 more comfortably for patient listening, the older man 
 arose and b eekoned the younger to follow him. He 
 could not see the dismay in his subordinate s eyes, he 
 did not know that for the second time he was in 
 tensely disappointed. The young officer had been 
 nervous and restless through the hymn and the prayer, 
 straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of the white 
 dresses on the veranda. He had just decided that 
 since he could leave his general safe among his sol 
 diers, he must ask for a few minutes leave of absence 
 to call at the president s house. To have the sum 
 mons that could not be disregarded come at that very 
 moment was hard to bear. For the first time the 
 young aide followed the great commander reluctantly. 
 
 As they moved off in the darkness toward their 
 horses, the general threw his arm affectionately over 
 his aide s shoulder. 
 
 "Rex," he said gravely, "I am greatly troubled. 
 No word from Stuart yet do you think anything can 
 have happened to him?" 
 
 "Oh, I am sure not, sir," Rex answered, eager to 
 quiet his general s anxieties. "Nothing ever happens 
 to Stuart he 11 turn up in a day or two." 
 
 "A day or two!" exclaimed the other, with unusual 
 bitterness. "And I am perfectly in the dark as to
 
 THE GENERAL S AIDE 306 
 
 where Hooker or Hancock or Meade is. It is Stuart s 
 duty to keep me informed. He has never failed me, 
 and I fear some great disaster. Rex, I tell you we are 
 walking into a trap ! I must find out where the Army 
 of the Potomac is by to-morrow night, or we are 
 undone ! 
 
 Rex hesitated for the fraction of a second, and then 
 he said quietly: 
 
 "And I will undertake to find it out for you, sir." 
 
 "You!" exclaimed his general, aghast for a mo 
 ment. You are no scout ! 
 
 "No, sir," returned Rex; "but I know this country 
 well. I know the roads to York and Hanover, Balti 
 more and Washington. I am sure I can find out by 
 to-morrow morning what the Army of the Potomac 
 is doing, and you shall know by to-morrow night." 
 
 But the general would not listen at first. 
 
 "No," he said; "that is the duty of scouts. Not 
 even a trained scout could ride through the enemy s 
 country without every moment being in danger of his 
 life. It is not your duty; they will take you for a 
 spy. No, Rex; I could never look your mother in 
 the face again if I sent her boy off on such an errand 
 and he died a shameful death." 
 
 But Rex was on fire now with the idea of doing some 
 great service for his idolized chief. 
 
 "Let me go, sir!" he begged. "If I lose my life, I 
 could not lose it in a better cause ; there is no way in 
 which I could make it count for so much. But I shall 
 not lose it; I shall be back to-morrow, and you shall 
 know what you want to know."
 
 306 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 They had reached their horses by this time, and 
 Rex was eager to secure his general s permission and 
 be off. He knew he had a long and hard ride before 
 him and there was no time to be lost, yet he had in 
 mind that he would take five minutes first and call at 
 Dr. Charlton s house and learn what he could of Eu 
 nice. Leaning on their horses necks in the deep 
 shadow of the trees, they talked long and earnestly: 
 Eex eager and impatient as he dared to be, the gen 
 eral doubtful, hesitating, and convinced against his 
 will. And when he had yielded at last, there 
 were still the arrangements to be talked over and a 
 place of meeting to be decided upon, and by the 
 time they were ready to mount their horses the 
 sermon had ended, the congregation had broken up, 
 and the campus had taken on the stillness of night 
 and sleep. 
 
 Rex hoped there was still time for his call, but 
 he must first see his commander safely to General 
 E well s headquarters at the barracks, and every delay 
 fretted him. His general would not let him come 
 farther than the sentry at the gates of the barracks. 
 
 "I am perfectly safe now, Rex," he said; "and 
 you must be off." And then leaning from his horse 
 and taking Rex s hand in an iron grip, he said ten 
 derly : 
 
 "Go, my son, and may your mother s God go with 
 you and bring you back in safety!" 
 
 Rex was deeply touched; for a moment he could 
 not answer, but he found his voice at last to say un 
 steadily :
 
 THE GENERAL S AIDE 307 
 
 "Good-by, Uncle Robert. If I do not come back, 
 tell my mother good-by for me. 
 
 He wheeled his horse and dashed away in the moon 
 light. His general watched him until he disappeared 
 in the shade of the avenue of lindens and maples, and 
 then he lifted his face to the stars and took off his hat. 
 
 "0 Lord God," he said reverently, "when will it 
 all end? When can we keep our boys beside us, and 
 not send them out to almost certain death ! Keep him 
 and bring him back to his mother ! 
 
 He was thinking of his own boys and their mother, 
 and his heart, deeply touched by what seemed to him 
 Ilex s certain fate, was wrung for all the sorrowing 
 mothers of the South. 
 
 Rex dashed blindly on for a few minutes, the mist 
 in his eyes blurring the path before him. But it 
 cleared away, and his impatience to see the Charltons 
 returned with double force, driving out every keen 
 pang at parting with his general. 
 
 It is only two blocks out of his way to the college ; 
 his good horse can cover that in a few minutes, and 
 he will not stay more than five. He easily reconciles 
 it with his conscience to take this flying visit on his 
 way. 
 
 But when he arrives at the gate where he and his 
 general were refused entrance, he looks up at the 
 house with dismay to find the windows all darkened. 
 Still he will not give up hope entirely. He dismounts 
 and fastens his horse to the ring in the carriage-block, 
 and the sentry challenging him at the gate, he gives 
 the countersign. But it is the sentry s orders to admit
 
 308 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 no one after ten o clock, and all Rex s arguments 
 and inducements are powerless to make him disobey 
 orders. The sentinels have been changed since Rex 
 was there before; it is the curly-headed, blue-eyed 
 boy in butternuts that is on duty now, and Rex deter 
 mines to throw himself upon his generosity. He asks 
 him, first, if there is a young lady staying at Dr. 
 Charlton s, not one of his daughters. "Butternuts" 
 thinks there is. There are two young ladies and one 
 little girl, and "Butternuts" believes the older young 
 lady is not the president s daughter. Rex asks for a 
 description of her, and cannot doubt the description 
 belongs to Eunice, while he secretly swells with pride 
 at the boy s account of her beauty. But the boy in 
 sists also that the family are all in bed; they have 
 been abed for an hour, and on no account will he 
 permit them to be disturbed. Then Rex begs him to 
 let him enter the garden only so far as that white 
 rose-bush shining in the moonlight. This the boy 
 at last consents to do, and Rex gathers two roses 
 from the very bush from which Eunice plucks one 
 every day for her hair (though this he does not 
 know), and he stands for a minute looking up at 
 that window through whose bowed shutters she once 
 dropped him a white rose. Is she there behind 
 those shutters? Would she answer if he called her 
 name? He is desperate. How can he go away 
 without one look into her eyes and one touch of 
 her hand! 
 
 But he has given his word of honor to go no farther 
 than the rose-bush and time is passing; he must be
 
 Tell her a friend iu. the Southern army sent it. "
 
 THE GENERAL S AIDE 309 
 
 away on that commission that may well mean death 
 to him. He goes slowly back to the boy. 
 
 "Sentinel," he says, "will you do something for a 
 comrade who is starting on an expedition which is 
 likely to cost him his life ? 
 
 "Gladly," says the boy, gravely; "though I think 
 we are all on an expedition that is likely to cost us our 
 lives." 
 
 Hex assents grimly, and then he says: 
 
 "Will you take this rose and to-morrow morning 
 will you see that Miss Harlowe gets it? Be sure to 
 remember the name Miss Harlowe, the beautiful 
 lady with the brown curls and tell her a friend in 
 the Southern army sent it to her?" 
 
 The boy promises faithfully, and Rex puts one of 
 the two white roses in his hand, puts the other care 
 fully away in his own breast-pocket, says, "Good-by, 
 comrade," and is away in the night on his arduous 
 task. 
 
 No one knows better than he how arduous it will 
 be: threading dark and dangerous mountain passes, 
 swimming deep rivers, making long detours to avoid 
 scouting or skirmishing parties of the enemy, many 
 weary miles to be traveled before the morning light 
 will increase the dangers of his path, and liable at 
 any moment to have his long journey ended by a 
 bullet in his back. 
 
 As his horse springs forward at the touch of his 
 spur, he turns in his saddle, waves his hand to the 
 darkened window, and whispers : 
 
 "Good-by, Eunice!"
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 MAJOE MoALLISTEB 
 
 THERE was great excitement in the Charlton 
 household the next morning. It was a time of 
 excitements; not a day passed that some news 
 did not thrill the family to its innermost center. But 
 none so far had stirred them quite so profoundly 
 as this of the early Monday. 
 
 Millie was a child of the morning. She loved to 
 be out in the dewy freshness of the new day, and she 
 had run down this morning to have a chat with her 
 "Butternuts" as she was beginning to consider him 
 before breakfast. But she came running back in 
 a moment and burst into her mother s room, wildly 
 excited. 
 
 "Mother! mother!" she called before she had the 
 door fairly open, "Cousin Rex has been here, I m 
 sure ! 
 
 Mrs. Charlton turned pale and in her excitement 
 she unconsciously spoke sharply : 
 
 "What do you mean, Millie?" she said, and then 
 seeing Millie look abashed at the severity of her tone, 
 she added gently: 
 
 310
 
 MAJOR MCALLISTER 311 
 
 There, I did n t mean to scold, but you startled 
 me, child." 
 
 Millie was holding in her hand a white rose, a little 
 withered. 
 
 "Mother," she said, "some one sent this to Miss 
 Eunice and said to tell her it was from a friend of 
 hers in the Southern army. And Butternuts says he 
 was tall and had very dark eyes and black, curly hair ; 
 don t you think it must have been Cousin Rex ? 
 
 Mrs. Charlton thought without doubt it must have 
 been. But that he should have been so near acid not 
 come to see them filled her with wonder and regret 
 and the keenest pain for Eunice. She knew nothing 
 of a white rose, but she knew it might easily have 
 some special significance for Eunice, and she dreaded 
 the effect the sudden announcement of Rex s nearness 
 might have on her. 
 
 Neither did she like to disappoint little Millie, to 
 whom the telling of such great news to Miss Eunice 
 was an event of wonderful importance, but she could 
 trust her to see the reason of the matter. 
 
 "Millie," she said deprecatingly, "it may frighten 
 Miss Eunice even more than it frightened mother to 
 hear too suddenly that Cousin Rex has been here; 
 don t you think it would be better ^that I should take 
 the rose to her and explain about it?" 
 
 "Yes m," answered Millie, choking down her dis 
 appointment and bravely putting the rose in her 
 mother s hand ; "but you 11 give it to her quick, won t 
 you, mother, before it fades any more?" 
 
 "Right away," answered her mother, smiling her 
 21
 
 312 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 appreciation of the child s abnegation. "And, Mil 
 lie," she added as she turned to go up to Eunice s 
 room, "if Caesar should announce breakfast before I 
 come down, tell them to sit down without me I may 
 be detained." 
 
 Millie ran down to finish her chat with "Butter 
 nuts," and Mrs. Charlton went up-stairs. She had 
 given Millie those last instructions because she was 
 not quite sure what Eunice would do. If she were 
 at all like other girls she might easily faint or go 
 into hysterics at the news, for Mrs. Charlton had 
 long since decided that Rex had been the great tragedy 
 in Eunice s life. 
 
 But Eunice was not like other girls. She trem 
 bled and turned white, fearing she knew not what, 
 while Mrs. Charlton was delicately trying to prepare 
 her for the great news; but when she gave her 
 the rose and the message that came with it, a swift 
 look of exaltation flashed into Eunice s face. 
 Her cheeks were glowing, her eyes were shining, 
 as she caught the rose swiftly from Mrs. Charlton s 
 hand. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Charlton," she murmured happily, "it 
 was Rex ! 
 
 Mrs. Charlton had never heard Eunice call him any 
 thing but Mr. McAllister, but his name on her lips 
 did not surprise her. 
 
 "Yes, I think so," she said; and then she could 
 not help adding: "But why do you suppose he did 
 not come to see us?" 
 
 "Oh, he could not," Eunice returned confidently.
 
 MAJOR MCALLISTER 313 
 
 "I m sure he would have come if he could." Then 
 quick thought came to her : 
 
 "Mrs. Charlton, do you remember two officers trying 
 to ride in at the gate last evening, and the sentinel 
 would not let them ? 
 
 "Yes, but why?" 
 
 "Mrs. Charlton," said Eunice solemnly, "I am sure 
 one of them was Rex. I was sure of it at the time, 
 but I tried to think it was only one of my foolish fan 
 cies. I wanted to run down to the gate while they 
 were parleying with the sentry, but I knew how fool 
 ish I would seem to all of you." 
 
 "I wish you had followed your impulse, Eunice," 
 said Mrs. Charlton ; and then she added wonderingly, 
 "But are you not disappointed to have him come so 
 near and not see him?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, greatly disappointed," answered Eunice, 
 simply. "But, Mrs. Charlton, I am so glad! I have 
 been afraid, often, that he might have been killed 
 in one of those awful battles, and now I know he is 
 alive." And to herself she added, "And thinking 
 of me." 
 
 Nothing could have been more significant to Eunice 
 than the white rose, and she brooded so happily over 
 the message it brought, over all that she was sure it 
 was intended to mean, that she had little room for 
 a feeling of disappointment or unhappiness of any 
 kind. 
 
 Far from wanting to stay in her room alone, as Mrs. 
 Charlton had rather thought she might, she was 
 ready and quite willing to go down to breakfast with
 
 314 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 the others, wearing Rex s rose in her hair, and her 
 face so much brighter and younger and sweeter than 
 it had been of late that the young officers at the table, 
 whose furtive glances had heretofore been for Lucy s 
 golden curls, were now divided in their admiration 
 and lost a large part of the awe with which they had 
 heretofore regarded the New England school-teacher. 
 And when the fact that Eex McAllister has been in 
 Bellaire comes up at the table (but not his message 
 to Eunice), it appears that the young colonel knows 
 him well, and has many tales to tell of his prowess 
 on the field. Whereat Eunice s gray eyes shine with 
 such pride that the colonel easily guesses her story. 
 
 It was in one of the picturesque passes leading from 
 the Northumberland Valley across South Mountain 
 that Rex s general had appointed to meet him not 
 later than six o clock on Monday evening. Long 
 before six the general was there, sitting on a rock 
 beside a bubbling spring the spring that Rex him 
 self had selected for their meeting-place, since it 
 was a well-known landmark and easy to locate. 
 
 It has been a long, hot June day, but in that pleas 
 ant forest gjade, high hills rising all around it, and 
 the little brook from the bubbling spring dancing 
 merrily down its rocky bed bordered with fragrant 
 pennyroyal, it is cool and dewy and refreshing to 
 the tired horses and tired men gathered there. 
 
 The general is bending over a map of southern 
 Pennsylvania, and around him is a little group of offi 
 cers, Hill, Longstreet, McLaws, all eagerly studying
 
 MAJOR MCALLISTER 315 
 
 the same map and trying to guess whether it is on the 
 York or Hanover or Baltimore turnpike they may 
 expect to meet the Army of the Potomac. 
 
 It is nearing six o clock, and the general is growing 
 visibly restless and anxious. He has just sent one of 
 his young officers out to see if he can discover what 
 has become of his aide, Lieutenant McAllister, when 
 down the Gettysburg road, from the opposite direc 
 tion, he dashes into sight. He is worn and spent and 
 white. In the twenty hours since he said good-by to 
 his general, he has been out of the saddle only long 
 enough to curry and feed his horse. His own meals 
 have been precarious ones, and have largely been made 
 from early June apples picked from the orchards 
 along his route. 
 
 But he brings great news. First of all, Hooker is 
 no longer commander of the Army of the Potomac. 
 Hooker has resigned because the authorities at Wash 
 ington would not give him unconditional control of 
 the Harper s Perry troops; and on the eve of a great 
 battle (for no one doubts that a great battle is pre 
 paring) the Army of the Potomac has a new com 
 mander. That in itself is hopeful news, for Meade, 
 the new general, has not yet proved what he can 
 do, and they have had trial of the mettle of "Fight 
 ing Joe" at Chancellorsville, and know he is an an 
 tagonist to be dreaded. 
 
 But Rex s next news is disquieting. Meade s army 
 is advancing in several divisions, under Hancock, 
 Reynolds, Slocum, and Sickles, toward Gettysburg. 
 Buford s cavalry Rex himself had caught a glimpse
 
 316 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 of not three hours before, with their horses heads 
 turned in the same direction. 
 
 And he has had news of Stuart, gleaned from a 
 band of refugee farmers; for Rex s coat, the only 
 part of his dress that made any pretensions to uni 
 form, lies neatly folded in his saddle-bags, and in his 
 flannel shirt and soft felt hat he can easily masquerade 
 as a fleeing farmer himself. Only his speech might 
 betray him, but Rex has lived four years within 
 sound of the peculiar Pennsylvania inflections, and 
 it is a small matter to adopt them for his own when 
 necessary. 
 
 Stuart had been in engagement with Kilpatrick at 
 Hanover, and had routed him. He had been burning 
 bridges, tearing up railroads, destroying telegraphic 
 communication, and capturing supplies. He had been 
 most of the time between the Army of the Potomac 
 and Washington, and as the Union troops were be 
 tween him and his commander, communication had 
 been impossible. He was now advancing toward York, 
 but was moving slowly, hampered by his captured 
 trains of mules and horses. 
 
 The general had listened quietly through Rex s start 
 ling budget of news. He had not been sure until this 
 moment that the Union troops had crossed the Poto 
 mac; to know that they were all well on their way 
 toward Gettysburg, only a few miles distant, was 
 startling indeed. But he made no sign until Rex s 
 last words ; then he groaned : 
 
 "Oh, what folly! Stuart thinks this is only one of 
 his raids, and he spends his time in playing with the
 
 MAJOR MCALLISTER 317 
 
 enemy and thinks I will be delighted with his present 
 of a few hundred mules, when I am needing him here 
 to keep me informed of the movements of the enemy ! 
 Then he added with a burst of the impatience that his 
 generals had seen before, but so rarely that it was 
 greatly dreaded : 
 
 "That is the way with cavalry! They are good 
 enough for raiding and foraging, but they are never 
 on hand when you want them. Stuart should be here 
 at this minute!" 
 
 There was no reply from any in the little circle, and 
 the general sat with his head bowed in his hands 
 for a moment. When he lifted it his impatience was 
 all gone, and he said, with the tenderness that was 
 the strength and the weakness of his character : 
 
 "I am wrong. There is no finer, more brilliant, or 
 more trustworthy soldier in the army than Stuart, 
 and he is only acting under orders. I myself told 
 him to get all the supplies possible, and Longstreet 
 ordered him to get in the rear of Hooker." 
 
 And then, with an entire change of tone : 
 
 "Gentlemen, the hour for action has arrived! Lieu 
 tenant Harding, you will ride at once to Bellaire and 
 countermand my orders to Ewell. I had ordered him 
 to advance on Henrysburg and capture it; you will 
 tell him to turn his troops southward, cross South 
 Mountain, and await orders at Cashtown. I fear 
 he may already have left ; if so, you will follow him, 
 overtake him, and turn him back. The Army of the 
 Potomac is coming north; we will turn south and 
 meet itl"
 
 318 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 "Wait one moment/ he added as the little circle 
 began to disintegrate and get ready for movement. 
 Turning to Rex, he said formally: 
 
 "Lieutenant McAllister, you will have embroidered 
 upon your collar the single star of a major. I present 
 to you, gentlemen, Major McAllister, of my staff, who 
 has this day rendered distinguished service to the 
 Southern Confederacy !
 
 CHAPTEE XXV 
 
 SHOT AND SHELL 
 
 IT was as the general had feared. Ewell had left 
 Bellaire at five o clock in the afternoon, and was 
 well on his way to Henrysburg when the messenger 
 overtook him and turned him back toward Gettysburg. 
 
 It would have been difficult for the Charltons to be 
 lieve, two days before, that they would have seen 
 their enemy depart with any feeling akin to regret. 
 Yet Colonel Morris and his staff had shown them such 
 uniform courtesy and consideration that, almost 
 against their will, a feeling of friendliness for them 
 had sprung up in the hearts of the Charlton household. 
 Dr. Charlton himself, sturdy patriot though he was, 
 took the colonel s hand with real feeling at parting, 
 though he could not resist a Parthian shaft. 
 
 "You have been the most courteous of foes, Colonel 
 Morris," he said; "and I could wish for you a better 
 lot than to be fighting against your country, and a 
 better fate than a rebel s grave. But be assured of 
 this, if the tables are ever turned and I can show you 
 some of the kindness you have shown my family, it 
 will be my greatest pleasure to do so." 
 
 "I am sure of that, doctor," returned the colonel, 
 
 319
 
 320 IN OLD BELLAIBE 
 
 with his invariable courtesy, for he liked the doctor 
 none the less for his fearless admonitions. "But 
 you must not consider your obligation as too heavy. 
 To be allowed to spend two days as members of your 
 family circle has more than repaid us for any con 
 sideration we may have shown you. It has been a boon 
 to my officers and myself that you can hardly esti 
 mate. " 
 
 They were all out on the veranda to say good-by to 
 him, Mrs. Charlton, Eunice, Lucy, and Millie. The 
 boys were excitedly watching the formation of the 
 marching lines on the campus, and with keenly criti 
 cal eyes were taking in every detail of the methods 
 of getting a great army under way. The colonel 
 diffidently made his good-bys to the three ladies, who 
 were all cordial to him in their characteristic ways: 
 Eunice calmly, Lucy shyly, and Mrs. Charlton impul 
 sively. Little Millie was silently weeping; for down 
 on the campus, in the ranks drawn up near the gate in 
 the hedge, stood her "Butternuts" waving his hand to 
 her, and she knew she would never see him again. 
 
 No ; she would never see him again. Butternuts 
 and his colonel both lay on the slopes of Seminary 
 Ridge when that first day s fighting at Gettysburg 
 was over, but a stone s throw from where the gal 
 lant Reynolds had fallen. They did not learn the fate 
 of "Butternuts" until long years afterward, but the 
 papers told of the fall of Colonel Morris, acting 
 brigadier-general ; and while in his Georgia home there 
 were tears and lamentations for him, and a mother 
 refusing to be comforted for her only son, there were
 
 SHOT AND SHELL 321 
 
 tender and mournful regrets for him also in a North 
 ern household. 
 
 But the days of excitement were not ended for 
 Bellaire when the last file of E well s corps marched 
 out on the Henrysburg turnpike. Monday night and 
 Tuesday were quiet enough in the old town, so quiet 
 that it seemed dull and forlorn to the younger mem 
 bers of the household, who had been living on excite 
 ment for the last week, and who could almost have 
 wished the Southern troops back again. 
 
 Early Tuesday evening there was a little flurry of 
 excitement when a body of cavalry, no one knew 
 whose, though it . was rumored they were some of 
 Stuart s men, dashed into the west end of the town, 
 rode into the campus and fed their horses, and, each 
 man with his bridle over his arm, lay down on the 
 grass for a much-needed sleep. At midnight, when 
 the quiet town was buried in slumber, without sound 
 of bugle or trumpet they stole away so silently that 
 although they were at the very doors of the Charl- 
 tons, no one heard them go, and the boys, rising early 
 to have one more good look at the famous Stuart s 
 cavalry, rubbed their eyes at sight of the deserted 
 campus, emptied as if by magic. 
 
 They were disappointed, but the day was to bring 
 forth such startling events as entirely threw in the 
 shade all that had gone before. 
 
 It was the morning of the first of July, and at 
 Gettysburg, only twenty miles away, Hill s barefooted 
 men, in search of shoes, were running into Buford s
 
 322 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 cavalry, and the rattle of muskets and carbines was 
 the opening note of that great three days battle that 
 decided the fate of a continent: whether it should 
 bear between its mighty boundary seas two republics 
 or one. The heads of the columns of the two great 
 armies the Army of Northern Virginia and the 
 Army of the Potomac had met in that little Penn 
 sylvania town, and neither of them knew it. They 
 took each the other to be mere skirmishing parties, 
 and the fusillade of bullets but a little diversion in 
 the great game of war. 
 
 In Bellaire, twenty miles away, there was no sound 
 of rattling musketry ; nor even when, a little later, the 
 great dogs of war began to belch forth smoke and 
 shell and solid shot, did any echo of it reach Bellaire. 
 South Mountain lay between, and the thunder of 
 cannon and all the awful roar of a mighty battle 
 rolled back and forth among its spurs and ridges 
 until they lost themselves and died away in its wooded 
 glens. 
 
 But though the Charltons knew nothing of the great 
 battle going on so near them, and in which the very 
 men camped at their door only two days before were 
 playing a giant s part, they had enough to keep hearts 
 and hands fully occupied. The Union troops were 
 coming back! They would be once more within the 
 Union lines, and though they had been shut out of 
 them for only five days, it seemed a long and weary 
 time. 
 
 By five o clock the troops began to come in, and 
 at the first news of their arrival the town flocked
 
 SHOT AND SHELL 323 
 
 to the Square to give them welcome, bringing with 
 them every dainty that their long-unreplenished lar 
 ders could scrape together. 
 
 These were no seasoned veterans; they were the 
 State reserves, and the long march from Henrysburg 
 had tested their mettle. The townspeople were wild 
 with delight at seeing the boys in blue, and very 
 beautiful they looked in their new uniforms and 
 shining accoutrements, after the rags and homespun 
 of the Southerners. At least so thought Lucy, though 
 Eunice could not but feel that these were only playing 
 at war those others had known all its horrors. 
 
 But though the soldiers were militia who had never 
 seen a battle, their officers were most of them veter 
 ans, and as at the command, "Stack arms! Break 
 ranks ! the soldiers threw themselves on the ground 
 to rest, an officer sprang from his horse, gave the 
 bridle to an orderly, and hurried over to where Eunice 
 was standing alone, separated from Lucy and Mil 
 lie by the crowding of the closely packed mass of 
 people come down to welcome the soldiers. The 
 pushing had forced her to the front, and so hers was 
 the first face on which the young captain s glance 
 rested. 
 
 "Eunice!" he called as he reached her side. She 
 looked up, greatly startled, for she had not seen him 
 coming and for a moment she did not recognize him; 
 bearded and bronzed by nine months of hard service, 
 he looked little enough like the John Rogers she had 
 known. 
 
 "Come away," he said, when her joyful greeting
 
 324 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 assured him that he was not forgotten. "We have 
 given the men one hour to lie on the ground and rest 
 while the commissaries are arranging for their quar 
 ters for the night. I have nothing to do with that, 
 and I can spend my hour with you." 
 
 He forced a passage for her through the crowd, and 
 hurried her along Main Street toward the college. 
 
 * I want to see the old campus once more, Eunice, 
 he said; "it may be my last chance. I was detailed 
 to help bring the reserves up from Henrysburg, but 
 I am to go on to-morrow to join my own regiment at 
 Gettysburg, and I have much to hear and tell in this 
 hour." 
 
 To Eunice the meeting gave only pure joy, but to 
 him the pain and joy were nearly equal. She was 
 lovelier than he had remembered her, but almost her 
 first words reassured him of what he had always 
 known that she was not for him. She was bubbling 
 over with the happiness of having heard from Rex 
 once more, and in John she was sure of a sympathetic 
 listener. 
 
 But she was not selfishly interested in her own af 
 fairs; she was very deeply and intensely interested 
 also in his experiences of camp and battle. They had 
 walked down Lovers Lane and then far beyond the 
 campus out toward Mile Hill, famous for its views 
 of sunsets, where they had often walked in the old 
 days, and John was in the midst of a thrilling re- 
 countal of the horrors of Chancellorsville when over 
 their heads flew a screeching and screaming shell, 
 and burst just beyond them.
 
 SHOT AND SHELL 325 
 
 It was a familiar sound to John, and he knew in 
 stantly what it meant. Eunice, who had never heard 
 it Before, stood aghast at what she thought was some 
 new and hideous kind of rocket celebrating the ap 
 proaching Fourth. It was no time for ceremony. 
 John seized her hand and with a laconic "The rebels ! 
 We must run for it!" began to hurry her toward 
 home, running as long as Eunice s breath held out, 
 and walking with long strides or half carrying her 
 when it failed. 
 
 It was not only to get Eunice safely under cover 
 that he was so impatient, but it fretted him greatly 
 to be absent from his post when he knew not what 
 emergency had arisen, and was aware how greatly 
 he must be needed with raw and undisciplined troops 
 under fire for the first time. 
 
 It seemed to him they would never reach the little 
 gate in the hedge, as shell and shot came faster and, 
 the gunners getting their aim, no longer flew far over 
 the town, but fell constantly nearer. They had just 
 reached the gate and John had passed through first 
 to hold it open for Eunice, when a shell burst directly 
 over their heads. 
 
 "Pall!" John shouted, and fell flat himself that 
 the flying fragments might have less chance of strik 
 ing. Eunice did not hear his command; she only 
 heard the awful explosion, saw John fall, and did 
 not doubt for a moment that he was killed. She never 
 knew how she mounted the veranda steps, walked 
 through the hall, and went down the stairway to the 
 basement, where the terrified family had gathered for
 
 326 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 refuge from the flying shells. At the foot of the 
 stairs, Mrs. Charlton, waiting for her, saw her white 
 face and that John was half supporting her. Eunice s 
 eyes were wide with horror. 
 
 "Mr. Rogers is killed!" she gasped, and sank 
 fainting into Mrs. Charlton s outstretched arms. 
 
 "Take care of her, Mrs. Charlton, please," said 
 John, deeply moved: "she is not hurt only terribly 
 frightened. I dare not stay. I must hasten back to 
 my command." And without stopping for greeting or 
 good-by, he hurried away. 
 
 Five thousand troops had marched into Bellaire and 
 stacked their guns under the green trees of the 
 Square, and fully five thousand citizens were massed 
 around the edges of the Square to see them come. 
 The men were lying at ease on the soft grass, devour 
 ing with the relish of hungry men the tarts and pies 
 and cakes and fruit and sandwiches the people had 
 lavished upon them, joking with each other over the 
 incidents of their first long march, or, when they were 
 near enough, laughing and chatting with the citizens 
 when swinging into the east end of Main Street 
 thundered a body of cavalry singing lustily as they 
 rode Stuart s famous song, "Jine the Cavalry." 
 
 The frightened pickets, many of them young boys, 
 and all of them seeing the enemy for the first time, 
 fired their guns and fled. At such a reception, Fitz- 
 hugh Lee, leading the advance brigade of Stuart s 
 cavalry, expecting to find his own friends in the town, 
 and supplies of all kinds that his men greatly needed,
 
 SHOT AND SHELL 327 
 
 stopped short, thoroughly nonplussed. No one had 
 told him that Lee s army had turned south again. 
 His instructions had been to get in touch as soon as 
 possible with EwelPs corps, and he had expected to 
 find Ewell in Bellaire. Where, then, was Lee s army? 
 Where was Ewell? Fitzhugh Lee did not know, but 
 he intended to find out. He withdrew a little from 
 the town, planted his field-guns on a slight elevation 
 commanding it, and sent that first shell screaming 
 over its streets. 
 
 In the Square, at that first rattle of musketry, the 
 men had sprung to their arms, almost without wait 
 ing for the command. The flying pickets brought 
 terror with them. 
 
 "Stuart s cavalry!" they shouted, for Stuart s song 
 was too well known to leave them in any doubt. 
 Stuart was a name to drive dismay to the hearts of 
 seasoned veterans; they were brave young militia, 
 indeed, who dared to form in line against him. 
 
 The rattle of musketry meant very little to the 
 densely packed citizens. They had heard it often of 
 late, for picket-firing and skirmishing had come to 
 be every-day affairs. "Picket-firing," they said to 
 themselves, and stood still. But when they saw the 
 soldiers springing to arms, saw the flying pickets, and 
 heard the wild cries from all sides, The rebels ! The 
 rebels!" panic seized them. 
 
 In that mad flight for home, children were ruth 
 lessly hustled aside, and little Millie was torn from 
 Lucy and carried up a narrow back street by a rush 
 ing stream of humanity that swept her along with 
 
 22
 
 328 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 them, with no volition of her own. She had no idea 
 why they were fleeing, for she had not understood 
 the cry of "The rebels! The rebels!" but she must 
 run with the others or be trampled by them. 
 
 At her own gate she found herself free from the 
 crowd, and looking down to the Iron Gate corner, 
 saw her mother and Miss Caroline Perkins and ran 
 quickly down to them. They were standing there, 
 very calmly, watching the flying crowds, and won 
 dering what it all meant, but without excitement. 
 There had been so many startling things of late that 
 they were growing hardened, and it would have to be 
 something very startling, indeed, that would shake 
 Miss Caroline, model of deportment to young ladies, 
 from her elegant equipoise. 
 
 But it came ! Over their heads flew the screeching 
 and screaming shell. The two ladies and Millie looked 
 up. 
 
 "A rocket," said Miss Caroline, mildly wondering. 
 
 A shell ! cried Mrs. Charlton, wildly. Oh, Miss 
 Caroline, how will you get home! I can t go with you. 
 My children are scattered all over town. I must get 
 them together." 
 
 A mother s terror was in her voice and face. 
 
 "Do not fear for me, my dear," said Miss Caroline, 
 trembling but brave. "Go find your children, and I 
 will seek Phoebe!" 
 
 And fast as her old limbs could carry her, tottering 
 now with fear more than with age, and with anxiety 
 for her sister more than both, she hurried away. Mrs. 
 Charlton waited only to see that her old friend was
 
 SHOT AND SHELL 329 
 
 moving off at a pace that would soon bring her to 
 the shelter of home, and then, with Millie clinging 
 to her hand, uttering no cry, but with winged feet 
 pulling her mother faster and faster, Mrs. Charlton 
 ran as she had not run in years. 
 
 The shells were flying fast by the time they reached 
 home, and, as Mrs. Charlton had said, not a child was 
 there, not even Dr. Charlton. But they came flying 
 in from all directions in a moment, George Edgar 
 carrying Baby Ned, and Lucy and Henry Sidney, who 
 had been hunting for the lost Millie, not far behind. 
 "Me n Charlie," as the two inseparable little boys 
 were called by the family in gentle ridicule of Theo 
 dore Howard s constant phrase, came from no one 
 knew where, and no one asked, so happy were they 
 to be all together again. Last of all came the doctor, 
 who had been rounding up his little family, and they 
 gathered together in mother s room, wondering what 
 the night was to bring to them. Millie and the little 
 boys huddled together on a couch, their arms around 
 one another. Each little heart was brave with the hero 
 ism of childhood. This was a battle, and before morn 
 ing they would all be dead they did not for a mo 
 ment doubt it ; but silently they sat there, close clasped 
 in each other s arms, trembling but uttering no sound. 
 They were all greatly distressed at Eunice s absence; 
 but Lucy, too far away to get near them, had seen 
 the officer that she had recognized sooner than Eu 
 nice to be Mr. Rogers, and it was some comfort to 
 know that he was with her and taking care of her. 
 
 But the shot and shell, that had at first flown far
 
 330 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 over the town, had gradually been coming nearer, 
 and now they were falling and bursting all about the 
 campus and the president s house. Dr. Charlton had 
 begun to think they must move down-stairs to safer 
 quarters, when one struck the house, tearing out great 
 stones from the wall and completely wrecking the 
 room and its furniture where it struck. It was the 
 room next to the one where they were all gathered, 
 and Baby Ned, too young to know much about self- 
 control, broke into terrified wailing and would be 
 comforted only in his father s arms. 
 
 Hurriedly Dr. Charlton marshaled them all down 
 stairs into the basement, where the thick foundation 
 walls offered better chance of protection. There was 
 no sign of fear in his voice or his manner, and Mrs. 
 Charlton, now that her children were all about her, 
 was calm, cheerful, and resourceful ; but on no child s 
 heart did terror lie so heavy as on theirs. It was 
 fear for her children and her husband that held 
 its cold clutch of her heart ; it was fear for his adored 
 wife and their little ones that came near at moments 
 to unmanning as brave a heart as ever beat. 
 
 Hardly had they reached the basement when an 
 other shell seemed to strike the house, so near were its 
 horrible detonations. But it was the fine old linden 
 that was struck just above the heads of Eunice and Cap 
 tain Rogers, and it was only a moment later that the 
 trembling family in the basement heard hurried steps 
 in the hall above and knew it must be Eunice. They 
 saw her coming down the steps with wide, unsee 
 ing eyes and colorless face, Captain Rogers by her
 
 SHOT AND SHELL 331 
 
 side, heard her words, and knew that she had been as 
 one dead from the moment Captain Rogers had fallen. 
 
 This death-like swoon was a new terror to them; 
 the horrors of the night seemed to be folding them 
 about as with a pall. By the time Eunice had recov 
 ered consciousness and had been made to understand 
 that Captain Rogers was absolutely unhurt, the gas 
 went out all over the house. Either by some acciden 
 tal shot or wilfully, the Confederates had set the gas 
 works afire and the whole eastern sky was ablaze. 
 Fortunately, there were candles at hand, but they 
 made a dim and gruesome light compared with the 
 cheery gaslight. 
 
 The firing had been growing more furious; it was 
 now one continued and deafening roar, though not 
 so many shells fell on the campus, as the guns seemed 
 to be trained finally on the soldiers in the Square. 
 
 Suddenly there was a lull, and in a few moments, 
 greatly to the delight and comfort of them all, Captain 
 Rogers appeared at the basement door. He had come 
 on sad business, but he had solicited the errand that 
 he might see how his friends were getting on. He was 
 greatly relieved to find that the shells had done no 
 more serious damage, and that Eunice had entirely 
 recovered. 
 
 "They have sent in a flag of truce," he said, "and 
 now our general and Fitzhugh Lee are conferring. 
 Fitzhugh demands a surrender, but I don t think 
 there is any danger of Baldy surrendering as long 
 as his ammunition holds out and his men keep their 
 courage ; they are behaving like veterans.
 
 332 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Then turning to Dr. Charlton: 
 
 "I am sent, sir, to ask your permission to use one 
 of the college buildings as a hospital. They have been 
 raking the streets with grape and canister, and they 
 are ugly things. We want to get the wounded up in 
 the west end here, as far from the firing as possible, 
 and put a red light over the building. I think they 
 will understand and respect it, and train their guns 
 elsewhere. 
 
 It was wonderful how the thought of doing some 
 thing to help put life and spirit into every one. All 
 the terror of the children fled away, and Lucy and 
 Eunice were full of fire and patriotism. Dr. Charlton 
 went at once with Captain Rogers to see about get 
 ting the keys of West College and opening the rooms. 
 Mrs. Charlton hurried up-stairs to look among her 
 store of linen and blankets and pillows, to see what 
 could be spared for the wounded. Lucy and Eunice 
 helped her to put them up in packages, and, with the 
 two older boys, carried them over to West College. 
 Millie and the two younger boys, proud and happy 
 to be employed on errands of such importance, were 
 sent around the neighborhood, from house to house, 
 to beg supplies of all kinds to be sent over to the hos 
 pital. For an hour there was no firing and every one 
 was at work and happy. 
 
 Eunice, indeed, had found her vocation. As the 
 wounded began to be brought in she was for a mo 
 ment overcome with faintness at the sight of suffering 
 and wounds ; but the strength of will that had enabled 
 her to withstand Rex s pleading came to her support
 
 SHOT AND SHELL 333 
 
 now. She begged the surgeons to be allowed to stay 
 and help them, and when they would have demurred 
 she said steadily : 
 
 "Only try me; if I prove unfit you can send me 
 away. 
 
 Dr. Charlton, too, tried to dissuade her; he feared 
 it would be more than she could endure ; but when he 
 looked into her face and saw the exaltation of soul 
 glowing in her serene eyes, he dared say no more. 
 
 Captain Rogers alone had only words of encourage 
 ment for her. He had been superintending all the ar 
 rangements, and now he was going back to his post. 
 The firing had begun again, faster and more furious. 
 The rest of Stuart s cavalry had come up and new 
 guns had been unlimbered. Like the others, these 
 must get the range, and, like the others, their shot 
 seemed at first to fall around the college buildings. 
 
 But the heavy boom of solid shot and the rending 
 and tearing of bursting shell had no longer any ter 
 rors for Eunice. In these short hours that she had 
 been under fire, she seemed to have been lifted out of 
 herself. She was knowing now a little of the horrors 
 of war, of which Rex knew so much, and glorying in 
 the knowledge. She was ardently longing to do some 
 thing heroic that could prove her worthy of his hero 
 ism. For his sake she could nerve herself to go 
 through scenes from which the whole tender woman 
 within her shrank, passionately feeling that every 
 gaping wound was his, that it was his groans and 
 his suffering she was soothing with her cool and tender 
 touch.
 
 334 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Yet when Captain Rogers was ready to go and came 
 to tell her good-by, her heart failed her for a moment. 
 She had not realized how much she had leaned upon 
 his strong and cheery presence in these terrible sur 
 roundings. 
 
 "Come out with me for a breath of air," he said, 
 seeing her sudden pallor. "It will do you good, and 
 you will come back stronger for your work." 
 
 They stood under the quiet stars for a moment with 
 out speaking, the cool night air refreshing and re 
 viving them both. The guns had got their range 
 again; only an occasional shot plowed up the green 
 turf of the campus or an occasional shell shattered 
 some of its beautiful trees. Eunice shuddered at every 
 shot, but no longer feared them. John did not even 
 hear them. 
 
 "Eunice," he said wistfully, "there is certain to be 
 a great and awful battle in the next few days. The 
 two armies are rapidly coming together, and some 
 where near here, I think, it will be fought. Do you 
 know what I have been thinking as I saw you moving 
 about among those wounded men and bringing com 
 fort and smiles in place of distress and groans? I 
 was praying that, should it be my lot to be wounded 
 in the impending battle, it would not be so far away 
 that you could not come and be the angel of mercy 
 and comfort to me that you have been to them. 
 
 "Oh, I hope you are wrong!" Eunice answered 
 quickly. "I hope there will be no more awful bat 
 tles I could not bear it!" 
 
 She was thinking of Rex and that he had escaped
 
 SHOT AND SHELL 335 
 
 so far, but she could not hope that he would always 
 be invulnerable. Then a sudden compunction seized 
 her. She should be thinking also of this friend who 
 had been so steadfastly kind to her, and she said very 
 sweetly and solemnly: 
 
 I pray with all my heart that there may be no more 
 great battles, and with all my heart that you may 
 never be wounded ; but if you are, I will try to come 
 to you, wherever you are." 
 
 He could not answer her, but he seized her hands 
 and held them for a moment in a grip under which 
 she winced and could have cried out for pain, but 
 would not. Then he said under his breath: 
 
 "Go back quickly, Eunice, while I am watching 
 you. Good-by ! God be with you ! 
 
 For two hours longer the firing kept up, and then 
 there was another cessation. Once more Captain 
 Rogers rode up to Dr. Charlton s to bring instructions. 
 Fitzhugh Lee had sent word that every woman and 
 child must leave town; he would utterly destroy the 
 town, and by ten o clock next morning not one stone 
 should be left upon another. Captain Rogers strongly 
 urged on Dr. Charlton that he should take his family 
 and Eunice and go out to some farm-house in the 
 country, where he could find a temporary refuge. 
 Fitzhugh Lee was evidently infuriated by the stub 
 born and unexpected resistance he had met, and meant 
 what he said. He had set fire to every part of the 
 town he could reach ; the gas-works were burning, the 
 barracks were ablaze, and a third great fire had just 
 started up.
 
 336 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Messengers had been sent all over town with Fitz- 
 hugh Lee s message, and already hundreds, women 
 weeping and children crying, were hurrying by the 
 campus and fleeing to the open country. But the doc 
 tor, looking at the sad lines of refugees, shook his head. 
 
 "No; our walls are thick; we will stay here. I 
 would rather trust to the fortunes of battle than sub 
 ject my tender family to the certain hardships of ex 
 posure to the night, with no surety of any shelter 
 being found." 
 
 Fitzhugh Lee had given the people an hour to get 
 out of town, when, he said, the bombardment would 
 be renewed with redoubled fury. But the truce was 
 longer than an hour, and when firing began again, 
 it seemed to Dr. Charlton that, far from being re 
 doubled, it was less furious than it had Been. Before 
 long there was no doubt about it. It began to be more 
 and more desultory, and at length there was only an 
 occasional shot at longer and longer intervals. 
 
 There were faint signs of dawn in the east. Dr. 
 Charlton went over to the hospital and called Eunice. 
 
 "Come, Eunice," he said authoritatively; "the day 
 is breaking, and I believe the enemy is fleeing. You 
 must come home and get some rest, or we will be send 
 ing you to the hospital." 
 
 Eunice knew he was right. Trembling flesh could 
 stand no more, for the strain of the last few hours 
 had been very great. Her patients were quiet, and 
 there were no new ones coming in. She was glad to 
 go home with him through the fresh and dewy campus, 
 the morning rapidly brightening around them, the
 
 SHOT AND SHELL 337 
 
 birds stirring in their nests, the firing almost or en 
 tirely ceased. 
 
 They welcomed her home as if she had been gone 
 on a long and dangerous journey, and up-stairs in 
 her own, quiet room, full five minutes since the last 
 gun had been fired, the birds caroling delirious "Te 
 Deums" that the wild night was over, her head upon 
 her pillow, with a sense of perfect peace and security 
 she sank almost at once into deep, refreshing sleep. 
 
 Little did she or Dr. Charlton dream that it was 
 to Rex the town owed its deliverance. On the after 
 noon of that first day s fight at Gettysburg, the gen 
 eral was standing on the ridge near the Seminary, 
 watching Ewell s yelling veterans drive the Federal 
 troops down the slopes and across the town. 
 
 "Rex," he said suddenly, "I must have Stuart. 
 To-day s fight will He as nothing compared with to 
 morrow s. I must have every available man and gun. 
 Do you think you can find him for me ? 
 
 "I think so, sir," said Rex; but if his words were 
 modest, his air was confident. He was looking very 
 dapper for a Confederate soldier. Rex s love of dress 
 would be one of his last traits to perish. Were he to 
 die in the much-vaunted last ditch, he would die as 
 well dressed as it was possible to be. He had, with 
 his own unskilled fingers, embroidered on his collar 
 the star that indicated his new rank, unraveling a 
 bit of torn lace to get the necessary gold thread. He 
 had also added to his uniform an extra touch of gold 
 lace, ripped from a discarded one, and he wore a
 
 338 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 plume in his hat in exact imitation of Stuart s famous 
 plume. If Eunice had beheld him, I am not sure 
 that she would have been more pleased to see him so 
 becomingly arrayed or more displeased at the evi 
 dence of his perennial vanity. 
 
 But Rex s vanity in dress interfered not at all with 
 his duties as an aide. He had been standing beside 
 his general, but at his words he sprang upon his 
 horse, saluted, and was off. Long and weary hours 
 he rode before he found even a trace of Stuart ; then, 
 near York, he heard that he had gone in the direction 
 of Bellaire. It was a magic word! Here, perhaps, 
 was his chance! If he found himself in Bellaire 
 again, he would not again miss seeing Eunice ; and he 
 thought, with a little throb of elation, that there would 
 be no one to call him away on the very eve of seeing 
 her. For the time being he would be his own master, 
 and though he was due back in Gettysburg at the earli 
 est possible moment, five minutes he would take to 
 look on Eunice s face once more. 
 
 But alas for all such plans of mortals! Long be 
 fore he reached Bellaire he heard sounds of firing and 
 saw the sky aflame. His heart stood still. What 
 did it mean? What was Stuart about? Was Eunice 
 in danger? 
 
 He spurred on his lagging horse and reached Stuart 
 and Fitzhugh Lee just after the message had been sent 
 to the women and children of Bellaire. He delivered 
 his own message, "Report at Gettysburg immedi 
 ately," and told them of the general s anxiety at their 
 long absence. Then he painted in glowing colors the
 
 SHOT AND SHELL 339 
 
 glorious battle of the day and the victory on Semi 
 nary Ridge. 
 
 Lee and Stuart were both eager to be off at once, 
 but it required some little scheming to keep the troops 
 in Bellaire in ignorance of their departure. It was 
 finally arranged to leave a single battery of three 
 guns, which should at first keep up a rapid fire, and 
 then one by one, they too should steal away. 
 
 Rex was for having them all go at once. He could 
 not bear to think of another shot fired in Eunice s 
 direction, but of course he had no voice in the matter. 
 His own horse was so spent that he must rest it awhile, 
 and it was arranged that he should remain with the 
 battery left to keep up the ruse, while the others 
 started for South Mountain Pass as quickly as they 
 could get their horses hitched to guns and caissons. 
 There was nothing for Rex to do while his horse was 
 resting, and he thought he knew these fields and roads 
 well enough to find his way in the dark. He skirted 
 the south side of the town and came up in the west end, 
 where were neither soldiers nor fighting. 
 
 The first streaks of dawn were in the east as he 
 entered the campus and walked over toward Lovers 
 Lane. The firing was growing very desultory; that 
 was a signal that he could not tarry. He walked 
 rapidly, intending, if the way was clear, to stand a 
 moment under Eunice s window. 
 
 Half-way across the campus he suddenly stopped. 
 There were lights in West College and figures in uni 
 form moving about. The dawn was spreading a lit 
 tle; he could see quite clearly. Two figures, a man
 
 340 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 and a woman, had just come out of West College and 
 were walking across to the president s house. It was 
 Dr. Charlton and Eunice. He stood and gazed with 
 straining eyes, longing to cry out to them and not 
 daring because of the blue uniforms in West College. 
 He watched them until they passed through the little 
 gate in the hedge, saw them mount the veranda steps, 
 and heard the hall door close behind them. 
 
 With a great cry, as if his heart had broken, 
 he turned and ran down to the Iron Gate, clanged it 
 recklessly behind him, and, hardly caring whether 
 he ran into an enemy or not, took the shortest route to 
 his horse. He found the last gun just moving off, 
 and silently mounting, he rode back through the glori 
 ous dawn of that awful day of carnage to the dread 
 ful battle-field waiting to receive him.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 A FAREWELL MESSAGE 
 
 NOT until late on the second of July did they 
 learn in Bellaire of that terrible battle raging 
 so near them. Morning had dawned, the hour of ten 
 had come and gone, that hour at which the town 
 was to have been utterly destroyed, and there were 
 no signs of the enemy. 
 
 Captain Rogers rode up to a hurried breakfast with 
 the Charltons. He had said good-by to his militia 
 company and was off by way of Henrysburg to join 
 his regiment at Gettysburg; there was no going by 
 South Mountain Pass, since that way lay the whole of 
 Lee s army. 
 
 Eunice was not at breakfast ; she was still sleeping, 
 and John would not let Mrs. Charlton waken her. 
 
 "No," he said; "I have so short a time to stay, and 
 she needs the sleep. I bade her good-by last night ; if 
 you will say good-by to her again for me, that will do 
 as well." 
 
 Better, he thought to himself bitterly ; for, strive as 
 he might against it, he was greatly depressed and was 
 not sure enough of himself to say good-by to Eunice 
 again with his spirits already at their lowest ebb. 
 
 341
 
 342 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 Eunice felt a moment of keenest regret when she 
 found that he had come and gone without her seeing 
 him once more, but it was only for a moment. She 
 was eager to be at her work in the hospital and anxious 
 to know how her patients were doing, and heart and 
 hands were too full for long regrets. 
 
 When, late in the afternoon, the tidings came that 
 this was the second day of a great battle between the 
 two armies, perhaps the most deadly the war had yet 
 known, she was as one dazed. All that evening and 
 all the next day she went about as in a dream, listen 
 ing with bated breath lest some dreadful tidings come 
 of one or the other of her two friends fighting in op 
 posing ranks on that terrible field. But none came, 
 and though her heart lay dead within her, she went 
 about her hospital duties, skilfully applying dressings 
 and bandages and courageously bringing to others the 
 cheer and comfort she so much needed herself. 
 
 Early Sunday morning the first train came through 
 from Henrysburg. The militia had in some rough 
 fashion relaid the tracks and a train had crept cau 
 tiously over them as far as Bellaire. It brought a little 
 company of nurses from Philadelphia bound for Get 
 tysburg. All communication by rail was cut off with 
 that town, and Bellaire was the nearest point to which 
 trains were running; from there the journey would 
 have to be made in carriages. All day Saturday, Lee s 
 army had stood awaiting Meade s attack. It did not 
 come, and on the night of the Fourth they quietly 
 withdrew toward the Potomac. But Ewell s corps, as 
 rear-guard, was still in Gettysburg Sunday morning,
 
 A FAREWELL MESSAGE 343 
 
 and the little company of nurses came up to Dr. Charl- 
 ton s house to wait for tidings that the way was clear 
 for them through South Mountain Pass. 
 
 Here was the opportunity for which Eunice s soul 
 had been longing. From the moment she had first 
 heard of the battle she had been planning some way 
 of getting there. Had she not promised Captain 
 Rogers she would go to him if he should be wounded? 
 And how else was she to find out whether or not he 
 was wounded ? And still more urgent was the thought 
 of Eex. She could hardly hope that he had escaped 
 again, when every report was of such terrible slaugh 
 ter ; and perhaps he, too, might be wounded there and 
 needing her. 
 
 It was hard to persuade Dr. and Mrs. Charlton to 
 let her go. The other nurses were all older ; it seemed 
 to them both that Eunice was too young and too frail 
 to be sent into the midst of such terrible scenes. But 
 her steady, quiet persistency that little quality of 
 hers that the doctor sometimes called obstinacy won 
 its way at last. The surgeons in the college hospital 
 were loath to part with her, but ready to give her a 
 certificate as an efficient nurse from her three days 
 work with them, and that annulled Dr. Charlton s 
 final argument that the authorities would not receive 
 her. The other nurses were willing to take charge of 
 her, and her way seemed so clear that Dr. and Mrs. 
 Charlton could no longer oppose a purpose that they 
 felt was as steadfast as the hills. 
 
 Horses were at a premium in Bellaire, for almost 
 every horse had either been captured by the Confed- 
 
 23
 
 344 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 crates or driven away for safety. Dr. Charlton had 
 undertaken to find some for the little party, but only 
 after long search did he find a sturdy team of farm- 
 horses that had been hidden away in a cave in the 
 hills. They were to start early Monday morning to 
 avoid the heat of the day; and by five o clock Mrs. 
 Charlton, the most energetic of women, had given 
 them a cup of coffee and some breakfast and started 
 them on their way. It was a sad parting at that early 
 hour: Lucy was in tears, Millie was sobbing bitterly, 
 the boys were trying in vain to seem indifferent and 
 pretend that some unmanly sounds were not of their 
 making, and there was a mist in the doctor s blue eyes. 
 Only Mrs. Charlton was smiling bravely. Now that 
 she had fully made up her mind to let Eunice go, it 
 seemed to her a glorious thing to be doing, and she 
 could almost envy her the heroine s crown with which 
 she had invested her. 
 
 Their way led over the Hanover turnpike, between 
 rich fields of grain trampled by the passing of many 
 horses and men, and then through beautiful Mount 
 Holly and South Mountain Pass. It was a familiar 
 road to Eunice. Mount Holly was a favorite resort 
 with the young people of Bellaire for picnics and 
 drives and sleighing-parties; and now, as they passed 
 through its deep, shaded glens and climbed the moun 
 tain road, with the little stream rushing noisily 
 through a rocky ravine below them, Eunice was re 
 calling one of the red-letter days of her life. It was 
 in her first fall in Bellaire, in the beautiful Indian 
 summer, when there had been a nutting-party to
 
 A FAREWELL MESSAGE 345 
 
 Mount Holly, and they had spent the long, golden 
 day wandering through the mountain dells, gathering 
 chestnuts and wintergreens and maidenhair ferns, all 
 the lovely spoil of the wild-wood. After a picnic din 
 ner on a mossy rock beside this very mountain stream, 
 they had started to explore the rocky ravine down 
 which it tumbled; and Eunice, an ardent lover of 
 mountain-climbing and with the foot of a gazel, had 
 far outdistanced the others all but Rex, who would 
 not be outdistanced ; and when they found they had 
 left the others so far behind, they sat down to wait 
 for them at the head of the glen, where the brook 
 tumbled in a foamy cascade over a rocky cliff. Rex 
 had never before been so gentle and winning. It was 
 in the early days of his reform, and he was full of 
 earnest plans and noble ambitions, which he poured 
 into Eunice s sympathetic ear with all the ardor of 
 his temperament. 
 
 How often she had thought of that day ! And how 
 long ago it seemed ! It was not three years, but Eu 
 nice felt that she had lived a lifetime since, and the 
 Bellaire of to-day was cold and gray and stern com 
 pared with the sunny Bellaire of those Arcadian days. 
 
 They crossed the summit of the mountain pass and 
 began the descent of the other side. They had left 
 the little mountain stream and all the associations with 
 Rex in those happy golden days, and now, with every 
 onward mile, they were coming on new traces of the 
 movements of great armies. Everywhere disorder and 
 devastation. Eunice s thoughts were no longer with 
 the Rex of the past; she was looking forward trem-
 
 346 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 blingly, fearfully, hopefully, to the possibility of see 
 ing him in Gettysburg. Yet she knew it could be only 
 as a prisoner, or wounded or dying, that she could 
 hope to see him, and horror and shrinking dread 
 crushed out the hope. 
 
 Eunice had been two days in Gettysburg. With a 
 resolution that was like iron, and that no one could 
 have dreamed of finding in that slight girl, she steeled 
 her heart against the horrors that met her on every 
 side, and went about the ward to which she had been 
 assigned with such calm and ready cheerfulness as 
 made her a tower of strength to the surgeons and an 
 angel of light to the suffering men. 
 
 As she entered her ward on the morning of the third 
 day, she came upon a face she had been looking for, 
 feeling sure in her heart that she would come upon 
 it some day. It was John Rogers, and he lay so mo 
 tionless, his face so white, his eyes closed, she would 
 have thought him dead but that she knew the dead 
 were not in hospitals. He had been brought in from 
 the operating-room, and the surgeon of the ward gave 
 him into Eunice s charge as a very ill patient who 
 would need special care. 
 
 Eunice could not neglect her other patients, but 
 there were hours that belonged to herself to do what 
 she pleased, and those hours she devoted to him. For 
 days he lay in a stupor, hovering between life and 
 death, dead to the world about him ; but when at last 
 the light of consciousness returned to his eyes and they 
 fell on Eunice sitting by his side, there was no sur-
 
 A FAEEWELL MESSAGE 347 
 
 prise in them, only a great joy. Once started on the 
 road of recovery, he grew rapidly better. Just to see 
 her moving about him, ministering to his wants, he 
 said, was enough to bring him back from the brink of 
 the grave, and he insisted that he had been conscious 
 of her presence through all his unconsciousness, and 
 that that alone had brought him back to life. 
 
 One day, as Eunice in one of her free hours was sit 
 ting by his cot, talking gently to him of sweet and 
 happy things, it seemed to her that he was not listen 
 ing. He was restless and his attention wandered. Eu 
 nice feared she was tiring him, and rose to go. 
 
 "Don t go, Eunice," he said, with an air of quiet 
 authority. Sit down again, please ; I have something 
 to tell you." 
 
 He was silent for a minute as she sat down again, 
 and Eunice was vaguely frightened. There was some 
 thing indefinable in his manner that suggested evil 
 tidings ; and as if in premonition of what was coming, 
 her heart began to beat heavily. 
 
 "Eunice," he began at last, slowly, and with evi 
 dent effort, I have been waiting to get strong enough 
 to tell you my story. I am getting well so fast now, 
 under your skilful nursing, they will be sending me 
 home in a few days, and I must not wait any longer. 
 Dear friend," and his voice faltered a little, "it may 
 be that I have sad news for you; but remember, as 
 you listen, that I am not at all certain that my fears 
 are true. There may have been a happier ending to 
 my story than seemed possible to me then. Hope for 
 the best as long as you are not sure of the worst.
 
 348 IN OLD BELLAIRB 
 
 He waited a moment, as if for her to speak ; but a 
 great dread had taken possession of her, she could 
 hardly breathe, and speech was impossible. 
 
 "Are you sure you are strong enough to listen to 
 me, Eunice?" he asked anxiously, seeing the color 
 come and go in her cheeks and her eyes widening with 
 terror. 
 
 She nodded with an imploring gesture, and in an 
 swer to it he went on : 
 
 1 1 was lying wounded on the slope of Little Round 
 Top that second dreadful day of the fight. It was 
 the evening of the day I left Bellaire only a few 
 hours since I had seen you. The rush of battle had 
 passed on and left me lying there dying, I thought. 
 My eyes were closed, when I heard my name feebly 
 called, and I turned in surprise to find a Confederate 
 lying near me, wounded much more severely than I. I 
 did not recognize him at first, until he spoke again, 
 and then I knew it was Rex McAllister. We could 
 neither of us move, but we were near enough to stretch 
 out our hands to each other, and I never clasped a bro 
 ther s hand more warmly or more gladly than I did 
 his. He told me that he was dying, and asked of you. 
 I told him all I knew of you, and what reason I had 
 for knowing that you loved him as dearly as ever. 
 His eyes, that seemed to me to be fast growing dim, 
 brightened as I spoke, and his face lighted up with a 
 smile. 
 
 God bless her ! he whispered. Tell her that my 
 last thoughts were of her, and that I have loved her 
 every moment since I left her.
 
 A FAREWELL MESSAGE 349 
 
 "And then I performed a heroic act of self -sacri 
 fice. I took from my buttonhole the little ribbon that 
 is dingy and colorless now, but that had been with me 
 in every battle and march since last September, and 
 told him, whose it was and how I got it, and gave it 
 to him. He thanked me with a look, and laid it on his 
 lips; and then we were both too weak to talk any 
 more, and we lay there, hand in hand, until some of 
 his men came up with a flag of truce to carry him 
 away. He had fainted, I think, when they took him 
 up, and the ribbon still lay on his lips. I was afraid 
 it would be lost, and I asked them to tie it in his but 
 tonhole, and they did so very reverently. 
 
 Eunice was weeping as if her heart had broken, but 
 silently, that no one in the cots near by might know. 
 She had buried her face in the coverlet of John s cot, 
 and her stifled, heartbroken sobs shook him where he 
 lay. He put his hand tenderly on her brown curls. 
 
 "Dear friend," he whispered, "you must not sor 
 row as one without hope. He thought he was dying, 
 but it may be that he was mistaken. He may yet be 
 living; do not give up all hope until you are sure. 
 Wait until the war is over. 
 
 Eunice had no hope. She had always believed that 
 this blow was preparing for her, and now it had 
 fallen. But she had strength beyond the strength 
 given to most women, and, crushing back her sorrow 
 for the time, she lifted her head, smiled faintly, and 
 whispered : 
 
 "I willtry." 
 
 Then she did not know why she did it, perhaps
 
 350 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 because the eyes that met hers were brimming over 
 with sympathy and tenderness, perhaps because she 
 believed he, too, loved Rex she seized in both her 
 own hands the hand that had rested so tenderly on 
 her head, pressed it convulsively to her heart for an 
 instant, rose quickly, and fled. 
 
 John turned his face to the wall and groaned under 
 his breath: 
 
 "O God, how can I bear it! How can I bear it! 
 O happy, happy Rex!" 
 
 It was weeks later that there came to Eunice a sud 
 den wonder that Mr. Rogers should have kept that bit 
 of ribbon so long and cared for it so much ; and a slow 
 inkling of the truth sent the warm blood rushing to 
 her face and then flowing back in pity and regret to 
 her heart. 
 
 He was no longer in the hospital ; he had been gone 
 for weeks, and was now spending his convalescence 
 with his nearest relative, a distant cousin. But Eunice 
 had stayed on ; she had found the one work that could 
 comfort her in her great sorrow. She did not even go 
 back to Bellaire. Dr. and Mrs. Charlton and Lucy 
 came over to see her, bringing with them such of her 
 belongings as she needed and sending the rest to her 
 New England home ; but to all their entreaties to come 
 back with them to Bellaire, she made one steadfast 
 reply : 
 
 I cannot leave my work. 
 
 She did not dare leave it until the very latest mo 
 ment at which she could reach her new school and be
 
 On the battle-field.
 
 A FAREWELL MESSAGE 351 
 
 ready to begin the fall teaching. One day of idleness, 
 one hour not filled with cares and anxieties for the sick 
 and suffering, might easily undermine all her care 
 fully builded fabric of self-control. 
 
 And yet John s story had not brought her all pain; 
 it was a joy to know that Rex had loved her through 
 these long years, when sometimes she had almost be 
 lieved he had forgotten her. And to know that he 
 had died so nobly (for Eunice recognized that, what 
 ever the cause might be, the devotion to it was noble) 
 helped greatly to soothe the pain of knowing that she 
 would never see him again.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 AFTER POUR YEARS 
 
 THE Northumberland Valley lies smiling under 
 June skies blue as Italy s, and bending over a 
 happy country, once more at peace. 
 
 It is the June of 65 ; the war is over, and Eunice 
 is coming, at the earnest invitation of the Charltons, 
 to spend Commencement with them. She steps from 
 the train into the same busy scene that had bewildered 
 her almost five years before, and there is the same 
 scholarly figure waiting to meet her with the same 
 beaming smile in the kind blue eyes, but bending now 
 to greet her with a kiss as he says in his cordial way, 
 "I am very glad to see you, my dear Eunice." 
 
 There is but little change in his dress. Still the 
 high silk stock and the swallowtail and the beaver hat ; 
 but Eunice notes changes in the face that has become 
 very dear to her. There are lines about the eyes and 
 mouth that did not use to be there, and they tell of 
 great anxieties and wearing cares. The figure is a 
 little more bent, and the temples are whitened ; but it 
 is a beautiful face to Eunice, and she glows with plea 
 sure at his kiss, which she modestly returns. 
 
 "Judge," absolutely unchanged, is waiting for her 
 352
 
 AFTER FOUR YEARS 353 
 
 trunk, grinning delightedly, and pulling his bunch of 
 wool energetically at her kind "How do you do, 
 Judge ?" 
 
 And on the Burton steps are almost the same group 
 watching the arrival of the train as on that golden 
 September morning. Not quite the same. Miss Lydia 
 is not there, nor the young officer; for Miss Lydia is 
 Mrs. Lieutenant "Watson of the barracks, and another 
 officer has taken the lieutenant s place. And Rex is 
 not there, of course, but a figure so much like his is 
 standing in much the same attitude in which she first 
 saw him, that Eunice with difficulty represses an eager 
 start. 
 
 They pass through the Iron Gate, and hear it clang 
 behind them, a sound fraught with so many memories, 
 and some of them so sad, that the quick tears spring 
 to Eunice s eyes. And then through Lover s Lane, 
 beautiful in its heavy June leafage, and hallowed 
 ground to Eunice, who feels like one who treads rev 
 erently in sacred places. 
 
 At the door are Mrs. Charlton and Lucy, the "Big 
 Boys" and the younger children, and, in the back 
 ground, Alcinda, Charles Cook, junior, and little Cin- 
 die. Alcinda s doleful prediction that she would never 
 return had not been fulfilled. Nothing could keep 
 her long away from her loved Bellaire. 
 
 What changes four years can make! Mrs. Charl 
 ton s glossy curls have many a streak of gray, and the 
 strain of those terrible years shows itself in lines 
 graven by a hard and cruel chisel; but her eyes are 
 as bright and her voice as sweet as of old when she
 
 354 IN OLD BELLAIBE 
 
 clasps Eunice in her arms. Lucy shows no signs 
 of care. She has blossomed into a beautiful woman 
 hood, and the greeting of the two girls has lost none 
 of its warmth by so long an absence. The "Big 
 Boys" are almost young men now, and come for 
 ward bashfully to shake hands with Miss Eunice. 
 Millie is a shy, graceful girl just entering her teens, 
 and the three younger children have grown out of 
 all recognition, though not of remembrance; and 
 by the time she has shaken hands with Alcinda, 
 Charles Cook, junior, and Ciudie, and received their 
 hearty greetings, Eunice feels she has had a royal 
 welcome home. 
 
 In the evening she steals away a few minutes from 
 the family circle, who are so happy to have her with 
 them that they can hardly bear to have her out of 
 their sight for a moment, and goes down by the little 
 gate that leads into Lovers Lane, and there for a few 
 hallowed moments lives over that last meeting with 
 Rex, the most intense hour of all her life, and takes 
 from its hiding-place the little note she received the 
 morning he left Bellaire and reads it over and over 
 with such smiles and tears and ardent kisses that had 
 there been any spectator he would never have recog 
 nized the demure and prim little Yankee school 
 teacher. 
 
 How has her tender heart been torn afresh by re 
 visiting these scenes so allied with memories of him ! 
 Every leaf on the trees above her whisper to her of 
 Rex, and, with eyes uplifted to the skies, she breathes 
 now the vows Rex could not compel from her then.
 
 AFTER FOUR YEARS 355 
 
 She does not dare to stay long away, but goes back 
 to the parlor and sits in the very chair Bex sat in that 
 December morning when he first told her his love. In 
 her lap sits Baby Ned, a big six-year-old boy, but still 
 the baby, and by her side is Mille, looking with beam 
 ing eyes on the Miss Eunice of her childish adoration. 
 
 "Where is your shuttle, Eunice?" says the doctor, 
 pleasantly; "I shall not feel you are quite at home 
 until I see that in your hands." 
 
 "Oh, I have given up my tatting," Eunice answers, 
 smiling; "I like to sit now with idle hands and 
 dream. 
 
 And somehow the doctor and his wife feel that this 
 is an outward sign of an intangible change that has 
 come over Eunice. 
 
 She sleeps in her old room that night, and rising 
 early the next morning from restless dreams, she slips 
 quietly down-stairs, and out into the beautiful dewy 
 morning, and wanders around the dear old garden, 
 now a wilderness of roses, greeting every remembered 
 bush and tree, and pinning in her hair a white rose 
 like the one she had once thrown down to Rex. 
 
 When it is near enough to breakfast-time to be in 
 no danger of disturbing the sleepers with her music, 
 she goes back to the parlor. The long windows are 
 open on the veranda ; the honeysuckle on the lattice is 
 in full bloom, and the room is filled with its fragrance, 
 mingled with the sweet breath of roses from the gar 
 den. She has just heard a train pass, and thinks of 
 the early train that bore Rex away that April morn 
 ing. Her heart is filled with love and longing, and she
 
 356 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 sits down to the familiar piano and sings, "Lorena," 
 that old-fashioned song, powerless now to evoke any 
 stronger emotion than a smile of toleration, but new 
 then, and esteemed as the very soul of pathos. 
 
 She does not hear a step on the veranda ; her whole 
 heart is in the words she is singing. But the step is 
 there, nevertheless, and it belongs to a tall figure clad 
 in a suit of gray evidently new and roughly made, but 
 sitting with a certain grace on the symmetrical form, 
 and in the buttonhole is a dingy bit of ribbon. He car 
 ries in his hand his hat, a broad palmetto, and his 
 noble head, covered with thick, dark curls, is bent 
 sagerly forward, listening to the song. 
 
 She is singing with infinite tenderness : 
 
 "A duty stern and pressing broke 
 
 The tie that bound thy heart to mine." 
 
 After a while he ventures to step inside the window, 
 and still Eunice does not hear him. She is singing 
 now: 
 
 "A hundred months have passed, Lorena, 
 Since last I held that hand in mine." 
 
 He cannot see her, she is in the farther parlor, 
 but he would have fancied the voice was one he had 
 once known, but for the pathos and soul in the tones 
 he had sometimes thought a little hard and cold. He 
 ventures a little farther, where he can see the singer, 
 and still Eunice sings on and neither hears nor sees 
 him. And now she has come to the last verse, and with 
 what holy rapture she sings:
 
 AFTER FOUR YEARS 357 
 
 "There is a future oh, thank God, 
 
 Of life this is so small a parti 
 T is dust to dust beneath the sod, 
 But there, up there, t is heart to heart." 
 
 If this is Eunice, it is a more beautiful Eunice than 
 the Eunice of his dreams. The face has grown softer 
 and rounder; the curls, caught back and tied loosely 
 behind, give a more graceful contour to the head ; and 
 the brown hair, no longer brushed into severe plain 
 ness, ripples in soft waves about the face. He cannot 
 be quite sure it is Eunice : only the clinging gray dress 
 and the white rose in her hair are unchanged. He 
 waits until the last word of her song dies away, and 
 then he says softly; 
 
 "Eunice!" 
 
 She springs from the piano and looks at him with 
 a startled, unrecognizing glance. There is no mis 
 taking those blue-gray eyes with their long lashes, and 
 quiet even now with that startled look in them. Sho 
 sees before her a tall, bronzed man with heavy closely 
 trimmed beard, whose dark eyes gaze steadily into 
 hers. There is no boldness in their gaze, and there 
 lurks a sadness in their depths that future years of 
 joy can never wholly drive away. But there is a look 
 of love in them, too, that Eunice has never seen in any 
 other eyes, and at last she knows him. She starts to 
 ward him and murmurs Rex, and then would have 
 fallen, but that he catches her and, holding her in his 
 arms, calls upon her by every endearing name, kiss 
 ing her forehead, her drooping lids, her hands, but
 
 358 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 never once her lips, until she opens her eyes and smiles 
 up at him. And then what does this coy Puritan 
 maiden do, but lift her arms and put them about his 
 neck and whisper, "Rex, I love you, and I will be 
 your wife." And at last he takes from her lips the 
 kiss for which he has been waiting for more than four 
 years. 
 
 It is half an hour later. Rex has been warmly wel 
 comed by the family ; with shouts of delight from the 
 younger children, who have not forgotten "Cousin 
 Rex ; with shy pleasure by Lucy, who can hardly re 
 alize that this bronzed and bearded stranger is the 
 young exquisite of four years ago ; and with a hand 
 clasp from the doctor more cordial than any Rex had 
 ever received in his college days. But next to Eu 
 nice s greeting, Mrs. Charlton s touches him most. 
 She looks up at him, while her dark eyes shine with 
 something softer and brighter than their natural bril 
 liance, and when he would have bent to kiss the hand 
 that trembles in his, she checks him and, putting her 
 arm around his neck just as his mother would have 
 done, whispers, "My dear boy, thank God you have 
 come back to us ! " and kisses him as his mother would 
 have kissed him. 
 
 Now, a half-hour later, he is sitting at the pleasant 
 breakfast-table, where he sat on that December morn 
 ing four and a half years before. It is not December 
 now. No glowing fire is filling the room with ruddy 
 warmth. The windows and the glass doors opening 
 on the piazza all stand open wide, and the room is full
 
 AFTER FOUR YEARS 359 
 
 of the sweet odors of honeysuckle and roses, and a soft 
 summer zephyr stirs the muslin draperies at the win 
 dows flecked with shadows from the great linden out 
 side. He is not now sitting opposite Eunice. Mrs. 
 Charlton has divined at once, though no explanation 
 has been offered, that he has a right to claim the seat 
 she has given him at Eunice s side. He takes it 
 proudly, and there is no attempt at concealment in the 
 tenderness that beams from his eyes whenever they 
 fall upon Eunice, or the love and devotion in his air 
 when he offers her the simplest courtesies of the 
 table. 
 
 And as Rex looks around the familiar room, so un 
 changed, he feels as if the last four years must be some 
 awful dream. Mrs. Charlton, in the excitement of the 
 moment, looks scarcely a day older than when he saw 
 her last. The lines of care and anxiety will return 
 after a while; but joy, the great rejuvenator, has 
 smoothed them all out for the time, and she sits at 
 the head of the table, in the freshest of breakfast-caps 
 and the daintiest of morning gowns, the same beaming 
 and gracious hostess he remembers so well. 
 
 As for the doctor well, the doctor is guilty of one 
 of his most execrable puns, and Mrs. Charlton not 
 only does not frown it down, but hails it as a happy 
 omen. For in the dark and terrible days of the war, 
 when the burden of the college and his own burdens 
 rested so heavily on him, and even the fate of his be 
 loved country seemed sometimes doubtful, the good 
 doctor had almost forgotten how to pun. Now, as 
 Charles Cook, junior, grinning from ear to ear with 
 
 24
 
 360 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 delight at "Marse Rex s" return, brings in the fra 
 grant and steaming coffee-pot, the doctor, rubbing his 
 hands slowly with anticipatory delight partly in the 
 delicious draught he is expecting and partly in the 
 pun he is about to perpetrate, says with the old 
 twinkle in his eye: 
 
 "Mr. McAllister, during the war we were reduced 
 to drinking pure and unadulterated rye-oh; but now, 
 if my olfactory nerves do not moch-a me, we can offer 
 you something better." 
 
 In his palmiest days the doctor had never made a 
 worse pun, but tears of joy actually stand in Mrs. 
 Charlton s eyes to see him so like his old self once 
 more. 
 
 There is much innocent hilarity throughout the 
 meal. Charles Cook, junior s, broad grin expands oc 
 casionally into a half-suppressed chuckle of delight, 
 and little Cindie, under the pretext of helping her 
 brother, comes in with a tray, and stands where her 
 round eyes of wonder and admiration never leave 
 Rex s face. Even Alcinda is not willing to be left 
 entirely out. She brings in one plate of waffles her 
 self (and never have Alcinda s waffles been so crisp 
 and delicately browned and altogether perfect as on 
 this morning), and announces her desire of "seeing 
 Marse Mac alive again with her own eyes." Rex 
 shakes hands with her, and his Howdy, aunty ? has 
 much of the old gay ring in it, while Alcinda stands 
 a minute after he has dropped her hand and shakes 
 her head solemnly: 
 
 "Yon s shore nuff changed, honey. Dunno s
 
 AFTER FOUR YEARS 361 
 
 I d a knowed you, you s got to be sech a fine, ban- 
 some genelman." At which doubtful compliment 
 everybody laughs, and Alcinda, much abashed or pre 
 tending to be, retreats to her kitchen. 
 
 But now the happy meal, at which everybody has 
 talked much and eaten little, is over. The big Bible 
 is brought out, the thanksgiving psalm is read, and 
 tenderly and earnestly Dr. Charlton offers up his pe 
 tition for blessings on the two dear ones, and grateful 
 thanks that "it has been permitted us to see their 
 faces once more." A little hush rests on them all 
 as they rise from their knees, and Alcinda is audibly 
 sniffling for the Charltons have never departed from 
 the good old custom of having the servants in to fam 
 ily prayers. To cover her weakness she sends Charles 
 Cook, junior, flying for the dish-pan and towels with 
 even more than her usual asperity, and impresses 
 Cindie into the service of helping to clear the table. 
 And in a very few minutes the heavy dishes have all 
 been carried out to the kitchen, and Mrs. Charlton 
 and Lucy, in the whitest of aprons, are deep in the 
 mysteries of "doing the breakfast dishes"; for no 
 good Southern housewife would omit that after- 
 breakfast ceremony by which she is assured that at 
 least once a day silver and glass and china are as 
 immaculate as plenty of hot water and soap and polish 
 ing with clean, dry towels can make them. 
 
 It is the beginning of the long summer vacation, 
 and the boys have flown, like arrows released from the 
 bow, the moment prayers are over, and carried Millie 
 with them to show her a bumblebee s nest which they
 
 362 IN OLD BELLAIRE 
 
 have discovered in the orchard and which they intend 
 to "take" this morning. 
 
 The doctor and Eunice and Rex are lingering in 
 the deep alcove by the open doors, enjoying the sweet 
 sights and sounds and odors of the June morning. 
 Suddenly the doctor turns to Rex: 
 
 "Mr. McAllister, I can hardly understand how you 
 came to make us this visit, so soon after the close of 
 the war and with the country still in such an un 
 settled state. I should think you would have found 
 it very difficult." 
 
 "I did find some difficulties, sir," answers Rex. 
 "Many of the railroads are not yet in running order. 
 I had to tramp part of the way, hut I generally 
 found an old farm-wagon going my road and got 
 a lift. It e a slow way to travel, I have been al 
 most two weeks on the road, but I did not mind it; 
 I had the hope before me of hearing something of a 
 dear friend at the end of my journey. I would joy 
 fully have footed every step of the way if I had known 
 she was waiting for me here." 
 
 Rex speaks with a proud ring in his voice that 
 carries his words to Mrs. Charlton. She drops her tea- 
 towel and listens, her face glowing with eager sym 
 pathy. Rex goes on, his dark eyes bent on Eunice, 
 full of love and tenderness, But with a touch of hu 
 mility and hesitation in their depths, and in the voice 
 that trembles as he speaks, that are very new and 
 strange to see in the proud South Carolinian : 
 
 "I hope to take her home with me, doctor; and yet 
 I hardly dare ask her to share the fortunes of a ruined
 
 AFTER FOUR YEARS 363 
 
 man, when I had once hoped to surround her with 
 every luxury a queen could command. There is noth 
 ing left to me but the land and the old home, ; 
 thank God, that did not lie in Sherman s path! And 
 now I must go to work with my own hands and with 
 what brains I possess, if I am ever to recover even 
 a fragment of my shattered fortunes. But if she will 
 go with me, labor will be joy, and no hardship severe 
 enough, to prove my love. 
 
 Eunice does not speak, but she turns to him and 
 puts her hand in his, and looks up at him with such 
 love and trust shining in her quiet eyes, it is better 
 than any answer she could have made. 
 
 It is Dr. Charlton who speaks, and who for the 
 first time drops the formal "Mr. McAllister." 
 
 "God bless you, Rex!" he says earnestly and sol 
 emnly j and as he speaks he lays his hand gently on 
 Eunice s brown curls, and so includes her in the bene 
 diction.
 
 ,.[?. U . REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 920 297 9